HARRY POTTER AND THE UNFORGIVEN

A Sixth Year Harry Potter Fanfiction

BY

Jayiin Mistaya

"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."

...never tickle a sleeping dragon


COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter. Those rights are held, exclusively, by JK Rowling, and any other entities, corporations, subsidiaries, or groups not named here possessing legal rights to the aforementioned books and/or trademark.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: My apologies for how long this took me to post. I'm having trouble getting time to write.

None the less, here's the next chapter. We've got just a couple more chapters to go (one of which is an interlude) and then there will be a scene or two of actual sunshine and fun!

I apologize, but I don't have an official beta-reader right now. Elusive Evan, as always, is my moral support and muse, but the chapter is pretty much un-beta'd. Anyone who has a lot of extra time on their hands and is interested in beta'ing for a neurotic fanfic writer, send me an application!

I hope people forgive some elements of this first scene; I am paying homage to a great writer here. If you know to whom I refer, please shout out!

More information on Harry Potter and the Unforgiven can be found at my website, which is linked in my Author Profile. This includes update dates, hints about upcoming chapters, and even a few spoilers.

Feedback of any kind is always appreciated. Remember, the more reviews I get, the faster I post.

And feel free to email, IM, PM or otherwise contact me to harass me to post. I enjoy talking to my readers.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Thanks to Elusive Evan for making me continue to post this and for constant moral support, being a great sounding board and being one of the best friends a guy could ever ask for.


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Midnight Mission

"You changed your mind about Harry going back." Bill stated flatly as he walked up next to Dumbledore. "Why?"

They were standing on the back patio of the Burrow, enjoying the cooler night air. There was a faint shimmer to that air – the wards Bill and Albus had cast were strong enough to cause distortion visible to the naked eye.

"Do you ever stop and look at the stars simply to look at them?"

Bill frowned. "Sometimes. Why do you ask?"

"It is a wonderful thing, to simply stop what one is doing and enjoy the moment for what it is," Dumbledore said.

"Stop and smell the roses, you mean? Sure. I guess so." Bill shrugged, confused by Dumbledore's tangent.

"I imagine you do so more often than you realize," Dumbledore said. "The luxury of taking small joy from the simple things of life is one of the many things most people take for granted." He stepped off the porch. "But not Harry."

Bill sighed and shook his head. "No. Not Harry. But what does that have to do with you playing us all back there?"

"Everything," Dumbledore answered, sitting down. "And nothing."

Bill sighed and sat next to him and dug around in his robes, pulling out a wooden pipe and a small pouch of tobacco.

Dumbledore smiled. "I can see you have worked quite closely with the Goblins. But would you have the requirement of an extra pipe?"

Bill blinked in surprise as Dumbledore produced a small pipe of his own, and quietly passed over the pouch. "Goblins are fond of their pipes."

"Aside from the occasional sherbert lemon, I find very little to match the pipe for pure pleasure," Dumbledore said, filling the bowl. He passed the pouch back to Bill. "It is also quite conducive to thinking, of which I must do a great deal of."

Bill took the pouch back and filled his own pipe.

Dumbledore produced a small flame on the end of his finger and puffed his pipe to life, producing a small cloud of sweet smelling smoke. He proffered his lit finger to Bill.

"Neat trick. I have to use my wand," Bill said, lighting his pipe.

"It is a useful skill, if one favors the pipe," Dumbledore said as the flame vanished.

There was a long silence as both men sat and stared at the stars, smoking.

"You're going to teach him, aren't you?" Bill asked softly, failing to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "I cannot teach him anymore than I could have taught you. Alas, he has not even asked." He paused, cradling the pipe in both hands. "I am sorry."

"I know," Bill sighed. "But it still hurts. I grew up dreaming about it, you know? I spent hours in the library my first month at Hogwarts, looking for the ceremony. I was so proud of myself, sneaking into your office. I remember being terrified. I could feel the magic gathering as I spoke the words, and I knew I was on standing on the edge of what would become the rest of my life. I said the right words the right way." His smile was as bitter as his voice. "And then you said no."

"And then I said no," Dumbledore drew on his pipe, blowing a single, thick smoke ring. "Worse, I told you that you had the power and the ability and I still would not train you. I wanted to very much to say yes, to pass the knowledge down. To be forced to turn you away remains one of the greatest failures of my life. Such is the irony that there are now two I could pass my legacy onto, and yet I am bound to a fool's oath."

Bill blew a streamer of smoke through Dumbledore's smoke ring. He remained silent, letting the old wizard talk. It was a bittersweet realization of a childhood dream, to sit next to Albus Dumbledore and hear him speak of himself.

"It appears I have now failed again. I had thought the Order strong enough, wise enough to watch over him while I was gone, because I knew when I came back I would have to ask him to make decisions no child should have to make."

"Why Harry? Why is he at the center of this?" Bill knew better than to ask Dumbledore what decisions Harry would have to make; the old wizard was too fond of his secrets to share that. Yet, there were still questions he could get answered.

"That knowledge is not mine to give. I will, if nothing else, respect Harry's privacy."

Bill nodded. "Fair enough."

Again, they sat in silence, a cloud of smoke gathering around them.

"It will take me time to determine all that has passed while I was gone. But at the same time, I must find a way to protect Harry. The blood protections are, by necessity, a Greater magic. The moment Petunia's intentions changed, their power waned. Yet, Harry was unmolested by Death Eaters and Dark Lords until he spent a night away from his blood relations."

Bill groaned. "You-Know-Who can't find him. He can know where he is, but he can't find him and can't get to him, no matter how powerful or how weak the protections are. It's not about making him invulnerable or hidden, it's about making him untouchable."

"Yes." Dumbledore nodded, smiling slightly. "It is a fine distinction. Voldemort can know where he is, can even be standing next to him, but he could not touch Harry while the protections are active and powerful. Nothing of his power – or those touched by his power – can touch Harry. It is why Voldemort always chooses to strike soon before Harry must return to Privet Drive. The protections are at their weakest."

"Nothing touched by his power..." Bill muttered around the pipe between his teeth. "Bloody brilliant. No one carrying the Dark Mark can touch him."

"Unless their intentions are not harmful to Harry," Dumbledore added.

"Making Harry the perfect litmus test for Death Eaters who defect to our side or those we suspect of being Death Eaters. It's why you trust Snape."

"I have many reasons to put my trust in Severus, few of which are based on any sort of litmus test." Dumbledore waved away Bill's subtle probe.

"So why could Dolores Umbridge visit him?" Bill wondered.

"Because the blood protection were at their lowest ebb. I imagine she found her visit quite uncomfortable, but manageable. When the protections are at such low potency, much is possible." Dumbledore paused, waiting to see if Bill would make the next leap.

He wasn't disappointed. "So if the protections aren't recharged and Harry's here, that means we're a target because they can find him here – or anywhere. To say nothing of Harry being vulnerable when he has been protected before."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. As the protections are weak, it is far easier for Voldemort," he gave Bill a look, silently chiding him for using a euphemism for the Dark Lord, "to attack Harry himself. Easier," he gestured with the pipe before tamping the tobacco with a pipe tool that seemed to appear out of thing air (and very well might have), "but as long as the protections remain unbroken, still difficult. Which is why I could not allow you to break the protections. If you had tried, I would have had to stop you, and you have power and skill enough that my doing so would have harmed you."

