Investigator

Christmas Day, Forbidden Forest

Harry took a deep breath and surveyed the Forbidden Forest, peering warily into its depths. It was still early in the morning, and dawn had barely begun. The looming silhouette of the forest struck a majestic shadow against the unusually fiery morning sky.

Harry sighed. He had put this off as long as possible, but he could not make excuses any longer. As the days went by, he found it harder and harder to maintain a control on the Elder Wand – so much so that he absolutely refused to go back to the Burrow with the Weasleys. Of course, Ginny had not been happy about that.

She had been annoyed throughout the last day of the winter term – Harry had received offers from every single one of his friends at Hogwarts to stay with them for Christmas; the problem was, most of those friends were female. Astoria had invited him to Greengrass Manor, Nandini had asked him accompany her during a family visit to India, Demelza had hinted at going to the Quidditch World Cup in Timbuktu and Gabrielle had just flat out asked him to go with her to France.

Even Luna had asked him if he wanted to come over to the Lovegoods' when staying at the Burrow. And Hermione had surreptitiously asked him if he wanted to accompany her on a vacation with her parents – apparently, they were going to the United States that year.

Moreover, all of the offers had been salacious – the girls had all had a gleam in their eyes and a saucy grin on their faces when they had asked him. And Ginny was very annoyed at that – strangely though (or perhaps predictably), she had seemed least threatened by Gabrielle's offer of going to France. Apparently, his girlfriend was slowly coming to terms with Gabrielle's presence in their relationship.

Either way, Harry had rejected all of them. He had been too complacent and had put off his concerns about the Elder Wand for too long – the encounter with Audrey had proved that. He did not want to be a tool for his magical artefact, he wanted the artefact to be his tool.

And the winter vacations were convenient for the next step in his quest for control. Every single student at Hogwarts that year, except for him, had apparently signed on to go back home for the vacations. Harry turned out to be the only student actually staying back at Hogwarts that year – and that was very fortuitous for him, because it meant there were very few eyes watching him now.

He supposed a war could do that to people – they were all thankful for the fact that they had made it through the war safe and sound; they craved familial attention. And the memory of the Battle of Hogwarts was too fresh in most parents' minds.

And so, here Harry was, steeling himself for what he was about to do next.

In truth, it was the fact that he wanted the artefact that was the main problem – the one thing that bothered him about his next step. Harry knew what he was about to do went directly against the promise he had made to Dumbledore. Against the promise he had made to himself.

He wanted to summon the Resurrection Stone.

He had promised to leave the Resurrection Stone in the same place he had dropped it – lost forever to time. He knew what it felt like to hold the stone in his hands and use it. The feeling of utter abandonment, of sorrow, of the perverse pleasure of meeting your loved ones after death, whispers of the comforting embrace of death.

Of course, neither the Stone nor the Cloak were as powerful as the Wand when it came to mental suggestion. Where the Wand pushed and tugged at his brain, compelling him to act, the Cloak influenced and nudged, subtly advising him to remain under the radar. But the Stone was an entirely different cup of tea – it whispered and tempted, telling you of the wonders that await you beyond this life and of the glorious bliss of oblivion.

He shuddered at the memory of that last fateful march into the forest, surrounded by spectre's of his loved ones. He had actually been happy then – almost morbidly joyful to meet his own demise.

And yet, he needed that solution. He needed to know how Dumbledore controlled the Wand. He needed to ask his mentor how to go about using it.

"Accio," Harry whispered, raising his wand towards the forest and concentrating on his memory of the stone – the shape of the stone, its texture, the cold feeling of holding it in his hands and the veiled whispers of death.

Then, he waited.

***

Christmas Day, The Burrow

Ginny watched Hermione like a hawk from the corner of the breakfast table. The pretty brunette had arrived at the Burrow early that morning and had joined them for breakfast, waiting for Ron to make his way down. She supposed Hermione was here to give Ron his Christmas gift in person. But that was not what was plaguing her thoughts at that moment.

Gabrielle's words on the train back from Hogwarts had wormed their way into her head and were stuck there. And she could not shake them off.

