Magnanimous Chapter 12 – Returning

Disclaimer: Do I look like J.K.Rowling? No. Don't own HP. She does.

Thanks for 240 reviews goes to: Vfoxy713, willowfairy, foxxglove, Lyra Silvertongue2, Kou Shun'u, Flexi Lexi, Forever Blessed, La Lucida Luna, Paganicewand, Saotoshi, willowwiccantara, KrystyWroth, Rebecca15, Chiinoyami-chan (my dictionary doesn't list 'forever', would Aeternus (eternal) do?), Cuppy, mutsumi, jules37, Sparkle-eyed Dreamer, Jade-Jaganashi, Oz1.

A/N: Apologies for the evil ending! I don't have very much to say, except that the muses were evil to me. They completely neglected me on this chapter – major block – and instead they've had me in such a frenzy about my other piece of work (supposedly a 'one shot' already 20 pages and counting rapidly) that my hands are aching from typing too much.

Thanks due, as always, to my betas Orchid and Sophie – and Simrun, who isn't really an official beta, but likes stealing the drafts and scribbling all over them. You guys were wonderful for putting up with my lateness and block. And thanks to my Weasley Twin, Georgina, for giving my muses a kickstart.

And as for the general public: enjoy.

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Ron fell to his knees by Harry's side, his eyes wide, staring in disbelief, in blank horror. The very last of the crackling light faded into non-existence. He was dimly aware of the ringing silence left after the explosion, after Harry's horrible, horrible scream, after the final fall, with a noise like rain, of the delicate glass shards of the orb that now littered the floor, winking tiny flashes of bright light up at him like fallen stars. But all of his mind was taken up with the hideous, impossible sight in front of him: Harry, lying dead on the ground, his eyes shut and face slack, empty of emotion, devoid of personality, because there was no personality there anymore…

It was impossible, unthinkable; this couldn't happen. Harry couldn't die, not now, not like this. Not when they'd spent these past few days fighting, not when Harry still hated himself for going half insane… Ron knew he hadn't meant it – after all, how could Ron even begin to imagine what Harry had endured every single day?  The burdens of memory that had rested on him - his parents' death, his numerous terrifying encounters with the Dark Lord, his unfortunate involvement in every foul thing that seemed to go on, Cedric's death, Sirius... Ron knew all this, and knew he couldn't begin to empathize with Harry, no one could. And even though he couldn't keep the bitterness and anger out of his mind after Harry had performed the curse, he knew, he completely knew that Harry hadn't deserved to die.

I'm the one who deserves to die more. That has been the last thing Harry had said to Ron, and it had been a lie; neither of them deserved to die any more than the other.

'Harry…' Ron whispered, barely even realising that he had said it, and then his vision blurred with tears, obscuring every detail of his friend's dead body; turning his empty, lifeless face into a swimming mess of sickeningly white skin, turning the savage cuts from the broken orb into shaky red lines, turning the mangled mess of his burnt hands into a nauseating crimson smear.

His hand shaking, Ron reached out to one limp wrist, feeling for a pulse, a flicker of life, clinging onto a shred of hope that Harry might still be alive. He flinched as he touched the seared flesh, then his fingers moved down onto the undamaged area, found the pulse point, pressed desperately into the cold skin…

Was that a pulse? No, no, it couldn't be, it was his imagination, wishful thinking… But then again he felt it, weak and tired but there, a pulse, a heartbeat, a sign of life, and with a rush of relief so sharp it was nearly painful he realised: Harry was still alive.

His relief was rudely broken into by a loud bang from the adjoining room. Ron swivelled, drawing his wand and pointing it towards the steps at the bottom of the dais, expecting a Death Eater – or, with a flicker of horror, Voldemort himself, come to finish Harry off – but the familiar figure he saw, an expression of grim worry etched into his face, made Ron gape in amazement and relief.

'Professor Dumbledore?' he asked incredulously.

