Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 7: Truths

Harry found himself sitting in the Great Hall Friday morning, trying to ignore the looks he knew people were sending him and feeling the nervous energy that was buzzing through the air. He concentrated on his food, avoiding even the eyes of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who still weren't quite sure what happened the night before. There was a titter of birds and a flutter of a multitude of wings, and Harry looked up. The Owl Post had arrived and the owls were bringing in the mail.

Harry had been dreading this moment, because he knew that most of the students subscribed to the Daily Prophet, including himself, and he was sure that there would be some article in there about him. At least one reporter had been at Hogwarts the night before to record what him and Dumbledore had to say. A few currier owls swooped low onto their table, and those who read the paper reached for one. They tipped the owner and off they flew. Ron's face confirmed what Harry had feared.

"Harry…" Ron said.

"Is it that bad?" he asked. Ron only nodded his head.

Harry unrolled his own paper and stared at the huge, bold headline:

BOY-WHO-LIVED SHOWS TRUE POWER; KILLS 30 DEATH EATERS SINGLE-HANDEDLY

Harry Potter, in an impressive display of power, ends the search for the rest of the Death Eaters

By: George Deacon

HOGWARTSThe Boy-Who-Lived proved why he was able to end You-Know-Who's reign last weekend. Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter were explaining to the students and faculty of Hogwarts, as well as members of the press, what occurred in the Dark Fortress last Saturday when Mr. Potter ran quite unexpectedly from the Great Hall. He had been giving a rousing speech about how his generation could live on and prosper now that the threat to them was gone, but that was interrupted with his quick exit. He gave no explanation and no pretense—he just left.

Upon arriving outside, it was quite clear that something terrible was happening. A large group of Death Eaters, which later was confirmed as the last remaining force of the You-Know-Who, was doing something awful to an innocent soul. How did Mr. Potter know that it was happening? How did the Death Eaters get so close to Hogwarts? These questions may never be answered, but one thing is for sure: don't mess with the Boy-Who-Lived.

When he saw what they were doing, he went into a rage and shouted something that sounded like, "NOO!" Shortly thereafter, all thirty Death Eaters dropped dead, unmoving. Mr. Potter rushed to the aid of the fallen one, and Apparated away (this is supposed to be impossible inside the grounds of Hogwarts). It was later confirmed that he had taken the injured one to the school's Infirmary, where renowned Healer Madam Pomfrey is sure to be taking care of him (or her).

Further investigation into the events outside led to the discovery of the cause of death of each of the Death Eaters—their hearts had exploded within their chests, causing instant death. The thing that puzzles everyone is what Mr. Potter did exactly? There was no outward display of power, except a faint red ring, and there is no spell on record that causes the hearts of thirty men to blow up. A colleague thought he noticed a blackness surrounding Potter, but it was night out. Everyone was surrounded by blackness.

Whatever the case may be, once again we all owe our lives and safety to the 17-year-old wizard. Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were unavailable for comment, but rest easy knowing that the staff here at the Daily Prophet will continue to monitor this story closely. This reporter is just glad the Boy-Who-Lived fights for the Light, for he would be a formidable enemy.

For a full story about the fall of Voldemort, see page 2.

Harry didn't lift his eyes when he was done reading the paper. It was still in his hands long after his eyes had finished their back-and-forth movement, but those eyes acquired a distant look. Harry was silently reflecting on himself, with a bitterness that was growing by the second. How could he have done those things—those terrible, ungodly things that he'd done to those Death Eaters?

Sure, they had done terrible, ungodly things to kids and who knows who else, but did that make him any better than them? Dumbledore's comforting words of a few nights before provided little solace at this point, because the words of the article had stung him somewhere deep inside his fractured soul—a soul that he wasn't even aware that it was in pieces. How could he have done those things to Bellatrix, knowing that he despised her very being because she had done the same things to countless others?

The unguarded fear on her face was the image that kept coming back to Harry. It had been just before he'd turned his wand into the flaming knife. She had nearly wet herself with the terror, and it had been because of him. The terror wasn't rooted in any sort of just punishment; no, he was harming her because it brought him pleasure. It brought him pleasure. The thought sickened him, and his face grimaced into a look of utter self-loathing. He had no idea how he'd lived with himself for so long, but he didn't want to anymore. He had tortured someone and had enjoyed it without a second thought. Even if it was Bellatrix Lestrange, who had tried to kill and maim many of his friends and himself, he couldn't bring himself to accept what he'd done as justifiable. It just wasn't right.

Harry had always considered himself a righteous and dependable person, but now that he looked at himself in this new light—he had blown up the hearts of thirty men without a second thought—he couldn't hold that consideration any longer. He hated himself and what he'd become, but most of all, he hated Voldemort because he'd forced him to become this new person.

Someone's voice startled him from his thoughts: "Harry?" It was Ginny. He finally looked up and noticed that she was looking intently at his face, which no doubt showed the bitter loathing he was feeling in all of its glory. He also noticed that Ron and Hermione were regarding him with guarded looks, and he thought he even saw some fear there. His peripheral vision told him that he was receiving the same look from many others around table and the hall.

