Heir to the Weasley Throne

by xayne

[AU] In Harry's sixth year, he begins preparing for Voldemort in earnest. He finds escape in the form of a competition hosted by the Weasley twins to crown the best prankster at Hogwarts, and comfort in the arms of an unexpected girl.

8. Chapter Eight

            A/N: Here it is, gentle readers – hot off the presses. I guess it is only fair to warn you that this is the last chapter to this fic. Watch out for the epilogue, which I'm hoping to get out soon.

            Harry contemplated arriving on the scene in animagus form. He could only imagine with glee what her reaction would be, watching him transform into his normal self in front of her. The anticipation was enough that he seriously considered the plan. However, although McGonagall was amazed with the rate at which he was learning, he had not yet mastered the conversion. Botched spells rarely impressed girls. In that light, he had little recourse but to show up in the flesh, equipped only with a blanket, his wand, and an overstuffed picnic basket.

            Pansy stood under the shadow of an imposing elm tree, huddled inside of her cloak and shivering visibly. In truth, it was a cold night; the claw of winter could be felt in every powerful gust coming in from the lake. Pansy's thin dark locks fluttered helplessly in the strong breeze as she cast her gaze about, searching for her erstwhile lover.

            Harry Illusioned himself ten paces behind her, and proceeded quietly until he was directly behind her. He did not waste any time but threw his arms around her thin frame, wrapping her up in a giant bear hug.

            "Mmmf-Harry!" Pansy exclaimed, as if upset, but then broke out into satisfied laughter.

            "Hi," he said, grinning widely as he released her from his arms.

            "I thought we talked about not sneaking up on each other," she said, faux-scolding.

            "Nope," Harry said, shaking his head. "We talked about you not sneaking up on me."

            "So, what you're saying is that I need to threaten your life?"

            "Couldn't hurt," he said, shrugging. "You look cold."

            "I AM cold, Harry," she answered. "It's freezing out here!"

            He frowned. "Well, I would suggest that we start a fire, but that might be too visible from the castle. However…" He pulled out his wand, and cast a pair of Warming Charms over both of them.

            "Where'd you learn that?" Pansy asked, impressed. "In your extra lessons?"

            Harry nodded. "Yeah, they want to prepare me for every eventuality, including arctic dueling."

            Pansy eyed him bemusedly. "Do you think that's likely to take place?"

            "Not at all." He spread out the blanket before them, and took a seat next to her upon it.

            "What'd you bring us?" Pansy asked, indicating the picnic basket.

            "A few treats, that's all," he said, opening the lid and producing a pair of candlesticks, plates, silverware, two small bowls filled with steaming beef stew, a large portion of roasted chicken, steamed asparagus, white rice, and a loaf of French bread. Naturally, it had taken a little bit of magical suasion to get all of it into the narrow basket. "Courtesy of the Hogwarts house-elves."

            Pansy laughed in delight. "I swear, the things you pull off…"

            "What? Didn't I ever tell you about Dobby?" Harry had finished serving the food, and they began eating in earnest.

            Pansy's eyes narrowed. "You mean the old house-elf of the Malfoys?"

            "That's the one. Didn't you ever wonder why he left their esteemed company?" He proceeded to recap his confrontation with Lucius Malfoy in Dumbledore's office at the end of his second year.

            "Oh, no!" Pansy giggled. "Lucius must hate you!"

            Harry laughed heartily. "No doubt," he remarked. A more serious tone overtook his features. "But I imagine that Dobby is only the tip of the iceberg." Likely, Harry's unexpected triumph over Lord Voldemort fifteen years ago had put him on the wrong side of many wizards, at least the dark ones. Further, Harry had had a large hand in Malfoy's legal troubles since.

            Pansy nodded solemnly. They ate in silence for a moment before she spoke up again. "It's so nice to get away from it all, don't you think?"

            "Yeah, it's nice," Harry agreed heartily. There had always been trying times at Hogwarts, when he felt down or hemmed in. He had been under more academic stress before, most notably while in preparation for his OWLs, but the increasing pressures offered by his preparations for Voldemort cast a dark shadow over his whole life. More and more, he found that there was only one place that he could escape from it all, and that was in the company of Pansy. "It's wonderful."

            They finished eating, and Harry stowed away the supplies, save for the blanket, which they laid out on, staring at the night sky peacefully. Harry lay on his back, both arms under his head, and Pansy used his torso as a pillow.

            "Oh, Harry," She moaned. "I don't want to go back in there!"

            Harry knew how she felt. "Yeah?"

            "Yeah," she answered quietly. "It's been… awful in there, the last few weeks. I mean, I've had a great time pulling pranks with you, and spending time with you, but… its hard being in Slytherin, you know? I eat alone every meal, every day. In my classes, I'm hated by the other houses, and I'm hated by my own house. Every night I crawl into bed, and I have to sleep with my wand under my mattress. I don't trust my housemates at all. I don't know how much longer I can take it, Harry."

            Harry sighed. It pained him to hear her suffer. "Can I help somehow?"

            Pansy shook her head dismally. "Nope. Nobody can. It's just… something I have to face."

            They lay in a contented silence for several more minutes before Harry spoke up. "Pansy?"

            "Yeah?"

            "You know, this weekend is a Hogsmeade trip," he said slowly.

            "Is it? I guess so. I'd forgotten."

            "Why don't you join me on the trip? You can hang out with Hermione and Ginny and Ron."

            "Oh, I'm sure they'd love to spend time with me," Pansy said bitterly. "Your friends hate me, Harry."

            "They would be nice to you," Harry said stiffly. "I'd make them."

            Pansy gave a short laugh. "I appreciate the thought, Harry, but I can't."

            "Why not? Do you have some other boy you want to go with?" Harry asked, suddenly defensive.

            Pansy did not answer immediately. She lifted her upper body and swiveled around into a sitting position, facing Harry. He could make out the edges of her soft face in the pale moonlight. "Is that what you think?" she asked, her voice stern but emotionless.

            Harry looked into her sad eyes, plumbing their depths for the truth. "No," he admitted.

            "Harry… I know we didn't talk about it, because I didn't want to, but… unless I tell you otherwise, you may assume that you're the only one I want to be with, okay?"

            Harry smiled, and was surprised to feel a sense of relief. Whether or not he had realized it, this issue had been bothering him. "Okay. So why won't you go with me to Hogsmeade?"

            Pansy looked away, into the broad sky above. Her pale face was illuminated by the dim moonlight, and Harry could see pain etched in her tender features. "I can't, Harry."

            "Why not?"

            "If it's this hard for me now, what do you think will happen when I walk down a public street on your arm? Any… unpleasantness I have to go through now would be exponentially worse if they ever found out about us."

            Harry nodded – he could scarcely imagine Malfoy's reaction. Another thought occurred to him. "Is it… is it true that you used to date George Weasley?"

