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Arthur wasn't going to lie; life with Molly's Aunt Muriel was a struggle. The house was crowded, Muriel herself was less than pleasant, and of course, there was the fact that they were in hiding for their lives. It was honestly a miracle that they had managed to get the family there in time, and they knew that the Death Eaters would still attack if they had any inkling of where they were.

Another small miracle: the family finally knew where Ron, Harry and Hermione were, safe and sound with Bill and Fleur. It was still too risky to go and see them, but Remus had assured them that they were all fine, and that had been a huge weight taken off their shoulders.

The only one missing was Percy. Tonks, however, still had contact with people in the Ministry, and they said that Percy looked fine, if perpetually twitchy and nervous, and there didn't seem to be any sign that he was in immediate danger.

And so, despite everything, as Arthur sat in Muriel's living room with the twins sleeping on the floor and Molly resting her head on his shoulder, he allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. He didn't know what would come tomorrow, but for tonight, at least, they were all safe.

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Ron lay on top of his covers in Shell Cottage, listening to the deep quiet; even the waves outside seemed to have stopped. He was dead tired, and he was trying to sleep, but he was starting to think that it wasn't going to happen tonight. His thoughts kept swirling, traveling back to the tent, to his friends, to that stupid locket…

He sighed and turned over on his side, staring at the opposite wall.

He was suddenly struck by the irony of his situation. That locket had convinced him, on some level, that Harry and Hermione weren't really his friends; that they were laughing at him behind their backs, that they only cared about each other, that all their years of companionship had just been a lie. And what had he done? Gone and actually smashed those friendships into smithereens. It was almost funny, except for how much it made the hole in his heart ache.

He closed his eyes, wishing more than anything that he could somehow get the two of them back.

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Fawkes let out a soft, musical chirp, coughed, and then burst into flames, falling from his perch to the bottom of the cage.

"Ah, at last," Dumbledore chuckled as he glanced up from his paperwork. He rose to his feet and, with effort, hobbled over to examine his smoldering pet. "And do you feel any better now, my old friend?"

The tiny chick stuck its head out from the ashes, blinking at him. Dumbledore's mustache twitched. "Or perhaps I should say, my young friend?" he quipped.

Dumbledore opened the cage door and carefully moved the baby phoenix back to his place on the perch. "I admit, a part of me envies you," he added, as he forced his aching muscles to take him back to his desk. "If only I could return to my youth with what meager wisdom old age has granted me."

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Remus had been avoiding Tonks for months now.

It was just...the best thing to do, whatever Molly or anybody else thought. It was the kindest way to help Tonks get over her infatuation. It was a foolish idea to think that he should actually try to reciprocate her feelings. Tonks was more than thirteen years younger than him. And that aside, Remus had no business getting involved with anyone. He could barely keep himself clothed and fed, even ignoring the fact that he threatened the lives of everyone around him once per month.

Staying away from Tonks was obviously the right thing to do. Remus knew that.

But then, why was he still thinking about her, right now? If he knew that he was in the right, why did he keep agonizing over this decision?

He let out a short, joyless laugh, staring up at the ceiling of his dingy flat.

"You bloody idiot," he muttered to himself.

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It was the second of September, and Ginny was crying. Well, wailing might have been a better term. Fred and George could barely hear their explosions over all her noise.

"Oi, what's going on in here?" Fred asked, sticking his head into her bedroom.

"I hope she didn't notice what we did to her doll," George muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Ginny sniffled. "I just—I miss them!" she said, rubbing her eyes.

"Who? Bill and Charlie?"

"And Percy?" George added, looking highly confused.

Ginny nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Oh. Well...get over it. They're not gonna be back until Christmas, at least."

"But I want them back now!"

She began to cry again, and George covered his ears. He and Fred exchanged a desperate look.

"Alright, alright!" Fred cried. "Calm down! You can play with us, instead."

She wiped her eyes. "I can?"

"Anything to make you stop crying."

"Hey, I know! She can distract Ron while we pour the potion in his drink!"

"Great idea!"

Somehow, the twins' fraternal kindness got them grounded all afternoon.

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Peeves didn't have a care in the world. It was probably the best thing about being a poltergeist.

He spent the day flying around the castle, busting apart suits of armor, dumping fresh mud all over the floor that Filch had just finished cleaning, running from Filch, locking Mrs. Norris in a broom cupboard, jumping out of the toilet in the prefects' bathroom, spilling ink bottles, dumping fresh mud all over the floor that Filch had just finished cleaning again, and following Percy Weasley around while reciting incredibly lewd limericks. (Oh, the way that boy's face turned red!)

As the school settled down and Peeves lay on the rafters for a short reprieve, he allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. This school could sure get boring sometimes, but as long as he was around, there was always going to be something fun going on!

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Kreacher surveyed his nest, loving tucking his blankets around the few items that he had managed to salvage from Master and his nasty friends' defilement of the house. There was Mistress' old wedding ring, which he carefully tucked out of sight under his pillow; an old oil lamp that burned with smokeless green fire; a pair of broken spectacles that had belonged to his old Master's uncle; and, of course, the photographs, with Mistress Bellatrix's arranged at the forefront of all the others.

"Oh, what poor Mistress would say if she could see the house now," Kreacher croaked, shaking his head sadly. "But she musn't worry...Kreacher will protect the family's treasures...he will not let Master get these…"

And as he glanced up at the photos of his old Black masters, he couldn't help but imagine them giving him looks of approval.

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It felt weird, being back here after all these months.

He walked into the living room of Number 4, Privet Drive, and was struck but how familiar everything looked, despite all that had happened. Granted, the room had a coating of dust that certainly would not have been allowed under under normal circumstances, and it was dark, because nobody had been around the pay the electric bill. But still, all the furniture, the pictures on the wall...they were all the same, completely unchanged since the days of his childhood.

"The water's probably out, too," his father grumbled, trudging up the stairs with his luggage. "And how long do you think it will take to straighten all this out?!"

As his mother suggested that they stay in a hotel, Dudley just gazed around the living room. After all those months living with Harry's people, it felt strange, but also wonderful, to finally be home.

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Ron was not going to cry in front of Hermione.

It was stupid to be crying when Hermione wasn't. After all, she was the one whom Bellatrix had tortured; if anyone had the right to cry, it was her, but she just went on and kept fighting like she always did. How did she manage to be so strong? How could she remain so unaffected, when just thinking about Malfoy Manor, hearing her screaming, made him feel like something was trying to claw through his chest from the inside?

So no, Ron was not going to cry in front of Hermione. He was going to suck it up, and duck into the other room when the memories combined with all the other stress and simply overwhelmed him.

And when Harry came in and saw him quickly wipe away his tears, Ron was thankful that he had the courtesy not to say anything.

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Gilderoy Lockhart grinned at the mirror, flashing those pearly whites that won him the Witch Weekly Most-Charming-Smile Award five years in a row. His Order of Merlin ribbon was lovingly set on the wall next to the glass. He carefully undid his curlers and began to brush his hair, counting one hundred for each side of his head.

He sighed softly. Yes, he really was something, but it took an awful lot of work, between keeping himself fit and faking all of those famous exploits. But ah, was it ever rewarding! After all, no pain, no gain, he always said. One could hardly expect to be the most famous person in the Wizarding world if you weren't going to put in the effort to earn it!

He finished brushing his hair and smiled at the mirror again. "How do I look?"

"Perfect as always, Mr. Lockhart!" the mirror gushed in a high, girlish voice.

Nodding with satisfaction, he turned to go answer his fan mail, humming to himself as he went.

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Gabrielle Delacour sighed, watching as Harry Potter walked by, holding hands with Fleur's sister-in-law.

It wasn't as if she didn't know that her crush was silly; after all, she had only met this boy a handful of times, and he was six years older than she was. But then, Fleur and Bill had an even greater age gap, didn't they? And it was easy to fantasize, especially about somebody so famous, whose picture regularly appeared in the newspaper even back in France.

Gabrielle could still remember when she first met him, dragging her to the shore when she woke up scared and confused during the Triwizard Tournament. Even then, at such a young age, she had been struck by something about him, this older boy who had bravely and nobly rescued her at the risk of his own rank in the contest. And what hope did she have of escaping this infatuation, when her dark-haired hero only grew taller and handsomer with each passing year?

She knew, on some level, that nothing could ever come of it.

Still, she couldn't help but feel her heart break a little as she watched him turn to Ginny Weasley and flash a besotted smile.

