A/N: man... I just read over that Chapter 9 crap again, and BOY does it have a lot of typos. I mean, a few spelling errors are alright, like "Blegarath" instead of "Belgarath" but it doesn't even sound too much like I'm speaking English! Geh. I know its awfully written, but I swear, once I finish the fic, I'll fix the technicalities. I couldn't stand myself to know I'd written something so bad! Hmm, well, atleast other peoples don't seem to think so, and I'm a little glad of that (*sheepish grin*). I have quite a few things to say to a few of these:

Anonymous: Thank you for reviewing. Really, I like that you've not lost patience in me.

Adam McCabe: For your compliment: "best fic". I'm not completely certain of the validity of the statement, but it did inspire me to write chapter ten, which is (I think) a good thing.

BeholdtheVoid: My most loyal and faithful reviewer and critic, and all-over glorious guy (ref. to bio). Te di muchas gracias, mi friend, for your pointing-outs of critical errors. I want to say, although, that though I didn't explain it well, I really meant for Harry to be the Child of Light, and Voldemort Child of Dark, and Belgarath hinted that the Gods deliberately lied to him (I think, but maybe I don't remember rightly). Plus: I wasn't serious when I said I'd put Raistlin in, I just happen to be mighty fond of his character (note pen name). And I never got the impression that he was too serious 'bout that whats-her-face, White-Robed sorceress, which keeps me sort of interested meself (however gory his description). I am disgusting, ain't I?

I'm planning a David Eddings fic (possibly a crossover again, but housed in the Eddings-verse) sort of explaining how Belgarath came to be marooned on that stinky island off the Alaskan coast with only the sober Poledra for company, and what exactly happened to offset the two destinies despite Eriond's near perfect presidency over the world. I mean it has been thirteen thousand very boring years of peace, and it'd be quite a disappointment for us fantasy fans if there were no brink-of-existence, world-at-sake-save-the-mysterious-magical-artifact/defeat-the-bad-person-as-foretold fighting between Good and Evil after all that time, no? And I (I promise you) will be sure to read both Belgarath the Sorcerer AND Polgara the Sorceress to avoid any grand flops in plot. But if I do make mistakes, you'll correct them, yes? *winks* That was a thinly veiled plea for you to continue R/R-ing, if you didn't notice (-_-;). The Eddings fic should be out in a month, more or less, just in case you were interested in that *coughs again*.

All others: Thanks much for your wonderful feedback, reviewing, and adding to faves, which has kept me at it, when without it I'd've given up yesterday, more than likely. Unfortunately, All the things you are is suffering from that same fiercely dreaded, altogether awful fate, so please bestow the same kindness (R/R) upon it, if it isn't too much to ask? It is much appreciated. Thanks guys.


"Oh no!" said Molly, "It can't be true, Dumbledore, the thestrals have crossed over to--"

"Not all, Molly, but it's a bad sign."

"But that would give him an unfair advantage, wouldn't it?"

"We're going to have to try a little harder to muster a better army than this. My relations with the centaurs leave it quite impossible for me to negotiate anything at all, and since Harry's returned, we haven't been able to trace Voldemort's location."

"Come to think of it: Harry has been a little odd, hasn't he? I mean, he told us that he'd had an Apparition accident. Ended up on a deserted island which even you couldn't Trace. You mean to tell me that the Giants being at the right place at the right time was coincidence? Then how did he manage to Disapparate without his wand? I don't think he was taught that..."

"I don't know. I really don't think Harry's telling us everything, but I guess he's entitled to that. It doesn't concern me that much for some reason, and mostly it is sort of plausible. Besides, we have things a little more important to worry about, as Voldemort now has the help of the Giants, Half the thestral race, the dementors, as well as the Death-Eaters, when we're right close to powerless."

"I suppose you're right."

And with that, Molly Weasley and Albus Dumbledore, the chief strategists of the Order of the Phoenix, worked well into the night, delegating responsibility and sketching the basics of their diplomatic policies for interspecies negotiations. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, were also up in a different end of the house, catching up.

"I've read the Dedigne Codex, but I thought most of it was fiction."

"Belgarath said that Eriond, when he'd fashioned us--a simpler race of people--he'd sort of enchanted our minds to psychologically discourage any notions of the Old World. But he told me, and I'm allowed to tell one other person."

"Er...why?" Hermione asked.

"Well, the Dedigne Codex only chronicles up to when the last gap was bridged right? The business with the dead star? Well, the next gap popped in that same time. It's all a cycle, you know, like War and Peace. The Codex says that when the gap is restored, peace is eternal, but it's not telling when its going to be another dying star."

"I see," said Hermione, "If you told everyone that they're doomed, that Evil will come back any time now, even the supposed "Gods", then everyone would live in fear won't they?"

"Yeah. But imagine telling Aunt Petunia that her nephew is the only one between her and the Apocalypse," he said, grinning wryly. Hermione grinned back. "So since I'm the only one who knows this, and everyone is still under the enchantment, I'm the obvious choice for the next Watcher. Belgarath is nearly twenty-thousand years old, and he's tired. He and his wife deserve to go back to their friends and family, and he asked me if I'd like to take over for him when I'm finished with all I was born for."

