The Potter Brand

by JBean210

In August 1995, Harry helps a stranger in Little Whinging and is given the Star Brand in return, a mysterious artifact of immense power that can solve the Voldemort problem in no time. But things are always more complicated than they appear! Complete.

4. A Dismal Term

The Potter Brand

Chapter 4

"A Dismal Term"

Albus Dumbledore walked slowly through the remains of the Burrow, surveying the damage. There was very little left of the home; what few stones of the structure that remained upright were covered with blackened ash. Of the wood and other flammable parts of the house, there was nothing — it was obviously the work of cursed fire, fire that could burn even stone and metal to ash, given enough time.

Somewhere at the Ministry, Dumbledore knew, an alarm had gone off as a ward at the Burrow had detected magical fire. Ministry workers had Flooed to the nearest fireplace not involved in the fire — fortunately, only a few miles away, at the home of Xenophilius Lovegood — then Apparated to the Burrow. Even so, in the few minutes it had taken to arrive, the entire structure had been engulfed in the ravening, all-consuming fire. Dumbledore could sense the nature of it even as he made his way to the point of origin of the blaze: Fiendfyre.

The kitchen, the point of origin, was utterly nonexistent now. Nothing but ash was left of the four walls, though Dumbledore could reconstruct the layout of the room in his mind's eye. He could see where Molly Weasley's cooking pots and pans had been hung, from the puddles of melted metal lying about, see the bits of ash that had been her silverware, and knew from the arrangement of layers of dust on the hard ground how her cupboards had burned and fallen. The only unexpected thing about this scene, apart from the unusual and regrettable loss of the house itself, was the charred skeleton lying in the middle of it, in a cracked and blistered crater gouged in the floor by the fire and by some heavy impact.

"What do you make of all this, Dumbledore?" Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, asked as she followed him into the kitchen area. "How could Death Eaters have made it past the Ministry wards? Assuming it was Death Eaters, of course," she added, looking around. "Although I could not imagine anyone else being so foolish as to unleash Fiendfyre in a populated area, even one as sparse as Ottery St. Catchpole."

"I do not know, Madam Bones," Dumbledore said absently, leaning over to peer carefully at the charred skull on the floor next to him. The size of the skeleton was about right, he had gauged, though its very presence was something of an anomaly — most bodies exposed to Fiendfyre were burned to ashes within seconds. Yet this body, somehow, had remained partly intact even at the origin of the blaze, perhaps had even been the primary target of the spell!

That fact had not escaped Madam Bones's attention, either. "Who do you think this unlucky soul is, Dumbledore, and how did his body escape complete destruction?"

"I believe," Dumbledore said, slowly, "it is the remains of Harry Potter."

"Indeed?" Bones said, now looking at the skeleton with renewed interest. "And he was just this morning cleared of all charges against him! That is highly suspect. I should think we would want to question Lucius Malfoy concerning this incident."

Dumbledore nodded acquiescingly, but said, "I'm sure Lucius will have a very good alibi for his whereabouts at the time of the alarm, however. He is most careful about covering his tracks."

Bones looked unconvinced; her monocle flashed as she looked up, sharply, at the headmaster. "Perhaps. But I'm sure we can at least shake him up a bit, if nothing else. Rattle his cage a bit."

"It will also be useful to have Cornelius produce the severed head once again," Dumbledore suggested.

"For what purpose?" Bones asked, puzzled. "It is only a head." She grimaced. "A particularly nasty-looking one, if you ask me."

"Nevertheless," Dumbledore replied. "I must insist that you at least make the attempt to find it, Amelia — it is evidence."

"The case has been cleared," Bones pointed out. "If You-Know-Who returned from wherever he disappeared to in 1981, he's dead now. As is, unfortunately, Harry Potter," she finished, looking at the skeleton.

"True," Dumbledore agreed. "Death is final." Bones nodded solemnly then turned to talk with an Auror who was investigating the scene, and the headmaster's gaze turned from Bones, to the remains of Harry Potter. Kneeling down next to the skeleton, Dumbledore placed his hand carefully over the skull, finding the feel of Fiendfyre there as well. His sigh was one of relief: At least Harry's body need not suffer further indignity to remove the fragment of Voldemort's soul Dumbledore believed had been lodged there for these past fourteen years. There was only one thing left for Albus Dumbledore to do for the boy, now…

Finished speaking with the Auror, Amelia Bones began to walk away, but hesitated. She turned, laying a hand on Dumbledore's shoulder. "Albus," she said, softly. "I — I am sorry the boy is dead. I know you've taken quite an interest in his life…"

"I hope I may be given permission to remove the body, for burial," Dumbledore replied, without looking at her. "I owe him that much."

"I'm sure it can be arranged," Bones replied. "Where will you bury him?"

"With his parents," Dumbledore said. "It seems only fitting — I do not believe Harry was ever able to visit their graves."

Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the room and, seeing the Magical Law Enforcement head, approached her. "Madam Bones," he said, respectfully. "You asked Head Auror Scrimgeour to keep you briefed on the Death Eater situation." His eyes flicked toward Dumbledore, a subtle reminder to the DMLE head that the information could be sensitive.

"Go ahead, Shacklebolt," Bones nodded. "Dumbledore knows to keep any sensitive information confidential."

"Yes, ma'am. We've set up watches on known and suspected Death Eaters, including those in Azkaban. Thus far, however, Contact Number One has eluded all our efforts to reacquire him." Contact Number One, Dumbledore knew, was Lucius Malfoy, designated as such since Bellatrix Lestrange had been incarcerated in Azkaban prison. He had not been seen since just after Harry's disciplinary meeting this morning, when he had spoken briefly with Cornelius Fudge.

"Have there been any overt activities by known or suspected Death Eaters recently?" Bones asked.

Shacklebolt shook his smooth head. "They have certainly been quiet about it, if they have," he said. "We can only keep watch on the primary ones, ma'am, as you know."

"Yes, yes," Bones said, irritably, in her booming voice. "Except for Malfoy, unfortunately, it seems."

"He was expected to rejoin his wife and son at the Red Dragon this morning, after his meeting with Fudge," Shacklebolt explained. The Red Dragon was a very high-quality hotel for wizards in the London Area. "We have our best new Auror trailing him, Nymphadora Tonks."

"Mmm," Bones pondered that name for a moment. "Ted Tonks's girl, isn't she? Just graduated from Auror Training this spring?"

"Yes, ma'am," Shacklebolt nodded.

"Good," Bones said. "I'm sure there's no love lost between her and the Malfoys. Just keep her from tripping over him." She nodded to him and Dumbledore, then turned and walked away.

"Yes, ma'am," Shacklebolt agreed, with a small smile. He nodded to Dumbledore, who smiled benignly in return, and went to continue his duties.

Alone now with Harry's body, Dumbledore took out his wand and conjured a coffin of white pine next to him on the floor of the Burrow's ruined kitchen, then pointed his wand at the remains. The body and all surrounding bits of ash lifted and floated into the box.

As the lid of the coffin slowly closed of its own accord, Dumbledore took a last look around the room. Whatever had happened here this morning, the headmaster could not help but feel a sense of foreboding. He had not attended the hearing this morning; Harry had seemed particularly irritated with him due to the measure he had taken after school dismissed, earlier in the summer, to keep Harry isolated and to observe his behavior now that Voldemort had regained his physical form.

Harry had shown increasingly aggressive and frustrated behavior during the month of July, leading Dumbledore to believe that he was feeling the effects of Voldemort's emotions much more keenly than previously, right up until he confronted him at Malfoy Manor and dispatched him. Since then, he had lapsed into a sullen depression, becoming uncommunicative with everyone except Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, and they only guardedly.

In his long, long life, now stretching back well past one hundred years, Dumbledore had learned to trust his instincts, and they were telling him now that something was wrong about all of this, Harry's death here, in the Weasley family's kitchen. He would have to be especially careful now, even with them, as there were too many coincidences to reasonably account for. Fudge had mentioned, when Dumbledore spoke to him earlier, that he and Lucius had a momentary conversation with Harry and Arthur Weasley near the staircase leading to level ten of the Ministry. In addition, while the box had been present in Fudge's office when Dumbledore questioned him, a subtly-cast spell had revealed that the head was no longer inside it.

But now, he thought, to the business at hand. Dumbledore conjured a stand beneath the coffin, so that it stood at an acceptable height for viewing. Of course, there would be no formal showing of Harry's body — there was nothing left to look at — but Dumbledore had attended many, many funerals in his long life. Far too many already, he thought, with a touch of moroseness, and old habits died hard. But this would be the hardest one to bear. Dumbledore tapped the coffin with his wand, and it glowed faintly blue for a moment, trembling. Putting his wand away, the headmaster laid his hand on the white wood, waiting for it to take them to where he must break the news of Harry's death.

***

"How long is that damned hearing going to last, anyway?" Ron grumbled, throwing a card down onto the pile, which didn't explode. He and his twin brothers Fred and George were playing a game of Exploding Snap in Ron's room. Hermione, who had decided not to play, was reading the fifth-year textbook on Transfiguration. "Harry's been gone almost all morning," Ron continued, unhappily. "Mum probably won't even make lunch until he gets back!"

"Aw, poor ickle Ronnikins," Fred drawled, thumbing through his cards absently. "Is he a bit peckish already this morning?"

"Shut it," Ron muttered, as Fred threw the dolt of cauldrons onto the pile. "I'm worried about Harry, is all."

"Don't worry, he's going to beat them," George said confidently, then tossed the dolt of cats onto the pile and yelled, "Snap!" while slapping his hand on top of it. Fred, who'd anticipated his twin's move, put his hands on top of George's, leaving Ron last.

"Dammit!" he complained, picking up the pile (except for the top card) and adding it to his handful. "What's wrong with these cards tonight? None of them are exploding!" Part of the fun of Exploding Snap was that sometimes, when discarding, one or more of the cards in the pile would spontaneously explode, decreasing the number that would have to be picked up by the loser on a Snap, when two cards of the same rank were laid one on top of the other, as George had just done. Afterwards, the game would continue, with each player laying down a card until only one player held any cards; that person then lost the hand. Usually seventeen hands were played, and the person with the smallest card count at the end was the winner.

"Course he'll beat them," George added, as Ron tossed a card on top of the dolt of cats, to begin the pile again. "Dumbledore was going to show up, too, just before the hearing began, to argue the case for him." He tossed the queen of swords on top of the pile.

"He and I were talking about it last night," Hermione said, not looking up from her book. "The Ministry really doesn't stand a chance. They don't have a case, anyway. I can't believe the Wizengamot is letting Cornelius Fudge get away with what he's doing — it's really dodgy stuff."

"Fudge has been dodgier and dodgier for some time, now," Fred agreed, playing the oaf of wands. "It's pretty obvious he's after Harry — at least to us, of course, Harry's friends!" He looked over at Hermione, his expression troubled. "What I worry about is, who's on Fudge's side?"

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked, throwing the baron of hats on top of Fred's oaf.

Fred looked at George, who took up the conversation, leaning forward conspiratorially. Everyone in the game leaned toward him; even Hermione leaned forward some in her chair. "We've been hearing some things over the past week, ever since Harry turned everything upside down," George said, in a hushed voice. "Lucius Malfoy's been trying to get to Fudge — the Order thinks it's to influence him against Harry, but that bloke's been scarcer than a ghoul in a greenhouse."

"What's Fudge been up to, then?" Hermione asked, finally looking up from her book.

Fred shrugged. "Nobody knows. Malfoy greased a lot of palms trying to get to Fudge, according to the Order, but only ended up with a lighter purse."

"How'd you hear all this?" Ron wanted to know, as he studied his handful of cards. "I thought Mum took all your Extendable Ears."

"Most of them," Fred corrected, grinning. "We put back a few for a rainy day, and put an Accio-counterspell on them, so she couldn't clear them out. Plus, we acted pretty devastated when she found the other ones."

"We pretty much own those meetings now," George said matter-of-factly. "Between the Ears, and making Dung a gift, every so often, of one of Sirius's stash of firewhiskey bottles, for which he'll gladly tell us everything that went on. Course, he's not much use to anyone for a day or so afterwards."

Ron and Fred were laughing, but Hermione looked scandalized. "You shouldn't take advantage of him like that! What if he gets in trouble for telling something he shouldn't?"

"He knows he's an Order member, Hermione," Fred pointed out. "He doesn't tell us the really important stuff. At least, not yet," he added plaintively, looking at his twin. "But we're working on it."
"It just sounds wrong, that's all," Hermione complained.