Dumbledore climbed the stairs to the top of the dais, and Ron recognised Fawkes sitting sedately on his shoulder. Dumbledore's old eyes were clouded as they took in the scene; Harry lying as if dead on the floor, Ron crouched by his side, suddenly very aware of how filthy they both were; covered in sand and blood and dirt, clothes torn, both exhausted and unkempt from days with too little sleep…

Dumbledore seemed to sag a little; he bowed his head, closing his eyes, and even Fawkes seemed morose. Ron was struck by the sadness in his face; it was the expression of someone who has failed. 'I am sorry.' Dumbledore said, his voice suddenly ancient, unbearably soft after the explosion and the screams.

Ron found his tongue. 'Harry, he's… he's not dead, sir. He's alive, he's still got a pulse…'

Dumbledore's head snapped up sharply, and Fawkes cocked his head on one side, eyes fixed on Harry's body, considering. 'Are you certain?'

Ron nodded, and at that moment Fawkes seemed to come to a conclusion; he swooped from Dumbledore's shoulder with a melodic burst of phoenix song – Ron was amazed at the sound, feeling it fill his heart with strength; the colour returning to his pale face. Fawkes landed by Harry's side, rested his head in his tortured palm, and cried silvery tears until the flesh was healed.

Still without saying anything, Dumbledore crossed to Harry's side as Fawkes changed palms. Dumbledore crouched down and pointed his wand directly at Harry's heart. 'Vivasne.'

The tip of his wand glowed faintly. Ron saw the headmaster's face relax; and an expression of great relief spread across his features.

'He's quite badly hurt, but he should be alright.' Dumbledore informed Ron, who nodded dumbly. 'We need to get him back to Hogwarts, although I…'

He never got to finish his sentence. In the distance, a door slammed loudly, angry shouts and the slap of running feet floated up to them. Apprehension bubbled inside Ron, but Dumbledore seemed calm.

'I don't think there are many of them.' He said quietly, looking straight at Ron. 'You stay with Harry, don't fight unless you have to…'

'But you can't fight them alone!' Ron blurted out. Dumbledore merely smiled, an amused smile, and Ron realised that in all probability, Dumbledore could take on a handful of Death Eaters easily. He felt slightly abashed, but before there was time to say anything Dumbledore had risen and stepped off the dais, Fawkes following, and the sounds of voices were closer now, he could hear them racing up the stairs to the main room…

There was a loud shout, then a scream - neither in Dumbledore's voice. White light began to flare from below – he thought he heard, for a brief instant, phoenix song – and he heard angry shouts from the Death Eaters as the light flared up, identical in colour to the walls around him, so that it would have seemed to be just another surface but for the constant flaring and flickering.

Then came what would he could only have described as a negative explosion. There was no loud blast of noise, instead a wave of soundlessness engulfed the room, so complete that Ron couldn't even hear the sound of his own breathing. The light filled the entire room, blindingly – for a moment, he wondered whether he was dead – then faded away. Over the edge of the dais, Ron could just see the dazed Death Eaters lying messily on the floor, robes tangled, limps splayed awkwardly. Dumbledore was conjuring ropes to tie them up, taking their wands out of their unresisting hands.

As quickly as possible, Dumbledore finished what he was doing and climbed up the stairs, back to Ron and Harry, Fawkes soaring silently alongside him.

'There were only five.' Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling at Ron's expression. 'And I'm perfectly alright, I assure you.'

'Sir,' Ron began, still feeling worried, 'what if there are more, I mean, wouldn't they all be guarding the Orb…?'

'The majority of Voldemort's Death Eaters massed at the edges of the field at least a day ago.' Dumbledore informed him. 'Intending, of course, to attack the school as soon as the curse made our loss of magic permanent. I believe, when they discovered that the Aculux curse had ended, they attacked anyway. Don't look so alarmed,' he added, seeing Ron's look of horror, 'I assure you the school has its own ways of defending itself, now that the curse has ended.'

Ron nodded, still concerned but trusting the Headmaster, and was about to query how Dumbledore had got there so quickly when the Headmaster spoke again. 'I'm sure you have many questions for me – as I do for you – but we must get Harry to the Hospital Wing quickly.' Ron nodded. 'And where is Miss Granger? I was under the impression she had accompanied you…?'

