A Beautiful Lie - Resurrected

The castle stood as it had for hundreds of years. The old, cracked stone of its turrets and buttresses peeked above the tree line, awash in a gloomy orange haze. It was a somber sight, one steeped in dreams and old memories that left him with a heavy heart. At times, he wondered if any of the pleasant ones were real, or if it had all been some great tragedy.

Harry remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on the castle. He'd been so small and afraid, surrounded by strange people in a place he wasn't sure was real, his only comforts being the company of a half-giant and his freckled friend. He'd been so caught up in the boats moving on their own that he'd almost missed his first glimpse—rising from the lake, lit up against the black night and glowing with life and magic, was Hogwarts in all of its brilliance.

Though standing, it was a ruin now. A shell remained, and like a wounded beast its innards were torn and strewn across the ground. Battered… but not broken, he thought to himself as he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Was the battle really this bad? He could only remember flashes of that day, and already that was too much. In the approaching dusk, the holes that were cut into the fortress looked like gaping black wounds, and rubble marked by spellfire spilled into crumbling mounds below. He'd never thought to see it like this. Hogwarts is the safest place in the world… Harry could hardly count the number of times he'd been told so. It seemed a joke now. In his mind, Harry could almost hear the distant echo of a familiar laugh, shrill and high and cruel. Instead, the castle stared back at him as silent as death. Nowhere was safe. Harry had learnt that brutal lesson many times in his life.

The sound of old parchment crinkled in his hand, as the Marauders Map was sprawled open, its lines shifting and changing, his eyes scanning its wrinkled surface. Hogwarts was empty. He wasn't sure what exactly he had been looking for, perhaps a stray Death Eater picking around the battleground like a crow, or a friendly face he could take heart in knowing survived. An unsettling feeling creeped over him. It was strange, for the first time in his life, the castle was a stranger to him. Friend or foe? He didn't know which it belonged to.

The main gates stood in front of him, and with each step, he could feel the ancient protections of the castle pressing in around him. Harry cocked his head in interest. When he'd been flashed away by Fawkes, the enchantments protecting the school had been torn to shreds; but reaching out now, they felt refreshed and powerful. Clearly someone had hold of the school. Squinting, and moving closer, Harry peered through the iron bars and into the darkness that had fallen over the grounds.

He stopped, his eyes widening in surprise, and he blinked before looking again. For every gash torn into its walls, every crumbled brick and toppled archway, another section of the castle appeared to be patched together with new, white stone. In fact, the most severe damage was limited to the periphery of the castle, while the main structure itself seemed to be reinforced. His first appraisal had been mistaken. It looks worse than it really is…

As his eyes adjusted, he could increasingly pick out sites of repair. The more he looked, the more certain he was that Hogwarts was not as empty as it appeared to be, and the more that his insides squirmed with concern. A part of him wanted to sneak into the castle and see for himself what was going on, but the other part held him back. The map doesn't lie, it whispered to him. How many times had Sirius and Remus told him the same? Perhaps that knowledge was enough to stay him for now, because he soon found himself following the familiar path back to Hogsmeade. Besides, there was someplace else he was supposed to be—a place he'd put off for long enough now.

Whispers rang around him as the leaves spread their secrets in the wind. Even now, he could see the end of summer as they floated down and crunched underfoot. Harry closed his eyes as he walked, and for one fleeting moment he felt the presence of two others beside him, their steps falling in line with his own, as they had for years down this twisting lane. Like waking from a dream his eyes snapped open, and he looked to his left and then right. It felt so real, he told himself when he found nothing. He closed his again, but this time he walked alone.

Lumos, he casted, distracting himself, and the path brightened in front of him. Apparating across continents must have gotten to him, he figured; that, and his continuous lack of sleep. Shaking his head, Harry picked up his pace before he started imaging more things.

The streets were empty when he finally reached Hogsmeade, passing along rows of houses that sat alone and forgotten in the shadows. Beyond the outskirts, and moving to the center of the village, not a soul could be seen, where once crowds would linger long into the night gazing at the fantastic displays at the front of shops. It truly had become a ghost town.

