A/N: Thanks to all those who have reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. I'm glad that people have been enjoying it. And a special thanks to Bonnie and Mainsail for beta reading this and thus improving on the original. If you have questions or concerns about what's going on, feel free to include them in a review or a PM — I'll try to answer.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does.

Recommendation: This chapter's recommended fic is "The Sum of their Parts" by holdmybeer. There are a lot of stories out there where Harry turns "dark," and most require shifting his personality a great deal. This story is much better because it gives a relatively canon-Harry a very, very good reason to become a Dark Lord: he does it for Teddy. It's an amazing story that deserves to be read. I suspect that I unconsciously got the idea of Walburga being a horcrux from it, though this plays almost no role in that story.

Final Countdown: 10...9...8!

Chapter 43 - Bad Medicine

Monday, March 20, 1996. Evening.

When Jasmine entered the hospital wing that evening, closely followed by Hermione and Gabrielle, she was sure that Dumbledore looked even worse than he had that morning. As frail and broken as he had seemed to her when she dragged him through the floo less than twenty-four hours earlier, she thought she'd have been happy to see him looking like that now. As she gazed down at her headmaster, taking in his greying skin and hollow cheeks, she felt completely helpless.

"Has he woken at all?" she asked when Madam Pomfrey came out of her office.

"A few times," the healer responded, "but never for long."

"He's getting worse, isn't he?" Hermione said, and Pomfrey simply nodded.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Jasmine asked, sounding more than a little desperate.

"I'm sorry, Miss Potter, but even Professor Snape was unable to determine what sort of potion he ingested," the healer responded. "So even if the Headmaster were to let me seek help at St. Mungo's, I doubt that they'd be able to do much."

"We can't stay long, Jasmine," Hermione said softly as she nudged her girlfriend. "Don't forget that we have, uh, an early morning tomorrow."

At first Jasmine didn't show any sign of having heard her, but slowly her head rose and she turned to look at Hermione with wide, excited eyes. "That's right, we do! You're a genius, Hermione!" The brunette witch gaped in confusion as Jasmine hugged her then turned to Gabrielle. "I need to speak to your sister right away. Can you get her?"

Gabrielle didn't stop to ask any questions, she just nodded and left the hospital wing at a run.

"Madam Pomfrey, I may know of a way to help the Headmaster," Jasmine said to the healer. "It's very, uh, unorthodox, however. I'm honestly not sure yet if it can even be done, but it's definitely not on any list of approved medical treatments."

"You don't mean..." Hermione said, and Jasmine nodded with a smile. "That's brilliant! But will they even let you...?" Jasmine simply shrugged.

"Clearly you both know something I don't," Pomfrey said with a frown. "I'm not at all comfortable with untested or unorthodox treatments that I'm not familiar with — he's my patient, which means I'm responsible for whatever happens to him. That said..." She paused and looked down at the Headmaster. "That said, I'm out of other options. What can you tell me about this treatment?"

"Nothing yet, unfortunately," Jasmine said, getting a scowl in response. "I'm sorry, but it's a secret. If the treatment is allowed, I'm sure you'll be permitted to know as well, but we'll have to wait—"

Just then Gabrielle and Fleur came running into the hospital wing. "What is it? What's ze emergency?" Fleur asked, not looking or sounding the least bit winded.

"It's the Headmaster," Jasmine said, gesturing to the bed. "He isn't getting any better, and Madam Pomfrey has run out of treatments she can try."

"I am not sure what I can do." Fleur said. "I have little training in healing magic."

"Not you," Jasmine responded. "Or at least, not you personally. I was thinking... well, what about tomorrow morning?"

"Ah!" Fleur exclaimed. "You want to bring him!"

"Exactly," Jasmine said. "But with him being, you know, him, I wasn't sure if it would be permitted."

Fleur nodded. "I understand your dilemma. Ze others should be in Britain by now, so I will contact zem for permission." She then left the hospital wing just as quickly as she had entered it.

"I don't know about this," Pomfrey said dubiously. "It's all rather secretive and suspicious."