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"Can you smell that?" Luna asked, with a dreamy smile.

Neville frowned, sniffed the air, and sheepishly wondered if the scent of fertilizer was hanging around him again. "Smell what?"

"The petrichor. That lovely smell that comes after a rainstorm," she explained, seeing his confused look.

"I've...never really smelled anything in particular after it rains," he said, thinking that this must be a "Luna thing" that other people never experienced.

"That's too bad," she said vaguely. "It seems like the sort of smell that you would like. Go on, breathe it in."

Feeling a bit silly, Neville emptied his lungs and then slowly inhaled. To his surprise, he actually did catch the scent. It was warm and earthy, the same sort of smell that he loved from his garden. He opened his eyes and blinked.

"Hey...that's rather nice." He gave Luna a sly grin. "How do you always manage to notice little things like that when no one else does?"

"Well, I can't speak for everyone else, obviously, but I just try to pay attention." Then, to his surprise, she plucked at his robe and gave a sympathetic frown. "Though I imagine the scent of dragon dung on your clothes must make that hard, doesn't it?"

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"What I'm saying, Lily, is that...I really like you. And I would like for us to be...more than just friends."

Lily stared at him, then burst out laughing.

Severus jerked out of his reverie, then shook his head. Certainly it would go better than that.

"What I'm saying, Lily, is that...I really like you. And I would like for us to be...more than just friends."

She frowned. "Oh...I'm sorry, Severus. But I've actually already decided to date that stupid prat James Potter."

"That's right!" Potter said, appearing out of nowhere with that ugly smirk on his face. "Stinks to be you, huh, Snivellus?" And then he and Lily began to snog right in front of him.

Severus actually banged his head on the table to eliminate that vision.

"What I'm saying, Lily, is that...I really like you. And I would like for us to be...more than just friends."

She frowned. "Oh...I'm sorry, Severus. I just don't think about you that way. I care about you a lot, but I don't think the two of us will ever be together like that."

Severus slouched morosely in his chair.

Unfortunately, that one felt horribly realistic.

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Well, Neville thought, this is what I get for standing up for myself.

He lay motionless on the floor of the Gryffindor Common Room, trying with all his might to move anything other than his eyes. Meanwhile Harry, Ron and Hermione were gallivanting around the castle doing who-knows-what, probably set to lose the House another five hundred points.

Neville was really starting to question his taste in friends.

(If nothing else they could have moved him over to the couch or something.)

He had no way to tell the time, but after what felt like at least an hour he gave up trying to wiggle his toes and just closed his eyes, figuring that he might as well try to sleep. Hopefully whoever found him in the morning would know how to break this particular spell. But at this rate, he thought ruefully, it's more likely that they'll stand me up like a mannequin and stand around and laugh.

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Colin motioned to another group of stars. "And that's the Centaur!" he said, drawing it with his finger. "The people who are half-horse. I hear there are a bunch of them living in the forest near the school."

"Wow! Have you seen them?!" Dennis asked.

"No. We're not really supposed to go into the forest," Colin said with an awkward smile. "And those stars above it are a snake called the Hydra. I don't think that's real, though, since it's not in my book about magical animals."

Dennis nodded, inching closer to his brother on the grass. "I didn't realize there were so many constellations," he murmured. Then, "Why do you learn about these in magic school, anyway? Is it like the horoscopes in the paper?"

"I'm not sure. I guess I'll find out next year. I'm starting a whole class about seeing the future."

"Dad says the horoscopes are rubbish. I hope he's wrong." A long silence passed. "Do you really think that the school will send me a letter this year, too?"

"I hope so."

"...If I don't, will you still teach me all of the magic stuff that you learn?"

Colin didn't answer; he just laughed, threw out his arm and pulled Dennis closer to him.

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Screaming filled the room, from Professor McGonagall, from the Minister for Magic and his retinue, and most of all from Winky, who was being physically restrained from rushing to her former master's side.

Barty noticed this for about a second before it all faded away.

The dementor rose to its full height and dropped Barty, whose body fell limply onto the floor; the sharp bang of his head on the stone brought forth blood, but his face betrayed no sign of pain. He stared ahead, his eyes glassy.

"GET THAT THING OUT OF HERE!"

There was a flash of silver light; as the cat Patronus advanced, the dementor drew back sharply, then slipped out of the window as easily as if it were made of smoke. Only now, with it gone, did Professor McGonagall loosen her grip on Winky, who rushed forward, grabbing the front of Barty's robes and shaking him desperately.

"Master Barty! Master Barty!"

Bartemius Crouch Jr. gave no reaction, and never would again.

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Merope's eyes flickered out her window, then back to her cauldron, a small smile playing on her lips.

She breathed in the scent of her potion, was delightfully smooth, like vanilla, and then took a small vial of it, holding it up to the light. It was the same pale lavender that the book described. It had taken three tries, but it looked as if she had finally gotten it right.

She heard the sound of hooves outside. Immediately her eyes darted to her window again, and her breath caught in her throat.

"He's here."

She grinned, tried to ignore the way that Tom was helping that spoiled Cecilia off of her horse, and rushed into the kitchen to get the glasses of water.

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There was something very peaceful about the woods that surrounded Ottery St. Catchpole, something that drew Luna in. Her parents had often taken her on long hikes through the trees when she was a child, and she still sometimes came with her dad to look for homflehummers or blibbering humdingers.

But lately, Luna found herself coming alone more often than not. She used to do that a lot when Daddy was busy, taking a canteen of water and some sandwiches so that she could spend a whole summer's day in the shade of the trees. She didn't really do much while she was there; often she would take a nap in the grass, or just sit against an old tree and draw things. After lunch, she would give her leftovers to the birds and squirrels who clustered expectantly around her. It was nice.

Luna often felt rather lonely when she was at home or in the village. But going into the woods was one of the few things that seemed just as nice whether one had friends or not.

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Draco Malfoy was going to a Quidditch match.

It seemed strange that Quidditch was still going on when all of Wizarding Britain was immersed in chaos. Admittedly, every team had been forced to replace at least one Muggle-born player—the Chudley Cannons were actually refusing to play after some of their members were thrown in Azkaban—but the stadiums were still filling almost as much as they had the year before.

Draco was going because he was on Easter break, and he loved the Caerphilly Catapults, and because the thought at staying home all week made him feel like he was literally going to be sick.

So he was going to go and watch the game. He was going to cheer and scream and try his best to forget about how terrified his parents looked, or the fact that his psychotic aunt was still in his house, or the people whom he had been forced to hurt, or the fact that he could die if the Dark Lord merely came around in a bad mood.

For however long the game lasted (and please let it go on for at least a few days), he was going to pretend that everything was normal and hopefully find that, in the private box of Llewellyn Stadium at least, it still was.

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Albus Potter lay on the couch with his eyes closed, so still that he might have been asleep.

He felt somebody poking his face. "Hey, Al. Al. AL."

He opened his eyes to see Hugo's face filling most of his field of vision; Rose, hovering behind him, said "We were about to play some Quidditch. You want to come?"

Albus made a vague noise and closed his eyes again. "No thanks. I don't feel like it."

"But we need you or we don't have enough players!" Hugo said. "Is this because you fell down and broke your butt last time? Or because I accidentally gave you a tail trying to heal your butt?"

"No, Hugo, I just...don't feel like doing anything today. Sorry."

Hugo, who could not comprehend the idea of not doing something at every moment, persisted. "But why—"

"Oh, never mind. Let Al be moody," Rose said, rolling her eyes. "Let's ask Freddy if he'll play with us."

Albus heard them leave. After a moment, he voiced a small sigh, turned onto his side and wondered if maybe he should have joined them after all.

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Azarel Smith only met Tom Riddle once, and he didn't like him.

Aunt Hepzibah pooh-poohed his objections, going on about what a kind and charming and handsome young man the shopkeeper was. And to be fair, Azarel couldn't really think of any solid complaints about him. He smiled, seemed polite, but there was just something off about the man. He seemed a bit too indulgent of an old woman's flirtation, but only in a sort of distant way; his eyes didn't look uncomfortable, just shrewd and calculating. It was enough to leave Azarel worried about his family's treasures.

If only he had been a bit more paranoid, he would have been more concerned about his poor old aunt's life.

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There had been approximately one second after their spells had hit, when Lord Voldemort saw his Killing Curse flying back at him.