"Give it a rest, Hermione," Ron said, dismissively. "Dung knows what he's doing — well, most of the time, anyway." He dropped the baron of swords onto the pile then yelled, "Snap!" as he dropped his hand on top of the pile.

"AHA!" George shouted, slapping his hand on top of Ron's, leaving Fred in last place. But at that moment the cards decided not to cooperate with Ron once again, and exploded. And exploded again. And again! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! All of the cards under Ron and George's hands blew up, as they hastily pulled them out of the way.

When the bits of card confetti finally settled and disappeared (exploded cards reappeared, reformed, inside the box they came in) Ron was looking around disbelievingly. "Bloody hell," he muttered, looking at Fred and George. "I finally get one of you, and what happens? The bleedin' cards blow up!"

"We lead a charmed life, little brother," Fred smiled. "Perhaps someday you'll catch onto our broomtails and —" He stopped as the sound of footsteps were heard on the steps leading up to their floor.

"The cards weren't that loud, were they?" Ron whispered. The footsteps reached the top of the stairs and there was a moment's pause before they began moving toward Ron's bedroom door. It seemed to take an unusually long time. By now everyone in the room, even Hermione, was staring at the door, waiting to see who was coming.

There was a soft tapping, as if someone was knocking. Ron looked around. Everyone seemed puzzled, as if someone knocking was the last thing they expected to hear. "Come in," Ron said, at last.

The knob turned and the door opened slowly into the room. It was Mrs. Weasley, back from the Burrow, where she and Ginny had gone to pick up a few items, earlier that morning. She was not smiling and looking very drawn and red-eyed, as if she'd been crying. She didn't say anything for several moments.

"Sorry about the cards, Mum," Ron offered, hoping that volunteering an apology would soften her a bit. She did not look happy at all, he thought.

But Molly shook her head. "Come downstairs, all of you," she said, her voice almost a whisper, she sounded so hoarse. "Professor Dumbledore's back."

George, who knew his mother's moods, asked, "Is something wrong, Mum? Is Harry back, too?"

After a few moments, her mother nodded, jerkily. "Y-yes," she said, her voice catching in something like a sob.

Ron glanced quickly at Hermione — her expression was filled with worry and concern at his mother's state, as was he. "Mum, what's up? What happened with Harry?"

"Just —" Molly closed her eyes, shaking her head. Her entire body seemed to be trembling, in fact. "Just come downstairs. Dumbledore will explain." Everyone stood immediately, following her down to the ground floor and into the dining room, where other members of the Order were gathered: Arthur Weasley was there, standing behind Ginny, whose hands were covering her face, as was the Weasley clan's oldest son, Bill; Harry's godfather, Sirius Black; Remus Lupin, their third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts professor; also with them was gray-haired, grizzled looking Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, who would have been their four-year Defense teacher, except he'd been kidnapped by Barty Crouch, Jr., a Death Eater who'd spent the entire fourth year impersonating him using Polyjuice Potion; Hagrid, of course, who was already red-eyed and puffy-faced, daubing at his eyes with a tablecloth-sized handkerchief; Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt, two Aurors who had joined the Order; two older wizards, Elphias Doge and Dedalus Diggle; Sturgis Podmore, a square-jawed man with straw-colored hair; Emmaline Vance, a tall, stately witch with blonde hair; Hestia Jones, shorter, with black hair and pink cheeks; Mundungus Fletcher, ginger-haired, though less so than the Weasleys, and looking rather grubby in his tattered robes; and finally, Severus Snape, their Potions teacher, was present as well, his features sallow and unsmiling, as usual.

Albus Dumbledore was there, too, looking very unlike his normal cheerful self — he was somber and ashen-faced. "Ah, everyone is here," he said, seeing them file into the room behind Molly.

"I have some very bad news," he said, without preamble. "Harry Potter is dead."

Shock and despair filled the room. Hermione gasped and fell against Ron, who held her up, but only barely kept from collapsing himself; Ginny ran to her mother, burying her face in her mother's shoulder, sobbing. Fred and George stared at Dumbledore in shock. Neither one of them had the temerity to say, "Are you joking?!" — Dumbledore was obviously not. Some of the adults had already guessed the truth, but Hestia Jones cried out, "No!" and buried her face in Sturgis Podmore's chest, and Tonks turned to Remus, her eyes filled with tears. As were his. Everyone reacted visibly save for one person — Severus Snape, who at last bowed his head slowly, almost seeming to mock the others' emotions, as Sirius glowered at him.

"How — how did it happen, Professor?" Hermione finally stuttered, stepping away from Ron to face the headmaster. "Did the Ministry do it? How could they? Harry told us he couldn't — he couldn't…be…"

"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "It was Lord Voldemort."

Shock ran through the group once again. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley glanced momentarily at one another. "But that's impossible!" Remus cried, looking at Dumbledore in disbelief. "He was dead! Stone, cold dead! I verified it myself! His bloody head was cut off, for Merlin's sake!"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I know, Remus, I examined the head myself as well. Yet we found Harry's charred remains in the ruin of the Burrow. He had been burned, with Fiendfyre."

"Oh, no!" Molly gasped. "I was just there, with Ginny, picking up a few things! We must have just missed him!"

"If so, you were fortunate," Dumbledore said, gravely. "No one could have survived that fire, or the person or persons that caused it."

"But what about the protections?" Mr. Weasley said, sounding very agitated. "They should have prevented anyone unknown or unfriendly to us from entering!"

"They should have," Dumbledore agreed, calmly. "But I suspect that, for whatever reason brought Voldemort and Harry together there, the wards were not a problem for him."

"That still doesn't answer the question about Voldemort," Sirius said, more patiently than anyone expected. "How can he still be alive? I watched Remus and Snape examine the head, they both concurred it was him."

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you at this time, Sirius," Dumbledore told him, almost apologetically. "But I intend to find out."

"What — what about Harry?" Ginny asked, tearfully. "About his — body," she finally got out.

"There will be a showing here tomorrow, at one p.m.," Dumbledore said softly, his voice almost breaking. "I regret that only Order members, and those who know of this location, may attend. Afterwards we will place Harry beside his parents, in Godric's Hollow. That is all."

The Order members began dispersing, many leaving to go back to their own affairs. At a glance from Dumbledore, however, Sirius, Remus and Snape tarried in the dining room, as did Ron and Hermione, who noted they were not dismissed along with the other students, who had been escorted to the door by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione, still distraught by the news of Harry's death, did not immediately grasp the significance of the group that remained. "Are — are we going to discuss details of Harry's service?" she asked, sniffling.

"No," Dumbledore said, gently, shaking his head. "There is something we must discuss, in private." Taking a plate from the hutch standing nearby, he tapped it with his wand, saying "Portus." The plate glowed blue, trembling, and Dumbledore held it out so the others could touch it. Wordlessly, everyone touched a finger to the edge of the plate, joined at last by Ron and Hermione, who found themselves surprised to be included in the invitation. They each touched the plate, and a moment later were whisked away into a swirling vortex of wind and colors, landing moments later inside another room both of them recognized almost immediately after recovering from their landing. They were once again in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

"The six of us," Dumbledore began, again without preamble, "knew Harry best, in various ways. What Madam Bones told me of the events in Courtroom Ten has made me wonder if something had happened to him recently — something that may have affected his thinking."

"Well, You-Know-Who's return certainly did," Hermione spoke up, after a moment. "Harry was almost yelling at us when we first saw him, at the beginning of the month. He was upset that we hadn't written him to tell him what was going on."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "He was really mad about that, about as mad as I've ever seen him."

"Potter has always acted that way," Snape said dismissively. "You're just too blind to see him for what he is, unless his anger is directed towards you."

"That's not true," Hermione shook her head, looking directly at Snape. "Harry rarely got upset, unless it was something to do with how you were treating us!"

"It's of no consequence to me that Potter could dish it out, but couldn't take it," Snape sneered. "He's only made it this far because you've been carrying him and Weasley, helping with their assignments, being a regular Miss Know-It-All —"

"Severus, enough," Dumbledore cut him off. Snape bit back any further remarks he might have made, while Hermione glared at him. "We are not here to argue over Harry's academic record —"

"Why are we here, then?" Sirius asked. "What could possibly be so secret, so important, that even Headquarters isn't safe enough to talk about it?"

Rather than reply immediately, however, Dumbledore walked around to his desk and sat down, taking out his wand and tapping a drawer, which popped open. The headmaster removed a small, black book, its pages ragged with age and misuse. There was a hole in the center of the cover.

"That's Tom Riddle's diary!" Ron said, before Hermione could open her mouth. "Harry saved Ginny from him, back in our second year!"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "Harry attempted to return the book that Lucius Malfoy, its owner before it made its way to Hogwarts, but he dropped it on his way out, I was told.

"This book," he said slowly, looking at them carefully, "was a Horcrux."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. They already know what they were, thanks to what Harry had told them earlier in the month.

"Ah," Lupin said knowingly.

"What's a Horcrux?" Sirius asked, interested.

"Something quite a few people here seem to know about," Snape said, his eyes narrowed. He'd seen the look that passed between the two students.

"It is very Dark, very evil magic," Dumbledore said. "A Horcrux is an object enchanted to hold a fragment of a wizard's soul. With that fragment thus anchored to the physical world, he cannot die."

"I remember reading of a Horcrux, once," Snape said. "But it did not describe what it was."

"The only such reference I left in the Library, when I became Headmaster," Dumbledore nodded. He looked toward Ron and Hermione. "But we have heard nothing from our youngest two visitors about this artifact."

"Harry told us what they were," Hermione said in reply. "He also told us that — that Voldemort may have made more than one."

"More than one?" Lupin gasped. "How many more?"

"He may have divided his soul up to seven ways," Dumbledore told them. Lupin shook his head, horrified.

"What is it, Remus?" Sirius asked him. "Why does that matter?"

Remus looked at his old friend, his eyes haunted. "The only way to divide one's soul is to commit an act of supreme evil — to commit murder. Voldemort would have to have done that six times, at least, to divide his soul into seven parts. It seems logical, of course, as seven is the most powerful magical number."

"True," Dumbledore concurred. "But I believe that something happened on the night Voldemort murdered James and Lily, something that he didn't anticipate. When he attacked Harry with the Killing Curse, the magical protection his mother invoked sacrificing herself caused it to rebound on Voldemort, destroying his body and splitting his soul again. While the disembodied Voldemort fled the Potter home, that fragment attached itself to the only living body there, the infant Harry."

"So Harry was a Horcrux, too?!" Ron gasped.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "What is more, I now believe that the body Voldemort regained six weeks ago was a Horcrux as well."

"But what would he gain by such an action?" Lupin asked. "To tear his soul once again, if it was already a part of his body?"

"Actually, it was a brilliant idea," Dumbledore corrected him. "Especially given the other changes Voldemort made to his body to enhance its longevity."

"But how could we tell whether that was true, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"We are about to discover that for ourselves," Dumbledore said. Rising, he walked over to a black cabinet sitting near the great oaken door to his office, opened it and removed a large, stone basin, placing it on his desk.

"My Pensieve," he explained, for Ron and Hermione's sake. Both of them were looking, awestruck, at the swirling, silvery substance within the basin. Reaching inside his robes, Dumbledore withdrew a crystal vial that seemed to be filled with more of the same substance. Opening it, he poured the contents into the Pensieve.

"Madam Bones graciously provided me with her memories of the hearing," Dumbledore said. "And I have placed them within the Pensieve, where we may all view them." He looked around at the seven other people in the room. "Normally, to activate a memory, one touches their face to the liquid in the Pensieve, but with all of us here, that may become rather cramped. I believe our fingertips will suffice for this excursion." Everyone positioned themselves close to the Pensieve, and at Dumbledore's nod, they all dipped their fingertips into the swirling liquid.

Everyone felt themselves falling slowly into darkness, suddenly landing in various benches scattered throughout Courtroom Ten, among the members of the Wizengamot. They all watched as Harry entered the hall, saw his tentative beginning, the hostility evident from Fudge and several other members of the court, and Harry's sudden look of confidence.

Ron and Hermione were seated next to each other, on the side opposite Percy, behind Head Auror Scrimgeour and Senior Undersecretary Umbridge. As Harry was going through his little show of bringing Mrs. Figg to the courtroom, Ron turned to Hermione and whispered, "Can you believe all of this? It's fantastic!"

"Yes," she breathed in reply. "I read about Pensieves last year, when Harry told us about Professor Dumbledore's — I've always wanted to try one! They're supposed to let you see memories much more clearly than when you actually experience them."