"I wish we could tell you more, but we can't," Hermione said as Jasmine sat next to Dumbledore's bed. "If it would help, you can ask Professor McGonagall about it. She won't be able to give you details either, but maybe she can reassure you that what we want to do is at least safe. Worst case scenario, it simply won't help — it won't hurt him, you, us, or anyone else."

"I suppose I should," Pomfrey said with a huff, "because it looks like it may be a while before I'm allowed to have any detailed information."

"What's all this about, Miss Potter?" McGonagall asked when she entered the hospital wing a few minutes later. "Poppy contacted me through the floo and said you claimed to know of some way to help the Headmaster but refused to divulge exactly what the treatment was. And I'm supposed to know about it?"

"It's tomorrow morning," Hermione said cryptically, causing McGonagall to stop abruptly as her eyes went wide in understanding. "Oh? Oh! I see... well, that is an interesting idea. Yes... yes, it might work, provided we're allowed to do it."

"We don't seem to have any other options," Jasmine pointed out. "If it doesn't work, it doesn't seem as though anything will."

"I take it you know what these two have been going on about?" Pomfrey asked, sounding annoyed. "Because you're talking in riddles as much as they are."

"I'm sorry, Poppy, but I can't talk about it," McGonagall said gently. "I can promise you, though, that it isn't dangerous."

Pomfrey sniffed. "I'll be the judge of that, thank you so much. I may not have been able to do much for him myself, but I refuse to sign off on any treatment unless and until I know what it involves."

"Nor should you," McGonagall said in agreement. "As soon as we're given permission, I promise I'll tell you everything. The question right now is, can you keep him stable until morning? We won't be able to act until then."

"I'll do my best," Pomfrey said with a sigh. "He's been deteriorating steadily all day, and earlier I wouldn't have said that he'd live to see the morning. But if there's truly hope that he can be healed, I'll do all I can to ensure that he makes it until then."

"If this works out, he'll have to leave the castle, I'm afraid," McGonagall said, earning her a look of outrage from the healer. "I'm sorry, but it can't be done here. So he'll have to be able to travel. And do you think you'll be able to cover for us while we're gone?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Minerva!" Poppy said. "If he has to be taken elsewhere for treatment, then I'm going along too. I won't let any patient of mine out of my sight!"

The other witches all looked at each other in concern, wondering how the school healer would react to what might be coming. McGonagall, though, was alone in wondering how she was going to tell Filius that he'd have to cover for so many absent witches the following morning.

Tuesday, March 21, 1996, Early Morning. 5:00 AM.

In the end, they counted themselves lucky that Madam Pomfrey insisted on accompanying them. Transporting twelve witches in secret — two adults and ten students — was always a tricky task. Adding in a fragile and unconscious wizard would have made the job impossible if it weren't for Pomfrey's extensive experience with transporting injured and cursed patients to hospitals.

They were also lucky that she didn't object when she finally learned that the "treatment" was a ritual celebration of Eostre. Apparently healers didn't have the knee-jerk hostility to rituals that other wizards and witches did. They weren't allowed to use healing rituals anymore, but they seemed to have retained some sort of institutional memory of how effective they could be, thus inclining Pomfrey to react positively to the idea.

Despite her best efforts, though, the trip to Arbor Low in Derbyshire was rough enough to rouse Dumbledore, even in his current state. As he drifted up from unconsciousness, he realized that he was no longer in the Hogwarts hospital wing, even though Madam Pomfrey was standing above him casting diagnostic spells. His perceptions were hazy, but he gradually began to understand that he was outside in what might have been an open area. He couldn't see well because the sky was only just starting to lighten enough for the stars to begin fading out.

After Madam Pomfrey seemed to be done, he was levitated to a new location where he could see what appeared to be female figures getting a bonfire ready. A bit closer to him was a table with decorations that he couldn't make out, and all around there seemed to be women talking. Once he stopped moving, Pomfrey again started casting spells before someone tried to pull her away.

"I need to stay with my patient," she protested.

"No, you need to get ready to participate," came the reply.

"Par... participate?" the healer asked, clearly surprised. "I didn't... I mean, I don't know how—"

"You'll be fine," came the gentle response. "You're needed in the circle with the others more than you're needed here. Every little bit helps, and the participation of a healer such as yourself will be most welcome, especially given the circumstances today."

