Chapter Thirty-Nine

Ella

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A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all the loyal readers who guessed this was coming. Isn't it fun to be right? Thanks to the Roxin' Michelle Ravel for the French translations. (English translations are at the end.)

And thanks to the indefatigable beta readers: Cap'n Kathy, Caroline, CoKerry and Firelocks

~*~

"Okay," said Ginny, and she tucked the blankets back around Mr. Granger's chest. She liked Saturdays; Remus let her work for two hours on weekend mornings, and it made her feel more useful - though it still didn't seem like enough. "I'm sorry I can't do more today. I'll be back tomorrow, all right?"

She passed a hand over his face and was sickened again by the twisted minefield of angry knots and ruined tissue that surrounded his brain. She couldn't even feel the brain itself, and had no idea what condition it was in. Their bones had absorbed much of the damage from the Cruciatus Curse; Ginny had made that determination when she had worked on their legs and found that it was worst in the centers, where the bones were. In a way, that was good. It meant that the bones had absorbed the bulk of the impact, keeping damage away from the more fragile tissue. But it made the tissue inside his skull much harder to read. Ginny had turned the Grangers over and felt their heads from behind, thinking that it might have been easier to approach that way. But their spinal cords were full of knots, too, and there were things in the front that required more immediate attention.

Like their eyes. Ginny passed her fingers through the air just over Mr. Granger's eyes. It was difficult. The energy was both sharp and deadened, like running her thumb across a hundred dull razorblade edges. There was no life in the aura here. Nothing to work with. Her fingers, now acutely sensitive, could not find a single knot of useful energy, and Ginny knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Hermione's father would never see again. She only hoped that the curse had not passed behind his eyes and done equal damage to his brain. She patted his shoulder and turned to give Mrs. Granger her half of the Healing session that Ginny had scheduled for this Saturday morning.

Since the ruined Wolfsbane Potion, there had been no more spur-of-the-moment Healing sessions. There had been no more running off without permission, and there had been no dragons. There had been, instead, a detailed schedule, a renewed appreciation for Remus, and a shocking improvement in her Potions and Arithmancy marks. There had also been a sense of peace and rest. She was no longer exhausted all the time, and she had felt no need to snap at anyone. Almost everything had set itself to rights.

Almost.

She'd ruined it with Harry. She should have told him that she knew how she felt about him, and she should have told him how she knew it - she should have explained. She should have been more understanding about his feelings towards Malfoy. In the past few weeks, Ginny had tried to reverse their situations in her head; she'd imagined that Harry was on a broom behind Pansy Parkinson every day, meeting her after hours without explaining himself. Ginny could hardly bear the vision. She'd treated him unfairly, and sometimes she missed him so much that she nearly sprinted down to the Notch in the middle of study sessions to ask him to forgive her. But if he hadn't said anything to her by now, then he probably didn't feel the way she'd hoped he would - she tried not to realize it because it hurt so much to let him go… but there it was.

She pulled the covers away from Mrs. Granger's chest and concentrated. Harry had no place here. There was no schoolwork; there were no N.E.W.T.s. There was this hour, and these little knots of fire that consumed the upper section of Mrs. Granger's throat. Ginny had worked patiently, a few inches at a time, and after today she would begin to work on their cranial organs and their minds. She shut her eyes and painstakingly untangled a strand of Mrs. Granger's energy, as if it were a very fine chain that had got itself into knots in a jewelry box.

When the energy was clean, Ginny checked her watch. "That's you taken care of," she said to Mrs. Granger, and replaced her blankets. "It's good to see you." She smoothed Hermione's mum's hair away from her face and thought how strange it was that she had become so familiar with the Grangers' sleeping expressions. They were silent friends. She felt she knew them intimately. But when they woke, they would hardly know her at all.

When they woke. Ginny would not allow herself to think "if" anymore. She would work until it happened. Her gifts were nothing to her if she couldn't use them for the sake of her family first - and Hermione was family. Hermione had buoyed her up for the last two months, and she had done amazing work for her dad at the Ministry. She had helped to end the war, she was in love with Ron, and she deserved her parents back.

"I have the loveliest sister, in your daughter," she said quietly to Mrs. Granger. "You'll be so amazed when you see how she's turned out."

Ginny left St. Mungo's on schedule. She Apparated into her bedroom at Lupin Lodge to put away her coat and badge, then threw on work robes and went downstairs to study.

When she ran into Harry at the bottom of the stairs, it was at once so natural and so unexpected that she gasped.

"H-Harry!" She hadn't seen him since the day after Remus's terrible transformation. She had watched him walk away and she had known, deep in her heart, that she could have gone after him. But she hadn't.

Harry took a step back, looking as if he would have liked to run. He swallowed - she could see his Adam's apple bob in his throat - and nodded as if to say that he was indeed Harry.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm only here for a minute," he said quickly, glancing away. "I'm on my way out with Sirius."

Ginny wanted to ask where they were going, but they hadn't been familiar in so long that she simply couldn't bring herself to do it. She only nodded. "Okay…" she said, but still couldn't work out why he would have been heading up the stairs.

"I was just going to use the loo-" Harry managed, still not looking at her. "We were supposed to leave half an hour ago, and I didn't think -" He stopped, but Ginny knew what he was going to say. I didn't think you'd be here. I didn't think I'd have to see you. He radiated every kind of emotion. He felt… agitated and nervous. Excited. Shy. Reserved and unsure. Defensive and vulnerable. And underneath it were the currents of his past, his power, his pride and bravery and goodness. He felt like Harry, and Ginny had so missed his energy near her that she wanted to fall into it and shut her eyes and drown.

Instead, she blocked it. She didn't have any right to step into his feelings. They were private, and he probably didn't want her in them. "Don't… don't let me keep you," she finally said and hurried past him, out of the front room and into the study, where she shut the door and tried to breathe, her heart beating double. He was in the house. He was in the house.

Feeling very much eleven, Ginny went to the cauldron and worked on her Potions assignment to calm her mind. It was a two-day potion that had been bubbling since yesterday morning's lesson, and she was determined to get it right. She stirred with exact strokes until it looked just as it was described in her textbook, and then she put down the stirring rod and tapped her fingers on her thighs. Remus would need to come and see it, so that he could mark it.

"Remus?" She stuck her head out of the door, hoping that he would come to her. She didn't want to walk through the house; she didn't want to see Harry again.

Yes I do.

Ginny went toward the sound of voices in the kitchen. She could hear Sirius and Remus. She could not hear Harry. But she was unsurprised, when she pushed the door open, to see him standing against the worktop, participating silently in the conversation. He glanced at her, and she quickly flicked her eyes away to Remus as her face went hot.

"Do you have a minute to look in my cauldron?" she asked. "I'm finished."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Excellent," he said, and turned to Sirius. "I'll be right back." He went past Ginny and towards the study. Ginny turned to follow him, but Sirius's voice stopped her.

"I don't think it's possible, Ron. And you shouldn't be asking about this."

Ginny stayed near the door and looked into the dining room, where Ron and Hermione sat at the table, eating crisps and looking through enormous books. Ron had been buried in work since Sirius's suspension; he was now entirely responsible for continuing work on Malfoy's case, but he didn't seem to mind.

"I'm not asking for specific advice on a case or anything," said Ron, flicking open another book. "Just making conversation. Say, hypothetically, that a prisoner with a bad attitude and a pasty face -"

"Ron," Sirius said warningly. But he looked amused.

"Say that this prisoner was trying to get off on a technicality, but that he didn't get off, and we did try to convict him in a trial."

Sirius nodded.

"And say that I needed to bring a witness to the stand…" Ron's gaze settled on Ginny. "But that she was under contract not to speak about what she knew."

Ginny gave him a dirty look.

"Hypothetically," Ron reminded her, putting up his hands to show his innocence. "Did I say anything specific?"

"Subtle as a Bludger, aren't you, Ron?" Remus asked, coming back into the kitchen and carrying a little vial of potion in his hand. He pointed to Sirius. "You're going to taint this case, if you're not careful."

"He needs my help," Sirius pleaded. "I'm allowed to help, I just can't do anything in an official capacity. I can't just not do anything for six weeks."

"You're fortunate it wasn't six months," Remus said, shooting Sirius a narrow glare. He looked as though he would have liked to say more, but he shut his mouth in a line and breathed hard through his nose.

Ginny could feel the tension at work in the room; it raced around her like webs, tangling her up in its complexity. She knew - they all did - what Sirius had attempted at Azkaban, and she knew that it had nearly cost him his life. She couldn't believe that he would do something so stupid - it would have destroyed Remus and Harry to lose him, not to mention being horrible for the rest of them, and it would have cut short his excellent influence in the Ministry and in the Order. He was no better than she was, and she dearly would have loved to point that out. But the lecture was not hers to give, and she knew he'd already been shouted at by the people who deserved most to shout. Not to mention that he had been officially censured - she knew it was killing him not to be able to work. But her father, Rose Brown, and Charlie and Mick had decided that six weeks was the shortest suspension they could possibly impose.

