Author notes are at end of chapter. It's been over a year, and I've loved every minute...thanks for journeying with me. Enjoy 

Dry. His mouth was very dry.

Slowly, other thoughts began to filter in – thoughts like, "I'm supposed to be dead," and "How long have I been out?" It seemed he had only closed his eyes for a second, but he ought to be less comfortable, ought to be in more pain –

Ah. The Hospital Wing. He was definitely lying in a bed…

He tried to open his eyes, but the light was blinding, and he squeezed them shut again. He heard voices, and the click of a door closing, but they seemed to be coming from far away. He found it odd that he wasn't in more pain – hadn't his ribs been on fire just a moment ago? He tried to wiggle his fingers, but was alarmed to find he could not. Had he been paralyzed?

Slowly though, his fingers and toes came back to tingling life, and he was able to withstand the bright light streaming in through the window.

He looked around the hospital wing, and saw that a house elf occupied the bed across from him, looking very small and out of place in the human-sized bed. He also noticed the already-dying flowers next to his bed, and the assortment of letters, and hand-made cards. And was that?...yes, Hedwig was perched on the window across the way, snoring silently in a shaft of sunlight. How long had he been out?

Madame Pomfrey was scribbling in a ledger at her workstation. Harry tried to shift into a sitting position, but the pain in his ribs was still not dissipated.

"Mnng," he grunted, and Madame Pomfrey looked up, startled.

"Goodness gracious!" she said, and without even attempting to speak to him, swept from the room.

"H-hak," Harry wheezed. He intended to ask, "How long have I been out?" but his dry throat proved particularly vicious, and induced a rather painful bout of coughing, which he tried desperately to suppress.

After a few moments, Albus Dumbledore swept in, Madame Pomfrey following in his wake.

He smiled at Harry, relief printed on his wizened features – but there was something held back, something in reserve.

"Bad news first," Harry croaked.

"Of course. But do take a glass of – "

"Bad news first," Harry repeated, though the sound of Madame Pomfrey pouring him a glass of water was music to his ears.

"Voldemort escaped," Dumbledore said, after a moment's pause.

Harry closed his eyes and sank back into the hospital bed.

For one moment – just one, he had dared to hope that it all might be over – that the Prophecy was fulfilled, and he was either dead, or had finally killed Lord Voldemort. That he would either see his parents and Sirius, or be able to live out his days with his friends, trying to gain as much obscurity as possible. It seemed utterly malicious of Fate that not only had Harry survived, but Voldemort had survived as well.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, "I did my best."

Harry slowly shook his head. It wasn't Dumbledore's fault. Hadn't he said it himself? "It all comes down to me, in the end." He didn't say it out loud, because he knew Dumbledore would correct him, would tell him how brave he'd been, how strong he was, how many lesser wizards might have…he didn't want to hear it.

"I'm afraid that's not the worst of it," Dumbledore added, his head hanging heavily, "Mad-Eye Moody, Firenze, Bane, Madame Bones, and Kingsley Shacklebolt are dead, as are Louis Chauve-Souris and Topalia Nimcork…I don't believe you ever met her…a Ministry secretary, under the Imperius. A score of centaurs, and six house elves are dead. Professor McGonagall, Nymphadora Tonks, Hagrid, Emmeline Vance, Remus…er, Professor Lupin, Professor Snape, and Professor Flitwick either were treated, or are currently being treated at St. Mungo's. Grawp and his lady friend are being tended to by Madame Maxime, while Hagrid is in St. Mungo's. They will have to be relocated, unfortunately, now that the Ministry is aware of their presence, but it could have been much worse. Dobby's cousin is in critical condition, as you have probably already noticed. Fred and George are facing an inquiry from the Ministry, on charges of aiding and abetting Death Eaters…they'll be cleared, I'm sure," he added, as Harry's eyes went wide with dismay, "…and, of course…you are aware of Neville Longbottom's passing."

Harry groaned quietly, as the memory came rushing back. He noticed Dumbledore didn't mention Bellatrix Lestrange's "passing." He wondered how many other Death Eaters had finally tasted death for themselves. He also wondered whether Dumbledore knew what he had done…whether he was choking back his disgust even as they spoke.

Dumbledore sank gently onto the foot of Harry's bed, and Madame Pomfrey bustled over with a glass of water. Harry reached up to take it, and immediately regretted the ache in his chest.

"I couldn't risk doing much while you were unconscious," Madame Pomfrey said, snappishly, though Harry knew by now that that only meant she was worried, "Drink this, and the pain will dissipate."

Harry took a swallow, and he found Madame Pomfrey was correct. He was disconcerted by the red stain on the rim of the glass, however – either his lip was bleeding, or he had coughed up more blood.

"Remus?" he asked, almost fearing the answer.

"Was gravely injured, but mostly, was concerned about you. The effects of the silver will be long-lasting, unfortunately…the full damage will not be known until years from now. But he is alive, and convalescing steadily. The first of the good news," he added, with a wan smile.

Harry swallowed another gulp of water.

"And…Ron, and…"

"There were no other student casualties. Some very minor injuries…The main damage to the student body," Dumbledore sighed, "was unfortunately psychological."

"How long have I been out?" Harry asked again, eyeing the carnations decaying on his side table.

"Six days. Your friends and the Weasley family have been sick with worry…for a while, we weren't sure whether you would wake," Dumbledore said, looking extremely old and tired.

"Where are the rest of the Death Eaters?" Harry asked, "And the giants, and – "

"The giants have been incarcerated, and are awaiting trial by the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures," Dumbledore sighed heavily, "And knowing their dispositions, they are unlikely to foster better relations with the giants. While it is only Karkus and his followers on trial, and not the giant race as a whole, I have a feeling they will not draw that fine distinction. As for the Dementors, they escaped Hogwarts, and appear to be laying low – perhaps searching for easier prey elsewhere, or perhaps just biding their time."

Dumbledore drew a long, breath.

"As far as we know, we have captured every Death Eater."

Harry absorbed this information with dull shock. He knew he ought to feel happy…but it was difficult to feel anything acute at the moment…the flood of information had somehow put a damper on his feelings.

"How?"

"They were either captured or killed during battle," Dumbledore said, "and the rest of us were forced by the Ministry to undergo a strict screening process, to rule out any form-changing potions, Metamorphmagi, or Imperius curses. So far, several Imperius curses have been reversed, but nothing else has turned up, to the Ministry's great delight."

Harry sensed there was a subtle disapproval in Dumbledore's expression. He met Harry's eyes, and smiled kindly.