"I will watch over him," came another voice, this one near his head. "I'm much too old to participate in these events anymore, but I think I can manage to keep him from running off."

Once they were gone, the unfamiliar voice spoke to him again. "I know you're awake, young man. If you'd like, I can call for some pillows to raise your head a bit."

"Yes, please," he rasped, his throat achingly dry. He had no idea where he was or who these people were, so the prospect of being able to see what was going on was appealing. After a moment he felt his shoulders being lifted from behind, then gently lowered back down on something soft, inclining him about halfway to a sitting position.

Just as he was forming words of thanks, another presence made itself known. He was shocked to see it was a goblin — and a female goblin, it appeared, which was something he'd never seen before. "Rest easy," she said soothingly. "I thought I should probably examine you before things begin. I'm no healer, and I have no idea if we goblins would have anything that would definitely help you, but it doesn't hurt to check."

The goblin spent the next minute running her hand from his stomach to his head and back, just bare inches above his skin. Finally, she sighed and said, "The report was correct: your condition is quite grave. Well beyond my ability to treat, that much is certain. I regret that I am unable to do anything for you."

"I had thought Madam Pomfrey would be able to heal me," Dumbledore whispered, his voice still rough from the ravages of the potion. "She always has before."

"From what I understand, your school's healer hasn't found a counter to the poison you drank," the goblin responded. "That's why you're here now: it's a last resort." This revelation startled Dumbledore, and as he looked down at his hands, he realized how grey his skin had become.

"It may not do much good if he doesn't get in the right frame of mind," observed the woman who'd given him the pillows.

"That's definitely true," agreed the goblin.

"Right frame of mind?" Dumbledore asked, confused.

Just then a tall, blonde witch walked up and said, "I see you've met our other two guests, Mr. Dumbledore."

"Well, no..." he said.

"Who I am is not important," the female goblin said briskly as she stood up again. "I see that you're getting ready to start soon, so I should leave the circle and join the others."

The blonde witch nodded at her and returned her attention to Dumbledore. "My name is Adrienne. The witch next to you there is Catherine-Rosalie Gerard Duthé."

Dumbledore managed to turn his head and finally saw the woman who had been talking to him. She looked incredibly old, yet at the same time impossibly beautiful as well. "You're both veela," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Indeed we are," the older of the two said. "And you may call me Rosalie. It's what I've gone by for most of my life." Dumbledore frowned, thinking that her name pricked at a memory in him somehow, but he couldn't place it.

"It's a pity that you won't be participating in this morning's ritual, Rosalie," Adrienne said, and Dumbledore's eyes bulged.

"Hopefully my presence will be of some small benefit nonetheless," Rosalie said placidly, and Adrienne left to rejoin the others.

"Ritual?" Dumbledore wheezed, feeling panicked.

"Of course," Rosalie answered. "What did you think was going on here?"

"This... is the first I've heard of it," Dumbledore said, swallowing hard. "You must stop — this is much too dangerous. You certainly shouldn't be trying any healing rituals on me." The mere thought of becoming an inferi was making his blood run cold.

He was shocked to hear Roslie laughing. "Dangerous? What makes you think rituals are dangerous, young man?"

"I know that any little misstep — the slightest mistake — can lead to disastrous consequences," Dumbledore said, trying to keep his voice steady. If he'd had the strength, he'd have crawled away from there as fast as he could. What in Merlin's name was Poppy thinking, bringing me here? he wondered. Has she been put under the Imperius curse?

"Don't be ridiculous, child," she scolded him. "We veela have been performing these ritual celebrations for thousands of years without any sort of 'disastrous consequences.' Why, the very idea is absurd."

"Ritual celebrations?" he asked, only half listening — mostly he was trying to buy time while he looked around for any means of escape.

"There's no such thing as a misstep in these celebrations," Rosalie said, clearly trying to be patient rather than condescending. "All that matters is the participants' will and intent, just like with any magic. Unlike with wanded incantations, the exact words and pronunciation don't matter. Neither do the exact motions that people make."

Dumbledore blinked at her in surprise when she said this, and she continued, "That's something you need to think very hard about, because if your own will and intent are too opposed to that of the ritual, it's almost certain not to help you."