His mind had grasped several truths in that one, brief moment.

Harry Potter had been right, somehow.

All his planning had been for nothing.

This was the end.

The end. In a few seconds, there would be no more Voldemort, no more him. All of his work, all of his accomplishments, all of his life would be snuffed out like a candle without any meaning, hope or purpose.

It was the first horrible moment of the torment that was going to last for a very, very long time.

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"...and so, naturally I wanted to get your thoughts on it," Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black said with a bit of a drawl.

Professor Dippet slowly traced his finger down the frame of the mirror, though his gaze was firmly on the glass. "Well, this...certainly is extraordinary," he murmured.

The headmaster waited for Professor Dippet to continue, but his colleague merely kept staring at the mirror.

"Armando!" Headmaster Black snapped.

Professor Dippet winced, then shook his head. "Excuse me, Headmaster." His eyes slowly moved back to the mirror. "And you say that...each person sees something different? Whatever their heart desires the most?"

"That is our theory, given the inscription."

Professor Dippet was staring again, and not in a way that implied intellectual curiosity.

"May I ask what you see, Armando, since it seems to be too engrossing for you to listen properly?"

He quickly looked away from the mirror again, with a little cough. "It's—nothing. Just..." He kept his eyes on the headmaster, but placed his hand on the glass, his brow furrowing slightly. "Sigrid."

Now it was Headmaster Black's turn to wince. He had been rather fond of Armando's late wife himself.

"Of course," he said awkwardly, striding around to put a hand on Professor Dippet's shoulder. "Well...you're not the only one who finds this mirror a bit...distracting. The same thing happened when I showed it to Professor Quirke. She doesn't think it's Dark Magic, but..."

Now his own eyes wandered to the mirror, and once again he saw the image of an eight-year-old boy, a decades-old memory with bright eyes and rosy cheeks. He quickly looked away.

"...I personally think it might be best to put it out of sight somewhere."

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Potter had just...grabbed the wands.

There had been no curses fired, no kicks or punches, not even a word exchanged between the two opponents. He had just run up to Draco and snatched the wands out of his hand before using one to attack Greyback and the Death Eaters.

And in that moment, Draco had apparently lost command of one of the most powerful magical artifacts in the world, and Potter had somehow gained exactly what he needed to evade the Dark Lord's Killing Curse and bring about his downfall.

Draco sat in the Great Hall after the battle, contemplating his place in this grand, confusing design.

He had to admit that it felt rather disappointing.

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Cho and Cedric had dated for about six months when he died. Cho had been popular with the boys before that, but she considered Cedric to be her first real relationship—her first love, even. Their connection had been deeper yet more natural than she ever would have expected. And sometimes she still wondered: would that have lasted? Would they have stayed together long-term, even after Cedric graduated, after she graduated? She knew that the answer was probably no; most first loves didn't end in marriage, after all. But would they had been different?

With him gone, Cho felt like half of her heart had been ripped out of her chest. And as people told her to move on, to stop crying already, she began to wonder: what if he really was The One? What happens to someone who loses their soulmate at sixteen? Would she ever feel the same way about somebody else, or had she lost her chance?

Eventually, the pain faded. She dated Harry, which was a disaster, then Michael, which was far better. They had a connection; she began to feel happy again.

But still, she knew that she would never completely forget about Cedric.

And every once in a while, she wondered again what would have happened had he survived...

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Harry had seen it coming; the tears were already formed on the corners of his cousin's eyes, and once in view of his parents, he began to bawl.

"It's—not—fair!" he screamed, pointing dramatically at Harry. "Why does—he g-get sweets—and I d-don't?!"

His aunt and uncle glared at him. "What's this about?!" Uncle Vernon boomed.

Harry put up his hands defensively. "The teacher divided our class into teams and gave candy to whichever team got to most questions right in maths. My team won and Dudley's didn't!"

"Well, that hardly seems fair," Aunt Petunia sniffed, as she surely would not have had the situation been reversed. Dudley continued to sob in her arms.

Uncle Vernon seemed as annoyed by his son's screaming as Harry was, so he shot his nephew a look and snapped, "Well, maybe you should share your sweets with your cousin, then!"

"I already ate it."

Aunt Petunia made a scoffing sound, as though scandalized that Harry could have committed such a rude gesture. Then she turned to Dudley.

"Tell you what, sweetums, when I go to the store tomorrow, I'll buy you a big chocolate bar. How about that?"

"No! I want one now!" Dudley howled.

Harry rolled his eyes as Aunt Petunia continued to fret, and Dudley, taking advantage of her distraction, turned around to flash him a victorious smirk.

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Horace Slughorn's stubby fingers felt around in the box for another piece of crystallized pineapple; it was only when he looked down that he realized that it was empty.

With a little sigh, he put down his book and hefted up his large body from the chair. Licking his fingers, he went to the shelf where he had set most of his sweets. He picked up another box—which felt oddly light. He opened it to find it empty, too. As was the next…

In the end, he found one—and only one—box of his favorite candy remaining. It was an observation that made his whole face seem to melt. He could have sworn he had more...nor could he remember the last time that he had run out.

Nor could he figure out how to obtain more, seeing how he was in hiding and cut off from all of his old friends and students.

Horace sadly put the sweets back on the shelf, deciding that he should save them for another night.

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It was the morning after the Knight Bus had brought Harry to the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry was taking in the grandeur that was Diagon Alley.

He had never had a chance to fully explore the place before; he had only come here for school supplies, and only with Hagrid or Ron's parents to keep him on task. Now he had weeks worth of time where he could just walk up and down the street and do anything he wanted.

Quality Quidditch Supplies. Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop. Harry found himself unsure of where to start.

He didn't quite know what he was going to do today, but he was sure that it was going to be amazing.

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Before they went to Hogwarts and were put into different Houses, you were very unlikely to find Lorcan and Lysander Scamander separated from each other.

Except when it rained, which caused the twins markedly different reactions.

For Lorcan, rain meant running around outside like a maniac, splashing in puddles, and cackling like a maniac whenever there was a flash of lightning. Or, if their father was there to stop him, it meant stewing inside and grumbling, giving furtive looks to the tent flaps as he plotted to sneak out.

For Lysander, the slightly less rambunctious twin, rain had a calming effect. For once, he wasn't with his brother causing trouble; he let Lorcan go off so that he could lay down and quietly read. (Once, the soft pitter-patter on the roof actually put him to sleep, the first time that he had napped during the day since he was three.)

And then, as the drizzle finally began to die down, Lorcan would drag himself inside, his clothes sopping wet, as Lysander calmly closed his book and set it on the table between their beds.

"Nice day, isn't it?"

"Mm-hmm."

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As soon as George stepped through the Floo into the Burrow, every other eye in the room turned to glare at him (except for Victoire, who was happily drinking her bottle).

He forced a smile. "Wotcher, everyone," he said brightly. "Sorry I'm a little late."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "A little late?"

"Yes, well—"

"You were supposed to come over for lunch," said Bill, his tone uncharacteristically dry.

"I overslept! I was working late last night, so I just took a little nap—"

"It's four in the afternoon!" Molly exploded.

George waved his hand in what he hoped seemed like an airy gesture. "Well, I hope you all didn't put off eating on my account."

Everybody kept glaring. George's smile was beginning to strain his face muscles.

"By the way, Fleur's pregnant again," Ginny said.

"Really?!"

"Yes, it was quite the big news three hours ago."

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It was a cold winter's night with the wind howling outside, and Hagrid was sitting in front of his fire with a blanket draped over his massive shoulders.

"Tha' sure is one storm out there, eh, Fang?"

The bloodhound merely lifted his head from the floor, ears perked up, before laying back down again. Hagrid chuckled and stroked the dog's back with one of his huge hands, which was now pleasantly warmed from the fire.

It did not seem to occur to Hagrid that his hut was still quite drafty, or that the other staff members in the castle where probably significantly warmer than he was. Instead he just poked the fire with his pink umbrella, causing it to jump unnaturally high, and sat back down, sighing contentedly.

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It was the first Christmas after she married Ted, and Andromeda couldn't help but miss her family.

She remembered the feast made by the family's house-elves, and all of their guests, next to which the couple's small meal seemed rather paltry. She remembered the huge, towering Christmas tree. And most of all she remembered her parents kissing under the mistletoe, Cissy squealing when she opened a new dress, Bellatrix actually taking the time to play with her, people laughing, singing carols…

And thinking of all that just brought back more memories, other happy occasions and lazy afternoons, that made her wonder why she had felt so smothered for the last few years.

