Chapter 3

Harry was back in the basement at Malfoy manor. This time, he was strapped down with metal clasps embedded into the stone. He was screaming but no sound was coming out. He wriggled against the clasps, but they were unforgiving. He heard someone coming down the stairs.

"Help!" he called. But he still could not hear anything coming out of his mouth. The shadowy figure drew closer. It was a Death Eater, in full costume, mask in place. It had its wand drawn.

"No!" he cried again, thrashing.

"Crucio!" A voice shouted, sounding like Voldemort's high-pitched hiss.

"Harry!"

Harry woke up, covered in sweat and trembling.

"I think he's having a fit!" Ron said as Harry tried to quiet his vibrating muscles. Ginny came into view just above his head.

"Harry, are you alright? Should we call for Madam Pomfrey? Maybe Dumbledore?" She asked, sitting beside him on the bed.

"No," he managed and noticed his voice was rough. Someone handed him his glasses.

"No, I'm fine, sorry," he said, sitting up. He was breathing quickly. His clothes were damp, and he felt his left arm starting to cramp a bit. He couldn't help but bring his wrists up into the light to examine them. They were unmarred, of course, but he could still imagine where he'd been shackled to the floor. "I'm fine," he said again. "Was…was I screaming?"

"Yeah, mate," Ron said, sitting back down on his own bed, next to Hermione. "Screaming for help. I thought maybe Voldemort was at you, through your scar again or something." Harry automatically pressed his fingers against the scar, and then realized with some surprise that it hadn't so much as twinged since he woke up in the hospital wing. He shook his head and let his hand fall.

"It was just a nightmare," he said, "I guess I'm not totally over what happened."

"We'd be surprised if you were, Harry," Ginny said from beside him. She was looking past his shoulder at the windowpane, lost in her own thoughts. Harry thought back to her first year, when she'd been possessed by Tom Riddle's ghost. She knows, he said to himself, at least a little of what it's like to be tortured. You should talk to her. She turned back to him and smiled sweetly, herself again, and he felt himself shying away from the idea. No need to poison anyone else's mind with those images, he thought. Instead, he grabbed her hand, squeezed once, and let go. She smiled brighter.

"Thanks guys," he said to them all. "For waking me up…and not thinking I'm nutters."

"Oh, well, we don't know about that," Ron said with a grin. The tension in the air seeped out of the room.

It was early morning, but the sun was already starting to tinge the horizon a pale grey. By a unanimous silent agreement, they decided to stay up the rest of the night and talk. Ginny settled on what was usually Dean's bed and told them all about what Fred and George had been up to most recently in their new joke shop. Ron filled them in on the Quidditch scores, which only Ginny seemed to keep up with, and Hermione filled them in on the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who she'd heard about from Lupin.

"Her name's Brigit Longmire, apparently. Ex-auror. But, Moody hates her for some reason," Hermione quipped. Harry settled back against the headboard of his bed in his new favorite position with his legs pulled up against his chest.

"Any idea why?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, fiddling with a pillow. "Lupin didn't say. But, he did tell me that Headmaster Dumbledore is being a lot more selective about the teachers he's allowing into the school this year. There were apparently a bunch of applications, which is weird, and he thinks it might have to do with the war. He's trying to make sure there are no traitors running around tattling the school's doings to You-Know-Who."

"About time," Ron commented. Hermione reached over and smacked his arm. "What?! It's true. I mean, practically every DADA teacher we've had has intentionally tried to kill Harry. I mean, Lupin was an accident, but everyone else. It's getting a bit old," he said, smirking at Harry. Harry snorted.

"Yeah, maybe Trelawney will try to kill me this year, instead," he mused. "Just to keep things fresh."

"Well, that would be one way to make a correct prediction," Hermione muttered darkly.

"Hermione!" Ron said, his jaw gaping a little and something like awe filled his eyes as he gazed at her. She blushed and ducked her head.

