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            ALL LESSONS WERE suspended, all examinations postponed. Some students were hurried away from Hogwarts by their parents over the next couple of days — the Patil twins were gone before breakfast on the morning following Dumbledore's death, and Zacharias Smith was escorted from the castle by his haughty-looking father. Seamus Finnigan, on the other hand, refused point-blank to accompany his mother home; they had a shouting match in the entrance hall that was resolved when she agreed that he could remain behind for the funeral. She had difficulty in finding a bed in Hogsmeade, Seamus told Elara, Harry, and Ron,for wizards and witches were pouring into the village, preparing to pay their last respects to Dumbledore. 

            Some excitement was caused among the younger students, who had never seen it before, when a powder-blue carriage the size of a house, pulled by a dozen giant winged palominos, came soaring out of the sky in the late afternoon before the funeral and landed on the edge of the forest. 

            Elara watched from a window as a gigantic and handsome olive-skinned, black-haired woman descended the carriage steps and threw herself into the waiting Hagrid's arms. Meanwhile a delegation of Ministry officials, including the Minister of Magic himself, was being accommodated within the castle. Elara was diligently avoiding contact with any of them; she was sure that, sooner or later, she would be asked again to account for Dumbledore's last excursion from Hogwarts. 

            Elara, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and were now spending all of their time together. Usually they had classes and assignments filling their schedules, but a certain weight hung even on the morning dew drops. The beautiful weather seemed to mock them; Elara could imagine how it would have been if Dumbledore had not died, and they had had this time together at the very end of the year, all examinations finished, the pressure of homework lifted.

            They visited the hospital wing twice a day: Neville had been discharged, but Bill remained under Madam Pomfrey's care. His scars were as bad as ever — in truth, he now bore a distinct resemblance to Mad-Eye Moody, though thankfully with both eyes and legs —but in personality he seemed just the same as ever. All that appeared to have changed was that he now had a great liking for very rare steaks.

            ". . . so eet ees lucky 'e is marrying me," said Fleur happily, plumping up Bill's pillows, "because ze British overcook their meat, I 'ave always said this."

            Elara, Harry, Ron,  and Hermione sat beside the open window of the Gryffindor common room, looking out over the twilit grounds

            "Anyone else we know died?" Ron asked Hermione, who was perusing the Evening Prophet.

            Hermione winced at the forced toughness in his voice. 

            "No,"she said reprovingly, folding up the newspaper. "They're still looking for Snape but no sign . . ."

            "Of course there isn't," said Harry, who became angry every time this subject cropped up. "They won't find Snape till they find Voldemort, and seeing as they've never managed to do that in all this time . . ."

            Elara's fingers quickly found his, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

            "I found something out this morning, in the library," said Hermione, leaning forward in her seat

            "R.A.B.?" said Elara, sitting up straight.

            She did not feel the way she had so often felt before, excited, curious, burning to get to the bottom of a mystery; she simply knew that the task of discovering the truth about the real Horcrux had to be completed before she could move a little farther along the dark and winding path stretching ahead of her, the path that she, Harry, and Dumbledore had set out upon together, and which she now knew they would have to journey alone. 

            There might still be as many as four Horcruxes out there somewhere, and each would need to be found and eliminated before there was even a possibility that Voldemort could be killed. She kept reciting their names to himself, as though by listing them she could bring them within reach: the locket. . . the cup . . . the snake . . . something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's. . . the locket . . . the cup . . . the snake . . . something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's . . .

            This mantra seemed to pulse through Elara's mind as she fell asleep at night in Harry's arms, and her dreams were thick with cups, lockets, and mysterious objects that she could not quite reach, though Dumbledore helpfully offered Elara a rope ladder that turned to snakes the moment she began to climb. . . .

            She had shown Hermione the note inside the locket the morning after Dumbledore's death, and although Hermione had not immediately recognized the initials as belonging to some obscure wizard about whom she had been reading, she had since been rushing off to the library a little more often than was strictly necessary for somebody who had no homework to do.

            "No," she said sadly, "I've been trying, you two, but I haven't found anything. . . . There are a couple of reasonably well-known wizards with those initials — Rosalind Antigone Bungs . . . Rupert 'Axebanger' Brookstanton . . . but they don't seem to fit at all. Judging by that note, the person who stole the Horcrux knew Voldemort, and I can't find a shred of evidence that Bungs or Axebanger ever had anything to do with him. . . . No, actually, it's about . . . well, Snape."