Sirius pushed his hair back and his eyes were a bit wild. "Don't…" he began, and then shook his head and looked down. "All right."

"I have a question," Harry asked suddenly, and a lovely chill went across Ginny's shoulders and down her spine. His voice was beautiful. She missed it.

"Well?" Sirius pressed, when Harry stayed quiet.

"It's… Malfoy," Harry said slowly. "I want to know what sort of power he had over the Dementors."

Ginny's lungs constricted. How did Harry know? Had she let something slip?

"They started to lose control when Malfoy left," Harry continued, "and they got worse every day - they've hit a plateau now, but it's still bad. They haven't gone back to being calm, not even for a minute. There has to be a connection - I think Moody was on to something."

Moody? Ginny looked at each of their faces and realized that, somehow, they all knew something that she did not. She had the nasty feeling that they were back in school and that she had been excluded from a very important secret.

"Yeah?" Ron got to his feet and came to stand in the kitchen door. "Is there any proof? Anything at all that you can think of?"

"Harry, you don't honestly think it was Malfoy doing all that, do you?" Hermione asked, leaning back in her chair so that she could see past Ron. She sounded slightly worried. "I know the Dementors have gone wild, but it seems like a bit of a reach to blame it all on Malfoy, even if he is..."

"I know it doesn't make sense," Harry said.

"It makes sense," Ron said vehemently. "It makes sense if Malfoy was doing what I said all along. He was doing something - I don't know - he was doing something."

"Like what?" Sirius leaned back against the worktop and gestured for Ron to take the floor. "You can't just accuse him without -"

"Evidence, yes I know." Ron narrowed his eyes. "I'll work on it."

"If Malfoy's absence is what's causing the problem," Sirius went on, "it would mean that while he was up there he was -"

"Controlling the Dementors."

Ginny clasped her hands behind her back and began to twist her fingers.

"And that's impossible," Sirius said. "No one's ever been able to control Dementors when they didn't want to be controlled, not even Dumbledore -"

"Except Voldemort." Ron looked furious. "So Malfoy was probably using some evil Dark magic that none of us knows about because we're all decent wizards -"

"Malfoy was eighteen and still in school when Voldemort was destroyed," Sirius interrupted. "I want to see him in prison, Ron, but we have yet to see evidence of any school-aged person having been given a Dark Mark and employed directly in Voldemort's service. It's highly unlikely that Malfoy had been taught any serious magic by Voldemort -"

"No, his dad taught him," Ron said heatedly. "It makes perfect sense. You know it does - he has to know things that his dad knew."

Or have things that belonged to his dad, thought Ginny, and she wished that she could say it. The conversation was excruciating. Still, she told herself, she didn't know exactly what the ring was capable of. She only knew it harbored something horrible.

Sirius opened his mouth, shut it again and nodded. "All right. It's a worthwhile theory."

Ron looked very smug.

"But where's your proof?"

Ron's smug look vanished. "I haven't got any," he muttered. "But that doesn't make me wrong, and I'm sure that if we just…" He trailed off. A light came into his eyes, and he fixed his gaze on Ginny, who drew warily back.

"What?" she asked.

"You know something," he said. "You have to know something."

"Ron…" Sirius sighed. "You can't."

"I can." He crossed his arms. "Ginny, you don't have to keep quiet. I've looked it up. Self-imposed oaths don't have any legal weight, you can talk whenever you like."

"This one isn't self imposed," Ginny said, trying hard to keep her temper. "I signed it before I went over there." It was not the first time Ron had pressed her for confidential information. And though she wanted nothing more than to be useful to her brothers and her father - and to Harry, who looked so tired and worn - there was nothing that any of them could say to make her go back on her signature. So she shook her head.

"No, you don't know anything?" Ron demanded. "Or no, you won't tell us?"

She didn't answer or move. Any reply would have given away more information than she was allowed. She could feel all their eyes on her, and she wondered what they thought of her for keeping her contract - she wondered if Harry thought she was still defending Malfoy. She wondered if he had honestly believed, even for one second, that she had shared anything more intimate than a Healing session with Malfoy. He probably did, and her silence would only drive that belief deeper.

But she didn't have a choice.

"Ginny," Ron said, and he sounded really angry, "are you really going to make me get official permission to drag this out of you? You can't keep a privileged silence, you're not a licensed mediwizard -"

"I work at St. Mungo's!" Ginny said hotly.

"So what? You work on your own, you're not part of any recognized body, Healers don't even have a legal category -"

"Maybe because there's just the one of us?" Ginny clenched her fists. "You're not going to convince me, Ron, I don't care if you won't recognize my oath. I do."

"Ginny, it's Malfoy!" Ron had gone a strangled shade of red. "You can't hide information that could potentially let him walk free to do more damage -"

"Leave her alone." Harry's voice was dead even, and Ron went silent at once. "She can't answer you, she signed a contract. It doesn't matter if it's Malfoy."

Ginny gazed at him, shocked.

So did everyone else, and the silence in the room was thick and strange. Ron looked like he would have liked to throw something. But Hermione caught Ginny's eye for just a moment, and then she looked back down at her books, smiling faintly.

"I… need a volunteer," Remus said, before the silence could stretch to the point of discomfort, and Ginny looked at him, a bit confused. What did a volunteer have to do with anything? "Not to change the subject," he went on, "but if there's anyone who has a cut or scrape, I'd like to test this potion." He held up the little vial of Ginny's homework. "I can't mark it until I know if it's effective. That is… I could. But this might be more interesting."

"What potion is it?" Hermione asked. "Skin Regrowth?"

"Ten points to Gryffindor." Remus smiled through the kitchen doorway at Hermione, who looked as if she had missed hearing the words. She beamed. "I'm in perfect condition, myself," Remus said, and grinned a little. "And I'm not really in the mood to give myself a paper cut, so if anyone has an injury I could - ah. Thank you, Harry."

Harry had rolled up his sleeve, pulled back a bandage he'd obviously applied himself, and offered the skin just above his wrist. It was marred by a red, wet-looking circle about the size of a Galleon. Around the wound, the skin had gone slightly yellow and started to curl.

Ginny sucked in a breath at the sight of it. "How did you -"

"Got burnt," he said simply. "Didn't put my shield up fast enough."

"Did it occur to you to go to the mediwizarding tent?" Sirius grabbed Harry's hand and took a closer look.

"Yes, actually, it did." Harry shrugged. "But then I forgot. I just wanted to get home."

"Well." Remus cupped a hand under Harry's forearm and tilted the vial over the nasty-looking welt. "Let's hope Ginny was meticulous."

Harry gave Remus a quick, nervous look, and Ginny bit down on the inside of her lip. She held the flesh tightly in her teeth and watched the potion drip down onto Harry's burn, hoping that she had got it right. She felt very much as though she were back in Snape's classroom, where it had never been an empty threat that he would test any number of things on any of them, whether the potions were ruined or not. That had always been terrifying, and it was no different now - though at least Remus wouldn't leer with pleasure if the potion did burn Harry's arm off.

Harry hissed in pain and winced as the potion met the open wound and made a sizzling noise. "Feels about right," he muttered.

And then, to Ginny's great relief, the skin around the burn uncurled. It stretched from all sides towards the center, and the flesh met seamlessly over the wound. It settled, after a minute, and looked like regular skin. It was nearly the right color, if a bit shinier and pinker than the rest of his arm - but then, that was the way burns healed. Charlie had loads of those.

Harry prodded it with a finger, then nodded. "Nice one," he said. "She should get…" He pretended to consider. "At least seven out of ten."

"I should get ten," she protested, but she had to smile. He was joking with her, and she had been allowed to help him, at least a little bit. She had given him something. Harry traced his finger over the surface of the healed burn, and Ginny took an involuntary step towards him. "You're sure it doesn't hurt?"

"No." He glanced up at her. "Thanks for that. I…" But he stopped, took his finger from his burn, and dropped his hands to his sides. The room was very quiet and everyone was watching them, and Ginny knew that Harry felt as awkward about it as she did. Perhaps they were all glad to see that she and Harry were talking, but she wished they wouldn't stare. She wished they weren't there. For a moment she had felt alone with Harry, and it had seemed quite natural to share something with him. They had been headed towards… a conversation. They needed one, no matter the outcome - even if it was just to hear him say that he only wanted to be friends.

Ginny's stomach hurt at the thought.

"We're going to miss the film," Harry said suddenly, breaking the silence. He rolled down his sleeve and nodded at Sirius. "It starts in five minutes."

"Film?" Hermione pushed her chair back and came to stand beside Ron, looking intrigued. "Are you really going to the cinema?"

"Yes," Harry said. He pulled his wand. "Come if you want, but we have to leave now."

"What's the fillum?" Ron asked.