"Well, at least you're safe from Professor Binns," Ginny said, flopping backwards on the bare mattress. "Although, he might try to bore you to death."

"He's been trying to do that for years," Harry retorted, and threw his pillow at her.

Thus began the Great Pillow War of 1996. It resulted in a four way draw just as the sun was rising over the distant mountain range. The Black Lake was ablaze with pastel orange and yellow as the four teenagers returned to their respective beds to get ready for the day. Harry, slightly out of breath still from being pelted by pillows, which, coincidentally, felt much better than being out of breath from a nightmare, took an extra moment with his four poster curtains drawn to send a quiet 'thank you' up to Sirius in Limbo.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry was forbidden from venturing anywhere outside the castle, and his friends, similarly, were under strict orders. So, that afternoon, when they walked into the Great Hall for dinner, it was Lupin who greeted them with a pile of brown wrapped parcels direct from Diagon Alley.

Lupin, to his credit, didn't get offended when Harry flinched at his attempt to hug him, and the werewolf settled in amicably with the four teens at the far end of the Gryffindor table.

"I'll tell you, Harry," he said, handing him a long slender box, "I've never done that much shopping in one trip in my life. I don't mind telling you, it wiped me out." Hermione and Ginny snickered from the other side of the table.

"Thanks for going, Remus," Harry said, and started trying to untie the twine on the top. "Um…"

"Here, let me," Hermione said, pulling out her wand. "Corrigio calcia," she enchanted with confidence. The twine obediently untied itself.

"Hey!" Harry said, "Hermione, we're not supposed to do magic…outside of …"

"Outside of school?" she laughed. Lupin shook his head, grinning.

"Technically, Hermione, Harry's right," Lupin said, pulling the untied string away for Harry. "You're still all underage and should not be doing magic unsupervised." He challenged all 4 sets of eyes in turn. "But," he continued, "as long as you are on the grounds of Hogwarts, you won't be receiving any reprimands from the Ministry for underage magic. Which Is partially why the Headmaster felt no compunction about giving you this immediately," he finished, and gestured towards the wrapped box. Harry, intrigued now, ripped through the wrapping paper.

Inside was a purple wand box.

Floored, Harry looked up at Lupin, who had a sympathetic smile on.

"Nobody was able to locate your wand, Harry. We imagine the Death Eaters still have it somewhere. So, Headmaster Dumbledore graciously implored Fawkes to donate a feather to the cause and, amazingly, he did." He glanced around at his former Defense pupils. "Phoenix feathers only retain all their magical properties when given willingly," he added, as an informational aside.

Harry popped the cover off, brushed aside the 2 decorative ribbons on top, and extracted a newly burnished, Phoenix feather core, holly wand, 10 inches long. Feeling a little nervous, he drew in a deep breath and then gripped the handle in his wand hand.

Immediately, warm light surrounded him and the tip illuminated.

"Still the right one for you, Harry," Ginny said, grinning.

"Thank Merlin," he whispered, almost to himself. "I forgot how good it feels." Maybe, he thought, as Lupin selected another parcel for him to open, knowing he could defend himself would make the dreams finally go away.

Smiling gratefully, he accepted the next box.

15 minutes, and a massive pile of clothes, books, cauldrons, and various other school supplies later, dinner sparkled into existence on the table around them. Soon after came the rest of the teachers on campus, along with the extra Order members who, as far as the Ministry were concerned, were just friends of Harry's come to visit. Harry found himself having to stand up and sit down a number of times as some of the newcomers came to say hello, shake his hand, and/or wish him a complete recovery. By the time Hagrid was ambling up to his seat, having just reached across the table and patted Harry on the head through a watery smile, Harry was beginning to feel a little winded.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Ginny asked, during a lull in the conversation, sometime later. Harry had been pushing the chicken and peas around on his plate for the better part of 10 minutes. "You're looking a little pale…"

"Yeah, I think my stomach just shrunk, is all," he said quickly, hesitated, and then sheepishly admitted, "I'm feeling a bit tired, actually."

