Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters and world created by JK Rowling. Anything you do not recognise is my own creation. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

– CHAPTER ELEVEN –

Resurrexit

Silently, victoriously, I appear in the narrow road I know so well. Tudor cottages, magpie-like in their design, surround me on either side. Ahead, an orange glow of streetlamps signals the village centre. And beyond lies my love, waiting to rejoin me once more.

Noiselessly, I follow the lane to the left, and the centre of Godric's Hollow is revealed to me. I am home. The last rays of the day's sun peak over the chimneyed horizon, and the remaining villagers scurry across the square, eager to return home. I see Tom the postman closing up the little red post office. Andrew the greengrocer exchanges pleasantries with Cheryl and Richard, my neighbours, in his animated, amiable way. The reverend walks solemnly across the square, ever in funeral march.

I follow the reverend's path back to the church, which itself is not much larger than the cottages I leave behind. Cheryl and Richard, now finished with their conversation, look straight at me. No, they look through me.

I am the only wizard in the world that is completely invisible. I am the only one that is completely protected.

In one hand, I hold the Elder Wand. It is not as comfortable as my holly, but I will need it tonight. In my other hand, I have the Resurrection Stone. I trace my thumb over the etched mark of the Deathly Hallows; it soothes me. Surrounding me is the Cloak of Invisibility, my birth right.

I am, for the final time, master of Death.

When I last held the Stone, intent on using it, I was seeking death. Now I seek life. I know that this will work. I can feel it. She will not be a shadow, like my parents were in the forest. This time I have all three Hallows in my immediate control. I know that they will work as they were meant to.

I pass by the statue of my parents and can't help but to glance up at them. They smile down at me, approving and reassuring.

I am older than James had been when he died, but I still think of him as a father figure. I know that he would support me if he were alive. If he had survived that Halloween night and my mother hadn't, he would not rest until he killed her murderer and brought her back. He would have been brave enough to do what is right rather than what is easy. He was a true Gryffindor, like me.

I tear my eyes away from my parents and make my way to the kissing gate guarding the graveyard. The Elder Wand trembles in my hand.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart pounds with every step. Weeks of planning, weeks of hunting, weeks of relentless focus have led me here, to this point, opening the gate, and entering the graveyard where my sleeping Luna lies.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I glide past grave after grave. Each is familiar. Abbot, Selwin, Bones, Peverell, Dumbledore. I stop at none. I have but one goal.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I am at her grave.

Luna Potter, born 26 September 1980, died 26 July 2007

Friendship and equality to all.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I stare at the slab of marble, at my wife's tombstone. I am so close to seeing her again. I close my eyes and imagine her face. It is a little hazy, but I can see her dirty blonde hair and wide, protuberant eyes. She is grateful. She is happy that I have released her from her tomb. I smile.

This is it.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

I turn the Stone over once, twice, three times. My eyes open.

She is not there.

I try once more. Nothing.

The pounding of my heart spreads like a disease until my entire body is a beating drum. It did not work.

'NO!'

She should be here! I fall to my knees. How had it not worked? This is pain, pain beyond anything I have ever felt. My head is in a vice-like grip, the Elder Wand and Resurrection Stone slip from my hands, and I am pounding the ground with my fists.

How could she do this to me? How could she leave me like this?

I close my eyes and try to picture her face. It is a blur. I cannot remember the colour of her eyes, or the smell of her hair, or how her lips felt against mine. She is gone.

I am on all fours now, and my nose is so close to the ground that the smell of freshly mown grass washes over me. It transports me to lazy days spent lying on the Great Plains watching the clouds roll by. I turn to look at her, but she is not there with me. That part of me is dead, buried below.

I see, through the blur of my pain, a glimmer of gold. I dig like a dog and unearth the ring I had buried weeks ago. This ring once lived on her finger; it was pressed against her skin all day long. It is proof that she lived once, and it is the closest thing I have to her.

I take some deep, panting breaths.