            The air around them suddenly grew incredibly tense. Pansy turned to look at him, and for just a moment she appeared angry. "Yeah. It's true. I guess I have a thing for Gryffindors," she said, smiling pleasantly at him.

            Harry could not help but return the smile.

            "It meant little to him, and nothing to me. Is that okay?"

            Harry, still lying recumbent on his back, squirmed uncomfortably. "Yeah, I guess so. But why didn't you ever tell me?"

            Pansy laughed. "Obviously, because you never asked. Girls know better than that, Harry. You never bring up the exes until the boy asks. It's the only sensible approach," she said, her voice sounding a touch bitter. "Anything else you want to know?"

            "No, I guess not…" Harry's voice trailed off. "Yeah, yeah actually."

            "What is it?"

            Harry sat up, bringing his face within a few inches of hers. "Why me, Pans? Why go through all of this trouble for me? For someone you're supposed to hate?"

            Pansy put her palm against his cheek, and caressed it softly. "I…" She closed her mouth again, searching for the words. "I guess I didn't really mean to. Sure, I knew that Draco would flip if he ever heard about it, and that was not without appeal… But I-I couldn't help myself, once I got to know you. You are nothing like what I'd expected. I thought you'd be pompous, and arrogant, and full of shit, like all the people I know and detest in the proper circles'. As it turns out, you aren't arrogant at all. You're sweet, Harry, and you're good to me. And I want you to know that I appreciate it."

            Harry blushed, looking down in spite of himself. "Thank you."

            Pansy's gaze turned to the frigid waters of the Lake in front of them. "To think," she said quietly, her voice bemused. "It all started right here. You and me… laying plans to flood the school."

            Harry chuckled. "Yeah, that was good fun, huh? You know, we still have a little time left in the contest."

            "Yeah?"

            "Yeah. It seems fitting that we go out with a bang, right?" He asked, smiling gently at her.

            Pansy blinked at him. "I totally agree. What do you have in mind?"

            "Well, I know this neat scouring charm…. It's not a vanishing charm. It simply pulls things up of the floor. I think it would be easy to reroute the um, product, to another location. Like Snape's office, for instance."

            Pansy thought about it. "I like it… but what do we scour?"
            Harry grinned maliciously. "I was thinking of the ground of the Owlery."

            Pansy covered her mouth with her hands. "Ewww…. That's gross!"
            Harry rolled his eyes in mock-annoyance. "Precisely why it's perfect!"

            Pansy nodded. "I like the idea, I do. But don't you think it's lacking a little… chutzpah?"

            "Eh?"

            "I mean, it's a good idea, and we should definitely do it, but that's a weekday prank, a warm-up. We need something… delicious. Something that would really blow their minds!" She seemed excited about the notion.

            "What do you have mind?"
            She pouted. "I don't," she said dejectedly. "I was hoping we could think of something."

            Harry shrugged. "I'm sure we'll come up with something."

            Pansy scratched her head, overacting the notion of deep thought. "We could… cast a shaving charm on all the Slytherins. Of course, that means we'd have to include me in that. What do you think, how would I look bald?" She asked, running her fingers through her long, thin hair.

            Harry seized a bundle of the hair loosely in his hands. It was soft and moist in his fingertips. His nose picked up the subtle fragrance of lilac. "No… I don't think I could do that. I like your hair too much," he said, smiling sweetly at her. "Maybe just Malfoy."

            Pansy grinned back at him. "You have no end of hate for that boy, do you?"

            Harry thought about it for a minute. "I've never liked the guy, from the first time we met. He rubbed me wrong, even before he knew who I was. We met for the first time at Madame Malkins, in Diagon Alley. He was decently civil to me, probably because he thought I was a pureblood. But I still didn't like him. And then, we got here, and I became friends with Ron, and he's been horrible since. I never wanted to be his rival, necessarily, but it happened. I think I'd rather him as a rival than as a friend."

            Pansy nodded. "Yeah, he's… kind of a jerk. No, it's worse than that. He only cares about himself, and being the proper little wizard his parents expect him to be. I think I hate him exactly because he loves that whole scene."

            Harry nodded. "Yeah. I would have been content to leave him alone this year, but then he pulled that horrible stunt with Ginny Weasley."

            Pansy glanced at Harry with a questioning look. "What did he do?"

            Harry returned a quizzical glance. He laughed at her. "Hello! Don't you remember the two of them dating?"

            Pansy looked even more confused. "No," she said softly. "When was this? I think I would have noticed."

            Harry was incredulous. "It must have been a month ago now, you know, right before you and I got together…" His voice trailed off as a horrible notion entered his head. He could still picture Ginny's face that night in the common room, as Ron stared at her in horror, holding a Slytherin scarf in his hands. Harry's throat felt tight.

            "I'm sorry, Harry," Pansy replied. "I don't think that ever happened."

            He could see plainly on her face that she knew what was going on. "That night… that I saw you… In the dungeons, with Ginny…" he said helplessly, trying hard to deceive himself. In his mind he could hear Ginny's voice, begging him not to leave. He could hear her very words: "You don't know her like I do." He felt close to tears.

            Pansy looked back at him tenderly. No weakness betrayed her pale features; there was only concern. "Harry. Draco and Ginny never dated," she said, her voice soft but amazingly strong. "It was me. Ginny and I were together."

            Harry shook his head. "But he said-"

            "Come on, Harry," Pansy said, cutting him off. "You should know by now that Draco will tell you anything to get under your skin. Why tell you the truth when he could hurt you more by lying?"

            Harry was grasping for straws. "But, she had his scarf…"

            Pansy smirked. "Well, I wasn't going to give her mine," she laughed. "Ruddy little pest; she would have lost it within a week. Look what happened to Draco's!"

            Harry got to his feet, but fought the urge to run away. He said nothing for a moment, unable to look at her. He simply stared out over the tranquil waters of the lake, his face feeling hot. "Why-".

            "Didn't I tell you?" she guessed. "You didn't ask. We've been over that part. Look at me, Harry."

            Harry felt tears streaming down his cheeks, and knew that he could not turn around at that moment.

            "You're wondering why you never knew that I was into girls, too?" Pansy asked. "Seriously, Potter, you've got to ask more questions."

            Harry clinched his fists.

            "Maybe you want to know why I dated her?" Pansy asked her. "Look at me, Harry."

            Harry held his silence, as well as his stance, wishing she would just shut up and let him think.

            But she would not. Instead, she got to her feet quietly, and walked up behind him, running her fingers across the base of his neck. "You want to know why I would keep her around, in full view of my Housemates, but I won't go to Hogsmeade with you?"

            Harry frowned, trying to ignore her hand at his back. He still did not look at her, but his demeanor must have betrayed that he thought it a worthwhile question.

