In Which The End Is But A New Beginning.

Well, that was shot. Harry winced as his potion erupted with a resounding burp, releasing a vile stench of rotting shellfish and old toilet brush, with a hint of sour milk and dog breath for good measure.

'Good God, Potter,' Snape said, protecting his large nose from the odourous assault with the sleeve of his robe. He conjured a lid for Harry's cauldron, an event greeted with applause by the other students in the front rows. Even Hermione, the traitor, moaned in relief. Ron wrapped his tie about his face as a sort of mask and Neville was attempting to cram his entire head into his rucksack. Draco had given him up entirely and retreated at a run for the back of the classroom. Millie gagged into her hands, looking distinctly green.

'I might have added too much Flobberworm mucus,' Harry admitted sullenly.

'Troll,' Snape replied. 'Troll minus. Wait for it to cool and have Filch empty it straight into the sewage. I don't want it contaminating the groundwater.'

'It's not that bad,' Harry muttered. He doused the flame under his cauldron and dropped his chin on his folded arms to sulk.

'It is, mate,' Ron assured him, muffled behind his double-wrapped tie. 'It really, really is.'

No-one lingered after class, most thrilled to be done with their final Potions lab of the year and the rest retreating from the lingering traces of Harry's dismal effort, which hung miasma-like in the dank air of the dungeon. Snape summoned a stiff breeze as Harry washed out his cauldron at the sinks, and set a fat bundle of sage to burning in what Harry thought was a rather ostentaious display. Snape was sat at his desk marking by the time Harry finished, but still Harry dallied, taking his time packing up his books for the last time. Then he shuffled about picking up scraps of parchment and cleaning up a bit of dried-on mucus stuck to one of the desks, and then he just stood there shifting his weight from one foot to the other until Snape at last deigned to pay him any attention.

'Did I really get a Troll?' Harry asked.

'You ought to,' Snape said darkly. Harry hadn't even been able to bottle his potion. 'I may,' Snape added, eyes narrowed, 'may consider raising you to a mere Poor, despite the blatant mistruth of that designation, if you could at least identify for me what you did wrong. It wasn't the Flobberworm mucus.'

Harry considered the board, which still bore the recipe as Snape had written it out at the start of the lab practical. 'I didn't properly dilute the base?' he said.

'Are you guessing, or is that your answer?'

Guessing. 'I didn't measure the-'

'Stop,' Snape ordered, holding up a hand. 'Potter, you're still making mistakes through inattention and ignorance. The only thing remotely interesting about that is the complete lack of consistency in the kind of mistakes you manage to make.' He marked Hermione's potion- it was an O, even if Snape seemed to grudge it a bit- and set it aside. 'I wish to extend your tutoring through the summer. I will write as much to your guardians. You will arrange a weekly session to last no less than seven hours, if you intend to succeed even minimally in Second Year Potions.'

'Minimally?' Harry protested. 'Seven hours a week?'

'No less than seven,' Snape re-iterated. 'It would take quite a bit longer to haul you up to competence, and no man alive has the time to devote to making you accomplished.' Snape unstoppered Goyle's potion, gave it a wincing sniff, and set it aside. 'I've seen sufficient evidence to substantiate your argument about the assumptions inherent in potion-making. Some have an instinctive grasp, and some don't, but you appear to be unable to bridge the gap through study. As you are not unintelligent-' Snape said this very grudgingly indeed. 'I must conclude you are either lazy or suffering some sort of mental block. Perhaps even a magical block related to suffering the Killing Curse as an infant, which appears to have manifested in your allergy as observed by Madam Pomfrey.'

Harry tried to parse that, wondering at it. 'You think my allergy's related to the Killing Curse?'

'I think we've no way of proving it one or another, as there is no other recorded instance of surviving the Curse, but that is my current theory.' Snape gave Draco's potion an O as well, and folded his hands neatly across the desktop. 'I haven't ruled out lazy, mind.'

Harry glared.

'I should like sufficient time to examine the matter this summer. I'd like to know, for instance, whether your other spellwork is similarly affected by this handicap. Minerva's reported your difficulty executing spells as required. Learning disabilities are not uncommon in children of certain backgrounds-'

That stung Harry. 'Just because you know about the Dursleys and Crowhill doesn't mean you should use it against me.'

Snape glared right back at him. 'You think you are the only half-blood from unfortunate circumstances? At least you're not inbred to the point of natural deficiency, or madness, like the Blacks. You have no long-standing bloodline curse like the Malfoys, no institutionalised prejudice or ossified moral judgement like those Purebloods running the country as a Victorian holdover. An issue with your spellcasting is hardly trivial, given your enemies, but there are far worse backgrounds than a Muggle orphanage. And may I remind you, young man, it is not just your enemies who will seek to use your secrets against you. I advise you to own your heritage with pride. If you have nothing of which to be ashamed, they will have nothing with which to injure your pride and provoke you into foolish action.' Snape turned his face away. 'Take it from one who knows all too personally, Potter.'