Ron nodded, feeling a constriction in his throat; he hadn't even been considering his other best friend's plight in the chaos recent events. 'She did, but then we ran into a sandstorm, just outside the field of the spell, and she and Malfoy got split up from us, I don't know where they ended up…'

'Malfoy?' Dumbledore asked, looking mildly confused. 'Do you mean Draco Malfoy? How does he come into this?'

'He'd stolen Harry's Invisibility Cloak.' Ron said, glancing down at Harry as he spoke his name. 'And… I don't know. We were arguing about whether or not to go,' a twist of guilt in his stomach, 'and he just… He was spying on us, or something. Took off the Cloak, and he had these notes he'd taken from his father's things, with the instructions for turning the spell off and stuff.'

Dumbledore nodded, frowning. 'An explanation that creates more questions than it answers.' He remarked. 'Questions which I shall leave until later. And you have no idea of where they could be?'

Ron didn't answer, but a voice called from over the edge of the dais. 'If you're talking about that Malfoy brat and the Mudblood scum, I might be persuaded to remember…' The voice was horrible; old and raspy, clogged with malice. Dumbledore stood and walked to the edge of the dais, looking down.

'What kind of persuasion?' he enquired, voice carefully level and diplomatic. A sinister chuckle came from down below.

'Thought you'd be able to guess, genius that you are.' It said mockingly. 'Freedom, of course. I don't want a place in Azkaban any more than the next man.'

'I would be certain to mention it at your Ministry trial.' Dumbledore said amiably. 'I believe there's a Ministry ruling that convicts who show a willingness to provide vital information are rewarded with more lenient sentences...'

'Bah.' The man spat, and then there was a long pause. 'Fine.' Came the voice at last. 'I should have known you'd be tight fisted. Still, a shorter sentence is a shorter sentence… They're locked in the cells. Second door on the right, straight down the stairs, first cell along. Spell to open the door is concursus. And I'd better not have more than a year's sentence…'

'I shall speak to the Ministry.' Dumbledore replied, before turning to Ron and adding quietly, 'I need to cast some spells up here – send these Death Eaters to the Ministry and make sure it's safe to transport Harry. Would you go and fetch them from the cells?'

Ron nodded, almost reluctantly, and stood up stiffly, leaving Harry behind. He knew that he should be relieved Hermione was okay, nervous about going down to the cells alone, worried over Harry, angry still over what Harry had done… But all he could feel was a heavy numbness. The past few days were taking their toll: he was too worn out emotionally to feel anything more than a vague sense of hope that this would be over soon. He had an intense desire for a long soak in a very hot bath, and a lot of sleep.

He walked down the dais stairs slowly, wove his way through the Death Eaters on the floor – the awake one, who'd given them the directions, gave him a foul and baleful glare – and crossed to the door. From behind him came the sound of Dumbledore muttering spells, a sound that was cut off abruptly as he closed the door behind him. Another set of perfectly white, perfectly empty stairs. Déjà vu seized him; he'd made this journey once before, but with Harry behind him. This time he was alone.

Sighing, he walked down the stairs. His wand was in his hand, ready, in case Dumbledore was wrong and not all of the Death Eaters had come up to the main hall to fight. But there was no sound, and he reached the bottom without incident.

First door along, and what was the password again? Concursus, that was it. As he put his wand tip to the door handle, Ron thought for a moment he could hear voices coming from inside; soft voices, not raised in anger but engaged in conversation. Only for a moment though; after all, the idea of Hermione and Malfoy having a civil conversation, actually getting on, was laughable, Ron reminded himself.

'Concursus' he whispered, and the door swung open.

'What?!'

The syllable left his lips before he'd even thought of it, so surprised was he by what he saw. Hermione and Malfoy, instead of arguing, fighting, killing each other or at the very least sitting in stony silence, were – impossible as it was – actually lounging together at one end of the room, her head resting on his shoulder and his hand, of all things, tangled in her hair! They appeared to have been chatting amicably, smiling together.