            "She was my pet," Pansy said softly, speaking her icy words right into his ear.

            Harry's blood ran cold.

            "She did not mean a thing to me, and everyone knew it. She was not my equal; she was just a little bit of entertainment for me, a little but of company on the long nights. I did not care her about her – in fact, I didn't even like her. I think the real question is not why I dated her, but why she put up with it. I got sick of her one day, and threw her out."

            "Taking out the garbage," Harry supplied bitterly.

            "Yup. That's all she was."

            Harry wiped the drying tears away from his cheeks with an angry gesture. He faced Pansy now, his eyes blazing. "How could you?"

            If he had expected her to cower before his rage, he had another thing coming. "How could I what?" she laughed, throwing her hands out into the air.

            "How could you… do that… to her?" He stammered.

            Pansy gave a short, derisive laugh. "What's this, Harry? Why are you so concerned about Ginny's welfare? Is there something I should know about?" She was mocking him.
            "Of course not."

            "How could I? Easily, Harry," Pansy laughed. "It was nothing. It was just fun, okay?"

            "No," he breathed. "No, that's not okay. In fact, it's terrible. You hurt her… very badly!"
            Pansy shrugged. "That's the type of girl I am, Harry."

            "What?" he hissed.

            "Oh, come off it, Harry," she growled. "You know better. I'm Pansy Parkinson, in case it… escaped your attention."

            "Well, it hadn't."

            "Well, that's what Pansy Parkinson does, love," she laughed. "She's a bitch, a terrible person. She hurts people… yeah, she does. She hurts people, and she likes it!"

            Harry stared in awe at the girl in front of him. He was finding all of this hard to process, and a dizzy sensation was spreading through his head. He shook his head violently from side to side. He could not understand why she was acting that way. She had been horrible to Ginny, and she seemed to be reveling in it. It was exactly the way one would expect Pansy Parkinson to act, but nothing like the girl he had come to know. Taken by an impulse, he put both of his hands on the side of Pansy's head, holding their faces close together.

            "Harry, what-" She said, disconcerting by his rash actions.

            He said nothing, but simply held her there, exploring the depths of her eyes with his own.

            "Stop it!" she cried, out pulling away from him. She stood a few paces away, breathing heavily and staring at him in shock.

            "You're a liar," he breathed heavily, his voice thick with passion.

            She nodded back at him. "Yup. Glad you figured it out, Lord Potter. I'm a liar, and an evil witch. I'm in Slytherin, after all," she informed him icily.

            He shook his head, taking a step closer to her. "You're a bad liar," he went on.

            "What?" she gasped, looking disconcerted. She retreated a pace.

            He advanced on her another step. "You're not evil," he said.

            She did not move her feet, since her back was suddenly pressed against a tree trunk, but leaned away from him. "Maybe you weren't listening…" she hissed.

            "Oh, I was listening," he said, continuing to close the distance between them. He came to a stop at arm's length. "I heard you throw out your usual lies, about what a twisted person you are, how evil a witch you are, how … how, if I had any sense, I would run screaming from your side."

            "What…" she said, trying to look surprised.

            "But you made a critical error this time, Pans," Harry said softly. "You let me in too close. You like to dance with the fire, like a moth on a summer night, but you didn't pull back in time this once. Because I figured you out – I saw through your shield. You've pushed me away too late, Pansy."

             "You're trying to tell me that, deep inside, I'm a sweet, kind person?" She scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "That underneath my cold exterior is a loving human being?"

            Harry stared back at her. For the first time in what he seemed like hours, he smiled. "Something like that."

            "That is…" she breathed, too irate for words.

            "I don't think you know anything about kindness," Harry said. "You've been exposed to precious little of it."

            Pansy jabbed him in the chest with her forefinger accusingly. "That's right."

            "But I know you're willing to learn," he went on.

            "Just…" She attempted.

            "You're terrified, I can see that," he said calmly. He leaned his face close in to hers. "Because no one has ever been able to read you the way I can. I know you, Pans. I know that you aren't so full of hate as you claim. In fact, the only people you hate are your parents, and their friends, and anyone else who tells you how to live your life. I know that the one thing you desire above all others is freedom from all of that, the freedom to lead the life you choose."
            Pansy sniffed a little – she seemed to be crying now. She was not looking at him.

            "The awful truth is that you're just… scared," Harry said tenderly, caressing her cheek gently with his left hand. A large tear rolled slowly down her cheek and landed on his palm. For a moment, she turned her soft eyes on his, a look of utter vulnerability painted on her trembling features. Harry abided in that moment, his desperate gambit teetering dangerously on the edge. But then it was gone, and her tears were choked away by anger.

            "So… what?" she spat. "What difference does any of that make? Do your think your petty conjectures change anything?"

            Harry stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded.

            "None of that matters, Harry," she went on in softer tones. "Someday you're going to fight the Dark Lord, Harry, and you might beat him. I wouldn't know. And maybe you'll be a great wizard, and maybe they will sing your praises across this land. It's possible, I'll admit that. But the sad fact is that it wouldn't make any difference either," she paused, watching his face intently, before dropping the final verdict. "The fact of the matter is that I am going to marry Draco Malfoy, Harry."

            He was taken aback, to say the least. "What are you talking about, Pans? You hate Draco!"

            She beat her fists against his chest in frustration. "I know that! Are you even listening to me? Of course I hate Draco! I'm not talking about Choice, here!"

            "It doesn't have to be that way," Harry said stubbornly.

            Pansy shook her head. "You seem determined to rattle on about things you don't know anything about. There have always been the haves and the have-nots, Harry. There have always been the weak, and the powerful. There have always been those that do the work, and those that enjoy the fruits of their labors. It has been going on since the first men crawled out of the dirt and hit each other with rocks, only one guy had a bigger rock.

It's the class system, Harry, and there's no stopping it. Dark Wizards may be defeated, and good men may perish, but it will be here long after we're both dead."

            Harry stared at her intently, his eyes alive with emotion. "It doesn't have to be that way!" He insisted.

            "What are you going to do, Harry?" she demanded, glaring at him. "Destroy it all? Turn the wizarding world on its ear? Destroy social convention as we know it?"
            He thought about it. "If that's what I have to do."
            "Destroy social convention? Who do you think you are, Harry? Did you buy into your own hype?"

            "Nope."

            "Merlin's Beard!"

            He stepped closer to her, grasping her hands in his. "I'll do what it takes," he said, steeling his voice with determination. He gritted his teeth, preparing for his next statement. "I love you, Pansy."

            Her face went white, and she pulled her hands back. She took a few steps away from him, not really running, as if she had simply lost the ability to stand still. "No…" she breathed.

            "Yes," he countered. "I do."