She shook her head, turning back to the small ham that she was in the middle of preparing. She was only now learning how to cook for herself, and she really hoped that it would come out alright.

She was also really hoping that Sirius would show up at some point. He had said that he would, if possible. It would be awfully nice to see some family today.

Besides, he hated the rest of the Black clan far more than she did. That meant that he was always good at reminding her why she had cut them out of her life.

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As a rule, Remus was not a morning person. But of course, his monthly transformations usually ran rickshaw over his schedule.

Today he found himself waking up just as the sun was creeping over the horizon. Out the window he could see its gray light spreading out over Hogsmeade, both illuminating the town and casting it into dim shadows. It was a strange sight, both beautiful and rather creepy.

Remus' body was wracked with pain, like it always was, but somehow the sight was exhilarating enough to distract him for a few moments. It was a new day. A new lunar cycle, with the maximum amount of time before he had to go through this again. And waking up to see the sunrise was one of the very few positives that he had with his condition.

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Myrtle was crying, and nobody in the castle cared.

They never had. They didn't care when she was Myrtle Warren, the pimply-faced Ravenclaw third-year, and they didn't care now that she's "Moaning" Myrtle, the ghost who haunts the first-floor bathroom. Oh, they'll complain about Myrtle, they'll whinge about Myrtle, but will anyone come in and ask her why she's crying, let alone try to empathize with her? No, they'll just put an "Out of Order" sign on the door and leave her to wallow in her own misery, just like they always have.

So yes, today she was deliberately flooding the floor and moaning as loudly and annoyingly as possible.

If people weren't going to come in and share in her misery, she would at least do what she could to make them feel miserable about something else.

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"Well!" Ron said, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulders as Ginny went off for pictures with her bridesmaids. "It's finally happened, hasn't it?"

"It has," said Harry, who seemed slightly dazed.

"You're finally, officially a member of the Weasley family now! That makes the two of us brothers!"

Harry grinned. "I suppose it does, doesn't it?"

"But more to the point," Ron said, his tone turning seriously, "that makes you my little brother."

Harry looked up at him, confused—and suddenly found himself bent over in a headlock, with Ron giving a painful noogie to his head.

"Say uncle! Say uncle!"

"Never!" Harry laughed, trying his best to push him away.

"SAY IT!"

"Alright, uncle, uncle!"

Ron laughed as he released him. "Ha! Now I know why my brothers picked on me so much, that felt great!"

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"So, are you excited about going to Hogwarts?"

"Meh."

"Do you know what House you want to be in?"

"Er."

"Do you have any older brothers or sisters going there already?"

"Nyuh."

Freddy Weasley's face was expressionless, as usual, as the witch who had been fitting his robes finally stepped back to admire them. "Well, now! Aren't you a handsome young man?"

Freddy gave a noncommittal shrug.

Just then, his mother Angelina walked in from the main part of the shop. "Freddy, love, how is it—oh!" She suddenly stopped and clasped her hands over her mouth. "Look at my little man! Aren't you so cute?!"

She strode over and pinched Freddy's cheek. His eye twitched, though the rest of his face remained quite blank.

"Molly! Come in here and look at Freddy!"

Freddy's grandmother bustled in, and immediately she squealed. "Oh, isn't he adorable!" she said, pinching his cheeks hard enough to bruise. "I can't believe it, one of my last grandchildren finally going off to Hogwarts—Ginny! Hermione! Come in and see how nice Freddy looks!"

"Ugh," was all that the boy said in response.

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Ron ran to the edge of the pool, paused for only half a second and then jumped, fully-clothed, into the icy water.

It was another half-second before he felt anything, and then the burning cold erupted all over his skin. It took a moment for him to reorient himself—this was definitely a bad idea, the temperature had hit him so hard that his lungs were already desperate for air—but he forced his eyes opened, spotted Harry going limp in the water below.

Ron had no idea why his friend had been stupid enough to go for a midnight swim in the freezing cold, nor why he had been stupid enough to not at least kick off his shoes before following. But he ignored the stinging in his eyes and the awkward weight of his clothes and swam to rescue his friend as quickly as he could.

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"I can't believe this," Lorcan said, his voice thick as he rubbed his teary eye with his fist. "How could Victoire do this? How could she pick that—that—"

"Showy braggart!" Lysander supplied.

"That showy braggart over me?! I thought we had something special!" He curled into a ball, clutching at the front of his robes. "My heart is broken. Alas, fair beauty, destroying my dreams like Helen burning the topless towers of Ilium."

"...Well, to be fair, it probably would be hard for her, waiting for us to turn seventeen and all."

"Ten years! Ten years and I'll be old enough to marry her! Is that so long to wait?!"

"I don't know, Lor. Neither of us have lived that long."

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Sirius pounced and, with practiced ease, managed to catch the rat under his paw. It was dead and eaten ten seconds later.

Still not the tastiest breakfast, but it beat the food in Azkaban.

He raced off through the dewy grass, searching for more prey, letting his tail wag behind him.

Sirius couldn't stand being cooped up in that cave all day, but even with his Amimagus form, he was wary of being seen by the Hogsmeade residents; as such, he found himself becoming somewhat nocturnal lately. But right now, before dawn, was his favorite time of day, when he felt exhilaratingly alive but could burn off some energy before his daytime rest.

He chomped up another rat, turned, and saw the gray light of dawn spreading over the horizon. With an internal sigh, he turned around and began to make his way back up the mountain.

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For the life of him, Harry could not understand why Ron's mum had made him that jumper.

He had only spoken to her once, after all, and only to ask a simple question. She hardly knew him well enough to start knitting clothes for him. Especially if that was something that she usually did for her own children.

Aunt Petunia had certainly never done anything like that. He had gotten clothes for Christmas before, but never home-made, and usually just Dudley's ill-fitting hand-me-downs.

Maybe Ron had told her that Harry was not expecting much in the way of Christmas presents. Or maybe Mrs. Weasley was just an exceedingly nice person.

Either way, with the exception of his new Invisibility Cloak, Harry couldn't deny that this was probably the best Christmas gift that he had ever gotten.

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Shortly after dawn, the light from the window crept across Amelia Bones' feet.

Normally it would be past time for her to wake up. She should be dressed and by the fireplace by now, getting ready to Floo over to the Ministry.

Slowly the light advanced, climbing up her legs and torso. Someone was knocking at her door, loudly, but she didn't get up to answer it.

The light had reached her chin when the door flew open, and a small crowd filled the room, two of its members rushing over to Amelia's side.

And the light had reached her eyes when they closed them, illuminating a body that had already grown cold.

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Bill was sitting up in bed, the gashes on his face smeared with an ugly, foul-smelling potion. Everyone said he was looking better today, but to Molly he still seemed so pale and sickly, his hair stringy and dirty, with some swelling around one eye.

(Maybe it was just his smile that threw everybody else off.)

Sitting next to him was Fleur, also pale but glowing, her hair straight and perfect as always. She was feeding him soup.

"Ah! You must hold steel," she said, after once again missing his mouth and getting mess onto his sheets.

"Fleur," he laughed, "I can do this myself."

"No," she said, with a sort of teasing stubbornness. "You are steel too weak, you—geeve me zat!"

Bill had managed to snatch the spoon away and defiantly began to eat; however, he did it so fast that half of it dribbled down his chin, and the two of them both laughed as Fleur wiped it off with his napkin.

Watching from the distance, Molly couldn't help but smile wanly.

"They really do make a lovely couple," she whispered to herself.

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Andromeda hummed loudly over Teddy's screams, and slowly they began to subside. Swaying her body slowly back and forth, she began to feel her grandson relax, his breathing slowing down.

Afraid to put him back in the crib too soon, lest he wake up and begin wailing, she sat down in the rocking chair. She looked down at his face as the last tinges of red began to fade.

His hair, meanwhile, was slowly turning blond.

Changing like Nymphadora. Blond like Ted.

Andromeda drew him closer to her chest, resting her cheek on the top of his head.

"Don't cry, sweetheart. Don't cry."

Teddy was silent, but Andromeda felt a hot tear force its way out of her eye.

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The fight in the Department of Mysteries.

The fight when Dumbledore died.

Leading Dumbledore's Army during his seventh year. The Battle of Hogwarts.