            She looked nervous even saying the name again.

            "What about him?" asked Harry heavily, slumping back in his chair.

            "Well, it's just that I was sort of right about the Half-Blood Prince business," she said tentatively.

            "D'you have to rub it in, Hermione? How d'you think I feel about that now?"

            "No — no — Harry, I didn't mean that!" she said hastily, looking around to check that they were not being overheard. "It's just that I was right about Eileen Prince once owning the book. You see. . . she was Snape's mother!"

            "I thought she wasn't much of a looker," said Ron. 

             Hermione ignored him.

            "I was going through the rest of the old Prophets and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she'd given birth to a —"

            "— murderer," spat Elara.

            "Well . . . yes," said Hermione. "So . . . I was sort of right .Snape must have been proud of being 'half a Prince,' you see? Tobias Snape was a Muggle from what it said in the Prophet."

            "Yeah, that fits," said Harry. "He'd play up the pure-blood side so he could get in with Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them. . . .He's just like Voldemort. Pure-blood mother, Muggle father . . .ashamed of his parentage, trying to make himself feared using the Dark Arts, gave himself an impressive new name — Lord Voldemort — the Half-Blood Prince — how could Dumbledore have missed — ?"

            He broke off, looking out the window. Elara sighed, toying with her hair.

            "I still don't get why he didn't turn you in for using that book," said Ron. "He must've known where you were getting it all from."

            "He knew," said Harry bitterly. "He knew when I used Sectumsempra. He didn't really need Legilimency. . . . He might even have known before then, with Slughorn talking about how brilliant I was at Potions. . . . Shouldn't have left his old book in the bottom of that cupboard, should he?"

            "But why didn't he turn you in?"

            "I don't think he wanted to associate himself with that book," said Hermione. "I don't think Dumbledore would have liked it very much if he'd known. And even if Snape pretended it hadn't been his, Slughorn would have recognized his writing at once. Anyway, the book was left in Snape's old classroom, and I'll bet Dumbledore knew his mother was called 'Prince.' "

            "I should've shown the book to Dumbledore," said Harry. "All that time he was showing me how Voldemort was evil even when he was at school, and I had proof Snape was too —"

            " 'Evil' is a strong word," said Hermione quietly. 

            "You were the one who kept telling me the book was dangerous!"

            "I'm trying to say, Harry, that you're putting too much blame on yourself. And you too, Elara. Don't think I don't notice. Anyways, I thought the Prince seemed to have a nasty sense of humor, but I would never have guessed he was a potential killer. . . ." 

            "None of us could've guessed Snape would . . . you know," said Ron.

            Silence fell between them, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but Elara was sure that they, like her, were thinking about the following morning, when Dumbledore's body would be laid to rest. 

            She had never attended a funeral before; there had been no body to bury when Sirius had died. She did not know what to expect and was a little worried about what she might see, about how she would feel. She wondered whether Dumbledore's death would be more real to her once it was over. 

            Elara, by second nature, slipped her hand into Harry's and gripped it tightly.

            Though she had moments when the horrible fact of it threatened to overwhelm her, there were blank stretches of numbness where, despite the fact that nobody was talking about anything else in the whole castle, she still found it difficult to believe that Dumbledore had really gone. 

            Admittedly she had not, as she had with Sirius, looked desperately for some kind of loophole, some way that Dumbledore would come back. . . . She felt in her pocket for the cold chain of the fake Horcrux, which she now carried with him everywhere, not as a talisman, but as a reminder of what it had cost and what remained still to do.

            Elara rose early to pack the next day; the Hogwarts Express would be leaving an hour after the funeral. She met Harry on her way down to the Great Hall. Not a single word was shared between them as they walked, his arm around her waist.

            Downstairs, they found the mood in the Great Hall subdued. Everybody was wearing their dress robes and no one seemed very hungry. Professor McGonagall had left the throne like chair in the middle of the staff table empty. Hagrid's chair was deserted too; Elara thought that perhaps he had not been able to face breakfast, but Snape's place had been unceremoniously filled by Rufus Scrimgeour. 