***

A week ago, Hogwarts Express

Ginny hissed in surprise as she was pushed up against the wall inside the Prefects' Carriage. She had just been tagging along with the rest of the Prefects on her way out when she was seized by her shoulders and pushed up against the wall right next to the door. She had been at the end of the group of prefects that had made her way outside the carriage and had not expected this sudden assault.

And then the grip loosened and her attacker let go. Ginny pulled out her wand on reflex and looked around wildly. Suddenly, a figure appeared near the door inside the carriage, pulling off what looked like an invisibility cloak.

"Gabrielle?" Ginny asked, bewildered, as she pocketed her wand in relief at the familiar sight of the blonde girl, "Where did you get that cloak? Is that Harry's?"

Gabrielle smiled mischievously at Ginny as the half-veela pushed her against the wall again. Gabrielle drew close to her and Ginny tensed, expecting a kiss as usual – Gabrielle had never actually initiated something like this behind Harry's back; the mischievous veela had always done this in front of Ginny's boyfriend before. But Gabrielle did not quite kiss her. She just leaned in and hovered, her luscious lips just poised millimetres away from Ginny's.

Ginny looked down at Gabrielle's lips, breathing heavily as she took in the sight of the half-veela's perfect face and threw caution to the winds. She leaned right back in. Their lips met and they kissed. Gabrielle hugged Ginny and pressed the redhead into her, mashing their breasts together and teasing Ginny's lips with her tongue. Ginny moaned into Gabrielle's mouth.

Then the half-veela drew off, leaving Ginny completely breathless. "Harry has an invisibility cloak?" Gabrielle asked, intrigued.

Ginny nodded. She cupped Gabrielle's ass, feeling the amazing curves with her small hands. She had wanted to do this forever, and she could not resist her attraction to Gabrielle anymore… not at such close proximity. Gabrielle grinned and leaned in again, nipping at Ginny's chin and trailing soft kisses down her neck – it was eerily reminiscent of their first such encounter at the Weasleys' Easter Party.

"Yes," Ginny moaned, "He does."

"An actual Demiguise cloak?" Gabrielle asked, pausing her kisses for a moment, "Or one of those WWW products?"

Ginny shook her head, trying to snap out of her momentary daze – the half-veela's kisses always had that effect on her. She saw Gabrielle's cloak lying in the middle of the room – it was surprisingly furry and had an ornate hood, with runes stitched all over it.

"Actually," Ginny said, as she looked at Gabrielle's cloak, "I have no idea. It looks nothing like your cloak."

Gabrielle let go of her and looked Ginny in the eyes. The blonde then held out her wand and floated the cloak over.

"Are you sure?" she asked, handing the cloak over to Ginny.

Ginny slowly felt the texture of the cloth. It was definitely furry, almost like strands of linen sewn into a cotton base. But the most glaring feature of the cloak were the elaborate runic patterns along its hem. She traced her hand along one such runic scheme.

"Yeah," Ginny said, clearing her throat, "It doesn't have a hood, for one. And these runes – I don't think I've ever seen a rune on Harry's cloak."

"You cannot have a cloak without runes – they're what make the cloak work properly," Gabrielle said, crossing her arms.

"Well, we can always take a look at the cloak when we get back – I'm sure Harry will let us take a look if we ask nicely," Ginny said, handing the cloak back to Gabrielle.

Gabrielle smiled. "You just referred to me and you as 'we'", she said.

Ginny blushed. "I… er…," she stammered.

"Oh, don't worry," Gabrielle said, "I know you're still making up your mind about all of this, but I can wait. Make your peace with it over the holidays – when we come back, I'll be there, asking you the same question.

"And then," the half-veela continued with a glint in her eye, her eyes not wavering in the slightest as she caught Ginny' chin and lifted it to face her, "You will say yes."

Ginny nodded faintly.

"But," Gabrielle continued, "That is not why I called you here."

Ginny looked at Gabrielle inquisitively.

"I called you here to discuss Hermione," Gabrielle said.

Ginny sighed. "Look, Gabby," she said, "I thought about what you said."

Gabrielle opened her mouth to speak, but Ginny hushed her and continued, "You're absolutely right… or rather, you would be absolutely right if Hermione was making a play for Harry. You're right – that would be bad. But I don't think she's in love with Harry at all. If she is, why's she still with Ron?"