The only sign of life he could find was a soft yellow glow peeking through the drawn curtains and boarded windows of The Three Broomsticks. But even then, the popular pub was as silent as a church, and the shadows that could once be seen dance invitingly beneath its crowded doors were gone, betraying the emptiness of its inside.

Harry could see his breath puff in front of his face and casted a warming charm with a twitch of his wrist, stopping the chill of autumn from crawling over him.

He'd only just passed Madam Puddifoot's, barely recognizing the peeling, grey dump, for the shop filled with so much pink it could make your eyes explode, when two sharp cracks rattled windows all down the street.

Two figures, cloaked all in black, appeared in the center of the street with their wands drawn and eyes alert. They spun in the direction of Harry, only to find an empty storefront and open road. Slowly, they turned back around and leaned close, whispering inaudibly into each other's ears.

Harry stood still as a statue in the same spot he'd been in before their unexpected arrival. Huddled beneath his invisibility cloak, he kept his breath.

It felt like an eternity had passed before the two men, now much more relaxed, started walking down the main street. Harry crept after them, keeping just out of the range of their voices.

Concealed under his sleeve, the Elder Wand was burning, and a part of Harry was tempted to cut down the men in front of him and pry any sort of information he could get from them. But he knew, that the moment he did, ten men would arrive in the place of the two.

Minutes slid by, and they came to the far end of the village, where a familiar, run down building came into view, a cheap wooden pen peeking out from its back. The men stopped at the door, before knocking aggressively, sending the sign spinning rapidly overhead.

A minute went by, and they knocked again, angrily this time. Two more minutes went by and there was still no answer. Reaching into their cloaks, the men pulled out their wands and took aim at the door.

Not a moment later, the door flew open with a bang! The men jumped, nearly dropping their wands, and a large, stooped wizard stood over his unannounced visitors.

"What d'ya want?" he said sharply. Lines crossed his face in anger, making him a fearsome sight covered in the shadows of his doorway.

Clearly the other men thought so as well. "S-someone used m-magic in the village," one of the men stumbled.

"An' what's that got t'do with me? Probably some ol' drunkard apparating home."

"Happened in the middle of the road," the other piped up, "not in front of any shop."

"Maybe he stumbled 'round a bit before leavin', wouldn't be the firs' time." The old wizard straightened up, making himself taller, the top of his head brushing the roof of the doorway. "Now that's no reason t'come knockin' up on my door at a time like this. You lot have already chased away mos' my customers. Now bugger off!" With that final shout, he moved to slam the door, only to be stopped by the foot of one of the men.

"Now listen here, Aberforth," one of them said abruptly, recovering some of their courage, "it's not the first time that strange goings on have been happening here in Hogsmeade, and we know all about the trouble your brother's—"

"Don't ever mention my brother again." It was as though a switch had been flicked. The grumpy old wizard was now shaking with fury, and the men at his door backed away slowly, realizing they had made a huge mistake. "I don't give a toss about what my brother was! He's dead! Served th' bastard right! Don't ye ever come back 'round again unless you're lookin' to spend money on my drinks!" The door slammed shut with such ferocity that the entire inn shook, rattling its shingles and sending dirt up from the steps.

The two men looked to at one another, unsure of what to do next. This clearly had not gone to plan.

"Times are changing Aberforth, they're changing very soon," one of them shouted back, although Harry was sure Aberforth couldn't hear him, nor would he even care to, "don't start getting caught up in the wrong crowd."

Two loud cracks sounded and the men were gone, leaving Harry alone, once again, in the abandoned street.

Something was very wrong. Those men weren't Death Eaters, but they were associated with them, Harry was sure of it. Somehow, someway, they were managing to keep track of the use of magic in the village. Harry shook his head. He'd been gone too long and now things weren't making sense.

Picking himself up into a jog, he kept his cloak on, not trusting the cover of darkness to keep him hidden. Gusts of wind came whistling in from the mountains, and with them a chill that settled over Harry. He fought the urge to use magic. There was no way of knowing how far the tracking charm extended.