"I've never heard of any sort of healing ritual like that," Dumbledore confessed, now noticing that the central fire had been lit and all the witches were gathering around it. On the far side, he saw someone he thought he recognized standing next to Poppy... it was...

Et tu, Minerva? he thought despondently.

"That's because it isn't a healing ritual, silly boy," Rosalie said. "I told you, this is a ritual celebration — a celebration of Eostre, the spring equinox, to be specific. It's a commemoration of a day when darkness and light are in perfect balance, a reminder of the need for balance in our own lives, and a celebration of the time of the year when we will start seeing light triumph over darkness, life over death, and love over hate."

He saw Adrienne begin speaking, but Dumbledore was listening to Rosalie, growing more curious about what she was saying.

"That's why it's also a day for healing," she explained. "It's not that you'll be healed by the ritual itself, but rather that the goddesses will heal you with the magic produced in the ritual."

"The goddesses?" Dumbledore repeated, then hastily shut his eyes when he saw all the women disrobe and stand naked around the fire.

Rosalie chuckled at his embarrassment. "That's what your two students are hoping for, at least," she said.

"St-students?" he gasped as his eyes shot open. "You don't mean...?"

Rosalie simply inclined her head towards a point on the other side of him, and Dumbledore instinctively looked. He almost wished that he hadn't, because he immediately saw Jasmine Potter and Hermione Granger enter the circle naked and begin walking among the other naked witches, handing each of them something to drink. To make matters worse, his futile attempts to stay focused on the figures only from the neck up made him realize that more than one of them were also Hogwarts students.

He wasn't sure what was worse: seeing several of his underage female students naked, or seeing them participate in an unknown magical ritual. No, he thought, the worst thing is that I can't see any way of putting a stop to this! I had feared that Miss Potter might be connected to people performing magical rituals, but I never imagined that her involvement was this deep!

"It's not just mistakes that make these rituals dangerous," Dumbledore tried to argue, "but the amount of power they can generate. It's more than anyone can handle. It corrupts those who get too involved — that's why they were suppressed! I can't allow my students to become corrupted by what you're doing!"

In his desperation, he struggled feebly to get up, but he was so weak that the old witch was able to still him with a light touch of her hand on his shoulder. "Foolish boy, where did you ever get such ideas?" she asked as he watched his students finish sharing the drink with the other participants and head towards what he now recognized as an altar. "There is power, yes, but it is power that only does what the goddesses will. The goddesses do not seek corruption or domination, they seek harmony and love. Your two students have achieved immeasurable good with the power they've helped call down."

"Good?"

Rosalie smiled gently. "I'm afraid that isn't my story to tell. I'll just say that your little island here is already much improved due to the efforts of those witches, and if they are able to continue, the land here will be healed to a point that hasn't been seen in millennia." She was silent for a moment before adding, "Look, it's starting."

And Dumbledore could see it. Inside the circle, he saw swirling energy rushing inward from the ground under the witches' feet to the central fire, which kept rising higher. Outside the circle, the wind was moving faster and faster, kicking up enough dust to obscure his view of the surrounding countryside. He couldn't begin to imagine the sort of power that would be required to cause such effects. Where is it coming from, though? he wondered. And where will it go?

Jasmine and Hermione had by this point resumed walking around the circle of witches, moving in the opposite direction this time and distributing small handfuls of something. The air seemed to be crackling with energy.

He hardly knew what to say, so he picked something trivial in order to avoid facing the things he couldn't change. "Why do you keep referring to me as young? How old are you, anyway?"

"Young man, don't you know it's rude to ask a woman her age?" she said archly, and he grimaced. "Oh, it's quite alright," she went on. "Let's just say that when you were born, I was already older than you are now."

He looked over at her in shock. It was true that she looked old, but not nearly as old as all that. "I had no idea veela were so long-lived."

She shrugged. "Most aren't. A few in every generation live longer than most wizards and witches. I, however, am the longest lived veela on record — not that it's something we publicize to outsiders," she said pointedly. Dumbledore nodded in understanding.