Gabrielle just looked disapprovingly at Ginny and said, "I'm not asking you to second-guess who Hermione loves and who she does not love. All I'm asking you to do is to say 'no' to her the next time she asks if she can sleep with Harry. Or better yet, go to her right now and tell her she cannot sleep with Harry any more. Period."

There was silence in the room as Ginny contemplated Gabrielle's words.

"Fine," she said eventually, "I'll tell her as soon as I can. That I'm putting my foot down."

Gabrielle smiled and leaned in again. Ginny closed her eyes and sighed as she felt Gabrielle's fingers hold her and caress her. Their lips met, and they kissed again.

***

Christmas Day, The Burrow

Part of Ginny was relieved that she was slowly coming to terms with the fact that Gabrielle would be joining the relationship soon – Gabrielle was on her side. Moreover, Gabrielle was skilled, talented, beautiful and most importantly, dominant. She could take the initiative in their relationship and stay toe to toe with Harry... or at least, she could try and keep up with Harry.

And that was a relief – Ginny had always felt that she was really no match for Harry's appetite and did not deserve him, but with Gabrielle on her side, she felt confident. It was almost like Gabrielle was turning into an older sister who could protect Ginny and guide her with Harry. Which was ironic, because Gabrielle was actually a year younger than her.

And as the days went by, Ginny was quite convinced that Gabrielle was infinitely more preferable to someone like Hermione or say, Astoria – who was alarming her recently with her overt flirtations with Ginny's boyfriend. Or even, Nandini. Because all three of those girls were utter romantics, much like herself.

Moreover, they did not seem to be willing to be in a relationship with both Harry and her – they frequently tried to get Ginny out of the way in order to woo him like shameless little sluts. Apart from Gabrielle, not one other girl had asked her if it was okay to invite Harry along for the Christmas holidays. Granted, Harry had not accepted, but it was still galling that they would think her such a pushover.

But with Gabrielle on her side, all of those girls would soon learn to respect her�� them. They would never have been so open with their interest in Harry if it had been an angry half-veela at the other end.

***

Christmas Day, The Forbidden Forest

The stone felt smooth and hard in his hands as Harry turned it over. Once. Twice. And with shaking hands, thrice.

He could feel it calling – whispers, like from beyond the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. Calling to him. Promising him a better world. Free from worry, from disease, from the trappings of power. And he tried to ignore it all as he focused on his memories of Dumbledore.

A spectral figure rose up from the ground, freezing the air around it. Harry stared as the figure continued to rise, his breath escaping in short spurts of mist from his nostrils. The spectral fog coalesced – color seemed to flow through it, infusing it with life.

And there he was – with his majestic beard flowing in an ethereal wind, blue eyes blazing underneath half-moon spectacles – Albus Dumbledore.

Harry quailed under his mentor's gaze. Those blue eyes – which had often looked upon him with fondness, with pride, with happiness, with sorrow – were now glaring at him in disdain.

It hurt. It hurt more than a Cruciatus Curses. It hurt much more than that. For the first time, Harry truly understood why this stone had driven Cadmus Peverell to despair. There was no worse feeling in the world than knowing that the person you once cherished in life hates you in death. His fingers felt numb and his body was heavy – with guilt, with grief and with self-loathing. The stone whispered to him - his life was pathetic.

"Please," Harry said, pleading with his Headmaster's soul, "I did not… I did not…"

He sank to his knees, but the stone never left his grasp. He was kneeling at Dumbledore's feet now, and he felt utterly unworthy.

"You promised, Harry," his former Headmaster said in a terrible, booming voice, "You promised to leave this in the Forest."

"I needed your advice!" Harry exclaimed helplessly. But the figure showed no hint of mercy or pity – there was only disappointment in those eyes.

"I… I own the Elder Wand," Harry said in a rush, "I need to know how to break its spell!"

Dumbledore looked askance at him.

"You promised not to use that too," his mentor boomed, "If you never use it, it never exerts its spell."

"You used it," Harry said, "How did you stop it? How did you stop it from controlling you?"

"I almost did not," Dumbledore rasped, his voice echoing around the Forest, carried by an unseen wind, "Do not use it."

