Finally reaching Dumbledore's office, Harry couldn't remember the password for the gargoyle that McGonagall had used. What had it been again? He stood there for a moment and thought. Something short. But he couldn't quite remember.

Just then, though, he heard a rumbling and the staircase emerged. There was a sweeping rustle and Dumbledore came down.

"Oh," he said, "Harry."

"Sir, I think we need to talk some more."

"Hmm, yes, I see," said Dumbledore. "Let's go up to the office."

Dumbledore led the way up. The entry stairs closed behind them.

"Just a moment please, Harry. I must get this message off if I can't take it there myself.

He took out a sliver of parchment and used a large quill to write a note. Then he plucked Fawkes off his perch, fastened the note to his leg, and whispered something. The curved window behind his desk unlatched and Fawkes flew off through it. Dumbledore waved at the window and it closed and latched again. Dumbledore settled into his seat. Harry was already in his.

"Now then, Harry. What was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Well, what we discussed earlier today, sir."

"I see. Have you made a decision already? You don't have—"

"No, sir," said Harry.

"I see."

"Well, it's just, sir, honestly, it's just a little hard to believe there isn't some way to reverse this. Isn't there a potion? Or a countercharm? Don't nosy charms have countercharms?"

"Harry, as I said, there is no countercharm. The bond charm is a rather complex charm. It's not just a swish and flick. It was designed to be complicated in order to deter young … well, prevent situations like what we have on our hands now."

"What about potions?" Harry asked.

"Well, as I said, there are some things we can do to slow the ravages of the partnerless bond charm and life debt. I have Professor Snape brewing a potion that will slow the progression of the charm and make its symptoms a bit more manageable for now. That will not be ready until tomorrow, however. I assure you, though, Harry, if there was any way to resolve this without you, I never would have involved you in the first place. I am not unsympathetic to the fact that you have rather a lot on your plate at the moment."

"Yes…" Harry's voice trailed off. "What about magical herbs or plants or something?" Harry said finally.

"Nothing viable is known. I didn't find anything in my search."

"You were doing the searching? What about the other Professors? Wouldn't they know more in their fields of specialization than you?"

"Well, I did speak with Professor Snape about potential potions."

"So you're honestly telling me that either I learn to love this girl or she will suffer and die?"

"As I said, Harry, no one expects anything of you. You do not have to do anything."

"But, how could I just stand by and let a girl die if there was something I could do to stop it? What kind of monster would I be?"

"Well as I said there are things we could do to slow the progress and make her comfortable—"

"How could I live with that on my conscience though? To let someone else die? I couldn't live with the idea for two minutes in the lake, and I wasn't even really sure they would actually die then."

"I see," said Dumbledore tonelessly.

"But then I never imagined being anything more than maybe a boyfriend to a girl right now. I can't imagine making any more serious commitments. I mean, getting married now? How-how could I?"

"Well, I don't think marriage would be necessary immediately, especially with the potion Professor Snape is brewing."

"But to actually prevent her from death it would be eventually, right? Like without it she would suffer and eventually die, right?"

"We all die eventually, Harry."

Harry gave Dumbledore a hard look. "I know that," he finally said coolly. "I'm talking about soon."

"Yes."

Harry looked at the ceiling and stayed silent for a moment.

"As I've said, you do not have to make a decision. But if you are weighing it, is there anything you need to make it? Anything I can provide?

Harry thought for a moment.

"I guess I really want to know what the other options are. Is this really the only option to save her life? I would like to speak to Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout and even Professor Snape. I want them all to investigate this. Look up everything out there. And I want to speak to them all together. That's what I want."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "Well this will take a little planning then. And I must give them time to investigate and double check, as you wish Harry. But I think it can be arranged. Shall we plan for after dinner tomorrow? Say, eight o'clock?"

"If they need longer, it can be later. I'd rather get the right answer in a few days than the wrong answer immediately."

"Yes, well, let's still plan for tomorrow at 8 and if any of them need to move it back, we can."

"Ok. Is-is she ok right now, sir?"

"I think so. I informed Madame Maxime and the Delacours to inform me of any material change to Gabrielle's condition."

"Ok…" Harry trailed off. "Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow," said Dumbledore. "With Professors Sprout, Snape, Flitwick, and McGonagall."

"Tomorrow."

Outside of Dumbledore's office, Harry decided to head straight back to Gryffindor Tower. He stayed out of the main hallways in hopes of avoiding the other students. It wasn't too hard. It was dinner time. The grounds had darkened outside the castle. Harry thought fleetingly that Hermione and Ron were probably wondering where he was. Reaching the dormitory, he grasped a muggle chocolate bar from the trunk beneath his bed and then flung himself into the bed. As he ripped it open and began to eat, his mind uncoiled his worries. What would happen tomorrow? How was he supposed to solve this? Spend his life with some girl he'd barely met? But what would happen if he did nothing to help?

Gradually his mind drifted. Eventually he thought of the lake and what happened there. It was all so fast and he had been so focused on getting everyone out safe that the memories were fragmentary. He did recall a vague sensation, though. As he pulled Gabrielle and Ron slowly up through the gloomy water, he had a muscle memory of what Gabrielle had felt like in his arm. He could almost feel the weight and the shape in his arms. For a moment, he ruminated on it. He decided it was not a bad sensation at all. Then his mind moved back to wondering and worrying about the next day.

—

Bad. Everything tasted bad. Or rather it hardly had any taste at all, other than a slight bitterness. After getting up from her nap, Gabrielle was eating dinner with her parents while Fleur was up at the castle. She felt tired but uncomfortable in the chair. Everywhere on her that touched anything was uncomfortable. Her clothes felt uncomfortable. Her arms as they rested on the table were uncomfortable. Even swallowing the beef bourguignon was uncomfortable. Now the light, palate-cleansing salad to conclude the meal felt like paper in her mouth. She picked at it as her mother absentmindedly encouraged her to eat more. She felt frustrated and low.

Suddenly it hit her. Just like before, like a warm wave breaking over her. Suddenly she felt more relaxed. She felt her posterior could find a comfortable spot on the chair. The warmth seemed to soak into her core.

This won't last long, she thought. She put the salad on her fork and bit into it. Suddenly the flavor was vibrant and rich. She could taste the smooth comfort of the oil, the bright acidity of the vinegar, the spicy freshness of the arugula. It almost knocked her over in the joy and comfort she felt. She closed her eyes.

She opened her eyes again. This won't last long, she thought again. She quickly but carefully spooned some beef bourguignon into her mouth. An explosion of flavor. Beef. Salt. Earthy flavors from carrots and herbs. It stunned her. Finally she swallowed. It satisfied not only her mouth but her torso as well. As the second spoonful hit her tongue, there was another explosion of flavor. But then she felt a twinge in her legs. Her back started to feel unsettled again. The food began to lose its flavor. No, she thought. Please don't let it stop. But it did. Gradually for about ten seconds, and then completely. The last traces of beef bourguignon had no flavor at all as she swallowed them. She was uncomfortable again in the seat. The temperature didn't feel right but she couldn't quite say if it was too hot or too cold. And she thought of Harry. What she would do just to see him, look him in the face, and maybe have him hug her! The ache for that was another pain within her.

As she excused herself from the table, her brow was furrowed in thought. What was that feeling? she thought. How do I get it back?