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: For those of you who thought Harry and Hermione were moving a little fast… don't forget that Harry tends to rush into things. Language note: puella cum magna vita means 'girl with great life'. Enjoy (please review)!

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Chapter 22: A Haunted Mind

Harry exited the front doors of the castle, stopping a moment on the top step. His eyes roved restlessly around the grounds. It was a bright day, but there were many puffy clouds in the sky, creating a sparkle effect of sunlight and shadow across the grass. It was a surreal image, and it fit his mood perfectly. He slowly descended the steps and turned to the right, and started moving around the base of the castle.

His steps were slow and measured, because he knew where he was going, but getting there was hard—not physically, but emotionally. Each foot forward was a conscious effort not to just give up and turn around, but he knew that he had to do this, as he did every year. It hadn't gotten any easier, which surprised him some, but he supposed that only extended periods of time could heal the deepest of wounds.

His fists were clenched unconsciously, and he didn't even notice the slight prickle of pain that was coming from his right palm. The thorns of the pale pink rose he was holding were biting into his skin, but he did not realize it. As he turned around the corner of the one of the turrets, the path gradually became less and less apparent; it indicated that this was a route seldom traveled, by anyone.

He could see his destination in the distance, the small plot of land, but averted his eyes away from the gray stones. He would not look at it until he was upon it, because otherwise it felt like he was walking directly into the past. If he could wait until he had to look… well, he wouldn't have to confront what had happened too much.

He walked into one of the shadows of a cloud, and a similar shadow passed over his mind. He did this every year because he knew he had to, but some part of him couldn't help but think it was unnecessarily morbid. He supposed it would be worse if he did it on Christmas, rather than on this day, but the thought offered little solace.

After another minute of walking, he came to rest by a plaque that was set into the ground. It was a flat piece of stone, flush with the grass, with a few simple words written on it: Speak softly amongst those passed to their next great adventure. It was simple calligraphy, carved into simple marble, but it had a profound meaning.

Harry stared at the words for as long as felt he could, and then willed his feet to move on beyond it. He still did not look up, though; his feet knew where to carry him. As he approached his destination, he could feel the beginnings of tears stinging at the back of his eyes. He wanted to reach up and force them away, because after all this time they shouldn't be coming anymore, but something told him not to. It would make it easier if he didn't.

His feet, the grass, and the bottom of a stone encompassed his vision when he came to rest again. He took a deep breath, and raised his head. The first tear, almost as if on cue, slid from one of his eyes. The fist with the rose clenched tighter as he read the words that had been forever etched into his mind:

In Memoriam

Ginevra Weasley Potter

August 11, 1981 – December 25, 1998

puella cum magna vita

He stood, reading the lines over and over, until his vision blurred too much from the tears to be able to. Still he stood, though, staring at the waving lines. The sun passed from behind a cloud at that moment, and the light gray of the headstone was lit up with warmth that Harry did not feel.

He went down on one knee, so that his face was close to the words inscribed there, and ran his hand slowly over the markings. His fingertips traced the dates, and he leaned his forehead against the top, above the first line. A tear dropped off his chin into the grass.

"Hello, Gin," he said, and his voice choked. It took a second for him to regain his composure. His voice was hoarse when he continued.

"I came out here to wish you a happy birthday," he said, and smiled through his pain. He sniffled once. "You would have been twenty-one today…we would have gone out into Muggle London and celebrated that coming of age."

Harry fell silent again. The only sound was the faint sigh of the breeze rustling the grass, and Harry absently listened to it for a little while. The tears were slowly going away. He leaned back and stood, still staring at the headstone.

"I brought you your present," he said, and raised him arm to lay the rose on the rounded top of the stone. The petals fluttered lightly in the breeze. He brought his hand away after another pause.

"I wish I could talk to you, Ginny. I wish you were still here," he said, staring at the rose. Then, though, he shook his head slowly. "I know I shouldn't do this to myself…but I can't help it."

He chuckled lightly to himself. "You would have told me it's fruitless to dwell on dreams, to rely on vagaries of perception."

Another silence descended. Harry turned halfway away from the stone. "I'll see you again…sometime." He turned away completely and began the lonely trek back to the entrance of the castle. He shoved his hands into his pockets as the sun passed behind another cloud.

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The shivering brought Harry back to the present. He rubbed is bare forearms, trying to warm them up, and cast a wary eye to the sky. For the middle of August, it was surprisingly chilly; it had been completely overcast since he'd gotten back to Hogwarts, which was only a few hours before.

He hadn't even realized it, but somehow he'd gotten from the main entrance of Hogwarts to that familiar plaque set in the ground. He stared at the words for only a brief second, and then raised his eyes and made his way into the small cemetery plot. A few more headstones had been placed since that day seven years before, but otherwise, it remained much the same as it had been, albeit overgrown a touch more.

He didn't look down to avoid eye contact with the headstone he was heading for, which was either a sign of him moving on, or perhaps something else. He focused on the words once he was close enough to read them, and they flitted over his brain like early morning mist would a river. He could recite them by memory, but their meaning had seemed to fade over time.