            "Don't say that!"
            "Why not?"
            "It can't be true… You love Ginny Weasley," she said, staring into his eyes with wild desperation.

            "I care about Ginny Weasley, and she's my friend," Harry admitted. "But I have never felt for another what I feel for you."
            "You idiot!" she said suddenly. "Stop saying that. It isn't true. You can't love me. You're going to marry Ginny Weasley, and I'm going to marry Draco Malfoy."
            "I don't want to marry Ginny Weasley," Harry pointed out.

            "What we want has nothing to do with it!" she shouted.

            Harry stared at her in silence for a long moment. He had never seen her act like this. No matter what else he might say for her, she had always been in control before. At that moment, her composure had slipped. She stood there, underneath the tree, panting and staring at him with wide eyes.

            "You love me, too…" he said quietly, finally seeing the truth.

            "Ha!" she scoffed triumphantly. "You presume too much!" But then she covered her mouth with her hand, and her face contorted with emotion.

            Harry took the hand away from her face, and stared at her for a brief moment, and she dissolved into tears under his gaze. He shook his head, slowly, and smiled at her sweetly. She tried to smile back. He leaned in and kissed her quivering lips for one long, perfect moment.

            "I love you, Pansy," he tried again.

            "Don't," she said in a quavering voice. "Please. Look… Let's not talk about it, okay? Let's not talk about the future, or anything… like that. Let's just enjoy the moment."

            "Okay, Pansy," he said, his heart heavy with resignation.

            "Look, I'll tell you what. I'm going to spend Saturday in the Three Broomsticks. It's never busy in there these days; I'll probably be alone most of the day. You can stop in and have a butterbeer with me. Does that sound good?"

            Harry nodded. "I'd like that."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

            The week passed in relative silence. Of course, the WWW contest did not stop altogether, but it seemed to have died down some. On Tuesday, Ron and Hermione successfully dyed all the pages of every book in the library pink, creating a headache for anyone else trying to study that day. Later that night, the Creevey Brothers were caught trying to respond – Professor Sprout intercepted them in the kitchens with several pounds of the active ingredient from Canary Creams. Last Harry had heard, they were going to spend the rest of their academic careers mopping the expansive Hogwarts dungeons.

            Thursday evening, however, Harry and Pansy struck again. They cast a powerful Scouring Charm on the floor in the Owlery, and pumped the product into Snape's office. By the time the trick was discovered, the large room was caked in nearly a foot of owl droppings, feathers, and random dirt. Snape was, of course, livid, but he was not the only one. Dennis and Colin, mops in hand, swore bloody revenge on the perpetrator. All who witnessed the spectacle declared the funniest sight since the Twins made their infamous exit from the school the previous year. Harry and Pansy were forced to rely on second-hand accounts though; at the time in question, they were celebrating together in a broom closet on the fourth level.

            Professor Nemo returned to classes on Wednesday, looking slightly bruised, but no worse for the wear. Harry returned to DADA classes that day, and marveled that no one asked him about the two classes he had missed. Harry and Nemo went right back to work on his personal training that afternoon, and Harry joined McGonagall after that. Within just three days, he had nearly mastered the art of Animagism, much to the surprise and delight of his instructor.

            Harry, for his part, was not surprised. Animagism was something he had been dreaming of since his third year. More than that, though, he could tell that he was rapidly becoming more powerful. He thought back often to the first time he had been in Ollivanders. They had tried different wands for over an hour, each one as useless as the last, until at last he found the right wand. Or, as Ollivander would say, the right wand chose him. As soon as he'd picked the wand up, he'd known it was the right one. He could feel it – heat in his fingertips, a surge of energy down his arm, a swell of emotion in his chest – and he knew. Now, every time he picked up a wand – any wand – he could feel the energy just waiting to be poured out. Nemo's advice after their confrontation had been to employ more force in the spells he cast, and in just a few days Harry seemed to have made the adjustment.

            It was a good thing that this conversion occurred when it did, because even though he had no way of knowing it, that weekend would provide his most serious trial.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "Oy, Hermione!" Ron groaned loudly. "I rather think you have enough books, don't you?"

            Hermione had been glancing at a shelf of Dark Age charms sourcebooks. She stopped this only long enough to affix upon her beau the most severe of expressions. "One can never have enough books," she said loudly, her voice sounding threatenting. With that, she turned back to the book shelf and pulled out a thick volume, The Vade Mecum of Architectural Charms, and took a seat on the ground, flipping the pages of the thick tome enthusiastically.

            Ginny, who had been watching in silence, dropped to the ground beside Hermione and watched over his shoulder, rapt with attention.

            'Oh, brother," Ron muttered to Harry, quietly enough that they would not overhear him. "We'll just have a look around sign, then, okay?"

            They took the silence as approval and left the small bookstore. Once outside, they closed their thick cloaks immediately, trying to block out the frosty air. "What do you say, Harry?" Ron said, trying to submerge his head inside the billowing garments. "Do you think we could make it to Honeydukes and back before they noticed we were gone?"

            Harry laughed in the face of the biting wind. "Mate, I think we could make it to China and back before they pulled their noses out of that book." Laughing heartily, the two friends trudged through the snow in the direction of the sweets shop.

            They had not taken more than twenty paces when the air was rent by the deafening wail of a siren. Screams irrupted from everywhere around them; every storefront was full of panicked wizards. The klaxons continued their cry for several seconds as the boys looked around uncomprehendingly. Harry finally turned his gaze skyward, and his stomach lurched at the sight. Hanging in the sky, high above Hogsmeade, was the ghastly, green shape of a skull with a snake issuing forth from its mouth as some manner of slithering tongue. It was the Dark Mark – the symbol of the Deatheaters and their Dark Lord.

            "Bilmey…" Ron breathed.

            Harry glanced back at the entrance to the bookstore immediately. It was not long before his thoughts turned to another, a solitary girl sitting in a pub across the village from them. At present, they stood along the periphery of the village, likely far away from most of the action. The Three Broomsticks, however, was right in the middle of both. "Ron!" Harry said urgently, seizing his friend's collar forcibly. "Get back in there, with the girls! Make sure their safe." With that, he thrust Ron back in the direction they had just come from.

            Ron took a few steps and then turned back to face him defiantly. "Wait! Where are you going?"

            "Go, Ron!"

            "You're not going to try to fight, are you?" Ron looked angry but scared.

            Harry pondered it for a split second. "No, of course not," he shouted. "I have to – I have to make sure that Pansy's safe!"

            "Are you daft?" Ron shouted back. "You can't go out there! They'll kill you, mate!"

            "Just go, RON!" Harry shouted.

            Ron stood his ground.

            Harry bent over and scooped up a thick cluster of snow, which he flung at Ron. His aim was not very good, but the other youth threw up his hands to cover his face. Harry seized the chance and Apparated away.