Bill shook his head. "I could have broken them before you could have stopped me. I break blood charms on tombs all the time. I can break even Greater magics easily these days."

Dumbledore looked at him in surprise. "Then you truly have walked the path you sought, if you can do such."

The eldest Weasley looked sheepish and turned away from Dumbledore, breathing out a cloud of smoke. "Coming from you, that means a lot."

"I am glad my inability to teach you has not deterred you. It gives me hope that the old ways and old knowledge will not die when I do."

It was Bill's turn to give Dumbledore an enigmatic look. "I think you'd be surprised."

"Perhaps I would be," Dumbledore murmured.

"So what can I do to help you protect Harry?" Bill asked, watching the smoke swirl around them. "You said it yourself. I might not be crazy-brilliant enough to use a Greater magic for a simple protection spell, but I'm not helpless, either."

Dumbledore shook his head. "There is little you can do but what you are already doing."

"I don't believe that," Bill said. "This isn't your burden to bear alone. We're all in this fight."

Dumbledore shook his head and took another draw off his pipe. "The burden of protecting Harry will fall mostly to me. He will be safe enough here for now, but after that, I must find another way."

"You already have an idea, don't you?"

"I do. It is one that will serve more than one purpose, though I will be sorely tempted to break my oath, regardless of the consequences." Dumbledore coughed slightly. "Goblin tobacco. It has been many years since I smoked it."

Bill smiled wryly. "Like their tea, it has a kick."

"Indeed. Next time, you shall have to try some of mine. Pineapple. Quite tasty."

Bill raised an eyebrow, but was pleased Dumbledore didn't think this was the last time they would smoke together. "I'm sure." He paused, puffing. "You can't do this alone."

"I must," Dumbledore said. "This summer, if nothing else, has taught me there are some things I cannot ask others to do."

Chewing on the bit of his pipe, Bill realized another result of the Order's mishandling of Harry. Dumbledore's faith in the Order was drastically weakened.

"That doesn't mean there aren't some things the rest of us can do. You have to sleep sometime, old man. Let me help."

Dumbledore's stare froze Bill in place. "Are you sure of this? The danger you will be in is great."

Bill met his gaze calmly. "This is the path I wanted to walk. This is part of what I wanted to become. I'm already in this. I'm already in danger. I will protect Harry."

"This goes well beyond any such calling you may have, William. This delves into places even you have not been. Of any, I would choose you or Minerva to carry this burden. You both have the skill and the knowledge to understand what it is that has been set into motion...but once you start down this path, there is no turning back."

"Only a fool walks into the future backwards." Bill shrugged. "There's never any turning back, from anything you begin. You can backpedal, but you never truly go backwards."

Dumbledore nodded. "Very well then."

- 0 -

Harry had fallen asleep with his head in Ginny's lap when Hermione poked her head in a couple of hours later. She frowned disapprovingly, but Ginny just met her eyes calmly.

Why are so many people against my being with Harry? What have I done, what has he done, that we don't deserve a chance?

"Tonks is ready to take you to get Harry's things." She paused, her expression softening. "I can go if you want to stay here."

Ginny bit her lower lip, staring down at the young wizard asleep in her lap, but shook her head. "No. You've seen where he was. I have to see it for myself."

If he can't talk about it, then maybe if I see it, I can understand.

Hermione nodded. "Might I suggest a quick shower and a change of clothes? You should borrow some of mine, so you look as muggle as possible." Ginny opened her mouth to argue, but Hermione cut her off. "You've still got his blood on you."

Ginny didn't want to delay any more than she had to, but Hermione was probably right. As usual. "Fine. But I don't see why I shouldn't show up on their doorstep covered in his blood. This is their fault. They should see some of their handiwork."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ginny. "Are you going because you want to help Harry or because you want to start trouble with his relatives?"

Ginny ran her fingers through Harry's hair. It wasn't a question Hermione should have had to ask. "Why do they get to get away with this?"

"Because we got outsmarted by Cornelius Fudge and his toad." Ron walked inside, barely glancing at his best friend lying in his sister's lap. "We've got bigger fights to be fighting. Like against You Know Who."

Ginny slid away from Harry, who groaned in his sleep, one hand reaching out for her. Her fingertips grazed his palm as she looked at Hermione.

"Stay with him? I don't want him to wake up alone."

Hermione nodded. "Of course. Just be quick. And careful." Her eyes were on Ron as she said the last. He didn't notice – he was digging through his drawers for clothes.

Bundle in hand, he slipped out of his room to change, probably in Percy's old room. With one last look at Harry, Ginny dashed out of the room, and Hermione pulled a chair up next to Harry's bed.

- 0 -

Ron and Ginny stumbled a bit as the Portkey released them outside Number 4 Privet Drive – in the backyard, of course. It wouldn't do to materialize where everyone was watching. Tonks Apparated behind them with a soft pop of displaced air.

"Ready?"

They both nodded, making sure their emergency Portkeys – old keys on chains around their necks – were accessible, and set off around the backyard.

Ron looked up at the clear sky and drew in a deep breath. He was strangely nervous about meeting Harry's relatives.

Of course, if they did this right, the muggles would never know they had been there. But if anything had gone wrong, they would be able to use magic. Kingsley, a Senior Auror, had somehow arranged a waiver just for the night.

Ron looked down at himself and shrugged. He had tried to dress nice; Mum and Bill had altered some of Charlie's old muggle clothes, and Ginny had borrowed a skirt and blouse from Hermione – although the shirt was a bit big and the skirt hung a bit loose on her.

Tonks wore muggle clothes more often than robes (it was harder to trip over jeans or get tangled in a tank-top), but had her wand out.

Ron walked around the well-kept garden, glancing at the flower-beds, surprised to see plants that didn't move on their own.

"Wicked..." he muttered.

Ginny didn't say anything. She was paler than normal and gripping her wand. At first, Ron thought it was fear – but the smoldering rage in her eyes made him think it would be best if he and Tonks did the talking.

The backyard was a large L-shape and they had materialized on the side farthest from the back door, at the bottom of the L. As they crept around the corner, they realized they weren't alone.

Ron blinked at what he saw.

He had always considered Crabbe and Goyle to be physically powerful specimens, but Dudley Dursley beat them hands down.

No longer just overweight, Harry's pudgy cousin had transformed much of his bulk into solid slabs of muscle overlying his large bones. He was shadow-boxing, the pale light from the lamp above the back door turning his fists into a streaks of color against the dark backdrop. Music played faintly in the background.

Merlin! He's nearly Hagrid's size!

Sweat pouring down his face, Dudley ducked, wove and struck, moving faster than someone with his bulk had a right to. He moved almost as if he were sparring with an inner demon brought to life under the light of the moon.

Ginny was staring at him in shock, and looked over at Ron, whispering. "Is that...Dudley?"

Ron swallowed. "I think so."

"He's good, isn't he?" Tonks whispered from behind them. "I watched he and Harry train all summer, and I can hardly believe how much both of them have changed."

Ron was about to ask Tonks what she meant, but Dudley stopped, lowered his massive fists to his sides, and turned to regard his visitors with a calm they never would have expected. "Is he all right?"

Ron blinked. "What?"

