A/N: Thanks for the great reviews! It really is motivating to read such good comments. I thank everyone who does with deepest gratitude- I save all my reviews to read over and over! (I'm a review fanatic). Keep them coming! I apologize if this chapter is a bit too mushy for anyone, but I'm trying to have Harry and Dumbledore have a really good relationship- it will come up in the end (wink wink). I also am sorry for the wait, but this took a while considering its length! I'm still not an experienced writer; this is going to be the longest story I've ever written!

Disclaimer: I should hope by now you know I don't own Harry Potter. If you did, I would be a mixture of scared and freaked that you think I'm that good (and wondering if your sanity is intact, as well as why you'd be on this site cause you'd obviously know nothing about Harry Potter!) LOL!

Update: This is the edited chapter 7.

It Ends Now

Part 7: "Healing"

"Harry, are you alright?" Professor Dumbledore asked immediately, eyes blazing soliticiously. He traced Harry's scar with a nonplussed expression. How strange. It was suddenly as sealed as it always was, albeit stood out because of the boy's pale complexion. Harry winced at the contact, hissing in a slight breath- it still stung. Dumbledore noticed right away and drew back his hand. Harry looked around at the faces surrounding him, blushing and embarrassed at having so many people pressed around him... the fact that their quietly astonished attention was focused solely on him didn't help matters either. It made him feel as if he were being searched and probed with spotlights or something; it was a very uncomfortable feeling, and Harry found himself wondering what they were thinking about.

The fifteen year old drew himself out of his own thoughts and moved on to the most pressing issue.

"Why is...my scar bleeding?" Harry questioned hesitantly, gingerly fingering his famous mark with trepidation. "And, um, where am I, sir?"

"Grimmauld Place, Harry. As to your scar, that's what we're trying to figure out... was it a vision, Harry?" Dumbledore returned. Harry's eyes glazed over as the memories of the dream came rushing back in full detail. To top it off, finding himself once more in Grimmauld Place- Oh Sirius!- only served to heighten Harry's conflicted feelings.

"S-sort of. M-more like a nightmare." A lump rose up unbidden in his throat, but Harry defiantly held the tears back. He hated showing weakness, especially in front of his stoic teachers of all people! Harry looked down at his hands clutching the bedsheets in a tight grip, then squeezed his eyes closed to block out the howl of grief. All observed him with sympathy, realizing at once what Harry was attempting to quelch. A couple briefly considered leaving to give the boy some space, but then Professor McGonagall moved forward. Lightly, she put her hand over Harry's in a rarely seen act of compassion.

"We all need to let our feelings out sometimes, Harry. Trust me- the more you withhold grief, the worse it becomes," she whispered soothingly, in what Harry classified as a motherly way. He noticed the use of his first name, too. It made his eyes burn even more, to know that she was willing to share the soft side most people never saw in full. He could already envision what her true message was... It's okay to cry, Harry... but didn't they understand? If he let himself go, like he so desperately wanted to, then the tears would never stop! McGonagall sighed, squeezing his hand once very tightly, then stood up. She watched his inner struggle, overcome with sympathy for the poor boy who'd somehow crept into her heart to become one of the Gryffindor Head's favorites. It was so unfair that he had to suffer so much pain and burden; that he couldn't be a normal teenager his own age! Not even two months after Sirius' death, and now Harry was forced to deal with an attack by Voldemort and his cousin on top of it!

"No one would blame you for wanting to cry, Harry. You deserved better. You always have," she whispered mournfully, and it appeared this genuinity was the bludger that broke the dam.

A quiet, choked sob came out of the boy. Then another. And another. Harry let go of the blankets and put a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. An even louder sob followed. Dammit all! He felt Mrs. Weasley pull him into an embrace, shielding him from the others. Hands stroked him, trying to placate, but it was all a blur. Before the teen knew it, he was all-out crying, driven by his unbearable sadness... the tears just wouldn't obey his wishes any longer, and Harry forgot he was with his teachers, forgot he was even in Grimmauld- he was in an unknown vortex, riding wave upon wave of painful sorrow, guilt, and loss. If he had died, or if he was still alive, Harry didn't know. All he knew was that finally, he was letting out his loss and pain, giving in to his true feelings. He cried for his mother, father, Cedric... all the people he couldn't in living memory recall expressing true grief over... But most of all, he cried for Sirius. He cried for the man who'd slipped from his fingers just as they were about to embark on a future together. For the one who through it all, stuck with Harry. Even if it meant death, and on account of the godson he so loved. Harry's howling escalated. All my fault...