"It is still my suspicion that, as in the last war, several Death Eaters have escaped detection, or falsely pled the Imperius curse. But I'm afraid only time, detective work, and the Wizengamot will be able to tell."

"So..." Harry said, slowly, "Lucius Malfoy?"

"Has already been executed," Dumbledore said, softly.

"What?" Harry's eyes flew open, "Already? Did he have…didn't he have a trial, or…"

He knew he ought to be pleased…one less Death Eater roaming free…but this…

"I know it's hard to understand, Harry," Dumbledore said, sadly, "But the wizarding world is angry. This is the second time they have had to live in fear of Lord Voldemort. And now, he has attacked their children, and the place where they, themselves spent their youth…And with the Dementors no longer in our control…it seems Azkaban is neither an effective deterrent, nor satisfying enough recrimination."

Harry tried to process this, but it felt as though his brain were paused.

"Peter Pettigrew?" he asked, quietly.

"Is in custody," Dumbledore replied gently, "And awaiting trial. But yes, Harry, he most likely will also be executed."

Harry felt something welling up inside him – something very frightened. He tamped it down, hastily, before Dumbledore could sense it.

"What was Voldemort trying to do? How did you stop him?"

"Tom has always been obsessed with life and death," Dumbledore said, turning further in order to face Harry, and lacing his fingers in his lap, "It seems he developed an idea based on one of my own…an idea, which, in retrospect, may not have been such a good one," he added, sadly.

Harry felt like there were other things he ought to be asking, and saying – he still didn't know where everyone was. He wished Ron, Hermione, and Ginny could be here…but he had to know, first.

"It seems Voldemort had finally thought of a way to breach the gulf between life and death – and wanted to conduct an experiment of sorts – an experiment in dark magic, with you as his guinea pig. If the experiment failed, you would be drawn into the veil, and the prophecy would be fulfilled. If the experiment succeeded, Voldemort would have called upon an army of the dead, and may have defeated us all regardless. In the meanwhile, he launched an attack on Hogwarts that would accomplish four of his aims: to weaken the Light's last stronghold, to capture you, your Secret Keeper, and provide a distraction while he infiltrated the Ministry and attempted to summon the dead. Even if he only accomplished one of his goals, it would be enough to seriously damage our cause."

Harry's head was reeling. It was by far the most complicated plan of Lord Voldemort's he'd ever had to deal with. Dumbledore nodded, as though reading his mind.

"Yes, Harry. With an army to support him, and his fiercest generals at his side, Voldemort finally ceased his covert, terrorist operations and launched a fully-fledged, multi-faceted war on the Light. One I do not believe we have seen the end of."

Harry wondered weakly what The Light was, but was too exhausted, and hurting too much to bother with it. But even moreso, there was something urgent, bubbling hot and anxious inside of him…

"Bellatrix," Harry blurted, suddenly, "I killed her. With the Killing Curse."

There was a long silence, as Dumbledore sat with his long fingers folded, staring at the floor.

"I know," he said quietly.

"Are they going to execute me?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling not very grown-up at all.

"No," Dumbledore said quietly, "No one saw. No one knows for sure how she –"

"I do. I know for sure. I killed her."

Dumbledore said nothing to meet his challenge, not even look at him.

"I have to turn myself in."

"That would be unwise," Dumbledore said, gently. Harry wished Dumbledore would look at him, so he could see the shame in his eyes, feel adequately punished…

"It's an Unforgiveable Curse," Harry insisted, doggedly, the hot, guilty panic trying to leap from his chest.

Dumbledore put his wrinkled hand over Harry's, his skin soft with age. Harry finally met his blue eyes, which were shining softly.

"I forgive you," Dumbledore said, simply.

Harry had to look away quickly, not daring to take another breath. He held it tight, even though it made his ribs ache, keeping the tears in check as they threatened to spill over.

"There's more," he managed, quietly.

"You can tell me anything, Harry," Dumbledore promised, softly. The patience in his voice was maddening – all the sore places in his chest began to ache even more than the actual sore places in his ribcage. He wished, wildly, that Dumbledore would yell at him.

"Sirius – I…Did I really see…"

"You saw Sirius in the Mirror of Erised, Harry," Dumbledore said simply, "Whatever that means to you."

"So it wasn't really Sirius?" Harry asked, quietly, "Saying that he was proud of me…and that he was with my parents…That's only what I wanted to see?"

"I didn't say that," Dumbledore said, patiently.

"Or was it the Sirius whispering to me, in the Veil? Was that the real Sirius?"

"What is real, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, wrinkling his nose as though confronted with a particularly difficult question.

"Come off it!" Harry snapped, "Real is real. Like…" He gripped the blanket, and shook it slightly, "Real. Like this blanket is real."

"Hmm. So this is real, then?" Dumbledore said, quietly stroking the bedspread, "The things we can see, and touch? I have always felt, Harry, that what is most real is that which touches us."

"Look," Harry persisted, "Was it Sirius, or not? Is he…is he that horrible, whisper thing, or…"

"Harry, I can't tell you that," Dumbledore said gently, "because I simply don't know. It is confusing and dark magic…that is why the Veil is in the Department of Mysteries…and this is why wizardkind is not meant to tamper in Life and Death."

Harry swallowed hard, and sank back onto his pillows.

"So it was all a lie."

"I didn't say that either," Dumbledore said, just as patiently.

"If it wasn't true, it was a lie!" Harry shouted, not caring if he was rude. He was tired of this – tired of hard answers and half-truths.

"I'm afraid you'll find that very little in this world is black and white, Harry," Dumbledore said sadly, "And no one sees the same thing in any given reflection. The divide between the truth and lies is one we all must bridge for ourselves at one point."

"Well, how do I know what's true and what's not?" Harry scowled, impatiently.

"Perhaps you ought to think of the Sirius you saw not as divided between truth and a lie, but between a memory and a dream."

Harry could barely take in Dumbledore's words. Dumbledore didn't understand…why it was so important…why he needed to know…

"In the Mirror," Harry choked, quietly, "I saw – Sirius take me…into the veil."

Dumbledore remained silent. Harry again had the sensation that he was avoiding the subject, waiting for Harry to draw his own conclusions, not daring to say the wrong thing and push him away…

"And when Kings – Pettigrew took me…I just…I let him. And I let him put the Imperius on me. And during the battle…there were plenty of times I could have just hid, and waited…but I didn't…"

Dumbledore said nothing, but looked up and examined the ceiling.

"Does that mean…" Harry asked, roughly brushing away tears, "Does that mean that my deepest Desire…is…is to…"

He left his conclusion unsaid, hanging heavily in the air.