           Elara met his yellowish eyes as they scanned the Hall and glared. Scrimgeour immediately looked away. Among Scrimgeour's entourage Elara spotted the red hair and horn-rimmed glasses of Percy Weasley. Ron gave no sign that he was aware of Percy, apart from stabbing pieces of kipper with unwonted venom.

            "This may not be appropriate," whispered Elara to Ron, "but I am more than willing to set Percy on fire. Just tell me when."

            Over at the Slytherin table Crabbe and Goyle were muttering together. Hulking boys though they were, they looked oddly lonely without the tall, pale figure of Draco between them, bossing them around. Elara had also been thinking quite a lot about Draco. 

            She had not forgotten the fear in Draco's voice on that tower top, nor the fact that he had lowered his wand before the other Death Eaters arrived. Elara did not believe that Draco would have killed Dumbledore. 

            Where, Elara wondered, was Draco now, and what was Voldemort making him do under threat of killing him and his parents?

            Elara's thoughts were interrupted by a nudge in the ribs from Harry. 

             Professor McGonagall had risen to her feet, and the mournful hum in the Hall died away at once.

            "It is nearly time," she said. "Please follow your Heads of Houses out into the grounds. Gryffindors, after me."

            Harry's hand immediately found Elara's. A warmth spread over her as she truly realized that she wasn't alone. She'd spent so much time in a dark numbness she forgot she had Harry.

            They filed out from behind their benches in near silence. Elara glimpsed Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver.

            She had never seen Professor Sprout, Head of the Hufflepuffs, looking so clean; there was not a single patch on her hat, and when they reached the entrance hall, they found Madam Pince standing beside Filch, she in a thick black veil that fell to her knees, he in an ancient black suit and tie reeking of mothballs. 

            They were heading, as Elara saw when she stepped out onto the stone steps from the front doors, toward the lake. The warmth of the sun caressed her face as they followed Professor McGonagall in silence to the place where hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. 

            An aisle ran down the center of them: There was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It was the most beautiful summer's day. An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the chairs; shabby and smart, old and young. Most Elara did not recognize, but a few she did, including members of the Order of the Phoenix: Kingsley Shacklebolt; Mad-Eye Moody; Corrine and Oliver; Nymphie, her hair miraculously returned to vividest pink; Remus Lupin, with whom she seemed to be holding hands (finally); Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Bill supported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin, and Aurora, her striking mess of curls standing out against her elegant dress.

           Then there was Madame Maxime, who took up two and a half chairs on her own; Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron in London; Arabella Figg, Harry's Squib neighbor; the hairy bass player from the Wizarding group the Weird Sisters; Ernie Prang, driver of the Knight Bus; Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley; and some people whom Elara merely knew by sight, such as the barman of the Hog's Head and the witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. 

            The castle ghosts were there too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when they moved, shimmering insubstantially on the gleaming air. Elara, Harry, Ron, and Hermione filed into seats at the end of a row beside the lake. People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a breeze in the grass, but the bird song was louder by far. 

            The crowd continued to swell; with a great rush of affection for both of them, Elara saw Neville being helped into a seat by Luna. Neville and Luna alone of the D.A. had responded to Hermione's summons the night that Dumbledore had died, and Elara knew why: They were the ones who had missed the D.A. most . . .probably the ones who had checked their coins regularly in the hope that there would be another meeting.

            Cornelius Fudge walked past toward the front rows, his expression miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual; Elara next recognized Rita Skeeter, who, she was infuriated to see, had a notebook clutched in her red-taloned hand, and then, with a worse jolt of fury, Dolores Umbridge, an unconvincing expression of grief upon her toad like face, a black velvet bow set atop her iron-colored curls. 

            Harry must have noticed the Umbitch too, seeing as an arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, gluing her to her seat.

            At the sight of the centaur Firenze, who was standing like a sentinel near the water's edge, Umbridge gave a start and scurried hastily into a seat a good distance away. The staff was seated at last. Elara could see Scrimgeour looking grave and dignified in the front row with Professor McGonagall.Sh e wondered whether Scrimgeour or any of these important people were really sorry that Dumbledore was dead. 

            But then she heard music, strange, otherworldly music, and she forgot her dislike of the Ministry and her ever burning desire to overthrow it to look around for the source of the song. She was not the only one: Many heads were turning, searching, a little alarmed.

            "In there," whispered Harry in Elara's ear.