He'd managed to alienate his two best friends and the rest of Hogwarts in one ill-fated and unplanned decision to save the innocent person on the ground, who just happened to be the not-so-innocent Draco Malfoy. Great. They all hate you now, a bitter voice inside his head said. And they should. After what you've done? Who wouldn't hate you, Potter. You killed thirty men. Like nothing. You took thirty lives with nothing more than a thought in that general direction. If life means so little to you now, they have every reason to be afraid of you. What if you got angry with one of them? For stepping in your way, or spilling a potion on you, or simply talking when you didn't want to hear their voice. Would you snap and kill them?

The voice was insistent and it was insipid. It ate away at his mind, sending horrendous visions and driving him over the edge. He stood abruptly from his place at the table and rushed from the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione stared after Harry, wondering what had happened to the once innocent Boy-Who-Lived. They had both taken lives during the war, but never with such callousness as Harry had displayed the previous night. Ginny stared after Harry, feeling a sudden and overwhelming desperation for Harry that she couldn't explain to herself and didn't want to try to. It seemed to her that something between her and Harry was ready to explode if they didn't nip it in the bud.

The doors slammed on themselves, adding a strange finality to Harry's exit, and it left everyone with their own thoughts. Harry rushed from the castle and out onto the grounds. He made his way toward the lake and flopped down on the edge. His mind, very reluctantly, carried him away from the sunny day to the night before…

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Harry gave one last look at the unconscious form lying in one of the beds of the Infirmary, and turned to leave the Ward. He hadn't seen Draco Malfoy since the night Malfoy failed to kill Dumbledore as he was ordered. He had a hard time believing that it was really the Slytherin Prince himself, but there was no doubting that pale blond hair and the white skin—Madam Pomfrey had confirmed that this person's magical signal was that of Draco Malfoy. Why had he come back at this point, though, and more importantly, why had the Death Eaters turned on him?

He started to walk away from the Infirmary with these thoughts weighing on his mind, but stopped when a low voice said, "Please come to my office, Harry." Harry was startled from his thoughts and noticed that Dumbledore had turned on his heel and was striding quickly in the direction of his office. The man's countenance was stiff and formed—far from the usual jovial gait he possessed.

He ran and caught up with him, but fell in by his side in silence when he glanced at the stony look on Dumbledore's face. They walked in this fashion, side-by-side and not speaking, all of the way into the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore went around his desk and sat in his chair, motioning for Harry to sit in an opposite one. He did so.

Silence ruled for a few moments as both men simply looked at each other. Harry's look was one of confusion while Dumbledore's was a cold mask.

"Explain yourself," Dumbledore said. There was no emotion in his voice.

"Sir?" Harry had no idea what Dumbledore wanted.

"You heard me."

"Albus, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU DID?" the Headmaster suddenly yelled. His eyes had gone a dangerous icy blue.

Harry recoiled from the sudden shouting and stammered out, "N-no…"

Dumbledore took a deep breath and appeared to calm himself. "Tell me, Harry, what do you know of what you did tonight? Regarding Mr. Malfoy, of course."

A small inkling of understanding dawned on Harry, but it did nothing to ease his troubled conscience. "They were torturing him—killing him. Death Eaters at Hogwarts? Do you really expect me do nothing? After what they've done? You've seen it yourself, sir; I hope you're not questioning what I've done."

Dumbledore shook his head slightly. "I thought you were smarter than this Harry. Did we not talk about how vengeance can consume? What you did tonight was fueled by nothing more than petty vengeance."

Harry exploded into his anger, which had been threatening for a while. "PETTY VENGEANCE? IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK THIS IS? THEY WERE GOING TO KILL AGAIN. I COULDN'T LET THEM—"

"KILL, HARRY? WHAT DID YOU DO? DID YOU NOT JUST KILL 30 PEOPLE WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT?" Albus roared back. Harry disregarded the fact that he'd never seen the Headmaster so angry.

"This is different, Albus," Harry seethed. "They are Death Eaters. They get off on violence and torture. They don't deserve to live."

"Back to this, are we?" Dumbledore asked, in an uncharacteristic show of sarcasm. "It is not up to you to decide the value of life, Harry. As I said earlier, there are certain instances where one can't be faulted for taking a life, but this Harry…this was too extreme."

Harry was silent for a moment, contemplating the words of his mentor. "Why all of the sudden, Albus? Why like this? What's different about this than what I showed you?"

"Nothing, Harry, and that's my point. You said you've only had the true to urge to kill twice, and you showed me both instances. However, it seems tonight a third instance has occurred."

"So what," Harry spat, unwilling to even think about mercy for Death Eaters.

"So what? SO WHAT? Harry, did you not look around at ALL or notice what was going on out there?"

"What are you talking about; of course I saw what was going on. They were going to kill Malfoy, and then laugh and have a party about it. Well, I'm sorry Albus, but I'm not gonna just sit back and watch those fuckers do that! It was them or him, and it certainly should and always will be them."