He knew one safe place, however, the same place he'd first apparated to on his return. It was as musty as it had been four years ago, walls clawed to shreds, littered with broken floorboards and doors hanging off of broken hinges. The Shrieking Shack was a mess, but it was better that way, away from prying eyes, too afraid of whatever haunting horror it was that fueled its legend. The Shack was protected by Dumbledore himself, the charm couldn't extend to here.

Conjuring himself a chair, Harry took a seat and closed his eyes. A part of him, the one that craved mysteries and the unknown, and had gotten him into so much trouble in his years at Hogwarts, wanted to stay behind and check out the castle. There was something in those ancient halls that called to him. But the other part of him knew it could wait.

Counting his things, and packing them away in the mokeskin pouch around his neck, Harry knew he was ready.

Twisting on the spot and slipping through space, Harry arrived on the sidewalk of a lonely muggle street. Cars were parked across from him, their shadowed bodies only visible from the dimly lit streetlamps overhead. There was only one house with nothing in front of it, left alone as though forgotten; a house that only he could see.

A strange feeling squirmed around his insides. Harry laughed, his voice echoing down the lane. He stood, hand frozen over the knocker, where a rusty number 12 was inlaid on the door. Was this why he kept hesitating, because he was nervous? He felt almost stupid.

Quickly getting over himself, his hand darted to the doorknob, opening it with a twist. There was a soft click before the heavy, oaken door creaked open on its own. He was assaulted with blackness, thicker and darker than the cover of night outside. Not a sound could be heard from inside the house, it was as still and silent as a corpse.

Everything was as he remembered it, from the stench of dark magic that hung over the place, to the troll foot umbrella stand that had it out for Tonks, and even old Walburga Black sat in her frame on the wall (thankfully sleeping).

"I wouldn't move if I were you," grumbled an unseen voice, "and don't reach for your wand if you want to keep your fingers."

Harry's hand froze by his side, the Elder Wand thirsting for his touch. His eyes scanned the shadows that crawled along the other end of the hall, and picked out a queer ripple in the air he wouldn't have spotted if not properly looking for something. It was as though a part of the wall was coming in and out of focus.

"Smart boy," said the disembodied voice. The wall rippled again, fabric slipped, and an electric blue eye was focused solely on him. "So how is it, that Harry Potter is standing here, in the flesh, when he's dead?"

"Mad-Eye?" Harry said, only slightly shocked.

"The one and only," the ex-Auror grumbled, as he stood from where he'd been hunkered in the corner. Harry didn't see a wand, but he knew one was pointed at him. "You're dead, boy."

"That's news to me," Harry laughed, patting himself down to show that he was, in fact, here and solid. "I'm alive Moody, never die—" Harry paused, not knowing if that was true or not, "—I was just… gone."

"You're going to have to do better than that, I haven't lived this long for no reason. I don't trust dead men."

"Alright," Harry smirked, he knew just the thing, "Dobby!"

Not a second later, a wailing elf appeared, sucking to Harry's leg like a leach, as fat, silver tears splattered to the floor. "Master Harry Potter!" Dobby cried, "Master Harry has returned! Dobby did as you pleased, sir, Dobby lied, Dobby did not tell anyone of sir's orders."

A second pop was heard, far later and far less enthusiastic than the first. "Half-blood Master has returned," Kreacher croaked with a bow, "Kreacher did as told." The old elf looked between Harry and Dobby with a mixture of jealousy and disgust.

"So you got your elves to lie to us?" Moody said sharply.

Harry looked up and met his eye square. He wasn't going to argue his reasons.

Mad-Eye held his stare and then gave a short nod. "I've got a few calls to make," he grumbled under his breath, before limping out of the room.

Harry took the next few minutes to extract Dobby from his leg, and ask if he would like to make up a small meal (to which he was more than happy to do). "Kreacher," he called out suddenly, catching the elf slinking away, "stay," his mind immediately went to the locket, Voldemort's horcrux, "I'll be needing to speak to you later about something important. Until then, clean up the house, it looks like it hasn't seen life in months."

The elf looked at him strangely before bowing deeply, "Kreacher lives to serve."