Time was a curious, in that respect. Give anything long enough…and the time seems to make it harder and harder to remember exactly how bad or good you felt. The memories…they all coalesced into a few key images or snippets of conversations, becoming little more than a personal scrapbook; one which quickly bore the yellow of age.

Time had served to lessen the impact of that horrible part of his life—those few months when absolutely everything went wrong—but it had made him forget exactly how it had felt and what it was like to crawl back out of that. He had been a stronger person when the constant reminder was there. It buffered him against the emotions raging against his internal dam, and slowly and surely, those waters calmed enough to be completely contained.

Contained was one thing, but forgotten was another, and as he knelt in front of Ginny's gravestone, he felt an inexplicable sense of betrayal…or perhaps a perceived disappointment on her part. That was impossible, of course, since he was looking at little more than a stone carved with some letters, but it represented her being to him.

As he laid the now ceremonial pale pink rose across the top of the stone, he realized that he didn't know what he was doing. He had come here today to honor her birthday, like he did every year, but it seemed like it meant less—or perhaps, more?—this year than it normally did.

Harry was twenty-nine years old. He held a coveted position at one of the most respected educational institutions—magical or Muggle—in the world, and he was Deputy to the most storied Headmaster in a millennium. He was also the most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth, to date; he could wield a 10-kilo sword with one hand like it was weightless; he could run 12 miles in under an hour. Harry could do all that, but he couldn't seem to get his life, his priorities, and what he thought he wanted straight.

As he took his hand away from the stem of the rose, he shivered again, and a raindrop splattered near the petals. He looked sourly at the low-hanging clouds, hoping that the rain would hold off for at least a few more minutes. There were just times when he didn't feel like doing magic, no matter how beneficial it might be, and now was one of those times. Being raised a Muggle probably did that—Harry had met many magical people who couldn't understand what would ever prevent him from doing magic, especially something like a drying charm, or Apparition even, so he didn't even try to explain it anymore. Sometimes…sometimes it was just simpler not to.

Harry stood slowly. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. He eventually closed it again, and just stood still as the rain started to come down a little more quickly. The drops were fat and cold; it seemed like an intense cold front was moving through.

He looked down at the ground. "I know I'm a little late this year, Gin." He looked back up. "Sorry for that; it couldn't be helped, though. I was in Sicily…unwinding, I guess."

He absently toed the ground with his the tip of his shoe. "It's only four days…it's not like I forgot or anything."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What? What do you want me to say? I don't regret it. I don't…and I won't." The rain started in hard then, and Harry had to brush some wet locks out of his eyes.

"Gin…what do want from me? I have to move on sometime…" and it was then that Harry's internal dialogue came to a crashing halt. He realized that he was conversing with a stone, but more than that, he realized that he had moved on from the pain long before, but not his feelings for Ginny.

Why else would he keep coming out here every year on—or around—her birthday, and sometimes on Christmas when he felt up to it? Why else did he feel the need to honor her memory with that rose, and why could he picture exactly how the words etched into the stone looked?

He knew why…and he had refused to see it before. But now, now he had gone and complicated things. He still wasn't exactly sure what was going on with Hermione, and if he'd even expressed what he really felt properly, but he was sure of one thing—his heart couldn't possibly hold that kind of love for two women. It would tear him apart, as it seemed like it was doing at this moment, to move along in a relationship with Hermione and be constantly reminded of how things had been with Ginny.

What he'd said to Hermione, that things had been easy with Ginny, was only partially true, and he'd seen that in the five weeks or so since. Yes, it had felt easy because they were almost expected to be together, but also because they really were easy. Ginny and him meshed together very well, almost like they could read each other's thoughts, and they had had very few difficulties in their relationship, even when her death had been imminent.

With Hermione, though…there was just so much of her life that he had missed, and she had missed the same of his, that they were back to square one. They had both changed dramatically in the ten years they'd been apart, and it was almost as if they were meeting for that first time on the Hogwarts Express again. Only…this time, Hermione wasn't coming in and bossing him around; this time, Hermione and him were potentially romantically involved.

Harry jumped as the sound of thunder rumbled through the sky, and realized that he was now soaked through. He must have been standing there for some time—the rose was sopping wet, and was barely recognizable anymore.

He furrowed his brows, and little rivulets changed their course to run down and drip off his nose. What was he doing? If he couldn't answer that question, did he have any business doing it? Could he do that to himself, or to Hermione?

Another rumble of thunder, much louder and more ominous this time, spurred him into motion, and turned and moved quickly back toward the castle. He didn't want to Apparate. The chilly rain was almost cleansing, in an ironic way, because it mirrored the way he felt at the moment. He felt cold, almost like he was drowning in his own confusion, and the rain was similar. If he wasn't careful, the deluge would eventually overwhelm him.

He took the steps three at a time, and was soon standing in the Entrance Hall, dripping water onto the stone floor. Resignedly, almost half-heartedly, he cast a drying charm over himself, and all of the water disappeared. He stood there, listening to the rain patter away on the castle, and decided that he had to talk with someone about it. He headed for the Grand Staircase.

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Dumbledore heard the door to his office open, and made for the exit of his private quarters. He wasn't really expecting anyone…unless it was Harry, Hermione, or Helen, as they had just arrived back in Britain earlier that day. He was curious to hear what Hermione had to say…and he wouldn't have to wait long, he saw, because she was the very person standing in his office.