Dumbledore made a resigned noise and slumped a bit. "Harry, this isn't about whether they deserved it or not. Did you notice that you had ascended?"

"Mm…no, I guess not."

"And do you know why you didn't notice?"

"No. I always have before and it is a pretty distinct feeling."

"Well, from what I could see, the transformation or whatever you want to call it was instantaneous. One minute you were Harry Potter, the next minute you were Harry Killer."

Harry was silent, but gave Dumbledore a questioning look. The last thing that he'd said caught Harry off guard. "Harry Killer?" he asked slowly.

"Your aura was black, Harry. It was darker than the night. It looked like you were standing in the middle of a black hole…"

Harry was still silent, his thoughts returning to his feelings while he had watched the Death Eaters gleefully play with the battered body of Draco Malfoy. He had hated them with every bit of his being.

"I assume you want to know why I am so upset with you, Harry?" Harry nodded at the wise old man.

Dumbledore sighed. "I was afraid I was going to lose you."

"Lose me, Albus?"

"With powers like ours, there are certain consequences. A black aura signifies hate of the deepest kind, one that a soul cannot return from when finally engulfed in it. I was afraid I was going to lose you to that hate when I saw the aura…"

"If it was black like you said, why didn't you? If a soul can't return from it, why am I not a psychotic killer right now?" Harry had to ask that question, even if it was extremely morbid. His curiosity got the better of him.

"Because it wasn't all black, Harry. There was a tiny bit of red on the outside of it, but you were dangerously close to being engulfed by that raging hatred. I know that you have good reason for something close to that hatred, but you have to control yourself from now on. If that ever occurs again, I don't doubt that it will be all black. And then there'd be no stopping you, Harry. Not even I could counter you if you were in that hateful rage."

Harry shuddered. He had almost become exactly what he hated so much. Terrible visions slithered their way into his consciousness—him killing Snape because he got offended, him killing Ginny, him killing Ron and Hermione…Harry put his head in his hands. He couldn't stop himself—the tears were coming and try as he might they couldn't be held back. Slow, fat drops leaked out of his eyes when he realized what he'd become.

Dumbledore's anger and frustration melted away as it had done before when he saw the broken shell of teenager before him in all of his vulnerability. Harry was a damaged soul, and it was because he had been born into something that put the weight of the world on his shoulders from day one. It was a wonder that he hadn't snapped yet.

"I've decided that the extra training the students have been seeking won't happen as we had planned. I'm going to personally train only you this summer, Harry, so you can get a better grasp over what your capable of and over controlling that power within. Graduation is on a Friday this year, so the following Monday we will begin. That also brings me to another thing—do you have any plans for employment?"

Harry looked up, cheeks still wet from the tears that had managed to escape his eyes. He shook his head, not trusting his voice to not crack.

"Ah, well, I was wondering if you'd like to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher here at Hogwarts?"

Harry stared at the man. Not five minutes before, he had been more furious with him than Harry had ever seen, but now he was offering Harry a job. Harry shook his head and smirked a tiny bit—the world works in strange ways, he thought.

"I'd be honored, Albus. Thank you," he said, with great sincerity. He had never really thought about what he was going to do with his education before, but now that the perfect job had landed in his lap, he could be nothing but thankful.

"It is my pleasure; I'm sure you will make a wonderful teacher. Now, there are some other matters to discuss. How is Mr. Malfoy?"

"Madam Pomfrey said he was catatonic and that his heart and brain were slowly failing. She didn't think there was anything that could be done."

"What is the extent of the damage?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, she said that the extensive use of the Cruciatus had scarred his neural pathways, and that they couldn't be repaired by magical or Muggle means. There was also something else…she said it was a cursed called Infractum…that had considerably weakened his heart muscles. She said that damage was irreparable as well."

Dumbledore merely nodded his head, as if expecting something of the sort. "And what do you think of this?"

Harry shrugged. "There was never any love lost between him and I, but I do kind of pity the existence he was forced into. Being born a Malfoy basically sealed his fate that he would serve Voldemort, and there was little he could do besides signing his own death warrant that could have resisted that."

Dumbledore chuckled, and Harry eyed him. "What's so funny, old man?"

Dumbledore said, wryly, "Don't you find it ironic that you being born a Potter sealed your fate that you would fight Voldemort, and there was little you could do or probably wanted to do change that? You and Mr. Malfoy had more in common than you might think."

"I will never be like Draco Malfoy. Our lives may hold similarities, but our existences have been entirely separate. I would rather it that I was never compared to any Malfoy again, Albus. The name not only brings shame to the Wizarding World, but it also brings back memories of what they were capable of. I will never be like what Draco was."

"And why is that?"

"Because I chose to lead a life—"

"Harry, you can stop right there." Harry gave Dumbledore a questioning look. "Do you remember what I said to you long ago about 'choice', Harry? 'It is our choices, Harry, that show us who we truly are, far more than our abilities.' At every turn in your life, you could have chosen to disregard the responsibility that Fate gave you and lead a life outside of it. However, you chose to stay and fight in a battle that has been raging for more than twice your lifetime, and you chose to put yourself in harm's way."