McGonagall's eyes softened drastically as Harry began crying with dry, wracked sobs that shook his whole, frail frame. Molly Weasley gathered Harry into her warm arms, rocking him gently. Dumbledore's gaze softened as well, and with clear love he smoothed down Harry's unruly dark hair in a small act of assuagement. McGonagall leaned forward and chose to stroke his cheek with a little uncertainty, unsure how to treat her student without totally breaking all professional etiquette.

Pomfrey settled for clicking her tongue and checking the boy's injuries, trying to hide her ornery grimace from the poor child. She wished there were a potion that could ease such deep-seated pain... Professor Lupin, on her other side, grasped Harry's shoulder in a comforting way. He knew how Harry must feel; he himself had been having to deal with this painful loss. Sirius had been one of his best friends; one of the few people who had accepted him despite the fact that he was a werewolf. The haggard wizard was trying to come to terms with the fact that he was the last marauder left, no longer counting the traitor Wormtail as one.

They remained this way for what seemed an eternity, until discovering that Harry had cried himself to sleep. Molly eased his limp form back under the covers and then tucked him in. A wistful smile sent her wondering how long it had been since someone had done that for him- fourteen years? Fifteen? She doubted the Dursleys ever did, even when he was a baby. Her visage shifted menacingly. If she ever got her hands, or rather her wand, anywhere near those awful Muggles... oh, then there'd be hell to pay! After Mrs. Weasley had finished patting down the blankets unnecessarily, they all left the room silently. Harry slept on for a long time, free of any more bad dreams, guilt, and the seemingly eternal pursuit of death and woe.

That is, of course, until Ron and Hermione had been allowed in.

The next thing Harry knew, he was being suffocated by a girl with bushy hair. He peered around her brown locks, grinning at a tall boy with red hair and freckles, trademarks of a Weasley. This boy looked on with a mixture of humor, exasperation, and worry.

"Hermione, get off Harry before you strangle him!" he admonished, sounding sincere yet smirking. Obvious relief that Harry was okay reverberated strongly in his voice. Hermione, teary-faced, released Harry from her bear hug.

"Oh Harry, you're alright, we were all so worried!" the girl choked out, smiling and wiping away another flow of happy tears.

"Jeez, stop your wailing already! That's all you and Ginny did the whole time!" Ron said to Hermione, scowling. He turned back to Harry confidently. "It was terrible, Harry- just bloody annoying! I knew you'd be alright, but they didn't want to listen to reason..." Then his face let in a little vulnerability as his tone went darkly serious. "You gave everyone a real scare, mate."

"Sorry, next time I'll tell Voldemort to go easy on me," Harry joked lightly, trying to liven up the mood. Ron gave a small, humorless laugh whilst Hermione gave Harry a look that reminded the fifteen year old of McGonagall in her telling-off mood.

"Harry..." she began tersely, but Harry cut her off with a shake of the head.

"Look Hermione, I'm fine, really!"

The brunette pursed her lips together in an Aunt Petunia-ish way, ceasing her rant but only reluctantly.

"Say Ron, speaking of Ginny, where is she?" Harry inquired eagerly. He envisioned her lively ginger locks and playful smile, and wondered if maybe she'd come to visit him when he was unconscious.

"Ron's mum wouldn't let her or the twins in yet. She said we could see you first," Hermione answered before Ron had said a word.

"Threw a right fit, Ginny did!" Ron continued. "Lots of colorful words she let slip too. Mum wasn't all that pleased after." Harry chuckled; he could just imagine the youngest Weasley yelling profanity that would make even the twins proud at her mother.

"Anything happen while I was gone? I mean, like with Voldemort?"

Ron shivered. "Wish you wouldn't always insist on saying his name, Harry. It's not that hard to say 'You-Know-Who'."

Harry ignored him and Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes and giving Ron a push. "Get OVER it already! It's not hard to say his real name, either!"

Ron just shrugged in reply. "You're a muggle-born, 'Mione. You haven't grown up hearing all the horrible stories of what it was like the first time around."

"And I'm the better for it," she returned smugly. "At least I don't look like I'm going to pee my pants every time I hear 'Voldemort'."

Ron hissed in a breath but swallowed his retort at the warning look Harry bestowed on the two.

"Continue?" the seeker prompted impatiently, rolling his viridian eyes towards the ceiling.