            He appeared behind the bar of the Three Broomsticks, exactly what he was hoping for. A quick glance around confirmed his suspicion – the small pub was at the epicenter of the attack. The bartender, Madame Rosmerta, was cowering behind the bar herself, a trio of frightened patrons beside her. The large windows on the street side of the establishment had been blown in, covering the room in broken glass and debris. Outside, dark figures swirled about on broomsticks, letting off spells with their wands. Many tables in the room were overturned, and a group of third years were taking shelter behind the thick oak of the front door, their faces white with terror. In the far corner, with her back against an overturned table, was Pansy. She was hugging her knees, but she had her wand pulled out, and her eyes danced nervously around.

            Harry felt relief wash over him – she was safe. It had been less than two minutes since the time the alarms had sounded, but he had been gripped with a sense of terror that he had been too late. He wasted no more time but placed both of his palms on top of the bar and vaulted over. He crossed the room quickly, but was only halfway across it when a bolt of green energy flew in through the gaping hole that was once the front of the building. Harry dove under the nearest table and rolled around so that he was facing the oncoming attackers, his wand drawn.

            But none came. The shadow of several flying figures passed in front of the establishment. Harry gave Pansy another glance, and then crossed the intervening distance in a burst of speed. He slammed into the ground by her side, taking shelter behind the tabletop.

            "Pansy!" He called out through his heavy breathing. "Are you okay?"

            Pansy nodded, seeming incapable of speech.

            "We've got to get out of here," he hissed. He stole a glance around the corner of the tabletop. His entire plan had succeeded masterfully up to this point – the place where he made sure she was okay – but promptly ran out of gas. Where, exactly, could they go? Pansy could not Apparate, and even if she could, the others would still be stranded. On an impulse, he looked over at the nearest wall, and his heart sank. The fireplace inset in the wall, which normally roared with a great fire, had been obliterated by a powerful spell. There was no fireplace left at all – just a large gash in the brick. Lying on the ground nearby, however, was a large bag of Floo powder. It had been tipped over, and much of the precious resources poured out, but there was still plenty left to transport a dozen people.

            "Madame Rosmerta!" he shouted out, waiting for a response. "Rosmerta!"

            "What?" came the panicked reply.

            "Is there another fireplace in here? In the back maybe?"

            "Upstairs!" she called back.

            "Is it linked up to the Floo Network?" he yelled, hoping fervently.

            There was a pause. "YES!"

            Harry darted from behind the tabletop and raced toward the bag of Floo Powder. He had half expected a rain of killing curses to chase him to it, but none came. He scooped up the bag and then stepped into the gaping hole that had been a fireplace the day before. The stairwell was only a few strides from his present location. Cautiously, he peered around the corner, gauging the scene outside. He could still see Deatheaters swooping in the distance, but not appeared to be bothering with their present location. It was only a matter of time until the enemy decided to clean this place out, he knew.

            "Rosmerta!"

            "What?"

            "I'm going to go and make sure the top floor is clear!" he shouted back. "If it is, I'll come back for you all!"

            "Okay!"

            "Pansy!" he hissed, beckoning to the terrified Slytherin. "Pansy!"

            Pansy turned to regard him with wide eyes. Slowly, she shook her head.

            "Come on!" he said. He pointed his wand in the direction of the open store front. "I'll cover you!"

            The pale-faced girl stared blankly for another moment, then nodded. She did not, however, move.

            "Quickly!"

            Pansy repositioned herself into a crouching stance, and then sprang toward Harry. He took his eyes off of her and watched the storefront, the tip of his wand twitching anxiously. She slammed into the wall next to him, and then latched on to his arm in fear. Harry kept his eyes ahead, toward the looming Deatheaters, and then stepped away from the wall, toward the staircase. He seized Pansy by the shoulder, and pulled her out of the hole, keeping his body between her and danger. Without averting his eyes, he shoved her into the staircase, and only then did he turn to follow her.

            At the base of the stairs, he ceased her wrist with his left hand, and led her upstairs. His right hand held his wand, and remained pointed outward. "Okay, we're gonna send you back to Hogwarts, and then I'll go back for the others, got it?"

            "Yeah…"

            "Keep your wand out."

            At the top of the stairs, they found themselves in a narrow corridor, with a pair of closed doors lining each side. The air was almost perfectly still, and the only sound to be heard was the faint remainder of whatever trickled into the building from outside. A small amount of gray light filtered in through a broken window at the far end. Taking a deep breath, Harry released Pansy's wrist and turned the doorknob closest to them, stepping inside the room as quickly and quietly as he was able. He let out an uneasy breath when he saw that there were no Deatheaters inside. Unfortunately, nor was there a fireplace. He stepped back into the hallway, shutting the door silently behind him. He approached the second door, this one on his left side, and slipped through it. This room was but a small closet, with a couple of old jackets hanging in it. He frowned, closing the door again.

            Harry glanced back down the stairwell, listened for the sound of footsteps. Hearing and seeing nothing, he took Pansy's wrist again, and began a slow march across the narrow corridor. Every other step, he whipped his head around to make sure that no one was sneaking up on them. A large explosion sounded from outside, causing them both to jump. Harry tried to relax, but his heart was pounding heavily in his chest. The broken window in front of them troubled him – it seemed likely that someone had forced entry into the building.

            After what seemed like an hour, they arrived at the far end of the corridor. A waft of frosty air was pouring in through the broken window. The cold air felt refreshing against his skin, and he realized that he was sweating profusely. There were two doors there, one on each side. He locked eyes with Pansy, and then flitted his gaze back toward the stairwell. A perplexed look flashed across her pale face in response. She was shaking badly. Harry frowned, seized her right arm, and pointed her wand arm in the direction from which they had come. She nodded her comprehension this time.

            Harry's heart continued to pound painfully inside his chest as he faced the door on his right. He used his left sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow, then turned the handle and stole inside. He was at once bathed in orange light – against the far wall, a fire blazed brightly. He looked around the room frantically, but sighed in relief when he saw that it was empty. He reached out into the hall and pulled Pansy in behind him. With heavy steps they strode purposefully and quickly across the room. Harry wasted no time in pulling out a wand of Floo powder and throwing it into the fireplace. The orange flames hissed loudly and burned green.

            "Okay, Pansy," he breathed. "Go."

            "Come with me," she managed. She was shivering uncontrollably.

            "I can't. I have to go back downstairs and get the others out."

            Pansy looked on the verge of tears.

            Harry put his hand tenderly on her shoulder. "I'll be fine. Just make sure you're okay, and then I won't worry. All you have to do is step into the flames, and say the word Hogwarts'. Okay?"

            "Expelliarmus!"