It was Harry's turn to chuckle. Dumbledore, however, wasn't sure what so amusing in his little speech. He raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, Albus, I have just found my own little irony. Choice is such an integral part of life, yet it was Fate—something beyond choice—that ultimately decided what my purpose in life was going to be."

Dumbledore smiled at Harry. "You have just hit upon one of the most paradoxical problems of the world, Harry. Choice is eternally ours. It is a right that is given to all sentient beings, but humans more so than any other creature. It is your eternal right to decide your Fate with your choices." Dumbledore chuckled. "It keeps going around in a circle, but we will talk more about this later. For now, I just want you to know that your efforts are greatly appreciated and everyone, whether they be Muggle or magical, owes you a debt that they can't repay."

Harry waved his hand, dismissing it, "Voldemort was an insane maniac. He was so evil he didn't even realize how comical and stereotypical he was. He reveled in mayhem and had little death parties with his cronies. Honestly, now that he's gone, I can say that he reminds me of villains in Muggle comic books. He had no place in this world."

"Alright, now that you've downplayed the undying gratitude of a few billion people, are there any other questions you have?" the Headmaster asked Harry.

There were actually a few things that had been weighing on Harry's mind, but he hadn't had the time or the opportunity to ask Dumbledore about them.

"Actually, now that you mention, yes there are. Firstly, I just realized that we were Apparating insides Hogwarts' grounds during our duel. And also, last night I Apparated from the gates into the Infirmary. I thought—and Hermione would surely back me up on this—that it was supposed to be impossible."

The twinkle finally returned to the old man's blue eyes. "I lowered the anti-Apparition wards within the shields I put up. Since Voldemort has been defeated, they aren't completely necessary anymore. As for your little trick last night, I couldn't tell you how it happened. The wards were in place. It probably had something to do with the level of power you were exuding at the time."

Harry nodded. "Makes sense…ok, this next question has been bothering me for awhile now. When I…kissed Ginny," Harry blushed a bit, "the other day, I was in the altered state. She exhibited, um, an aura. I wasn't aware that she had the ability to do that."

"Well, Harry, one of the properties of this extension of your powers is that, with the tactile sense, another person can show the characteristics that you do. And if they are sharing a mutual feeling in the process, then that is magnified."

Harry had a dumbfounded look on his face. "Umm…could you try that again, in English? I have no idea that meant."

Dumbledore gave Harry a small smile and elaborated. "She was touching you during the kiss—obviously—so, because you were in your ascended form, some of the outward signs were temporarily transferred to her as well. And because she was sharing the same emotion at the time, which I assume was love, it was magnified."

"Oh, ok…but, are the auras supposed to be the same color for each person? My 'love' aura, or whatever, is green, like me eyes. Hers was red."

"It differs from person to person, most of the time."

"Most of the time?" Harry asked.

"There are two auras, that I know of, that are the same regardless of the person. You have already seen one of them."

"I have?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Black, Harry. Hatred is universal."

Harry, remembering the start of their conversation, decided not to ask more. Dumbledore continued, however. "The other one is white. There isn't a specific emotion tied to it, as it's more of a…purpose…that allows a person to attain it. Some very, very powerful attributes are associated with a white aura."

"Can we get it?"

"No, Harry, I'm afraid that it can't be willed into. From everything I've read, all instances of white auras have been stumbled upon, where something caused it outside of the wizard's or witch's intentions. However, we can train for it, if it should ever happen."

Harry had been given a lot to think about, but he still had one more nagging question. "Alright, before I go, there is one more thing. It has been bothering me for a few days now." Harry paused, as if thinking about how he wanted to word the question. "Why did you decide to check our wands that day in your office?"

"I was wondering when that question would come up, but I'm rather surprised that it wasn't Ms. Granger that ultimately asked it. The short answer, Harry, is that I was curious. I wanted to compare your methods to that of my own during my defeat of Grindelwald."

"Is that really the only reason, Albus?" Harry gave him a knowing look.

"You are too intuitive, it seems, for me to fool you. The other reason is that I wanted to see if the four of you had decided to use the Killing Curse or not." Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Dumbledore held up his hand to stop him. "That is a moot point at this juncture. Let's not worry about it."

Harry dipped his head in acquiescence, and stood to leave. Dumbledore addressed him. "Is that all, Harry?"

Harry stopped. "Actually, one more thing. I almost forgot. Could Helen visit Hogwarts this weekend?"

Dumbledore nodded and smiled openly for the first time since the start of their little meeting. "Of course! That's a wonderful idea. I'll arrange it with St. Mungo's at once. Saturday or Sunday?"

"Mmm…both days?" Harry couldn't help but be excited. Helen would love all of this.

"I suppose that can be managed. I'm sure she will be a very happy girl."

"Yes, I'm sure she will," Harry said, and turned to leave.