She was just turning around to leave, assuming he wasn't there, when he came through the side door. She didn't see him and continued toward the office exit.

"Hermione, is there something I can do for you?" he asked, and she turned around. Dumbledore saw a weird look on her face—it almost seemed like triumph.

He took a seat at his desk as she did likewise in front of it, and waited for her to address whatever she wanted to talk about. He had actually expected her to return from Sicily shortly after she'd left, but when she didn't, he resigned himself to the fact that perhaps he had misread Harry and his feelings. Originally, he had thought that the wounds ran too deep for any kind of real consolation, but if she had been there for the entire time, which by the way she looked, she had been, it apparently had happened.

He was curious about the events that had lead to it, because he also knew that Helen resented Hermione, and that couldn't have faded so quickly. Helen was a fiery young woman, willing to protect those she loved—her father—with everything she had. Her mettle had only been truly tested once or twice, and each time Harry had been there to back her up. She didn't depend on him, exactly, but she did need him.

Dumbledore decided to get the ball rolling, since she wasn't saying anything. "Have you decided on what textbooks you want to use for this coming year, Hermione?"

"Yeah, actually, I was just looking over the textbooks from the last few years, and I don't really see any problems with them. No sense in making the students purchase new books if they don't need them."

"A good decision—and about your classroom?"

Hermione crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. Dumbledore could almost feel the satisfaction she was exuding, not only by her pose but also by the ease with which she was speaking and how relaxed her face was. It certainly was a vast change from the Hermione that had left his office five weeks earlier.

"I don't know…it doesn't really matter. As long as it's not in the dungeons, anything is fine. Minerva's old classroom would do."

"Alright. I presume you came here to talk about more than just next year's arrangements?" he asked her.

She averted her eyes—it was very quick—but Dumbledore read more in that small movement than he had been able to in her entire visit as of yet. She was worried about something; it was weighing on her mind, even if it didn't outwardly appear like it was.

"No, you're right, there are a few more things I'd like to talk about."

"Well, don't be bashful," he prompted, and gave her a small smile of encouragement. She returned it with that same lazy satisfaction, or whatever it was, but her eyes betrayed her again. They were not relaxed.

"Well, it's about…you know, Harry," she said with some difficulty, as if she couldn't reconcile talking to him about matters such as these.

"What about him?"

"What did you think would happen when I left here, Albus? Be honest with me."

"Hermione…I'm not sure why you're asking this of me."

"I need to know this because I'm not sure about something. So, tell me, please."

"Alright," Dumbledore drawled, prolonging the moment in order to find the appropriate words. "I wasn't expecting much. That's about as honest as I can be. You and Harry have a checkered past. At one point, you two shared the quintessential platonic friendship between a young man and lady, but at another, you were furthest from that."

"What did you think would happen?" she clarified.

Dumbledore made a helpless motion with his hand. He couldn't say exactly what he thought would have happened because he didn't know. It wasn't that easy.

"I'm not sure, Hermione. I don't know what you want me to tell you. I was reluctant to tell you where he was, because I thought it might have been detrimental to both of you. Do you find that is the case?"

"Detrimental? No. Confusing? Yes," she said, and sunk deeper into the chair. That same contentment was still stretched across her whole demeanor, which was contrasted with the tone of the conversation so far.

"Hermione…maybe it would help if you told me exactly what went on?" he asked, and noticed she immediately blushed at his words. That blush, on the face of a twenty-nine year old, told him more than any amount of words could.

Hermione cleared her throat and sat up a little. "Well…sparing the details…Harry and I reached an 'understanding', if you will."

"I think I get your meaning," he said, and he was very surprised. He was surprised that Harry had been able to get past the memory of Ginny. "What is so confusing about that?"

"Helen, for one," she said, simply. He nodded. He had anticipated that. He would have been even more surprised if Helen hadn't been difficult than he was at hearing about Hermione and Harry.

"Have you talked to her at all, Hermione?"

"I've tried to, and yes we have, but everything we talk about is pretty shallow…it's like we can't talk about what's really bothering us—except the first day I came back; we could then."

"What's changed since then? Surely you two are still the same people."

He noticed her forehead crease a little, which was the first sign, beside her eyes, that there were things bothering her.

"Yes, we are…I don't think it was us, exactly, that has changed. More…the dynamic of the relationship between Harry and I."

"And hence," Dumbledore continued her line of thought, "Harry and Helen." He watched as the crease deepened.

"Do you think that's why she won't talk to me? She thinks I've affected their relationship in some way?"

Dumbledore fought the urge to roll his eyes at her. She was falling into the same trap that she had before—she was seeing everyone else's problems, but not her own. She had to learn to think outside of the box, and to think for herself a little more, especially when it came to more personal and emotional matters, rather than intellectual ones.

"Haven't you, though? And didn't you?" He watched her forehead crease again, but this time in confusion. "What I mean is," he added, "that you did affect their relationship, before. So…of course Helen thinks you will again."

"But I haven't!" she protested.