"And?"

"Well, I couldn't refuse?"

"So why tell me all this? You're to be the Guardian, not me, right?"

"Yeah, but I'd get bored on that little island, don't you think?"

"But you just assumed, without my consent, that I'd accompany you to that island to live there for another twenty-thousand years, leaving behind my life, with no one but you and the birds to talk to?" Harry looked a bit pensive at that. It was true that he had never considered Hermione's opinion of the matter...

"Well, it'll be atleast a hundred years more before we'd have to go over there. And we wouldn't have to stay indefinitely on the island. We can sort of sneak off in disguise. Belgarath and Poledra do it," he said at long last.

"I don't know, Harry..." she said, "I mean, I'd do it because you're my friend and all that, but it's twenty-thousand years we're talking about here. It's like you're asking me to marry you...And I am supposed to die."

"Yeah, I forgot about that." He thought again. "But his grandson Belgarion's first sacrifice was an ironsmith named Durnik. And he was resurrected. It was in the Codex. And you could marry Ron--I just want you there as a friend, for company, you know."

"Maybe," Hermione answered. But oddly, she sounded as uncertain as he felt about the resurrection as well as the marriage thing. "Did you really spend a year on that island?"

"Yea," said Harry, "Wolf taught me a lot of things, Apparation and Animagus, for example, but it still takes me a while to turn into other forms than a stag. And Dumbledore was right, wandless magic really is dangerous. It's very draining." He launched into a detailed account of all that Belgarath had said, and taught him, and Hermione listened very intently.

Around three a.m. though, Harry's storytelling was interrupted by frequent pauses and elaborate yawns. He stopped, turning to Hermione propped up next to him on the bed where they sat, about to ask her if they could talk in the morning, only to find her fast asleep, and leaning slightly on his shoulder. He stretched out his legs, and using his newly learned magic, pulled her down upon the bed. He turned to the wall, tugging a bedspread over the both of them in the process.

In the morning, Neville woke them.

"Sorry to interrupt you two," he yelled loudly, causing them both to startle awake. "Didn't mean to interrupt," he winked, "but Molly wants you down for breakfast."

"Didn't know he had such a dirty mind," Hermione muttered to him, or maybe more to herself, "But then again, he's sixteen, what else has he to think about?"

"Oh, the Dark Lord Voldemort, maybe?" Harry suggested, more than slightly offended as he was sixteen and male, and thought about plenty other than sex.

"Well, you're an exception, Harry," said Hermione fondly, going to her own bathroom down the hall to brush her teeth. Despite the apologetic note in her voice, Harry pondered, he couldn't help but feel that his male pride was slightly wounded.

At Breakfast, Neville and Hermione explained to him all that they had done in the time of Harry's self-discovery. Cherian Crompton was still at St. Mungo, having his wizard's asthma treated, so they'd learn the wand safety with Moody, which (courtesy to all the warnings that nearly every Order member had given them) none of the three were looking forward to.

Needless to expound, it was boring. Filled with entirely useless methodologies and do's and don'ts and a whole lot of shouting "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" The one thing which Bartemius Crouch Jr. seemed to captured perfectly about Moody's character.

A lot of tedious wand safety lessons later, the three returned to Hogwarts through Floo.


Ron reread the break-up letter he wrote Hermione. Then the one Hermione wrote him, about Harry's Apparation mix-up, and what they had been up to. It took him a while to decode it with all the cryptic references she put in to avoid any conflicts caused by interception, but once he'd figured the first few out, he got used to the pattern, and it became easier.

What had he been thinking then, he wondered. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe Harry's accident was some message and maybe symbolically, Harry really wanted them not to break up. He and Hermione were best friends, and maybe if they broke up, then it would be bad for Harry to have their relationship so estranged. But then, he had been a bit distant the beginning of the year. Maybe he was reading too much into this. Hermione was rubbing off on him, truly.

And as these thoughts chased themselves through Ron's head, there was a boisterous Harry, his best friend, rushing in through the Portrait Hole.

"Harry!" said Ron, roughly embracing him. And then kissed Hermione on the forehead. Neville, who (to Harry and Hermione at least) had been very forward and outgoing, seemed to shrink back to his same old shell, and merely nodded to Ron when he shook his hand.

"How about some Dinner then?" Harry suggested, feeling almost as perky as he sounded for the first time in his life.

At Dinner, everyone at Gryffindor table that Harry knew, and even the younger years whom Harry wasn't all that familiar with, greeted himself, Hermione and even Neville warmly. There was even an insult, which Ron effectively countered, from Malfoy.

Harry's eyes wandered all over the Great Hall, through the chatter of the students to the Teachers' table, to the ceiling, and the view of the Squid outside, feeling nearly exalted. He was nearly sure that he was well matched with Voldemort, and if he died in the struggle, things would still be alright in the end. The gap would be patched by himself, atleast temporarily, until another Child was chosen.

He met Hermione's curious eye, and answered her.

"Everything seems different now." Hermione smiled understandingly.

"I know," she said.

"What seems different?" Ron asked perplexedly. Harry shot Hermione a panicked glare--he'd assumed he wouldn't be heard over the sounds in the Hall.