"Just remember, Harry, that I'm not truly angry with you. I was just afraid to lose you. Until the summer when we can train, you must keep yourself under control. I don't want any…accidents."

Harry nodded and continued on. He left Dumbledore's office with the Headmaster's final words ringing in his ears: I don't want any…accidents.

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Harry woke with a start. He had no idea where he was or what time it was. All he could see was blue; a vast, clear blue stretched out infinitely before him. He was aware of a gentle pressure on his chest and he could hear what sounded like water lapping gently onto a shore.

The realization hit him at once. He had fallen asleep on the shores of the lake after storming from Hogwarts. He lifted his head and saw that the pressure on his chest was a pale arm with some freckles. He turned his head and saw that at some point Ginny had come out to join him. She had lain down next to him and fallen asleep, curling up a bit and snuggling into Harry's side.

Harry couldn't help but smile a bit when he saw her peaceful face. Her eyes were gently moving behind her lids and her chest rose and fell slowly as the deep, measured breathing of sleep took her to her dreams. A few stray wisps of her hair had fallen over her face, resting on the cheek that was pointed toward the sky. Harry carefully turned his head and leaned in close, grazing her ruby lips with his. He felt a tiny tremor run through her body and heard a small sound, and she snuggled a little closer to Harry.

Harry openly smirked now. Ginny was too good for him. She was so beautiful, caring, and loving, and had stood by his side in the face of the unspeakable evil. He couldn't ask for more from her and was glad that she found him worthy of her love. He had known of her crush on him since his second year, but he hadn't known that it was so much more since about a year before. And the most surprising thing, to Harry, at least, was that he reciprocated those feelings just as strongly as she gave them. He loved Ginny Weasly.

He leaned in again and met her lips with his own in a full kiss, melting his passion into her as turned onto his side and pulled her closer to his body. She woke and tensed for a second, but quickly realized that Harry was kissing her. She met the previously one-sided kiss with just as much passion as Harry was giving, driving her lips against his and slightly parting them.

He didn't hesitate from this invitation and was soon lost in the wonders of his lover's mouth. His hands took a mind of their own and started to wander aimlessly over her clothes, gently gliding over the smooth surfaces and sending shimmers down her spine. He broke the kiss for a bit of air and looked into her eyes, smiling.

"Time to wake up," he joked.

"Ugh…why can't my alarm be that satisfying?" she asked him, and leaned back in for another kiss, which they both settled into again. His hands ended up on her lower back, gently pressing her into him. She had one of hers in his hair on the back of his head and the other was on a shoulder blade, adding more pressure, bringing their two bodies harder against each other. Harry's hand slowly moved lower and lower, until he had placed it gently onto the soft roundness of her behind.

Ginny broke the kiss and looked at Harry. "Sorry," he mumbled, and blushed, quickly withdrawing his hand from the wayward position. Ginny laced a finger over his lips.

"Don't be. It's ok," she said, and continued the kiss with a stronger passion than before. Harry hesitated for a moment, and then placed both hands on her rear, drawing her against him. She was kissing him with a fervor that he hadn't felt before, and he could sense his body responding. Because of their proximity, she felt it too, and made a small grunting noise into their kiss, moving against him slightly.

Harry felt like he was burning up. They had never done anything this forward before, but he found that he couldn't stop. It just felt so…right. One of his hands left her rear and moved around to the front, slipping between the folds of her robe and underneath her undershirt. The firm muscles of her flat stomach were just as hot as he was, and he felt goose bumps break out on her skin there as he lightly caressed it with his fingertips.

He moved from her lips and was kissing along her jaw, towards her ear, as his hand slowly moved up over her navel, gliding across the smooth skin. His lips slid down the side of her neck, gently applying pressure here and there, eliciting soft moans from Ginny. Her head was thrown back and her mouth was open slightly, and her back was arched, making Harry even more aware of his arousal as Ginny was wedged tightly against it. She didn't seem to mind, though, and appeared to be coaxing it as she slowly moved against it.

Harry's hand had reached as far as he would allow it to go, and so it stopped just before the modest swell of her breast. He resigned it to gently caressing the flesh near there, and focused on what his lips were doing to her neck. Ginny had other ideas however, as she disentangled a hand from his hair and moved over her robes to the hand that was beneath. Harry took that as a sign that he had gone to far, and tried to pull away, but Ginny pressed it against herself and trapped it against her skin. She wrapped her hand around his through her robes and slowly drew it up, gently guiding it to her breast. Once Harry got the idea, her hand went back to his hair and she moved her back down and met his lips in the most searing kiss he'd ever experienced.

The hand that was now moving of its own accord against her nipple and the pressure of her lips against his was a little too much for his mind, and he felt himself losing control. If he didn't stop now, he didn't know if would be able to at all. Using all of his will power, he pulled his hand from her shirt and pulled his head back, breathing hard. "Ginny…" he panted. She looked a little hurt.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked in a quiet voice.

He smoothed her striking hair and said, "No, of course not, you could never do anything wrong…it's just, I thought we were going to wait…you know, for something special. Do we really want to do this on the shore of the lake in full view of the castle?" he asked and turned red, realizing that they were, indeed, in view of several classrooms.