"The Matrix," said Sirius. "Looks like a good one - all action."

"And how would you know?" Remus asked suspiciously. "Since when do you keep up with Muggle films?"

"I saw the trailer for this one at -"

Harry elbowed him, and Sirius shut his mouth on a snicker.

"Sure, I'll go - let's all go!" Ron said, far too brightly for a person who had just been so angry. He pulled his wand. "Ginny, don't you think that'd be fun?"

Ginny shook her head, carefully not looking at Harry. Was Ron trying to set them up? "I've got school work."

"You can finish it tomorrow, it's the weekend -"

"No."

"Come on, it'll be great -"

"Don't, Ron," said Hermione, in a low voice. "That's enough."

Ron scowled. "All she ever says is no, lately. No to the cinema, no, she won't tell me what she knows about Malfoy -"

"She signed a contract," Harry said sharply.

The room lapsed back into waiting silence, and Ginny's pulse raced. It was intoxicating to hear him stand up for her.

"Thank you," she managed, her voice dry.

Harry's eyes flashed to her face, and he looked at her for a moment that felt unnaturally long, especially considering that everyone was still watching. When he finally shook himself and looked away, Ginny felt as if the floor had disappeared from under her. She needed him back.

Harry raised his wand. "Look, I don't want to miss it," he said to Sirius. "So I'm going."

"All right, all right." Sirius pulled his wand and Disapparated.

Harry flicked his wand, and a bit of parchment materialized in the air before him. He shot it across the room to Ron. "That's the address of the cinema - it faces south, make sure to Apparate behind the place so the Muggles don't see you."

"Right." Ron studied the paper for a moment, then tried to pass it to Hermione.

"No thanks," Hermione said. "I'll stay here."

Ron ruffled her hair and Disapparated.

Ginny wasn't certain if Harry's eyes really met hers or if she imagined it, and there was no time to comprehend the look on his face. An instant later, he had disappeared as well. She ached for him to come back - there was no point in being in the room without him. An hour ago, she had been almost reconciled to their falling out, but now the loss was deep and sharp again.

"Ginny?" Remus's voice was gentle.

She realized that she was staring at the spot where Harry had just been, and quickly moved her gaze to the first person she found. Hermione was watching her with sympathetic eyes, and Ginny gave her a meaningful look.

"I'm going to go and study," Ginny said, hoping that Hermione would follow her. "I'll be upstairs for a bit." She left the kitchen and was relieved when she heard a chair move, and footsteps follow behind her.

Hermione was in their room in a flash, shutting the door behind her. "Well?" she asked.

Ginny sat on the edge of her bed. "Well what?" She threw up her hands. "He left."

Hermione leaned against the door and crossed her arms. "At least you were talking."

"We weren't really talking." Ginny flopped onto her back. "We were just in the same room, that's all."

"You were talking. And he defended you."

Ginny was glad that there had been a witness. She wasn't imagining things. He had stood up for her.

"He misses you."

Ginny turned her head on her pillow and pinned Hermione with a look. "Did he tell you that?"

"I'm under a contract of complete confidentiality," Hermione said, smiling slightly. "Just trust me, all right? He's like this. He misses you. He doesn't know what to say. If you'd just say something to him, Ginny."

"Like what? What else should I say to him?" Ginny clenched her covers in her hands and shut her eyes. "I wish I'd never worked on Malfoy," she muttered. "Then we wouldn't have this problem." But she knew that she was wrong.

"Yes you would. It would've been over something else. Harry's…" Hermione paused. "Harry's hard to fight with. I had a horrible fight with him once. Ron did too. It always lasts for ages, and he never wants to apologize. He just wants it to be over."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"No, but…" Hermione's footsteps came closer. She sat on the edge of Ginny's bed and Ginny opened her eyes and looked up at her. "I'm not a Healer or anything, but I've been Harry's friend for a long time, and at the beginning I didn't understand why he was so terrible about holding grudges, but I think I understand it now. It's like… a test."

Ginny waited.

"He has to test. I don't know why. I imagine it's because he didn't have a regular childhood. I imagine he has a hard time believing people really love him, all the way through." Hermione shrugged. "He tested me. He stopped talking to me for a month - over a broom, can you believe him?" She snorted. "But he got over it, and we never really fought again. Not in a serious way. I passed that test - I still loved him, even though we'd had a fight. The fight went away, and I didn't. Does that make sense? Oh, it was much worse with Ron because Ron meant so much to him - you remember when Ron got in a huff about the Goblet of Fire? How jealous he was?"

Ginny nodded.

"Harry wouldn't speak to him for a month, but then the same thing happened - when that was over, Ron had passed. Harry knew they could fight, and Ron wouldn't leave. And they never had another fight like that, because there was no reason for it. Harry knows Ron loves him. Do you see what I'm saying?"

Ginny thought she did. "He did it to Sirius, this year," she said slowly. "He was really hard on him. He didn't talk to him for a long time, and then… now it seems they're friends."

"Exactly. He does it to everyone he needs most. It's his way of… I don't know. Making sure he's loved unconditionally."

"I do love him unconditionally."

"I know."

"But then I… I gave him conditions because there are things I… and perhaps I shouldn't have been so… Hermione, it wasn't even a row, it was just that he said some things…" But Ginny couldn't explain. What Harry had shared was his business alone. "It was just me making demands and him not really answering."

Hermione looked at her with clear, comforting eyes. "I'm sure you're being too hard on yourself," she said gently. "I don't understand Harry a lot of the time - I think you understand him much better than I ever have - but I know him really, really well. I know how he operates. Better than you do, because I've had more time. And it's not my place to assume things like this, but I've always thought - well, since I came back, anyway - it's seemed clear to me that… well, he loves you, Ginny."

Ginny shut her eyes. Even to hear it from Hermione was a dizzying experience. "Do you mean that?" she whispered, when she found her voice. "No - don't say that."

"Why else would he have been so stupid? Why would he have got into such a rage about Malfoy? Let me tell you -" Hermione laughed. "Jealousy's the best indicator in the world." She sighed, and patted Ginny's hand. "I've so been wanting to talk to you about this. I'm glad you're feeling… well, are you feeling better?"

Ginny nodded. She didn't speak. She was worried her voice would break and she didn't want to get emotional. There was no point in that, yet. She needed to hear it from Harry.

"Can I ask you something, then?"

Ginny looked at her. "Mm-hmm."

Hermione kept hold of her hand. "How were my parents today?"

Ginny sat up and shook Harry as far out of her mind as she could get him. It wasn't far. "If I can restore their minds at all, then I really believe their bodies will work." She squeezed Hermione's hand. "And I'm going to start on their minds tomorrow. Their heads, anyway - I don't even know what's happening in their minds and I won't until I've cleared the damage out of their skull bones. There's a lot of work to be done. I can't predict how long it'll take."

"You're amazing."

"Don't say that yet."

Hermione sniffled. "No, even if they don't wake up, you're… amazing. Thank you so much, for doing this."

"Of course." Ginny gave Hermione a fierce hug. "Of course."

Hermione was still sniffling when she let go, and she immediately changed the subject. "The debates seem to be going well among the P.C.s don't they?"

The Privy Counselors had begun to debate just who ought to be appointed to the Magical Advisory, and who were the best candidates for Minister of Magic.

"Yes," said Ginny. "Dad's still a strong contender, which I think is great. And Rose Brown's name comes up a lot in the paper, have you noticed? Every Slytherin on that Privy Council is going to vote for her, and about half of them were in Slytherin House. She's got a very strong chance of being Minister."

Hermione nodded. "Well, she's clever and hard working, so it wouldn't be a tragedy, although I do hope it's your dad. The Secretary Privy's awfully young." Hermione stood and went to the door. "I don't know that I'd want all that responsibility in the hands of a twenty-eight year old."

"Seems old enough to me," Ginny said. "Imagine how much more we'll know in ten years." It seemed an age away. "I'll bet you could be the Minister of Magic in ten years," she said. "I need to talk to Harry," she added very abruptly, startling herself.

Hermione stopped in the door. "Then do it," she said, and left Ginny alone to sort out her thoughts.

~*~

The first of May was the warmest day of the year so far, and Molly fanned herself with the new Charmed Life, which was mercifully devoid of family photographs. Through the kitchen window, she could see the edge of the front garden, and in it she saw Matthew, struggling to unearth a gnome. He had the thing by its foot and was obviously not going to give up until he had flung it far from the house.

Molly had given every boy a chore: Matthew, being strongest, had taken the gnomes; David, being the most fastidious, had happily helped her to sort and hang the laundry; Ralph, being the most energetic, had run down to the village to try a bit of shopping - it was the first time Molly had trusted him with money and she wanted to see how it went, and Adam had asked if he could gather herbs in the woods. He was always doing that, and it was somehow comforting to have an intellectual boy in the house again. Adam loved to study things in books and then try to duplicate them in the world. In the past two months, he'd taken a real shine to Herbology, and Molly encouraged it. His forays into the forest were beneficial to both the potions cupboard and the pantry.