"I did use it," Harry said, his hands trembling in guilt and frustration, "I had to."

And he saw Dumbledore's eyes narrow in utter loathing as they glared at Harry. He shrunk under his mentor's stern gaze.

"Why?" the figure demanded.

"I had to," Harry repeated, "The wand would not have stayed hidden forever. Please! Tell me how to control it!"

And then the figure vanished.

"No," Harry said in alarm, "No, no, NO!"

He turned the stone over frantically. Once, twice, thrice.

And a spectral figure rose again and reformed, breathing life into his former mentor. Again, those blazing eyes glared disapprovingly at him.

"Tell me how to control it!" Harry repeated, kneeling before the man like a disciple before a sage.

"Control what?" the figure asked with disdain.

"The Elder Wand!" Harry exclaimed, bewildered.

The figure glared at him again. "You promised, Harry," Dumbledore boomed.

"Please!" Harry said, and the figure vanished again. Harry roared in frustration.

And continued to turn the stone over. Once. Twice. Thrice.

***

Christmas Day, The Burrow

"So, Hermione, how are things between you and Ron?" Ginny asked.

Hermione looked curiously at her and smiled.

"That question sounded almost… Lavender, Ginny. Since when have you been the gossiping type?" she asked.

"Oh I'm not," Ginny said casually, "I'm just curious. He might be a blight, but he is my brother."

Hermione giggled and Ginny smiled. "I'm kidding," she told Hermione warmly, "Ron's a great guy. I was just wondering how you two were settling into the next phase of your relationship."

Hermione shrugged, as if to indicate there was not much to tell, but there was something in her eyes that spoke to Ginny. Something… weird. Hermione wasn't telling her something.

Ginny was about to press her on the topic, when Ron came ambling down the stairs. Ginny sat back in her chair. Hermione greeted Ron ever so casually as he sat down – Ginny frowned when she noticed that the couple did not even share a kiss as they settled in.

Then, Ron leaned over and whispered something in Hermione's ear. The bushy-haired girl smiled back at Ron, but her smile was… wistful. Almost… sad.

hey ate their breakfast in silence, after which Ron and Hermione went for a walk outside. Ginny tried to follow them, but her mother asked her to help clean the dishes.

And when Ginny had finally managed to finish the chore and proceed outside, she saw Ron all by himself, sitting on the swing beneath a tree in the orchard. Hermione had long since departed.

Ah well, Ginny thought, I can always talk to Hermione later.

***

Christmas Day, Forbidden Forest

Sunrise gave way to morning and morning turned to noon. Fiery skies had long since turned to murky grey with dark clouds looming threateningly above Harry as he tried frantically to get the stone to work.

Frustration. Rage. Sorrow. Guilt. All of these emotions seemed to work in tandem in Harry's mind, pressing up against the ramparts of his mind and tearing them asunder, leaving him a teary-eyed mess right at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Time and again, he had called upon Dumbledore, only to despair at the sheer rage on his mentor's face, never getting an answer to his dilemma, but always quailing at the sight of Dumbledore's terrible visage.

He was beginning to understand Cadmus' despair. The dead truly did not belong in the land of the living. The stone had one purpose – to guide you to death. It showed you haunting images of the ones that you once loved, only to bring them crashing down as you worked towards closure, and then resurrect them anew, hoping to draw you off-guard again.

The stone did not help him commune with the dead, it made him want to join them. The last time he had used the stone, he was going to die – only then had the stone truly given him want he wanted, because he was doing what the stone wanted. Marching to his own doom.

But now, he intended to live. And the stone did not care for the wishes of those that wanted to live, it only cared to taunt them and subvert their will.

"USELESS!" Harry roared helplessly as the stone eventually dropped from his nerveless fingers.

"You have to understand," he pleaded, sweating and shuddering, "You have to understand, Albus!"

This was not how great, heroic stories were supposed to end. The wand was supposed to have remained hidden forever. The cloak was supposed to be his. And the stone was to be untouched forever. The villain had died, the hero had won and he had even snagged the girl.

And it was supposed to end there. It was supposed to. Because in stories, there were no repercussions. They always lived happily ever after. Wars may have been fought, entire armies may have marched to their deaths, but the hero was always supposed to be happy at the end.