Hermione looked towards him and gasped; Malfoy, following her gaze, snorted with amusement. Hermione's smile changed from a simple one of happiness to a rather conflicted one; relief was there, but also worry and a strange kind of fear.

'Oh, Ron!' she said, and he thought she sounded strangely guilty. 'I… Are you okay? Where's Harry? He's not…' Her eyes grew wide with fear. If Ron had been paying attention, he would have noticed Malfoy look towards her with a flicker of concern on his face.

'Harry's alive,' Ron said impatiently, 'but what in Hell's name are you doing? If you've hurt her, Malfoy…' he ended threateningly.

'He hasn't.' Hermione cut in before Draco had opportunity to speak himself, 'but what's been happening, where is Harry, is he hurt, what about the spell, did you deactivate it?'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Honestly, Hermione' – his use of her first name set Ron's teeth on edge, and he glared at the blonde Slytherin viciously – 'don't ask them all at once. This isn't the Spanish Inquisition.'

Hermione glanced up at Draco. 'I know, I'm just worried…' She bit her lip. This time Ron did notice the way Malfoy's hand tightened on hers, and he glared.

'We did turn the spell off.' He said shortly, trying to gain back their attention. 'Harry's alive. Just. He got injured stopping the spell.'

Hermione blanched. 'Is he going to be alright…?'

'Dumbledore thinks so.'

'Dumbledore's here?' Hermione frowned. 'How?'

'Haven't a clue myself.' Ron replied. 'Of course, I seem to be utterly clueless about a lot of things around here…' he added, with a pointed glare at Malfoy.

Draco arched a silvery eyebrow. 'I thought the situation should be perfectly obvious.' He replied calmly

'If you think I'll believe that she's all cuddled up to you of her own free will…' Ron began threateningly.

'I am…' Hermione protested, but Draco cut in.

'We can argue the fine details of this later, Weasley…'

'Ron.' Hermione corrected softly. Irritably, Draco sighed.

'Ron, then. I simply think that it's probably not the best idea in the world to sit around arguing when Potter…'

'Harry!' she insisted.

'When The Boy Who Lived to have a ridiculously messy hairstyle and go on disastrous dates with Cho Chang…'

'Draco!' she protested vigorously. Draco frowned and shook his head.

'No, not me, I've never been out with Cho Chang…'

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, and he laughed. Ron realised that he'd never heard Malfoy laugh properly before: it was an odd experience. And the way that Hermione and Malfoy were acting… It was all wrong; they were acting like old friends.

'What I was trying to say,' Draco went on, 'is that we shouldn't be sitting around here bickering when whatever-you-want-to-call-him is half-dead upstairs.'

Hermione looked suddenly guilty. 'You're right.' She agreed. 'We'd better go…'

Ron glared again as he saw Draco get to his feet, and then bend to help Hermione up in a gentlemanly manner. His teeth on edge, he turned to lead them out of the room and back up the stairs. Glancing behind him, he saw that Hermione and Malfoy were, seemingly unconsciously, holding hands.

Another set of problems and thought and worries to add to his already full mind. Harry had tortured him with his worst fears and used the Cruciatius on Bellatrix, Voldemort had tried – and failed, he hoped – to attack the school, and Hermione and Malfoy, worst enemies, were holding hands. Ron tried very hard not to admit to himself what appeared to be the truth – that they were in love – because it was impossible, it couldn't happen. It was wrong.

Ron didn't speak as they climbed the stairs; although he heard Hermione and Malfoy, walking behind him, share a hurried whisper. The only thing that stopped him hexing Malfoy soundly and demanding an explanation was that he was worried about Harry. The image of his friend – if they could be called friends any more – lying unconscious and half-dead on the floor filled his mind. They had to get him back to Hogwarts where he could be healed: then there would be time for answers.

He opened the door to find Dumbledore waiting for them, Fawkes on his shoulder and Harry levitating eerily to one side, directed by Dumbledore's wand. The Death Eaters were gone.