"Molly?" Fleur called from the front room. "Are there really no pictures of Bill?"

Molly hurried in to find her oldest son bent over a difficult game of chess, looking chagrined. His lovely fiancée sat across from him, seeming perfectly at ease. Molly was still in shock from Bill's announcement. He'd introduced Fleur only a few weeks ago, and then one day he'd carried her out of the room, and the following weekend he had spoken to his parents very seriously about how much in love he was, and what his intentions were. Molly hadn't dared to believe it. But two days ago Bill had announced their formal engagement, and today here they were, as if they'd always been here.

Arthur had seemed strangely unsurprised by the sudden turn of events. "We tend to fall hard, in this family," he'd said, when Molly had questioned him. "Hard and fast. Bill's no different from me, I was just fortunate enough to strike gold earlier in my life, wasn't I? Rather like Ron, I imagine." And Molly had melted. In her opinion, any man who could make a speech like that off the top of his head ought to be Minister for the rest of his natural life.

"Pictures, dear?" Molly went to the large, uneven bookcase. It covered an entire wall and had been charmed several times to fit right under the uneven roof. It slanted steeply, and books fell against each other pell-mell, in all colors, shapes and sizes, packed together in no discernable order. But Molly put her hand on Bill's baby album in less than two seconds. "Would you prefer baby pictures? Childhood pictures? Photographs of him in school robes? Or would you like the album of our trip to Egypt, when he was a bit older?"

"All of them, please." Fleur gave Bill a wide, white smile across the chess table. "I knew there were photographs, you 'orrible liar."

"You'll be sorry you looked. I wasn't always this attractive."

Fleur laughed and came to the bookshelf to carry away the albums that Molly was more than happy to dig out.

"I kept all his old papers, as well," Molly whispered, patting Fleur's shoulder. "Very interesting reading, let me assure you. And his old drawings are filed away in the attic - I don't suppose he told you what an artist he used to be?"

"Were you an artist?" Fleur asked him, looking amused.

Bill gave his mother a dirty look. "No," he said, and went back to chewing his lip and studying a bishop. "Ah," he said suddenly. "There it is." He moved his bishop with decision and Fleur put the albums on the table. She returned to her chair to chew on her thumbnail and study the board.

"I've got you!" came a furious shout from the front garden. "You're going over the fence, you stupid gnome! That's what you get for biting my finger -"

"Look out!" Adam's voice was distinctive. "You almost hit me in the head!"

"Sorry, Adam."

"S'all right." The front door flew open and Adam cleared his throat. "J'ai les herbes," he announced.

"Tres bien!" Fleur cried. She clapped her hands. "Et les fleurs aussi?"

"Erm. Oui?" Adam held up a posy of foxgloves. "Are these the ones you wanted?"

"En Francais," Fleur rebuked.

"Erm… Est…no, wait. Tu a desire - never mind." Adam shook his head and waved Fleur off when she tried to help him. "No, I have to ask you some new words."

"D'accord. And yes, those are the ones I wanted, merci, Adam."

Adam deposited the foxgloves on top of the picture albums that lay stacked on the table and handed the basket of other herbs to Molly before he went to hover over Bill's shoulder. Molly thought it was positively dear, the way Adam worshipped Bill, and his new fascination with French was probably very good for him. After all, he wouldn't get a language course at Hogwarts.

"Did you bring the pictures?" Adam asked Fleur. "Er - avez-vous les photos?"

Fleur pointed to her bag, on the sofa, and Adam brought it to her. She opened it and took out two photographs, which she handed to him. "Be very careful, please."

"I will." Adam studied the pictures for a moment, then handed them back to Fleur, holding them carefully by the corners. "Thank you," he said seriously. "Merci."

Molly watched, proud of Adam's good manners in handling a delicate matter. Adam had asked several questions about Fleur's outburst, the other week, and though they had all warned him not to be nosy or hurtful, he had been terribly curious about Fleur's lost sister. Molly supposed it was natural. After all, he had lost his parents, and probably wanted to know about other people's losses, so that he had something to compare his to. He had asked to see pictures of Gabrielle, and Fleur had not seemed too upset, although she had forgotten to bring them more than once.

"How do you say 'follow me'?"

Fleur replaced the pictures in her bag and Molly watched, wishing that she felt comfortable asking to see them. But she didn't know Fleur well enough yet.

"Suivez moi."

Adam pulled a quill and crumpled bit of parchment out of his pocket. "Sweevay mwah," he repeated. He licked his lips.

"Taking notes today?" Bill grinned at him. "That's my boy."

Adam nodded. "How do you say 'Do you have a sister'?"

Fleur looked startled. She opened her mouth and shook her head. "It… depends on whom you are asking. If it is an adult, then 'Avez-vous une souer?'"

"What do I say if it's my friend?"

"As-tu une souer?"

"Ah too oon sur. Let me write that down." Adam scribbled on his parchment. "All right, and how do you say 'wait here?'"

"Attendez ici."

Adam scribbled again. "Merci!" he said, and ran out of the house.

"De rien!" Fleur called after him. "'E is a sweet boy," she said quietly to no one, when he had gone.

"Yeah, he is." Bill took Fleur's hand under the table and caught her eyes. "And he's taken with you."

Molly retreated into the kitchen, not wanting to spoil their moment, and watched out the window for Ralph, who was a long time in returning. She was surprised to see Adam running back towards the woods without his basket, clutching his parchment in his hands. He was such a wonderful, strange child. She smiled and shook her head and focused on a little racing dot far up the road, knowing that it must have been Ralph.

Sure enough, Ralph hurtled into the Burrow at top speed a few minutes later, carrying two bags in his hands and a parcel under his arm. "I - need - a - wand -" he panted. "I - could have - made - this - stuff - weightless!" He dumped the groceries onto the kitchen table, along with Molly's change. "You got a - parcel - from - Harry Potter! Owl - ran - into me - in the - garden!"

Molly picked the parcel up and tore open the plain brown wrapping, wondering why Harry hadn't simply brought it over himself. And then she forgot to wonder anything at all. Harry had sent a pink satin princess hat. What on earth was the matter with him? She opened his note.

Dear Mrs. Weasley,

This ended up in my hands and I can't think what to do with it. Since you're inviting so many kids over to the Burrow (which I think is great, by the way - those kids are really lucky) I thought you might be able to give this to one of the girls, if there are any.

See you soon,

Harry

Molly pocketed the note and ran a wistful hand over the pointed pink hat. Harry had always been such a dear young man - almost like one of her own children, and certainly just as strange as the rest of them. It was just like him to send something along with someone else in mind. Molly only wished that there were a little girl here to enjoy it. She still felt terrible about Ella, who hadn't been in the Burrow for five minutes before she'd clawed her way out and sprinted away. No tracking spell had been able to find her, and no Muggle orphanage had taken her in. She hadn't returned to her hideout in Knockturn Alley, and St. Mungo's Children's Home had no idea where she was. Molly hadn't even had time to see her bathed and fed. She hoped that the child wasn't ill, or hurt - she hoped Ella was somehow surviving and that she would be found. But hope grew fainter all the time.

"Thank you for doing the shopping, Ralph," she said, returning her attention to the child who was there with her, and waiting for approval. "Why don't you go and help Matthew with the rest of the gnomes?"

"But I just -"

"I know. But I'll be outside in a minute with biscuits and juice, and we'll all take a nice, long break. How does that sound?"

Ralph must have thought it sounded good. He sprinted back outside, and Molly heard a gnome screech in terror. She laughed to herself and whipped together a batch of biscuits and a pitcher of juice, pleased with the progress her urchins were making. Floating the snacks in the air, she went out to the garden, wondering how it was possible to find a house too quiet, when there were four children and an engaged couple in it.

~*~

Bill wasn't sure what was more amazing - that he had actually fallen in love at first sight, or that he had very nearly thrown it away. He sat at the little chess table, listening to the chatter of boys in the garden, and felt so content that it frightened him. This couldn't be real, she hadn't said yes - he had to ask again. He had to see the proof.

"Give me your hand."

Fleur blushed and extended her left one, and Bill took it, gazing at the ring he'd put on her finger. It was modest. Not as much as she deserved. But she'd cried when he'd given it to her and she'd accepted it with such joy in her eyes that Bill wasn't sure he wanted to upgrade it. It was the ring he'd asked with, so it was the ring that mattered, and he knew that Fleur felt the same way.

"I'm in love with you." He turned over her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.

She blushed more deeply. "Bill, please, it is your mother's house."