By this point the wind outside the circle was moving so fast that they appeared to be at the base of a massive tornado, with the flames of the central bonfire piercing its center, stretching too high into the dawn sky to see where they ended. The witches had moved to the edges of the circle and tossed something outward which was carried up into the winds. Inside the circle, Dumbledore could see magic spinning in towards the fire at ever greater speeds.

"What's going to happen?" he asked in a small voice. He'd never, ever wanted to be anywhere near a magical ritual, and now that he was, he was more than a little frightened.

"What do you want to happen?" Rosalie responded, looking at him intently. "Do you wish to be healed?"

"I'm not afraid to die," he insisted.

"That's nice," Rosalie said, "but you shouldn't be afraid to live, either. And there is no need to rush towards death unnecessarily." When he still didn't speak, she shook her head impatiently. "Your healing, if it comes, will be a gift from the goddesses. And like any gift, it can be refused — no one is forcing you to do this. Yet you must put aside your fear and distrust if you are to receive any benefit. The gift of life must be embraced fully; the power of love must be chosen freely. What do you choose?"

Dumbledore looked over at the swirling vortex of magic and the witches ringed around it, then up into the ancient veela's face. After a long moment, he finally said, "I must admit, I would like a little more time to complete the tasks that I know need to be done."

"Then that's what you should focus on, and hope that you find favor with the goddesses," Rosalie said. "You've already found favor with those two remarkable young witches, which is saying a lot."

He looked at her quizzically, so she continued, "To the best of my knowledge — and I've been around for a long time, as I said — you're the first male to be invited inside one of our rituals. I was told that an emergency session of the Theledrion, our ruling council, was called to debate granting you admission to this circle, and it was only because the request came from Miss Potter and Miss Granger that it was even considered. You are so lucky to have such strong supporters in those two."

"What? But how?" he stammered. I know that I've made some progress in repairing my relationship with them, he thought, but I would never have said that they were "supporters" of me at all, much less "strong" ones. And how in Merlin's name could they have gotten so much influence with the veela leadership?

"That's a story that they'll have to tell you themselves," she said. She looked up at the ritual again and her eyes brightened. "Ah — here it comes. I've been waiting to see this. In fact," she added softly, "I think maybe I've been waiting my whole life to see this..."

Dumbledore looked back at the ritual, wondering what was so special that this witch, who must have seen hundreds and hundreds of rituals, would be so excited about seeing now. Adrienne had her hands raised high, then brought them down quickly. When she did so, the central bonfire collapsed on itself, sending a wave of magical fire surging outward into the swirling winds.

The combined fire and wind spread over an area 150 kilometers in diameter across central England, covering the land in a blanket of powerful, life-giving magic. This wind also distributed a collection of magical and non-magical seeds, multiplied and enhanced by the ritual, which quickly took root in the land and would soon begin producing a spectacular bounty of magical and non-magical plants.

Dumbledore could not see any of this because as soon as the wave of fire hit him, he lost consciousness. When he became aware of his surroundings again, Poppy Pomfrey was standing above him — dressed again, thankfully — casting diagnostic spells. "Everything looks normal. He's completely healthy," she announced with a smile. This surprised Dumbledore because he knew that none of her diagnostics had reported him as completely healthy since the previous October.

When he thought about it, though, he realized that he did in fact feel surprisingly good. There was no pain. There was no fatigue. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were pink and well-fleshed rather than grey and skeletal. He rose to a sitting position and found that he had no trouble doing so. Even the ache in his lower back that had been plaguing him for years was gone! When he looked up again, Rosalie had already moved away and was speaking to a group of young witches... and in an instant, he realized that they were the Hogwarts students who had participated in the ritual. And with the support of one... no, two Hogwarts professors, to boot!

"I'm so happy to be meeting all of you," Rosalie said to the group of young English witches. "I've heard about what you are all doing here in Britain and I'm very, very impressed." As she looked from one face to the next, she could see that there was even more potential here than she'd been led to believe. "I think that you will all go on to do great things, if you are able to stick together."

"Why do you say that?" one of them asked her.

"You may not be aware of it, but one of the skills veela are able to develop is the ability to see connections between people — magical, emotional, etc.," Rosalie responded. "Well, 'see' isn't entirely accurate, since it's not something we perceive visually. It's a bit more like music most of the time. Regardless, It's something I am rather good at because of the subjects which I have been studying for many years."