            Harry whirled around in horror as he saw both of their wands fly from their hands and in the direction of the door they had just entered from. He followed their trajectory as they flew across the room and fell at the feet of a dark figure standing in the door frame. He cursed himself silently – he should have checked the fourth door before trying to send Pansy away. He had been in such a hurry to get her to safety… But there was no time to think about that now. She had put on a little weight, and seemed healthier than the last time he saw her, but he recognized her at once. Bellatrix Lestrange was the sort of woman who demanded one's full attention.

            Harry's blood boiled with rage, clouding his thoughts. Before him stood the most hated of Deatheaters, perhaps the most vile creature in the world, aside from her master. Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured Neville's parents, Harry knew, but more than that she had taken the life of Sirius Black. Harry's hatred for her was a palpable force, and he was not surprised to find that his empty fists were shaking.

            "What a sweet moment," the Deatheater mocked, her voice thick with sarcasm.

            Harry's terror was suspended with a rash of lucid thought. Fight or Flight. Harry gave the fire behind him a furtive glance. The flames still burned a bright shade of green. His previous encounter with this lethal witch told him that he could expect a couple of minutes' worth of grandstanding before she killed them.

            "Don't worry about me, baby. I'll be fine. You go on and I'll handle the nasty Deatheaters all by my lonesome," the witch droned on.

            "Oh god… Bellatrix…" Pansy wailed.

            Harry took his eyes from his opponent long enough to steal a look at his companion. If she had scared before, it was nothing compared to the look in her eyes at that moment. He took a cautious step forward, so that he was almost between the two women.

            Bellatrix laughed out loud -- a horrible, rasping sound. Her wand vibrated a little bit in the action, but remained firmly rooted in her long fingers, and pointed at Harry's heart. "Look at this, will you?" she cackled. "He's trying to save her life! What on earth…" Her voice trailed off suddenly, and she looked between then wonderingly. "Oh no… Don't tell me… The two of you – together?! Oh, Pansy, what would your parents think!" She laughed so hardly that she threw her head back in convulsions.

            Harry seized his moment. He stiff armed Pansy roughly in her shoulder, sending the surprised girl hurtling into the green flames. She was not long in regaining her wits, because at the sound of the word "Hogwarts" her body disappeared. His right arm lapsed back to his side, staying in full sight of the wary death eater, but creeping around ever so slightly to his backside.

            Bellatrix eyed Harry bemusedly, taking another step in. He knew that he would never make it to the fireplace in time to avoid her spell. "You twit!" she spat. "Obviously, I wasn't going to kill her. Although, her parents might, after they hear about this…"

            Harry's mind raced furiously. Was she implying that she knew the Parkinsons? Did that make them-

            "You didn't know…" Bellatrix breathed, realization dawning. She was laughing again. "You… were dating her, and you… didn't know that her parents… were in the Dark Lord's employ?"

            Harry could only stare back blankly.

            "Oh, this is too priceless… wait until the others hear about this," she cackled, her voice cruel and nasty. "You stupid, filthy half-blood… You're too dumb to live any longer."

            Harry took a step back, as if in terror. Somehow, he did not find the emotion hard to simulate. He knew that every foot he could put between them would give him another split second when she invariably cast the killing curse in his direction.

            "Not another step!" Bellatrix hissed, gesturing with the wand threateningly. "Make no mistake, child, I will enjoy this. I suffered dearly after our last meeting. Although, I imagine I will regain my Lord's favor when I finally put this troublesome nuisance to his death."

            Harry stiffened, readying himself.

            "As I recall, I owe you a lesson in manners…" She growled, her insane eyes dancing with the orange firelight.

            Harry readied himself. There would be no torture this time, no toying with the prey. Bellatrix Lestrange was going to kill him. Unbidden, the words of a previous DADA professor floated into his mind: "There's no countercurse; there's no blocking it."

            Bellatrix's eyes widened as she raised her wand. She jabbed it violently in his direction, screaming those fateful words: "AVADA KEDAVRA".

            Harry threw himself at the ground at the last possible instant. The flash of green light that issued from her wandtip passed narrowly over his head as he fell to the side. Even as he fell, his arm disappeared behind his back to where his second wand was stowed. In a lightning quick motion, he pulled out the weapon and fired a powerful concussive curse back at his attacker.

            Later, Harry would think about Nemo's advice in the Hospital wing earlier that week. If Nemo had seen that spell, he would have been pleased. It was the most potent spell that Harry had ever cast in his young life, and it slammed into Bellatrix Lestrange's chest with a force he would not have imagined possible. She rocketed backward, and slammed powerfully into wall behind her. The wall, taking the force of her impact as well as some of the original spell, gave way and the Deatheater was flung out into the street.

            Harry did not waste his precious time. "Acthio-". Confused, her wiped his nose and was startled to see his arm bloodied by the action. His nose was spouting blood, likely the result of its proximity to the lethal green light. He tried again. "Accio Wands!" He snatched both of the projectiles from the air, pocketing Pansy's and brandishing his own.

            He dropped into a crouching position, the better to avoid any spells that came back in from the hole in the wall. He had knocked Nemo out cold with a pair of those spells before, but somehow he knew he would not be so lucky with this Deatheater. He scowled angrily. He calculated his position carefully; he knew that a stunning spell would likely never reach the Witch – she'd shown the ability to deflect those in their last encounter. Another concussive curse? He did not doubt that she would shield herself from that. He frowned grimly. While his counterattack had saved his life and battered her severely, it left them in a dicey position. She was outside, he was inside, and a giant hole was the point of intersection for their realities. He could either race over to the wall and fire down, or else wait until –

            It happened within a heartbeat. He had been training his eyes on the gap in the wall when it was suddenly filled with the body of one supremely angry Deatheater. A green energy pulsed out from her wand tip in his direction. He twisted bodily around it, sprawling out on his backside on the ground. He was dimly aware of the gash opening in his left leg by the spell scant inches away from it. A second pulse of green energy appeared, crawling by at a terribly slow, definite pace from his wand tip to the woman now landing on the floor of the room. He watched as the killing curse hit home, right between her wide eyes. A terrible slit tore up her forehead in an unmistakable lightning pattern, and she fell back… back… and out of sight.

            The words were ringing his ears; the terrible words to the King Unforgivable Curse. That single, damning phrase rung in his ears… in his own voice. He could scarcely breathe. He gaped at the awful stillness in the room for a moment before his wits returned to him. He was still in a battle – while one enemy had been taken down, and permanently, there were still many Deatheaters in the vicinity. He got to his feet, shakily at first, but he quickly regained sure footing. He scampered over to the hole in the wall and peered down.

            He dodged his head back inside as another green jet fired up at him. Down below, the lifeless body of Bellatrix Lestrange lay sprawled out on the ground. A pool of blood spread out from the wound on her head, spreading out beneath her body in a scarlet halo. Next to her, of course, had been another Deatheater, and he had greeted Harry in the most predictable manner.