But that was half the fun. Furtively telling her such things, grabbing her hand under the table - he'd missed out on falling in love with her in school, when there was still a chance to sneak about and get caught in empty classrooms. He'd had girlfriends back then, and he knew what fun it was. He wished he'd had Fleur all along, but then, he supposed, part of her charm was that there was so much he had yet to find out about her. She was a mystery in so many ways, and his in all the essential ones. He couldn't believe how much time he'd wasted. Nearly a year. All because of her blood. It embarrassed him - he'd fought a war over similar prejudices, and his hypocrisy had only lately occurred to him.

"Fleur…" He moved his mouth further up her arm, bit by bit until his mouth rested on the tender skin that marked the inside of her elbow.

"Stop," she whispered, but she didn't pull her arm away. She only looked at him through half-lowered eyelids that made him want to get back to her flat in a hurry.

"Want to leave?"

"Non, I want to finish our game. And I want to see your baby photographs, do not think you can make me forget!"

"I can make you forget." He grinned up at her and abandoned her arm to reach across the table and take her face in his hands. He had just put his mouth to hers when a door swung open, and a distinctly English voice spoke very loud, bad French at the back of the house.

"Ah tan day ee see, all right? Look, just wait here - no, trust me! I should have asked how to say trust me."

"Avez confiance en moi!" Fleur called over her shoulder, and turned back to Bill, giggling. "'E is so cute. Who is 'e talking to?"

"Who knows?"

"Ah vay con fee ans en mwah, okay?" Adam said, still very loudly. "And ah tan day ee see. Great. See you in a minute - DON'T LEAVE." He came running into the room, red in the face as if he'd been running. "Fleur, I found someone," he said. "I think you - I hope - I -" He stopped and looked at Bill. "You know, it's probably better if I make sure I'm right, can you give me a minute?"

Fleur smiled indulgently, and Adam pulled Bill out of his chair and into the back hall of the Burrow. "I got Ella to come back here," Adam whispered, and jerked his thumb at the back door. "She's right out there."

Bill was shocked. "Adam, have you known where she was all along? My mum's been losing her mind!"

"I know but I couldn't do anything, I swear, I tried every day. I kept bringing her food - Bill, I think she's Gabrielle."

Bill clapped a hand over Adam's mouth. "Shut up," he hissed. "Don't say things like that, that's not the sort of thing you joke around -"

"Mf Mrr!"

"What?" Bill took his hand away.

"I'm not! I wouldn't joke!" Adam tossed back his fringe. "Why d'you think I wanted to see the pictures and learn the French? She's been staying in the abandoned barn out in the woods past the Quidditch glen because she doesn't trust grown ups and she hardly trusts me now that I let the M.L.E.S. drag her out of our spot in Knockturn Alley, but she's out there!"

Bill gazed down at Adam, full of wishful sadness. "You're great," he said quietly. "To think of Fleur like that. But her sister's been missing for a year and a half, and there's no way - they found her wand in that grave, you heard the story." Bill lowered his voice. "How would a thirteen year old from Mont Ste. Mireille get to London?"

"Won't you just look at her? Then you can ask whatever you want. I don't know how the hell -"

"Adam."

"Well this is worth swearing about!" Adam tugged Bill's sleeve and dragged him towards the back door. "Please, come on, you have to at least look - please, Bill, please."

There was no point in resisting. Especially if Ella was really outside. Bill let Adam tug him to the door and open it.

Bill looked at the filthy, bedraggled child who stood on flight-ready tiptoes on the back stoop of the Burrow, and he wished that she was Gabrielle. But this child was obviously… thinner. Dirtier. Taller. Older than the pictures Fleur had shown him. With the same piercing eyes. The same masses of filthy, but obviously very blonde hair all the way to her knees. The little bump on her nose. The double freckle right on the tip of the bump, which might have been dirt, but wasn't.

"Gabrielle?" Bill whispered. He couldn't allow himself to hope. Because it was… outrageous. It wasn't possible. And they couldn't afford to be wrong; it would kill Fleur. "Gabrielle Delacour?"

The little girl breathed hard, clearly ready to launch herself away from the house and sprint back to the woods at the first sign of trouble. She backed down steps, her sharp blue eyes darting from Bill to Adam and lingering on Adam as if to accuse him of lying. She stumbled off the bottom step, her hands out, and backed further from the house.

"Your sister's inside," Bill told her, hoping to stop her from running, but she continued to back away, checking over her shoulder to see where she wanted to go.

"Ta sore ay en the house," Adam translated at once, pointing to the house. "See, you have to know French. Ella doesn't really speak anything, but I heard her singing once, and I know it's the language she used to speak."

Bill stepped off the top stair and held out his hand. "Ella," he entreated. "Gabrielle." He took another step down.

As soon as his foot hit the bottom of the back steps, the little girl turned and ran flat out towards the woods.

"Catch her!" Adam shouted. "We have to catch her, because she won't go back to the barn after this and then I won't know where to find her!"

Bill ran. He couldn't remember ever running this fast; his lungs felt as though they were on fire and would burst at any moment. His legs pounded, jarring against the earth with every step. He heard his ragged breathing in his ears; he saw the little girl check over her shoulder, saw the terror register on her face as she realized he was gaining on her - amazingly, she put on more speed and flew ahead of him, out of his reach.

She had almost reached the woods before Bill remembered that he had a wand. He pulled it and pointed it at her disappearing back.

"Petrificus Totalus!" he cried.

The little girl came to a sudden, frozen halt and toppled to the ground. Bill caught up with her and, though he felt terrible that he'd made her feel as horrified as she obviously was, he floated her into the air. She was stiff as a board.

"I'm sorry," he said, knowing that it was useless if she couldn't understand him. "I'm sorry. I'll explain later." Without wasting more time, he brought her back to the Burrow.

"Good job you had a wand!" Adam said, as Bill guided Ella's body forward and into the house.

"Good job I remembered it," Bill muttered. He floated the little girl into the back hall and stopped before he went into the front room. If this was Fleur's sister - if it, by some miracle, was truly Gabrielle - then this was not the reunion he wished for them. Not frozen and terrified. He set the girl on her feet and held her up by the shoulders, leaning her against the wall so that he could repeal the hex. "Don't run," he whispered to her, and then he raised his voice. "Fleur?"

"Yes?"

"Could you give me a hand?" He heard her chair move, heard her footsteps coming towards the hall. He swished and flicked, and released Gabrielle from the Full Body Bind, then blocked the hall as fast as he could. It was just fast enough. The moment she had her limbs back, the girl flung herself at him and tried to escape once more.

"No, Ella, don't!" Adam shouted, behind him.

Fleur appeared at the other end of the corridor and gasped. "Mon Dieu," she said. "What is this? Who is this child?"

"The one who - ran away -" Bill managed, wincing as the girl threw herself against him again, not bothering to watch where her knees went. Or perhaps she was watching a little too well. She hit him again, and Bill doubled over in agony. "Ella," he wheezed. "I think she speaks French - help me out here -"

Fleur spoke commandingly and far too quickly for Bill to understand the French that she was using. But the little girl obviously got the point. She stopped her knee in midair and pulled it back, and Bill gasped gratefully. He wasn't sure he could have stood it again quite so soon.

Fleur spoke again and the little girl began to shake. Her eyes were still on Bill, but he was sure she wasn't seeing him; she had gone pale under the dirt on her face and her eyes, even brighter blue than Fleur's, swam with sudden tears. She took a half-breath and tried to speak, but nothing came out. She put out a grubby hand and leaned against the wall.

"Non," she whispered, keeping her back to Fleur. "Non, non. C'est un reve, c'est un reve, c'est seulement un reve -"

Fleur faltered. Bill watched her face as it catalogued every possible expression of shock and disbelief. "C'est un reve," she repeated in a whisper. "Seulement un reve…" She stood close to the wall and leaned her fingers lightly against it, at her hip, as if needing to support herself. "Gab…" she began, and stopped. She shook her head. "I am mad."

But the little girl didn't seem to think so. She turned slowly away from Bill to face Fleur. As if presenting herself, she pushed her hair behind her shoulders and wiped her hands across her cheeks. It could not have done much for her appearance, but she stood tall, with her chin in the air, and waited.

Fleur drew a strange, hissing breath. She began to reach out one hand. She leaned heavily against the wall, but it was not enough to hold her up. Seconds later, she had fallen to her knees. "Gabrielle?" she managed in a faint, terrified voice.

Bill couldn't see the little girl's face, but her voice was enough. "Fleur?" she managed on a cracked, dry breath. "Fleur?"

The sound that escaped Fleur was part laugh, part sob, part something Bill was sure was reserved for the afterlife. He stood back and watched in wonder as Fleur reached up her hands to her sister. When Gabrielle stumbled to her and fell into her arms Fleur gasped, closed her eyes, and clutched the girl to her heart. For a long time, it seemed she could do nothing at all; there was only mingled, ragged breathing, and an expression of ecstatic disbelief mingled with terrible, unbearable pain, and hands that trembled as they stroked and clutched at long, dirty blonde hair.