Harry fingered the hilt of his mum's wand. It warmed against his fingertips, a sweet whisper of magic in his mind. 'What if I don't ever get better? If whatever's wrong with me stays wrong forever.'

'Then you learn how to work around it. How to win in spite of it.'

'Win what?'

'Whatever comes,' Snape said, and his black eyes tilted up to Harry's.

At last exams were finished, the last classes dismissed. Their final day of school was an extravaganza of wonderful fun. Each House's Quidditch team performed a choice manoeuvre in the Pitch for roaring crowds; Harry found it thrilling, though tinged with sadness. He knew Sirius would fly with him any time he wanted over the summer, but it wouldn't be the same as at Hogwarts. And the castle looked just beautiful, turned out to its very best, decorated nearly as wonderfully as it had been at Christmas but all in the bright colours of the Houses, Hufflepuff's sunny yellow, Gryffindor's rich red, the velvety Slytherin green, Ravenclaw's royal blue. There was bunting draped on every archway, flowers strung on every stair, birds flocking to the feed houses and filling the air with song. It was summer in all its bloom, and Harry breathed deep of it, sealing it all in his memory to look back on with all the fondness he had developed despite the year's less wondrous adventures.

There were hundreds of good-byes repeated in the corridors. Sweethearts found dark niches to kiss desperately, mates pounded each other on the back. Harry had a final tea with Hagrid in his hut, at which Hagrid gifted him with more pictures for his album- some of his parents, which Harry received eagerly, but also some of Harry and his friends from his first year at Hogwarts. From Hermione he received a book- that was no surprise, but it was a good choice nonetheless, an interesting and not too large volume on Charms with excellent illustrations. Harry had spent a little of his vault's contents on gifts, himself, and was able to give Hermione an out-of-print edition of Hogwarts: A History with annotations by her favourite scholar, Elphias Doge. For Ron, he'd got a set of Muggle chessmen, and promised to be a better opponent by the start of September term. For Cedric, who had been late to the Knights of Jupiter but remarkably kind and capable, Harry could do little to improve his lot, so he gave (on Sirius's advice) a box of toys from Zonko's joke shop, to encourage him in the sort of troublemaking he'd need to be used to for next year's adventures. Harry had considered several options for Neville, everything from broom lessons to something in Latin since Neville had led their Latin Review all year, but nothing felt quite right. In the end, only one thing seemed appropriate, though it was paltry compared to the other gifts he'd given.

Still, the wide-eyed stare Neville gave him when Harry handed him one of the photographs from his parents' album assured him he'd made the right decision. 'F-for me?' Neville stuttered, gripping it in shaking hands.

'For you,' Harry said. He pointed over the rim. 'That's your mum and dad. I think our parents were friends in school. See, there's writing on the back.'

So there was, though Neville could hardly tear his eyes from the photograph to read it. At last, reluctantly, he flipped it. In girlish writing was a label. Neville read it aloud. '1976, Alice R. and Frank L. XX!'

It had torn Harry a bit to give up a picture of his mum, but he had many, and if he had to give one away, it was good to give it to someone who needed it so. Neville's face was luminous, and awed. 'I look like him,' he told Harry in a trembly voice. 'I didn't know that. I look like me dad.'

'Yeah,' Harry agreed, standing shoulder to shoulder with him so they could gaze together. 'Specially in the eyes.'

Neville flung his arms about Harry. Harry smiled.

Hard as it had been for Harry to think of a gift for Neville, Draco was the hardest. Draco had everything he could possibly want, and Harry remembered well the mass of gifts under that tall Christmas tree. After everything his Knights had been through a book on Quidditch didn't seem to encompass enough of the feeling Harry had about it all, and Draco already had a thousand chocolate frog cards, and wasn't the sort to enjoy Zonko's jokes. He was so stumped for ideas that he lost all opportunity to buy something by owl before the last day of school. He fell to staring into his trunk instead of packing, in fact, wishing it to produce something he could give as a last minute gift, but no ideas issued from the detritus of a year's schooling, broken quills and dirty shirts and rags with greasy polish from tending to his broom.

'Harry?' Ron and Dean poked their heads in on him. Both had packed with greater haste than Harry, throwing their belongings haphazardly into their trunk with no mind for space or order, and Harry thought they'd already been down to the Great Hall in hopes of snacks. 'You coming?' Ron asked.

'Yeah.' Nothing for it. Harry removed his pyjamas, to be worn one last time, and Muggle clothes for home-going on the Express. His grey old hoodie from Crowhill was as familiar as his own skin. Yet it no longer meant what it had always meant. He'd never go back there, never climb onto his bunk with Marcus snoring overhead and Gaz nattering on about whatever held his attention that minute. He'd never know what the older boys got up to in the loo after eight. He'd never fail another maths test. Harry grinned to himself. Well, too soon to promise that. It was just another hoodie, now, and not nice enough for anything but travel, so Harry removed a button-down shirt as well to wear for meeting Mr Flamel in the morning. He could shed it on the train to be comfortable.

'Yeah,' he repeated, and stood to fasten his Hogwarts robe one more time. 'I'm ready.'