Dudley growled in exasperation, tearing his boxing gloves off with his teeth. "Damn gloves..." He looked back over at Ron. "Potter. Is he all right? He was pretty bad off when he vanished with that silver deer."

"Stag," Ginny corrected calmly. "It was a stag. And yes, Harry's fine." She paused, as if unsure. "He said to tell him you saved his life, and to give you this."

She held out the letter. Dudley took it and thrust it in the pockets of his sweats.

"Knew someone would show up eventually. To get his stuff or to kill Dad. I figured I'd wait out here for you." He shrugged half-heartedly. "It's not as much fun without Harry...you know, he got to be pretty good."

Ginny and Ron looked at each other, having no idea what Dudley was talking about.

"Reckon he did, didn't he?" Tonks stepped out of the shadows. "You have, too, you know. I heard you did well this morning." Dudley looked uncomfortable with the praise, but Tonks kept on undaunted. "Trained Aurors, Hit Wizards, and grown men have cowered in fear of those filth. You were offered a chance to run – twice – and you didn't take it. You even stayed after Harry was gone and fought with our people until it was over."

Dudley offered a feeble grin. "What, and miss out on a chance to do some real damage?" He turned off his stereo, tucked his gloves under his arm and gestured for them to follow. "You might as well come on in. I'll help you get his stuff together."

Ginny nodded. "Thanks. Er, Tonks?"

"We'd best be quick." The Auror was the first to follow Dudley, "But if it even looks like it'll get violent, we're out of here. Got it?"

They both nodded.

Dudley opened the back door, and led them into the dark house. He didn't bother to flip on any lights, and was obviously trying to move quietly.

"It's best if we don't wake them," he whispered, looking at the three of them as if he expected them to start screaming at the top of their lungs. Which considering his experiences with wizards other than Harry, wasn't an unreasonable fear.

Ron thrust his hands into his jean pockets and nodded. "With any luck, they'll never know we were here."

As they walked past, Ginny stared into the kitchen, realizing it was the same kitchen she had seen in her dream.

But I've never been here.

She shivered.

Dudley opened the cupboard under the stairs as quietly as he could.

"He lived in here?" Ginny asked flatly.

Dudley turned away from her in what could have been shame. "Yeah. 'Til he was eleven, then this summer. Uhh...look, you'll have to pack him. I can't fit in there. I can help carry things, though."

Ginny slipped inside the cupboard and sat down on Harry's pallet. She realized there were no sheets, and only a single pillow. While Ron was whispering to Tonks, she laid down on it, and breathed in the scent of him.

She ran her hands along the mattress, her fingers stopping at several bloodstains.

Dudley coughed nervously. "I'll...uh...I'll be right back, okay? I want to get something for him." Dudley headed up the stairs as quietly as he could – which wasn't very.

Ron shook his head. "Mental, that one."

Tonks just shrugged, but like Ron, was very nervous. They heard footsteps – maybe Dudley's, maybe not.

"Ginny! Hurry up!" Ron hissed at her, nervously looking around. "I heard something upstairs, and I don't think it was Dudley."

Scanning the small area, she reached for the backpack Harry had mentioned earlier when a growling voice came out of the darkness.

"Too right it wasn't Dudley, boy." The lights came on, and Vernon Dursley was standing there, fully dressed, a large baseball bat in his beefy hands.

"I knew something was off, today. Something happened at the gym, Potter didn't come back and Dudley says he doesn't remember. It was the boy's...abnormality, wasn't it?" He snarled, sneering down at Ron. "And now you come into my house intent on stealing my property?"

Ron tried to form an answer, but he couldn't find his voice. However, he didn't need to. Ginny stepped out of the cupboard in front of him.

"No. We came to get Harry's things. He won't be staying here. Ever again."

Vernon glowered at her. "Good riddance. But you won't be taking a bloody thing from my house. If you do..." He brandished the bat.

"We've given the boy food and shelter and clothing, all from the goodness of our hearts!" Petunia spoke from behind Tonks. The Auror whirled around, and saw the woman holding a fireplace poker in a trembling hand. "Now d-don't you dare try any of your nonsense!"

Tonks stepped between Petunia and the two teens. "Put that down, Petunia Dursley. We will be leaving just as soon as we have all of Harry's things."

Ginny ignored Vernon's threats and slung the backpack over her shoulder.

It happened too fast for Ron to react. Vernon struck, and there was the hollow sound of the bat hitting the side of Ginny's head. Her eyes went wide in surprise as she fell to the ground with a muffled cry.

In the next breath Ron's wand was pointed at Vernon. "You. Hit. My. Sister."

Vernon snarled, hefting the bat. "And?"

"Stupefy!" Ron bellowed the spell, putting more power into it than he ever had before.

With an inarticulate cry, Petunia shoved past Tonks and slammed the poker down on Ron's arm. With a cry of pain, his wand fell from numbed fingers, the Stunner blowing a large chunk out of the entryway's stone floor.

Petunia raised the poker to hit Ron again, but Tonks stepped between Petunia and Ron, all clumsiness forgotten.

The Auror parried the iron poker with her wand, her mouth moving in a silent incantation. As the poker and wand touched, there was a flash of white light. The tang of metal filled the air as Petunia dropped the twisted, ruined poker.

Screaming, Harry's aunt threw herself at Tonks, slamming the Auror into the wall.

Vernon lurched forward, swinging the bat at Ron. The redhead tried to leap out of the way, stumbling as he bent to grab his wand. His clumsiness saved him; the blow clipped his shoulder instead of his head, sending him sprawling.

Vernon swung again, but the blow never came close to reaching Ron. Dudley leapt down the last few stairs and caught it in one massive fist. Vernon's eyes widened as Dudley tore the bat from his hands, throwing it aside.

Dudley opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but Vernon tried to pull away, his eyes cold. "Are you siding with them, boy?"

"Give over," Dudley spat. "This is bloody well stupid! Don't you see!?"

Petunia stopped fighting Tonks, her eyes wide in astonishment.

Vernon shook his head. "See what, boy? My own flesh and blood turned traitor for a bunch of freaks he was raised better than to associate with?"

"Don't you see what you made me?!" Dudley bellowed. "What you tried to do to him?"

Ron stared up at Dudley. Harry's cousin was trembling, caught in the throes of more emotion than Ron ever wanted to feel, let alone all of it in a single minute.

"It's useless. Stupid. Wrong." Dudley's great chest was heaving, as if everything he was feeling was trying to explode out at once. Only the desperation that had driven him to act and the fear of what he was doing kept him in check. "He's not who you said he was. He's someone...I don't bloody well know, but he's someone." Dudley's hand was tightening on his father's wrist, an inexorable vise that Vernon couldn't pull away from no matter how hard he tried.

"What are you talking about, boy? What I've made you?" Vernon shook his head, tugging on his arm. "I've tried to make you a man, boy. Not like him. He is nothing. No one at all. He thinks he's someone and you're stupid enough to believe it!"

Ron wanted to speak, but he was frozen in place. He didn't know what was – or even what could – happen next.

"You're lying. You've always lied to me." Dudley's fingers tightened more, Vernon's face twisting in pain.

"Dudley, no!" Petunia half-gasped, half-sobbed.

Dudley ignored her.

Ron felt like he was a voyeur, watching a moment he never should have been there to witness.