"Ils m'avaient dis que tu es mort," Gabrielle choked, "Toi, et maman et papa - sont ils morts?"

Fleur pulled back, shaking. "Non," she whispered. "Ils ne sont pas morts." She took her sister's face in her hands, and her eyes were full of tears. "Gabrielle." She leaned her forehead to her sister's. "Ma petite, ma cherie, Gabrielle… c'est une miracle, c'est impossible -"

Gabrielle began to cry. She flung her arms around her sister's neck and broke down completely.

Fleur shut her eyes and began to speak in such rapturous, tearful, disjointed French that Bill had no idea what she was saying. He only knew that she had been given back one of the dead, and that she could not comprehend it. Just as he would not have been able to comprehend it if Percy had walked through the door.

Gabrielle huddled against Fleur, sobbing and clutching her. Fleur rocked her, still speaking quickly and jerkily, barely managing words through her own tears, running her hands over and over her sister's tangled hair and pulling away from her every so often to gaze at her face, say her name, kiss both her cheeks and clasp her close once more.

Bill slipped quietly past them and went to find his mother.

She was standing in the garden, giving a lesson on the magical significance of the flowers that grew there.

"Mum?" His voice was unsteady.

"Just a minute, Bill. Now, black-eyed Susans are wonderful for -"

"No, Mum. It's an emergency."

His mother whirled around. "Who's hurt, is it Adam?"

"No one's hurt - you boys can stay here and study." He held the door open for his mother and shut it behind her.

"What's the mat-"

"Shh." He gestured to the hall. "They're right there." Bill put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from charging to the back of the house. "Mum, the… most amazing thing just..." He tried to work his voice, but found it had got stuck in the back of his throat.

"Bill! Sweetheart, what is it?" His mother reached up, looking very anxious, and wiped away the tear that had just sneaked out of his eye.

"The little girl who ran away," he said jerkily. "Ella. Adam found her in that old barn where Charlie used to keep his animals."

"Out in the woods!" His mother's eyes flew wide. "All by herself, the poor little thing, is she hurt? Is she hungry?"

"No, she's -" Bill sniffed and swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. "Mum, she's Fleur's sister. She's Gabrielle Delacour. I don't know how it all happened, but they're in the back hall, they're -"

But his mother had gone stark white. She around him and hurried into the back of the house. Bill followed, and looked over her shoulder at the two girls who still sat on the floor, unaware of the world around them, wrapped around each other with their eyes closed, lost in joy. They clung together as if afraid they'd be separated again at any second.

"Mon ange," Fleur mumbled, stroking her sister's hair. "Mon ange."

"I'm going to get them a spot of tea," his mother whispered. "And put them to bed. With rest, they'll… recover from the shock."

Bill didn't think it was the sort of shock a person could ever recover from. He imagined that his heart wouldn't beat for several days, if Percy showed up alive and well. But he didn't stop his mother from going to get the tea, because he didn't have any better ideas. He stood and leaned against the wall, watching Fleur's face. Her eyes were closed, her face tense and tearstained. But light shone out of her, radiating around her, making the hallway strangely bright.

Beyond them, the back door stood open, and Bill remembered that there was someone outside who deserved enormous thanks. He passed Fleur without touching her - he didn't want to wake her from the dream of her sister - and went out into the yard. It was warm and comfortable outside; the long grass swayed in the breeze and across the gardens, the trees rustled. Bill shut the door behind him and went down the steps.

"Adam?" he called.

There was no reply but the clucking of chickens in the coop. Bill went around the side of the Burrow and looked in all directions. "Adam?" He went to the other side of the house and tried again, but to no avail.

"He's not here."

The voice had come from the front garden. Bill went to the front of the house and saw David pointing towards the woods.

"He ran down there after Molly went inside."

"Thanks," said Bill, and started walking in the direction that Adam had run. He knew where to find him, and after a half-hour's walk in the woods, Bill came upon a farm building even more ramshackle than the Burrow. Sure enough, from inside the dilapidated barn came the sound of someone crying as if he'd choke.

Bill stopped. Adam had taken everything in stride for weeks. When he'd found out the truth about his parents, he had accepted it almost cheerfully and never mentioned it again. He probably needed a good, hard cry, and Bill knew that if he opened the door Adam would try to compose himself. Most boys preferred to bury their tears alone.

So Bill sat down and waited. He waited nearly an hour for the sobs to subside, and all the while he thought back over his year. Last February he and Charlie had cried together. Fleur had cried for him. Penelope had sobbed at the Memorial Service, his mother had broken down several times, Ginny had lost it at Christmas and Bill couldn't remember the rest. There wasn't a person he knew - save Harry, perhaps - whom he hadn't seen sobbing his guts out. It had been a rough year. Rougher, perhaps, than the three years that had preceded it because during those years there hadn't been time for emotion, there hadn't been room for thought. It was all this time that compounded the losses, made them sharp, brought them into focus. People said that time made grief less painful, and Bill imagined it was true - but he knew that at first it only made things worse.

When several minutes of silence had passed inside the barn, Bill stood and knocked on the door.

"Adam, it's Bill. Are you in there?"

"No."

He wasn't sure what to say. He supposed he should have been out here thinking about that, but it was too late now. "Care for a chat?"

"No."

"Are you sure? You did something amazing just now, can't I thank you for it?" Bill waited for an answer. When there was only a wet sniff in reply, Bill knocked again. "I'm going to open this up then, in a minute, if you don't mind."

Taking Adam's continued silence as permission, Bill pushed open the door and grimaced. The place smelled like mildew and rotting straw and wet animal fur. Charlie had used to use it as a coop for all kinds of funny forest creatures, and some of them must have made this their permanent nesting ground. It was no fit place for a child, but then neither was a cellar in Knockturn Alley.

"Adam?"

Something rustled in the loft. Bill could just make out a moving bundle in the dark upper corner. He climbed the ladder and picked his way through the sodden straw towards Adam, who lay on his back in the driest spot, tangled in dirty blankets, staring puffy-eyed at the barn roof.

Bill sat in the straw beside him. "You all right?"

Adam snorted. "My parents are in prison," he said dully. "What do you think?"

It had been bound to hit him sooner or later, and Bill thought that sooner was probably better. But it was going to be horrible, no matter what. And it must have been difficult for Adam to see his friend reunited with her sister, only to know that he was never going to have that peace himself.

"I think you've been brave," Bill said.

"Brave." The word was full of derision. "You sound like a Gryffindor."

"Well I am one." Bill shrugged. "But I'll tell you who won the House Cup this year, in my opinion."

"Who?"

"Slytherin."

Adam looked almost pleased, then snapped a piece of straw in half and threw it over the side of the loft. "Like it even matters," he muttered. "I have to go back to school and everyone's going to know what I am."

"What's that?"

"I'm a Hopewell. It's a Death Eater family. Everyone's going to hate me." He snapped another piece of straw. "I know how it goes. The only people who'll be my friends are people like me."

"Intelligent, interesting people?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I mean." Adam sat up and gave Bill a stare that did not belong to a thirteen-year-old. It was disturbingly adult. "My parents helped kill people. That's true, isn't it?"

Bill wished he could lie. "Yes."

"So what sort of person does that make me?"

"A completely different person with a completely different life ahead of him, and all his own choices to make," Bill said. "You've made some pretty good ones already - look what you did today."

Adam stuck out his chin and looked away. "But I'm not completely different from my parents." His jaw tensed. "I'm not. I read like my dad. My dad knew everything. And I do magic like my mum - my mum was an Auror."

"I know."

"If anyone says anything about them at school, I'll kick their stupid arses."

"Good."

Adam blinked hard. "They're really clever, they're really - I don't under -" He shook his head. "Why did they fight for You-Know-Who? His voice was tight and his eyes were very glassy. "Why?"

"Because…" Bill sighed. "Because they hold the belief that Muggle-born children have no place in the wizarding world. And they're not alone, Adam. Tens of thousands of wizards and witches still believe that. It's a common feeling, and some people were willing to stake lives on it. Their own, and other people's."

"Well if so many people believe it, then doesn't it have to be a little bit right?"

Bill looked carefully at Adam. That was the most dangerous thing he'd heard the boy say. But then again… "I suppose that's one of those decisions you'll have to make for yourself."

"But what do you think?"

"Me? I think magic's the same, regardless of blood." He moved closer to the edge of the loft, and sat facing the barn door. The sunlight was changing color, turning the light in the barn a deep gold. "I know that it can be a difficult belief to keep in mind. There are arguments that seem to make sense, and it's easy to be inconsistent. But I believe very, very strongly in equality, and that's why I fought against people like…" He stopped. "Against people who didn't agree."

"And your side won, so your side gets to decide who was right and who goes to prison."

Bill raised his eyebrows. "I suppose in a way… that's how wars work. Two sides fight for what they believe, and the side that wins -"

"Gets to stay in power until someone else stronger comes along."

Bill whistled. "Damn."