            And she saw them in the clear green sunlit water, inches below the surface, reminding her horribly of the Inferi: a chorus of merpeople singing in a strange language she did not understand, their pallid faces rippling, their purplish hair flowing all around them.

            The music made the hair on Elara's neck stand up, and yet it was not unpleasant. It spoke very clearly of loss and of despair. As she looked down into the wild faces of the singers, she had the feeling that they, at least, were sorry for Dumbledore's passing. Then Harry nudged her again and she looked around.

            Hagrid was walking slowly up the aisle between the chairs. He was crying quite silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars, was what Elara knew to be Dumbledore's body. 

            A sharp pain rose in Elara's throat at this sight: For a moment, the strange music and the knowledge that Dumbledore's body was so close seemed to take all warmth from the day. For the first time in a couple years, hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

            Soon, her face was buried in Harry's shoulder, crying quietly. She felt Harry rub her back slowly as her crying slowed to shaky breaths. She wiped her eyes before looking up, not caring if the mascara Lavender had given her just an hour before smeared.

            Hagrid seemed to have placed the body carefully upon the table. Now he retreated down the aisle, blowing his nose with loud trumpeting noises that drew scandalized looks from some, including, Elara saw, Dolores Umbridge . . . but Elara knew that Dumbledore would not have cared. 

            Harry tried to make a friendly gesture to Hagrid as he passed, but Hagrid's eyes were so swollen it was a wonder he could see where he was going. 

            Elara glanced at the back row to which Hagrid was heading and realized what was guiding him, for there, dressed in a jacket and trousers each the size of a small marquee, was the giant Grawp, his great ugly boulderlike head bowed, docile, almost human. Hagrid sat down next to his half-brother, and Grawp patted Hagrid hard on the head, so that his chair legs sank into the ground. 

            Elara had a wonderful momentary urge to laugh. But then the music stopped, and he turned to face the front again. A little tufty-haired man in plain black robes had got to his feet and stood now in front of Dumbledore's body. Elara could not hear what he was saying. Odd words floated back to them over the hundreds of heads. 

            "Nobility of spirit" . . . "intellectual contribution" . . . "greatness of heart" . . . 

            It did not mean very much. It had little to do with Dumbledore as Elara had known him. She suddenly remembered Dumbledore's idea of a few words, "nitwit," "oddment," "blubber," and "tweak," and again had to suppress agrin. . . . What was the matter with her?

            There was a soft splashing noise to her left and she saw that the merpeople had broken the surface to listen too. She remembered Dumbledore crouching at the water's edge two years ago, very close to where Elara now sat, and conversing in Mermish with the Merchieftainess. Elara wondered where Dumbledore had learned Mermish. 

            There was so much she had never asked him, so much she should have said. . . .And then, without warning, it swept over her, the dreadful truth, more completely and undeniably than it had until now.

            Dumbledore was dead, gone. . . . 

            Harry seemed to be truly realizing it too. His grip on Elara's hand tightened. She peered curiously to see covering his eyes with his hand. Unsure of how to comfort Harry other than knowing her general presence calmed him, she rested her head against his shoulder, her thumb gliding over his.

            Small touches to let him know she was still here.

            There was movement among the trees. The centaurs had come to pay their respects too. They did not move into the open but Elara saw them standing quite still, half hidden in shadow, watching the wizards, their bows hanging at their sides. 

            Elara's free hand was clenched tightly as her mind raced.

            She could not let anybody else stand between her and Voldemort, her destiny, her ultimate end. It was foretold that she protected the Wizarding World.

            The little man in black had stopped speaking at last and resumed his seat. Elara waited for somebody else to get to their feet; she expected speeches, probably from the Minister, but nobody moved.

            Then several people screamed. Bright, white flames had erupted around Dumbledore's body and the table upon which it lay: Higher and higher they rose, obscuring the body. Harry's hand gripped hers ever tighter as white smoke spiraled into the air and made strange shapes: Elara thought, for one heart-stopping moment, that she saw a phoenix fly joyfully into the blue, but next second the fire had vanished. 

            In its place was a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore's body and the table on which he had rested. There were a few more cries of shock as a shower of arrows soared through the air, but they fell far short of the crowd. It was, Elara knew, the centaurs' tribute: She saw them turn tail and disappear back into the cool trees. 

            Likewise, the merpeople sank slowly back into the green water and were lost from view. 