Dumbledore shrugged. "Hermione, I have no idea what specifically went on in Sicily, but I can imagine that if something did happen between you and Harry, it caused him to spend less time with his daughter and more with you."

She seemed to get angry at that statement. "Shouldn't he, though? She can't keep him wrapped around her finger for the rest of her life…she's an adult, now. She has to branch out on her own sometime. Harry needs to find something to love in life…" she trailed off, blushing at what she'd said.

"But he has, Hermione. He loves Helen—"

"—but she—"

"—and Ginny, too," he finished, overriding her interruption. Her mouth closed with an audible click of teeth hitting teeth.

"He needs to move on sometime, Albus," she said after a moment.

"Of course he does, and he has, as far as anyone can tell. That's not the point, Hermione, and I'm surprised that you don't see what I'm trying to say here."

"Then, please, elaborate," she said, waving her hand for him to continue.

He was tempted to pinch the bridge of his nose, to alleviate the strain he could feel building there, but he didn't want Hermione to think he was annoyed with her, because he wasn't. He just didn't understand how shortsighted young people could be. Perhaps it was the sixteen decades he'd lived, but he knew that with time, things usually bettered themselves. Also with time, those that drifted apart tended to forget each other, but that wasn't the case with Hermione and Harry. It seemed to be the opposite, really. It appeared as if there had always been something brewing there…

"He's afraid of change. He has not been overtly romantically involved with anyone since Ginny died, and he has had very few real friends since you and Mr. Weasley left. Things have been getting better since then, and they continued to do so; as more time passed, and he didn't change, the better they got. He's afraid of that being taken away—he's afraid to be the way he was." Dumbledore looked over his glasses at her. "As you should be."

"What?" she asked, sneering minutely.

"The three of you were so self-destructive that you couldn't see what was happening. You should be careful to make sure that does not happen again."

"It won't. No, it can't. We're not the same people."

"Ah yes, you are correct, but as people change, so do circumstances. Look, you don't have to take my advice on it, but I've lived for a very long time, Hermione. I've witnessed people do stupid things…pointless things, really, and then not be able explain why or how it happened afterward."

"Is that what you think, Albus? Harry and I can't explain what happened?"

Dumbledore lifted his hand slightly as if to say I do not have all the answers. "I have no idea if you can or not. That is between you and him. I'm simply saying that to make a mistake once is understandable, but to do so twice is just foolish. You're both smarter than that—if you talk about your problems and doubts openly, things should work out in the end."

"I…I don't know exactly why I came here today. But, I think I can see why now. Uh…thanks, Albus."

"No thanks needed," he said.

Hermione stood, nodded, to him, and turned to go. Halfway to the door, though, it opened, and in strolled Harry. His face was drawn and his eyes went immediately to Hermione when he came through the door. Dumbledore was surprised to see a slight grimace on his face, especially after the conversation he'd just had; Hermione must not have noticed, however, because she went up to him and said something quietly.

Dumbledore noted Harry's rigid posture and the lack of contact between the two, and he especially keyed in on the fact that Harry turned his head when Hermione tried to peck him on the lips, so it landed on his cheek. He couldn't see her face, but he could tell she was scrutinizing Harry closely. She soon walked past him and out of the office. Harry closed the door and moved to sit in front of the desk.

"My door is revolving today, it seems," he addressed Harry, with a smile. Harry did not return it.

"So it appears," he said.

"How was Sicily, Harry?"

"Warm…sunny…sandy…you know, the usual. I enjoy it more every year, especially when I come back to this kind of weather," he said, motioning toward the window, which showed the rain in all its glory.

"Yes, this weather is most unusual for August. I would expect this of October…but what can you do? It will pass soon—it's been like this for a week already."

"Really? Hmm…" Harry said. "Well…anyways, Sicily was good, except…I'm not sure what happened there."

Dumbledore glanced at the door. It really was revolving today. "How so?"

"Well, since Hermione was just in here, I'm sure you have at least some idea of what I'm talking about," Harry said, with a resigned sigh.

"Perhaps…but I think it would be better to hear it from you yourself."

"It's…why do things you think you've gotten over come back up years later? Why can't you get past them?" Harry leaned forward, placing his elbows on his thighs, and his chin in his hands.

"Harry…do you remember what I told you about my wife?" Harry nodded slowly. "In cases like that…like with Ginny…it may not be possible to ever be completely over what happened. I know that I will carry that image with me the rest of my life, however long that may be.

"I've accepted it, however. I know that I should have done things differently, and I learned from my mistakes. I don't think I've ever been arrogant, at least consciously, since that day. I think that's what you need to do…learn from what happened. Don't make the same errors twice."

Harry considered his words for a moment, dropping his eyes to the floor. Dumbledore could see the muscles working in his jaw. Harry looked back up at him.

"I have…and that's the problem. I have learned from what happened. I learned that sometimes, no matter how much you care or how much you try, bad things can inevitably happen."

"That's a fairly fatalistic view of things, Harry."

"It's the truth, Albus. Do you think I wanted what happened to happen? Do you think I wanted to watch my wife slowly die? Was I sitting there cheering Ron and Hermione on when they ostracized me?"