            Harry thought quickly. He disappeared through the open door to his side, again lowering his body as low as he could while remaining on his feet. He quickly assured that the hallway was secure, and then popped up in front of the window. With lightning speed, Harry fired a pair of stunning spells down at the Deatheater from the new vantage point. He thought grimly that the stunt should not have worked, but apparently this Deatheater was not nearly as formidable (or as bright) as the last had been – Harry's twin spells raked across his body. Unconscious, the evil wizard toppled over next to the corpse of Bellatrix Lestrange.

            Harry glanced furtively around the narrow alleyway between the Three Broomsticks and the next store over. Nothing moved. He listened for a second, trying to pick out the sounds of the raging Deatheater battle, but he could not pick any up. Frowning with determination, he ducked back into the hallway. He quickly checked to see that the last room was uninhabited, and then stole down the stairwell at the far end.

            When he appeared on the ground floor, he was greeted by an unwelcome sight. The previous occupants of the room had vanished, and all that remained was a pair of dark figures. Harry turned around and stole inside the shelter of the stairwell, but not before he was spotted. His mind whirled in his panic. He formulated a hasty plan, to steal back upstairs, and-

            "HARRY!"

            He paused, breathing hard. His brows furrowed in concentration.

            "Harry Potter?" The voice called again.

            Harry's heart pounded in his chest. "Who are you?" he shouted back hoarsely.

            "It's me! Kingsley Shacklebolt!"
            Harry sighed in relief, but remained rooted to the spot. He kept his wands out, one pointed up the stairs and the other in the direction of the man's voice. "Who's that with you?"

            "Tonks!"

            "Wotcher, Harry!" came a familiar female voice.

            Harry's heart raced. "How do I know it's you? I mean,  really you!"

            There was a moment's pause. "Well, I already said Wotcher," the woman exclaimed, sounding discouraged. "That's my tagline."

            It did sound like Nymphadora Tonks.

            "Wait… I've got it…" the man called. "How's this: Maria Edgecomb is a nasty little sneak." He pronounced each word plainly and loudly. "Was that the little brat's name? Mary, maybe?"

            Harry laughed in spite of himself. He slowly stepped out from his hiding place and into the room. "It's Marietta," he said out loud. "But I got the idea."

            "Marietta!" the tall black man exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "That's it!"

            "Where is everyone, Shacklebolt?" Harry asked curtly.

            The Auror nodded understandingly. "All safely evacuated. We've regained control of the village. We got here as soon as we could, and chased the Deatheaters off as quickly as we could. This was one of the last places we got to. Where's the girl?"

            Harry blinked uncomprehendingly. He had been so caught up in the moment that he had forgotten all about Pansy. "I got her safely out of here through a Floo Network upstairs," he answered, jerking his thumb behind him. "She should be back at Hogwarts now."

            Shacklebolt nodded.

            "Good work, Harry," Tonks said, sounding impressed.

            Shacklbolt. "We'd better have a look upstairs. We're pretty sure the area is clear, but the intelligence says Bellatrix Lestrange was around this building. We'd better make sure," he said. He did not looked pleased at the prospect.

            Harry's stomach plummeted.

            "Yes, I think you're right," Tonks said morosely. "Let's have a look-see, shall we?"

            Harry felt the energy draining out of his limbs. "Yeah… she was here-"

            Another Auror appeared suddenly in his line of vision, standing in the open front of the establishment. "Shacklebolt! Come quickly!"

            Harry recognized the man, now gesturing frantically with his right arm, as Dawlish, another Auror from the Ministry. Harry had a pretty good idea what he was so excited about. He followed the Aurors out the front of the building, and – sure enough – around to the side, into the narrow alleyway.

            "Blimey…" Shacklebolt breathed.

            In the middle of the alley lay two bodies; one breathing faintly, the other clearly not. The packed snow over the cold ground had turned into a swirling mush of crimson and pink. The area was littered with scraps of wood and debris from the wall. Harry could not tear his attention from the lifeless, surprised eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange.

            "I reckon one of 'em, likely her, came through that new picture window up there," Dawlish was saying, indicating the hole in the wall. And then, somebody must have zapped her with something powerful… I say, look at that cut on her head!"

            Harry's stomach lurched powerfully, and before he knew it, he was on his knees, combining his lunch with the incarnadine slush. Strong arms pulled him from the ground, and he was dimly aware of being carried inside. Minutes passed, and he found himself sitting in a chair inside the cold pub. A loud clunk drew his attention, and looked up to see that a flagon of butterbeer had been set before him.

            "I don't think Rosie will mind," Shacklebolt said quietly. "Drink up, it'll make you feel better."

            Harry gazed nauseously as the flagon but did not touch it.

            Mercifully, the Auror did not press the issue. "Harry," he whispered urgently. "Listen to me. I need you to be totally honest with me."

            Harry nodded weakly but said nothing.

            "Harry, did you kill Bellatrix Lestrange?"

            Harry glanced at the other man, but his eyes were not focusing properly.

            "Harry, did you-"      

            "Yeah, yeah I did," Harry cut him off. He felt he would be sick again.

            Shacklebolt gave a low whistle. "Wow," he breathed.

            Harry wanted to tell him to shut up and go away. He wanted to tell him that it was nothing to be proud of, that it felt perfectly horrible. The words did not come to him, so he opted instead to sag against the chair.

            "Harry, listen to me," the man went on in a very pressing voice. "If anyone else asks you, it is imperative that you lie to them. Okay? You did not kill her. You simply put her through the wall with some sort of-"

            "Concussive Jinx," Harry supplied.

            "Precisely. If anyone asks, that's all you did. And then you watched as I ran down the alleyway and killed Bellatrix Lestrange, and stunned her counterpart. You got all of that?"
            Harry was feeling a little better. "Yeah…"

            "Good. Now, you need to get back to school, okay? As quickly as possible. Go straight to Dumbledore and tell him everything, including this conversation. Tell no one else!" Shacklebolt instructed him.

            "Okay…"

            "Do I need to help you the fireplace upstairs?"

            "No," Harry replied. "I can… Apparate. I'll go to the outside gates of Hogwarts and walk in from there. Is anybody watching?"

            Shacklebolt looked around. "No, you're clear. Get out of here."

            Harry straightened himself up in the seat, and concentrated on the task at hand. Shortly later, he collapsed on the ground in front of the great Gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Once again, he had forgotten to align his body into a standing position, but he did not care. He merely sat on the rough, gravel road and cried, heedless of the stone boars watching over him. He was not sure how long he had been there, but when his wits returned to him, he was shivering violently from the cold. He regained his feet, and marched hurriedly to the entrance to the great castle. He marveled at the strength left in his limbs; recrudescent energy flowed though his veins. He was not happy, but he felt a grim determination in his actions, and from that he drew strength.