"Oh, here… Ron take him up to the Tower," Ginny demanded. Ron looked up with half a chicken leg sticking out of his mouth. She cringed in disgust.

"It's okay, Ginny, Ron," Lupin said. "I'll do it. Come on, Harry," he said cheerfully, and helped Harry up from the table.

"Hello Headmaster," Hermione said, all of a sudden, and the other 4 heads turned to regard Dumbledore as he approached their little group.

"Good evening to you all," he said jovially. "Harry, how are you feeling, my boy?"

"I'm alright, just a bit tired. Long day, sir," Harry responded.

"Quite right. I wonder, Remus, if you wouldn't mind if I escorted him the rest of the way to his dormitory? I wouldn't mind the exercise and I wanted to chat a bit along the way," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"Of course, Albus," Lupin said, releasing Harry and stepping aside.

"Do you mind, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry shook his head. Dumbledore offered his arm and Harry took it, but also took more of his own weight than he had with Lupin. "Oh," he said, turning back, "can someone help me take all my things up later?"

"We'll take care of it, Harry, don't you worry," Remus assured him, sitting back down.

"We'll be up in a bit," Hermione confirmed, and Harry let himself be led away.

The walk up the empty corridors seemed to take much longer to Harry than usual. There were also quite a lot of stairs. Harry willed himself to keep pace with the headmaster, mentally chastising his legs for the way they trembled.

Dumbledore was quiet through all this, despite having apparently wanted to chat. He wore a pleasant smile their whole walk and seemed to be humming a tune to himself.

Finally, on the fifth floor, Harry had to swallow his pride and ask the headmaster for a break to catch his breath.

"Of course, Harry," he said, and led Harry away from the array of changing staircases into the adjoining hallway. The torches along the wall caught fire of their own accord and an indeterminate ghost, all the way down the other end of the hallway, turned to disappear through a stone wall. Dumbledore conjured a chair for Harry, one of his large, plush numbers, and then another one facing it, for himself. Harry sunk into his chair gratefully and silently snapped at his eyes to stop spinning. They sat there, in almost absolute silence for 5 full minutes, during which Harry lay his head against the overly cushioned backing of the chair and focused on breathing.

When he finally opened his eyes again, Dumbledore was handing him a cup of water.

"Thanks, sir," he muttered and sipped it down.

"I'm sorry to have exhausted you so much, my dear boy," Dumbledore intoned. "I should have realized you would be still recuperating your muscle strength."

"S'not your fault, sir," Harry said over the rim of his glass. "I should have said something earlier."

Dumbledore smiled sympathetically. Harry put the glass down on the floor where it promptly vanished with the gentle swish of Dumbledore's hand.

"Now," Dumbledore said, leaning forward a bit more, "we may as well talk here for a while, if you're up for it."

Harry nodded.

"I should warn you, perhaps, Harry, that the news I am about to impart will likely not be pleasant for you, but is inevitable, I'm afraid."

Harry braced himself.

"What is it, sir?"

Dumbledore leaned back into the chair and appeared to fix his gaze on the portrait behind Harry, whose usual resident – a middle aged woman in elegant dress robes – was not currently in scene.

"I spoke with the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeor today," Dumbledore started, and Harry fought an automatic grimace. The headmaster continued, "He appears to be very concerned about your health, and in the events that transpired which led to your kidnapping and subsequent injuries." Here, Dumbledore looked back down at Harry.

"What does he – er – the Minister want from me exactly, Headmaster?" Harry asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"I believe, Harry, what he wants is a full description of the events in question," Dumbledore answered. "But," he continued, holding up a finger to forestall Harry's protests, "I assure you, I was quick to remind him that the reciting of such traumatic events before the Wizengamot, so soon after, and from the mouth of a 16 year old boy no less, would likely be detrimental to your health, which, as your current guardian," he said, with a wink, "I could not in good faith allow to occur."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry said fervently, sagging into the chair in relief.