            "Lara," whispered Harry, "can we be anywhere but here?"

            Wordlessly, Elara tugged Harry up and the slipped away through the crowd. They were walking along the bank of the lake, when Elara stopped to tug off her heels and Harry stooped over to pick up a rather smooth rock.

            "Cursed, wretched shoes," muttered Elara, yanking off her second heel and discarding it.

            "There are some things I left off the list I gave you when I had taken Felix," said Harry, determinedly looking everywhere but Elara. "I love that you're impetuous and daring, a little too bold and way to fucking fearless. And your eyes. . . . I love the way your eyes light up whenever someone says, 'it might be dangerous'. You're a firecracker, and I can't believe you're mine."

            Elara's head shifted slightly to the side. Where was this coming from?

            "Harry, what — "

            "I was just thinking," said Harry, still refusing to meet Elara's gaze, "I was thinking about all the things I should have told Dumbledore. . . . and I wanted to tell you before it's too late."

            Wordlessly, Elara strode over to Harry, reached her hands up so they were laced through his hair, stood on her toes, and placed a gentle kiss to his lightning scar.

            Harry finally met her soft gaze before shifting his gaze downwards again.

            " 'M sorry," he mumbled, "I never mean for you to get pulled into this. . . . for you to have to risk your life. . . ."

           "Harry," said Elara, gentler than she'd ever spoken, "I'd choose you, in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality. I'd find you, and I'd choose you."

            "Harry! Elara!" came another voice.

            They turned. Rufus Scrimgeour was limping rapidly toward them around the bank, leaning on his walking stick.

            "I've been hoping to have a word . . . do you mind if I walk a little way with the two of you?"

            "No," said Harry indifferently, and set off again.

            Elara thought otherwise, but she was too tired for an argument.

            "This was a dreadful tragedy," said Scrimgeour quietly. "I cannot tell you how appalled I was to hear of it. Dumbledore was a very great wizard. We had our disagreements, as you know, but no one knows better than I —"

            "What do you want?" asked Elara flatly.

            Scrimgeour looked annoyed, but as before, hastily modified his expression to one of sorrowful understanding.

            "You both are, of course, devastated," he said. "I know that you two were very close to Dumbledore. I think you may have been his favorite pupils ever. The bond between the three of you —"

            "For fuck's sake, what do you want?" Elara repeated, coming to a halt.

            Scrimgeour stopped too, leaned on his stick, and stared at Elara, his expression shrewd now.

            "The word is that you two were with him when he left the school the night that he died."

            "Whose word?" said Harry.

            "Somebody Stupefied a Death Eater on top of the tower after Dumbledore died. There were also three broomsticks up there. The Ministry can add two and two, Harry."

            "Glad to hear you lot can do basic maths," said Harry. "Well, where Lara and I went with Dumbledore and what we did is Lara and I's business. He didn't want people toknow." 

            "Such loyalty is admirable, of course," said Scrimgeour, who seemed to be restraining his irritation with difficulty, "but Dumbledore is gone, you two. He's gone." 

            "Oh my God!" exclaimed Elara, feigning shock, "that's who that funeral was for? I thought it was for Umbitch. . . . Oh, I feel so awful for smiling the whole time — "

            "He will only be gone from the school when none here are loyal to him," said Harry.

            "My dear boy . . . even Dumbledore cannot return from the —" 

            "I am not saying he can. You wouldn't understand. But I've got nothing to tell you." 

            Scrimgeour hesitated, then said, in what was evidently supposed to be a tone of delicacy, "The Ministry can offer you all sorts of protection, you know, you two. I would be delighted to place a couple of my Aurors at your service —"

            Harry laughed. 

            "You truly underestimate Elara, Minister. I believe it was prophesied she'd do the protecting. Besides, she has power Voldemort could only fathom of attaining." 

            "So," said Scrimgeour, his voice cold now, "the request I made of you at Christmas —" 

            "What request? Oh yeah . . . the one where I tell the world what a great job you're doing in exchange for —"

             "— for raising everyone's morale!" snapped Scrimgeour. 

            Elara considered him for a moment. 

            "Released Stan Shunpike yet? Fired that bitch — " 

            Scrimgeour turned a nasty purple color highly reminiscent of the times Elara saw Harry's Uncle Vernon. 

            "I see you are —" 

             "Dumbledore's kids through and through," said Harry. "That's right." 