"I will say only this, Harry," Dumbledore said, after a pregnant pause, "Did you see the same thing in the Mirror this time as you did in your first year?"

"No," Harry said, "Of course not."

"Then," Dumbledore said lightly, "Your desire can always change, Harry. Voldemort attacked the school a day early – once he knew his fate, he was able to change it. If he was able to, Harry, perhaps you too, can script your own destiny, despite the Prophecies, or perhaps in conjunction with them. Hope, Harry. Even in the darkest of hours, you can always rely on the Hope that things can change. In fact, I'd say that is your primary responsibility – to live, and to hope."

Harry felt that if the Headmaster had told him this in his first year, it would have sounded like a very easy job indeed. Now, he wondered whether he could actually manage it.

"I think I will let you get some rest," Dumbledore said, standing slowly. Harry heard a subtle crick in his knee, "And inform your friends that you have regained consciousness…they will visit shortly. That is, if it is alright with you?"

Harry nodded mutely. The Professor nodded, and was about to walk off, when Harry spoke again.

"Professor? One last thing…What is the Great Divide?"

Dumbledore paused with his back to Harry. For a long time, he neither moved nor spoke.

"Another time, perhaps, Harry."

"No. Please, sir," Harry said, forcing himself to sit up, his pain now ignorable, "If you know something…please, I want to know now."

Harry could not see the Headmaster's face, but there was something defeated in his posture. After what seemed like an age, he turned slowly to face him again.

"What if I told you, Harry," he began hesitantly, "That some believe that all the magic in the world was broken in half, a long, long time ago?"

Harry frowned. "How can magic be – "

"You have seen it for yourself, Harry. Whether it be the argument between the founders, and their current houses, the Purebloods and Muggleborns, humankind and magical creatures…Or on a more abstract plane, the divide between Life and Death, or Truth and Lies."

"Alright," Harry nodded, "So…they're all connected somehow…and that's the Great Divide?"

"Yes, in brief," Dumbledore nodded.

"Oh. Alright."

But Harry sensed that there was more...something the Headmaster was still withholding.

"There's more, isn't there?"

Dumbledore couldn't meet his eye.

"What if I told you, Harry…" he began slowly, "That in the Department of Mysteries…lost now, to the ages…was another Prophecy, in addition to the two you became aware of this past year?"

Harry scowled, his blood beginning to boil.

"I'd probably ask just how many prophecies there are about me! And when was anyone going to tell me about this?" Harry snapped, "I thought that after last year, you promised to tell me – "

"Please believe me, Harry," Dumbledore said, earnestly, and Harry felt guilty at the pleading sincerity in his blue eyes, "I would have told you about this Prophecy – but no one knew it might be referring to you. There was nothing in the Prophecy that mentioned you specifically – no clues, such as the date of your birth. It is such an ancient Prophecy, that very few wizards these days give it any thought at all."

"Well," Harry said wearily, "What does it say?"

"Essentially," Dumbledore said, wearily, "That one day will come a wizard with the power to heal the Great Divide, and restore balance to the magical world."

A ringing silence met these words.

"Ah," Harry said, his voice sounding funny, "Well. If that's all…and you think…You think that I?..."

Dumbledore shook his snowy-white head.

"I don't lay claim to any theories, Harry. I do not know what to believe about this. Many wizards feel that the Prophecy will never be fulfilled…or that it will only be fulfilled at the end of time. I simply don't know."

Harry thought about this for a moment.

"Voldemort…he said…he said that together we could Heal the Divide…so he thinks it's me…or the two of us together…"

"I draw no conclusions," Dumbledore replied delicately, "I simply observe. And I observe that fracture and division have been a part of this magical world as long as any of us can remember, as sure as Prospero broke his staff."

Harry couldn't remember who Prospero was…he thought maybe he'd seen him on a Famous Witch or Wizard card…it was too much…too much information. It couldn't be real. Not on top of everything else that had happened…He felt, fully now, how exhausted he still was, even after days of being asleep…or unconscious, he didn't know which.

"And I see that wherever you go, you bring people together…where Voldemort divides, you unite, Harry. It is possible, though not necessarily true, that you are the one the Prophecy refers to. But I hope not," Dumbledore added, swiftly, and Harry noticed that his eyes were shining sadly behind his spectacles, "I may have said this before, Harry…but I rather feel you've got enough to be getting on with."

Harry slept through the night, but woke in the morning to find Hermione and Ginny asleep in the hospital bed next to him, and Ron, snoring loudly in a chair nearby. For a while, he debated waking them, but wasn't sure what to say. Finally, Ron snored so loudly he woke himself up with a jolt, blinking blearily around him. Harry grinned, in spite of himself.

"Morning," he said, quietly.

"Mm?" Ron muttered blearily. His eyes settled on Harry, and his face lit up.

"Hey," he said, quietly, "We made it."

Harry's face darkened – he remembered, with disgust, the secret thrill of relief he'd felt, when Ron's form had dissolved, slowly, turning into Neville…

Thank God it's not Ron.

He hated himself.

"Sorr – err…I'm just glad you're alright," Ron stammered, quietly.

Harry nodded. "I'm glad you are, too. How are they?"

"Worried about you," Ron confessed, his gaze falling on Ginny and Hermione. He ruffled his hair, and stifled a yawn, "We all have been. I dunno if the school's ever going to be the same. It's like everyone's walking around in a bad dream."

"Harry!"

Any further discussion was stifled as Ginny and Hermione struggled to clamber over one another in their haste to get to him, still fighting to wake themselves up. Harry grinned again.

"I was so afraid," Ginny confessed, hugging him gingerly. Harry patted her back gently, trying to ignore the pressure on his chest.

"We all were," Hermione said, rocking back and forth, waiting for her turn anxiously, "We didn't know if…we thought maybe…"

"We thought maybe it was the end," Ron finished quietly.

Harry reached out a hand, which Hermione wrung, with a watery smile.

Harry spent most of March in his hospital bed, at Madame Pomfrey's insistence. It was another week before he stopped coughing blood. Madame Pomfrey was loathe to repair him too hastily…if certain parts healed before others, they could do serious damage, and prevent him from healing himself. Dean, Seamus, Lavender, and the other Gryffindors all came to visit in turn, and to thank him, which Harry found exceedingly awkward. The Quidditch team came, and tried to distract him with woeful tales of their practices without him. The entire Weasley clan visited as well, Mrs. Weasley alternately crying and hugging him and trying to force him to eat, while the Weasley men grinned and cracked jokes. But as usual, Harry was happiest when Ron, Hermione, and Ginny would sit with him, and study, or talk about nothing, or just sleep.