"Not so quickly, Harry," Dumbledore continued, shaking his head slowly. "Rufus was adamant for a recounting and was… unwilling…to wait for Professor Snape to wake and tell it from his perspective." Harry read between the lines easily enough – the Minister obviously doubted Snape would recover at all. Harry found himself gripping the arms of his chair.

"Therefore," the Headmaster said, softly, glancing at Harry's trembling hands, "I have come up with a, hopefully, agreeable compromise."

"What do I have to do, Professor?" Harry asked, bluntly.

"I have offered to grant the Minister a copy of a transcript relaying the relevant events as dictated by you, in the company of myself, Professor McGonagall, and however many friends you desire to be present. It will be taken down by a self-writing quill, and you will be permitted to read and revise the transcript as needed before we send it to him. The alternative, Harry, would be to deliver the story to the Minister himself, in the company of an unknown number of strangers, a Ministry authorized scribe, and likely a reporter for the Daily Prophet. I felt a more private telling would suit you better."

Dumbledore fell silent. Harry did too. The ball of discomfort in his gut was raging now, and he felt like he wanted to sink into the fabric of the chair and disappear. That, or take off running. Breathing was beginning to be more difficult, but he was determined to head off another panic attack.

"When?" he asked, shakily. Dumbledore clasped his hands together.

"At 11 o'clock in the morning, the day after tomorrow," he said.

"Okay," Harry heard himself say. "Okay."

"Harry, I don't mean to distress you…" the headmaster continued on, speaking consoling – sounding words, but Harry couldn't hear them over the beating of his heart in his ears. His eyes began to darken as the thoughts he had been hiding from were breaking through to the forefront of his mind. Suddenly, his mind went completely black.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

He woke up in his bed, in the tower. Sunlight was streaming through the window, coming in as streaks through the gaps in his four-poster curtain. He rubbed the grit from his eyes and pulled the curtain aside.

The room was empty. No Dumbledore, Ron, Ginny, or Hermione. Not even Lupin.

He stood up and realized, gratefully, that his legs had stabilized again. They'd just needed the rest.

He tried to think back to what had happened the night before. Dumbledore had told him the horrible news, and then…nothing. Blackness. Not even a dream he could recall.

Harry padded over to the window. It was a beautiful day. He could see part of the lake and part of the forest from here. From the sun, it was about 10 o'clock in the morning, he figured. Maybe everyone was down having a late breakfast.

Or maybe, he thought, they were out having fun without him. He wouldn't blame them.

He reached over and opened the window halfway, and a breeze rushed into the room. It rustled through his hair, the curtains, and a couple pages of a book lying on the floor. Harry closed his eyes and let himself imagine a flight on his broom. In his daydream, he was riding his Firebolt, which was in reality just a pile of ash in the spot where Number 4 Privet Drive had been. But he allowed himself the daydream anyway, and he dreamed he could jump out of the window onto the broom and just fly away, twisting and turning into rolls and swan dives, over the lake, the mountains, and into the rest of his life.

Behind him, a door opened.

"Harry?" Ginny's voice. He didn't turn around, but he opened his eyes. She came up to stand beside him silently and he offered a small smile.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said back. She hesitated, and then, slowly, deliberately, reached for his hand. About an inch or two away, she stopped, inviting him to close the distance, which he did. Then they stood, staring out at the world for a few minutes in perfect silence.

"Harry," Ginny whispered, still looking at the lake sparkling in the distance, "are you okay?"

"…Not really, Gin," he said. Her hand gripped his a little tighter. He sighed and finally turned away from the window to look at her. "Dumbledore told me I have to tell the Minister what happened."

"And you don't want to?" she asked.

"I really just don't want to re-live those memories," he confessed, feeling a complete dolt. She moved a step closer.