"Anyway Harry, we heard the Order talking about how (Ron paused, sucking in a breath) Voldemort's seiges and conquests are becoming more numerous and pronounced- everyone knows he's back now, and I suppose doing that invokes fear in people. Lots of muggles have fallen prey to their trickery, and the Death Eaters torture them for fun all the time."

"It's so horrible!" Hermione burst in, fierce anger shining clearly in her eyes. Ron nodded his agreement.

"I know, 'Mione. But that's not all," Ron said to Harry, frowning.

"Not all?" Harry repeated, feeling as if a dead weight had settled in the pit of his stomach. Ron shook his head. Part of Harry wanted to be ignorant of what was to come next, and it was that part that wanted to be shielded away from this sort of stuff. Each death seemed to bring even more pressure on Harry, always reminding him of his burden that he was the one destined to save the world. Everyone's fate rested on his shoulders; it was a horrible millstone to bear.

"I heard Dad say Florean Fortescue was killed a few hours ago. Body found in some Muggle dumpster in London. You remember he was the ice cream man in Diagon Alley?" Harry replied yes, how could he forget? That man, bless his soul, used to give Harry free ice cream. Ron continued on; there was more misfortune.

"He also said how Ollivander the wandmaker was dragged off. No one knows what happened, his place is just deserted, torn to shambles. I reckon he was killed too. Ollivander was a good man," Ron finished, bowing his red head in remembrance. Hermione gave a great sniff, eyes glistening. Harry too mourned their losses- it felt as if he had just seen them yesterday, his memory was so clear! He would always remember their kindness to him...

Harry looked back and forth between his friend's faces, as if telepathically asking if there was any more news.

"That's all we know for now, mate. Mum won't even let us near the kitchen when a meeting's in session," Ron responded. "Extendable Ears rarely work anymore." Harry leaned back against his pillow, a sudden feeling of weariness and fatigue entering him. He gave a large yawn as sleep tried to overcome his senses. Hermione ushered Ron out, following behind the boy and closing the door. Ron's last smart-aleck comment floated back up to Harry, drifting underneath the door.

"Seriously Hermione, you remind me of a mixture of Mum and Madam Pomfrey, all at the same time- it's scary, really," his voice said teasingly. Hermione clucked, and Harry laughed softly, listening to their fading footsteps. And with Ron's last words echoing in his brain, he fell back onto the pillow and was soon sound asleep.

It was the first night in a while that he did not dream of anything unpleasant.

oOo

Harry spent the next few days trapped in bed. He felt restless, and kept getting strong urges to climb out of bed and go downstairs. He felt absolutely fine, except for some sore joints, as he regularly told stubborn Madam Pomfrey. Apparently, even a mere cramp was bad news in that nurse's world. From his bed, Harry could see out the window and into the light blue sky above, clouds drifting by lazily as if smeared like paint onto the heavens. The sunlight always danced on the floor in mirages, shifting as the day went by. Sounds of the Weasleys playing Quidditch always reached his ears through the open window, making his yearning even stronger.

Ginny and the twins had come to visit him the day after Ron and Hermione did. Mostly, they talked about Fred and George's new business, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Business was booming, and they had bought Ron new robes and the rest of the family other much needed supplies, for once not secondhand. At the moment the two were on family leave, due back at the shop in a few day's time.

oOo

On the last day of Harry's bedrest, Ron and Hermione came to visit, bounding up the stairs amidst Mrs. Weasley's cries of "Slow down!" and "Don't wake Mrs. Black's portrait or I'll hex you into Seventh Year!" The two rushed into the room, panting and holding a letter each. Hermione passed one to Harry.

"O.W.L. results! Just arrived!" she informed breathlessly, an edge of nervousness in her voice. Harry looked down at his with slightly trembling fingers, beginning to feel like Hermione must. It was addressed:

Mr. Harry Potter

The Burrow

Ottery St. Catchpole

Britain

He fumbled a moment, finally managing to open the envelope. A parchment fell out onto Harry's lap, and he picked it up. After reading it through a few times for comprehension's sake, Harry sighed a breath of relief. His grades were thus:

Astronomy: A

Care of Magical Creatures: E

Charms: E

Defense Against the Dark Arts: O

Divination: D

Herbology: E

History of Magic: P

Potions: O

Transfiguration: E

A small beacon of hope flared up in Harry's chest. So far, his dreams of becoming an auror were going well. With an O in Potions, he could continue on in the N.E.W.T. of that class! Harry'd had an inkling that he had done well in his Potions O.W.L. Without Snape breathing over his shoulder and constantly berating him for every fault he made, Harry was a pretty adept Potions brewer. Wish I could've seen the ol' bat's face when he read this grade report! The only downside Harry could find in his results was that he would have yet another year with Snape. The rest of his grades were excellent, aside from Divination (he was always going to fail that one) and History of Magic (a boring class- besides, how could he have gotten any better, considering he collapsed halfway through the exam?).