'I made … the Unbreakable Vow,' I rasp, staring at my gleaming reflection in the ring. 'I won't rest. I'll … I'll find out why this didn't work. I'll find another way. I'll do it …'

I look at the Stone, that treacherous gem. Bogand did something to break its power, and I will find out what. I will take him to the verge of death and back, if that's what is necessary, but I will have answers. He may have taken her from life, but he will not prevent me from rescuing her from death.

I have been holding back, hiding the hunt, but no longer. I will use all my power and all my training to bring Luna back. And if anyone gets in my way, whoever they are, I will destroy them.

I take the ring and force it onto my index finger. It digs in so hard that I draw blood. My finger throbs, but I do not care. This is my punishment for failure. The ring will serve as a reminder: I won't fail twice.

'Harry?'

In one swift movement, I dive for the Elder Wand, roll behind a headstone and disarm my opponent. I catch their wand and feel a twitch of familiarity. It is Hermione's wand. I look up and see Hermione, whose face mirrors my surprise.

'H – Harry, take off the cloak so I can see you.'

Her voice is shaky and child-like. The rest of her paints a very different picture: her hair is tied up in a bun like McGonagall's, her lips are pursed and she is wearing a conservative blazer-skirt combination. I rise to my feet and accede to her request.

'Hermione …'

I have so many questions, I do not know where to start.

'Give me my wand back, Harry.'

My hairs bristle. There is coldness in her voice that I have never heard before. Did she believe the Daily Prophet's lies? I chuck her wand and she catches it deftly.

'Harry, what are you doing here?' Her voice is a little softer, but it keeps an edge.

'I could ask you the same question.'

'I've been looking everywhere for you, this was my last resort.'

Hermione takes a step closer. Her eyes roam over Luna's grave before moving on to the Stone, which lies glinting at the base of the headstone, and then back to the grave again. Her eyes narrow; I can practically see the cogs turning.

'Oh, Harry, you didn't …'

Her disapproval battles with pity, and it looks as though pity will win out. I am ready to throw her pity back in her face when a thought strikes me. This is Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of our age. Despite all my training, I remain terrible at any form of academic research, and academic research is exactly what I will need to do if I am to find another way of waking Luna up.

'Yeah, I did, so what?' I say, with the right mix of regret and defiance.

'Oh, Harry …'

To my immense surprise, Hermione throws herself at me. I recoil at the sudden contact at first, but can't help but relax into it. I realise that I have missed her; everything from that bushy hair, which even in a bun looks ready to break free, to the faint musk of ancient books that follows her around. She releases me.

'Don't you remember the forest? The Stone doesn't bring people back – they're just memories. Remember what Dumbledore told you? No spell can reawaken the dead.'

'I just – I just want to see her again, Hermione, for one last time. Is that so wrong?'

She lays a hand on my shoulder. 'No, of course not …'

'I thought that this time, with all the Hallows under my control, that I could bring her back for real. But … it didn't work.'

'But of course it didn't work!' says Hermione, exasperated. 'Harry, didn't Voldemort teach you anything?' My hands become fists, but I show no other sign that she has hit a nerve. 'When you used the Stone in the Forest, you weren't using it for its true purpose, you were using it for protection. You wanted your loved ones around you to give you the strength to face death, so the Stone worked –'

'Are you saying that I'm being selfish now?' I snap.

'No, no, of course not! What I mean is that you were master of Death because you didn't fear it: you were facing it openly. But now you're doing the exact opposite, so it makes sense that the Stone won't work, doesn't it?' I consider her words carefully. She may have a point: the Stone alone may not be enough. It would, after all, bring back something no better than a memory, even if I am master of Death. What I need is a fool-proof solution, and that might take magic beyond the Stone.

'Harry, how did you even get the Stone back?'

'I took it from the Department of Mysteries,' I say coolly.

Hermione takes a step back and, for a moment, is uncharacteristically flustered.