"I'm allowed to have anyone there I want," he continued. He looked her in the eyes. "Do you mind coming with me? I need…I dunno…moral support."

Ginny smiled. "Of course, Harry." She leaned against his arm, and they had another quiet moment while he thought of what was to come.

"Ginny.."

"Mmm?"

"Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Left 'em in the library after breakfast," she said. "Why?"

"I was wondering if you three could go with me to the Room of Requirements," he mused, looking down at her with a sly grin.

"What are you up to, Harry?"

"It's a surprise. Go fetch them while I get dressed properly."

"Alright, Harry," she said, grinning. She squeezed his hand again and then scampered out of the room.

Harry pulled the window closed and turned to find his clothes. Someone, probably Hermione, had sorted all of his new things and placed them on Dean's bed.

When the three came in 10 minutes later, he was sitting on the floor, tugging at the laces of his new black trainers with his leg wavering awkwardly in the air. He glared while they giggled.

"Oh, come on then," he said, standing and sticking the wand in his jeans pocket. It fit better than normal, and then remembered it was an inch shorter than his last one had been. He smiled and led the way out of the dorm.

"Harry, shouldn't you stop and grab something to eat?" Hermione asked as they exited the portrait hole.

"Oh, I know," Ron said. "Oy, Dobby," he called out into the empty hallway.

Hermione's scandalized "Ron!" was overshadowed by the pop and sudden appearance of the little elf, dressed, as usual, in an array of socks.

"You is calling Dobby…Harry Potter is calling for Dobby!" the little creature shrieked, upon seeing Harry.

"Hi Dobby," he said kindly, "how's Hogwarts been treating you lately, then?"

"Very good, Mr. Harry Potter, very good. They is nice here to Dobby. He has only had to punish himself one time for bringing Mr. Filch the wrong mop."

"Oh, Dobby, that's terrible!" Hermione moaned.

"Anyway," Ron said, cutting her off, "Dobby, Mr. Harry Potter here was wondering if you wouldn't mind bringing him a little snack he could munch on. It seems he slept through breakfast, and just now we're on a very important mission." The girls both rolled their eyes.

"Of course, Mr. Weasley, sir, of course! Anything for Mr. Harry Potter!" Before Harry could open his mouth to protest, he had snapped his fingers and was gone.

"Ron!" He said.

"What? I'm doing him a favor, Harry. You know him, he likes to dote on you. I say you let him," Ron said, grinning shamelessly. "And, anyway, did you really want to have to trek all the way down to the kitchens and then back up again to get something to eat? For all we know, that long a trip might make you pass out aga-Ow! What's the big idea?!" He asked Hermione, who had just smacked him in the arm.

"Ronald, you're so insensitive," she snapped. "He's sorry, Harry," she said to him, concerned.

"It's alright, Hermione, really," he assured her, and then, hesitating, added, "anyway, that's not why I feinted."

Before they could ask questions, Dobby snapped back into existence bearing an impressive amount of breakfast foods on a silver platter.

"Is this being enough, Mr. Harry Potter, sir?" He asked, tentatively.

"Merlin, Dobby, that's enough to feed a small army!" Hermione exclaimed.

"It's perfect," Ron said, and nicked a croissant off the platter.

"You just ate, Ronald," Hermione reminded him. He shrugged.

To Dobby, he said, "That's delicious, Dobby. My compliments to the chef."

Dobby squeaked in pleasure.

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said sincerely, and relieved him of the enormous platter.

"You is being welcome, Mr. Harry Potter," Dobby said, in near ecstasy. "Would Mr. Harry Potter or Mr. Harry Potter's friends be wanting something else?"

"No, Dobby. Thank you," Ginny said, slapping her brother's hand mid-reach towards another croissant. "Those are for Harry."

"Then Dobby will be seeing you later, he thinks," the little house elf said, gave a little salutation, and then disappeared with another loud crack.