Harry only just had time to catch his breath, when he heard a great rush from the direction of the dining room, followed by a series of shouting. A commotion was brewing, and loud, stomping footsteps were sprinting down the hall, "Harry!" a familiar voice yelled, "Harry!" A bedraggled shock of bright orange hair came spinning around the corner.

"Ron…"

The name slipped out of his mouth, and before he knew it, he was being crushed in an embrace that lifted him off the ground. His body was numb, so overcome with emotion, and words were trapped in his throat, fighting to all come out at once.

"Harry," he could hear his name again, but this time not from Ron. In fact, he was sure he could hear dozens of different voices bouncing around him.

Opening his eyes for the first time, glistening freckles were in front of him, as shining tears leaked from his best friend's blue eyes. "You're alive…" Ron breathed, touching his face, making sure he was real.

Feeling was gradually returning to his body, and he soon realized that they weren't alone in their embrace. Twin sets of arms were wrapped around them as well, as Fred and George were sniffling along, but if they were making fun of Ron, he wasn't sure, yet.

"Back off, back off, give the boy some room," Moody's voice cut over the top of everyone else's. The clumping of his wooden leg circled the room, giving away his impatience. "I want to hear what Potter's got to say."

"Alastor—" the voice of Mr. Weasley interjected.

"We're not here to coddle the boy, Arthur. This is war, and what he's got to say is important."

Releasing him from his embrace, Ron stood to Harry's side. "Merlin's sake, Mad-Eye, Harry just got back to us, give him some time to rest."

"You can drink cocoa by the fire and play catchup later, Weasley, what matters most is where the bloody hell Potter's been the last five months."

Ron made to speak again, but Harry put out his hand to stop him. "Before I start," he said loudly, clearing his throat, "I'd like to know why everyone thinks I'm dead."

Glancing around the room, he could still see the looks of utter disbelief written across everyone's faces; Mrs. Weasley was dabbing herself with a dishrag, Ginny's jaw hung open, and Kingsley's dark eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

"It's because, by all accounts, you should be… at least it appeared that way," Mr. Weasley spoke up from the side of the room, rubbing his hand through his balding hair and giving Harry a sad smile. "The battle at Hogwarts was chaos, nobody knows for sure what happened. We saw the standoff between you and Dumbledore and You-Know-Who, but then there was an explosion of fire and we couldn't see anything. By the time it cleared, you and Dumbledore were gone, and You-Know-Who was lying there injured. The remaining Death Eaters came running over and fled with him." Mr. Weasley reached over to borrow his wife's rag, patted his head and sat down. "Weeks went by without any word, and we thought, maybe, that you and Dumbledore had gone off on a mission. But then, one day, the Ministry got word of an attack in a muggle neighborhood and I recognized your Aunt and Uncle's house, despite it being nothing more than a stack of timber at the time. When we came back, however…" Mr. Weasley stopped, and he began to pat madly at the sweat streaming down his forehead. He looked positively green, and every time he opened his mouth to speak, he immediately closed it and started patting his head again.

"It's alright, Arthur," Kingsley spoke up from across the room, in his deep, soothing tone. "What happened when we came back from Privet drive was nothing short of a nightmare. It was you we found in the atrium of the Ministry: mutilated, half-charred, and so saturated with dark magic that you were melting into the floor before our own very eyes. Of course there was the hope that it wasn't truly you, but that vanished when we found your wand, broken, beside your body."

"My wand?" Harry almost shouted. "Do you still have it?"

"I do," said Ron from his side, with cheeks glowing red, "I've got it back home."

"I think we caught little Ronnie sleeping with it one night," George teased from beside his father.

"Certainly did, there was no mistaking it. Might have drooled a little on it too, I'd check if I were you Harry," Fred winked.

"Alright, you got your story," Mad-Eye interjected, "now where is Dumbledore?" Everyone around the room seemed to prick up in attention to this.

Harry's heart stopped. Oh no… he thought, looking around at the hopeful faces, I'm trading one life for another. Nobody seemed to notice the look of dread on his face.

"He must have gone off searching for something," Mad-Eye continued, "a weapon, anything, and don't start telling me he hasn't been in contact with you."