"What if you're experiencing someone else's memories, like now?" Ron wanted to know, but Hermione shushed him.

"Wait, I want to hear what Harry's saying!"

They watched as the conversation between Harry and Fudge became heated, gasping when Fudge threw the decapitated toward Harry.

"He's not even pretending to be impartial," Sirius said scornfully, watching Fudge.

"We never expected him to be," Lupin remarked. "Otherwise things never would have come to this."

They watched the rest of the hearing, including the vote, where Fudge and his cronies found themselves laughably outnumbered, and watched Harry's speedy exit afterwards. As Harry left the chamber, Dumbledore stood. "Time for us to leave," he said, and they floated upward into darkness, finding themselves standing once again around the Pensieve.

"As you can see," Dumbledore said, looking around at the others, "Harry did an excellent job of defending himself, though I confess it was not clear to me why he was reciting fake incantations before revealing Mrs. Figg to the Wizengamot…"

"He was having them on a bit, Dumbledore," Sirius said, smirking.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, and sighed. "I see…"

"Excuse me," Hermione interrupted them. "We're getting away from the point, aren't we? We're trying to figure out what happened to Harry after he left the hearing?"

"Indeed we are, Miss Granger," Dumbledore agreed. "And that brings me to the crux of the situation. After Harry left the courtroom, he was seen with Arthur Weasley, talking with Fudge and Lucius Malfoy, before they retired to Fudge's private office to conduct whatever business they had."

"Monetary business, mostly likely," Sirius said, darkly.

"Quite probably," Dumbledore agreed. "Whatever it was, it did not appear to take long, since the alarm sounded about fifteen minutes after Malfoy left Fudge's office; his assistant — Mr. Weasley's brother Percy, by coincidence —" Ron rolled his eyes at this "— noted his time of departure on the Minister's schedule."

"Percy's finally good for something," Ron muttered under his breath.

"I took the trouble to find out a few things," Dumbledore continued. "I discovered that, when Molly Weasley and Ginny returned to Grimmauld Place with the few items they went to retrieve from the Burrow, they said they had just gotten back from there, having taken the Knight Bus — which, Molly told Remus, had taken a full twenty minutes to get them there."

"Yes, she told me that," Remus confirmed.

"However, Dumbledore went on," I had a short talk with Stan Shunpike, the conductor of the Knight Bus, and he does not remember transporting a pair of red-headed witches to Grimmauld Square that day, or any other day in his recollection. As Remus recalled, they arrived at Grimmauld Place about twenty minutes after the alarms rang at the Ministry."

Hermione, Sirius and Remus all looked concerned, but Ron merely looked puzzled. "Maybe she mixed up the time," he said, slowly. "Mum doesn't pay too much attention to what time it is, unless it's the day of the Hogwarts Express."

"There is more, unfortunately, Ronald," Dumbledore said, quietly. Your father and Harry left the Ministry within a few minutes after their encounter with Fudge and Lucius Malfoy in the halls on level nine. Your father was supposed to drop Harry off at Grimmauld Place on his way to Bethnal Green. He said he did so, arriving in Grimmauld Square and Apparating to away almost immediately. When I spoke to him afterwards, at the Ministry, he was extremely upset that he hadn't waited for Harry to enter number 12.

"Yet he was seen arriving in Bethnal Green ten minutes after the Burrow's alarm sounded at the Ministry, according to Perkins, the wizard who works with him and who had been dispatched to take care of the toilet after another complaint about it."

Ron was frowning again. "How — how did he know so precisely when my dad got there?"

"I asked him that very question as well," Dumbledore replied. "It seems Mr. Perkins is due for retirement, but he must stay at the Ministry until the fourteenth of September, to collect his gold watch for 75 years of employment. So he tends to check the time quite often.

"This means that there was a span of approximately thirty minutes where Arthur's whereabouts cannot be accounted for," Dumbledore concluded.

"So what are you trying to say, Professor?" Ron demanded. "That my mum and dad had something to do with Harry's death? That's mental!"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, aghast at his insolence.

"Well, it is!" Ron insisted. "Either of them would die before they betrayed Harry!"

"Of that I have no doubt," Dumbledore said seriously. "But we must consider all possibilities — including the chance that your parents may have fallen under the Imperius Curse."

"Do you suspect Fudge?" Lupin asked, looking at the headmaster thoughtfully.

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, "especially since he has spent an excessive amount of time studying Voldemort's head in the last month. He seemed to be simply trying very hard to prove that it was not him, but I must now revisit that assumption — the Sword of Gryffindor may not have destroyed the Horcrux."

"It would take Basilisk venom to destroy the Horcrux, wouldn't it?" Lupin said, thoughtfully. "That, or Fiendfyre, I believe. The sword would not have done it —"

"Except that Harry used the sword to kill the Basilisk, back in our second year!" Ron exclaimed excitedly.

"And one of the legends about the sword," Dumbledore added, smiling, "is that it imbibes only that which makes it stronger! It absorbed some of the venom, making it capable of destroying Horcruxes! An excellent deduction, Mr. Weasley!" Ron beamed at him.

"How do you know so much about these things, Remus?" Sirius wanted to know. "My whole family was into the Dark Arts for generations and I've never heard of Horcruxes!"

Lupin gave a casual shrug. "You never were much interested in the Dark Arts, Sirius, old friend. Whereas I've made it my business to know as much as possible." He looked at Hermione. "It was never posted in the awards room at the school, perhaps because of my — well, my 'furry little problem,' as James called it, but I received twelve O.W.L.s — all Outstanding — and seven N.E.W.T.s, in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions and Transfiguration. Again, all Outstanding. I don't believe any other student at Hogwarts ever received higher marks."

"There was one student who scored higher," Dumbledore commented, his eyes twinkling. "But he was well before your time, Remus."

Hermione was beginning to look agitated. "I'm sorry to be a broken record about this," she said, plaintively. "But we still have to figure out how H-Harry could have been killed, if he was as powerful as it seems."

"Right," Sirius agreed. "More importantly, what happened to that symbol Harry's had for the past few weeks, that — that Star Brand?"

"I think we must assume that Voldemort was able to acquire it from Harry, somehow," Dumbledore said quietly.

No one replied for some time. The implications of the headmaster's statement was awful to contemplate. With that kind of power, nothing could stand in Voldemort's way!

Then, Hermione spoke again, somewhat timidly, "What about that man, the one Harry said gave him the Star Brand in the first place? I think his name was Connell. What's happened to him?"

"An interesting question, Miss Granger," Dumbledore mused. "I wonder if he's aware of the current situation, of what's happened with Harry and the Star Brand."

"How could he be, if he doesn't have that Star Brand thing any more?" Ron asked. "What I want to know is, why'd he even give up something like that in the first place?"
"He didn't," Dumbledore replied. "When Harry transferred it back to him in my office, Connell divided the power in two, and each of them kept half."

"So that means," Sirius said, a glimmer of hope in his voice. "That he might be able to fight Voldemort using his half of the Star Brand power."

"We have to hope that he will," Mrs. Weasley said, the first she had spoken since their arrival from Grimmauld Place. "For Harry's sake, and for everyone's."

"For now, we should all return to our homes," Dumbledore told them. "And, a word of caution," he added, looking especially at Ron and Hermione. "Please do not say anything about what you have heard about Horcruxes to anyone. If Harry was correct, and possession of the Star Brand does confer immortality upon its bearer, then Horcruxes are probably the least of Voldemort's concerns at this time. Still, I would prefer he thinks he is the only person who knows of their existence. And, I still believe it imperative that we locate them.

"Also," he added, to Ron, "while I have no evidence, beyond that which I've spoken of, concerning your parents' involvement with Harry's death, I suggest you be on your guard with them, and with your sister. If they have fallen under Voldemort's influence, they will undoubtedly attempt to bring other members of your family under his sway as well.

"I will discuss this privately with the other members of the Order," he said to Sirius, Remus and Snape. "As soon as I find out anything, I will inform you all."

Ron, Hermione and the members of the Order all nodded. Dumbledore took the Black Family china plate from his desk, tapping it and saying "Portus," then handed it to Sirius; he and the others, except for Snape, reached over and touched it, vanishing a few seconds later in a sudden whirl of color and wind, leaving the two professors alone in Dumbledore's office.

Snape looked closely at Dumbledore for several seconds, then turned away and strode for the door. "Did you have something you wanted to say, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, as the Potions master opened the large, polished oaken door, to leave.

Snape paused, looking at Dumbledore through narrowed eyes. "I do not see how we can survive this, Headmaster," he said, finally. "The Dark Lord's lust for power may finally be sated with this so-called 'Star Brand,' but having found real power, he will soon want even more."

"Assuming we are able to find Kenneth Connell, then, what do you suggest we do?" Dumbledore asked him.

"Have him kill the Dark Lord, if possible," Snape said, "or take back the Brand, at least. Assuming we can locate these Horcruxes and destroy them, he should be vulnerable, then."

"I thought you weren't acquainted with Horcruxes, Severus," Dumbledore commented.

"I've learned never to divulge more information than absolutely necessary," Snape sniffed. "Especially not to the likes of Black and Lupin."

"They aren't your enemies, Severus," the headmaster said, mildly reproving. "They are, perhaps, the only true friends you have."

"Cold comfort, that," Snape said, and left.

***

Services for Harry were held the next day at Grimmauld Place. All the members of the order were there, including Charlie Weasley, who'd arrived from Romania just before lunch, embracing a tearful Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, as well as his father and brothers Bill, Fred, George and Ron. Percy was not present (nor would he be, not being an Order member), a fact that made Mrs. Weasley nearly as tearful as the services themselves.

Remus arrived, with Mrs. Figg, whom he'd brought in from Little Whinging. She had foregone her hairnet for the services and instead wore a black dress and hat, adorned with cats. She kept whispering to Lupin, asking him who the other attendees were; many of them she had never met before.

Ron and Hermione stayed together as they talked with other members of the Order, who all expressed their sympathies to them for their loss. Ron was stoic and tried to appear as if he were holding up bravely, but truthfully, he had no idea what he would do without Harry around.

Hermione smiled gamely at everyone who spoke of the tragedy of someone as young as Harry dying, before his life had even begun, but they were only sounds to her; she barely heard anything, not even Ron's assurances to her that she'd make it through the day with him at her side. There was really only one certainty for her: Harry was dead.

"So you're Potter's friends, are you?" A rough voice spoke, very near her, suddenly, and Hermione stepped back, startled. An old man with long, streaming gray hair and gray beard nearly as long as Professor Dumbledore's stood before her and Ron, frowning at them grumpily.

"Y-yeah," Ron said, uncertain who this man was, though he looked eerily familiar, in a way. "And who're you?"

"Barkeep at the Hog's Head, in Hogsmeade," the old man said.

Ron blinked in confusion. "So what're you doing here?" he asked. "What's Harry got to do with you? And what've you got to do with the Order of the Phoenix, for that matter?"

"Kind of nosy, ain't ya?" the old man snorted. "Ain't learned how t' keep it out of other people's business yet, have ya?"

"Well, we didn't walk up to you and start talking!" Ron pointed out. "It was the other way round, I reckon!"

"Fair 'nough," the old man said, relenting a bit. "I'm Aberforth. I was a member of the original Order, back when it was first formed in the '70's."

Hermione looked up, recognizing the name. "You mean, you're Professor Dumbledore's brother? That Aberforth?"

Aberforth's expression was sour. "Yes, that Aberforth. But you can hold it down, I don't need my brother knowing I'm here."

"Why not?" Hermione asked, curiously. "Won't he want to see you?"

"Maybe," the old man muttered. "But we don't get along too well at funerals." He turned and disappeared into the crowd of people milling about in the dining room.

A few minutes later, everyone began moving toward the parlor, where the service was to take place. Rows of chairs had been set up facing the front of the house, where Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall stood in front of a white coffin, with wreaths of flowers on either side of it. Dumbledore raised his hand and the room immediately fell silent.

"Thank you all for coming today," McGonagall began. "We've gathered here today to pay our final respects to a brave young man whose death has greatly saddened us all.

"Harry Potter was a unique person," McGonagall went on, "not because he had an interesting scar or because his parents were well-liked in our world, but because he was very much a caring person, a giving person…" she faltered for a moment, but recovered and went on. "It was my honor to have Harry in Gryffindor House at Hogwarts, and he joins an illustrious list of those who have gone before us in the effort to combat the dark forces of oppression and tyranny, including his parents, James and Lily Potter."