The Great Hall was magnificent, with the dais cleared of the tables where the professors dined, turned into a stage for scrolls, plaques, even trophies to be handed out for Awards Day. There was the Quidditch Cup, awarded first, received by the Slytherin team, their captain Marcus Flint grinning irrepressibly in triumph and Snape gleaming with a cat's smug satisfaction. The Player of the Year award went to Mo Milai, who had distinguished himself despite losing the final game to Slytherin. Professor McGonagall was as pleased to award it as Mo was to receive it, and Oliver Wood cheered loudest, starting up a chant for his Seeker that Harry joined happily. Each team gave an award for Best Contribution By A Player, and Harry flushed in astonishment to hear his name called for Gryffindor. As prize, Oliver awarded him both a certificate and a new set of leather goggles which, Oliver winked at the audience of tittering students, could be worn over glasses. After the Sports Awards, there were Achievements in Academics. Hermione was a shoo-in for High Achievement: First Year, and her cheeks were prettily pinked as she collected the award from the Headmaster, who praised her noble zeal for learning with a winking reference to her 'extra-curricular' study of magical mysteries. There was the Most Improved awards and the Excellence in various subjects awards, Writing Achievement awards and Best Assignment awards and the crowning event of that round, the School Valedictorian and Salutatorian, which always went to two seventh year students of course, one of whom was the Head Girl and wept a little as she received it, no doubt from utter exhaustion.

After the Academics awards there came a number of awards with titles like Hardest Worker, Most Responsible- Percy got that one, and Harry clapped heartily for him- Happiest Attitude, Deepest Thinker, Most Curious, Brightest Smile- Lockhart presented it, and jokingly pretended to award it to himself, ha-ha!, before handing it over to Cedric, who looked ready to die of embarrassment. The Class Clown award was divided jointly between the Weasley twins Fred and George, who, Dumbledore added, were receiving it for the third time, a school record. Every award came with five points to the receiver's house, even, Dumbledore said, the Class Clown award, which was a good thing since between them the twins had also lost an astounding one hundred fifty three points over the course of the year, and needed all the balancing out they could get. The final round of awards were for Quality. There was Patience- a Ravenclaw- Perseverance, to, no surprise, a Hufflepuff- Humour, which went, rather surprisingly, to a Slytherin fifth year, who cracked as he received it that his mum would like it better than last year's Lost Cause award. Harry was called back on stage for Integrity, and he stumbled up the steps, baffled and amazed, to have Dumbledore hold his hand and gaze down at him over the gold rims of his spectacles and say, between just the two of them, that it was well-earned. But the final award of the year was for True Friendship, and no-one was more surprised to hear his name called than Draco Malfoy.

'The breaking of barriers is never an easy thing,' Dumbledore said, as Draco, pale-faced and dazed, crossed a very silent Hall to mount the stage. 'To engage with new ideas is to challenge what one believes. To risk your comfort and your conscience for another is to throw your heart into the breach. To do it all and stand strong is to be a true friend. This award, my dear boy, is much deserved.'

'Bet his daddy paid Dumbledore to give him that,' someone muttered, and a giggle passed up the table.

Harry shoved to his feet and applauded. There was a little start amongst the students, even amongst the teachers; Snape's head swivelled toward him. The Slytherins caught on quick, right enough, and clapped for Draco, some even whooping and hollering as the rest of the Houses joined in. 'When's the last time a Slytherin got an award for friendship, you reckon?' Oliver wondered, but on stage Draco, heartened by his delayed reception, accepted the scroll from Dumbledore and walked away proud. Harry grinned and waved at him.

When the fuss had quietened down Dumbledore raised his arms, his billowy sleeves falling back in silvery waves. 'This was a trying year for Hogwarts,' he said, his voice soft and yet reaching every nook and cranny of the Hall. 'The betrayal of one of our own must always pain us, for ours is a community, a family, which for all its rivalries and occasional squabbles is never more united than in the trust we extend to all those who join us within these walls. Yet we have rallied from Quirrell's loss, and we close this year the stronger for having been tested. My students are my greatest pride. And as you are also my greatest responsibility, I swear to you all that next year we will be stronger, swifter, safer, and, most of all, the wiser for what we have experienced this year. I send you back out into the world with my thanks, more grateful than ever before to know what marvels you are capable of achieving.'

Dumbledore brought his wizened hands together, gazing down at them in a silence that held, stretched, til the students began to whisper and speculate. Everyone fell dead stop when Dumbledore at last raised his head.

'I regret ending on a note of grief,' he said, 'but I am afraid I must. It is my sad duty to inform you all of the loss of one of the greatest members of our magical community. Nicolas Flamel, known to many as the Philosopher, has parted the Veil and begun his great exploration of the Beyond. Though it has been many years since Nicolas graced us with a guest lecture, he left his mark on Hogwarts throughout the centuries, providing mentorship to hungry young minds and his great wisdom to hungry young hearts. I believe a formal announcement will go out to the news in short order, but for those who knew him, this is a sad day indeed.'