"He's dead…" Harry said in a whisper and everything went silent. "He's dead," this time he repeated it louder.

"He can't be." It was Kingsley who spoke and others murmured in agreement.

"He died at Hogwarts."

"Nonsense, the Fidelius is still up! And where is his body then?"

Harry flicked his wrist, and the Elder Wand fell gently into his palm. "Voldemort killed him," Harry said, holding out the wand for all to see. A series of gasps went around the room. "He had his body taken away so it couldn't be reached and… I'm the secret keeper now, Dumbledore transferred it to me some time ago."

"It's over then, innit," the voice came from someone Harry hadn't noticed until now; grubby, old Mundungus Fletcher standing shadily in the corner.

"Nothing's over," Moody snarled, "We've been operating without Dumbledore for months and now we've got Potter back. Dumbledore always said he was our greatest hope." Moody said the last part with conviction, but Harry wasn't sure if he quite fully believed it.

At that moment, the tinkling of metal on metal could be heard from the kitchen doorway, just as Dobby came strolling in with a tray of tea and biscuits, and a nice roast beef sandwich for Harry.

Molly, likely not wanting to be outdone, quickly took it upon herself to whip up a midnight meal for everyone present.

Pretty soon, bowls of piping hot soup and platters of more sandwiches than you could count were being handed out around Grimmauld Place. Everywhere, small groups were clustering together, discussing the day's most recent developments, and Ron had somehow managed to steal Harry away, along with a plate brimming with food.

Harry did well to tell as much as he could, while giving away as little as possible. He'd distracted Ron with tales of Remus and his family, the werewolf pack and their fight against the vampires, and skimmed very quickly over his travels around France. He was lucky that Ron, so pleased to see his best mate alive, was content enough to ignore his purposeful vagueness.

"Not much been going on around here," Ron said, starting to fill Harry in, "One person's been left on guard duty just in case—that was Moody tonight—but we had to stop using this dump as headquarters a couple months back."

"Why's that?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well, with us not knowing you were secret keeper, and still thinking it was Dumbledore—hard to believe he's actually dead, you know—we kept using it for a little while once we knew it was safe. But the Order has grown lots lately, and without the secret keeper, we couldn't bring them in. Can't really have a headquarters, if a dozen of your members don't know it exists."

Harry laughed and grabbed another sandwich. "Who's joined?" Harry asked between bites. If he was secret keeper, he would have to meet them eventually.

"Let's see…" Ron tapped at his chin, thinking, "there's Tonks' new boyfriend, that Auror—"

"Fardale?" Harry said.

"Yeah, Fardale, that's the guy," Ron confirmed, "we've picked up a few more Ministry people working in different departments, and, oh, Neville's joined too!"

"That's great!" Harry was quite proud thinking of their brave friend.

"He's actually where we found our temporary headquarters. He said it used to be where his parents lived, and that they would've wanted the Order to use it. Doesn't have the Fidelius on it, or anything, but it's safe enough."

"He doesn't come by too often though, visiting there makes him sad, and he's hiding the fact that he's an Order member from his gran too," a new voice said from the side. "Hi Harry," Ginny waved.

Harry waved back, and conjured a seat for her with a twist of his wand. Ron and Ginny stared at him. "What?" he said, feeling like he did something wrong.

"Nothing," Ron shook his head and chuckled, "I just forgot how bloody good you've gotten at magic. Still can't believe I saw you going spell for spell with You-Know-Who. I'm so used to us getting outscored by Hermione…" Ron trailed off silently, his eyes staring at the table, glassy and unfocused.

Harry looked between the two siblings and saw the Ginny wore a look of concern.

The chair scarped back and Ron rose to his feet, suddenly, "I'm, er, going to see if mum needs any, uh, help cleaning up," he rattled off quickly, before leaving in a direction that wasn't the kitchen.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked.

"It's…" Ginny looked around nervously, "it's just a difficult time. Everyone has something that's eating away at them, most just don't want to come out and admit it. Take a look at Bill—" Harry turned to where Ginny was pointing; Bill could be seen talking in hushed voices with his father at the entrance of the dining room, "—Bill's been beating himself up over Phlegm for months. He seems to think it's all his fault."