"I now ask the head of our Order, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to say a few words about Harry." Dumbledore nodded to her, and McGonagall took a seat in the first row of chairs.

"It was my great honor to meet Harry Potter on the day he turned one week old," Dumbledore told the assembled Order members. "I was visiting Godric's Hollow and remembered that James and Lily's child had been born only a few days before; I thought I would pay them a visit.

"Harry was a beautiful baby," Dumbledore said, his voice calling to mind the still-vivid memories in many members' recollections. "Smiling even then, his little head already covered in a rather unruly mat of black hair, and his eyes, already as green as his mother's. Those were uncertain times, it is true, but Harry gave us all a sense of hope — hope for the future of our world.

"Now, as we lay Harry to rest beside his parents," Dumbledore went on, his voice growing heavy. "We must look forward for hope — hope for our children, that they will grow up in a world free of prejudice and injustice, free of bigotry and intolerance, free of hatred and division. We must continue to fight for these freedoms, so that no one stands alone, as Harry stood alone many times against the forces of evil and darkness.

"It is my dream that Harry will not have died in vain — that his memory will propel each of us to new heights of bravery, of compassion, of the willingness to do what must be done to secure the blessings of peace and happiness for everyone, wizard and non-wizard alike, in our world."

After several moments of silence, Dumbledore spoke again. "If anyone would like to share any of their thoughts, whether about Harry himself, or their feelings about him, please feel free to do so." Dumbledore took a seat next to McGonagall.

For nearly a minute, no one moved. Then, a tall, gangling figure stood and made his way to the front of room, standing before the assembled members of the Order. He stood there for a moment, trembling with emotion, before speaking.

"Harry was one of the best people I've ever known," Ron said at last, then stopped to take a few deep, calming breaths. "He and I didn't always see eye-to-eye on things, but he was always someone you could count on to be at your side, when trouble started happening.

"I remember, in our first year — I guess I can tell this story now, can't I, Professor?" he said, looking at Dumbledore, who smiled and nodded. "We — er, that is, Harry, Hermione an' me — finally realized that someone had tricked Hagrid into telling how to get around Fluffy — that's the three-headed dog he had as a pet back then — and we went to find Professor Dumbledore. But he was gone that day, and we knew the Philosopher's Stone might get stolen by You-Know-Who, so we went to get it ourselves. We had to do a lot of stuff — Hermione even jinxed Neville Longbottom — but we got past Fluffy and the Devil Snare, and the roomful of flying keys, and that chessboard…" Ron looked embarrassed for a moment, but went on. "Well, Harry and Hermione did, at any rate, an' Harry got past another trick while Hermione came back for me. Harry told us later he had to fight Professor Quirrell, our Defense instructor, who was being used by You-Know-Who…

"Harry did a lot of things like that," Ron went on. "Too many times to count, really. And…I'm… really going to miss him…" Ron looked down at the floor, and stopped speaking. After a few moments Dumbledore walked up and put his arm around Ron's shoulder. Ron looked up, into Dumbledore's face, finding a small, sad smile there.

The headmaster nodded to him, and Ron went back to sit next to Hermione, who leaned over and said, softly, "That was very good, Ron."

A few other people stood and gave their thoughts on Harry, as Hermione half-listened, lost in her own memories of him. She wanted to speak as well, but knew she could never make it through, not without breaking down completely. And she knew it would crush Ron if he realized what she felt about Harry, something she'd tried to tell both of them in the past month — with Harry, it had been only the evening before the hearing, just as they'd been ready for bed that night. She had longed to say something to him, to let him know he was special to her, but Ron was nearby and the timing was all wrong — she'd contented herself with pressing a kiss against the door of Harry's room, as she closed it.

If only she had known it was the last chance she'd ever have to tell him, she wouldn't have wasted it! Tears sprang to her eyes, and Ron, misunderstanding what they were for, put his arm gently across her shoulders. She let herself be comforted by him, leaning her head against his shoulder. At least, she knew how he felt about her, even if he seemed incapable of expressing it in ways beyond having her do his homework.

McGonagall was speaking again. "This concludes the services here. We will reconvene in fifteen minutes in the cemetery in Godric's Hollow. For safety's sake, to avoid a confrontation with local non-magical authorities, Muggle-repellant charms have been placed on and around the cemetery, and we will be providing Portkeys beginning in five minutes, at two-minute intervals, to bring everyone interested in going to the burial. Please begin organizing yourself into groups of not more than five per Portkey."

Hermione stood with Ron, letting him guide her toward the corner where Portkey departures were being organized. They left with Tonks, Remus and Moody, arriving toward the back of the cemetery, away from the public entrance and perhaps twenty yards from where the burial was to take place.

"Wotcher, Hermione an' Ron," Tonks said, falling into step beside them as Ron walked with Hermione toward the burial site. "Sorry we didn't get a chance t' talk earlier. Are you doing okay?" she asked Hermione, who wasn't responding to her greeting.

"The service was just getting to her," Ron explained, and Tonks nodded, sympathetically.

"I hate funerals," she said, looking around the cemetery as they slowly walked. "Never been to one yet, even though we've lost a couple of Aurors in the past few years. I always found a way to avoid them. But," she added, looking at them. "I thought I oughta try to make this one." Ron nodded, and Hermione looked up at her, a small smile on her lips at last. Tonks smiled in return, and put her arm around Hermione's, as they neared the place where Harry would be laid to rest.

They were one of the last groups to arrive, as they had appeared further away than most of the others. Nevertheless, they were ushered to a spot nearest the coffin. Hermione saw that was placed on a set of boards laid across the open grave. There was a tent surrounding the site, separating it from the two graves next to it, the ones containing Harry's mother and father, Lily and James. The other members of the Order gathered as near as they could, to hear the wizard who would deliver the last words before Harry went to his final rest.

The wizard standing at the head of the grave was a small man, shorter than most of the other people present. He was dressed in plain, black robes, and had tufts of straw-colored hair sticking up from his head. He seemed to be waiting patiently for a sign to begin, which Dumbledore, standing nearby solemnly watching the mourners gather, saw the last of them arrive and gave a small nod.

"Dear friends," the little man said, his voice clear and melodic, "we are here to pay our final respects to Harry James Potter, a young man taken before his time. He has gone before us, but he will not be forgotten…"

The man went on for some time, speaking glowingly of Harry and his all-too-short life, until Hermione felt she was ready to explode. Finally —

"…we commit his body to the earth, secure in the knowledge that his soul has gone on to the next great adventure. May this memorial grant him, and us, the peace of that knowledge. Thank you all for attending." The Order members began to disperse, slowly.

Two wizards, standing unobtrusively off to one side of the tent, came forward with wands in hand, to lower Harry's coffin into the ground, but Dumbledore stopped them with a gesture. "I will do it," he said, quietly, and they both nodded and retreated. Removing his wand from his robes, Dumbledore tapped the white coffin once, lightly. It lifted off the boards suspending it over the open grave. Dumbledore tapped each of the boards in turn, making them Vanish. When they were gone, the headmaster slowly lowered his wand, and the coffin dropped into the ground. Watching this, Hermione's breath came harder and harder, until finally she turned and buried her face in Ron's shoulder, and he gently rubbed her shoulder, comforting her.

Dumbledore gestured toward the tent, Vanishing it as well, leaving the two wizards standing next to a mound of dirt. Nodding to them, he turned and walked away, toward McGonagall, as the men gestured at the mound and it began filling in the grave.

"Oh, God," Ron whispered into Hermione's ear, though he hardly seemed to realize he was saying it aloud. "He's gone…"

McGonagall was wiping her eyes, Hermione saw, over Ron's shoulder, as Dumbledore approached her and put an arm around her shoulders. He spoke softly to her, words Hermione couldn't hear. Words she didn't want to hear, because nothing could change the fact now.

Harry was dead. Dead and buried. And there wasn't any coming back, no matter if the Star Brand granted immortality or not, because if it did, Harry would still be alive.

She spoke with a terrible finality into Ron's ear. "Let's get the hell out of here."

***

A few days after the funeral, their packets from Hogwarts arrived, and Ron and Hermione both found prefects badges inside theirs, to everyone's very great astonishment (including Ron's). Mrs. Weasley shrieked for joy when Ron showed her his badge, actually jumping up and down as she hugged her youngest son, kissing him on both cheeks, while Fred and George stood behind her making retching noises.

"Oh Ronnie, I can't believe it, we're so proud of you!" she said, between kisses, as Ron vainly tried to extricate himself from her arms. "You're a prefect, just like Bill and Percy! That's everyone in the family!"

Fred looked at George. "What're we, friends of the family, then?"

"I can't wait to tell your father!" Mrs. Weasley went on, finally releasing Ron and beaming proudly at him, as he tried to wipe off his face without appearing too disgusted. "We gave Percy an owl, but you've already got one, of course!"

Ron looked at her, bewildered. "What d'you mean?"

"Well, a reward, of course!" Mrs. Weasley said, beaming at him. "You've got to have a reward for this! Would you like a new set of dress robes? Or a new cauldron, the one Charlie gave you is beginning to rust through, isn't it? Or maybe a new pet — you always liked having Scabbers, you said."

"Well," Ron looked at Hermione, hopefully, then at his mother. "Could I maybe get a new broom?"

Mrs. Weasley's smile froze. "Not an expensive one, mind you," Ron added quickly, knowing what his mother was thinking. "Just a new one, for a change."

"Of course, dear," his mother said, already thinking about how she was going to afford getting the gift. "I just can't believe it — our Ronnie, a prefect!"

On September first, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George and Ginny, along with Mrs. Weasley, set off toward King's Cross from Grimmauld Place. There was no car for them to ride in this time, no guard to keep them safe. Such perquisites had always been for Harry's benefit in the past, and Harry was no longer with them. On the plus side, Ron had his new Cleansweep 11 broom, his reward for making prefect. The carts for their trunks, conjured by Sirius just outside Grimmauld Place, rolled along effortlessly; they barely needed to touch them to keep them going. There was also a bit of entertainment along — a large, black dog had accompanied them on the trek to the station, running around and barking enthusiastically as they walked. Mrs. Weasley eyed it balefully — she thought it pointless for Sirius to risk exposure, as he was still wanted by the Ministry, but he had insisted on coming along.

At the station they rolled up to the barrier between platforms nine and ten, and when the coast was clear, each of them rolled through it, passing onto Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. Mrs. Weasley pointed toward one of the carriages, and they began unloading their trunks into it, as Sirius gamboled around them, barking happily.

"Hey Fred!" a voice down the platform called, and Fred looked over to see Lee Jordan waving at him. "Nice dog!" Sirius barked again and wagged his tail frantically back and forth.

"Thanks, Lee!" Fred shouted back. "See you on the train!" They finished unloading the carts just as the last warning whistle sounded.

"Alright, hurry, hurry," Mrs. Weasley said, distracted, as she hugged everyone at random; she hugged Hermione twice by accident. "Be good… be sure to write… if you've forgotten anything we'll send it along."

Hermione, standing near the doorway of the train, was looking down at the platform beneath her feet, brooding. It was not going to be a good year, she could feel that. Harry was gone, and Voldemort was out there, somewhere, though in the past two weeks there'd been no word of him, anywhere. What he might be planning, no one could know, until he made his move. And with the power of the Star Brand, anything, literally, could happen. She closed her eyes, sighing.

Neither had they found a trace of Kenneth Connell the mysterious man who had brought the Star Brand to earth, and to Harry, for whatever reasons. He must be out there as well, Hermione knew, but where he was and what he was doing remained a mystery.

With Harry dead, though, none of it really mattered anymore.

There was a sudden panting in her ear, and she was tempted to mutter, "Not now, Ron." However, when she opened her eyes, Sirius's black eyes and great long nose were directly in front of her, looking at her. "Oh, hello," she said. Sirius cocked his head to one side, almost like a question.

"No, I'm okay," she said, guessing what he was asking. "Just…thinking." Sirius barked, once. "You, too, huh?" she asked. "Just be careful, okay?" Sirius panted for a few seconds, then ran back to stand next to Molly. The train started to move, and Hermione stepped onto the bottom step of the carriage.

"Bye," she said, waving to both of them, and Sirius began trotting alongside the train as it picked up speed, until he was running with it, barking joyously. Hermione could hear students laughing as they watched the dog running with them, until the train pulled away from the station and Sirius stopped at the platform's edge, barking at them.

Walking into the carriage, she found Ron leaning in one of the compartments where his sister Ginny was sitting, with Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. "Oh, there you are!" he said, as she came up to him. "Aren't we supposed to go up to the prefects' car?"