The teen was drawn back to reality with Hermione telling him to swap. He glanced down hers, already knowing... yep, all Outstandings and one Exceeds Expectations in Defense Against the Dark Arts. What else from the cleverest witch of their age?

"Good job! You were always going to be best at Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione complimented after reading Harry's paper. Ron stole a glance at Harry's.

"Great, mate! Ruddy good in Potions, you did. But you have to pay for that with another year of Snape!" Ron had a good laugh at that.

"At least I'll have Hermione there," Harry sighed, trying to remain on the optimistic side. It was getting harder the more he thought about it. Nor did it help that Snape's idiosyncratic sneer kept sliding unbidden through his thoughts, with a loathing so far only Voldemort had been able to top.

Ron presented his next, grades being the same as Harry's but without the Outstandings. He had scraped an A in Potions and an E in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Ron chuckled again.

"Hey, we're N.E.W.T. students now!"

Mrs. Weasley came in, congratulating them all on their success.

"Your supply lists arrived too; I'll be leaving tomorrow for Diagon Alley to get everything," she said. Her bright gaze swiveled over to Harry.

"How are you, dear? Better?"

"Much better, thank you," Harry answered politely.

"Oh!" The motherly woman dug around in her pockets. "This came with your letter, Harry." She pulled out a small something and pushed it into Harry's hand, immediately after giving him a hug with a mischievious smile on her face. Then she rose up and went away with a wink. Harry looked down into his hand- he held a red and gold badge, the letters 'QC' intwined upon it. Ron gave a choke.

"Harry! You've been made Quidditch Captain!"

"Wha-?" was all Harry managed, eyes wide and holding the crest as if it were a prized treasure.

"Charlie used to have one of those when he was Captain... congratulations! I could help you if you want, if you let me back on the team, ha ha," Ron said, breaking through some sort of joyous fog in Harry's brain. He mentally cheered at what was probably Dumbledore and McGonagall's combined decision.

"Yah, you could be like my assistant or something!" Harry returned. They schemed on until Mrs. Weasley came back, acting very much like Hermione had as she shooed them away from Harry.

"This boy is finishing his BEDREST!" she exclaimed Madam Pomfrey-ishly as Ron gave a particularly loud groan.

oOo

That night found Harry staring listlessly out the window as he had most of the summer nights. It seemed like forever since the attack and that night when he had sat upon his bed on Privet Drive, doing the same thing as now. Hermione had informed him of what Dumbledore had said- that he wouldn't be returning to Privet Drive. Part of him was elated, but another was sad, wistful, and Harry had no clue why. Perhaps it was his subconscious, whispering of his unbidden wish to just be loved, like any other kid. He couldn't remember how many times in his childhood cupboard that he'd dreamed of Aunt Petunia hugging him, or Uncle Vernon ruffling his hair like he did with Dudley...

It made Harry want to laugh.

That, or cry. He couldn't decide which. But Harry rather thought he'd wailed like a baby once too many, and swore he wouldn't tear up for quite a long time, if he could help it. Regardless of McGonagall and Mrs. Weasley, he wasn't going to become a whiny, sentimental little child. He was fifteen going on sixteen, for Merlin's sake!

Harry's thoughts soon turned to Sirius at recalling his hysterics episode, and the night he had suggested Harry could live with him. Now that dream would remain just that. A dream. Harry frowned and looked out at the half moon, feeling a sense of deja-vu. Then, with a jolt, Harry realized that the night looked uncannily similar to the one when he had first seen Sirius, right before boarding the Knight Bus. The boy sighed, fingering his Quidditch Captain badge and wondering what Sirius would have said if he had seen it. He so wished to hear words of praise and pride coming out of his godfather's mouth once more.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," Harry called, not looking away from the night sky. The door creaked open and Harry finally tore away his gaze to rest it instead upon the visitor. It was Professor Dumbledore, framed in the doorway and surrounded in an aura of moonlight that poured in. His white beard almost glowed in the dark, and the silver fabric of his robes only enhanced the celestial image. The man looked unearthly, like someone out of a dream.