"I think you're forgetting something, Harry," Dumbledore said, carefully. "There was ample time to try to fix things."

"Yeah…no, you're right; I know there was. It was the apathy that did me in. That's not what I meant…I was saying that sometimes things just seem to go beyond control. Even if I had intervened at the very beginning, would it have changed anything? Ginny still would have gotten sick; Ron probably still would have blamed me, because apparently that had been festering since Bellatrix killed Arthur and Molly…Hermione would have followed him again. Would the outcome have been any different?"

"I seem to remember a discussion we had long ago, Harry, that I think you may be hitting on."

"Oh?"

"Do you believe in Fate?" Dumbledore asked.

"Err…not really," Harry answered.

"So…that outcome you were talking about, if there's no such thing as Fate, wouldn't the smallest of alternate choices have affected it? If Fate doesn't exist, then there's no reason why that should have ended the same way."

"I think I remember talking about this…and I remember you saying that our choices determine our fate," Harry responded.

"Ah, but Harry, you are confusing Fate with fate, which is merely the direction your life proceeds in. Fate, in the classical sense, suggests predestination—your path is set before you."

"Well, then this is exactly what I'm talking about!" Harry said, with sudden vehemence. "My path isn't set before me, and sometimes I think it would be easier if it was. I…I went out to Ginny's grave today, and I realized that I have no idea what I'm doing anymore."

"As in?" Dumbledore queried.

"Like…what have I accomplished in the past ten years? What have I done to better myself, or change my situation? I'm still Harry bloody Potter…I still work at Hogwarts, and I'm still single."

"You know…I told Hermione that she has to start thinking outside of the box, and I think that you may have to as well. You've accomplished more than you could ever know, Harry.

"You've become far and away the most skilled and powerful wizard in history; you've made headway in new areas of magic that were purely theoretical or even imaginative ten years ago. You have your health, and your sanity.

"You've touched the lives of hundreds of students with your kindness, openness, and wit, and you have passed onto them your knowledge of defense. You've ensured, or at least helped, their safety from threat.

"And what's wrong with being Harry Potter? You aren't some martyr—you're not dead, are you? You're a hero, Harry, whether you like or not, and although people respect you for what you did, they respect you more for your humbleness. You're quick to pass the recognition onto those who you feel are more deserving, when in reality it was in fact you who stopped Voldemort.

"You also have a beautiful, brilliant, and driven daughter, who loves you very much, and looks up to you not only as a father, but as a teacher, a role model, and a brother. If you hadn't entered her life…who knows what would have become of her? Certainly nothing good.

"So," Dumbledore took a breath, "before you so quickly announce that you've accomplished nothing, look at it from someone else's perspective. Whether you believe it or not, Harry, you've changed the world we all live in, and for the better."

Neither man said anything for a moment; Harry inhaling slowly and deeply then broke the silence. Dumbledore met the emerald eyes with his blue gaze.

"Alright…I'm sorry…I said that without really thinking." Harry snorted to himself, as if he'd found what he said funny.

"What?" Dumbledore asked.

"Oh, nothing…I guess I tend to do a lot of things without really thinking," he said, and voice became quite serious by the end.

"Like…" Dumbledore prompted.

"…like Hermione and I," Harry finished for him, and dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Since you…well, since you both brought it up, I feel comfortable talking to you about what Hermione said. You both seem to have doubts; or rather, she seems to worry that you have doubts. I don't think she herself had any."

"She's right to worry…because I do."

"If you don't mind me asking, why?" Dumbledore pushed.

"I said something to her, while we were in Sicily, that seemed to make sense at the time…but when I was out there today, standing in the rain at Ginny's gravestone…I couldn't understand where it came from.

"I said that being with Ginny was easy." Harry scowled. "In some respects, it's true. We were easy together. I don't like what I was implying, though. I think I was implying that I was with Ginny because it was easier than being with Hermione, for everyone."

"Why don't you like that?" Dumbledore kept asking the questions, and Harry kept answering them. He was finally getting the young man to talk, and he wasn't going to try and stop him.

"Because it trivializes what I had with Ginny! That family we built…her, Helen, and I…that wasn't easy! That was real. I loved Ginny, I was truly happy when I was with her." Harry passed the back of his hand over his face, wiping an errant and seemingly annoying tear away from his eyes.

"Yes, you were, and anyone could see that. I think it goes back to what we were talking about, Harry." Harry raised an eyebrow. "Your choices set your path before you; making choices is an innate and instinctual part of human nature—it's what makes us human. We have the power to consciously choose where we want to go and what we want to do…or whom we want to be with."

"I never consciously chose, though! I didn't even know that I felt anything for Hermione like that!" Harry demanded.

"Didn't know…or wouldn't accept it?" Dumbledore came back.

"Damn it, I just don't know…that's why this is so hard. I feel like…I feel like I'd be betraying the memory of Ginny if I did anything."

"Would you feel that way if you had a relationship with Hermione, or with anyone?"

Dumbledore could see the wheels in Harry's brain working, and presumed he was thinking over the few failed relationships he'd had since Ginny's death. Yes…Dumbledore was at least aware of them. Very little went on in Hogwarts that he did not know about.