Hermione nodded. "We'd better go," she said to Ron, then disappeared up the corridor without waiting for him.

"What's up with her?" Ron said, mostly to Ginny, who shrugged in reply, then pulled the door shut and followed her.

Ginny didn't feel much better than Hermione did, but she was a bit more resilient about the situation. Neville had followed Ginny up the corridor, looking for a place to sit, though he hadn't looked comfortable when she entered the compartment with just Luna sitting inside, holding an upside-down copy of a magazine called The Quibbler in her hands.

Neville sat silently for some time, holding his new Mimbulusmimbletonia in front of him like a shield, not looking at Ginny, wondering how he was going to broach the subject of Harry. Finally, "Sorry — sorry to hear about Harry, Ginny," he mumbled, glancing up at her from behind the plant.

"Thanks, Neville," Ginny replied, with a small sigh. She expected to hear that statement quite often over the next few days, after they reached Hogwarts; a lot of people knew she was nursing a crush on him, though he had never reciprocated. "How did you hear? Was it in the Prophet?"

"Yeah," Neville nodded. "Gran told me about it a couple of weeks ago, she read about it there, a great big headline saying 'HARRY POTTER IS DEAD.'"

The upside-down copy of The Quibbler lowered, and Luna Lovegood's protuberant eyes peered at Ginny over its edge. Her dirty blonde, waist-length hair swung from side to side as she stared at each of them in turn. Her eyebrows were very light, and this put a look of perpetual surprise on her face. "Harry Potter is dead?" she said, in a tone of abstract curiosity. "That's very sad — I'm very sorry to hear that, Ginny. Who was he, again?"

Ginny resisted rolling her eyes. "He was the boy who You-Know-Who tried to kill fourteen years ago, but was defeated himself," she said, patiently. "He also saved my life in my first year, when I got hold of a very strange book, the diary of some bloke named Tom Riddle, and it made me — well, do some rather unpleasant things."

"Oh," Luna said, and disappeared behind her magazine once again. Ginny looked at Neville and shrugged.

Hermione, meanwhile, walked toward the front of the train, ignoring Ron's calls for her to slow down and wait for him. "Hurry up!" she finally called back to him. "We were supposed to be with the other prefects when the train left the station!" The letters they'd each received had said they would receive instructions from the Head Boy and Girl on what their duties would be during the train ride; there would also be a meeting of the prefects of each House the first morning of classes, just before breakfast.

Finally reaching the prefects' carriage, Hermione took out her wand and tapped the door, saying the password her instruction packet had provided: "Cave quid dicis, quando, et cui!" The door began to move, sliding out of the way. By the time it was open Ron had caught up with her.

"That's why I wanted you to wait," he said to her, panting a bit. "I couldn't have remembered that password to save my life!"

"It's Latin," she said, absently, putting her wand away and stepping through the doorway. "'Take care what you say, when, and to whom.'" Ron stepped through hastily behind her, as the door closed with a snap.

Ron was looking around. The prefects' carriage was laid out a bit differently than the other coaches. Instead of a series of compartments holding about six or so students each, the entire left side seemed to be one large compartment. On the right side, through the windows of the train, they could see the English countryside racing by. Nothing was visible through the compartment windows — all the curtains were closed.

"No door," Ron said, frowning. "How do we get in?"

Hermione gave him an exasperated look and pointed down the corridor they were standing in. "It's at the other end, Ron."

"Oh." Ron looked at her, then made an impatient gesture. "Well, let's get a move on, then — we don't want to keep them waiting, do we?"

Sighing, Hermione walked quickly down to the other end of the carriage, where the compartment doors were located. Like the windows they had passed, the curtains were drawn across the door as well. Taking a deep breath, Hermione pushed it open, stepping inside, only to stop, dumbfounded at what she saw. Ron poked his head in behind her, looked around, and exclaimed, "Excellent!"

The prefects' compartment was a magnificent dining room, lined in fine wood paneling, with softly glowing gas lights along the walls. The windows were lined with velvet curtains, and the floor covered in a soft, plush carpet. The room seemed much larger than the compartment would have appeared to be from the outside.

Along the center line of the room were four large tables, all covered in fine linen, each with six ornate, carved-wood chairs surrounding them. A long buffet table was set up along the far wall, holding platters of roast beef, ham and chicken, bowls of roasted, baked and mashed potatoes, corn, peas, and tureens of soup, plates of bread and rolls, and many fine condiments. A smaller table nearby held an array of beverages: pitchers of cold pumpkin juice, milk, and tea, and dozens of bottles of butterbeer, along with several decanters of sherry.

While Ron and Hermione were still taking in all of the magnificence before them, a familiar face came forward, beckoning them inside. "Come on in!" waved Hannah Abbot, a Hufflepuff, beaming hugely at them. "We've been wondering where you two were!" Everyone else in the room had stopped talking and were watching the final two arrivals. Hermione could see, beyond Hannah, her fellow prefect Ernie Macmillan, also from Hufflepuff, nodding importantly to her and Ron. Two Ravenclaws from their year were present as well: Anthony Goldstein, a fair-haired boy, and Padma Patil, a raven-haired, olive-skinned girl; Ron remembered that his fellow Gryffindor, Dean Thomas, had said once that Padma and her sister, Parvati, who was in Gryffindor herself, were the best-looking girls in their year.

Angelina Johnson, a seventh-year Gryffindor, had joined them as well. "We're just relaxing for a bit before having dinner," she told Hermione and Ron. "Then, the Head Boy and Girl will hand out assignments for the remainder of the trip." Hermione nodded absently as she looked around for the other prefects from her House. Ron had already waved at Lee Jordan, Angelina's fellow prefect, and they both saw Katie Bell and nodded to her. The Gryffindor standing with her, a large, wiry-haired young man, turned to look at them, staring at Hermione for a long moment.

Angelina, who'd noticed him staring as well, said, "That's Cormac McLaggern." She lowered her voice. "He's been pesting me to get on the Quidditch team, but he's a lot of show and not much go." She smirked. "He also thinks he's Merlin's gift to women."

"So," another voice said, in a low, menacing tone, "Potter's little friends have shown up at last." Hermione and Ron both turned, seeing Draco Malfoy standing a few feet away; he regarded them with a look usually reserved for something found under a rock. Beside him was another Slytherin from their year, Pansy Parkinson, giving them an icy stare.

"Thought I smelled something," Ron retorted, returning Malfoy's look in kind. "How's it going, Malfoy?"

"Listen to you," Malfoy sneered. "How'd your dad manage to scare up the gold to get another son made prefect — has he been out begging in Diagon Alley again?" Murmurs and comment ran amongst the other prefects — the Malfoy/Weasley rivalry was nearly as big as the Potter/Malfoy one.

Ron's ears were beginning to turn red. "Nah," he answered smoothly. "He's been out selling advance tickets to your dad's funeral. Couldn't give 'em away, though." Ron's last comment drew gasps from some present.

"Alright, stop it!" Hermione said, stepping forward between them and putting her hands up to halt any further comments.

"Who are you to try and give me orders, Granger?" Malfoy said, scornfully. "Your parents are just filthy Muggles — my father's family has been foremost amongst purebloods for generation!"

"Take it easy, Malfoy," Lee Jordan said, warningly. "We don't need anyone starting trouble before the first day of school!"

"Well, tell that to Weasley and his girlfriend!" Pansy sniped. "He's the one who started all this!"

"Oh, as if!" Ron snorted, scornfully.

The Head Boy, Roger Davies of Ravenclaw, stepped in. "That's enough from the lot of you," he said, firmly, and both Ron and Pansy fell silent.

"Look," Davies went on, looking around at everyone, but especially at Ron, Hermione, and the other fifth-year prefects. "I know there's a lot of history between some of you, and some of you have lost someone important to you —" he gave a nod to Ron and Hermione "— but what we need to concentrate on now is Hogwarts, and let the governors, the politicians and the bureaucrats sort out their own worries. We're here to learn, not to fight.

"Now, Malfoy, I want you and Weasley to shake hands, and no more sniping at each others' fathers. Right, then?"

Malfoy, looking disgusted, nevertheless stuck his hand out before Ron did, who looked at it for a long moment before taking it in his. Both of them shook, squeezing as hard as they could. Malfoy grinned, but Ron thought he detected the Slytherin's lip twitch in pain before he let go.

"Good!" Davies said, beaming. "Now, let's eat!"

An hour later the fifth- and sixth-year prefects were released, filled with food and drink and eagerly anticipating their new powers and responsibilities. During the rest of the train ride, they were to maintain order throughout the carriages, to make sure students exited the train in a prompt and orderly fashion, upon arrival at Hogsmeade Station, and fifth-year prefects were to see that the first-year students followed Hagrid to the boats rather than taking any of the carriages to the school. They had also, to Ron's delight, been given the power to hand out punishments to students, including deducting points from their House totals.

"This is going to be fantastic!" Ron said excitedly, as he and Hermione made their way back through the train toward where Ginny and Neville were seated. "The only way it could get any better is if I could actually order Fred and George around!"

"Well, you can," Hermione said, in a resigned tone. "But they might not obey." When Hermione had first suggested, somewhat imperiously, that they would have to obey Ron if he gave them orders as a prefect, they had thought it uproariously funny, and she had been affronted at their lack of respect. But now, riding the Express to Hogwarts without Harry along, knowing she would never see him again, such things seemed trivial and inconsequential to her.

They found Neville, still sitting quietly in the compartment with Ginny and Luna, who was still reading her upside-down copy of The Quibbler. Neville was still holding his Mimbulusmimbletonia, but now looking somewhat withdrawn. He mumbled a vague reply when Ron greeted him, as they sat down. Ron spied a couple of Chocolate Frogs on the seat next to Ginny, and remarked "I'm starving!" as he reached for one, eliciting an exasperated eye-roll from Hermione, who had just watched him stuff himself with food in the prefects' car. Ron bit into the confection, leaning back in his seat with a contented sigh.

"How'd things go at the prefects' meeting?" Ginny asked, breaking the silence.

"Not bad," Ron said, taking another bite from the Frog. "Guess who made prefect from Slytherin?"

"Probably Malfoy," Ginny said, and when Ron gave her an ironic thumb's up, shook her head disgustedly. "Figures — that slimy git can fall in dung and still come up smelling like a million Galleons!"

"Pansy Parkinson made prefect, too," added Hermione.

"That cow?" Ginny snorted. "Snape must've Imperiused Dumbledore to get her in there!"

The copy of The Quibbler lowered a bit and Luna peered at them over the edge. "It's well-known," she said, "that Professor Snape has a secret agreement with the House-Elf Liberation Force to stage a coup and take over as Headmaster of Hogwarts within the next three years."

"What?!" Hermione said, disbelievingly. "That's complete rubbish!"

"Oh, you'll see," Luna replied, in a smug tone. "My father has been in contact with a disgruntled house-elf, and Professor Snape is consolidating his power even now. That's why he had the goblins kidnap Harry Potter."

"What?!" Ron now said outraged. Even Ginny was now giving Luna a dubious look.

"It's a well-known fact. I've just read it, see?" Luna went on, flipping back a few pages in the magazine, then turning it down in her lap so they could see. Hermione, Ron and Ginny all leaned over to read what she was pointing to. Even Neville tried to look around the edges of his plant.

---

POTTERWATCH – Week Three

Harry Potter remains a captive of Goblin forces, part of the overall conspiracy to eliminate both higher education and banking in the Wizarding community as house-elves and goblins join forces with subversive wizard Severus Snape, right-hand man in Cornelius Fudge's underground empire.

Potter, heir apparent to the Hogwarts dynasty and chosen to lead the house-elves in a revolution against pure-blood wizards across Britain, was kidnapped by Goblins after a hearing at the Ministry of Magic on 12 August, in retaliation for his refusal to take part in the rebellion.

(continued, please turn to page 17)

---

"What utter rot!" Hermione exclaimed, looking up at Luna in shock. "What idiot who came up with this rubbish?!"

"My father's the editor of the Quibbler," Luna said, coldly. "And he'll stand by every word written."

"You can't prove a word of that!" Hermione said, angrily.

"Of course not," Luna said, shrugging. "The house-elves and goblins are very good at covering their tracks. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if we hear Father's informant's been killed in some mysterious 'accident' in Hogwarts' kitchens."

"Wait a minute," Hermione sputtered. "Who's this 'informant' supposed to be?"