            He entered the castle doors and was immediately accosted by Professor McGonagall. She looked somewhat frazzled, her hair thrown askew, her eyes narrowed and dangerous. He suspected that she had gotten into the fray back in Hogsmeade.

            "Harry!" she practically screamed. "Thank goodness! We feared the worst…"

            "I need to see Dumbledore," he said quietly but plainly.

            "He's rather busy with important tasks right now-"

            "This is important," Harry breathed, eyeing her significantly.

            She was taken aback for a moment, but then nodded. "Come with me." She led him to Dumbledore's office, and personally escorted him through the password-encoded entrance and up the stairs. They paused at the threshold to his office.

            The Headmaster was not alone, which Harry found hardly surprising. He was engaged in low conversations with Professors Nemo, Flitwick and Snape. The last member of the party Harry recognized at once – Remus Lupin. The four men were all on their feet, crowded around the desk where Dumbledore sat. Behind them, Fawkes the Phoenix sat in taciturn observance. The walls were littered with dozens of paintings – the predecessors to the current Headmaster at the school. All were watching the proceedings with great interest.

            "Headmaster," McGonagall called out.

            The five men ceased their discussion at once, and turned in their direction.

            "Harry," the old man said quietly. "I'm glad you're here."

            Professor McGonagall turned and left the room without a further word.

            Harry nodded seriously, and headed over to the desk at which they were all congregated. "I have something to tell you, sir," he said, his voice coming out stronger than he would have anticipated.

            Dumbledore immediately conjured a comfy chair for Harry directly in front of the desk.

            Harry plopped into the seat, and chose his words carefully. "What I have to say is not for general knowledge…" He cast a dirty look at Snape.

            Dumbledore frowned. "Harry, Professor Snape is a trusted confidant of mine, in professional matters as in all others."

            Harry continued to glare at his former instructor. "That may be," he said after a moment. "But I cannot… will not say this in front of him." HE thought about offering to leave, and take his story with him, but held his tongue.

            The Headmaster frowned more severely. "Professor Snape, if you would not mind…" Dumbledore looked at his Potions Master with a delicate expression.

            Snape scowled at Harry. "Of course…" he hissed. "I have much to attend to, anyway."

            Harry listened to Snape's footsteps as they carried him out of the room. After he had gone, he locked his eyes on Dumbledore's expectantly. The other men present leaned in.

            "Mr.  Potter, I have already spoken with Mr. Weasley and Mz. Parkinson at length. You will be pleased to know that they all made it safely back to the school," Dumbledore told him. "She spoke rather highly of your actions, but your housemate was not as charitable."

            Harry nodded understandingly. "No doubt."

            "As such, I suppose you can start with the moment you shoved Mz. Parkinson into the Floo network."

            Harry readjusted himself in the chair. He gauged the faces of his observers; Nemo and Flitwick watching with curiosity, Lupin's face lined with concern, and Dumbledore giving him the usual poker face. "Well, the official version goes like this: She ranted at me for a few minutes-"

            "You mean Bellatrix Lestrange?" Nemo asked suddenly.

            "Yeah, her," Harry said heavily. "She ranted at me for a few minutes, and then she performed the Killing Curse."
            Lupin gasped, and Nemo's eyes widened. Dumbledore remained as impassive as ever.

            "So, I dropped to the ground. She must have been close to hitting me, because it gave me a nasty nosebleed. Anyway, I pulled out my wand – my second wand, that is, the one she didn't expect me to be carrying -- and hit her with a concussive curse, which put her through the outside wall of the building. I… picked up the two wands she had dropped, one of mine and the other Pansy's, and then…" Harry stopped, chuckling. "Like a fool, I ran over to hole in the wall to see what had happened to her. And then Kingsley Shacklebolt came charging down the alleyway, and hit her with the Killing Curse, and stunned her partner."

            "I see," Dumbledore said gravely. "Which is reasonable."

            "Yeah? Isn't he going to be in trouble for using the Unforgivable Curse? I mean, haven't we just put his neck on the line, instead of…"

            Nemo shook his head. "Since the reappearance of the You-Know-Who, the Minister authorized the use of the Unforgivables, in a limited context, for the Aurors. I think a one-on-one battle with the most feared of Deatheaters would qualify."

            Harry began to understand.

            "How does the unofficial version go, Harry?" Lupin spoke up, his voice thick with emotion. "What actually happened?"

            Harry's face soured. "After I picked up the wands, I was sitting there, trying to think of what to do next, when she came flying back into the room through the same hole. She fired another Killing curse at me, which I dodged, and then… I fired back, and she… didn't dodge it. I-I didn't mean to… I don't know why I did it, really. I was pretty angry, of course, about…" Harry swallowed. "about Sirius, and I knew that I wouldn't get away with a stunner or a concussive jinx, so I… God, I didn't even think about. It just… came out of my mouth."

            Flitwick squeaked. Lupin and Nemo, who had been leaning in intently, stood back up, and exchanged a look.

            "Her eyes were so big…" Harry said faintly. "And she had, she had a scar… just like mine. But it wasn't a scar, it was a cut. She was bleeding so much…"

            "Go on, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly.

            Harry recovered his wits at the sound of the older man's voice. He shook his head, and did as requested. "Well, at this point, I did go have a look through the hole, and nearly got killed again, this time by her partner, who was waiting in the wings. I went over to another window and stunned him. Then I went downstairs, to help the others get out of there, and I found Shacklebolt and Tonks, and Dawlish… and we all went to look at the… body. And she… was just lying there, still st-staring up. At what? I don't know… And there was blood… everywhere…" He dropped his face into his laps, rubbing his eyes until they hurt. "I think… Shacklebolt took me back inside, and he told me I was wrong, you know? He told me what I actually saw, the part where… he killed her. And then he told me to come home, and here I am."

            The men in the room exchanged stern glances.

            "I killed her." Harry said quietly.

            "Harry, you have been through a terrible ordeal," Lupin was saying. "And-"

            Harry laughed out loud. "I killed her," he repeated, listening to the sound of his own words. He kept laughing. "And I'm not sorry I did."

            The silence that followed this pronouncement was grave, but Harry coated over it with his laughter.

            "She killed Sirius. Not because she had to, either… because she wanted to. Just for fun. It was…" He was giggling now, and could not seem to stop. "It was fun for her. So I… I killed her. I am a… killer."

            He looked up at the ashen face of Anton Nemo, then at the concerned look on Dumbledore's face, and then back to Nemo. He was still laughing, but he was no longer sure why. "You did it, professor! I graduated! I'm a killer now! Just like you always wanted…" His laughter faded, but he still convulsed physically with each new word. "I… am… a killer," he said. "Just… like… him."

            Harry buried his face in his hands, and bawled.