The hospital wing quickly grew dull, but Harry didn't wish for a moment that he could leave its confines, for the only times he got to leave its walls were to attend funerals.

First came Mad-Eye's, which Harry was barely conscious for…he was so deep in a funk, that all he could do was stand up and sit down at the appropriate times, Hermione or Ginny squeezing his hand to jolt him aware again. Then came Madame Bones – a large Ministry affair – and then Kingsley Shacklebolt's…soon, they all blended together.

He was surprised, however, when Neville's Gran came to visit him in the hospital wing.

"We'd like you to say something next week, if you don't mind," she said, briskly.

"Me?" Harry had asked, with a sinking feeling, "Are you sure that I'm…that I'm the right person to…"

He wanted to tell her it was his fault, and he was sorry – that he had asked Neville to be his Secret Keeper – that she had lost her every descendent to Voldemort, and that the worst of it, was Voldemort had gone through them all to get to him and his parents…

"Of course," she said, just as briskly, "You were his best friend, weren't you? He talked about you all the time."

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat.

"Sure."

When the time came to speak, Harry could barely find his voice. He spoke for a while about how quiet, and constant Neville was – how he'd never done anybody a wrong in all the time he'd known him, and how hard he worked, and how brave he'd been. He felt, afterwards, that he hadn't done a good job – that he'd only been capturing bits and pieces of Neville…like taking photographs of his shoes, or his nose, and expecting people to understand the whole picture. But everyone told him afterwards it had been a lovely speech, and he'd done a very nice job, so he sat in the corner with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, in the dark, musty funeral home, and ate macaroni salad like everyone else.

"It's such a shame," Ginny said, in the sotto-voce "funeral voice" they'd all become accustomed to using, "His parents aren't even here."

"They'd just be confused," Hermione said, her voice sounding thick with suppressed tears, "And they'd probably upset everyone else…It's better this way."

"Luna looks awful," Ron said, quietly.

"Ron!"

"Well, look," he said, miserably.

Harry had been half-afraid of what Luna would say or do – she'd been avoiding them ever since the night of the attack. He thought she might turn up wearing blue polka dots and a turnip, or singing something cheerful…but surprisingly, she wore plain black robes, and sat quietly with her hands folded, her vague smile only half-pasted on. It was disconcerting.

Harry was excused from exams, and he had a feeling Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were too, if they wanted to be…Hermione was planning on taking them anyway, of course – but he noticed she didn't approach her studies with the same fervor as usual, and Ron had abandoned everything but Potions and Herbology, both of which he was determined to succeed in. Harry didn't ask, but he suspected it was some strange, private tribute to Neville.

Some days Harry went to class…some days he walked around the lake, or went to the Quidditch pitch, flying his broom in lazy circles, letting his mind go blank. Other days he visited Professor Lupin, or Hagrid, when he finally returned from St. Mungo's. One day, Harry found himself chatting with Hagrid over a cup of tea about nothing in particular, and suddenly couldn't stop crying. Hagrid had refilled his mug twice without saying a word, and he never commented on the incident or asked about it later. Quidditch was abysmal. Harry tried to play in their final match against Slytherin, but he could scarcely keep his mind on flying, let alone finding the Snitch. Even Malfoy seemed to be in a similar state of shellshock – after three hours of aimless flying, Madame Hooch summoned the Snitch, calling the game with Slytherin leading seventy to ten. There were a few half-hearted cheers from the Slytherin stands, but most of the school was just relieved that the game had concluded without incident.

One late May afternoon, Harry was seated at the edge of the lake, watching the Giant Squid flap its tentacles lazily in the sunlight, while other student swam, or took the Hogwarts rowboats out. He watched Ginny walk up from the castle, clearly distinguishable by her Weasley hair, until she reached his side and sat next to him. For a while she didn't say anything, as they watched the Squid seize Colin Creevey's oar, and chuck it to the other side of the lake.

"I was just wondering," she said at last, "If we're…anything."

Harry sighed hesitantly.

"I don't know…It's not you," he added hastily, "Just, since everything's happened, I haven't really felt…"

"I know," Ginny said quietly, "Me neither."

Hermione's words from the Astronomy tower came to mind. Hermione was usually right about things like this, wasn't she?

"Let's just see what happens," Harry said, not taking his eyes off the lake.

Ginny nodded, wordlessly. After a while, she tentatively let her shoulder touch his, and when he didn't pull away, she put her head on his shoulder, and he leaned back into her for a while. Finally, he stood, helped her to her feet, and walked her back to the castle.

Another day, when Quidditch practice was rained out (also precluding a walk around the lake), and Harry didn't feel like going to class, he found himself lying on his bed with Sirius's stack of letters in front of him.

He opened the other packet first – it was mostly boring legal things…he found the Deed to Grimmauld Place inside, along with various birth certificates and pedigrees of the Black family, the deed to Sirius's Motorbike, and several receipts from an auto shop where he'd had work done on it. By far more interesting were new pictures – a surly, teenage Sirius, forced to wear dress robes for a photo with a boy Harry could only assume was his younger brother, Regulus. There were new ones of his parents, as well, and Remus, that Harry spent hours staring at, watching them wave cheerfully and silently up at him, some in black and white, others in grainy, faded color. He even found one particularly old one of Sirius in his Hogwarts uniform, that looked like a graduation photo.

Finally, Harry only had the sealed envelope in front of him, his name written in Sirius's scrawling penmanship.

He slid his thumb under the edge, broke the seal, and slowly removed the parchment inside:

Dear Harry.

Harry felt a small thrill at seeing Sirius's handwriting…for a moment it was almost like hearing him speak again. Harry closed his eyes and smelled the parchment – it didn't smell like Sirius, exactly, but it did smell of Grimmauld place…dust, bundimuns, and stale Firewhiskey. He opened his eyes, and continued to read:

Dear Harry,

If you're reading this, it means that I'm dead, and I didn't get a chance to say goodbye.

I know this probably comes as a shock – the first time, nobody thought that any of us could go…we all had escaped danger so many times at Hogwarts – made us right cocky. No one ever likes to think that things like this can happen, especially not when you're young. So I thought I ought to put some of this down on parchment for you, just in case.

I know you're upset. And I can also guess that you're not too likely to tell anyone about it…but that could just be wishful thinking on my part. Perhaps some selfish part of me is hoping that you'll miss me as much as I'll miss you...But in all seriousness, I really don't want you to be too sad over me, Harry. You've lost a lot of people in your life, and I know too well that it doesn't get easier…in fact, it gets worse. I don't want to be something that makes you unhappy. You've had enough of that.