Ginny gave him a look so full of love and affection that it caught him off guard. "Why are you so good to me? I was ready to let it happen, but now I'm thinking that I lost my head. I love you…" she said, pecking him on the lips. Then she smiled mischievously and glanced down. With a small coughing noise, she said, "So, what are we doing to do about…that…"

"About…what?" Harry asked, but then realized a certain straining pressure on his slacks. His face turned scarlet and he mumbled incoherently. "…cold…water…" were the only two words that Ginny heard, and she watched bemusedly as he stood up and rushed, fully clothed, into the cold waters of the lake. She realized that she had her own arousal to deal with, but it wasn't as noticeable as Harry's…problem. She stood up, brushing her robes off, and then smoothing them.

She laughed openly at Harry as he waded from the lake, sopping wet and visibly shivering. It seemed to do the trick, because he was smirking at her. Once on shore, he dried and warmed himself with two quick charms.

"What time is it?" he asked her. They started walking back toward the castle, hand in hand.

"Only 10:30," she replied.

"Ah good, so we only missed one class. Oh well…I needed that," he said, giving a sly look to Ginny. She responded with a slight tinge to her cheeks but also a bright smile. He put his arm around her waist and she leaned into him, slowly exhaling. It was a warm, contented sound.

"What happened last night, Harry?" He was silent, so she continued. "What's the big deal with all of this?"

"Ginny…I'd rather not talk about it right now."

"Alright, Harry; I don't want us to get into another argument at the moment so we won't, but sometime you have to tell me what's been going on. It's going to kill you to keep all of this bottled inside."

Harry sighed. He'd suddenly realized that he desperately wanted to tell her, to get all of it off his back and let someone else know what he'd seen, but he couldn't bring himself to subject her to those images.

"I can't…" he started, but decided to bend a little at her growl of frustration. It was a low and guttural noise, and it sent a jolt of electricity through his body—must be left over from before, he mused. "Alright, maybe after this weekend."

"After this weekend? Why this weekend?" she asked, giving him a sideways look as they strolled into the Entrance Hall of the school. Everything was silent as they stopped in the middle of the expansive space.

"I think you'll understand come Monday. Just trust me, alright?" She nodded at his request, and leaned in for a quick kiss.

"I'll see you later, babe," she whispered, and turned to head to her second class of the day. He turned away from her retreating back and did likewise. Suddenly, he turned on his heels.

"Ginny!" he yelled. "Wait a minute!" She turned and met him in the middle of the lobby again.

"Want an encore?" she smirked, making Harry's cheeks turn a bit red again. He shook his head stupidly.

"There is something I wanted to tell you, though. Guess who's going to be your DADA teacher next year?"

She acquired a horrified look and said, "Err…Snape again?"

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. "No, no…he's going to stay on as Potions Professor."

"Well then, who is it?" she asked, growing impatient with his playfulness.

"Me," he stated. He enjoyed watching her face as it went from impatience to understanding to radiance.

"Harry, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you. That has to be a record—surely you'll be the youngest Professor, by far, that Hogwarts has ever seen. I'm sure Hermione could confirm that for you, but damn! That's awesome. So should I start calling you 'Professor Harry'?" she asked coyly, batting her eyelashes and pouting her lips at him.

"No!" he cried, in mock horror, and then smiled. "I think 'Sir' will suffice."

"Yes, sir," she whispered huskily, and then turned on her heel and headed away from him, leaving him standing there.

He pouted at her back and crossed his arms. "That's not fair, you know! I'll get you for that!"

"It's a date, Professor Potter…" she called, her voice fading as she rounded a corner. He grinned like a fool and turned toward his class that he was definitely late for now.

----------

Harry exited his final class of the day—Potions—and stood by the door as the rest of the seventh year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs filed out. Ron and Hermione were the last two out, but he didn't follow them as they headed out of the dungeons.

"Aren't you coming, Harry?" Ron called.

Harry shook his head. "I'll meet you guys at dinner," he called back. They nodded and turned slowly away from, immediately engaging in what looked like a heated conversation. Ron was gesticulating wildly; some of it was obviously aimed in Harry's direction. Harry watched them disappear up the stairs, and took a deep breath. He turned back to the door and pushed it open.

Snape looked up as Harry walked in, regarding him with a curious look. Potter had never come back into a Potions class for any reason, so it was a strange sight indeed. He had a troubled look on his face.

"Professor Snape, do you mind if I ask you a question?" Harry asked. He looked hesitant.

"You can call me Severus, Harry, and of course, go ahead."

The boy appeared to steel himself before speaking, but finally opened his mouth. "What is with the sudden change of heart? You've always hated my friends and I, and now you're being…well, nice. It's strange, and I can't figure it out."

Snape smirked, which was characteristic of him, but what was uncharacteristic was the lack of malice in it. "Well, there are a few reasons for that, Harry. Why don't you sit down," he replied as he motioned to a desk in the front row. Harry did so.