Obviously Neville couldn't call them "happy" memories. They were full of pain, terror and even death.

And yet, he couldn't quite call them "bad" memories either. Even now, years later, they made his heart beat a little quicker and even brought a sort of painful smile to his face.

He had quit Auror training. To his grandmother's chagrin, he had lost all desire to follow in his parents' footsteps any further. Whatever he was meant to do with his life, he realized that that wasn't it.

And yet…

He had helped do something great. And he believed that all those fights, those battles, those awful memories had made him a better person than he would have been otherwise.

His teenage years had been awful. But somehow, that didn't make them any less important.

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"Luna? What are you humming?" Ginny asked suddenly.

The other girl looked up from her book, blinking her large, protuberant eyes. "Hmm? That song that they were singing at the Quidditch game, I think."

"...The one that the Slytherins used to destroy my brother's confidence and any chance that we had of winning the match?"

"I know, that was rather cruel of them, wasn't it? But the tune is very catchy, so I have a hard time getting it out of my head."

"Well, please try harder. Try—I don't know, humming something else. Sometimes I can manage to cancel out one catchy tune with another."

Luna smiled. "That's a good idea, thank you."

She went back to her reading, while Ginny went back to her Transfiguration essay.

A moment later, she winced as she heard Luna start to hum "A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love."

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Looking back, Minerva realized that she had never expected her marriage to be this happy.

She and Elphinstone Urquart had been friends for decades, but she had never quite understood his infatuation with her. She had turned down his advances several times; finally accepting Elphinstone's proposal had been a sort of surrender, her accepting that she was never going to find a "real" romance so she might as well settle.

Yet now, a few months into their marriage, she realized that her feelings for Elphinstone had changed. Strangely, not much else had: their dinner conversations were the same as they had been before the wedding, they took the same evening walks, reminisced about the same old stories. But looking at him made her heart swell in a way that it hadn't before. More than once she thought of him and found herself smiling like a schoolgirl.

Minerva was right; she had long ago given up the chance for the sort of head-over-heels, passionate romance that she had associated with that term. But now, she was starting to realize that that wasn't necessary for real love anyway.

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Dobby sighed as he worked with the other house-elves to prepare for the Christmas feast.

It was not a very merry Christmas this year; in fact, this year in general was not very happy. Dumbledore dead. Death Eaters running the school. New professors who were mean to the house-elves, and whom Dobby had no problem admitting that he had no respect for (even if he felt compelled to whack himself on the head afterwards).

Dobby was working for people who worked for You-Know-Who again. It was enough to make him consider quitting.

He could do that now—quit. He couldn't do that back with the Malfoys. He wouldn't even have to trick Headmaster Snape into passing him any clothes—he could just get up and leave whenever he wanted to.

It was a happy thing to consider. He wasn't sure where he could go, but it was a nice reminder that things were, at least, better than they had once been.

And really, even if the Carrows were awful, they didn't waste much time hurting the house-elves. The students were a lot worse off.

Which is why Dobby would deliver some extra food to the D.A. members who missed the feast for detention, and maybe slip a little U-No-Poo in the Carrows' pudding.

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Albus had heard a lot of jokes about Hufflepuffs, but the thing that stuck out the most to him was that they were always described as friendly. Teddy had been a Hufflepuff, and he was just about the best not-quite-brother ever; Louis was a Hufflepuff, and he was about the most popular bloke in school.

Still, Albus couldn't help but feel anxious when he was Sorted there instead of Gryffindor. Especially with Rose in Ravenclaw, it made him feel very alone.

But as soon as he approached the cheering table, he found Louis standing up to guide him to a seat beside him and his friends. The underground common room, which he worried might make him feel claustrophobic, was actually rather cozy. And while being around so many unfamiliar faces was unnerving at first, his fellow first years all seemed cheerful and friendly on the whole.

So the next evening, as he sat in the common room and read the letters of congratulations from Teddy and his family, he found himself smiling wanly. He had a feeling he was going to like this House fine after all.

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Fred and George had done everything together. They had shared a room since they were born and had no apparent desire to change that arrangement. They sometimes debated but never argued. Every prank that they did was a joint effort; whenever one thought of a joke, the other almost seemed to know it without even being told. Their personalities and skillsets complemented each other perfectly—one good at Potions, one good at Charms, working in tandem to create all sorts of magical concoctions.

All that just made it harder when Fred was suddenly gone.

George suddenly realized that he didn't really know how to function as a single person; everything that he had ever done was a team effort. How could he run the joke shop, when Fred had been the one who knew half the spells they needed? How was he supposed to run his life without Fred there to live it with him?

Fred was more than George's twin brother; Fred was his other half.

No wonder he felt like someone had cut his heart out of his chest.

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It was their wedding anniversary, and the pair had put on the radio so that they could dance slowly across the empty dining room.

"Hmm," the man sighed.

His wife looked up to see him gazing at her with a besotted smile. She quirked an eyebrow. "Yes, mon cher?"

"Nothing, mon coco. I was just wondering how it is that you remain just as beautiful today as the day we met."

She smirked, patting her now steel-gray hair. "Well, I'm not so sure about that," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "But you've remained quite handsome yourself, haven't you? Quite fetching for a man who's over six hundred."

He laughed, kissed her, and then winked. "Happy anniversary, Perenelle."

"Happy anniversary, Nicolas. And may we have a thousand more."

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Draco did not generally allow his mother to hug him anymore.

Thankfully, she at least had enough sense not to try that in public, but even in private he resisted, on the grounds that for goodness' sake, woman, I'm seventeen. He could not even remember the last time that Lucius had hugged him; Draco may have had the utmost respect for his father, but neither of them was exactly affectionate.

But now, having tracked them both down in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco could not find any will to resist them both squeezing him tightly in their arms.

He was honestly shocked that all three of them were still alive. He was fairly certain that they should be fleeing, and that Aurors would soon be there to drag them to Azkaban no matter what they did. And there was no doubt that the Malfoy's family honor had been utterly destroyed with the Dark Lord's defeat.

So honestly, who cared about dignity? His parents' embrace was far too comforting to trade in for that sinking ship.

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"'...forever and for always, because you are my dear one.'" Hermione shut the book with a soft sigh, staring down at the cover with a nostalgic smile. "So, what did you think, Rose? Did you love that book as much as I did when I was a little girl?"

She glanced down to see that Rose was extremely preoccupied with the checkerboard pattern on her crib attachment. Also, she had throw-up all down the front of her brand new pajamas.

"Hermione, she's a week old. Don't you think you're starting the reading kick a little early?"

"Oh, hush," Hermione grumbled, wiping Rose's clothes with the corner of her blanket.

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"So, is it true what they say? Whomever I sit with on the train, I either have to become best friends with or eventually marry?"

"Of course not, Lily. Don't be silly."

"Well, didn't you and Dad meet on the train during first year?"

"No. Well...your father's first year, I suppose."

"Actually we met just before that. It was your Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione that I met on the train."

"...Which means they met each other on the train. And then got married. After becoming best friends with you. Interesting."

"That's just a coincidence, Lily."

"Yes, like Al and Rose meeting Scorpius. Or James meeting his best friends. Anyone else I should know about?"

"...Well, I sat with your Aunt Luna on the trip my first year, but for the record, we were already neighbors."

"Now that I think about it, my parents met on the train ride. I mean, they hated each other at first, but…and actually, that's also when my dad met Sirius..."

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Aunt Luna was weird, which was why Hugo liked her.

He didn't get to see her much; she was usually off gallivanting around the world, trying to discover rare and dangerous creatures, which was pretty bleeding brilliant if you wanted Hugo's opinion. He liked that she had strange ideas that were different than what everybody else said. And he liked that she would listen to his strange ideas, like his theory that Crumple-Horned Snorkacks might be able to shrink themselves to hide under rocks. She actually thought that that explained a lot.

He liked spending time with Lorcan and Lysander, and liked that Aunt Luna didn't give them as many rules and instructions as his mom and dad gave him. (Admittedly, Uncle Rolf was a bit of a killjoy with his "no fires in the tent" policy.) He liked that they didn't judge him for putting kippers in his cereal, or using orange juice in said cereal instead of milk. He liked that they were less inclined to dismiss things as impossible than try to figure out how they could be done.

Aunt Luna was weird, but then, being around her made Hugo feel normal for a change.

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"I just don't get it," James groused as Lily Evans stalked away from him with her head held high. "Why won't she so much as look at me when I'm talking to her?"