            Scrimgeour glared at them for another moment, then turned and limped away without another word. Elara could see Percy and the rest of the Ministry delegation waiting for him, casting nervous glances at the sobbing Hagrid and Grawp, who were still in their seats. 

            Ron and Hermione were hurrying toward Elara and Harry, passing Scrimgeour going in the opposite direction. Elara and Harry turned and walked slowly on, waiting for them to catch up, which they finally did in the shade of a beech tree under which they had sat in happier times. 

            "What did Scrimgeour want?" Hermione whispered. 

            "Same as he wanted at Christmas," shrugged Elara. "Wanted us to give him inside information on Dumbledore and be the Ministry's new poster kids." 

            Ron seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then he said loudly to Hermione, "Look, let me go back and hit Percy!" 

            "No," she said firmly, grabbing his arm. 

            "It'll make me feel better!" 

            Elara snorted. Harry laughed. Even Hermione grinned a little, though her smile faded as she looked up at the castle. 

            "I can't bear the idea that we might never come back," she said softly. "How can Hogwarts close?" 

            "Maybe it won't," said Ron. "We're not in any more danger here than we are at home, are we? Everywhere's the same now. I'd even say Hogwarts is safer, there are more wizards inside to defend the place. What d'you reckon, you two?" 

            "I don't think we'll be coming back even if it does reopen," said Harry. 

            Ron gaped at them, but Hermione said sadly, "I knew you were going to say that. But then what will you do?" 

            "I'm going back to the Dursleys' once more, because Dumbledore wanted me to," said Harry. "But it'll be a short visit, and then I'll be gone for good." 

            "I'll be. . . . preparing," said Elara, distinctively nodding towards Hermione, who seemed to understand as hot tears threatened to spill once again.

            "But where will you two go if you don't come back to school?" 

            "I thought I might go back to Godric's Hollow," Harry muttered. "For me, it started there, all of it. I've just got a feeling I need to go there. And I can visit my parents' graves, I'd like that." 

            "And I have a question I need answering somehow," said Elara, closing her eyes to savor the light breeze against her skin.

            "And then what?" said Ron. 

            "Then we've got to track down the rest of the Horcruxes, haven't we?" said Harry, his eyes upon Dumbledore's white tomb, reflected in the water on the other side of the lake. "That's what he wanted us to do, that's why he told us all about them. If Dumbledore was right — and I'm sure he was — there are still four of them outthere. Lara and I've got to find them and destroy them, and then I've got to go after the seventh bit of Voldemort's soul, the bit that's still in his body, and I'm the one who's going to kill him. And if I meet Severus Snape along the way," he added, "so much the better for me, so much the worse for him." 

            There was a long silence. The crowd had almost dispersed now, the stragglers giving the monumental figure of Grawp a wide berth as he cuddled Hagrid, whose howls of grief were still echoing across the water. 

            "We'll be there, you two," said Ron. 

            "What?" 

           "At your aunt and uncle's house, Harry," said Ron. "And then we'll go with you wherever you're going." 

           "No —" said Harry quickly. 

            "You said to us once before," said Hermione quietly, "that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?" 

            "We're with you whatever happens," said Ron. "But you two, you're going to have to come round my mum and dad's house before wedo anything else, even Godric's Hollow."

            "Why?" 

            "Bill and Fleur's wedding, remember?" 

            Elara looked at Ron, startled; the idea that anything as normal as a wedding could still exist seemed incredible and yet wonderful. 

            "Yeah, we shouldn't miss that," said Elara finally. 

            Her hand closed automatically around Harry's, but in spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path she saw stretching ahead for herself, in spite of the final meeting with Voldemort she knew must come, whether in a month, in a year, or in ten, she felt her heart lift at the thought that there was still some time before her final chapter. 

            Elara stretched.

            "I think I'm going to go to bed," she said, pushing herself up from the ground.

            "It's noon?"

            "Time isn't real," waved away Elara and she reached for her heels.

            She considered putting them on again for a moment, but sighed instead and slung them over her shoulder.

            "I'll go with you," said Harry, also making to stand up.

            And together, hand in hand, they set off towards the castle, into their final chapters.

☾✶☽

AUTHOR'S NOTE

— y'all. . . . .  i can't believe it. . . . one more part

written: august 14, 2020
published: august 14, 2020