I don't want you to feel guilty, either. I can't imagine any rightful way this would be your fault, except that you tend to take responsibility for everything. Your father and I took responsibility for so little in our lives, it baffled us how Remus survived carrying all that around in his head. I hardly knew the definition of the word until you were born. But I know I felt guilty about your parents for the longest time after they died, and I still do to some extent. So it's no great stretch of the imagination to guess that you'll feel guilty over me. I think it's normal to feel that there's things you ought to have said, or done. That's part of why I'm writing this to you – so neither of us has to feel guilty for leaving anything unsaid.

When my parents died, I was more angry than sad…I keep thinking of what I'd want Prongs to say to me, if he could send me a letter, and I think I'd just want him and your mum to tell me that they're alright, and that I should go ahead and live my life.

Of course, if you're reading this, I don't really know what's happened to me, or where I am…so I won't say the words when it's not really going to be any comfort to you. I can promise, though, that if there's a way for me to check up on you, or to let you know I'm alright, I'll find it. And if there's any justice, I'll be with your parents, which would make me really happy, Harry, honestly.

When I was in Azkaban, the only thing that kept me alive was knowing that I was innocent, and that Pettigrew was out there. I had only myself and my worst memories for the longest time. The reason I tell you this, is that getting out of Azkaban gave me my freedom, but it didn't give me my life back. It took meeting you to feel alive again, and I want to thank you for that. If I had to go through all those years in Azkaban in order to meet you, then I would have done it twice over.

But, shortly after I'd found you, I knew the fight against Voldemort had to start again. I knew it would be just as brutal and just as unfair as the first one, which I suppose you're finding out for yourself. I also knew I couldn't stay away (though Dumbledore did his best to keep me out of it). Since you are actually reading this, my best guess is that some Dark Wizard and I crossed paths while I was on a mission for the Order. I can't really imagine any other way I'd go. Not really the "old age" sort, am I? So, if it's any comfort, this is the way I'd have chosen for myself. (Hope I got him.)

I also want to apologize for a few things…I'm sorry I couldn't save your Mum and Dad – I tried, I honestly did. I really thought that switching Secret Keepers would save them…I often wished you could have gotten them back when you were thirteen, instead of me. And, while we're on the subject…I know you caught us in a bit of an unflattering moment during your Occlumency practice last year…please believe me when I say James was a good person, one of the best I've ever met.

I'm also sorry that I couldn't be with you more – I was either in Azkaban, or on the run. And I know there were a few times I might not have seemed it, but the time I got to spend with you here at Grimmauld Place really did make me happy – I'm sorry if I didn't always act like it. It this place that I hate, Harry, not spending time with you.

In case you ever wonder, I'll never regret joining the Order. I wish I could watch you grow up, of course, but I know you'll turn out right, because I knew Lily and James, and I know Remus, and Albus, and Arthur and Molly.

And I also know you, Harry. Even with all of the people I see in you, you are your own person. Your own man. I know I'm not your "real" father, but I'm as proud of you as any "real" son a father could have.

A few words about Voldemort – You've already done more than your share. And I'm telling you that you don't have to do a damn thing more if you don't want to. If you want to go put your head in the sand somewhere and settle down and stay out of it, and hang the rest of the world, nobody would think worse of you, least of all me.

I also know you'll never do that. So here's my advice:

When you don't know what to do, think of what your father and I would do, and then think of what Remus and your mother would do, and settle for something in between. That formula kept James and I from getting expelled more than once, and we still got to have plenty of fun.

You can trust Remus, Dumbledore, Molly, and Arthur with your life. They're mad about you, and they'd never steer you wrong. (Do bear in mind, though, that Molly tends to err on the side of safety. I feel fairly confident that you and I share the predisposition for the opposite.)

Your Dad once said that all of us were like "old shoes." Ron and Hermione are your old shoes, Harry. It seems you're not getting along so well with each other this year…just don't leave anything unsaid, and keep them close, even after Hogwarts.

Finally, don't let anyone tell you who you are. They told me for twelve years I was a murderer, and there were times when I almost believed them. But as long as you know who you are, as long as you know the truth, it doesn't matter what anyone else says. The truth isn't necessarily happy, but it's what keeps you sane.

As long as you remember who you are, and make your own decisions, I know that you'll be fine. I'm really very proud of you, Harry. And it's not really goodbye – I'll always be there to help you when you need me, just the way Prongs was there for you. I'll find a way.

So be happy, and go get 'im.

I love you.

Sirius

Harry let out a long, slow breath, before he noticed the arrow at the bottom of the page. He flipped it over, not sure whether he was ready to see what was written there or not.

(PS – Don't worry about sorting everything out – I'll let Remus take care of it. Basically, if you want anything, just take it. Just please don't get rid of Mum, or Kreacher. I know they're both insufferable, but Kreacher knows too much, and besides…just don't get rid of them. You'll know what I mean someday, having lived with the Dursleys.

(PPS – One more thing – I thought of something that might make you feel a little bit better…tell Remus that August 31st is your property – I'm giving it to you. He'll know what to do.)

(PPS – Sorry, one last thing – I hate to ask you for anything when you've already got so much on your mind, but you have to try and take care of Remus for me, especially now. Just try and spend some more time with him – If I'm first, that means he's the last of us, and he needs you.)

So it was that Harry found himself standing in Lupin's office a few days later.

"I think I've got everything prepared," Remus said, frowning into Dumbledore's Pensieve, and prodding the silvery-white stuff inside with his wand. The light made his scars look strange, and made the finger-shaped burns on his neck stand out even more nastily, but Harry couldn't help but smile – he had the same slightly anxious look that Hermione had when she was working on something important.

"That looks about right," he said, finally, "Just let me know if it's not clear enough, or if you end up in a related memory."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Harry said, stepping forward, "I just don't get why Sirius would give me my birthday – How is that supposed to cheer me up? What does that even mean?"

Lupin smiled.

"Just take a look."

Harry walked over, and place a hand on either side of the Pensieve. Staring into the swirling silver, he began to make out shapes – there was a room…it looked very plain…sort of ugly, to be honest. He slowly lowered his head until his nose just barely touched the surface…When he felt the tumbling sensation, he squeezed his eyes shut, opening them when he once again felt right-side up…

Harry opened his eyes to see that he was in one of the waiting room or a lobby of sorts…There were a few couches, and several scattered chairs in the corner, along with an ugly potted plant, and a coffee table laden with battered, well-worn magazines. Harry thought he recognized Witch Weekly, and several issues of the Daily Prophet. To his left was a receptionist desk, manned by a forbidding, bespectacled blonde witch, whose pink lipstick was feathering into the wrinkles around her mouth. Two swinging double doors across the room from him burst open, and he recognized the lurid green robes of St. Mungo's on the two Healers dashing by. A dark-haired young man seated in the corner looked up abruptly, his face ruggedly handsome, but drawn with worry.