'Where…?' Ron began to ask, but Dumbledore cut him off.

'I've sent the Death Eaters to the Ministry.' He explained. Dumbledore's eyes flickered to Hermione and Draco, widened slightly in surprise, and he raised an eyebrow, but didn't remark on it.

'We should get back to Hogwarts. Ron, if you'd take hold of Harry… and grab one of Fawkes's tail feathers… carefully, he'd not be best pleased if you pulled them out…'

Ron reluctantly did as he was directed. He shivered when he grabbed Harry's clammy hand, and was quite glad of Fawkes' feather in the other. It felt strangely warm: but that was only to be expected, for a phoenix.

'Professor,' Hermione began to ask, 'how exactly are we going to get back to Hogwarts…?'

Dumbledore smiled, a twinkle in his eye. 'Phoenixes have a wide range of abilities, as I'm sure you will have read.'

Hermione paused for a moment. 'Oh! Don't they have their own kind of Apparition, a bit like the house elves do?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Indeed they do. Harry may have mentioned it when I was forced to leave the school back in fifth year… Fawkes is highly talented at the art. And of course, the wards around the school only protect against human Apparition.' He smiled. 'So, if you would like to take hold of Fawkes… Directly to the Hospital Wing, Fawkes, if you would be so kind.'

There was a seconds pause, and then, with absolutely no ceremony whatsoever, they were standing in the Hospital Wing. Ron blinked and looked around him, as if to make sure of where he was. It was definitely the Hospital Wing, but most of the beds were filled with pupils – even, he realised, Professor McGonagall was lying, fast asleep, under the covers of a bed. A distant roar was audible, but only just.

'Professor Dumbledore!' cried Madam Pomfrey, turning from handing a light blue potion to a seventh-year whose skin appeared to have turned to a viscous liquid; it kept shifting and running as she moved. 'I'm so glad you're back! The Death Eaters retreated five minutes ago; the pupils are celebrating in their common rooms, and…. Oh….' Her eyes fell upon Harry with a look of horror.

'He's alive, Poppy.' Dumbledore assured her. 'Just unconscious. I don't think there's any major damage, although of course I'll need you to check on that for me…'

'Oh, of course, Headmaster! Just put him over there, there's a bed free, that one there with the hangings open, poor little lamb…' Draco snorted loudly at this description, but no one paid much attention.

Dumbledore gently levitated Harry into the bed, watched Madam Pomfrey fuss over him for a few moments in silence, and then spoke. 'I feel Mr. Weasley could also do with a rest in the Hospital Wing, and probably a good meal too' he added, and Ron felt suddenly self conscious of all the cuts, scrapes, bruises and other minor injuries he'd done himself. He also realised that he was starving: when was the last time he'd eaten?

'Of course, of course.' Madam Pomfrey said, glancing round. 'Poor little mite, (Draco snorted again), why don't you go get in bed? And ask one of the House Elves to get you something to eat, they're generally running around helping out, so wonderfully obliging…'

Hermione gave a disapproving sniff, which made Ron give a wistful kind of smile. At least some things never changed…

'And I think, if you're up to it,' he heard Dumbledore say to Hermione and Malfoy, as he made his way to the nearest bed and climbed in, 'that you should come to my office and tell me your story.'

'We don't really have a big part in it,' he heard Hermione explain, 'we were locked in the tower for most of it…'

'How large a part you had to play is immaterial.' He told her wisely. 'Now, if you would follow me…'

Ron lay back in bed and sighed. A house elf ran up to him and asked what he wanted to eat; after specifying a large quantity of various foods – mostly fried – he thanked the little elf, who ran off quickly. Sighing, Ron leaned back into his pillows. The world had been turned on its head: perhaps it would make more sense after a long sleep…

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Latin: Vivasne – Do you not live? Concursus – conflict.

A/N: I do realise there are some unanswered questions… Which await the coming of Chapter 13, of course, but feel free to ask anyway. The house elves, bless their little ears, are going to give out a free meal with drink to every reviewer! And yes, you can have a meal of chocolate… So review! You know you want to…