Harry felt numbness spreading through his chest. He sank back onto his seat, a great fog filling up his ears. Dumbledore's words seemed very far away, echoes lost in the mountains, and even Hermione's hand on his arm and Ron's squeezing his shoulder barely registered. 'But he was coming tomorrow,' he heard himself say. 'Tomorrow's the seventeenth.'

'But for now,' Dumbledore went on, 'we set aside our grief and celebrate our accomplishments. I have one final award to deliver: the House Cup.'

'Harry?' Ron said, and all his friends were looking at him, even Cedric and Draco from their tables.

Harry closed his eyes. 'He got rid of the Stone,' he said. 'He said in his letter they'd put it somewhere no-one could get it. But there is no place like that. I should have- They've destroyed it.'

'But without the Stone, he can't make the tincture of Immortality,' Hermione reasoned. 'Oh. Oh, Harry, I'm sorry.'

'But why'd he say he was coming? He said he was coming.'

'He must've thought he would make it that long.'

'Slytherin have had an excellent run these past six years,' Dumbledore was saying. 'A winning streak of fine scholarship, cool-headed behaviour in the halls, an ethos of hard work and close relationships, and prizing above all else the Slytherin code of family first. To Slytherin, I offer my congratulations. Once again, you have modelled for your fellow students the pathway to success. The Great Hall is hung with your colours once again to celebrate your great achievement: five hundred and thirty-two points.'

Someone at the Slytherin table released a whoop, and then they were all cheering for themselves. The other Houses clapped along dispiritedly. Ron glowered, muttering to himself, and even Hermione was downcast. Percy was patting Oliver on the knee.

'But,' Dumbledore said, and the cheering at the Slytherin table abruptly halted. 'There are, I fear, some last-minute points to be awarded.'

That set up a buzz that even Harry in his daze noticed. He lifted his head to see Gryffindors lighting up in excitement, Slytherins scowling uncertainly.

'On the night of the murder of unicorns in the Forbidden Forest,' Dumbledore said, plunging everyone back into silence, 'a great many heroics were performed which ultimately saved many lives within this school. If I could award points to your professors, I would happily do so, for they performed a great and selfless service on behalf of their young charges, enforcing calm, securing our premises, and daring to venture out of doors to confront the Dementors to get a message to the Ministry. But whilst professors are not eligible for points, students are, and there were heroics performed amongst our students as well in the face of grave and disquieting danger. All of this happened, of course, in the strictest of secrecy; naturally, therefore, many of you are already quite aware of the details. So. To Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy, and Cedric Diggory, I gladly award fifty points each, for their role in confronting Quirinus Quirrell and bringing the innocence of Sirius Black to light.'

The pitch of excitement rose even louder than the scattered applause as everyone desperately calculated what this meant for points. Hufflepuff had been in a tie with Ravenclaw, and Cedric's fifty put them ahead, that was easy enough, but- 'A hundred fifty points to Gryffindor!' Hermione hissed. 'And fifty to Slytherin, that gives them five hundred eighty-two, that's still not enough to change the lead-'

'Lastly, but hardly the least, I have ten more points to award.' Dumbledore paused, perhaps to meet the blazing eyes of Severus Snape, who stood rigid beneath a Slytherin banner looking fit to spit nails. 'To Harry Potter, for displaying qualities of logic and deduction, of leadership, of the integrity for which he has already been noted, and for a quality quite unique in our complicated world: a purity of love to which all should aspire. You have our gratitude, Mr Potter.'

Every head in the place swivelled to Harry. He blinked back at them, heat creeping into his ears and cheeks. Applause started raggedly and died out oddly, but everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

'If my calculations are correct,' Dumbledore added lightly, 'I believe a change in decoration may be in order.'

'We won!' Neville gasped. 'Harry, we won, look-'

Magic rippled out from Dumbledore's upraised wand. The banners shivered and shuddered, and, all in a wave, the green bled away, the serpents faded, and in their place roared the Gryffindor lions.

'No!' the Slytherins were crying in dismay, but cheers erupted from the Gryffindors, and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were joining in, more glad to see Slytherin's streak broken than for Gryffindor's sake alone. Snape whirled about in a rage and bent down to whisper furiously with Slytherin's prefects, who got control of their dismayed comrades right quick. To a one, Slytherin sat cold-faced and silent, even, Harry saw, Millie and Theo and Draco, who refused to look at him.

'And now,' Dumbledore said, 'we feast. Spend an hour or two remiscining our joys, and plan for our rest and rejuvenation over the summer. When we reunite in this Hall next term, dear friends, we will do so ready and eager for a new year. But for now, for now, we eat.' He clapped his hands, and trays of food appeared in a shower of sparks atop the tables. The Leaving Feast was a spectacle of towering trees of brussels sprouts, vats of whipped potatoes, trussed turkeys and frenched lamb and candied hams, and unbelievable quantities of sweetmeats, frosted cakes, and bread pudding- Harry had mentioned in passing to one of the house elves that Cedric quite liked their bread pudding, so Hufflepuff had an especially large variety, vanilla cream and German black bread and coconut rum and rhubarb and and apple and mincemeat and chocolate and Ron looked about with covetous eyes, but stayed himself from grabbing a plate to spoon up.