Sirius let out a loud, disappointed sigh, stretched his legs, and crossed them the opposite way, dejectedly tossing a battered copy of Witch Weekly onto the nearby table. Suddenly, the door behind Harry banged open, and in rushed Remus Lupin, looking seven shades of sickly, with one arm in and one arm out of his work robes. The large, shaggy sideburns obscuring his slightly pointed ears also tended not to compliment his disheveled appearance.

"Just got – work," he gasped, panting, "How long?"

"Three hours, now," Sirius said calmly, but Harry could tell from the jerky way he pushed some magazines off the adjacent seat for Remus that he was nervous about something. Or someone, more like.

"How's James holding up?" Remus asked, taking off his work robes and setting his battered briefcase down.

Harry frowned – why was his father in St. Mungo's?

"A wreck. Naturally," Sirius said, "They wouldn't let me in. But I stood outside the door for a while. I had to get out of there, though."

"That bad?" Remus asked, blanching slightly.

"In my long and sordid pranking career," Sirius said, leaning the chair back on two legs, "I have heard plenty of women screaming..."

"Or perhaps in your other sordid career," Remus muttered under his breath.

"…but I have never heard anything like that," Sirius said, bouncing his knees slightly.

Remus wiped his brow, and looked over at the door pensively. "Lily…I should be there."

"Don't even bother," Sirius growled, eyeing the nurse at the reception desk grumpily, "They shooed me out of there as soon as it was time to push. And now that I've come out here, they won't let me back in."

Suddenly, something clicked into place in Harry's mind, and he clapped a hand over his mouth.

Birthday – his birthday! But not just any birthday, his real birthday…

Sirius had asked Remus to share his memory of Harry's birth…That was his gift, and Remus's…His last gift…

Remus sighed deeply. "Well, I'm sure they'd tell us if there was anything wrong."

"Hmph."

Sirius seemed to be growling inaudibly, and he fidgeted in his chair again, unable to find a comfortable place for his lanky legs.

"Oh – Peter told me to say 'Hello,' and says he'll be along around six o'clock," Remus said conversationally. Harry could tell he was trying to distract Sirius. "Couldn't get out of work. Been showing up late recently – he's afraid he'll be sacked."

"Good old Wormtail," said Sirius, craning his neck to try and glance through the windowed door.

They sat in silence for a quite a long while. Harry, invisible to them both, decided to go sit next to them. He took the opportunity to study their faces – Remus, still scarred but quite a bit younger. He noticed the circles under his eyes were still quite dark – it must have been nearing the full moon. Sirius chewed on his lower lip casually, and continued to rock forward and back on two legs of his chair.

The door swung open suddenly, and the two men anxiously sat up in their seats, and craned their necks around for a look. A slightly pudgy blonde woman was wheeled through the door in a wheelchair, holding a small bundle in her arms – she was pushed by a brown-haired man with a sweet, shy smile that Harry seemed to recognize.

"Remus! Sirius!" the woman said, her blue eyes wide in surprise, "What are you doing here? Is it Lily?"

"Yes, actually," Remus said politely, standing and crossing over to chat, as Sirius slumped disappointedly back in his chair, "Just a little while ago. But I hadn't heard the good news! Congratulations Alice."

"Oh, thank you!" she said, gently shifting the baby in her arms, "Just a few days ago, myself. Isn't it funny how that happens? Always in threes. First Molly, a few months ago…"

Sirius "mmphed" ironically.

"And last year…and the year before that…"

Alice blushed, and gazed lovingly at her new arrival, "Yes, well. Our turn, now…We've only told close family, though…there were a few minor complications, so we wanted to wait…but they're sending us home, so I imagine we'll be owling everyone to let them know."

"Boy or girl?" Remus asked, clearly trying to take interest and not look too anxious about Lily and James.

"Boy. Neville," Alice said, beaming.

"After my father," Frank said in a quiet, gentle voice.

"You must be over the moon." Lupin said, smiling approvingly, "Lily will be so pleased to hear it."

"Yes!" Alice said laughing pleasantly, "Hopefully they'll get to be friends. We'll have to set up a few play dates. Though…Oh…"

She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "They are planning to go into hiding, aren't they?"

Remus shifted uncomfortably. Harry could see that it was the truth from Lupin's expression.

"I'm not really sure…" he stammered.

"We should get going, sweetheart," Frank said quietly, "Your mother is waiting."

"I won't keep you," Remus said, bending down to kiss Alice on the cheek, and clapping Frank on the shoulder, "And congratulations again."

"Thank you! And to you, too! Give my love to Lily. Bye, Sirius," she added politely, waving to the figure who was now reading the same copy of Witch Weekly again.

"Take care," Sirius said, not taking his eyes from the magazine.

"He's a bit preoccupied," Remus muttered apologetically.

Frank wheeled Alice and Neville out of the room, and Remus returned to sit next to Sirius.

"That was rude of you, you know."

"I'm a bit preoccupied, Moony," Sirius quoted sarcastically.

"Yes, I know," Remus added dryly, "You just keep enjoying Witch Weekly, I promise not to distract you."

"Hmph."

They sat quietly for a while, and then another while, Sirius finally flinging aside the magazine, and rubbing his eyes wearily. Harry's neck was just starting to bother him from leaning into the Pensieve, when his father burst through the double doors, clad in a green Healer uniform.

"Boy!" he shouted crazily, his amber eyes nearly as wild as his black hair, "It's a boy!"

"Boy!" Sirius yelled, leaping to his feet.

"Lily?" Remus asked, tentatively.

"Perfect! Beautiful!" James bellowed, tears and sweat sparkling all over his face, "I'm a father! Me, a father!" he emphasized for the receptionist, who smiled disinterestedly, and returned to her work.

"Cigars!" roared Sirius, taking out his wand and waving it at the receptionist's desk, "Tobaccio!"

Various pens and pencils went zipping through the air, to the receptionist's startled squeak, transforming themselves to cigars mid-flight. Sirius had been a bit overzealous, however, and hadn't really made plans for catching them. Most of them bounced off of their heads and torsos. Harry noticed his father instinctively snatch one out of the air, and smiled.

"Mr. Potter, this is a hospital!" the receptionist said sniffily, "And you and your visitors are absolutely not permitted to smoke!"