'You took … Didn't you say they made it impregnable after our little stunt there at school? How did you –'

'It's irrelevant, all that matters is that I took it. So what? It's mine, isn't it? What right do they have to keep it from me?'

Hermione bites her lip in that anxious way of hers. We may as well be at Hogwarts, with her trying to talk me out of some hare-brained scheme. The only thing missing is Ron, caught between us but always erring on the side of adventure. I get the feeling that she is thinking the same thing, for she gives the briefest of sad smiles.

'Harry,' she says carefully, 'I know that you've lost so much more than the rest of us, but you've never tried anything like this before.' She takes my hand, it is surprisingly warm, or perhaps mine are cold. 'I'm – I'm worried for you.'

'Don't be,' I say, and wrench my hands from her grip.

I turn away. Didn't she understand? Everyone else – my parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus – they had all died for something. Their deaths were important; to try and bring them back would have been wrong. But Luna died for nothing. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I hear Hermione's breath quicken behind me. When I turn back around, I am surprised to find that her eyes are full of tears.

'What's wrong?'

'Harry, I'm so sorry!'

'For what?' I say, bewildered.

'What kind of friend am I? I should have been there for you, like you were for me. I just – I just had to get away from him. I couldn't bear to see what was happening to him, I just couldn't!'

I sigh. The ballad of Ron and Hermione. Just what I need.

'It's ok, Hermione, I didn't need any help. I'm fine.'

'How can you say that? Look at you, look at where we are. This isn't like you! If I had been less selfish, if I had stayed in the country, it wouldn't be like this …'

I awkwardly pat Hermione on the shoulder. This is not how I had expected this to go.

'It's alright,' I mutter. To my surprise, Hermione laughs through the tears.

'You were never the best at this kind of thing.'

'You never said a truer word.'

'Harry, please forgive me for running away,' she pleads. I am relieved to see that her sobs are subsiding.

'You didn't run –'

'Yes, I did, and I'm coming to terms with that. I just need –'

'I forgive you,' I say, a little impatient. I am beginning to tire of her self-centred self-loathing. We have more important things to discuss.

Hermione throws a sad gaze at Luna's grave, and I understand why. Her last conversation with Luna had been a fight. From what I gathered (neither witch had been forthcoming), Hermione had accused Luna of making our house 'unhealthy' for some reason. Luna had not taken kindly to this, and they had not spoken since.

'Hermione,' I say, 'her death was illegitimate. She shouldn't have died. It should have been me.' Hermione looks ready to interrupt but I press on. 'I need her … she completes me.'

'There is no way –'

'There is! I know there is! You feel guilty about abandoning me? Fine, here's how you redeem yourself. I need you to help me find a way to wake her up –'

'Wake her up –' begins Hermione, wide-eyed and incredulous.

'Yes, wake her up. I know you don't believe in magic unless there's evidence for it, but I can't believe that in the thousands of years of wizarding existence, not one wizard has found a way to cure death.'

'The only record of magic that reverses death are in stories, or else are unsubstantiated rumour –'

'Then we'll just have to chase them up. Remember the last "unsubstantiated rumour" we chased, and how adamant you were that they didn't exist?' I point to the Hallows, which lie scattered around Luna's grave. 'If I didn't believe in them, Voldemort never would've been defeated.'

Hermione follows my outstretched hand and casts her eyes on the Hallows. She is clearly utterly unconvinced, but I know from experience that guilt works in mysterious ways, ways that will favour me, for once.

'Harry, if I'm to help you,' she says softly, refusing to look at me, 'then you need to promise me two things. Firstly, I want you to keep seeing that Mind Healer of yours –'

'Done.'

'I'm serious. If it turns out that you're not seeing him anymore, then I'm out. Secondly, I want you to give me your word that, whatever we discover, you won't hurt anyone.'

I frown a little – did she know more than she was letting on?

'How could you –'

'You shouldn't need to question it, Harry. Just promise me … please.'