"The school, Ron," Hermione answered, "From being indoors for nearly fifteen days. Why'd you have to be so nosy? You'd be happy too. Those people can get really irritable." Harry thanked her silently.

"I see," Ron said, turning back to the filet on his plate.

And Harry suddenly met Snape's wandering gaze. Occlumency lessons. He had to explain to Dumbledore, or atleast tell Belgarath to alter his thoughts as he'd done before so his own memories of the long encounter wouldn't be revealed to him. But of course, he'd already told Hermione about Belgarath, so his quota of one person was used up? He decided to consult Hermione after dinner.

He caught her in the common room after dinner, where she'd just won a few games of chess with Ron, as he was walking up the stairs to bed.

"Come with me," he whispered urgently. He nearly pushed her out of the Portrait Hole, not noticing Ron watching them both from the top of the steps.

"So what do I do?" he said to her, in the same classroom that they'd met nearly two months ago when Hermione told him about her job offer. She bit her lip, frowning in concentration as she thought about it.

"You tell him about Belgarath. And don't reveal anything beyond the Dedigne Codex. Tell him that you met Belgarath in one of your dreams, and he told you the details of the Prophecy--which he should already know--but that you're sure Snape doesn't need to know."

"Brilliant!" Harry said, and headed off to Dumbledore's office.

"Er...Harry."

"Oh, right. You can have the cloak, Hermione." He handed her the silvery robe and sprinted off, hoping not to incur Filch or the ghosts.

"There's no place like home," he said to the gargoyle, and rushed up the stairs to tell the Headmaster exactly what Hermione had bid him.

"Are you sure you're telling me everything, Harry," the Headmaster asked. Harry was momentarily disabled, as he had expected just a blank acceptance of all his explanation. He nodded, hopefully convincingly. Dumbledore believed him.

"Alright. Since you've had enough training, I'll resume your Legilimens training." That was not what he expected, not at all.

"B-but..." he started, "Sir, Belgarath said many things that I was told not to reveal."

"Even to me, Harry?" Dumbledore's eyes were intent and steadily azure, "And if its so easy to tamper with your dreams, couldn't Voldemort easily access these private memories of yours?"

Harry considered it, then replied:
"But if I'm always taking precautions, taking Sleeping Draughts to suppress my dreams and abstaining from Quidditch Practices and not concentrating on my friends, and my--studying," he threw in, for the effect of it, "How am I ever supposed to build my defenses?"

"So you want to dream freely, then? Let your mind wander?" Dumbledore said, and Harry detected that the man was almost scolding him. He nodded, nevertheless. "Very well then. I will grant you use of my Pensieve. And you will only have one lesson a month. And on the other three days, you will tutor with Minerva McGonagall. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Harry nearly fainted with relief.

"You are dismissed."

He thought for a bit that tutoring with McGonagall sounded nearly as bad as detention with Snape. But atleast he could now have Quidditch Practice for five to seven on weekdays and do Homework on weekends...he mentally planned all his activities. Sixth year was draining. And with the year that he spent under Old Wolf's apprenticeship had dragged it out ever further. He was ready for school to be over, however much fun Hogwarts was, so that he could go on to be an Auror, or maybe teach Defense in some school. Marry Hermione...

He jerked himself from his day (well night) dreams, and walked faster back to Gryffindor Tower.

***

"You're both keeping secrets from me." Ron did not turn away from his cereal bowl as Harry and Hermione exchanged a wary glance behind his back. They took a seat on either side of him.

"No we're not," Harry replied automatically.

"Yes. I'm no dunce, Harry. You are. And somehow I think its more important than you and Hermione having a secret affair."

"You know that may be it," Harry said, not completely dishonest. Both Hermione and Ron fixed him with glares.

"I hate you," Hermione said warningly, after a while. And Harry was surprised. He turned to her. "You're ruining my life," she growled through clenched teeth. "It's not enough that I pledge to die for you, is it?"

"Hermione, I didn't ask you to--"

"No, you didn't ask, Harry."

"I'm sorry, I should've asked then, I'm sorry, okay? You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"What is going on here?" Ron was ignored, although, as Hermione gave Harry a last icy glare.

"I've to get to class," she muttered, and walked off.

"You're not going to tell me, then?" Ron asked again to a silent Harry. He, too, said nothing, and left the table wordlessly.

"All right, then," Ron said, sighing.

"It's okay Ron," said Luna. Ron was too dejected to be surprised that she was once again at the Gryffindor table.

***

That night, Ron made a decision.

"Harry, Hermione," he began in the deserted Boys Dormitory to where he had taken them. He was pacing in front of the beds, as the both of them sat uncomfortably far away from each other on the bed. "I won't ask you about this great secret of yours as long as you promise to act civil to one another again. The first quidditch match is tomorrow night, Harry, and Hermione--you're our biggest fan." To his pleasure, Hermione couldn't contain a small smile. "And I think you'd be surprised at what a team Ginny's trained for ya, mate," Ron informed Harry. Harry's eyebrow shot up.

"Ginny?" he asked.

"Yes. Ginny."