"You let me be weak. You let me be helpless. The only person scared of me was the one person I never should have wanted to hate. He's done more for me in a just a few weeks than you have in years." Dudley's voice was calm now, calmer than it ever had been. They were hearing the voice of Dudley as a man instead of a boy – a man who had just made the hardest choice of his life.

Vernon ground his teeth. "Is this how you want it, boy?"

"No." Dudley shook his head. "Maybe. I don't know. I don't want to be me anymore. I want to something more. Someone better."

Vernon drew himself up, pushing his trapped hand closer to Dudley. "Then go with them, if you think they're better than your own family. Go with them, and never come back."

Dudley blinked and released his father's wrist. "That's it, then? I do something you don't like and you get rid of me?"

"That's it." Vernon smiled coldly. "We will have another child to raise, one who will know her place, and show proper respect and gratitude."

"Gratitude, hell," Ron spat, whipping his wand up. "Stupefy!"

This time, the jet of red light hit Vernon Dursley, and he slumped to the ground.

"That's for hitting my sister."

- 0 -

Harry woke up alone.

He bit back a scream with the simple expedient of biting through his lip. Bright green eyes snapped open to stare into pitch dark. He sat bolt upright, his hand groping for the dangling light bulb that wasn't there. He clawed at empty air, straining –

Light. I need light...

Panic crept up and grabbed at the few threads of rational thought he had; he fought the panic down, struggling with a growing pressure behind his eyes. The room exploded into green light as every candle wick in the room caught with emerald fire that slowly dimmed to the normal yellow-orange.

The pressure – and the panic – were gone. He blinked his eyes against the sudden warm illumination and sank back against the headboard, resisting the urge to close his eyes. He didn't want to fall asleep again; he knew the nightmares would be waiting.

The one he'd just escaped had been different than most of them. More disjointed – he remembered images of Vernon with a wood bat and Petunia with a fireplace poker. Ginny and Ron had both been in the dream – stranger still, Tonks had been there.

He dabbed at the blood running down his chin. At least I was able to light the candles. All too often when he'd woke in the cupboard under the stairs, there hadn't been any light, or he hadn't been able to stop himself from screaming...

I lit the candles. The thought snapped him out his half-awake state. I lit the bloody candles. With magic. He knew what was coming, and this time, not even Dumbledore would be able to get him off.

Everything he had gone through, everything he had endured, everything everyone had done for him would be all for naught because he couldn't control his panic. Because he couldn't deal with a few simple nightmares.

Some prophesied hero I am.

- 0 -

Nymphadora Tonks was over twenty years old, a respected Auror, member of the Order of the Phoenix, and a veteran of more than a dozen battles with Dark Wizards.

Yet she cowered in the face of Molly Weasley.

She was sitting in the kitchen table at the Burrow, flanked by her accomplices – Ginny was glaring hot daggers at her mother, and Ron was staring morosely into his teacup. Hermione sat across the table from them, angry and worried in turns – she had come down as soon as they'd come in, Ron half-carrying Ginny.

Dudley Dursley sat at the end of the table, utterly silent and still.

Molly did what Molly did best. She yelled.

"I cannot believe you allowed this to happen! You, an Auror, no less! An Auror that couldn't handle a pair of muggles! I swear, I don't know how we're going to survive this thing if the children are the only competent ones among us!" She stormed up and down the kitchen – pacing was far too gentle a description – her dressing gown fluttering behind her like a ragged terrycloth cape.

She stopped in mid-stomp and rushed back over to Ginny, only to glare at Tonks some more. "How could you let this happen?"

"Mum, I'll be fine!" Ginny protested, pushing her mother's hands away from her head. "Let it be already! You've healed it at least twice!"

Indignant, Molly put her hands on her hips and moved her glare her youngest child. "You listen to me, young lady! Head injuries are tricky things!"

Ginny never got a chance to answer; she felt a sharp tugging sensation behind her torso – a jolt of fear that wasn't hers.

Every candle in the kitchen suddenly extinguished, and then exploded back to life in a flare of brilliant green light that quickly faded back to a more normal yellow-orange.

Ginny and Tonks leapt to their feet at the same time, just as Dudley fell out of his chair with a rather impressive thud.

"Harry!" Ginny whirled to glare at Hermione, who was standing next to Ron. "You said you wouldn't leave him alone!"

"You were hurt!" Hermione said, looking slightly offended. "What was I supposed to do, just sit up there with him while you were half-conscious!"

"Yes!" Ginny was already heading towards the stairs. "He shouldn't have had to wake up alone!"

"And just what makes you think he's awake?" Hermione moved to stand between Ginny and the stairwell.

"Because I am." Harry staggered down the last stair and smiled weakly. "I'm all right. Just a nightmare. What's this about Ginny being hurt?"

"Harry." Hermione seemed hesitant. "Did you cause the candles to flare like that?"

His smile faded and he nodded. "Yeah. That was me."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Harry, this is bad. This will be your third violation of the Underage restrictions!"

He seemed to barely notice Hermione; he was staring at Ginny. "You're hurt?"

She shrugged, hiding her face behind her hair. "It's nothing. Just a bump, and Mum's overreacting. Your lip..." She moved as if she were going to reach for him.

"I most certainly am not," Molly stated firmly, thrusting a finger into the air, obviously ready to start yelling again, but she paused when Ginny pointed out Harry's bit lip. She sighed, and got a cloth to wipe at Harry's chin. A touch of her wand and a murmured phrase and it healed clean.

"Dad conked her on the nob with a bat," Dudley stated flatly, walking up behind Ginny. "Don't have a ruddy clue where he got the bat, though."

"Dudley?" Harry blinked. "Uncle Vernon hit Ginny?" He was visibly shaken, almost stumbling as he made his way over to Ginny, but there was the hint of fire behind his green eyes.

She caught him by his arms, shocked at how feverish his bare skin felt against her palms. "Really, I'm fine. Are you all right?"

Harry brushed her hair back over her ear, his fingertips grazing where Vernon had hit her. "I'm fine. Are you sure?"

Hermione frowned. How had Harry known where she'd been hit when no one had told him?

"I'm sure..." She whispered. "I'm worried about you."

"I wish you hadn't gone there." Harry took a step back, hanging his head to hide the guilt in his eyes. One of his friends had been hurt because of him. "I told you it wasn't safe for you there."

Ginny put her hand under his chin and gently forced his head up until she could look him in the eyes. She took a minuscule step forward, closing the small distance between them; strands of her hair tickled his chest. "I can take care of myself, Harry Potter, as I would have told you if you hadn't sent me away."

"He's right. It wasn't a good idea for all three of you to come," Dudley said. "Dad hates Harry and what Harry is." He paused. "I don't, anymore. But Dad's been violent about it lately. He knocked you out, Red. He and Mum had Tonks over there pinned down." He gestured at the dejected-looking Auror with his half-empty teacup. "Ron zapping him is all that saved you from worse."

Harry paled, and gripped Ginny's hand tighter – when did I start holding her hand?

Hermione looked at Ron. "You did magic too? Are you trying to get expelled?"

"He hit my sister!" Ron shot back. "Besides, Kingsley Shacklebolt said it'd be okay."

Hermione just sighed and put her hand on Ron's shoulder. "Ron..."

Harry and Ginny grinned at each other at the fondness in Hermione's voice.