"A house-elf named Dobby," Luna answered. "Harry Potter rescued him from the Malfoys, three years ago, which started the house-elf liberation movement, S.P.E.W."

"WHAT?!" Hermione exploded, as Ron started to laugh. "That's not how S.P.E.W. started at all! And you'd better bloody well shut it, Ron!"

Ron's laughter subsided, and Luna disappeared behind her magazine without further comment. Ginny wisely kept her mouth shut, as Hermione looked to be in a right state. Neville looked too scared to say anything to anyone. After a while Hermione got up, without a word, and left to make a sweep of the compartments, hoping some students would give her an excuse to chastise them. Ron followed her.

After they left, Ginny shook her head and said softly to Neville, "I hope they don't come back — Hermione's gone completely out of control!"

"I — I guess she's just upset, 'cause of Harry," Neville muttered, from behind the Mimbulusmimbletonia.

"Well, aren't we all?" Ginny retorted. "I don't like that he's dead, either — but you don't see me running around hitting people with Bat-Bogey Hexes because of it!"

"Thank goodness," Neville said, smiling, and Ginny giggled. "So what is the story with Harry?" Neville asked, in a low voice; Luna was leaning against the compartment window, seemingly asleep.

"Not altogether sure," Ginny replied, quietly. "He disappeared sometime after his hearing, that's true enough — oh, he used the Patronus Charm to save himself and his Muggle cousin from a couple of dementors who showed up near their house, in early August, if you never heard that," she added, seeing Neville's confused look as she mentioned the hearing. "He was also accused of invading and destroying Malfoy Manor, and assaulting Lucius Malfoy in his home.

"But what Fred and George told me," she added, leaning even closer to Neville, "was that Harry had found some way to beat You-Know-Who, and had gone to Malfoy's house to find him!"

"Wow," Neville breathed. "So what happened with Harry and — er, You-Know-Who?"

"We haven't exactly figured that out yet," Ginny shrugged. "But Harry told us before the hearing he had beaten him. Don't know if that's true now, though, if he's disappeared."

Neville gave her a forlorn look. "I guess you still — er — well, you still miss him, don't you?"

Ginny gave a small shrug. "Yeah, but Hermione's probably right — there's other opportunities out there, even if Harry's gone."

It was getting dark outside, and Ron returned to the compartment alone. "Won't be long 'til we get there," he said. "We should get into our robes." Moving about with difficulty in the cramped compartment, they put on their robes, then sat down to wait for the train to reach the station. As it began slowing down, Hermione returned and without a word changed into her robes as well.

"Come on," she said to Ron, still in a bad mood, "We'd better go make sure everyone's getting ready to exit the train," and walked out of the compartment. Ron paused at the door, giving Ginny a look, and she returned it with a casual shrug. He shrugged as well and followed Hermione out of sight.

"Luna," Ginny asked, as they got ready to leave the compartment. "Can you carry Ron's pet?" She held up the cage holding Pigwidgeon, who was fluttering around excitedly inside it.

"Of course," Luna smiled sweetly, taking it, and Ginny picked up Crookshanks. Neville secured Trevor in an inside pocket of his robe and the three of them walked out.

The first thing they noticed on the platform was that Hagrid, who normally collected the first-years, was nowhere to be seen; instead, Professor Grubby-Plank, holding a lantern aloft, was marshalling them behind her. She passed by, leading a growing troupe of first-years, and they made their way toward the carriages that would take them to Hogwarts. As they found a carriage, Ron and Hermione joined them.

The ride to the castle was uneventful, other than Hermione complaining about Draco Malfoy mistreating a first-year, immediately after saying that she'd confiscated a screaming yo-yo from a distraught second-year.

After the feast, during which Ron and Hermione watched vainly for Hagrid to appear ("Perhaps he's just gotten a cold, or something" Ron suggested, nervously), Professor Dumbledore stood and made his customary beginning of year comments: the Forbidden Forest was out of bounds to students; the caretaker, Mr. Filch, once again wanted it mentioned that magic was not to be performed in the corridors between classes, nor were a host of other things, which were posted on a list attached to his office door, which all students were invited to peruse at their leisure.

"We also have a few changes to the staff this year," Professor Dumbledore concluded. "Professor Grubby-Plank is returning, and will be teaching Care of Magical Creatures classes.

"We have a new professor here as well," Dumbledore said. "Professor Horace Slughorn," gesturing down the teacher's table, and a very fat, bald old wizard sporting an enormous, silver, walrus-like mustache smiled and nodded. "Professor Slughorn will be our new Potions teacher," Dumbledore said, and there was a smattering of applause as Slughorn nodded genially.

Students suddenly became alert; what was this about a new Potions teacher, many of them were saying to one another. Whispers of conversation whirled around each of the tables — Professor Snape was in plain view at the High Table, and many wondered if Dumbledore had at last given in to Snape's dearest ambition, a question which Dumbledore immediately addressed.

"That, of course, would leave Professor Snape out of a job," he said, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. "Except that I have retained his services this year as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor." Dumbledore began to applaud, and the Slytherin table enthusiastically followed suit, joined half-heartedly by the other House tables.

"Snape's the Defense teacher?" Ron looked at Hermione, aghast. "There goes our O.W.L.s!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Ron!" Hermione snapped, but she looked worried nevertheless. Snape's teaching techniques in Potions were not particularly progressive — he used intimidation and derision as his primary tools — so his Defense classes were not likely to be much different.

As the feast broke up, Ron stretched and yawned. "Aaah! Merlin's pants, am I ready for bed! I'm going to sleep good tonight — what?"

Hermione was looking at him with a combination of astonishment and exasperation. "We're supposed to make sure the first-years get to the Gryffindor common room, Ron!"

"Oh, yeah." Ron had completely forgotten about being a prefect. He looked down the table to where the new students were seated. They were looking around uncertainly, wondering what to do next. "Oi! You midgets!" he called down the table, and several of the jumped, startled. Ron then said, "Ouch!" as Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ron!" she whispered furiously. "You're not supposed to call them midgets!"

"Well, just look at them!" Ron said, pointing at the lot. "They're so small!"

Ignoring Ron, Hermione had stood and walked over to where the first-years were gathered. They were rather tiny, she noticed. "First years, follow me, please." She led the group of first-years (and Ron) up to Gryffindor Tower, where they were introduced to the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Hermione gave them the password Angelina had passed her during the prefects' meeting (ironically, it was "Mimbulusmimbletonia"), then got Ron to take the boys up to their assigned dormitory while she got the girls sorted out in theirs.

Finally, she made her way to her own room, joining the other fifth-year girls in their first evening together since leaving school two months earlier. The other girls were chattering and laughing happily together, something Hermione felt too weary to care about, though she smiled and looked happy, too, to avoid having to say anything. She changed into her nightclothes, then slid inconspicuously into bed and fell asleep, wondering how she was going to make it to the end of the term, much less past her O.W.L.s, in June.

***

The next morning Hermione awoke with barely enough time to get ready for the Gryffindor prefects' meeting before breakfast. She made her way to the appointed place, an unused classroom off the corridor that ran north from the Entrance Hall. Angelina was there, as was Lee Jordan and Katie Bell, but neither Ron nor the other sixth-year prefect, Cormac McLaggern, had made it by the appointed time.

"Right," Angelina said, sighing. "Katie, you and Hermione will need to fill in your fellow prefect, and please impress upon them the importance of showing up on time, whenever we call for a meeting."

Angelina went over the duties each pair of prefects was expected to perform. All prefects were expected to enforce school rules, of course — to that end, they were empowered to deduct house points from students who disobeyed. They were also allowed to assign other punishments, but they must be written down and sent to the student's Head of House for approval, who would then have a teacher administer it. "Overall," Lee Jordan added, "it's easier to just deduct points. The only other thing you can't do is deduct points from another prefect. Which is a bit of a shame, really," he said, with a mischievous grin.

The fifth-year prefects were to keep the common room clean and orderly, and keep the notice board from filling up with useless or outdated information. Professor McGonagall would provide notices from time to time — Angelina handed Hermione one such notice, for the first Hogsmeade visit, on the first Saturday in October. They were also expected to police the toilets nearest the Gryffindor common room, making sure they were weren't littered with used towels and didn't smell overly bad. "Because boys don't smell too good, you know," Lee added, tapping his nose, and Katie, Angelina and Hermione laughed at his pun.

The sixth years were to keep track of students' birthdays and similar special events, and send down information to the kitchens so the house-elves could provide treats like a student's favorite foods for their birthday or other celebration. They were also expected to maintain order during the Hogsmeade trips.

"What do the seventh-year prefects do?" Hermione asked, curiously.

"We make sure you do what we tell you," Angelina smiled.

"It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it," Lee joked.

"Plus," Angelina added, "I'm Quidditch Captain this year and I'm going to be busy with that. I've got to have tryouts to replace Oliver and — and Harry," she finished, quietly.

The meeting broke up but it was several minutes until breakfast began, and Hermione decided to go back up to the Gryffindor common room to see if Ron had woken up yet. On her way up the main staircase in the Entrance Hall, however, she was stopped by Angelina once more.

"Sorry, I almost forgot this," Angelina said, passing her a note. "Professor McGonagall said to give this to you after the meeting this morning."

"Thanks," Hermione said, and turned to continue up the stairs.

"How are you?" Angelina blurted, suddenly, then looked uncomfortable to have asked the question. "I mean, I know things don't seem the same here any more without Harry, and I hardly ever got to talk to him. It must be awful, you've known him for so long."

Hermione didn't want to get into it, but — "It's been hard, you know? And even more so for Ron, they were best friends."

Angelina nodded sympathetically, but said nothing more as some other students were walking down the steps past them. "We can talk later, you better see what that note's about."

Angelina went back down the stairs and Hermione continued upward, opening the note and reading.

---

Dear Miss Granger,

Would you please come to my office this morning after your meeting? There are some important matters I would like to discuss with you concerning the fall term.

Professor Albus Dumbledore

p.s. The password is "Fizzing Whizbee."

---

Hermione stared at the note curiously for several moments. What could Professor Dumbledore want to talk to her about concerning the fall term? Bemused, she made her way to the entrance of the Headmaster's office, where a stone gargoyle silently stood guard. "Fizzing Whizbee," she said.

The gargoyle leapt aside, and she rode the ascending spiral staircase to the top, then stood before the polished oaken door of Professor Dumbledore's office. She knocked, and the headmaster's voice immediately replied, "Come in."

The professor stood as Hermione entered his office. "Ah, thank you for coming, Miss Granger. Please sit down," he said, indicating a chair in front of his desk. Once she was seated, Dumbledore sat for several moments, his fingers steepled before him, regarding her.

"I'm sure you're aware of the many implications that Harry's death, and Voldemort possible return hold, both for wizard-kind and for the world at large," Dumbledore said, ignoring Hermione's flinch at the mention of the Dark Lord's name.

"I believe so," she said, slowly. "I've wondered why he hasn't come forward already, if he possesses the kind of power Harry implied he had, when he told Ron and me about the Star Brand."

"Harry confided its capabilities in you, then?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not exactly," Hermione hesitated. "He said he could do anything he could imagine, that the man who'd given it to him, Kenneth Connell, had seemed capable of many things, such as traveling through space at almost the speed of light, and living for thousands of years, traveling from a distant galaxy, though Harry didn't say how Mr. Connell had gotten there."

"I believe Kenneth Connell is our key to understanding what we must do to stop Voldemort — indeed, he may be our only hope of doing so," Dumbledore said, seriously. "But he has not tried to locate Harry again since the last time they talked, almost a month ago. Has he made contact with you or Mr. Weasley?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "I've never even met him. But…" Hermione looked on the verge of asking a question, but hesitated."

"Go ahead, if you have a question, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, encouragingly.

"Well, sir," Hermione looked very uncomfortable, bringing up the subject, "but — but what does this Connell fellow have to do with, er — with Horcruxes?"

"Ah, a very intelligent question!" Dumbledore smiled. "The answer is — nothing."

Hermione stared at him, blankly. "Sometimes, even the best-laid plans go astray," Dumbledore continued, wryly. "I finally located Professor Slughorn, shortly before Harry's hearing was to take place. He was not interested in returning to teach at Hogwarts, and I was going to have Harry help me try to persuade him, when the events of August twelfth took place.

"Professor Slughorn has memories directly relevant to the issue of Voldemort's Horcruxes, but if he has taken the Star Brand from Harry, those concerns may be moot. I have members of the Order assisting me in the effort to locate those Horcruxes —"

"I'd like to help!" Hermione interrupted, but Dumbledore held up a hand, quieting her.