"Good evening, Harry," the Headmaster greeted in his deep baritone, striding into the room.

"Good evening, sir," Harry replied, wondering what this visit was all about. Dumbledore flicked his wand, conjuring up a chintz chair and seating himself down on it. Harry sat up straighter. The old man was silent for a minute, seeming to collect his thoughts.

"How are you?" he finally said.

Harry tried to find the right words. He was vaguely perplexed; where was this conversation leading?

"Er...I'm fine, Professor," he said in a decisive tone. Dumbledore chuckled mildly.

"You forget I am a professed Occlumens, child." Harry looked down, expression unreadable. "What's wrong?"

Harry struggled to say what he felt; it was uncommon for him to do such a thing.

"I...miss him," Harry muttered, and Dumbledore didn't have to ask who he meant.

"We all do."

Harry took a deep breath; he needed to get this off his chest or it would surely suffocate him. "I feel like it's my fault. Professor, on my first night here I dreamed that Voldemort trapped me in my head. He made my Mum, Dad, and Sirius appear and blame me for their deaths. They said such horrible things, but I feel like their words were veritable. I can't help but feel I had some cause in their deaths; that without me, they'd still be alive!"

Dumbledore's chair creaked as he moved off it, instead kneeling on the floor at Harry's side. He took Harry's hands into his own warm ones, looking up at him with what one would decipher as almost a pleading demeanor.

"Harry, I want you to look at me now," he said kindly. Harry, who had been determinedly looking away after this revelation, reluctantly locked eyes with the Headmaster. He was a little unnerved at the intensity his Professor's cerulean orbs held.

"What you say is entirely prevarication. They are the words of the sadness and guilt welling up from your soul, trying to cajole you into depression. Sirius, your mother, and father made their own decisions, in which you had nothing to do with. To protect you was their choice. You had absolutely nothing to do with their deaths, Harry- you are innocent in this matter! I know it will take time for my words to sink in, but I beg you listen.

"During my youth, the dark sorceror Grindelwald was rampant. He killed many, glorying in the Dark Arts as Voldemort does. My mother and father were one of those killed, and I was devasted beyond words. I blamed their deaths on some fault of mine. It ate away at me, Harry, and I grew bitter in my own self-revulsion. Then I realized the truth of what people all around were trying to get through to me- it was not my fault. I got my life back in order, changing direction.

"I was thirty years old then, Harry; much, much older than yourself. I can only imagine what you can be feeling; can only imagine your loss. You never knew your family- I had mine for thirty years, and still am blessed with Aberforth, my brother. You had no one for so long. But Harry, despite that there are people who love you; who want to help you. Why, I'm sure the Weasleys would jump at the chance to defend you as one of their own!" Harry smiled at that, imagining his shock of raven hair and vivid emerald eyes among the masses of red and freckles.

"You are never, never alone, Harry. And I want you to know..." Here Dumbledore paused to tighten his grip on Harry's hand. "I will always be there for you, dear boy, and I understand a small part of the terrible, chasming ache inside you. From now on, I am going to do what I should have from the very beginning. I am going to help train and mentor you for the final battle that looms ever closer."

Harry was touched, drawn into Dumbledore's words of comfort. He felt a new bond between him and the Headmaster form, and knew the beginnings of the healing process were coming into effect. Without any planning, Harry threw his arms around Dumbledore, trying to show his thanks that Dumbledore had shared something so private with him. He had unknowingly- or maybe knowingly, no one ever knew with the old coot, Harry thought fondly- prodded Harry in the most gentlest of fashions onto his journey toward self-forgiveness.

The professor seemed a little surprised and taken-aback at Harry's embrace, but he responded in kind, wrapping firm arms around the boy who was undoubtedly his favorite pupil.

When they parted a few seconds later, Dumbledore stood up and prepared to leave. As he reached the door, Harry called out to him.

"Sir!"

"Harry?"

Harry had a sheepish yet apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry about last year. How I acted in your office, I mean."

Dumbledore smiled.

"Nonsense. There is nothing to be sorry for, dear boy. You were simply letting out your feelings in the only way you knew. Forgive and forget, I say." And then he was gone.

Harry lied down, closing his eyes. Happiness was engulfing him; he felt lighter and more free than he had in a long time. Indeed, the healing process was taking place. The gaping hole inside him was beginning to fill; fill with the love of all those in the house with him.

A/N: I ADORE REVIEWS! (wink) I hopefully will be able to get the next chapter up sooner than I did this one. Thanks!

AngelMoon Girl