"And you see connections between us?" another asked.

Rosalie nodded. "I can indeed. The strongest, of course, are between Miss Potter and Miss Granger, closely followed by the connections they have with the Delacour sisters. However, there are also thin tendrils connecting all of you to each other. Loyalty. Friendship. Even familial love. Right now the bonds are still fragile because they are relatively young, but they have much potential. If you nurture these connections, if you encourage them, they will help you all become far more than you could ever hope to be on your own."

"I'm afraid I must be getting them all back to the castle now," Professor McGonagall announced. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with them."

"Oh, it was entirely my pleasure," Rosalie said with a wave as the witches stepped away so they could portkey back to Hogwarts. Then she turned to the four who had remained: Jasmine Potter, Hermione Granger, and their two shieldmaidens. "If I'm not mistaken, you two have something to tell me?" she asked. When they looked confused, she added, "A secret, perhaps?"

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Um, right," Jasmine said at the same time, and together they chorused, "Hermione Granger and Jasmine Potter share a soul bond."

"Good, good," Rosalie said with a nod. "I strongly suspected something like that, but I needed to hear it from you directly, of course. And you're wondering if this bond, combined with the powerful rituals you have been participating in, could potentially have an effect on someone else's soul containers?"

"I know it seems far-fetched," Jasmine said, "but the timing of certain events has been awfully coincidental."

"Soul magic is not well understood," Rosalie said as she drew her wand. "It is therefore difficult to say what is or is not truly far-fetched." She cast a few spells on both young witches, then focused on Jasmine. "May I see your infamous scar, Miss Potter?" When Jasmine pulled back her bangs, Rosalie said, "It looks rather faded. I don't suppose it was always like that, was it?"

"No," Jasmine replied. "It changed at some point."

"After Samhain," Hermione confirmed. "It started fading very soon after Samhain, in fact."

"I'm not surprised," Rosalie said as she put away her wand, then reached out and gently ran a finger along the scar. "Yes, yes, much as I feared," she said softly, almost to herself.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"It appears that you, or at least your scar, was at some point in close contact with a piece of a foreign soul — and not Miss Granger's, unfortunately."

"You don't mean..." Jasmine said, horrified.

"I don't see any other likely explanation," Rosalie responded.

"So... I was a horcrux? Or still am?" Jasmine asked, her face paling.

"Did I say that?" Rosalie asked. "I'm sure you weren't. It takes a complicated ritual to make a horcrux out of something, and doing that with a living being is a horribly bad idea. No, it was more likely just a soul fragment that attached itself to you, probably leeching some of your magic. It might have even been leeching magic for the main soul piece that still calls itself Voldemort, though that would be difficult to prove. Regardless, it's gone now. I suspect that it was expelled at Samhain."

"I feel... so unclean," Jasmine said, looking ill.

"You should feel lucky," Rosalie corrected her.

"Why would I feel lucky to have had a bit of Voldemort stuck in my head all my life?" Jasmine demanded incredulously.

"Because I suspect that it allowed you to deal a mortal blow against your enemy without ever having to go near him," the ancient veela said. "I said that the fragment might have leeched magic for the main soul piece because all the pieces of a person's soul remain connected to each other — it may be a thin connection, but it's always there. It's the only reason that a horcrux works to anchor a person to the world of the living. It also means that you were connected to all of the actual horcruxes, though those connections would have been the thinnest. And that's what allowed you to affect them."

"But how would that happen?" Hermione asked. "And why?"

"Horcruxes are created by dark, evil magic," Rosalie explained. "And since they require murder to create, they are also founded on death magic. Soul bonds, with their foundation in love, are naturally the exact opposite. On top of that, horcruxes require splitting a single soul, thus weakening it, whereas a soul bond is the blending of two souls, thus strengthening them both. This means that they are essentially toxic to each other — neither of them can long survive in the presence of the other. They would immediately come into conflict, and eventually one would overwhelm the other."

"Neither can live while the other survives," Jasmine whispered.