Harry sighed again, and dropped his head tiredly. "With anyone, I guess." He sounded very acquiescent. "That's probably why none of them have worked out."

"And what do you think Ginny would have said to that?"

Dumbledore caught the small, humorous smile that broke across his lips. "She would probably tell me not to be so thick," he said, and then looked back up at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore nodded. "The disappointment doesn't lie with Ginny, Harry…it lies with you. You perceive some sort of regret on her part, when that's not possible. She's moved on…you have the right to choose to move on with your own life."

"But…" Harry started.

"But," Dumbledore interrupted, "that doesn't mean you should forget all that's happened. As I told Hermione, only a fool makes the same mistakes twice. Don't stop living, but don't forget."

Harry put his face in hands and clenched his hair rather violently in his fists. Dumbledore heard him sniff. His voice came muffled and slightly raspy when he spoke again.

"I just can't get the image of Ginny sitting in the armchair in my suite with Helen in arms out of my head. They were both sleeping…it was what I wanted." Harry sniffed again, and raised his head. There were no tears, but his eyes were shining.

"And a 'happily ever after' was what I wanted with my wife, Harry. Sadly, though…it didn't happen. It took a long time, but I moved on, and so will you. It just has to be proved to you that you're ready…and Hermione might be the person to do that."

"Aren't you kind of practicing a double standard, though? If you moved on…why did you never remarry, or anything like that?"

"Harry…I was nearly 100 when my wife was killed…I was well past my prime. I didn't need another relationship like that. You, on the other hand…you're not even thirty yet. If you live to be as old as me, you still have a hundred and thirty years left. That's a long time to be alone."

"Alright, alright…I think I just need to cool it for a little while, and figure out what I want to do. There's no question that Hermione and I have something, but I'm not sure what it is at the moment." He stood to go.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, catching his attention. "Please, just remember one thing."

"Mm?" Harry intoned.

"Don't push people away; don't close yourself off. Come to me, go to Helen, or Hermione—especially her—if you want to talk."

"Yeah," he said, and turned away. "Thanks, Albus," he added, and the Headmaster was once again alone.

----------

Harry tried to clear his head as he descended through the castle. Dumbledore had put a lot on his plate, and it would take him days to digest it all. The last thing he needed at the moment was to see Hermione, because he didn't know how he would act around her. He decided to try to avoid her for a little, and set himself on the path to Helen's new suite. It had been given to her because she was now a Professor, and Harry was curious how similar it was to his and other's he had seen.

He cupped his hands in front of his face and blew on them—something he'd never had to do in August before—to get the blood flowing, and quickened his pace. As he rounded the corner of the hallway where her suite was, he heard amused laughter. It grew louder, and then Helen came out through one of the portraits…but she wasn't alone.

It took a second for Harry to figure out who it was, but then it occurred to him that it was Paul, who had been a longtime friend of his daughter while she was at Hogwarts. He was fairly tall, around six feet or perhaps a little more, and had wavy, dirty blond hair. He was good looking and well built, and talked and moved with a natural grace.

Harry narrowed his eyes for a second, as only a father can, when he noticed that Helen's arm was intertwined with Paul's, and that she was leaning on him somewhat. They hadn't seen him yet, and something told him to hang back in the shadows of one of the corners. He watched as they walked toward him, talking jovially and laughing about something. Paul turned his head and left a kiss on Helen's forehead, and they turned down a corridor that led to the stairs.

Harry stood there for a moment, taking it all in, before he moved to follow them. He wasn't sure what to make of it—nothing had indicated to him that Helen had ever been interested in the boy. It's not like he really had a problem with it, but he wanted to make sure that she was doing what was right for her, and that she was careful about…things.

He stood at the first floor landing, watching as Helen said goodbye to Paul at the door to the castle. They talked for a moment longer, and then Paul leaned in to kiss her on the lips. Harry averted his eyes, uncomfortable with watching the passion that was clearly there, and it wasn't until he heard the door close that he looked back. Helen was slowly ascending the stairs, looking off into space, with a slight smile playing on her lips.

Harry cleared his throat, and she immediately stopped and looked up at him. He crossed his arms, trying to show his…displeasure…in his posture.

"Oh, hey Dad," she said, and continued up the stairs. She was about to move past him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Hey yourself," he said, and turned to her. "So…what's going on?"

She gave him a funny look. "Uh…what?"

"What was that, just now?"

She narrowed her eyes. "How long were you standing here for?"

"Long enough," he said, and he noticed a slight flash in her eyes, denoting anger.

"Whatever," she shrugged, and continued walking past him. He stood there for a moment, confused at her sudden coldness, and then followed her.

"Helen, wait."

She stopped, but did not turn. Her straight brown hair swung lightly with the momentum. He came to stand beside her again.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I'd appreciate it if I had a little privacy every now and then." She looked at him. "I'm a big girl, Dad. I can take care of myself."

Harry held up his hands in a defensive posture. "Whoa, whoa…I never said you couldn't. I'm just…I worry about you a little, all right? I just want you to be careful."

"Aren't I always?" she demanded.

Harry placed his hands on her shoulders. "Helen…don't get so defensive. I'm your father—it's my job to worry sometimes."