Molly let out a great huff. "All of you come back and sit down and I'll fix a spot of tea and maybe a bit of something to eat. If nothing else, I can at least make sure you're well fed!"

Everyone except Harry and Ginny filed back into the kitchen.

Ginny looked up at Harry – she only came up to his chin. "Is this where you try to send me away again? Because I got hurt trying to help you?"

He shook his head. "Yes. No. I don't know. I don't want you or anyone else hurt because of me. I just can't..." He stopped in mid-sentence and looked very woozy. "Ginny...I sent you away in a dream."

"I thought that was my dream..." Ginny was as shaken as Harry looked.

"Hey, are you two coming?" Ron yelled from the kitchen.

"Be right there!" Ginny yelled back, not taking her eyes away from Harry's. "Now what?"

She left so many questions unspoken – questions they were both afraid to voice.

He sighed. "I don't know. I don't want to tell anyone else until we can talk about it."

"I'm good with that." Ginny tried to smile, but didn't quite succeed. "We should go, before Mum comes after us."

"Yeah." Harry let her lead him by the hand into the kitchen. They joined everyone else at the table, accepting cups of tea from Molly. It didn't take long to tell the whole story of the night's errand, including Dudley's role in stopping Vernon.

"Looks like that's two I owe you, big D." Harry forced a smile. "You're getting the hang of being one of the good guys."

Dudley grinned. "Yeah, well being a bad guy gets boring after awhile. Though what was that bit with the candles?"

Hermione took this as her cue. "Accidental magic. Most magic is focused through our wands, the magical 'core' acting as a conduit for the energy wizards and witches channel. Spells – wand movements and spoken words – are just tools to help up us put our minds in the right place to channel that energy.

"Accidental magic occurs in times of great stress and emotion, usually because the emotion is intense enough to force our minds into the places and forms where we can use magic. Most accidental magic is uncontrolled and purely instinctual and usually only occurs when a witch or wizard is first coming into their powers, mainly because their powers are growing faster than their instinctual control can keep up, and usually stops happening after conscious control is learned." She frowned. "Harry seems to be the exception to that rule."

Dudley chuckled. "Potter's been doing weird stuff his entire life. All the time. Once or twice a week, even. It got a bit better since he started going to that school of his, but random stuff keeps happening."

Hermione, for once, was speechless. She was beginning to suspect what the glow had been around Harry earlier that night.

Molly set out a tray of biscuits. "Nothing to worry about, then. The Ministry can't always detect accidental magic. The Sensing Spells are keyed to specific spells – patterns of energy, I suppose Hermione might call them. Most of the time, they can't tell the difference between accidental or wandless magic and an adult casting a spell in a wizarding house. With all the magic around here, I doubt it made their detectors even twitch. And accidental magic only stops when the wizard has reached their full power. That Harry still does just proves us what we already knew – he is an exceptional and powerful wizard."

Harry shivered, despite the warmth of the tea. Does that mean my magic is still growing? The thought was a frightening one, and he didn't like the implications at all.

"...he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..."

Could his mysterious power be something as simple as just having more magic than Voldemort? Or anyone else, for that matter? It didn't seem to make sense. One of the many things Gracie had taught him was that power and skill weren't the same thing. Power without skill was useless, but skill without power could still be devastating.

Damn, but I hope Gracie's okay. He had left her behind when he'd somehow teleported himself away from the gym. Dumbledore had said she was fine, but Harry wasn't sure how much of that he could believe. Dumbledore had said Sirius had been fine, trapped in Grimmauld Place. But he hadn't been fine, had he? He was going crazy, crazy enough to come and rescue me when I was stupid enough to fall for Voldemort's trick.

His mind felt tight, cluttered with too many thoughts he couldn't contain and couldn't process – and he hurt. He ached all over.

"So what would it have meant if Potter'd got another of those warnings?" Dudley asked as Molly bustled around the kitchen.

"His name is Harry," Ron said quietly. "Not 'Potter'."

"Ron," Harry held up his free hand, "it's fine. He can call me whatever he wants. My name's Potter, too."

Ron looked like he was about to argue, but Hermione cut in. "A third warning would have meant the Ministry could have snapped his wand and incarcerated him as a danger to our world. Once is considered accidental. Twice is generally a fine, a stern warning and some kind of community service – and a special class on when to use and not to use magic." She looked like she'd bit something sour. "Harry was treated as if his second offense was his third, so there's no telling what the Ministry would do if he broke the rules a third time."

Harry shrugged. "I already did. This morning. I cast the Patronus Charm."

"Considering how many Death Eaters got captured today and considering there was an attack on the Burrow, I don't think even Fudge could claim it wasn't self-defense," Ron said, accepting a surprisingly large plate of bacon sandwiches from his mother, grinning as Dudley eyed the plate with unashamed hunger. "They taste better than they smell, trust me on that!"

"Oh, really, Ron!" Hermione huffed. "Dumbledore already said the Death Eaters had masked all the spells that were cast!"

Ron shrugged, biting into a sandwich. "Oh yeah. Forgot."

Hermione looked to Harry, but he was lost in thought.

Fudge can still get me. Harry felt even more thoughts crowding into his head. He'd just claim I made the whole thing up and the Order overreacted.

It bothered him that he was afraid of Cornelius Fudge. The man was a bumbling bureaucrat who was more interested in his own political power and position than in the fate of the wizarding world.

I'm scared of a coward.

He barely noticed Ginny putting sandwiches on the plate in front of him. He really wasn't aware when he started nibbling on one.

Molly picked up the teapot and was making the rounds, refilling mugs. Harry found himself staring into the burner flame, trying to feed his emotions back into it, letting the fire devour the pain. But instead of the comfort of the void, he found an aching emptiness. Yet, it was enough to calm his mind, to let the thoughts skitter away like drops of water on a hot griddle.

He was acutely aware of the feel of Ginny's hand in his; of her skin pressed against his; the scent of her next to him, like cinnamon and honeysuckle warmed by sunlight. He was almost painfully aware of how close she sat, of how worried she was. He could even tell her head was still hurting her a bit, from the way her brow was slightly furrowed...

He rubbed his head with his free hand, trying to clear it. Pain potion residue. I really hate those things. Better to hurt than to not be able to think.

Conversation continued without him. Ron was talking to Dudley. "So what are you gonna do, Dudley? I mean, you're welcome here and all that, but I dunno how well you'd like it."

Dudley washed a large bite of sandwich down with an equally large swallow of tea. "Your Mum's already said I can stay as long as I need, but I think I'm gonna see if I can stay with my boxing coach." The large boy slumped. "If he's even still my coach. Dad will likely cut off the money."

From behind the void, Harry tried to concentrate. He took a swallow of tea. "I can pay Duncan."

Dudley laughed. "How's that, Potter? Got a gold mine hidden somewhere?"

Ron and Ginny snickered.

"My parents left me some money. More than enough for me. It was me who messed things up for you, so it'll be me to fix it." Harry shrugged, eating with one hand, slowly becoming aware of how hungry he was.

"Duncan costs a lot." Dudley was looking very uncomfortable.

"I can cover it," Harry said absently, smiling at Ginny when she handed him another sandwich.

Dudley seemed unsure what to say, so he changed the subject. "You look like hell, Potter, but you're putting away more food than I am."