"Oh, boil your head!" Sirius hollered joyfully, "I'm an uncle! Moony, we're uncles!"

"No!" James said, clapping one hand on Sirius's shoulder, "You're a godfather."

"And Lily's alright?" Remus asked cautiously, but he was already smiling.

James face suddenly fell.

"Good god, I have a mother!" he said, smacking a hand to his forehead, "Err, wife! I have to go…"

"We'll come with you!"

"Mr. Potter," piped up the receptionist, "I have to remind your visitors that—"

"OH, pipe down, I said!" Sirius growled, and the receptionist seemed intimidated into obedience.

Harry found himself being pulled behind them, as they burst through the double-doors. They walked down a few feet, and entered another brightly-lit room, where he found his mother laying back on her hospital bed, sweaty and pale, holding him in her arms. Harry felt slightly squeamish as he glanced about the room – Healers were snapping their gloves off their hands backwards, and tossing them into bins. There was quite a bit more blood than he'd expected on their green robes, and a female Healer was matter-of-factly tidying up some intimidating silver instruments, while another was throwing some soiled blankets into a plastic bag.

"James Potter," said a gentle voice, and Harry snapped his attention back to his mother's face, "Meet your son."

His mother was beaming, and despite the fact that strands of her red hair were sticking to her face, and despite the fact that she looked utterly exhausted, her green eyes were shining softly, and Harry thought he'd never seen her look more beautiful in any of his pictures. His father carefully took the bundle from her arms, and held it reverently…

"Me," Harry thought, and felt his heart leap and catch in his throat, "That's me there…"

"He's perfect," James breathed, his eyes sparkling.

"Ten fingers, ten toes, and messy black hair," Lily said, leaning back onto the pillows with a weary smile. Remus unobtrusively crossed to the other side of the bed, and set about pouring her some ice water.

Sirius eagerly half-extended his hands.

"Can…may I?"

Harry was shocked – it was as though they were transformed. None of their usual swagger or bravado remained. Sirius in particular looked absolutely floored. He stood hesitantly stretching his arms out to take the tiny bundle from James, as though half-fearing he would refuse.

James delicately passed the bundle into Sirius's arms.

"Mind his head," Lily said, with a warm smile.

Sirius wrapped one arm underneath Harry, and put the other over him, protectively, gazing down into his face. He began to laugh, at first quietly, then uncontrollably.

"He's incredible!" he laughed, awestruck, "He looks just like you!"

"I should hope so," Lily said, gazing lovingly up at James. Remus handed her a glass of water. While Sirius and James laughed and watched Harry do a whole lot of nothing, Lily put a hand on his arm.

"Thank you, Remus," she said quietly, "I knew James would ask Sirius, but I wanted to let you know how grateful I am to you…I think of you as Harry's godfather as well."

Remus blushed, "That's alright, Lily."

"I mean it," she said, after taking a sip of water.

"I know," Remus said, pushing the hair out of her face with a tender smile, his eyes shining.

"Sirius," Lily said quietly, turning her head, "Let Remus have a turn."

"Oh, that's alright," said Remus, suddenly looking very afraid.

"Don't be ridiculous!" James said, giving Sirius a little push.

Harry watched as Sirius gently passed the small white bundle into Remus's arms.

"That's alright," he stammered anxiously glancing at Lily and James, "I don't know if I ought—"

But there he was, holding an infant Harry in his arms. He looked nearly panic-stricken, as though he were afraid he might break him. Sirius laughed.

"It's a baby, Moony, not a bomb."

"You won't hurt him," James said, his eyes shining affectionately.

Remus seemed to relax his frame slightly, and brought the bundle of blankets closer to his chest.

"Hello," he said, nearly in a whisper, his eyes welling up, "Hello."

Harry heard himself whimper slightly, and saw a tiny fist waving…

"He likes you," Lily said smiling, while James clutched her hand and pulled himself up a chair to sit next to her.

"He has your eyes, Lily," Remus choked happily, a tear running down his face.

"Alright, alright, a little less moist there," Sirius teased.

Laughing abruptly, Remus handed Harry back to his mother and father.

"So Dad," Sirius said joyfully, "What's his name?"

"Harry," James said, without hesitation, "Harry James Potter."

"Perfect," Lily said, smiling gently. She gave James a squelchy-sounding kiss.

"I'm a godfather!" Sirius bellowed joyfully, flinging his arms wide, and Harry heard himself let out an indignant squall in response. The three of them laughed, as Sirius's delight instantly became a mask of concern.

All too soon, Harry felt as though he were being pulled gently backwards. The scene before him seemed to stretch farther and farther, until all he saw was swirling white mist, and then he was back in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where he found a much grayer Remus Lupin waiting for him, an identical tear rolling down his scarred, smiling face.

"Visiting hours are almost over," the head Healer said, arching a suspicious eyebrow, "Why don't you run along?"

The last day of the Hogwarts term found one of its students not preparing for the Leaving Feast, as most were, but rather, standing at the entrance to the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's.

"I know they are," said the pudgy, blonde-haired boy, "I'll only be a minute."

The nurse gave him a look that was almost pitying, then shook her head as though he was crazy.

"It's your life. I guess."

"Thanks," the boy said, awkwardly.

He walked over to the low, rounded crafts table, where Alice Longbottom was doing a crayon drawing. Frank Longbottom lay rigid and unmoving in his nearby bed, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling.

"That's veeeery good, Alice!" one of the Healers beamed, helping to hold the paper steady.

"Art therapy, today?" the blonde boy asked, shyly.

The Healer's patient, indulgent smile melted into a scowl as she looked up at him, but Alice Longbottom simply glanced at him, smiled vaguely, and returned to drawing a house. The blonde boy winced at her childlike scrawl, at the vivid green crayon…

"Hello, mum."

"I'm sorry," the Healer said, firmly, "But visiting hours are – "

"Almost over, I know. I'm just here to say goodbye for the summer."

The Healer narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to retort, but Alice sighed, and made some muttering noises in the back of her throat, before pushing a blue crayon across the table.

Awkward in his school uniform, the blonde-haired boy sat at the table and began coloring, and the Healer closed her mouth.

About an hour later, a bushy-haired girl and a lanky, freckled redhead intruded into the Spell Damage ward.

"Err, we ought to get going," said the girl, stepping forward. The lanky redhead said nothing, but shifted weight uncomfortably, grimacing apologetically at the head Healer, who was scowling from her place at the desk.

"Oh…alright," said the boy, distractedly, "Err…Mum? Listen…I've got to go away for a while…okay? And…I might be a long time. But I'll come back and visit when I can."