Her face seemed to soften slightly. "I know…I need to get on with my life, though. I won't always be your little girl, Dad."

The words struck Harry like a physical blow, but he did not outwardly show that he was affected. "I know that," he answered, quietly.

"We'll always be there for each other," she added, "but I'm an adult now. I can make my own decisions."

Harry nodded his assent. "Just…don't rush into things. At least not like I do."

"What do you mean? Who said I was rushing into things?" she asked.

"No one…you and Paul did look a little cozy, though," he said, and then immediately knew he might have said too much. She shrugged his hands off her shoulders.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she raised her voice to ask.

"Nothing, Helen—"

"No! Are you…do you think that Paul and I are doing anything?"

Harry backed up one step. Helen's wrath was not something he really wanted to incur; besides, he didn't know where it had come from so suddenly.

"I—"

She cut him off again, though. "And even if we were, that's really none of your business!"

Now, wait just a minute… "Helen…I'm not really sure that it isn't at least my business to make sure that you're taking care of yourself."

She threw up her hands in consternation. "So you think I can't? I can't look out for my own well-being?"

"No, damn it! That's not what I'm saying. All that I mean is that I was young once, and I know how confusing things can be…just make sure it's what you want, all right?"

"Well, thank you very much, but like I said, I know what I want and I can take care of myself," she yelled at him, but there was a slight, almost indistinguishable waver in her voice toward the end. Before Harry had a chance to speak again, though, she had whirled and was walking quickly away from him. He stood there, very bewildered. He hadn't meant to upset her, or cause her to get angry, but apparently something about the subject they had been talking about had.

His thoughts were cut off, though, because just then Hermione came from the corner that Helen had disappeared around. She was looking behind her, with perplexity showing on her face. When she noticed Harry standing there, she directed it toward him. Harry stood there, resigned to whatever was coming. It seemed like today he couldn't catch a break. He was tempted to just Apparate to his bed, but he didn't. That would be rude, not to mention inappropriate, and he was more mature than that.

"What's wrong with Helen?" Hermione asked, once she'd come to stand by him.

Harry shrugged. "I don't really know…"

"Were you just talking to her?"

"Yeah, I was," he answered.

"Oh…well she was crying, when I passed her," Hermione said.

Harry pursed his lips. He felt like a complete ass now, not only because he had made her do that, but also because he wasn't exactly sure what had offended her so much.

"I…oh," he finally just said.

Hermione looked closely at him. "What were you two talking about?" she asked.

"I don't know if I really want to talk about it right now, Mione," he said, and started to walk past her.

"If you're going to call me that, Harry, you can't just walk away," she said, with quiet determination in her voice. Harry hung his head for a moment.

"Look, I'm sorry…I just need some time," he said.

Hermione moved up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Time for what?"

"For a lot of things," he said. His face was turned away from her, and she reached up with her other hand, turning it toward her. He saw compassion in her eyes.

"What were you and Helen talking about?" she asked again. He eventually just decided to tell her. It's not like it could hurt anything.

"We had a bit of an argument about…well, it was about her boyfriend, I guess, but it was really about sex," he said.

Something like understanding came into her eyes. "What did you say? That she can't have it?"

"No!" Harry said. "I wouldn't do that. I just said that she should be smart about it…you know, not move too fast." Hermione's eyebrows furrowed at the end of his statement, but it was only a passing look.

"So she doesn't like you meddling?"

"She's never had a problem with my 'meddling', as you call it, before. I'm not sure why she got so upset this time…"

They both fell silent. Harry was trying to figure out exactly what he'd said, and he presumed that Hermione was working something out in her head.

"You know, Harry…did you ever think that this could have something to do with what happened to her?"

Harry's eyes widened. How could he have forgotten that? Of course…he was so stupid! It was a sore subject with her because she probably still felt insecure about it, because of what happened…and she felt like she had no one to turn to. Granted, Harry might not have been the best person to talk about her deeply personal issues with, but he was there for her if she needed it.

"No, that never occurred to me…but it should have. Do you think she's trying to compensate for that?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'compensate', but I think that experience may have something to do with it. She might be trying to prove something to herself."

"Yeah, that's what I meant," he said.

"Harry…do you want me to try and talk to her?" she asked. Harry looked at her. That might not be the best of ideas, especially considering whatever was between Helen and Hermione hadn't quite settled yet.

"I don't know, Mione."

"You think I shouldn't?"

"Do you think you and her are really ready for that yet?" he asked her, choosing to be blunt about it.

Hermione shrugged. "I think it will be good for both of us," she said.

Harry was silent for a few more seconds. He wasn't sure that he wanted her to go to Helen, and possibly make things worse, but he didn't think that Helen would want to see him just now. He finally just nodded.

"Alright, I guess it can't hurt too much."

"Ok," she said, and leaned in to kiss him. Harry turned his head slightly, so that the kiss landed half on the corner of his lips and half on his cheek.

"That's the second time you've done that today, Harry!" she said, putting her hands on her hips.

Harry looked at the floor. "I know…"

"What's wrong with me?" she demanded.

His eyes snapped back hers. "Nothing, Mione! It's me, ok? I just need some time to think about things…is that alright with you?"