"Well, Ron," Harry said, shifting the platter, "since you were so kind as to order my breakfast, before we got to the Room of Requirements, do you think you'd be kind enough to carry it for me?" Harry didn't wait for a reply and shifted the platter into Ron's arms. "Thanks, mate," he said, grinning, and then lifted a bagel off the tray and started off down the hallway again.

"Harry," Hermione asked after a few moments. "You said something earlier, about exercise not being the reason you feinted…".

"Yeah," he said. "That's part of why we're going to the Room of Reqs. I need to talk to you guys about something," he said. He glanced at Ginny, who smiled encouragingly.

"Oh, okay," Hermione said, and wisely did not pursue the matter further until they were standing before the bare stretch of wall.

"Harry, it's your idea, you should do it," Ginny said. Harry nodded and began to pace, thinking about what he needed. Somewhere to talk, eat, and have fun, he thought fervently. Somewhere to talk, eat, and have fun. Somewhere to talk, eat, and have fun.

On the third revolution, he heard the grumbling of shifting stone, and looked over to find a black door in the wall. He walked over, pulled it open, and spun around with a toothy smile.

"Come on in," he invited.

The three followed behind him, Ron taking the rear with his enormous load.

"What on earth…?" Ginny breathed.

The room was split in two. On the one side was a plush living room setup, with fluffy red couches, a coffee table, and a roaring fireplace. The other side of the room was an indoor trampoline park. There were even trampoline tarps on the ceiling.

"What in Merlin's name were you thinking about?" Hermione asked. Harry just smiled again and pulled the door closed behind them.

"You can put the food down on the table, Ron."

"Right, yeah," Ron said, and did so. "What are those things?" He asked, pointing.

"Trampolines. You'll see in a bit," Harry said, and then gestured for everyone to sit down. "Lets talk first."

Harry sat before the platter of food, and Ginny and Hermione shared the long red couch with him, and Ron took a single reclining chair. That now-familiar knot was growing in Harry's stomach, and he looked at the piles of delicious food with distaste.

"What's going on, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Well," he started, leaning back into the sofa, trying to figure out where to start. Why had this been so much easier to do with Ginny? He wondered. "Okay," he began again, "so, yesterday, when Dumbledore and I were walking up to the Tower, he told me I need to tell the Ministry everything that happened while I was kidnapped, only I really don't want to because I don't like thinking about it, much less telling people about it, which Dumbledore figured, so he tried to compromise with him, but in the end it still has to be me telling people about what happened because Snape is still unconscious." The words came tumbling out of his mouth in a rapid clip and, by the time he got to the end, he'd completely run out of breath.

"But Harry," Hermione said tentatively, concentrating hard, "wouldn't it be…better, maybe, for you to tell people what happened? Keeping things like that locked inside can't be healthy."

Harry closed his eyes. He realized why, now, he was reluctant to say anything to Hermione, at least. She was good at reacting rationally to difficult situations and, in this case, Harry realized he was reacting anything but rationally.

"It's not that simple, Hermione," Ginny supplied for him. "Sometimes, when you go through something…difficult, on your own, the last thing you want to do is tell someone. The very thought of it can make you sick to your stomach. That's what happened with me and Tom Riddle's diary, anyway," she said quietly. "It took me a long time to sit down and talk to Mom and Dad about everything that had happened, and it's only been a few days for Harry." She gave him a sympathetic smile which loosened the knot in his stomach considerably.

"So, what are you going to do?" Ron asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Harry responded, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "I don't really have much of a choice in the matter. Dumbledore did what he could, though, which is something else I wanted to talk to you about." He looked up. "He said I can bring as many friends as I want into the meeting with me and I'd like for you to be there. If you don't mind."

"Of course, Harry," Ron said.

"Absolutely," Hermione agreed. She looked like she desperately wanted to put an arm around him, or tap his knee, so he held out an arm and she leapt to hug him. "You know we'll always be here for you, right? No matter what you go through, we'll be here."