"Magical healing takes a lot of energy that has to be replaced." Hermione said, "and Harry required more than a little healing. He'll probably be weak and tired for several days."

"Great," Harry muttered. How was he going to practice if he was too weak to walk? How am I going to practice with everyone watching?

"Speaking of Harry's health..." Rom sounded thoughtful. "Dudley, is there any chance you can stay here and commute to London every day?"

"Ron?" Ginny asked.

"Probably. I bet you have some trick for that...but why would you want me here?" Dudley asked, bewildered.

"Besides you saving my best mate and my sister?" Ron asked. "You're a bloke I can count to on have my back if something else bad goes down, and you're Harry's family. You being here means the blood protections would work."

To say Harry was surprised was an understatement; Ron wasn't known for his ability to forgive and forget – and he wasn't known for his ability to come up with stuff everyone else missed.

"Well, we could certainly ask Dumbledore," Molly mused, "but it's certainly do-able."

"Blood protections?" Dudley asked, scratching his head in a way that reminded Harry of a gorilla he'd once seen at the zoo.

I have to admit...I'd like Dudley to be here. At least I'd have a sparring partner. And maybe he can contact Gracie for me.

Hermione launched into a complicated explanation of the blood wards while Molly went to contact Dumbledore. Dudley looked more and more confused until Ron laughed and cut Hermione off.

"It's really like this. Harry lives with someone he's related to and who doesn't want him dead for a month near his birthday, and the big bad guy trying to kill him can't."

Dudley nodded. "Oh. I guess I can stay, then."

Hermione glared. "But that's what I said!"

Harry's cousin grinned. "I'm big and dumb. My most endearing qualities. You use the big words, I get lost."

Harry almost choked hearing Dudley be self-deprecating. Ginny looked at him worriedly, but Harry shook his head at her.

A moment later, Molly bustled back in. "Well, then, it's all settled. Dumbledore agrees with Ron. Dudley, you are welcome to stay here if you want – and we would be very appreciative of it. The Order of the Phoenix will be happy to pay your coach anything he needs if you will, in fact."

Dudley gaped, but quickly pulled himself together. After a long moment, he shook his head.

"No worries. I'll stay and we can figure out what Duncan needs later. I didn't save Potter's life just for someone dumber and uglier than me to kill him." His humor was forced. "If anyone's gonna off the runt, it should be family."

Molly frowned a bit. "Right, then. We'll just get you boys into your rooms. Harry, I'm giving you Percy's old room, just under Ron and down the hall from Ginny. Dudley, you're across from Ron, in Fred and George's old room. Bill has his old room, and Fleur and Charlie are sharing Charlie's old room. I'm sure we can find you some clothes, if we need."

Dudley shrugged. "Whatever works. I brought everything I need when we left. Dad was pretty sure he wanted me out."

Molly surprised everyone by giving Dudley a hug, Dudley most of all.

That might be the first real hug he's ever had.

"You are most welcome here, Dudley Dursley." Molly took him by the elbow. "It's getting rather late, and it's high time you all were in bed. Especially you, Harry Potter. Ginny, get Harry settled in, will you? Ron, could you...?"

Ron grinned. "Yeah, I'll clean up, Mum. And I'll drag Harry's trunk up to him when I'm done."

- 0 -

Ginny tried to follow Harry upstairs, but Hermione grabbed her arm.

"Ginny..." Hermione looked surprisingly unsure of herself, but still determined.

Ginny just waited. Lately, anytime anyone looked unsure around her, they wanted to talk about Harry. Why couldn't people just leave her alone and let her deal with her feelings for Harry?

"I think you should let Ron help Harry get settled in. You and I can clean up."

She narrowed her eyes at Hermione. "Why?"

"Because I don't think you being alone with Harry is a very good idea. I think you both need some space right now." Hermione no longer looked unsure of herself; now she looked positively smug. "I think you're unhealthily obsessed with him, and I think he's emotionally vulnerable. I know it feels like he's responding to you the way you want him to, but I don't think he is. I think he's latching on because he's desperate for comfort."

Ginny sucked in a deep breath and silently counted to ten. "And so why would I be a bad person to provide comfort? Because I'm not a member of the little Dream Team you, Ron and Harry have formed?" She was starting to get angry. How was she supposed to have even a chance of friendship, let alone anything romantic, with Harry if everyone kept getting between the two of them? "Just because he's responding to someone besides you and Ron you have to get between them?"

Like you did Harry and Cho?

"No." Hermione shook her head. "You're both my friends. Harry's in no condition to figure out what he wants emotionally right now, and I don't want to see either of you get hurt. Ginny, you've been pining after him as long as I've known you, to the point where it's interfered with your relationships with other boys. Now, just when it seems like you're breaking free of that, you gravitate back to Harry like a compass needle to magnetic north. That isn't healthy."

"You are obliquely referencing this supposed bond between me and Harry, then?" Ginny spoke slowly, as if each word tasted bitter. "This is a different world than you grew up in, Hermione. Maybe I like this bond. Maybe it won't bother Harry like it bothers you. Or maybe this bond has nothing to do with how I feel or how he may feel." She chose her words carefully – she had to believe that Hermione was acting out of concern. She didn't want to fight or argue. She just wanted the right to be Harry's friend and have a chance to become something more. "Harry told me earlier that he didn't promise me anything. That he didn't know how he feels. And I believe him. But I've been there for him all summer and I'm going to be there for him now, in ways that you and Ron can't or won't be there for him."

Hermione's lips were pressed into a thin line. "I think you're wrong. I don't have any right to stop you, but I still think you're wrong."

"That's right. You don't have a right to stop me. I don't know if you're right or not, Hermione. I'll even promise to think about it and talk about it with Harry. But I want to be his friend."

Hermione shook her head. "Friendship with Harry isn't simple or easy, Ginny. And I imagine being more to him is even harder, because he's never been taught how to be in a relationship. You've had your parents as examples, I've had mine. We've even had stories and tales and books where heroes and heroines fall in love, conquer evil, and live happily ever after. Harry hasn't. You can't expect him to know how you're going to feel, or what will and won't hurt you. He won't know when to buy you flowers or when to say he's sorry, or even when he's being a bad friend. He won't know, because no one's taught him. If you go into this thinking he's easy to get along with or the moments between danger-filled 'adventures' are going to be full of fun and laughter and maybe romance, then you need to change those expectations."

Ginny calmed down. Hermione really was just worried and trying to give the best advice she could, even if the advice wasn't particularly welcome.

"I know all of that. But what about what he is? He's kind and gentle and noble. He tries not to hurt anyone and tries to always be polite and respectful. Somehow, despite not having all of those things, he's turned out to be a good person, well worth friendship and patience and maybe even a bit of love. In fact, I think it's love he's been lacking in his life. Imagine never having someone hold your hand to cross the street, or kiss your scraped knee, or let you crawl into the bed with them to protect you from thunderstorms and nightmares?"

Hermione's face grew slightly harder. "I never had those things, Ginny, and I turned out okay."

Ginny held out her hand. "Oh, Hermione..."

"No. It's nothing like that. I grew up differently, but no less loved. My father sat next to my bed and held my hand, telling me what caused nightmares or thunderstorms and why I was safe. That it was okay to be scared. My mother cleaned out my scrapes and told me I was okay, but she was too formal to 'kiss the hurt away' – but she was always the first one to be there for me when I needed her."