'Harry?' he said.

'We won!' Hermione was squealing, but then a shadow crossed her face. 'Oh, but... but that wasn't fair, was it? To take it away from them like that.'

No. No, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair Snape was glaring at Harry like it was all Harry's fault. Like he'd done it on purpose, solicited those points just to make Slytherin lose. Harry tried to catch his eye, catch Draco's, but they wouldn't look at him. They turned their backs entirely to the Gryffindor table, and Harry saw Draco discard his scroll for True Friendship onto the ground.

No, Harry thought, that wasn't fair. He didn't know what Dumbledore meant by it, either, but it seemed awfully canny, nonetheless. The most clever kind of politics, really. Or maybe the least clever. Dumbledore had just got finished calling Harry a leader, and in the next breath ensured Harry couldn't even talk to anyone not in Gryffindor.

'I guess we should eat?' Neville asked uncertainly. 'Harry?'

'I'm not hungry,' he said, and pushed his empty plate away.

'Can you believe we're really leaving?' Hermione chattered, as they shuffled up the corridor. 'I can hardly believe it. I can hardly believe a whole year's gone by- well, nine months.'

'Yeah,' Harry said, distracted. 'Do you see Draco? I thought- hoped he'd sit with us.'

'He's back with the Slytherins, o' course,' Ron said, tall enough to see over hundreds of heads to check. 'I think they're taking the piss on him. True Friendship. If his daddy did pay for that award, shouldn't've paid for a naffer.'

Hermione pointed out a cabin ahead. 'That one's empty. We can get to it before- oh, blast, those Ravenclaws just went in.'

'Head for the back,' Neville advised, and they fought their way up the carpeted corridor of the Express checking every compartment for occupants. Ron got ahead and tried to save one for them, only to get bullied aside by some seventh years who wouldn't let a firstie block them out.

'Draco?' Harry called, but the blonde head he'd espied wasn't Draco at all, it was a girl who glanced over her shoulder at him and went on, undeterred.

'Harry, I don't think he's coming,' Neville said quietly. Harry nodded glumly. He'd looked for Draco at breakfast, too, a chaotic swirl of students in last-minute good-byes scrambling to get a bite of egg or toast before the long train journey. He hadn't seen Draco at all, though Millie and Theo had been there, and Goyle and Crabbe too, all ignoring Harry as he hovered awkwardly near their table, uncertain he ought to press them for information- not wanting to hear them reject him, when it was clear they would.

'Harry!'

People had been calling his name all morning. There was a last-minute run on signatures and photographs and the like- Harry had been caught by a few cameras and was sure there'd be a ream of pictures of him blinking owlishly and gawping stupidly- Lockhart had been trying to get at him too during breakfast, and Harry had solved that issue by simply running in the opposite direction, dignity be damned. But this voice was one Harry would know anywhere, drawling and arrogant and self-assured enough to holler over the rabble knowing every eye in the place would be on him.

'Draco,' Harry said, relief washing over him. He charged up the corridor and ran at his friend. Draco side-stepped his hold, however, ducking into a compartment and pulling Harry in after him. No sooner had Harry followed him in then Draco slammed the door shut and drew the curtain.

'The governors are meeting today,' Draco said. 'The school governors.'

'Then why're you on the train if your dad could just Apparate you home?'

'To fetch you, you great noodle.' Draco gazed at him with exasperation. 'They're voting on whether to censure Dumbledore.'

'What- wait, what?'

'They're voting,' Draco said impatiently, 'on whether to censure Dumbledore for bringing the Stone to Hogwarts. For endangering everyone. And they've summoned Nicolas Flamel to testify.'

'But he's-'

'Harry,' Draco said, gripping him by the shoulders. 'He's not. That's the thing. He's not dead. They've put it about he died, but I saw the summons in my father's dossier-'

'You snoop on your own father?'

'Obviously,' Draco dismissed that immediately. 'The school governors are babies compared to most politicians, they don't even classify sensitive information. It's the government who decided to put it out about Flamel, but they gave a copy to- look, it's not important.'

'You mean you want to keep it a secret in case you need to use it later,' Harry translated.

Draco let him go abruptly, with a small smile curling one side of his mouth. 'You've learnt after all.'

'Learning disability aside.'

'What?'

'Draco- you know what the Hat told me?'

'What?' Draco said, bewildered. 'What hat?'

'The Sorting Hat. It wanted to put me in Slytherin- and you're the only one I've ever told, so if it gets out I'll know it was you who told it.'

'Harry Potter in Slytherin?' Draco said, disbelieving. 'The bloody world would end.'

'Would've been easier for you lot, having to get close to me and befriend me. I don't suppose I really knew how difficult that was, having to be clever instead of being yourselves.'

'Maybe it's a stretch for you, Potter, but a real Slytherin can be clever and themselves at once.'