Adam crawled to the edge of the loft to sit beside Bill. He dangled his legs over the side and looked sideways at him. "What?"

"You really are a clever one, you know that?"

"Yes." Adam leaned back on his hands.

"But I'll tell you something, Adam. Evil wizards will never stop trying to take over the wizarding world - to separate the cultures, or to serve their own interests. Voldemort wasn't the first one, and he won't be the last. You'll see another in your lifetime, and so will I, I imagine. More than one. Perhaps even several. And every time, people will take sides and fight."

"But the same people won't always win."

"In the end? Yes they will." Bill pulled up his knees and rested his elbows on them, letting his forearms dangle. "That's the great secret of the universe. Greater than magic, or love, or any of it. Good wins."

"But Dark wizards have come to power and stayed in power for years and years."

"Sometimes it takes longer than others to throw them off," Bill agreed. "And there are terrible sacrifices. But what always happens in the end?"

"The Dark wizards get killed." Adam pushed a lot of straw over the edge of the loft and they both watched it drift to the ground. "And their supporters get punished."

Bill nodded. "So when the next war comes, and you're deciding what you want to fight for -"

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. And while you're keeping that in mind, you'll want to sort out a few other things."

Adam glanced at him. "Like?"

"Like what's right and what's wrong. Fighting for survival is important, but in the end, you want to fight for what you believe."

Adam was quiet for a while. He seemed to be thinking very hard about something, and then he bent his head. A few minutes later, he turned away and tried to wipe his eyes without Bill seeing him.

Bill looked away and studied the wall. There was a long silence.

"They're not ever getting out," Adam asked quietly. "Are they?"

"No."

"Am I… allowed to see them?"

Bill glanced back at him. Adam had drawn one knee up under his chin, and he busied himself with his shoelace.

"When all the charms are in place at Culparrat, and your parents are awake, I'll take you to see them. All right?"

Adam nodded without looking up.

"What do you say we go back and eat dinner?"

Adam nodded again and followed Bill down the ladder.

The woods were cool now, and the sky was growing dark. Above them, stars assumed their places in the heavens, and Bill felt almost as he had as a boy, walking home to dinner with Charlie. So much had changed, since then. But these trees hadn't. The stars hadn't. Time was the strangest element.

"So I suppose I'll keep living with your mum and dad," Adam said, when they'd been walking for nearly half an hour.

"What have they said about it?" Bill asked.

"They said I've got living relatives - just cousins related by marriage and things. No one's got a legal obligation to take me." Adam kicked a rock. "Or a legal right. But Arthur said he'll ask my family to consider it, if that's what I want."

"And what do you want?"

Adam shrugged and pushed a branch out of the way. "The Malfoys have a massive house. I've been over there for parties."

"You'll have a massive house yourself, someday."

"Will I?" Adam stopped walking. "What do you mean?"

"Well, except for your parents' house, which belongs to you now, all their assets have been liquidated - turned back into Galleons, essentially - and put in a vault for you. It'll collect interest for the next five years, until you're finished with school."

"So I'm rich?"

Bill laughed. "Well you won't be hurting for money." They continued walking. "So you like the Malfoys' house, do you?"

Adam shrugged. "Yes, but I'd rather…"

"Hm?"

"Well, I'd rather go to Egypt with you," Adam said quickly, sounding almost shy. He kept his eyes straight ahead.

Bill was touched. He threw an arm around Adam's shoulders. "It'd be hard to commute to Hogwarts, from Egypt," he said seriously. "But I hope you'll visit often. Come next summer and I'll take you through the pyramids."

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

Adam's face lit up. "Cool," he said, and ran ahead of Bill towards the Burrow, which had just come into view. "Guess I'll just live here then," he shouted over his shoulder as he ran.

"Good," Bill said softly, and broke into a jog.

He caught up with Adam in the front door of the Burrow, where Adam had come to a dead halt and now stood slack-jawed, staring into the front room. Bill followed his gaze - and grinned.

Gabrielle sat on the sofa gesturing wildly with her hands and chattering nonstop to Fleur, who sat in rapt attention. But Gabrielle no longer bore the traces of Ella. She had bathed. Her silvery hair was brushed. She wore clean clothing - it must have been some of Ginny's old stuff - and her face was alight with happiness. Far from the filthy, bedraggled child who had appeared in the Burrow that afternoon, she now looked like nothing less than a fairytale princess.

"Whoa," said Adam.

Gabrielle stopped talking and turned her head towards the door so fast that her hair flew out around her.

"Adam!"

"Y-yes?"

Gabrielle jumped up and ran to the door in a heartbeat. She flung her arms around Adam, hugged him tight, and spoke in rapid, breathless French. Bill only understood a few words of her outburst - her parents were coming, she was happy, she was grateful - and he was sure that Adam didn't understand any of it. He was also sure it didn't matter in the slightest. When Gabrielle pulled away, she looked into Adam's face for a long moment and then ran back to her sister.

Adam swayed on the spot, blushing so hard that Bill could feel him radiating.

"All right there, Adam?" Bill asked, biting back his amusement.

"She… she didn't used to talk," was all Adam said. He weaved his way across the room to the stairs and disappeared slowly up them, a dazed look on his face.

Bill knew the feeling.

~*~

"Checkmate."

Hermione sighed and clapped her thumb over the mouth of Harry's laughing queen. "Best of three?" she asked him. "Unless you don't feel like playing two more games."

"It'll just be one." Harry looked horribly tired, but he smiled a little and began to set up the board.

The grandfather clock chimed loudly and Hermione winced; she didn't want Harry to realize that it was six o'clock, which meant that Ginny would appear at any moment.

In the week since he had defended Ginny in the kitchen, Harry had taken to coming over after his shifts nearly every day to play chess, or to borrow books, or to ask Hermione questions that she was fairly sure he knew the answers to. He always looked as though he would rather have been asleep than awake - in fact, he had dozed off more than once. But tired or not, he always came between five and six, when Ginny was at St. Mungo's, and he always left before she came home. But right now he seemed very absorbed in getting the chess pieces turned just so, and whether he had gone deaf to the clock on purpose or was simply too exhausted to notice the time, Hermione wasn't going to snap him out of it.

"How's it going at Culparrat?" Harry asked, as the chime vibration died away.

"Very well. I hardly have anything to do." Hermione watched him put the pawns in the exact centers of their squares. "I thought the elves would need more direction, but they're very efficient."

Harry glanced up. "Oh, are they already there?" he asked, and looked back at the board. "Don't they spend all their time worshipping you?"

"Of course not!" Hermione crossed her arms and huffed. "They're just respectful. That poor little one that used to belong to the Malfoys is there, and she's looking much better. I'm so glad Seamus thought to report that. That was really good of him."

Harry snorted. "He was probably afraid you'd come after him with a treasury box and a manifesto."

"And Fleur leads the Charms team," Hermione said loudly, ignoring him. "And Bill arranged a group of Curse Breakers he trusts to come and test the spell walls once they're in place. Which leaves very little for me to do."

Harry had finally positioned all the pieces. His hand hovered over the pawns as he studied the board, and Hermione narrowed her eyes. Was he stalling? Was he hoping to see Ginny?

"So you just sit around sunning yourself, or what?" Harry asked, meditatively patting a pawn on the head.

"Not exactly." Hermione sighed. "Would you go!"

Harry moved a white pawn.

"I've been helping the Aurors where I can. They don't really need me either, but I've had some ideas about which levels certain prisoners ought to be assigned, based on the structure of the Imprisonment Enchantment -"

"Can it be broken in some places?"

"Well, no," Hermione admitted, picking up Crookshanks, who had just rubbed against her legs. "But the more serious the crime, the higher up the criminal. Just in case. It's harder to escape from a turret than from a ground floor."

"Unless you've got a hippogriff."

They exchanged a secret smile, and Hermione moved the black pawn that was closest to the edge of the board. It hung its round, faceless little head as soon as she touched it, as if resigning itself to its fate.

"I rather like working with the Aurors," Hermione said, scratching Crookshanks behind his ears and making him purr. "Moody even asked me if I have an interest in the area."

"And do you?"

"Well, yes, but I'm interested in everything." Hermione stroked thoughtfully beneath Crookshanks's chin. "There's just so much to choose from, isn't there?"

"What about Thinking?" Harry rested his finger on another pawn and frowned.

"It's strange," Hermione said. "I never thought I'd like it as much as I do… I just wanted to help my parents, but I think I've helped them all I can." She was quiet for a moment, and Harry glanced up at her.

"The rest is up to Ginny, then?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Harry looked down and became extremely interested in sliding his pawn from one square to another.

"What's it like working with Fleur?" he asked, still not looking at her.

"She's… well, actually, she's great." Hermione shrugged. She had forgotten how to dislike Fleur, somewhere along the way. She knew they'd never be great friends, but she couldn't think of anything negative to say about her. "She's a hard worker, and she's clever, and a very, very powerful witch. I'm really impressed with the way she's handled this enchantment - and obviously it helps that she and Bill are such a good team."