"Prongs, last week you publicly humiliated her best friend in front of the entire school. And not for the first time."

"So what you're saying is that she has bad taste?"

"I just don't get it," Severus moaned when Lily pointedly moved away from him during Potions class. "Why won't she even talk to me anymore?"

Marlene McKinnon overheard and turned in her seat to give her a look. "Well, maybe if you didn't spout out the sort of nonsense that Avery and Mulciber espouse, she wouldn't have gotten mad at you in the first place."

"Well, excuse me for having other friends," he sneered.

"Lily, you could have any bloke in school if you wanted. Why do you always play hard-to-get?"

"It's not hard-to-get, Mary. I'm just not going to throw myself at anyone if they're not even going to try to be a decent person beforehand."

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"I'm impressed," Bill said. "Victoire and Teddy managed to take care of eight Weasley kids without killing any of them. That has to be a record for anyone other than Mum."

"They make a good team," Harry agreed. "I'm kind of surprised, actually. Normally when he watches the kids, they're as likely to talk him into trouble as he is of talking them out of it."

"Well, Teddy's always seemed pretty responsible in a pinch. Actually, I have to say that he's rather good for Victoire. She's always been sort of, you know...perfectionist, a bit too anxious at times. She seems more relaxed when he's around."

"Well," Harry said with a smile, "I guess they bring out the best in each other, then."

"...You know I'll still kill him if he ever breaks my little girl's heart, right?"

"I know you'll try. I've taught him some good dueling tricks, though."

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For all their bickering, Ron and Hermione had also mastered the art of conveying complex messages with only a glance.

There was the "I can't believe how insensitive you are, Ron" look, and its counterpart, the "Merlin's pants, lighten up, Hermione" eye roll. There was, of course, a whole series that could be summarized as "damn Harry is a tosser sometimes, isn't he?"

And then there was...that look. The one that Harry, Ginny, Luna, and approximately half of their year had noticed by now, the one that they held for just a moment before quickly looking away. It often happened at random, but seemed inevitable whenever topics like love, romance or dating came up, and was only becoming more frequent with time.

The funny thing was, Ron and Hermione seemed to be the only people who didn't know what that particular look meant yet.

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Looking back, Ginny liked to think of it as more than just an infatuation.

I mean, that would be the simple explanation for it: she had thought that he was handsome from the moment that she met him, and then he turned out to be the famous Harry Potter, and then he wound up becoming her brother's best friend and spent every summer with her family—taken together it made the perfect foundation for a schoolgirl crush. And yet, most schoolgirl crushes didn't lead to an actual relationship, to say nothing of a happy marriage and three beautiful children.

So, being the romantic that she was deep down, Ginny would say that no, she didn't have a mere infatuation with Harry Potter when she was a child.

She would say that it was love at first sight.

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Lavender wasn't sure if she had ever felt so giddy as she did with Ron.

It was so nice to finally have a boy who liked her—a boy who was handsome, and funny, and smart, and a great Quidditch player. She loved spending time with him. She really felt like they had something special.

(If you had asked Ron what he felt about Lavender, he would have said that he liked her—at least at first. If you had asked him why, however, he probably would have said that she was a good kisser, gone pink and changed the subject.)

Ron was so brave, too. He had gone with Harry Potter on that mission to the Department of Mysteries last year. He had scars from it all over his arms—she thought they were dreamy. How did the other girls not realize what a catch he was?

("Yes, I do too like her! She's very...nice. I suppose. Er.")

Lavender sighed—they had only been dating for a few weeks, but already she hoped that they could be together forever.

(He could barely admit it to himself, let alone anyone else, but Ron was starting to suspect that he had jumped right onto a bad situation.

He also suspected that he was going to hurt that poor girl soon.)

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Hermione nudged her husband under the covers. "Ron. It's time to get up."

"Hmm. No," he mumbled into his pillow.

"'Hmm, yes,' it is. It's getting late."

"It is not. Besides, it's freezing outside."

"Look, I would be perfectly happy to stay in bed all day too, but it's almost 10 and we really need to—"

Ron suddenly pulled the blankets off of her without even looking up.

"HEY!" she said, snatching them back. Ron let her without any sort of struggle. "What was that for?!"

"I'm making a point. Did you feel how cold it was? That's what you want to subject us too. Wouldn't you rather just stay under the covers and sleep for the rest of the day?"

She made an exasperated noise, but to Ron's immense amusement, snuggled closer to him. "Five more minutes," she grumbled.

Ron grinned as he wrapped his arms around her under the covers.

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It was such a small mistake, when you really thought about it.

How could Lord Voldemort have expected this? That foolish woman did not even have a wand, say an incantation—but then, this was the sort of ancient magic that predated such civilized things. It would not have worked had Lily Potter been slightly slower, or smart enough not to stand in his way. He doubted that she had even realized what she was doing.

After so much work, so much effort, could Lord Voldemort really have been brought down by such a easy, pathetic little thing?

Love is a very powerful force, Voldemort thought, as he abandoned Quirrell to death at Harry Potter's hands.

But it was not one that he would allow to harm him again.

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"WHOA!" said Fred.

"WOW!" said George.

"BILIUS!"

"WHOOPS! Ha-ha—"

He lowered his robes as Molly stormed over, flashing him his winningest smile. "Roshesh?" he slurred, holding out the flowers for her.

"What on Earth are you doing?! In front of my children?!" she said, her voice rising dangerously as the twins began to laugh even harder.

"Oh, lighten—hic!—up, Marshia! It'sh a party!"

"Who's Marcia?" George managed to ask between giggles.

Molly didn't answer, but instead grabbed their hands and marched away, where she would spend the next hour ranting to Arthur about his crass relative.

(When she was finally done ranting, she found Fred trying to demonstrate Bilius' trick for some of the other Weasley children. A second hour of screaming ensued.)

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Aberforth had come to a conclusion: no matter what he claimed, Albus didn't care about him or Ariana.

If he had, he wouldn't be spending every waking moment with Gellert, coming up with a bunch of ridiculous plans that would have made their poor mother roll over in her grave.

It was only a few more weeks before it was time for him to go back to Hogwarts; from what he could gather, that was when his brother planned to go off and do who-knows-what with that maniac friend of his. What exactly did they plan to do with Ariana? Albus was either planning to abandon her or drag her around with him, completely oblivious to how harmful either option would be. But then, he was oblivious to most things about her, wasn't he? Aberforth had spent the whole summer taking care of her practically on his own.

Albus didn't care about them. The only person he cared about these days was Gellert.

But Aberforth wasn't as stupid as Albus thought he was. He had come to notice the way that Albus acted around his friend, but he had also noticed how strained Gellert reacted in return. He noticed the way Albus' eyes twinkled around him, and the way that Gellert sometimes rolled his eyes in response.

He had a feeling that that bastard was going to break his brother's heart.

And as far as he was concerned, Albus didn't deserve any better.

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It was raining that morning. The gray skies outside her window fit Tonks' mood perfectly.

Everything was a mess. The Ministry was taken over by Voldemort. Half of the Order was in hiding. And Remus…her husband, she hadn't even seen in weeks.

It didn't help that she had been throwing up practically every morning lately.

She lay in bed, in her old childhood bedroom at her parents house, and pulled the blankets back over her head. Faintly she could hear the tap-tap-tapping sound of the raindrops falling on the roof and window. It was oddly relaxing; it had helped her fall asleep last night, when the combination of stress and pregnancy symptoms had been conspiring to keep her awake.

She closed her eyes, hoping that she could drift back to sleep for a few more hours.

She didn't quite feel up to facing the world yet today.

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"You know what I keep thinking about?" Ron asked as he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"What?" asked Harry.

"The Christmas before last, when Percy and Scrimgeour showed up. Remember?"

Harry was silent for a moment. "Yes, but I don't see what you're getting at."

Ron sighed, turning over onto his side. His voice was oddly thick as he spoke.

"Because that...that was the last time that the whole family was all together here at the Burrow. And now I realize that...that was also the last time that all of us are ever going to be here together. And we were all too stupid to even realize it."

Harry felt a slight chill. He tried to ignore it, while also trying to think of something comforting to say. That was hardly his strong suit, however.

"...Come on. We should try to get some sleep before tomorrow." The man who had just slayed Lord Voldemort could not quite work up the bravery to say either "Fred" or "funeral."