"That's an odd way to put it," Rosalie said carefully, "but I suppose it's an accurate description. From what you say, your dark lord split his soul several times, making each piece far weaker than if he'd done it once. As a result, your soul bond would have been much, much stronger than any of them. Your bond might have been stronger than even a single horcrux, but this guaranteed it. I'd wager that while your bond was actively developing, you were causing those pieces to suffer... and when you took major steps forward, such as when you were intimate with each other, the suffering would have been intense. That would have been even more true if any intimacy occurred in the context of rituals like this, given the addition of the creative magics of the goddesses which would also have been in opposition to the death magic that is at the heart of a horcrux."

"And that's how they were destroyed?" Hermione asked. "Why they exploded?"

"It's impossible to be certain," Rosalie cautioned them. "There isn't enough precedent to rely on, and for that we should all be thankful. It's certain that the two types of soul magic conflict. It's certain that they came into contact and thus also into conflict through you, Miss Potter, something that probably hasn't ever happened before. It's certain that one would eventually have to vanquish the other, and that your soul bond would eventually be the victor because it was strongest. It's likely that you caused the various soul pieces to suffer whenever the power of your love and your bond was channeled through the connection into those pieces, bypassing whatever magical protections were placed on them. Finally, it's probable that, at times, this would have been enough to destroy them, most likely starting with the weakest."

"I hope they're all destroyed now," Hermione said, "since Jasmine no longer has the connection to them. Otherwise, I don't know how we'll find them or how we'll deal with them if we do find any."

"No direct connection, no," Rosalie agreed, "but the magic of horcruxes will still suffer under the influence of rituals like what you participated in today. If he or any of his horcruxes were close enough to one of these rituals, they would be weakened — and the more the ritual is focused on fertility and love, the greater the impact would be. In fact, I suspect that all dark magic users would suffer somewhat, but those connected most closely with death magic would be harmed the most. I should probably make sure Adrienne is aware of that..."

"That makes sense, I guess," Hermione mused. "Based on what we know, the first explosion was on Beltane, which was the first time Jasmine and I were, uh, sexually intimate. And there were at least two explosions on Samhain, the night we consummated our soul bond."

"You two brought more love into our world," Rosalie observed, "and in the process chased out some of the death and evil that doesn't belong here. I told your headmaster that you two were transforming the land around us, and that's further proof of it."

Jasmine looked thoughtfully off into the distance, then a grin spread across her face. Very quickly, she was bent over double in laughter.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, looking confused.

"Don't you see what this means?" Jasmine said when she caught her breath.

"Voldemort is probably mortal now?" Hermione answered. "We can and should go after him as soon as we can? That's hardly a laughing matter."

Jasmine shook her head and was visibly trying to contain herself. "No, not that. What it means is, for all intents and purposes, you and I will have shagged him to death!"

"Eww!" Hermione exclaimed, horrified. "You take that back! That's sick!" For all her protesting, though, she couldn't get either Jasmine or Rosalie to stop laughing like loons.

Nearby, Dumbledore slowly stood up, marveling at how much fitter and healthier he felt. He looked over at his two students and wondered what one was laughing about so uproariously and why the other was so upset.

Tuesday, March 21, 1996, Late Morning.

Tonks apparated to a secluded spot near Arbor Low, disillusioned herself, and slowly made her way to the ancient stone circle. She still hated herself for having cast a tracking spell on McGonagall's spectacles just after the Order meeting over the weekend, but she needed to have more proof about what was going on before she could decide what to do — or start accusing people, if that's what her decision ended up being.

Very early this morning she had been alerted to McGonagall leaving the castle, just as she suspected might be the case. She was tempted to come here immediately, but she didn't know what she would find and wasn't prepared for the confrontation that would surely result, especially not alone; so she waited until after everyone had probably left before apparating in.

Once she had arrived at the stone circle and established that it was deserted, Tonks proceeded to run through her detection spells, including finally the one she'd learned from the Black family library. Everything she did confirmed all of her previous findings, except for the presence of what looked like a single male figure, lying down during the ritual. She didn't know what that meant, but she didn't think it mattered since it didn't contradict any of her earlier conclusions.

So now what do I do? she asked herself helplessly. Who should I talk to? What do I even say?