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Epilogue: All Souls' Day . . .

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The sun was making the glass in the infirmary windows sparkle with crystal ferns where they had frosted in the cold. Harry sat in a chair by Hermione's bed, slightly damp from his post-Quidditch shower, regaling her with a tale of the mishaps that had gone on during the scrimmage. Ron hadn't finished washing up yet, and so it was a perfect opportunity to tell Hermione about Ron's little "incident."

"—so, he thinks he's killed the poor thing. And he's almost as upset as he was over Pigwidgeon, and he's running around hysterically, with it cradled in his hands, yammering on about how he can't take it into the infirmary because it's not a person, and he can't take it up with him, because his owl will try to eat it. But what he doesn't realise is—"

Hermione barely managed to speak between giggles "Golden Snidgets play dead?"

"Got it in one. So as he's launched into about his third speech about how awful it is that he's killed this poor little innocent bird, the thing wakes up, tries to take off and whacks him right in the nose. Hard. It wheels around without missing a beat and just flies away. And Ron, who not five seconds before had been bemoaning the loss of this 'beautiful creature,' starts cursing such a blue streak after it that even Gred and Forge are completely amazed at the sheer profane creativity their little brother is displaying."

They both laughed for a couple of minutes, and Hermione said "How's his nose?"

"Not a scratch. Can't even tell he got hit. But I have to say, that was quite a moment."

"I can imagine." And she dissolved back into laughter. As she regained some control of herself, she looked at Harry. Her face became surprisingly serious. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I, um, I want to tell you something."

"Yeah? About Ro—?"

"NO!" She blushed, and looked down at her hands for a second, but then she seemed to refocus. "Seriously. You know last night?"

Any trace of a smile left Harry's face. As if he could possibly forget.  She went on "I wanted to tell you something about—about what happened." She stared off into space. "When I, um, when I went out there—it wasn't like I didn't want to live—I did—but I knew it was a trade. And I was okay with it, Harry, really I was. I knew what I was trading for and nothing else really seemed to matter right then." She hesitated. "I thought—I thought you'd want to know that."

She met his eyes then, and they looked at each other for a moment. Harry was glad that she didn't seem to want him to respond, because he really didn't think he could have at that moment.

Ron, his hair wet and sticking up, came in with some smuggled butterbeer. "Left-over from the Feast. Thought we could do with some more festivity up here." He sat down on the end of Hermione's bed. He offered a bottle to Harry, but Harry shook his head. Ron held one out to Hermione, but before she could take it, he pulled it back and opened it for her.

"Ron! I can do that myself."

"Oh right, of course, Miss 'I'm sick—just woken up.' " Ron said sceptically. Hermione smacked him and he yelped. "Oh, I see how it is. I think you're just having one over on Pomfrey now. Nobody with a right hook like that could possibly be ill. Anyway, I've got something else for you, too." He pulled a box out of his knapsack and handed it to her. She examined it, puzzled.

"Ron," Hermione said. "I don't eat sugar quills."

"I know." He grinned. "But I thought you'd like them anyway."

"Why would you think that?"

Ron looked at her innocently. "I just—I, you know, figured they'd match your other box—the one in your book bag. Now you have a set." He shook his head. "Ah well, if you really don't eat them, don't worry about it, then. I'll just take care of both of them for you. Wouldn't want those little buggers lying about for just anyone to eat."

As he was speaking, Hermione had turned bright red.  "How did—those were from—I never—ohhh." And she buried her face in her hands.

Ron reached over and ruffled her hair fondly.

"You're not the only one with a good memory, you know."

Harry stood up from his chair. From what he could tell, it was definitely time for him to go. He waved good-bye to his friends.

"I'm going down to the common room," he said, "I'll see you two later." Ron nodded, not really seeming to be listening, and Harry walked towards the door. He turned back for a moment and said "Thanks, Hermione."

"Sure." She looked up and smiled at him, and he left the infirmary. He was a bit relieved about it.

He decided that Madam Pomfrey had a point—best to stay out of that place as much as possible, and he walked back towards Gryffindor a little more quickly. He went in through the portrait hole, wandered over to an overstuffed chair and sat down. It was the first time that he'd really had a bit to himself all day. Harry looked out the bay window in front of him. Stunning blue sky or not, the Quidditch scrimmage that afternoon had reminded him that it was still abnormally cold for November. The frost had remained on the grounds, broken by dark footprints of the students who had crossed it. He wondered if any of the ones he was looking at were from the night before—whether they were his or Ron's or Ginny's. He was glad that no one had come over to talk to him; he just wanted to sit there and be alone.  Someone tapped his shoulder. He sighed, exasperated—apparently, he had spoken too soon.

He was about to snap at the intruder when he saw who it was. Ginny Weasley sat down in the chair next to his. He closed his mouth.

"Hi, Harry," she said. He nodded, acknowledging the greeting, but still not really feeling like talking. She took a deep breath. "I rang my dad this morning. On the fire." Harry raised an eyebrow.