"Yeah. Alright," Ron said, though Harry was fairly certain that he would be up thinking for most of the night.

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"Think of this circle as the world. Well, scratch that. Think of it as the universe, everything that we can possibly see, hear, sense—our world, other planets, other galaxies, all that is just in this circle.

"This other circle? It's everything that we can't see, at least not through mortal efforts. It is the magic that goes beyond magic—the sort of things that religions are built around, and that both magic and Muggle science can only glimpse at a distance. It is at least as large as the first circle, though it may very well be larger, if not infinite.

"And this spot here, where they meet?

"That is that arch over there with the tattered old veil covering it.

"So I think you can see why our research here in the Death Chamber is so important, Mr. Minister."

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"Professor Lockhart?!"

"Hmm?" The golden-haired man looked up from the photos he had been signing, blinking at the chubby boy standing before him. "Do I know you?"

"Er—yes. I was one of your students, Neville Longbottom? Do you, er, remember…?"

It was clear from his expression that he did not, but after a moment he perked up, suddenly throwing his arm around the startled boy's shoulders. "Student, eh? Well, then! Bet I taught you everything you know, didn't I? How've you been, Nigel old boy?"

Neville was starting to wish that he had ignored his old professor. "My name is—"

"Oh, but wait! I haven't introduced you to my colleagues!"

"What—"

Immediately Lockhart was steering him to a nearby bed, despite Neville's efforts to dig in his heels. "These are my friends, the Longfellows! Alice and, er—Hank? Hank! Alice, Hank, this is my old student, uh…" A very long pause ensued before Lockhart bent down closer to Neville. "What did you say your name was, again?"

Neville sighed wearily. "Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad."

"Oh, you already know each other! Jolly good, then!"

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It came like a flash of lightning.

The Ballycastle Bats' best Chaser, Olivia Swift, had been rushing toward Puddlemere United's goals. Puddlemere's Keeper, Garmer Bachmann, was positioned in the middle ring, with a Bludger flying right at his head. And then, at the very last second, he ducked down! The Bludger grazed his hair—in half a second, just as Swift threw the Quaffle, there he was right under it, punching from below! It flew up and was snatched out of the air by Puddlemere Chaser Jocelind Wadcock—hadn't she been across the pitch two seconds before?!

The announcer screamed! The crowd roared! And one five-year-old boy was so happy that he threw his half-full bag of Every-Flavor Beans into the air.

It was the first Quidditch game that Oliver Wood had ever seen, and already he was in love.

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Ajax Bryson, also known as "the most annoying Auror ever" or "go away, Bryson, I don't care," knocked on Harry Potter's office for the third time that day, and then barged in when nobody answered.

He looked around the room and saw no one. Potter's lunch was half-eaten on his desk, though. Figuring that he had just stepped out for a moment, Bryson decided to wait.

He leaned against Harry Potter's desk and waited for a minute.

Then he sat down in Harry Potter's chair for another minute.

Then he eyed Harry Potter's lunch.

Then he looked around and reached out to take one of the biscuits that Harry Potter's wife had made just for him.

Suddenly he found himself hoisted into the air by his ankle, and, as he let out a cry of surprise, thrown out of the room, the office door graciously opening itself to accommodate his exit.

As the door closed, Harry Potter sighed and tore off his Invisibility Cloak.

"Clearly the subtle approach isn't going to work on him either," he grumbled, grabbing the biscuit and shoving it angrily in his mouth.

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"YEAH, YOU BETTER RUN!" Fabian crowed, waving his wand as Ivan Blishwick fled down the corridor.

"Fabian, you idiot! Look what you did!"

"What, I—oh!"

Apparently his duel with Blishwick had managed to hit a bystander—his sister was now helping a tall boy with cracked glasses to his feet. "Oh! Sorry, mate! Are you alright?" Fabian asked.

"Does he look alright, it looks like you burnt half of his hair off!" She turned to the boy, patting the dust from his robes. "How are you, though?"

He blinked blearily at the cute girl who was keeping from collapsing. "Just my luck, stumbling into that," he mumbled.

"Here, let me take you to the Hospital Wing. Oh, when Mum hears that you've been dueling in the hallways, Fabian—! I'm Molly, by the way," she said, turning back to the other boy.

She smiled at him, and despite his pain Arthur Weasley felt a crooked grin cross his face as they made their way down the corridor.

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The Top Box of the Quidditch World Cup. Lucius couldn't help smirking. How many other people could manage to secure such a prestigious spot?

(Well, Arthur Weasley and his enormous brood, somehow. But then, as usual they were riding on Harry Potter's coattails.)

Lucius was sitting next to the Minister of Magic, whispering in his ear every minute or so; Fudge replied tersely, trying to focus on the game. Meanwhile Narcissa was sitting two chairs away, talking with some important witch from the Bulgarian delegation. Her smile was gracious and elegant, except when she occasionally glanced at the aforementioned group of Weasleys and friends.

Sitting between them, meanwhile, was Draco Malfoy, also puffed up with self-importance but actually trying to watch the match. He remained seated and quiet, but glared with annoyance whenever Potter, Granger and those barbaric Weasleys hooted and howled and booed from the seats in front of him.

(He was certainly not jealous of their noisiness, nor wishing that he could have somehow come without his parents.)

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It struck Dudley as strange that his parents and Harry never spoke to each other anymore.

Sure, they had never exactly gotten along...for that matter, Dudley and Harry had never gotten along when they were younger, and he had spent his teenage years honestly scared of his scrawny, magical cousin. But still, Harry had lived with them for practically his whole childhood, until he went off to that weird school of his. Why did he seem to be the only one who wanted to maintain ties? Neither his father nor his mother even mentioned Harry unless Dudley brought him up first. Harry occasionally asked how they were, but only in a terse, polite sort of way.

On Harry's most recent visit, little Lily had been honestly surprised to learn that her father and Dudley had grown up together as children. This, despite apparently being incredibly close to all of the cousins on her mother's side.

Maybe Dudley was just getting sentimental in his old age, but he thought that there was something profoundly sad about that.

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"You know, I really wish that you wouldn't do that."

"What?"

"Go around erasing Muggles' memories like that!"

"What am I supposed to do, break the Statute of Secrecy?"

"No, you should stop being so careless and letting them see you do magic in the first place! It's not right to go around and enchant people to cover up for your own laziness."

"Oh, please."

"No, not 'oh please!' Agh, this is what I hate about so many of you Purebloods—you've only been around wizards your whole life, so you don't even think of anyone else as real people! You realize that after he walks away, he might crash his car or walk into traffic because he's still dozy from your spell, don't you?"

"Look, calm down, alright?"

"Hmph. It's bad enough that they have Death Eaters going after them and don't even know it, let alone 'friendly' wizards like you."

"I hardly think what I just did can be compared to that!"

"Yes, and that's the problem, isn't it?"

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"I need to do something," Hermione muttered, idly picking one of the fallen leaves from the ground. "I've been out of school for almost six months now."

"Well, what does Ron say?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, he's no help. He just keeps saying that I could do anything I want."

"That would explain why your list of potential careers is ten pages long."

Hermione made a face, then looked back down at the leaf in her hand. It was a pretty splash of red, gold and yellow, but also crumpled and dead-looking.

Seven years of the same routine—head off to Hogwarts, study like mad, trying to achieve, to get to very top. Even that year she had helped Harry find the Horcruxes she was always looking towards a goal, trying to build that perfect future. Now the future was here, and she realized that she had no idea what she wanted do with it.

Ginny was about to leave for Holyhead to train with the Harpies. Ron, Harry and Neville were busy training to be Aurors. Luna was writing for her father's magazine while searching for a Magizoology job outside of the country. And here she was, stuck at the crossroads.

"Everything is just changing so fast," Hermione murmured, throwing the leaf back onto the ground.

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Lord Voldemort wasn't fooling anyone.

The Death Eaters knew why he was hiding in the Shrieking Shack as he sent them off to the battle. None of them dared say it, but it wasn't hard to figure out.

Harry Potter was in Hogwarts, somewhere. And while they did not understand how, the Dark Lord's actions made it clear that the boy had discovered some sort of advantage as of late.

Lord Voldemort could have entered Hogwarts Castle and defeated nearly all of their forces single-handedly.

But if so, he risked running into that boy. That one scrawny teenager, who was ostensibly nothing compared to Dumbledore or McGonagall or the Aurors or any of the other wizards who could have at least slowed the Dark Lord down.