The redhead sighed. "Look, Hermione, Harry needs more than a little of that kind of support. Someone to hold his hand or give him a hug, or just sit there and play with his hair while he broods. I can give that, friend or girlfriend. Can you? And do you think I'm wrong? I've seen you and Ron. You're not as demonstrative as I am...but that kind of support is there."

Hermione had the grace to blush. She vividly recalled curling up next to Ron on the Weasley's couch when she first got to the Burrow, and other times she'd just sat beside him or leaned up against him.

"No, I don't think you're wrong. And though I don't think I can do that for Harry, I'm still not sure you should."

Ginny shrugged. "No one else will. I'm going to be there for him until he tells me to be somewhere else. I'll deal with what happens after it happens." She paused, and her eyes glistened. "He might be killed tomorrow or next week. Or I might die going with him on some crazy mission. I'd like to think if that happened, I had been there for him, with him at least that much instead of having left him alone." She whirled and ran off.

- 0 -

Harry looked around his new room while he waited for Ginny, surprised to see the walls painted a muted blue-gray; the bed was black wood, simple in form and function, though it looked far more comfortable than his cot.

The room still looked like it belonged to Percy. Meticulously neat, dozens of awards framed and hung on the walls, including his old Prefect badge, his Head Boy badge, his OWL and NEWT results, and his formal job offer from the Ministry.

So is this going to be home now? Is this my place? He could never go back to the Dursleys and he couldn't stay at Hogwarts...

Welcome home, Harry Potter.

Did that mean Dudley was now a permanent guest of the Weasleys, too?

He shook his head. His thoughts were sluggish, chaotic; he needed to clear his mind, and think things through, or he was never getting back to sleep.

And he was still exhausted. He felt achingly empty, as if something had drained ever bit of energy out of him.

Clearing a spot in the middle of the floor, he set one candle down, and extinguished the rest. He sat cross-legged in front of the candle, his hands palm up on his knees.

Staring into the flame, he focused on his breathing. Slow – in and out.

Just like he had in the kitchen, he fed his thoughts to the flame; then his emotions. He fed the flame until there was nothing left in his mind but the emptiness. He was in the center of the emptiness; in the center of himself.

Gracie's voice whispered in his mind. 'Meditation. From the Greek 'media tarse' – to be in the center. Meditation is finding the center and existing there.'

He wondered what it meant that his center was empty.

The emptiness still ached, still hurt, but not as much.

Thoughts floated across the emptiness, and he grabbed them, examining them.

The Death Eaters followed me to the Burrow. The thought came with fear. As long as I am here, the Weasleys are in danger.

But weren't they already? They'd already decided to fight Voldemort – twice. They were already a target. Lucius Malfoy and his family hated the Weasleys. Harry's presence increased the threat to them, but only slightly.

Still, he wasn't sure how he'd managed to travel from McAllister's to the Burrow – maybe he had brought the Death Eaters with him, and Voldemort didn't know where he was.

Even if I weren't here, they'd be in danger because of me. Voldemort hurts them, he hurts me.

He couldn't undo what had been done.

Even if you'd known befriending you meant danger for others, you couldn't have gone through Hogwarts alone. Without Hermione and Ron, Voldemort would have come back our first year. Or our second. We kept him from coming back for three years.

There was still the Prophecy to consider, but the Prophecy didn't say he couldn't have help; only that he and he alone had the power to end things.

He had been wrong. He had been wrong to think he could do this without his friends; wrong to be angry at them last year.

But where had the anger come from? He felt almost as if he had been two people. One was always angry, and the other was the one who had been vibrantly alive while teaching the DA and terrified when Hermione had been struck with the Slashing Curse.

How much does this connection with Voldemort affect me? How much of my anger was his?

Connections. Links.

Ginny.

She'd been one of the first put into danger because Voldemort wanted him dead; her first year had been spent under Voldemort's power. Then, years later, she'd insisted on coming with him to rescue Sirius. She's fought off the Inquisitorial Squad and faced down Umbridge. She'd been hurt, but hadn't let that stop her.

She understood what it was like to face Voldemort.

She has a right to fight against him. Even if she can't face him in the end, she has a right to fight.

Even so, Ginny confused him. Getting to know her through letters over the summer had made sense. She was his best friend's sister; she'd faced Voldemort with him and fought Death Eaters beside him. But the way he'd reacted to her after he'd woke up didn't make sense. He'd enjoyed her touch...enjoyed her presence; she was like a balm, easing raw places he didn't know he had.

He liked it and had no idea what it meant.

Her being in his dreams made sense; they were both connected to Voldemort. They were connected to each other because of what had happened her first year. Strong, uncontrolled emotion was a weakness – and his mental defenses had been at their weakest ebb ever when he'd come home from Hogwarts, while her emotions had been at their strongest. For him, and because of what had happened.

What is she to me? What can I let her be to me? What do I want her to be to me?

The dream they'd shared had been the first sign his mind had been too open. Gracie's teaching had helped with that, some, but – was it enough?

His mind had been exposed to intensive battering the past year, from both Voldemort and Snape. Harry remembered Voldemort's insinuations from his first vision. The Dark Lord's words had mirrored the Headmaster's.

'I have reason to trust Severus Snape.' How many times had Dumbledore said that to him?

I have to trust Dumbledore. He's the only one who can teach me what I need to know. What I need to do.

If Dumbledore trusts Snape, then I will trust Snape. Within reason.

Blind faith was dangerous. Harry knew that; it was blind faith in what he had seen that had led to Sirius' death.

And Dumbledore could be wrong. Harry had learned that the hard way.

So can I. I have to trust him. I have to trust them. Not the Order, but my friends. They've been fighting beside me for too long.

No more. He would not be angry with them.

'Anger is defeated self.'

Gracie must have said those words a thousand times in those few weeks, as if she had known what demons he was facing.

'Action and reaction. A logical and sequential flow of motion. One into the next.'

Everything around him was like that; he could see it. Connections and patterns, flowing together in seamless unity. Each leading to the next, branching into a thousand more. The tiny things in his life building, bringing him, moment by moment, to each inevitable confrontation.

Tom Riddle doesn't understand. He wants to change the world, instead of living in it, working with the flow. What is it he said? 'There is no such thing as good and evil. Only power, and those too weak to seek it.'

Harry Potter suddenly knew better. There was good, and there was evil. It was what lay in between that really mattered.

Choice. Dumbledore told me, after the Chamber. It is our choices that make us who and what we are.

Free will was the vast gulf between good and evil. Choices brought a person closer to one or the other. Each decision created change.

Harry stared at the single flame of the candle, the fire drawing his eyes. Inside the emptiness, he saw the fire.

Something had to change.

He had to choose differently, this time. Or he would lose everything.

If I lose everything, then the entire world loses everything. If I choose wrong, the entire world loses everything.

He felt the burden of the Prophecy smothering him, the impossible realization that the fate of the world rested in his hands.

...and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives...

He had to kill – to take a life. To end a life.

His training came back to him again. One action leading into one reaction...an endless flow. Never ending motion; action and reaction time and again together becoming interaction.

It had to start somewhere, right? One thing leading to another.

There was only one action he had to take. He had to kill the thing Tom Riddle had become.

To fight him, I have to learn more than I know.