"She doesn't understand," the Healer sitting across from him said abruptly, her pale complexion turning red, "And it's time for you to go."

"Right," the pudgy boy said, miserably, "Sorry, I'll just…sorry."

But as he was turning to leave, Alice Longbottom reached out a bony hand and clutched his wrist, her firm grip belying her slim fingers.

She reached into the pocket of her hospital robes, and pressed a Droobles Best Blowing Gum wrapper into the boy's hand. He looked at the wrapper mutely.

For a moment nobody moved or spoke, but just stood there with their mouths hanging open. The pudgy, blond-haired boy nodded mutely, his eyes wide, and then, just like nothing had ever happened, Alice Longbottom went back to her drawing.

The three friends walked mutely out of the Spell Damage ward, and it wasn't until they reached the corridor that one of them spoke.

"Why?" Hermione asked, her voice quiet and businesslike, her gait quick with suppressed anger and concern.

"It's just something I had to do," said the boy, "Hang on, give me just a second."

Neville Longbottom stepped into the nearby men's room, and after a moment, Harry Potter stepped out.

"It's weird," Ron said, quietly.

"I know it is," Harry repeated patiently, "but it's just something I had to do."

"If this is some kind of bizarre penance, Harry," Hermione muttered fiercely, not looking at either of them, "I really don't think –"

"They don't understand, Hermione. They didn't even go to his funeral – "

"You're not helping them to understand, Harry!"

"Drop it," Ron said, quietly, and they remained quiet until they got to the main lobby.

"Right, grab a hand," Ron said, holding out a hand to each of them.

Harry made a slight, involuntary grimace, before taking Ron's hand.

"You're safe, Harry," Hermione said reassuringly, all traces of annoyance evaporating from her expression as she leaned around Ron, trying to meet Harry's eye, "You had a bad first experience that's all. It's nothing to be – "

"I know, I'm fine. Go ahead."

Ron sighed.

Harry felt a sickly familiar pop in his ears, and there they were, at Hogsmeade Station.

"Come on," Ron said, releasing their hands with a small squeeze, "We'll walk the rest of the way. It's nice out."

"Well done, Ron," Hermione said, putting an arm around his waist, "Flying colors. I'm so proud."

"I'm not totally useless," he said, some familiar humor and warmth creeping back into his smile. Harry felt a breeze ruffle his hair, the sun beating warmly on their shoulders. He relaxed a bit.

Harry knew that Dumbledore was bound to make a speech at the Leaving Feast – he knew that the hall would be draped in black, that all would be asked to raise their glass and remember Neville Longbottom…perhaps he'd mention the others who died, defending Hogwarts. Perhaps he'd make another call for unity.

Harry found he didn't really care…he knew it was Dumbledore's job, to help the other students understand, to help them cope – but words were so useless now – he'd heard so many in the past month or so.

Soon they'd be enjoying a nice, silent train ride home, Harry pressing his head against the cool glass, to watch the countryside whip by, while Ron and Ginny played chess perhaps, and Hermione buried herself in her latest book.

And then there would be the Weasleys waiting at the Platform to fuss, and there would be hugs all around, and much shaking of hands and kissing of cheeks, with promises of owls and as short a stay at Privet Drive as they could guarantee. And then he'd find the Dursleys, waiting as far away as they dared, scowls firmly in place, ready to host another summer of nightmares and isolation.

But Harry wasn't really worried about that either. Harry couldn't even bring himself to worry about Voldemort, though his presence was always a tingle at the back of his mind, like being aware of a slight toothache, or a cut on the roof of your mouth.

Just for the moment, walking in the waning sunlight with his best friends at his side, Hogwarts castle looming large and blessedly permanent ahead of them, the rest of the world could go away for the first time in months, and Harry dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, everything really would be alright.

Author Notes / Postscript:

IT'S COMPLETE: -)

Thank you so much for reading my first ever fan fic! I really hope you enjoyed…

First of all, Jenn the Freak has unfortunately has to forgo her Harry Potter trading cards, so that means Klondike Bar, it's your lucky day! You were the 1001st review. ;-) Just drop me an email with your mailing address, and I'll send them out straight away.

If you'd like another chance to win some trading cards, perhaps you'd like to take part in a little…

ART CONTEST! ;-)

To celebrate! Just pick any scene from the FF. Submissions are fine in any medium, from now until 7/16/05, when HBP comes out and renders this entire thing Alternate Universe. :lol: Just put it together, post it on the internet (snapfish, photobucket, and deviantart are great for that) and link me:) Or, you can link me to your LJ, or however you want to do it. First prize gets fame, glory, and a pack of Harry Potter trading cards. I know, not a tremendous prize...but it's just for fun. ;-)

Here's what's up in the future:

a) Firenze's Fav is going to be my editor on this monstrosity…so Chapter One will FINALLY resemble something legible:lol: And hopefully any little plot holes or missing threads (not that there are any, of COURSE! ;-) ) will be ironed out smoothly. I'm also hoping to divide chapters more evenly, and think of titles for them.

b) Once it's edited, I'll probably post it in different Potterarchives, maybe enter it in a few contests…but there aren't many novel-length Potterfic contests…:Shrug: We'll see.

: -)

c) So err…what did you think? ;) Let me know! Question too, if you have them…if there's a bunch, I'll post a Q&A as an additional chapter.

d) I'm currently writing a column of editorials over at The – Lumos Libris, that's me! ;-) If you're into detailed Potter analysis, you'll really enjoy it…plus the Patronus has news, info, and lots of other fun things for devoted Potterphiles.

e) I'm also planning on doing a lot more drabbling over at the Harry Potter 100 LJ – a site that holds weekly, one-hundred word drabble contests on a theme – check it out, I highly recommend it! I've been thinking of turning some of my drabbles into short ficlets, which I will post on One more thing…

...now that I've completed my first fan fiction novel, I'm starting a completely original novel of my own :) It's based on an idea my friend and I co-hatched in high school, and then abandoned cruelly to its fate in my computer's graveyard. And now that I've said it out loud, I actually have to do it. :) Soon as I get it underway (probably this May) I'll post a link.

I'll post these, and all other updates to my livejournal, bluejeanphoenix.

One last word, and then good night, indeed:

Thank you all so very much…it has been a remarkable and very enjoyable journey. Your support has kept me going all the way to the finish line, and I think, has challenged me to stick to my guns, tackle something really big, and finish it. Your criticism has helped me become a better writer, and your praise has humbled me, and helped me to believe in myself as a writer.

Lots of love, and all the best in all your endeavors!

BJ