Lord Voldemort would fight Harry Potter by the end of the night.

But the Death Eaters knew that he was afraid to do it on anybody's terms but his own.

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Sometimes, when Hermione was younger and her parents took her to the beach on holiday, they would put a note in an empty soda bottle and throw it into the water.

They never wrote anything very interesting: "Hello from Sandsend" or something simple like that. Still, Hermione had loved to imagine it bobbing its way through the ocean until it was found by some other little girl in China or the Antipodes or somewhere exotic like that.

Perhaps that was why she now found herself wading into the waters beside Shell Cottage, fishing an empty bottle out of the water.

It was empty, of course. Probably just rubbish from some Muggle family down at the other end of the beach.

A pity, she thought, remembering the amused smiles her parents would flash as they helped her wrote those missives.

For the first time, there was someone across the ocean whom she actually wanted to receive a letter from.

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Ginny was very nice, but she also had a certain obsessive streak in her personality. She also had quite a temper, though thankfully she usually kept it focused on people who deserved it.

Her brother Ron was also nice most of the time, but he could be rather unkind when he was hurting. He could also be very funny, though strangely he didn't seem to recognize that himself.

Neville was very sweet and brave, though for some strange reason he lacked much confidence. He could also be quite clueless, especially when it came to his taste in cardigans.

Harry seemed a lot like Ginny in some ways, which probably explained a lot. He seemed so normal most of the time, which made the fact that he was also Harry Potter rather unusual.

Hermione was probably the hardest to get along with; she was so stubborn and usually concerned herself with such unimportant things. But she was also clever and could almost always figure out the solution to problems.

Yes, Luna thought, as she touched up the painting on bedroom ceiling. Her friends were definitely an odd bunch, but she loved them anyway.

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"Lily, stop peeking out the window!"

"But I wanna see if he's home!"

"I know, but if he is home then he'll see you peeking!"

Lily disappeared from the window. And then, thirty seconds later:

"Al, stop peeking!"

"But I wanna—oh! He's here, he's here!"

"Okay, okay, hide—"

Sure enough Harry, having just Apparated into the garden, did spot his son as he disappeared from view, and heard the feverish whispering taking place inside his house. He smirked, paused for a moment to straighten his robes, and then strolled slowly over to the front door, knocking before he opened it.

The room looked empty for all of half a second before all of his children, along with Teddy and Ginny, jumped out from their various hiding places and threw confetti in his face.

"SURPRISE!"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

"Oh, wow!" he said, meeting his grinning wife's eyes. "I certainly didn't see this coming."

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In his private thoughts, Quirinus Quirrell had to admit that he was a bit frightened to go exploring the world on his own.

But still, he was going to do it. He would show them. He wasn't just a timid swot who could read about the Dark Arts in books—he was going to get some hands-on experience. After all, if you knew the right spells then fighting off a hag wasn't much harder than quelling a boggart. There was nothing out there that a wizard like him couldn't handle.

So he smiled as he hefted his suitcase and headed for the hearth of his Hogwarts office, forcing down his fear and letting his excitement bubble up to the surface.

He was going to go, discover some amazing creatures and most of all, prove that he wasn't just a frightened bookworm! Why, by the time he got back, he was going to be a whole new man.

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Lily Evans had such a fitting name. She really was as pretty as a flower, James thought, gazing at her with a besotted smirk.

Sure, she could be hot-headed sometimes, temperamental...especially around him. But honestly, that just made her more fetch. Every lily had its thorns, right?

("No, they don't. You're thinking of roses." "Shut up, Padfoot." "...Actually, lilies are white. Since she has red hair, why didn't her parents—" "SHUT IT PADFOOT YOU'RE RUINING MY METAPHOR.")

And her smile! It was like watching a flower opening up; now matter how hard or angry she usually look, that smile transformed her whole face into something utterly beautiful. James felt lightheaded every time he saw that.

Of course, he usually caught her smiling when she was talking to a professor...or one of her girlfriends...or a younger student whom she was helping...or Snivellus.

James gave a small, wistful sigh.

If only he could find out a way to make her smile at him.

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"I agree with Pomona. This just won't do," Filius said, shaking his head. "But what on earth can we do to deal with all of this Inter-House rivalry?"

"It isn't rivalry," Horace sniffed. "It's members of your Houses discriminating and outright abusing—"

"Well, what d'yeh expect, after all that yer House did last year?!" the new Head of Gryffindor exploded.

"Hagrid, calm down, please! You too, Horace! It won't help anything if you two start fighting!"

The two settled down, looking away from each other. However, Horace muttered, "Perhaps if Minerva hadn't sent the whole House away…"

"I can't help but think that he has a point," Pomona said, as Filius looked like he was about to object. "The students must realize that we all need each other—that we really are four pillars holding this castle together. That we'll all collapse if any of us are missing."

Filius sighed. "Too true."

"So what are we gonna do?" Hagrid wondered.

The four all glanced around the table, waiting for someone to answer.

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The Weasleys were out at Diagon Alley. For once, the Burrow was silent. Even the ghoul in the attic seemed to be dozing.

"Scabbers" hesitated for a few moments, then suddenly turned back into a man, rushed downstairs and began to raid the cupboard.

Ah! Real food! Peter thought, stuffing half a dozen biscuits into his mouth at once. And not just a bit of leftovers that Percy would sneak him after dinner. And pumpkin juice! He was tempted to go for the single cask of goblin-made wine that Arthur had hidden in the back but decided against it; he would certainly notice that was gone on whatever special occasion he was saving it for.

What to do next, what to do? He couldn't afford to waste this rare opportunity. He was sure that he could find something to entertain him in the twins' room. Or rifle through Charlie's Quidditch magazines. Or even Ron's old comic books—

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud FWOOSHing in the next room. Peter froze, and sure enough he heard footsteps coming.

Instantly he was a rat scurrying under the kitchen table.

"I can't believe him, always forgetting som—oh, who left the cupboard open?!"

Molly slammed it shut and grumbled to herself as Peter watched her feet quickly walk away.

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A few things about Olympe Maxime were quite clear: she was intelligent, a skilled witch and most of all, a proper lady. She worked hard and took herself seriously. Whatever (false, malicious) stories people might devise about her background, she would not give them room to believe that she was at all stupid, brutish or gauche.

In other words, like Rubeus Hagrid.

(It was clear which of his parents he took after.)

And yet…why wasn't she repulsed by this man, the antithesis of everything that she worked so hard to be?

Why did she find herself drawn to him, when he just reminded her of all the things that she wanted to forget?

Why did her heart beat so hard when she saw him easily subduing her team of Abraxans, sweat glistening on his face, his wild, stringy hair shining wildly in the sun?

She told herself it was just a sort of empathy—a desire to get close to somebody like her, even if she rebelled at the thought of actually admitting that similarity. But the fact was, he spoke to something buried inside her, that wild passion that all of her education and etiquette had never quite quashed.

Hagrid was not very intelligent, hardly a skilled wizard and certainly not a proper gentleman.

But Olympe had to admit that something about him thrilled her.

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"You know, we could actually get in serious trouble if anyone found out about that," said Ron.

"About what?"

"You using the Imperius Curse on Travers and that goblin! They throw people in Azkaban for that."

"We didn't exactly have a choice!" Hermione said, but it was obvious that she felt quite conflicted about the matter herself.

"I know, but still. They let Aurors use them during the First War, but the whole thing is...dodgy at best."

Harry clamped his jaw shut and looked away.

He didn't tell them that he had once tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange. Or that he had tried to use it multiple times on Snape after Dumbledore's death.

What they didn't know couldn't hurt them, right?

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(Nine o'clock)

Ron chased the giggling toddler down the hallway. "No, Hugo, HUGO! Stop taking off your nappies! I'm warning you—!"

(Noon)

Ron slowly opened the bedroom door. "Hey, Hugh, did you have a nice nap—oi, what did I tell you about keeping your clothes on, huh?!"

(Three o'clock)

"Look, Daddy's wearing clothes! Your sister's wearing clothes! Why won't you—dammit, I will use a Body-Bind if you don't hold still! I mean it!"

(Six o'clock)

Emerald flames leapt into the fireplace; Hermione stepped out, patting the soot out of her robes.

"Well, I'm home! How did things—Ron, our son is dancing around the room naked."

"Yes, he is," Ron said wearily, not even looking up from The Daily Prophet.