The thoughts skittered across the emptiness like raindrops on a window, not holding their grip for very long at all.

Gracie's words, again. "A warrior is more than a fighter. More than a cause, more than passion. A warrior is someone who chooses when and how and why to fight."

It was a slow, steady realization. A slow, steady thought.

I want to be a warrior.

I want to make a difference.

He couldn't do that working at the Ministry. He couldn't do it under Fudge's thumb. He couldn't be an Auror.

He had to find another path.

He breathed in and out and he fed the flame, and his mind stayed empty.

Distantly, he heard the door open and close. A soft sound, the creak of hinges and the click of the door shutting.

Who...?

Harry whirled to his feet, his wand appearing in his hand...and he stopped, staring into a pair of startled cinnamon eyes framed by red hair.

"Ginny..." He breathed a sigh of relief and dropped his wand.

"Good reflexes," she said dryly.

"Thanks." He grinned sheepishly and sat back down on the floor, still facing the flame. He rested his wand in his lap. Ginny leaned against the bed and pulled her knees up to her chest. "Guess I'm a little jumpy right now."

"What are you doing?"

Harry shrugged, a little sheepishly. "Meditation. It helps with the Occlumency, I think."

Ginny smiled wanly. "I've heard that it can...I just never got around to learning it. Where did you learn it anyway?"

"Gracie." He spoke softly, as if he were still lost in thought. "Do you want to light more candles?"

"No, no...this is fine." Ginny shook her head, the light from the candle reflecting off her hair.

Harry looked up, his green eyes bright. "What did you mean when you said you'd never got around to learning meditation?"

It was Ginny's turn to look sheepish. "Bill taught me Occlumency the summer after my first year, while we were on vacation in Egypt."

There was a flicker of something that might have been anger in his eyes. "Snape was teaching me last year."

Ginny shook her head, wanting to move closer to him, but for some reason, she was afraid to. "I didn't know until the end of the year," she whispered, "or I would have said something."

His eyes softened. His smile grew warm. "Maybe you and Bill can help me this summer."

"I'd like that." She breathed out a sigh of relief. "Have you been able to do it? To clear your mind?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "But I think I've got a good start." He fiddled with his wand. "Ginny, I..."

"Shh." She scooted closer to him, and held out her arms, inviting him to come closer to her. "Let me talk first."

He hesitated, and looked at her for a long moment, staring at her outstretched arms with an expression that reminded her of a wild animal – afraid, unsure, but – wanting.

"Harry, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

I just want to hold you. She almost spoke the thought aloud, but held her tongue at the last second.

She realized there was some truth in what Hermione had said earlier. Harry had reacted to her the way he had partially because he had been in shock. As everything he'd been through the last six weeks finally set in, it was going to be harder for her to connect with him. He was hurt and scared and his instinct was to draw away from people.

But for the moment, he seemed willing to try, at least with her. Maybe there was some truth in what she had told Hermione, too.

He came closer and she slid her arms around his chest, feeling the smooth warmth of his skin. He leaned back and she pressed her cheek into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him.

"Is this okay?" she whispered, a bit of her own fear creeping into his voice.

"I-I don't..." He was still nervous and afraid; he wasn't sure how to react or what he was feeling.

She let go and he sat cross legged next to her, his hands resting on his knees, both of them staring ahead at the flame.

"I'm sorry," he whispered back to her.

"No." She put her hand over his. "Don't be. I don't know what I can or can't do...and," she swallowed hard, "someone has to teach you touching can be a good thing."

He changed the subject. "You were going to talk first."

She nodded. "The dream. Our dream. I think I know why it was shared." He just nodded and she continued. "My first year, you saved my life. There's a wizarding bond formed when that happens...but I think because we both have a connection to Tom it changed the nature of the connection. Made it deeper or different, somehow."

He was silent in a way she'd never seen; he seemed to have wrapped silence around himself and sunk deep into it. Her palms were sweaty and she was more nervous than she wanted to be.

"Hermione or Dumbledore could probably explain it better maybe make it make more sense..."

He turned and put a finger to her lips, and smiled. "I'd figured some of that out already. That's not why I wanted to talk to you about it."

"It's not?" she asked weakly. Her voice squeaked a little and she wanted to crawl under the bed from embarrassment.

"No. I wanted us to talk about it because we're going to have to tell Ron and Hermione and probably Dumbledore. Maybe your Mum and Dad. That's a lot of people to hear about what was private between us."

Ginny nodded morosely. "I know." She dreaded having to tell them about the dream, about wanting the dream.

He sent me away.

"They'll be upset with me, I think," Ginny said. "I wanted to dream of you...sometimes I do, right after Hogwarts. Sometimes the dreams are like that one...only you don't know I'm there."

He smiled wanly. "Snape's 'teaching' and Voldemort's intrusions have made me more aware of my own mind than I thought I would ever be."

She forced a smile in return, but looked away. "At least no one will be mad at you this time. You sent me away."

Harry might have heard the catch in her voice, or seen the expression in her eyes.

"Ginny." Something in his voice made her look at him. "I didn't send you away because I didn't want you there. I sent you away because I didn't want you hurt."

"You wanted me there?" She wasn't sure she had heard him right.

"Yes, I did. I hate it there." His eyes grew distant. "I want my friends with me, not away from me."

Her hand reached up for his face, touching his cheek, before she could think better of it. He flinched, she withdrew her hand, and he saw something in her eyes. "What is it?"

"Harry...I like whatever this is between us. It's no secret how I feel about you. But what if it's just the bond...what if it's just you being hurt and needing so bad..." She blinked away tears, angry at herself that she was crying again.

"No." His voice was hoarse, raspy. "No. Magic will not take this away from me too." He grabbed both of her hands in his. "Ginny, listen to me. Believe me. Please."

She nodded, eyes wide.

"I don't know what I'm feeling. I like what's between us too. I don't understand it or know where it came from but don't take it away from me because you're afraid of something that may or may not be there." It was hard for him to be this open with anyone, but he knew better than she did what was coming for the both of them – the whispers, the rumors, the scrutiny, the questions and the total invasion of privacy.

Then he stopped, and dropped her hands, his eyes going as wide as hers. I can't ask this of her...

"Unless you think what you're feeling is just the bond. Then...do what you need, what you want to do."

She saw he was as scared as she was – maybe more so, and scooted closer to him, so she was practically in his lap. "I want to give this, whatever this is, a chance. I don't think it's just the bond. I don't think it's 'just' anything. But everyone else..."

"Can stay out of it. We'll tell them about the dreams. About the bond. But that's all they get." Even as he said it, he realized that this was one of the few things in life that made him feel, quite simply, good.

Hesitantly, unsure about what he was doing, he brought his arms up around her. "The bond can go both ways, because you saved my life back then, too."

She let herself be pulled against him, amazed that he was holding her, was reaching out for her. "What do you mean?"

"You resisted when he wanted you to kill me, didn't you? That's why he had to lure me down to the chamber before he'd finished killing you."

She nodded weakly, closing her eyes. "It was the one thing I didn't let him make me do."

"You gave me the chance I needed to save you, then."

"Maybe." She hid her face from him. "But you're the one who fought the Basilisk. You're the one who killed him."
"Not yet," he whispered so quietly she could barely hear him. "Not yet."

End Chapter

Posted 05-30-08