"I do plan to have you help, Miss Granger," he told her, "but you must be able to do so while still at school — it is the safest place for you to be."

"But what can I do from here?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Quite a bit, actually," Dumbledore said. "It will involve doing something I believe you find quite interesting — reading." He placed a hand on a pouch on his desk and moved it across the desk, in front of her. "I've assembled a list of newspapers and periodicals, both Muggle and from the Wizarding community. I will have these delivered to you every other day or so. I would like you to read them all carefully, with an eye toward any possible connection, either to Voldemort or Kenneth Connell, and report your findings back to me, through Professor McGonagall."

Hermione opened the pouch, looking through the newspapers and magazines inside. As well as the Daily Prophet, she found the Daily Express, a Muggle tabloid, the Guardian, a much more respected paper, the Scotsman, a respected paper of the region, and, to her surprise, both Witch Weekly and The Quibbler, the magazine Luna had been reading on the Hogwarts Express.

"I would think any news about You-Know-Who would be obvious," she remarked, matter-of-factly. "And from what Harry said, Connell won't even show himself in public — if he's even still on Earth."

"I expect any references involving Voldemort, such as unexplained deaths or disasters, will be highly indirect, just as any news of people being saved from disasters, or disasters being averted, could be Connell's work." Dumbledore looked at her, his expression quite serious. "Do you think you will be able to accomplish this, along with your prefect duties and O.W.L. studies, Miss Granger?"

Hermione felt quite proud to be given this assignment by Dumbledore, when she wasn't even a member of the Order. "Yes, sir, I will."

The headmaster beamed at her. "Excellent! You may take these with you, now — in the future, Professor McGonagall will be collecting them for me. You may obtain them from her by asking her if she has any extra assignments for you to work on."

Dumbledore reached into his robe and pulled out a small pocket watch. He glanced at it for several seconds, and Hermione saw that, unlike a regular pocket watch, this one had twelve hands rather than two or three, and there were planets around the edge instead of numbers. "I see breakfast is about to begin, you had best be on your way, Miss Granger."

"Yes, sir." Hermione picked up the pouch of papers, then walked to the door. But before she left, she turned back to Dumbledore. "Sir? May I ask a question?"

"You just did," Dumbledore replied, a smile quirking his lips. "But you may ask another, and I will answer, if I can."

"Why did you make Professor Snape the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year?"

Dumbledore considered a moment. "I gave Professor Slughorn, as a favor for returning to teach, his choice of which position to teach. He preferred Potions, so Defense fell at last to Professor Snape."

Recognizing this as a polite deflection of her question, Hermione nodded and took her leave, exiting into the corridor at the base of the spiral stairs. She returned to the common room, learning that Ron had just left for breakfast, and caught up with him just as he was going down the main staircase to the Entrance Hall.

"There you are!" Ron said, as she fell into step beside him. "I waited around in the common room 'til someone said you were already gone. Where were you?"

"There was a Gryffindor prefects' meeting this morning, did you forget?" she reminded him primly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Couldn't have been that important," he said, half-joking. "Nobody came and woke me up for it."

"Just try not to forget the next time we have a meeting, okay?" Hermione said, plaintively. "Oh, Angelina's having Quidditch tryouts soon, she's the new Captain. I thought you might want to know."

They were at the base of the stairs. Ron stopped short, looking at her. "D'you really think I could get on the team?"

Hermione looked back at him. "You won't know unless you try."

They began walking again, into the Great Hall. Ron looked like he was thinking furiously, for a change. "Might be fun, playing Quidditch with Fred and George on a real team for a change, rather than just throwing apples at each other in our old orchard." He saw the pouch slung from Hermione's shoulder, along with her rucksack. "What's in the bag?"

Hermione glanced down, just then remembering she still had it. "Just some reading material, for extra credit."

Ron shuddered. "Good luck with that," he said, as they sat down to breakfast.

***

Hermione was soon immersed in her schoolwork, her prefect duties, and her reading assignments from Dumbledore. She was almost never seen without some reading material in her hand — whether a schoolbook, a newspaper, or a magazine. Even while cleaning up the girls' toilet of the infrequent castoff towel or water spilled from sinks, she was always holding something to read.

Ron, along with his sister Ginny, both tried out for and obtained positions on the Quidditch team, making it a real "family effort," as Fred joked once during dinner in the Great Hall. Ron took over Oliver Wood's position as Keeper, and Ginny stepped into the Seeker position, formerly held by Harry. With Angelina, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet as Chasers, and Fred and George in their usual positions as Beaters, the Gryffindor team now had the distinctions of being mostly female (four girls and three boys) and red-heads (all of the Weasleys). With Angelina, Katie Bell, and now Ron, it was also the team with the most prefects. Ron, soon busy with Quidditch practice after classes, didn't see much of Hermione, except later in the evenings when they were both studying in the common room.

Hermione hardly noticed, however. She was busy with class work, and her extracurricular reading had noted some odd trends in the Wizarding community. Some Ministry officials had begun to resign: Rufus Scrimgeour left in mid-September; Pius Thicknesse, second in command in the Auror department, left shortly thereafter, creating something of an administrative vacuum. Unexplainably, Kingsley Shacklebolt was not promoted; instead, Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge was given a "sideways" promotion to Head Auror, an unusual move considering she had never been through Auror training. Both Scrimgeour and Thicknesse, along with several other minor administrators who resigned, seemed to pass out of the Wizarding world's notice; the Prophet no longer printed information on their whereabouts or activities.

In the Muggle news, she found, not unmistakable signs of help from an unseen benefactor, as might be expected if Connell was secretly helping people in need, but possible indications of such: a bridge in China that threatened to collapse, but managed to hold together until everyone had gotten clear; in Africa, a drought which threatened several tribes came to an end when an unexpected rain washed across the region, replenishing water supplies. Occurrences such as this were probably coincidences, but she reported them to Dumbledore, along with her assessment of the situation.

Back at school, Hagrid reappeared around the end of October, taking over Care of Magical Creatures from Professor Grubby-Plank once again. In one of their rare times together, she and Ron visited his cabin, where Hagrid told them a tale of his trek into the Russian mountains, to parley with the giants there. But the journey had come to naught — the giants were not interested in anything Hagrid had to say to them, and no Death Eaters had tried to negotiate with them for months; one that had been there in August had simply left one day in the middle of a conversation, infuriating the Gurg, who forbade further conversations with outsiders. With no one to talk to, Hagrid had decided to return to Hogwarts.

Professor Slughorn proved to be a capable Potions master, and much more personable than Snape, although Hermione learned that he had instituted some kind of monthly activity, called the Slug Club, the purpose of which seemed to be to allow certain students to stroke Slughorn's ego and be stroked in turn. Cormac McLaggern was in the club, she heard, and Angelina told her that Slughorn had wanted Hermione to join as well, though she'd never received an invitation. During Potion classes, she found Slughorn exerting subtle pressure on her (and on Ron, whom the Potions master somehow sensed was attached to her) to join the meetings. Ron, miffed that he hadn't been invited as well, didn't play along with Slughorn, and Hermione resisted as well. She had more important things on her mind than some silly ego-driven meetings.

Snape was harder to ignore. He still held both her and Ron in contempt, but without Harry present to goad him to further hostility, his classes were tolerable but demanding. His practical, fortunately, were quite informative, especially since Snape was sometimes unable to resist showing off his talent at jinxes, hexes and curses, and so was quite often required to demonstrate their countercurses as well. By the time December had rolled around, most students in the Defense classes had put together quite a repertoire of spells for hexing and cursing one another.

But other trends had also become noticeable during the term, ones that reminded Hermione that there were some questions where the Weasley family were concerned. Fred and George had expanded their line of novelty items, and seemed quite keen on disrupting school activities with them, whether with fireworks above the Great Hall, swamps popping up in corridors, or students suddenly coming down with strange maladies and ailments, only to be suddenly cured once they were sent to the infirmary. Ron just shrugged — there was no way to control them, he told Hermione.

Ginny, as well, had begun acting differently, and though it wasn't much different from some of the other girls in her year, she seemed to be going round with quite a few boyfriends, Hermione thought. She'd been seen with Michael Corner, Dean Thomas, Zacharias Smith — even Neville Longbottom, a time or two! All of them still seemed friendly with her afterwards, even if they didn't hang out anymore.

Ron, of course, would turn purple whenever someone mentioned one of them and Ginny in the same breath, though he maintained that Ginny and Neville were "just friends," and that she'd dated Dean Thomas on the rebound from Corner. Which just showed, Hermione decided, how clueless Ron really was about his sister, and that he'd never taken Dumbledore's concerns about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seriously.

In early December Professor McGonagall gave Hermione another notice for the Gryffindor common room board, reminding students to sign up if they wanted to stay over the holidays, so the staff could make plans for the Christmas Feast. Hermione had quietly gone to the deputy headmistresses' office and added her name to the list. Ron and his brothers and sister would be going home to the Burrow for Christmas, but she didn't feel in a particularly Christmas-like mood. Even going home to her own parents hadn't seemed inviting, though she did make vague allusions in a letter to them about visiting Ron's house, so they wouldn't think she was alone on Christmas.

On the first morning of holiday, Hermione had disappeared after breakfast, going to the Library with her latest pouch filled with newspapers and magazines to read, hoping to make a final report to Dumbledore before taking a break herself (which meant she planned to find some books she wanted to read, for a change) when Ron unexpectedly showed up, looking for her.

"There you are!" he said, annoyed. "You'd better get a move on, it's less than a half-hour 'til the Express leaves Hogsmeade!"

Hermione looked up from her reading. "I'm staying here this Christmas, Ron," she said, flatly.

"What for?" He looked a bit hurt. "We've hardly seen each other all term, I thought you'd want to go on holiday, stop acting like a prefect for a while."

She gave him a condescending look. "You mean as opposed to you, who stopped acting like one two days after we got here?"

Ron's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you've been acting like this is a game, running around deducting points from Slytherins like Crabbe and Goyle every chance you get!"

"We've got to!" Ron snapped, heating up. "Malfoy's been doing the same thing, to us and to Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws as well!"

"You're not supposed to descend to their level!" Hermione objected.

"Well somebody's got to!" Ron shot back. "Otherwise Slytherin'll win the House Cup by default!"

Hermione started to say that the House Cup wasn't that important in the scheme of things, but was interrupted by a loud "Shhhhh!!" from Madam Pince, who'd suddenly appeared and was glaring at them. "There is no talking in the Library!" she said furiously, in a stage whisper.

Ron looked around, incredulous. "There's nobody else even in here!"

"Then you two shouldn't be, either!" Pince pointed toward the door. "Both of you get out, now!"

Hermione quickly gathered up her reading materials and walked out, frustrated with Ron for getting them in trouble. But by the time she had walked into the corridor she had calmed down again. She turned toward the nearest up staircase, heading for Gryffindor Tower and the common room, with Ron dogging her heels. The Fat Lady's portrait barely got out of her way as she muttered the password, then passed inside, dropping her books and magazines on the nearest table. A few first-years ducked out of sight, presumably to eavesdrop on their conversation, as Ron strode up to her after casting a single, smoking glare in their direction.

"So what's this all about, Hermione? You got some kind of bug up your —"

"Ron! Language!" Hermione said, jerking her head toward the first-years.

"Fine!" Ron said, and whipped out his wand. "Muffliato!" he said, pointing it toward where the first-years were hiding. The spell, shown to them earlier in the term by Professor Snape, was a little-known hex that filled people's ears close to the caster with a buzzing sound, keeping them from hearing nearby conversations. "Now, spill it!"

"Spill what?"

"Whatever the hell your problem is! You've hardly said 'boo' to me all this term!" Ron was pacing back and forth in front of her. "Your nose is always in some book or newspaper, or you're doing 'extra credit' for McGonagall or some other such crap! I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you told me you'd gone and gotten yourself a new boyfriend!"

Hermione's head whipped round, to stare at him. "And just what makes you think I ever had an old one, Ronald Weasley?!" she asked, scornfully.

Ron's lips pulled back, his expression somewhere between a sneer and grimace. "Oh, so that's what the problem is, is it? D'you think we weren't friends, then?"

"That's not what you were implying, and you know it!" she snapped. "You've been fussed ever since I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, and when I leaned on you for support at Harry's funeral, you decided that meant I'd fallen for you!"

"Well, you did!" Ron argued. "Everyone thought so — Ginny did, Fred an' George did, even Mum did!"