"You obviously know by now that I've been a double agent, spying on the Dark Lord while pretending to be a loyal servant by 'spying' on Dumbledore." Harry nodded. "The Dark Mark had certain…qualities that allowed Voldemort to spy on his servants. One of these was that, if he chose to, he could hear what we were saying.

"You know that I've always said that you took after your father and that you're a miscreant because of it, but in all honestly that is a lie. I said those things to keep my cover in case Voldemort happened to be listening at that moment. Your father and myself certainly weren't friends, as you no doubt remember from your little visit to my Pensieve, but I don't hold anything against him. I was as much to blame for our problems as he was.

"But anyways, the person who you more closely take after is your mother, Lily. Lily…Lily was a special person," Snape said, his voice becoming a bit distant. "She was probably my only true friend while I was here at Hogwarts, but that was also more my fault than anyone else's. I was a difficult person—my father had corrupted my views and it was hard for me, at the time, seeing purebloods, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns mixing so freely. I was distant and refused to associate with most people.

"Lily, however, was an angel of mercy, and sought me out. We quickly became friends and I wanted much more, but it was clear to me from the start that her heart was in another place—your father, of course. I never resented her or James for it, even though I have often said the opposite to keep my cover, but I do wish that I had been a different person then. Perhaps then things would have been different…" he trailed off.

Harry's voice was hoarse when he spoke up. "I never knew, Severus. What happened to make you turn to the Dark Lord in the first place?"

A pained look came over Snape's face, but he continued with his story. "Well, much from my own doing, I became more and more ostracized by the school. I secluded myself and studied the Dark Arts with books I'd brought from home, only coming up for air for classes, meals, and the occasional conversation with Lily. James, however, grew more and more jealous with every meeting that we had, and turned up with her one day.

"Him and I got into a huge fight, which led to us drawing wands and dueling each other. Lily was screaming at us to stop, but we were both blind; James was blind with jealousy and I was blind with rage. I ended up using one of the Dark curses that I had recently learned, which of course James had no idea how to counter. I realized with a growing horror what I'd done and reversed the curse, but the effect was instantaneous. James was so incredibly livid and frightened, even though he would never admit, that he sputtered incoherently for a few seconds and stormed off.

"Lily, however, looked at me with sad eyes." A single tear slipped from Snape's eyes, which Harry did not notice. His eyes were downcast and he was trying to hold back his own emotions. Hearing of his parent's so vividly always elicited a strong reaction from him.

"What did she do?" Harry asked, very quietly

"She started to quietly cry and told me that she could never look at me the same way again. She would always be my friend, but the dynamic had changed because of what I'd done. She looked absolutely miserable, which was exactly how I felt, and still do at times. Your mother was a cheery, fiery spirit, and she never let things get her down. To see her like that was to have a piece of your soul twisted in on itself until you couldn't stand it anymore.

"She turned away with some final words: 'I'm sorry, Severus, for everything. This is my fault.' I wanted to reach out and embrace her, to hold her close and tell her that it was my fault, that I was the one who had cursed James, to stroke her blazing red hair and beg for her forgiveness, but I couldn't do any of those things. I stood there, rooted to the ground, watching her leave my life forever.

"That night I went home and succumbed to my father's wishes, taking the Dark Mark and pledging my servitude. It is almost the greatest regret of my life, second only to letting Lily walk away that night." Tears were coursing down Snape's sallow face now, which would have given anyone else a heart attack had they seen it. When Harry looked up, however, he was not surprised in the least, because there were wet streaks on his own cheeks.

"You're a very lucky man, Harry," Snape said, violently wiping his face with the sleeve of his robes. Harry did not wipe his face. He didn't care about it enough to.

"What do you mean, Severus?"

"You have no idea what you have in Ginny Weasley. She is so much like your mother that I've had to catch myself from calling her Lily in class. She is feisty, approachable by almost anyone, and has that famous blazing red hair. The only difference is in the eyes, but I'm sure Lily would be proud of you, Harry."

Hearing this from the Professor he had always thought he hated hit a surprisingly strong chord in his soul. He burst into tears.

----------

Dumbledore was humming to himself as he strolled down toward the dungeons. His mind was anywhere but in Hogwarts—he was thinking about how delicious a Treacle Tart would be with some Whipped Whipping on the top of it. He salivated just thinking about it, and made a mental note to himself that he'd have to go to the kitchens later and sample that very dish.

Before he knew it, he was at the door of the Potions classroom. He had wondered why Severus wasn't at dinner, but presumed that he was busy with something. Curiosity got the best of him however, as it usually did, so he had made his way down here. He pushed open the door and stopped when the most unusual sight greeted his eyes.

Severus Snape and Harry Potter were sitting around the Professor's desk, empty plates in one corner, nursing what appeared to be a sizable bottle of rum. Both men had rather puffy eyes and had no doubt been crying. They were both so pissed they didn't notice the Headmaster's entrance. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled maddeningly.