Harry smiled. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Reckon I'm better off where I am, then.' He put his arms about Draco gingerly. Hugging didn't come naturally to him, and Draco went stiff and surprised anyway, leaning out of it, so it was altogether a wretched affair, and he was off his balance leaning over like that and stumbled stepping away, biting his lip. But after he'd been released, Draco smiled, just a little, his cheeks tinged pink.

'Don't change,' Harry said, 'except for that perfume. Definitely change that.'

'Go,' Draco answered, rolling his eyes.

Harry slithered past his friends and hurtled for the nearest door. Hermione was hollering after him, and Hagrid too- ''Arry, yer goin' the wrong way!'- but Harry ran pell-mell for the station gates. There! The carriages were already on their way back to Hogwarts, drawn by the strange corpse-like horses Hagrid said were Thestrals. Harry took a flying leap onto the nearest cart, scraping his palm grabbing for a rail. 'Can you go faster?' he begged the Thestrals, which trotted along at the same sedate pace they used when the carts were full of students. One turned its spindly neck to peer back at Harry. 'Please,' Harry pleaded, and it whickered with a waft of rotting breath, and did indeed pick up its pace. 'Thanks,' Harry gasped, clinging to the rail as the carriage lurched forward.

The trip from Hogsmeade Station back to Hogwarts was agony, but that was nothing to the frustration of hurtling through an empty castle without a clue where he was meant to be going. Harry checked the Great Hall first, only to find it bare of all furniture and in the middle of a scrub-down, only elves in evidence. No professors and, most importantly, no Flamel in sight. Would the Headmaster know? Harry took off for his office, pounding up several flights of stairs and down endless corridors at a mad run that came to an abrupt halt before the gargoyles guarding the Headmaster's magical escalator. He didn't know the password- but while he fishmouthed, the gargoyles ceded their duty without protest, and the door opened for him. Harry didn't linger to be surprised. He took the stairs at a gallop.

It wasn't actually possible to go storming into Dumbledore's office- magical doors didn't take to slamming the way Muggle ones could be counted upon to do so satisfyingly. Deprived of that outlet, Harry settled for hammering the door with his fist as it slid politely aside for him; consequently the occupants of the office were quite aware of his arrival, all ten or twelve of them, and Harry came up short in shock and embarrassment faced with the lot of school governors.

'Do come in,' said Dumbledore quite calmly, as Harry flushed and stammered his apology.

'Master Harry,' Mr Malfoy spoke up abruptly, rising to his feet from the arc of chairs and bowing deeply. This was very nearly as humiliating as bursting in on a meeting of the entire school's governing body. Harry's face flamed hotly.

'I... I was...' he croaked. 'I thought...'

'You wished to speak privately?' Dumbledore prompted him, smiling his genial smile. 'An urgent matter, I must presume, given the imminent departure of the Express.'

'No, I don't want you- I mean,' Harry bit his lip. That hadn't come out at all the way he wished. 'I mean, I was hoping Nicolas Flamel was still here.'

'Ah.' Dumbledore began to twist the tip of his beard the way he did when he was thinking. 'The gig is up, I see. I'm afraid Nicolas has already said his farewells.'

Harry sagged, the last of his fight stolen. 'Oh,' he said miserably.

'However, I believe he planned a stop by the Library before he left. As you are very fleet of foot, young Harry, I imagine you have a chance of catching him up.'

'Thanks, sir! Er... sorry,' he told the governors, and tried a bow like Mr Malfoy, though he didn't know how it was meant to be done properly and it felt very awkward to fold in half like that, and he didn't know what to do with his hands. He broke and ran for the stairs, taking them at a run and jumping the landing so he didn't have to wait for them to roll him down per usual.

Fleet of foot or no, the sprint to the Library about wore him out. Harry was panting as he hurtled through the Library's double-wide doors. A quick scan proved Madam Pince the librarian was not at her desk, nor anywhere immediately noticeable, so Harry took a risk and hollered, 'Mr Flamel! Mr Flamel, are you still here?'

Something scurried on small feet, a very distinct sound in the echoingly empty library. Pets weren't allowed inside, for fear they'd chew the books, but something had got in, clearly. Harry hurried up the central aisle, peering quickly right and left into the carrels where students had piled up tomes for study all year and which now sat empty, already collecting a thin veneer of dust. There was a book sitting out on the table where Harry and the others had held their Latin sessions, and he jumped for it, sure it would be a clue, but it was just a fifth year Arithmancy text, evidently left behind by accident.

'Harry?'

He whirled, only to sag in disappointment. It wasn't Flamel. It was Remus. But- 'Hang on, why're you here?' he wondered.

'I had my interview with the governors. It was last minute, and a formality besides, or I'd've told you I was coming.' Remus took the book from him, pragmatically checking the front inside cover. 'Audrey Finch?'

'I think she's a Hufflepuff.'

'There's usually a week of owls back and forth to the school after close of term, conveying the forgotten or lost items home to their rightful owners. The house elves will see it returned.' Remus hugged the book loosely to his chest, mauling his lower lip in an unusual show of uncertainty. 'Are you all right, Harry?'