"Right," Hermione sighed, "and everything they tell you is right, and for your own good."

Ron glared at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hermione glared back at him. "You do remember, Ron, that Dumbledore told you about the circumstances of the timing of Harry's death, at the Burrow, and your mum, dad and sister's whereabouts, and potential exposure to the Imperius Curse, don't you?"

She had expected him to get mad, but Ron merely sat back, regarding her for several moments, before saying, "Yeah, I remember, of course. I've been watching them, but I haven't seen any indication they've been Imperiused."

Hermione leaned forward, astonished. "Really? You think all the disruptions Fred and George have been causing with those pranks they've been pulling aren't undermining the authority of Professor Dumbledore and the other teachers?"

Ron looked at her blankly. "Hermione, that's what they do! That's what they've always done! Fred and George not being disruptive would be like the sun not coming up in the morning!"

Hermione considered. "Hm, I see your point," she said, pensively. "But you can't say Ginny's been acting normal."

Ron's face darkened. "Stay out of it, Hermione."

"Why? Don't you think she's acting unlike herself?"

"I bloody hope so!" Ron exploded, then stopped, taking a deep breath. "Fred an' George said," he went on, more quietly, "she's probably just overcompensating for Harry's loss."

"But she told me last year," Hermione objected, "that she was over waiting for Harry, that she knew he probably wasn't interested in her."

"Well, maybe you didn't know her as well as you thought you did," Ron snapped at her. "Just like I thought I knew you," he added, bitterly, "when we were together at — at Harry's funeral…" His eyes were getting misty.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "Oh, grow up! Can't we have a moment of closeness without you thinking I'm yours forever?!"

Ron stood stock still for several moments. His ears, which had been nearly glowing red, went pale. "Fine, then," he said, with preternatural calmness. "I'll grow up, then." He walked over to the portrait-hole, then turned to face her a final time.

"If you decide you want to come to the Burrow sometime this holiday, drop us an owl, I hear the fare on the Knight Bus is only thirteen Sickles." He turned away, but then turned back, pulling out his wand, and pointed it toward the first-years, saying, "Finite," to cancel the Muffliato spell. "See you around," he said, pocketing his wand, and left.

Her lips trembling and eyes watering, Hermione quickly gathered her books and ran up the stairs to her room, collapsing in tears onto her bed, glad that she was the only girl left in her year.

The next several days passed in a haze of tears and fits of sleep. Hermione left her room only for an occasional meal, eating sparingly and talking with no one, avoiding conversation even with McGonagall and the other Hogwarts teachers still at school, who began to worry about her. Once, McGonagall even came into her dormitory room, but Hermione feigned sleep, and McGonagall watched her for several minutes, her own expression clouded, before leaving. The Monday before Christmas, while she was in the Great Hall getting some water and a piece of toast, an owl arrived with a note from Ginny, but Hermione returned to her room, tossing it onto her bedside table unopened and unread.

It was late on Christmas Eve before Hermione felt interested enough again to read anything. Coming down from her dormitory to the Gryffindor common room, she found a pouch of newspapers and magazines on a table marked "Miss Hermione Granger." She sat down and began sorting through them listlessly. There wasn't much of interest in any of the Wizarding periodicals. The Quibbler was doing a "Christmas Crackers Special" on whether Harry Potter was dead (according to "unsubstantiated rumors," Hermione read, with disgust) or merely in hiding from the goblins, and Witch Weekly had a "Where Are They Now?" retrospective featuring Gilderoy Lockhart (still in St. Mungo's), He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (officially still "dead") and Rita Skeeter (also, coincidentally, the author of the article; currently preparing several exposés for an unnamed source).

The Muggle newspapers were even less interesting, filled with the standard holiday fare of recipes, heartwarming stories, and shopping woes. News always seemed to take a holiday around the holidays. The most noteworthy story Hermione had come across was of a freak accident in Cairo that had claimed the life of Boutros Ghali, the current Secretary General of the United Nations. The Minister for Foreign Affairs from the Netherlands, a P. Thicknesse, had been nominated to replace him.

Hermione dropped the paper back onto the table, wearied by the months of reading, summarizing, making inferences, and flat-out guessing about the nature of events she was reading about. She rubbed tiredly at her eyes, not wanting to do anything but sleep, but not feeling sleepy. She remembered the last real conversation she'd had, and sigh unhappily; she'd botched things with Ron, and royally so. He might never speak to her again, or at least, not as a friend. She would just have to wait and see.

So immersed was Hermione in her self-recriminations that she did not hear the Fat Lady's portrait swing open, nor the tall figure that stepped carefully into the room and walked over to her, until he was almost upon her.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione whirled around with a startled, "OH!" to see Professor Dumbledore standing before her, staring at her with some concern.

"I am so sorry, Miss Granger," Dumbledore looked mortified to have startled her. "I do not mean to intrude…"

"It's alright, Professor!" Hermione said, sitting up straight and absurdly smoothing her night robe. "I — I was just finishing up some reading for my next report."

"I see." Dumbledore was glancing over the articles spread across the table. "But surely, this is something that will wait until after the holidays."

"I didn't have anything better to do," Hermione shrugged.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at her. "I find that rather hard to believe," he told her, sounding regretful. "It seems as if you might have considered going home for the holidays, or visiting friends."

"There's only one person I'd like to see right now," she muttered. "And that's not possible, because he's — he's dead."

Dumbledore nodded, slowly. "I miss him too, Miss Granger." He considered for a moment, then said, "Perhaps it is not a bad idea, at that."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, not understanding.

"As it turns out, I am overdue for a visit to Godric's Hollow myself — I try to go there every Christmas Eve, as a gift to myself, but for these past few years, time has not been on my side.

"If you are interested in going, however, I believe we can find time this evening to make the trip."

Hermione looked up at the headmaster. It would be a bittersweet occasion, visiting Harry's grave, but at the moment there was nothing she would rather do. "I'll get changed and be back down in five minutes!" she said, standing.

Dumbledore smiled and turned toward the portrait hole. "Please come to my office when you are ready. The password is 'Fizzing Whizbee'."

"What? Still?" Hermione asked, surprised. "That's what it was at the start of term!"

Dumbledore shrugged. "I like Fizzing Whizbees," he said, chuckling, and exited through the hole.

Hermione raced up to her dormitory and threw on a pair of jeans and a warm blouse, thick socks and shoes, and her warmest coat, then pelted through the corridors to Dumbledore's office entrance and gave the password to the gargoyle once again, who nimbly leapt aside, allowing her up the steps to his office. She knocked excitedly and was inside almost before Dumbledore finished saying "Come in."

"Excellent timing, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, picking up a teacup from a tea service sitting on a small table next to his desk. "I just finished a note to Professor McGonagall saying that we would be gone for an hour or so."

"Does she know where we're going?" Hermione asked, panting a bit as she caught her breath from the run through the seventh-floor corridors.

"I believe she has some idea," Dumbledore said, tapping the teacup; it glowed blue and shuddered slightly. "But we have never discussed it." He held out the teacup for Hermione. She touched it, and immediately the sensation came of being hooked behind her belly button, and she was drawn inward amidst a whirlwind of colors and sounds. A few moments later she and Dumbledore appeared on the cold ground just outside Godric Hollow's graveyard.

There was a kissing gate across its entrance, which Dumbledore opened, allowing Hermione in ahead of him, then walking along the path leading behind the church; Hermione hardly remembered it from when she was here last. Once behind the church, Hermione saw row upon row of gravestones. There seemed to be hundreds of them, but it was only a trick of the darkness and her mental fatigue. Suddenly Dumbledore stopped in front of a dark tombstone, looking down at it. Hermione looked around him, to see better.

"Is it —" she began, but stopped when she looked at him and saw an expression of profound sadness on his face.

"This is my mother and sister's grave," Dumbledore said quietly, and Hermione turned to look at it, making out the name Kendra Dumbledore on the dark stone, and below her dates of birth and death, and her Daughter, Ariana.

"They lived here in Godric's Hollow, too?" Hermione whispered, in utter surprise. The date of Kendra's death was long ago, before the turn of the century, and Hermione recalled once again how long wizards could live.

Wanting to give the headmaster some time to himself at his mother and sister's graves, Hermione began to look around slowly, trying to recognize from the layout where Harry's grave might be. As if he knew her intentions, Dumbledore pointed further back into the cemetery. "They are over there," he said, without looking. "I will join you in a few minutes, Miss Granger."

Nodding Hermione followed his pointing finger. Only two rows further back she found Harry's parents' gravestone, made of white marble so it was easy to read at a distance. Coming up to the grave, Hermione read the words engraved upon the white stone.

James Potter
Born 27 March 1960
Died 31 October 1981

And next to it,

Lily Potter
Born 30 January 1960
Died 31 October 1981

Below both names was written

'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.'

Next to his mother's side, Hermione saw, at last, Harry's grave. The sight of it made her heart leap into her throat, so powerful was the sense of loss she felt. His gravestone was of white marble as well, like his parents. Hermione wiped her eyes dry and read the words engraved upon it.

Harry James Potter
Born 31 July 1980
Died 12 August 1995

She was trembling, and her breath came raggedly, billowing out before her in the cold. She wanted to scream, "Why?!" at the heavens, at Voldemort, at the Ministry, for all of them had taken him away — away from all of his friends, away from her, and it almost seemed as if death would be worthwhile, if it brought them together again. Merlin knew what the world was going to be like, help if Voldemort was still out there me.

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it. She was more tired than she thought, she wasn't thinking clearly. Her head was throbbing help with fatigue me. She turned around, wondering if Dumbledore had said something to her, but the headmaster was still bowed over his mother and sister's graves. She looked back at Harry's grave, thinking back to that absurd article in The Quibbler about him being kidnapped by goblins. At that moment the bell in the church tower began to chime the hour. She counted the chimes as she stood before Harry's grave, hearing the bell toll twelve times, the beginning of Christmas Day.

Harry, I wish I could, even for a little while, be more like Luna Lovegood, she thought. I wish it was easy for me to believe impossible things, like you being alive again. I wish — I wish you could be alive again, with me… She closed her eyes. There was a soft thump in the distance.

Opening her eyes again, Hermione looked around. She saw nothing that might have made the noise. The thump came again, sounding louder this time. Had it come from the church? Was someone banging on its doors? But she could see no one near the back doors of the church. Professor Dumbledore was still standing over the grave, two rows back; apparently he had heard nothing.

The thump came again, louder than ever, and Hermione looked fearfully, unbelievingly, at the ground on Harry's grave. It was different, somehow. The thump came again, even louder, and the cold ground above the grave cracked slightly. Hermione stifled a small scream. What could be happening?

Dumbledore was suddenly beside her. "What has happened?" he asked, quickly, and she pointed at the ground. Even as she did so, there was another THUMP and the ground cracked even more.

"Stand back," Dumbledore said, and both he and she moved away from the grave. Dumbledore took out his wand and waved it once. The frozen ground Vanished, leaving the Harry's white coffin, now stained brown with soil and six months time in the ground, lay bare at the bottom of the hole.

Dumbledore raised his wand, and the coffin floated out of the grave, landing on the ground next to it. Hermione started forward, but Dumbledore caught her arm, and at the same moment there was a tremendous CRACK and the lid of the coffin flew off, a dozen feet into the air, then down toward the earth, until a wave of Dumbledore's wand stopped it in mid-air, mere inches before it slammed into the ground.

Inside the coffin, a dark-haired figure sat bolt upright, then tried to stand but fell back, breathing deeply. Looking down at itself, it realized it was naked, but even as it clutched at its bare chest, with another wave of Dumbledore's wand a black robe enveloped it. The figure looked up, into Hermione's eyes. His features were gray and dusty, as if he were a piece of stone that had suddenly come to life; his hair was disheveled and matted. But his eyes were still a brilliant green.

"H-Hermione?" he said, his voice a rasp. "You — you heard m-me…"

"Yes," she nodded, tears streaming from her eyes — tears of disbelief, of happiness, of joy, for it was Harry looking at her. Harry, who was dead and was now alive again. Impossible. Impossible, but true.

She pulled her arm free from Dumbledore's grasp and ran to the coffin, falling to her knees and embracing Harry tightly, as if she would never let him go again. "Harry! You're back! Oh, my God! You're back! But how?"

Harry said nothing for a long time, just holding her. When she finally moved back a little, to see his face again, he smiled and said to her, "You brought me back. I heard you wish we could be together again. Wherever I was before then, whatever had happened to me, I heard you.

"And I came back to you."