'I promise I won't hurt anyone …' … who doesn't deserve it.

Hermione looks a little relieved, but the lines of worry on her face do not fade.

'Then, against my better judgement, I'll help you.'

A silence falls between us. Hermione is restless, she is clearly uncertain as to what she has gotten herself into. I need to distract her before she realises what a big mistake she's made.

'So you were looking for me? How come?'

'Let's walk and talk,' says Hermione, shooting another sad look at Luna's grave.

I consider her carefully, then nod. There is nothing else for me to do here, not yet. The next time I am here, I will be back with her. I bend down and collect my Hallows. As I pocket the Elder Wand, I can feel Hermione's gaze. I know that she wants to confront me. I can imagine it: 'How could you, Harry? How could you break into Dumbledore's tomb?' But she doesn't understand. Dumbledore would have understood; he knows how it feels. There are no lengths he would not have gone to in order to right the wrongs that had befallen Ariana.

I straighten up and indicate that we should head towards the kissing gate. As we trudge back, I notice that Hermione keeps a little distance between us. She is afraid; she never did like that which she did not understand. Luna was right about that, at least.

'After our last conversation,' says Hermione finally, 'I made some enquiries. But, as you predicted, the Ministry officials I spoke to were not particularly helpful.'

'So you did a little digging yourself?' I say, opening the kissing gate.

'Yes.'

The village square is now deserted. I lead Hermione to one of the wooden benches at the foot of my parents' statue. It sits in the orange glow of a streetlamp. It is a good location: with the statue behind us, we cannot be sneaked up on, and the light will illuminate any who approach.

'So what did you find out?' I ask.

Hermione brings her index finger to her lip in a sub-conscious self-shushing gesture. I lay a reassuring hand on her knee, and she seems to relax a little.

'During the preparation for war with Grindelwald,' she says, 'the Ministry had every wizarding family register their home with the Ministry. They had to provide their address, names of residents and details of wards around the residence. That way, if the Ministry found Grindelwald's spies, the Aurors could hunt them down quickly and efficiently. It's one of those laws that would never have passed in peacetime, but seemed necessary with war approaching.'

'Let me guess,' I say, 'they "forgot" to repeal the law after the war.'

'Yes, that's right,' says Hermione, failing to hide her surprise at my perspicacity. 'In the euphoria of victory, the Ministry managed to sweep that law under the carpet.

'Your grandfather registered Godric's Hollow and all of its many wards. Without detailed information about those wards, it would have taken a team of curse-breakers, or a wizard as skilful as Dumbledore, to break in without your express permission.'

'And we know it wasn't a team of wizards, and nobody alive is as good as Dumbledore,' I say.

'Exactly. So I decided that whoever brought down the wards around your house had to have access to the register of homes. It took a little more digging to find out who exactly has access to the register …' She trails off and bites her lip anxiously.

I give her knee a gentle squeeze. 'And?'

'It's not entirely clear, but almost all the sources suggest that only Head of Departments and the Minister himself now have access to the register.'

Hermione studies my face, searching for the inevitable angry reaction, but I do not give it to her. She has only confirmed what I already know. Bogand headed the Department of Mysteries. Of course he had access to the wards around our house.

And yet … it would be prudent to check; after all, I don't want to neutralise the wrong man. This register gives me an opportunity to be completely certain that Bogand is the killer. I knew Hermione would come in handy.

'Thanks, Hermione.'

'You're … welcome. Harry, are you sure you're ok? I just told you that someone in the Ministry –'

'I know what you told me.'

I stand up and beckon a bewildered Hermione to do the same.

'You shouldn't bottle up your emotions like this, Harry, it's unhealthy. It's ok to be angry – I'd be furious if it were me …'

'When I'm angry, we both know that I don't think straight.' I offer her my arm which, haltingly, she takes. 'And I need all my wits about me if we're to bring Luna back. Now, here's something you probably never thought I'd say: let's go to a library.'