"Thanks Hermione," he said into her frizzy brown hair. She let go.

"And remember, Harry," Ginny quipped, "you don't have to tell them everything you were feeling, or even thinking while you were in there. All they need are the facts, cold and hard. If you tell it like that, it helps put a distance between you and the words." She shrugged. "Just so you know."

"I'll try to remember that, thanks," he said. He felt the stress balloon in his gut reduce even further, and he leaned back into the sofa with a sigh.

"So…" Ron said airily, "is anyone going to tell us what those long black things are for?"

Harry smiled up at the ceiling. "Why don't you go walk over there and find out. You'll wanna take off your shoes." He grinned at Hermione, who rolled her eyes.

"Am I going to get my pants dirty?" Ginny asked, looking dubiously at the row upon row of black surfacing.

"Only if you're either very good, or very bad at it," Hermione supplied with a chuckle, removing her own shoes while she talked.

"Come on, Harry," she said with a grin, "Last one in is a rotten egg." She took off running and he leapt off the couch to join her. They launched themselves together onto the first set of trampolines with a pair of loud shrieks as Ron and Ginny looked on in horror. Until, of course, they bounded skyward. Harry timed his next jump to land just after Hermione and successfully launched her into the air twice as high. She cackle-shrieked as she came down.

"What are you waiting for?!" Harry shouted, airborne, just shy of the ceiling.

Ron and Ginny looked at each other, grinned, and then ran to join them.

Many hours later, still grinning and laughing and stuffed on Dobby's little snack, the four exited the Room of Requirements and began to traipse back towards the Gryffindor Tower, to get changed before they went down to dinner, although that would be mostly for show. Harry stopped them after only a few paces, however.

"Oh, are you tired, Harry?" Hermione asked, as they turned back.

"No," he said, waving off her concern. He was still a little breathless, but not in any significant way as they'd been taking many breaks between bounces. "I just was wondering if you guys wanted to go with me to the Owlery? I could use some fresh air, and I wanted to send one of the school owls down to Hagrid…and maybe Lupin…I'd like them both to be at the meeting tomorrow."

"That's a wonderful idea, Harry," Ginny said gently.

The four changed course, slightly, and made their way to the Owlery. It was slow going as they were all tired and not inclined to rush. A breeze was sweeping through the hallways from an open window somewhere, and it brought with it a sweet scent which contented them all as they wandered through hall after stone hall, for once completely devoid of students. The paintings they passed seemed equally contented and regarded them in silence.

They made it to the outdoor winding staircase which led the way up the last few feet. Harry hesitated at its base and walked over to the nearby low wall.

"The view from up here is always spectacular, isn't it?" He asked as the other three joined him. They nodded. They could see straight to the Quidditch field, and the forest beyond. The sun had begun to set and was steadily dyeing the world in a russet red-orange glow, which made the whole scene quintessentially picturesque.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione said after a couple minutes. "We can come back after you've sent the owls if we're quick." He nodded and they headed up the last few paces.

"There's one here that I particularly love," Ginny was saying as she got to the top. Something like 20 owls were roosting in every available nook of the room, and most turned their attention to the students as they entered with quiet "Whooo" inquiries. It was the first time Harry had ever really needed to borrow one.

"Can you pick two out?" he asked, turning to Ginny and Hermione. "I'll work on the message…anyone got a quill?...Or parchment for that matter?" He asked sheepishly. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Try using your wand, Harry," she said, dryly.

"Oh, yeah."

It took Harry 3 tries to manage, but he finally transfigured a stray leaf into a sheet of rough parchment (the sheet, regretfully, still had veins) and trimmed a feather into a passable quill (one spell every single Hogwarts student had down rote). After scourgifing a spot on the ground to clear it of bird poop, he sat down, ripped the sheet in half, and scribbled a message to Hagrid on one piece to invite him to dinner in the Great Hall, which he did not always attend. He had to think a little longer about the letter to Lupin.