Guilt thickened in his gut, and Harry fought hard to keep his face straight. "Oh, I forgot, you wouldn't know about that," Ginny said, her voice bitter, "after the battle at Hogwarts, Phle—Fleur… disappeared. Bill and mum were worried sick for weeks, I can't even count the number of letters he sent out, hoping she might send him one back saying she was alright. We thought she died. Turns out she ran away. Abandoned us. Left Bill, her fiancé, alone without a word." Harry's mask cracked, but Ginny must have mistaken his look for something else. "I always knew I was right for hating her. Mum tried you know? Tried to like Phlegm, it was never easy, but she tried her best, and now she can't hear her stupid French name without crying. I think Bill still hopes that she'll come back, like nothing's happened," her voice went soft as she gazed tenderly at her eldest brother, "but a little while ago, I overheard dad talking to a few Order members, saying that there were rumors she was an ICW agent who came over to gather information about the war."

Harry felt sick, and this time, it was him who was standing up from the table, and excusing himself in a hurry, not wanting to be around people any longer. He wasn't sure he could ever look Bill in the face again.

Taking the stairs, two at time, he rushed into the bedroom he always stayed at when the Order came to Grimmauld Place. Ron stood at the far end of the bedroom by the window, his trunk open by his feet, tying something to the foot of his owl, Pigwidgeon. Harry stepped forward and saw it was a letter.

"Who's that for?" he asked while claiming the empty bed.

Ron blushed something furiously. "Erm, well, it's for, uh," he pulled at his collar uncomfortably, "my girlfriend… Lisa." Harry tilted his head and looked at Ron curiously. "We started dating—in secret mind you—er, last year, and you're back now and I wanted to tell her and she's part of the Order too, by the way, and—"

"Alright, Ron, I get it," Harry doubled over laughing, "send your damn letter."

Ron mumbled something he couldn't hear, before tossing the tiny owl out the window and collapsing on the bed across from him. There was a moment of silence that hung precariously between them, and then, as if a pin pricked a balloon, they burst into hysterics.

It seemed several minutes went by before they regained control of themselves. Ron let out a long, and deep sigh, "Look at us, starting to grow up," he said.

"I guess so," Harry chuckled, "but some things never change. We'll be bunking together until the Cannons win the league."

Ron snorted.

"Congrats," Harry continued, "I mean it, good for you on finding a smart Ravenclaw who can do all your homework for you and snog you at the same time."

A pillow came flying at Harry's head, which he dodged.

"Thanks mate," Ron said, catching the pillow as Harry threw it back. "I really like her a lot, she's been good to me."

Harry hummed to himself. "You know," he said suddenly, "it's funny, I always thought you and Hermione would end up together."

Ron didn't answer.

"It's not like I was the only one, I'm certain half the school had the two of you down as the next pair to be caught in a broom cupboard."

Again, nothing was said, and this time Harry peeked over to see what was wrong. Just as it had been in the kitchen, Ron's face wore the same stony and distant look.

A cold sensation shot down Harry's spine. "Ron," he said, with a touch of urgency, "Ron," he repeated when there was no answer, "what happened to Hermione?"

There was a screech from the window that drew Harry's attention, and from where Pigwidgeon left, Hedwig came flying in. The surge of joy that coursed through him at the sight of his long lost friend, disappeared when he saw the tidy scrawl on the letter she clutched between her talons. Ron stared at the letter with blank eyes and a trickle of fear filled Harry's heart, it was from Hermione…

AN:

Wow it's been a while. Truth is, my life has changed massively in the last 6 months. Still love writing, and that will never change.

I saw a few people asking for an author's note update, and here's what I have to say about that. The only time you will get an update that is solely an author's note, is if my work is abandoned. So as long as there isn't AN, that means the story is good and I'm still slaving away, trying to bring it to a satisfying conclusion. I've got some ideas (I think they're pretty damn good), they're just hard to get down at times, for different reasons. Next update should almost certainly be coming faster than this one.

As always, please leave me reviews and let me know your thoughts on the update and the story as a whole. Your comments are what keep me going!