The question was magical. In the worst way. Harry scraped his sleeve across his eyes, discovering them wet and stinging suddenly. 'Is it true Mr Flamel gave away the last of his tincture to Mr Malfoy? And now with the Stone gone he'll never be able to make more?'

Remus nodded silently.

'Well he shouldn't've! Why would he do that? He'll- he'll die, won't he?'

'It wasn't done by accident or ignorance, Harry. He must have done it because he wanted to help you, and believed you worthy of it.'

'Well... well, I'm not. Not worthy of that. He's important, and I'm-'

'Important,' Remus said, and took a step toward him. 'You are, Harry. To all of us.'

'Because I'm the Boy Who Lived,' Harry spat bitterly.

'Because you're our Harry.' Remus put an arm about his shoulders and drew him in unwillingly, but Harry met Remus's rumpled shirt and closed his eyes against it. Remus's fingers carded his hair slowly. 'I can't be sorry he's done it,' Remus murmured. 'Not if it kept you safe and whole. I'm incredibly grateful to him, but I can't wish it undone.'

'Blurrrrp.'

It was Fawkes. 'How'd you get in here?' Harry wondered, stepping back from Remus with a swipe at his leaky eyes. Fawkes came coasting in on his stumpy young wings, alighting on Harry's shoulder and immediately yanking at the stem of Harry's glasses with his beak. Harry took them off to allow Fawkes to play, glad once again Snape had charmed them not to break easily. Specially as Fawkes promptly dropped them on the floor, and scolded Harry roundly for bending down with a sigh to pick them up.

'I believe our friendly phoenix has free reign of the school when students are no longer in residence,' said a new voice, and Harry jammed his glasses back on to see Flamel following Fawkes into the Library.

'Sir!' Harry hurried toward Flamel, with Fawkes complaining about every jolting step as the bird wobbled along, claws pinching for balance on Harry's shoulder. Flamel smiled as Harry neared, but Harry himself was slowing up, stricken to see that Flamel had aged seemingly overnight. His salt-and-pepper hair and beard had gone snowy white, and the crows' feet at his eyes had become a web of wrinkles. His hands, which had looked so young before, were now the hands of an old man, spotted and thin with frail browning nails and swollen knuckles.

'Sir,' Harry whispered, throat closing tight and sore.

'Won't you sit, sir,' Remus invited quietly, drawing out a chair for Flamel, and fetching as well a footstool for Flamel to prop his boots upon. Without being asked, Remus brought a chair for Harry, as well, and Harry plopped onto the seat, forgetting to thank him in his upset. Remus didn't remind him, fading back to stand against a bookcase, near enough to speak but choosing only to listen. Except that Harry didn't know what to say at all. He stared at his hands, wishing they held the answers. Or at least the right questions.

'You are upset, Master Harry?'

'Please don't call me that.' Harry sucked in a deep breath. 'I still don't really understand the Diamond Soul business, but I'm not a master of anything.'

'Yet,' Flamel said calmly. 'In truth, I think you will be a very great wizard, Harry. Perhaps the greatest wizard of any age. I have known more than my share of wizards, you realise. I am well equipped to judge- and, being an old man, I am more than happy to share my opinion, whether it is requested or no.'

'How can you joke?' Harry demanded, appalled. 'You're... you're dying.'

'Not at this very moment,' Flamel shrugged in his Gallic way, a little lift of his hands, 'though, you are correct, it is my ultimate fate. It is the fate of all men.'

'But it wouldn't have been if you'd just kept the Stone!'

'Harry.' The wrinkles at Flamel's eyes and mouth deepened as he smiled again. 'I have very much enjoyed meeting you, my dear child. You have reminded me there is a great deal of difference between immortal life, and living. Despite my long efforts at cheating Death, I don't fear it. It will be like... it will be like greeting an old friend whose return has been long anticipated, and who will now be welcome indeed.'

Harry shook his head, unable to understand, unable to clear it enough to persuade Flamel that if he just listened- 'There has to be something we can do, though. What about Perenelle?'

'It is her decision as much as it is mine.' Flamel considered him. After a moment, he stood, or began to; he sank back into his chair with a weary sigh, and gestured Remus near. 'Would you be so kind to bring me Colignere's History of Magery,' he requested, and Remus nodded and departed at once. 'What have you learnt about war in your schooling, Harry? Muggle or magical war.'

'There's lots of them, I don't know.'

'About the great power mankind has to inflict suffering on itself.' Flamel waited, it seemed, for an answer, but Harry shook his head, refusing. 'I saw my first war when I was about your Professor Lupin's age. I was full grown for my time, but I knew little about the endless capacity of man's rage. I saw the most incredible depravity during the Crusades. Men who killed for gold, men who killed because they were ordered to, men who killed because they liked to. Men who inflicted death only as a relief from the suffering of rape and ravagement. Men who spit children younger than yourself on their swords with no greater grief than you would feel for stepping on an ant. That was a war for a kind of immortality: the belief that to be the Chosen of God secured the immortal soul. Imagine the war that will be fought for the kind of immortality the Stone brings.'

'But he didn't get it,' Harry tried, futile as it felt. 'He did everything he could and it wasn't enough.'