"Accio rum," Dumbledore said, holding out his hand. The rum bottle flew to his hand, and both teacher and student looked to him, with something like drunken surprise on their faces.

"Oh! Just in time, Dumby! Come to join innnnthefunnnn?" Harry called out, looking slightly to the left of where Dumbledore was standing, and slurring his words magnificently.

"No, my boy, not tonight," he said, eyeing the liquor. "Ah, 1950…a fine year indeed!" he said, sending the alcohol back to the desk with a wave of his hand.

Severus spoke up. "Oi, Albie, wandless magickk, eh? That's a good show, old boy. I always liked those magicky tricks of yours." He giggled. Severus Snape giggled. That seemed to affect Harry, because he started giggling loudly as well, broken only by the occasional hiccup.

"Oh dear," Albus said to himself, "this is one for the record books. Severus Snape and Harry Potter got pissed and are now giggling at each other. I wish I had a diveo recorder, or whatever those Muggle things are. My Pensieve will do, I suppose." He smiled to himself. Then, to the two giggling men, he said, "Alright, I'll leave you two to your…ahem, I forgot what was funny. Have fun," he said and left. The giggling only increased in volume as he did so, and he could hear it all of the way down the hall.

Albus walked with a grin on his face. Things hadn't been so peaceful in a long time, and the only thing clouding his thoughts at the moment was how much Harry had changed. If what he just witnessed was any indication, though, perhaps all of that change wasn't a bad thing. Things are certainly looking up in this world of ours, aren't they, Albus? His thoughts carried all of the way back to his office.

----------

Two guards carried a crumpled figure in a black cloak past the security station into the minimum-security section of Azkaban Prison. Past this hallway was where the real prison began, as these cells were only used for offenses deemed petty enough to escape the cruelty and brutality of the inner wards. The condition was if they ever Apparated they would be sent to the darkest recesses of the prison. One of the guards stopped before passing out of the section.

"Why can't we just leave him here?" he whined. He was having a terrible day and he just wanted to go home. He didn't feel like carrying this…thing…all of the way to the deepest dungeon in the prison. He would much rather dump it off somewhere up here where it was light, dry, and still a bit warm.

"I don't know, we were told to bring him into the dungeons, past the anti-Apparition and anti-Animagi wards."

The first guard sighed heavily. "What does his file say?"

"Umm…" the second guard said, shuffling some papers around in his hand. "Ah, here it is. Name…that's weird. It was censored." He shrugged. "Crime…actually, most of this has been censored. Interesting…well wait, here's something. Condition: catatonic, will never recover or be lucid again." He looked up in confusion at the first guard. "Then why the hell are we bringing him way down there?"

"I don't know, but that's what I was trying to say. Let's just dump him in one of these cells and change the order to read that. I'm sick of this place today and I need to get home."

The second guard looked thoughtful for a moment, but then decided that it wouldn't hurt if they did it.

"I guess so. He is in a permanent coma, after all. What could it hurt?"

The first guard sighed, adjusting the man he was carrying. "Thank god. Let's just get this over with. Here, take my pen, and change the order." He handed his pen to the second guard and watched as he scribbled over the order and then wrote some fake initials as authorization. He got his pen back and then looked around.

"Which cell should we dump this poor sap in?" he asked.

The second guard did a quick check of his documents, and noticed that there were very few empty cells. What is the world coming to? So much crime and corruption…ugh, he thought to himself, as shuffled passed his falsified order. He was either too stupid or too tired to notice the irony.

"Looks like we have to bring him back up the hall. The closest empty cell is, um, 008."

The first guard readjusted his load, and started toward the cell. The man he was carrying smelled faintly of…mold, yeah, that was it, and also something…reptilian. He smelled like dungeons and snakes. Wonder where this bloke came from?

The second guard fumbled with his keys and he was getting impatient. "Come on, hurry the hell up, just open the door."

"Alright, alright, calm down. Jesus. If I didn't know any better I'd think you had a hot date tonight."

The first guard winced. "Fuck you."

The obscenity was met with chuckles. "Whoa, easy there, fella. Just because you screwed up your marriage, doesn't mean you can take it out on others."

"Yeah, yeah, just open the damn door."

The door creaked open and the second guard smirked. "See, nothing to get your knickers in a twist about. Just drop him in there and lets be off."

The first guard went and leaned the dark-robed figure against the wall on the bed, and hesitated, as if unsure how to leave him. The second guard said, "Just leave him; he's in a coma, he wouldn't know a bed from a brick." With a shrug, the first guard exited and watched as the second guard closed and locked the cell. They turned and left.

Inside the cell, the figure slowly slipped over onto his side, landing on the bed with a soft noise. The motion had thrown the hood off of his head, though. His legs were at an awkward angle, because his body had slipped, but that is not what a person would notice if they had come into the room. The first thing they would notice would surely be the cold, red slits that substituted for eyes and the pale skin, almost a dirty white. The red eyes glittered unseeingly in the dim light of the cell.

Somewhere in the world, as if called by an unseen force, a large and deathly beautiful snake started to make its way toward Azkaban Prison.