"Why the sudden change of heart?" she asked, softer.

Harry shook his head. "Don't take it like that, please. You know that is not what I meant. Just give me a little while to sort out myself…in Sicily, it was easy to get lost in the moment, but now that we're back here, with so much to remind us of what happened, it's a little harder."

"Do you regret it, Harry?"

Were all women so stubborn and hopeless? "Hermione, I said don't take it like that. I promise you…what I said in Sicily is still true."

She hesitated, and then said, "Alright…well, I'll go see about Helen."

Harry nodded. "I'll see you later?" Hermione inclined her head, squeezed Harry's shoulder once, and then turned in the direction she had come from. After her footfalls had faded, the only thing Harry could hear was the staccato beat of the rain.

----------

Hermione stood outside of the portrait to Helen's suite with her fist poised to knock. She was worried that Harry was backing out of whatever was going on between them, but he had assured that he just needed some time and space. She was annoyed that he was being a touch hypocritical, because he was the one who'd said that dwelling on the past was something they shouldn't do, but she wasn't altogether that upset. As long as he was able to open up eventually, she could wait for him to sort out whatever the problem was. She took a deep breath, readying herself, and rapped her knuckles against the painting.

No sound came at first, and she began to question whether or not Helen was in fact there, but she then heard a muffled, "Who is it?"

"It's Hermione, Helen," she called out clearly. Helen didn't respond right away, and Hermione began to worry that Helen would just ignore her. The portrait began to slide away, though, and Helen was standing there, looking at her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Uh…can we talk?" Hermione asked. She was hoping that Helen would at least let her into the suite.

Helen sighed and stepped aside. "I suppose…come in and sit down." The suite looked much like Harry's did, except that the orientation was reversed. Hermione chose a comfortable chair; Helen sat opposite her on the couch.

"So, how are things?" Hermione asked.

Helen rolled her eyes. "Oh, they're wonderful…enough of the formalities, please. Why are you really here?"

Hermione did have to admire the directness with which Helen approached most things. She certainly didn't beat around the bush.

"Harry's worried about you, Helen."

"So he sent you to check up on me?" she asked. There was an uncharacteristic sneer in her voice.

"No…no, he didn't. I asked him if I could come talk to you."

"About what?"

"About what's bothering you, Helen."

"So you're now the expert on all things Helen?"

Hermione sighed. "No, look, you have to work with me a little bit here. You can't just assume that everyone is out to get you, you know."

"Well, excuse me if I think I know what's best for myself!"

"Do you?" Hermione queried. "Do you really? Or are you just blinding yourself to the fact that you're scared and confused?"

"Scared and confused?" Helen's face was growing a little red. "How can you presume to know how and what I'm feeling? You don't know anything about me! You've only been back for six weeks," she yelled. "And already, you've got your claws into Harry!"

"Whoa, wait a minute…this is not about Harry and I, Helen…this is about you. And you're right, I may not know much about you, but I do know one thing."

"Oh? And what is that?" Helen asked, sarcastically.

"You have horrors in your past that few can imagine."

Helen's eyes narrowed. "What…how do you know about my past?"

Hermione didn't say a word for a moment. Had Harry never told her that he'd shown the memory of the night of the Orphanage to herself, Ron, and Ginny? If not…then that would complicate things.

"Did Harry tell you what happened?" she asked, as if she was unable to believe her father would do such a thing.

"Yes—"

"WHAT!"

"—but," Hermione went on, "not recently. It was when you first came to Hogwarts."

"And that's supposed to make it better?" she asked. Her voice was cold and unrelenting. Hermione had to set things straight—she didn't need to be the one to turn Helen against Harry. That would not be good, for anyone.

"Helen…it was more my doing, than his." She thought back to that day, and hazily remembered demanding to know why Harry would do such a thing as become her guardian. "I couldn't understand why you were with Harry, so he did the only thing he thought he could to make me understand. He used his Pensieve."

Helen seemed to deflate a little. "Oh…why are we even talking about this? It's really none of your business."

"I'm just trying to help," Hermione answered.

"Well, I don't think I need your help."

"Helen, you can't deny that what happened is affecting you."

"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT IT!" Helen suddenly yelled, and stood. She began to pace around the room.

"I know that it's still bothering you," Hermione said, calmly. Helen mumbled something under her breath. "What?"

"I said," she ground out, "that it would still be bothering you, too,"

"I'm not saying that it wouldn't be, but it doesn't hurt to talk to people about it."

Helen stopped her pacing and looked like she was about to say something, but ultimately shook her head. "I can't have this conversation with you, Hermione, not right now. I think it would just be best if you left me alone."

"Are you sure—"

"Yes," Helen cut her off, "I'm sure. Go…go do whatever it is you've been doing with my Dad," she said, with sarcastic contempt coloring her voice.

Hermione rose slowly from the chair. "Someday, Helen, we're going to have to get past our differences. We'll be working with each other, after all."

"It's not going to be today," Helen said, and turned her back. Hermione stared at her for a moment, and then turned to leave. That hadn't exactly gone as well as she'd wanted it to. She stood for a moment in the empty corridor, and then made her way to her classroom. She had some work she had to get done.