"What for?" he asked.

"I wanted to check something with him," Ginny said slowly. "I called him about the Floo Network. The cottage—the ruined wall, you know, with the old fireplace. The one we used."

"Yeah?" Harry looked at her, puzzled.

"It's not on the Network. Not even on the Hogwarts internal one. It hasn't been since—since Voldemort was in power."

"That can't be right, Ginny. We used it."

"No, it's right. It is. They marked when it was removed—1981. They did all of that stuff to keep track of where Death-Eaters could and couldn't pop up."

"But if it was off the Network, then how did we get through?"

"I don't know—but it wasn't on the Floo Network. We really did get lucky." Ginny shivered a bit. "That was even closer than we thought. I don't know . . ." She trailed off, and then shook herself, breaking the moment. She smiled. "Maybe that's another part of Harry's Law."

"Ron told you about that?" Harry was suddenly very unimpressed with his best friend.

But Ginny wasn't paying attention anymore. She replied absently "Ron tells everybody about that. He's got a big mouth . . . I'll um, I'll see you later, all right Harry? I just, I want to think about some stuff." She got up. As she made her way towards the portrait hole, she looked back over her shoulder, calling "And don't think that I've forgotten that neither you nor Ron came to get me when Hermione woke up. You promised."

Harry grimaced. He had just ended up on the wrong side of a formidable Weasley. Might as well pack his bags for the infirmary now. At least Hermione would have company. He snickered to himself. Not that she was lacking in that currently. He sighed and looked out the window again, staring again at the footprints marring the frost. His weary mind drifted, still wandering over the past few days as it wound itself down and he fell asleep for the first time in over 24 hours.

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He was in the small room again, looking down at that stupid, crumbly old paper.

The eyes had reappeared on its surface, still closed.

 As if from very far away, he heard Hermione's words, but it wasn't her voice.

(I won't let you . . .)

The eyes opened. Bright green and all too familiar, they looked back at him, smiling. He could see the hand touching her forehead more clearly now. It was a child's hand.

(Mumma?)

(Nothing else really mattered right then.)

(I thought that you'd want to know that.)

The image faded away. Harry reached out to the blank parchment, trying to bring it back, but it crumbled away under his fingertips, leaving nothing but dust, and it blew away as a gust of wind swept through the window.

Something touched his arm, and he looked away from the desk reluctantly. The girl in the cloak was still there and she took his hand. Echoing his other dreams, she led him to the window, where the wind was still coming in.

The field was still trapped in twilight, but he couldn't see anything like before. The glow from the tree line had disappeared. He turned back to the girl, puzzled, and for the first time she spoke

"Look again."

He did, and this time his vision focussed in on the clearing. It was dim, but he could still make out the shapes of the trees and shrubs around him. Something was different this time, though, besides the absent glow. The yew was gone. He turned his head, looking around, wondering if he was just looking from a different angle. But the yew had disappeared. There was no sign of—suddenly he did a double take. The alder that Ron had been sitting on was no longer toppled and wrecked. It was standing, straight and healthy, as if it had never fallen.

Before he could look again, the clearing receded and he was back in the window, still feeling the wind against his face and in his hair.

The girl spoke again, and there was a smile in her voice. "Harry's Law, eh?" Some of her bright hair escaped from her hood as she leaned against him, and they looked out over the field, watching the stars come out.

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"The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery.
There is always more mystery."
~Anais Nin

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Appendix: Sources of the Chapter Titles:

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1.  "A man's friendships are one of the best measures of his worth."

~Charles Darwin

2. "Friendships are fragile things, and require as much handling as any other fragile and precious thing."
           ~Randolph S. Bourne

3. Quote taken from "The Only Thing We Have To Fear"

4. "When people talk, listen completely. Most people never listen."

~Ernest Hemingway

5. "Sympathy constitutes friendship; but in love there is a sort of antipathy, or opposing passion.

  Each strives to be the other, and both together make up one whole."

~Samuel Taylor Coleridge

6. "It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves."
           ~William Shakespeare

7. "Greater love has no man than this; that he lay down his life for his friends."

~The Christian Gospels; John 15: 12-13

8. "We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife.

But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him?

Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence."

~Joseph Roux

9.  "A tiny change today brings us to a dramatically different tomorrow."

~Richard Bach

10. "Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength; loving someone deeply gives you courage."

~Lao-Tzu

Epilogue:  On the Catholic Calendar of Saints, November 2nd is All Soul's Day.

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A/N: Well, that's it. Thanks for reading this far. Glad you made it. J

Just so you know—if you think I'm terrible for putting the characters through this, I went right there with them. I've never really made myself cry before when I'm writing, but "Remind me to tell her I don't mind" broke my heart. Damn you, Ron, for being so sweet and oblivious and really, really sorry.

Also, how documentation-driven and pathetic am I? I just wrote a FANFICTION with an APPENDIX. See what academia does to simple, everyday people?