Moony, he finally wrote, can you come to dinner with me tonight? I wanted a quick word, if you find yourself available.

He signed it with the drawing of a deer's hoofprint.

"Clever, Harry," Ginny said, looking over his shoulder, minding the bird perched on her arm.

"Can't be too careful," he muttered.

Ron looked at the message and raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a letter from an admirer, mate," he said, with a sly grin. Harry glowered at him.

"Oh, never you mind," he said, and then turned to the 2 owls. "Which for which?" He asked.

"Doesn't matter, really," Hermione said, holding a large tawny. "This one is a bit gentler, though. Maybe send it to Lupin." She stroked the bird, and it clicked its beak contentedly. Harry frowned a bit sadly, stroked it once too, and then reached over and tied the message to its foot using a stray piece of twine. The other owl, a dark barn owl with gold eyes, accepted the piece of parchment in its beak.

Within minutes, the two birds had launched through the windows, into the setting sun.

"Come on, we have to get cleaned up." They started back down the stairs and back across the hall, but Harry lingered again at the base of the tower. The sun was very nearly in the treetops of the Forest, now, and had sent streaks of gold and red through the few white, fluffy clouds in the sky. Harry spotted both the owls they'd just released steadily making their ways across the grounds.

As he watched, however, he caught sight of something else moving in the distance.

"Come on, Harry," Ron said.

"Wait," Harry said, shaking off the other boy. His eyes were glued to the moving object that was approaching from the southwest. "What's that?" He asked, pointing. Hermione, Ginny and Ron joined him at the wall.

"Just an owl, I think, Harry," Ginny said, squinting.

"Why? What do you think it is?" Hermione asked, curiously.

Harry didn't respond but kept watching it. It was an owl, and as it hit the forest, it caught an air current, and seemed to glide at an angle, flashing its wingspan. Brilliant white against the orange sky.

"It's a snowy," he whispered.

"Harry," Ginny said, grabbing his arm. He barely felt it. "Harry, you don't think…it's been too long. It can't be…" Ginny stuttered, her own eyes glued to the bobbing figure of the owl, which had realigned with its path towards the Owlery.

"What?" Ron asked, confused. "What doesn't he think it is?"

"Hedwig." Harry felt the knot grow in his stomach again, his guts tensing in anticipation. Please, he thought. Please, let it be her.

The bird was close enough to see properly now. It was bobbing, though, clearly tired from a long flight. And something appeared to be tied to its leg, weighing it down further. But it kept pumping elegant white wings until, finally, it swooped for the tower.

"Go!" Harry shouted, as he watched it disappear inside. His legs were already tired, but he ran up the steps two at a time. Please, he thought desperately, please. Give me this.

He got to the top of the stairs first, and ran into the small stone enclosure, neck craned up. Sitting on the highest stoop, the snowy owl was panting. He drew his wand and aimed it.

"Tardia accio owl," he said, his voice quivering a little. Above him, the owl screeched as it found itself airborne again. It came slowly through the air towards Harry, who did not blink from concentration as he tried to ensure a graceful descent. It was Hermione, though, who plucked it out of the air, tucking in its wings carefully while the owl watched her with reproachful eyes, and she set it quietly down on the perch set up in the middle of the room.

"Hedwig?" Harry called quietly, as he approached the snowy owl. It turned to look at him and his heart stopped.

"Diffindo," Hermione said from beside him. The package the bird had been carrying fell to her feet. She picked it up and, with fingers that shook a little, opened the attached envelope.

"To Harry," she said, through tears. "It's from Neville."

Harry sunk to the ground, his knees weak, eyes still on the owl.

"Hi, girl," he said to her, his voice cracking.

"Whooo," Hedwig responded. Then, she opened her massive wings and jumped from the perch onto his extended arm.

Thank you, Harry told the universe, as he stroked her feathers in the fading light.