"Er - yeah." Harry shook his head. "That's one way to put it. First Percy, then Fred, now Bill… wonder who'll be next?" he asked innocently. He gave Hermione a meaningful look and tapped the board. "Your move, isn't it?"

Hermione flushed. She dearly wished she could turn his suggestion around on him, but teasing him about Ginny while they were still at odds seemed a bit cruel. She pressed her mouth shut and moved another pawn.

"It's wonderful about Fleur's sister, though," Harry said, after a minute had passed in silence. "She must have been…" He paused. "I can't even imagine."

"No. I know." They shared another smile, but it was halfhearted, and Hermione was glad when she heard a noise from the kitchen and smelt something marvelous wafting in from the corridor. It made her suddenly hungry.

"Fried dinner," said Harry, taking one of Hermione's pawns. "Who's cooking?"

"Dunno," she said lightly. "But it can't be Remus. He's in the study."

Harry straightened slightly and put a hand through his hair as footsteps approached the front room from the direction of the kitchen.

But it was Sirius who popped his head in. "I picked up dinner in Diagon Alley," he said. "Thought you'd be here, Harry. Help yourself, there's plenty. Where's Remus?"

Harry slumped back to his normal posture. "In the study."

"What were you doing in Diagon Alley?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

Sirius shrugged. "My suspension means I can't hold trials. I can still get a bit of work done, and Ron can use the help."

"Where is Ron?" Hermione asked.

"He's er… still at the office." Sirius gave her an apologetic smile. "He says he won't sleep till Malfoy's case is prepared, so he's been collecting and writing out eyewitness accounts of June thirtieth."

"Sounds like a great time," Harry muttered. "He's worked too much since Malfoy went to prison. I don't know why he doesn't just leave him there for awhile and prepare the case really slowly."

"I think," Sirius said, "Ron will be happier knowing that Malfoy is alive and in hell."

Hermione didn't like the corner of herself that burned with satisfaction at the idea of Malfoy alive and in hell, but she couldn't help it. Recklessly she moved one of her pawns, and was unsurprised when Harry took that one too.

"Are either of you hungry, or should I put the food away?"

"No, we're hungry. Come on, Harry." Hermione pushed Crookshanks off her lap and stood.

Sirius disappeared, but Harry stayed in his chair. He was looking at his watch.

"Do you have to go?" Hermione asked, disappointed. She had hoped that, since he'd stayed this long, he would stay long enough to see Ginny.

"No…" Harry drummed his fingers on the table, glanced up at Hermione and looked back down. "She's not usually late coming back from work, is she?"

So he was waiting. Hermione kept her voice even and tried not to show her delight. "No, she's never late."

"It's half six." Harry looked at his watch again. "Do you think she's all right?"

Hermione stifled a smile. It was good to see him like this. "Yes, I'm sure she's fine. Perhaps she stopped somewhere for something - or she could be upstairs. Sometimes she lies down for a bit, after working. Would you like me to check?"

Harry shook his head, then nodded at once. "I - I know I'm being stupid, I just -"

"No, it's all right!" Lighthearted for Ginny's sake, Hermione hurried upstairs and peeked into their room. But it was dark, and no one was there. Slowly, Hermione went back towards the front room, wondering how long she could get Harry to stay, and just what his intentions were. Perhaps he had come tonight to talk to Ginny. It was about time.

"I… well I'm all right, thanks."

At the sound of Ginny's voice in the front room, Hermione stopped on the top step and listened. She told herself she wasn't eavesdropping; she only wanted to be sure that she didn't interrupt.

"How have you been?"

"Not so well," Harry said, very quietly.

Hermione was shocked. She tried to remember a time when Harry had flat-out admitted that he wasn't doing well. She drew a blank.

"Oh…" Ginny was very quiet too. "I… oh, Harry -"

"No, Ginny, let me -"

Hermione held her breath.

"Wait," Ginny interrupted. "I can't do this now. I want to - I really want to - but Harry, it's the Grangers. They're close. They're so close. I swear they're about to wake up."

A loud, dull, thudding noise filled Hermione's ears. It was a moment before she recognized it as her heartbeat. She gripped the banister.

"It's much sooner than I expected - where's Hermione? She should come to St. Mungo's with me, I might need her help. And where's Remus, I want to tell him I'm breaking our schedule because I just can't lose momentum, I have to go back there right now and I'm going to stay until I see it through." Ginny spoke rapidly, barely stopping for breath. "It could happen tonight."

Hermione sank down to sit on the stairs. Tonight. It could happen tonight. She suddenly wanted Ron very much.

"And someone'll have to find Ron," Ginny continued. "I didn't want to leave them at all, but I need a change of clothes and something to eat - I'm already getting tired, it's so hard -"

"Go." Harry's voice was steady and full of purpose. "I'll tell Ron. I'll get your bag packed and bring it with your dinner, and I'll get Hermione -"

"And will you tell Remus?"

"Yes."

"Harry." Ginny's voice was full of relief. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me - just go."

There was a soft pop! and Harry raced up the stairs, nearly tripping over Hermione in the dark.

"Your parents," he said urgently, extending his hand to her. "They're -"

"I know…" Hermione blinked up at him, too stunned to lie. "I heard everything."

Harry pulled back slightly. "Were you listening in on us?"

Hermione nodded and took the hand he offered. He pulled her to her feet.

"Then we're even," Harry said, and pushed her towards her room. "I accidentally saw yours and Ron's first kiss - from the dormitory stairs, actually - bet you didn't know that," he called.

Hermione hardly heard him. She vaguely noticed that he was going through Ginny's bureau drawers and stuffing things into a bag, but she didn't pay much attention. She wandered slowly to her closet and pulled out a set of robes. Blue ones. Her mother had always liked her in blue. She took socks and knickers from her bureau and crumpled it all into her rucksack, then went down the hall to get her toothbrush, listening to Harry bolt back down the stairs.

She stopped in front of the mirror and rested her hands on either side of the sink. It wouldn't do to expect anything. Ginny had no real idea what she was doing; she'd told Hermione again and again that even if her parents woke, she didn't know what condition they'd be in. Hermione knew it all, in her head. She understood it perfectly, it made logical sense, it was filed in order and she had to be rational now more than ever.

But it could be tonight.

She studied her own eyes for a moment; they were full of the anguished hope she wouldn't let herself feel. She looked down into the sink and silently repeated the hard truths that would save her from crushing disappointment. They've been comatose for a long time. No one's ever completely recovered from Cruciatus madness. They're non-magic. They were affected worse than a witch and wizard would have been. They won't recognize you. They won't recognize you. Remember how the Longbottoms behave towards Neville. Even if they wake, they're going to be mad, Hermione. Even if they wake, they're going to be mad.

She took her toothbrush from the holder, put it into her bag, and went downstairs. Harry came into the front room from the kitchen holding a bag of groceries, with Remus right behind him.

"Give me the food, Harry. Hermione, have you eaten?"

Hermione didn't know where her voice had gone.

"She hasn't," Harry answered for her, "and there's enough in there for both of them. I'm going to get Ron, all right, Hermione?" He put his hand on her shoulder. "All right? It's going to be okay. We'll see you at St. Mungo's in just a minute."

Harry was gone.

Remus quickly crossed the room and put a hand beneath Hermione's elbow. She realized she'd been just about to fall. The room spun. She was dizzy and afraid. "I'm trying not to get my hopes up," she said. Her voice felt thick and sounded far away. "Because I know how unlikely it is. I do know. I'm very realistic. I've kept it in mind all the time." She looked absently around the room. "They'll probably be in hospital forever. But if they wake up… I'll… move home with them." She hadn't thought about that before. She hadn't been home except once. She wondered how long it would take to repair the damage that the Death Eaters had done to the house; she couldn't move her parents back without taking care of all of it. If they should be awake… really awake… then she didn't want them to have any reminders.

"I don't think you should Apparate," Remus said gently. "Are you all right to use the fireplace?"

Hermione nodded and let him guide her into it. He threw the powder in for her, and green flames rose high.

"St. Mungo's," Hermione managed, and Lupin Lodge flickered out as the world began to spin.

A/N II:

"J'ai les herbes" means "I have the herbs"

"Et les fleurs aussi?" means "And the flowers too?"

"C'est un reve, c'est un reve, c'est seulement un reve" means "It's a dream, it's a dream, it's only a dream"

"Ils m'avaient dis que tu es mort… Toi, et maman et papa - sont ils morts?" means "They told me you were dead… You and Mum and Dad. Are they dead?"

"Non. Ils ne sont pas morts." means "No. They're not dead."

"Ma petite, ma cherie… c'est une miracle, c'est impossible" means "My little one, my sweet one… it's a miracle, it's impossible."

"Mon ange" means "My angel"