'That was not everything,' Flamel said very gently. 'That was only a beginning. A first strike. He will do more, and he will do worse, and it would be selfish, and very unwise indeed, to keep the Stone knowing what will come. Ah, Professor, thank you.'

Remus had returned. He carried a very large book, not as thick as Hogwarts: A History, but wide and tall, like an atlas. He laid it on the table and opened the long pages, apparently sure of what he was looking for. When he had found it, about two-thirds of the way through, he motioned for Harry, and stood behind him with his hands on Harry's shoulders as Harry bent over it to read.

'I've heard of Grindelwald,' Harry acknowledged reluctantly. 'Dumbledore defeated him a long time ago. It's why Dumbledore's a famous warlock.'

'You may have noticed that wizards here tend to refer to the "entire Wizarding World" as if none existed outside Britain's shores,' Flamel mused. 'In fact there are as many kinds of wizards as there are kinds of Muggles. And one cannot forget there is a magical world beyond wizards, as well. There are a thousand magical creatures, and many with societies all their own, cultures their own, histories of their own. The war Grindelwald waged against wizards and creatures and Muggles alike consumed everything. Not just Britain, not just Europe, but the entire world. The atrocities of that war made my petty crusade a mere footnote of human cruelty. And all Grindelwald wanted was power. If he had wanted immortality, and tried to achieve it as Voldemort has done- and, crucially, Harry, if he had done it before he faced Albus Dumbledore on the duelling grounds- he would have won. Voldemort may very well have learnt from this lesson. And that is why there is no greater weapon than to remove weapons from the reach of those who would use them.'

Remus's hands were warm on his shoulders. He had missed that, he thought dimly. Feeling like someone else knew what they were about. Like an adult would take care of things, the things above Harry's head, the things too big for a boy. But Harry wasn't a little boy any longer. He did understand.

'I'll miss you,' he said, and if his voice wobbled a bit, well. The rest of him felt wobbly, too.

Flamel smiled. He put out a hand, and Harry took it. 'I will miss you, too, Harry.' He angled his eyes up to Remus. 'He is an impressive young man. You have taken on the most important task of your life, safeguarding this young treasure.'

'I can't imagine how empty my life would have been if I hadn't,' Remus murmured.

Remus offered to bring him straight home, but Harry declined. He wanted to make the train journey with his friends, and Sirius would pick him up in London.

The Express had delayed long enough for Harry to board at Hogsmeade- mechanical failure of some sort, reported a bewildered Neville, which miraculously resolved the moment Harry was settled. For a time, Harry only sat quietly, resting his head on a cushion and watching the scenery pass him by. But the arrival of the trolley witch with her cart of treats prodded some activity, and he bought a round of cauldron cakes for everyone, and Ron took that as a sign they could relax a bit, at last, and he started up a game of Exploding Snap, and then everything was a bit of a party, Harry watching fondly and not involving himself much as students came in and out, exchanging addresses for summer correspondence, returning borrowed items- Harry even leafed through one of the Muggle teen mags Hermione was returned by Cedric, who thanked her profusely and looked forward to seeing more next fall.

Draco turned up eventually, dragging Theo and Millie, and Millie finally asked him on that date after all, which Harry took to be forgiveness for Slytherin losing the House Cup in a coup. He accepted, and promised to write with a day and time, to meet in Diagon Alley for an ice cream at Florean's. He thought he might even ask Millie back with him to Beddgelert- she'd like the Turkish Moonflower at Glaslyn's Ices. He invited everyone, in fact, rather enjoying the thrill of being openly able to do so. No more secrets, not now, and he thought he might finally have reached a point of being able to be himself, at last. It was a good feeling.

'I can help you with your Potions over the summer,' Draco said, between losing a round of Snap with Ron and opening his newest chocolate frog card from the trolley witch's supply. 'Snape's better one-on-one. He's my godfather, you know.'

'Your what?' Ron demanded. He scrunched up his nose. 'What's that like, then?'

Draco shrugged. 'He's all right,' was all he'd say. 'Ugh.' He nearly tossed the card away, then stopped himself. 'Here,' he said indifferently, and gave it to Neville. 'Godric Gryffindor, I've got three of him already.'

'Oh. Th-thanks, Draco.' Neville reached into his bag, and fished out his own collection. 'I could trade you a Gwendolyn Morgan. She's rare, that limited edition Quidditch Through the Ages collection.'

Harry nudged Draco with his ankle. He smiled. Draco rolled his eyes, but nudged him back, and they were all right.

'I'm going to miss you all so much,' Hermione said, tearing up, when the announcer informed them they were only an hour out of London.

'It won't be long,' Harry said. 'You'll see.'

'Promise you won't do anything fun without us, Harry,' Ron demanded. 'You know without us there you'd get into trouble.'

'I know,' Harry conceded. He put his hand out, and Ron covered it, and Hermione, and Neville and Ron and Cedric and Draco last, his Knights, all of them. 'Til next year,' he said, and they grinned at each other. 'To plans.'

'Here here,' they seconded, and broke.