Every comic-book adventure of Martin Miggs the Muggle ended with Martin being laughed at by oh-so-clever wizards who looked upon Martin ever so condescendingly. And yet, come next episode, Martin was there again, in good health and spirits, ready to embark on yet another zany misadventure only to be laughed at, again, by wizards.

Martin never suffered from depression, never had to go to a therapist to restore his self-esteem. He was always back with a bang, going from story to story, the same character. And it was the same with those old cartoons Harry used to watch from a dark corner of the Dursley household.

He remembered one in particular – about a coyote that chased a roadrunner. And it always ended with the coyote suffering a really horrid death, but he was always back the next time around, hatching yet another scheme to catch that pesky roadrunner.

That's how stories were supposed to go – free from consequence. Harry declining the wand's power was the perfect end to his story – it was an act of nobility and heroism. The perfect end to a long saga that spanned years of his life.

But he was not a character in a story. This was real life, and actions always had consequences here. Consequences that were not dictated by plot, like in the stories he loved, but by chaos.

And some consequences really hurt. Like these terrible visions of the greatest wizard he had ever known – perhaps the one defining influence of his life – looking at him in anger. In disdain.

That really hurt.

Harry wiped the tears from his eyes forcefully, took a deep breath and jabbed his wand at the offending stone, banishing it back to his trunk.

If he ever saw that damned stone again, it would be too soon.

Gingerly, he stood up and slowly made his way back to the dormitory.

***

Christmas Feast, Hogwarts

Harry snapped his book shut as the teachers shuffled into the Great Hall. All of the house tables had been abandoned in favor of the single staff table, seeing as how Harry was the only student in attendance at Hogwarts. The staff greeted him cheerfully – he had built up quite a rapport with them after being sequestered with them for the holidays.

"Good to see yeh, Harry!" Hagrid boomed as he plopped down in the seat next to him.

Harry just grinned at the half-giant – he had helped out Hagrid and Professor Grubbly-Plank quite a bit over the last week. They had been looking for a stray troll that kept running over Hagrid's pumpkin patch and they had eventually caught up with the creature a few days ago, managing to subdue it in seconds with Harry's conjured chains.

Harry made small talk with Hagrid and Grubbly-Plank for a while, asking them about how they were going about ensuring that the troll did not disturb the pumpkin patch in the future. Eventually though, the entire staff had assembled at the dinner table and McGonagall signaled the start of the feast.

"Congratulations on making it through to the semi-finals, Mister Potter," Slughorn said effusively, "That was quite an impressive win against that Beauxbatons wizard."

Harry nodded at him.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

"All prepared for your semi-final match, Mister Potter?" Professor Flitwick asked. Harry nodded.

"I think it's a bit unfair to the participants, Minerva," Professor Sinistra said from the far end of the table, "You shouldn't have held the first matches so soon after the winter vacation."

"I just wanted it to be over as soon as possible, Aurora," the Headmistress rejoined. "I'd rather get the tournament out of the way before exam season starts."

"I'm impressed by Mister Potter too," Flitwick chimed in, "Just blows the competition away. No fancy moves, no absurd flourishes – just straightforward spells. Well done, Mister Potter."

Harry shrugged. Flitwick rubbed his chin and then looked around thoughtfully.

"Although," he said, "Miss Delacour seems to be causing quite a stir lately."

Harry smiled at that. The half-veela's heritage had eventually gotten out to the press after she breezed through the quarter-finals. And it had taken the media by storm – of course, they did not quite know what to do with the news. But Harry did know one thing – it had completely and utterly decimated any arguments for pureblood supremacy in the wizarding world.

For apart from Chiyo Yagami – his next opponent – no one that was part of the semi-finals was a pureblood. Moreover, the "pureblood" school that apparently taught Dark Arts – Durmstrang – had been entirely ousted from the tournament. Instead, the final four involved Harry, Hermione and Gabrielle – a half-blood, a muggleborn and a half-veela. That had surprised a lot of people in the wizarding world.

But Gabrielle, in particular, was the subject that really rocked antiquated ideas. At least the other participants were entirely human – she was only part human. And that had set off quite a lot of headlines.

Gabrielle was now seen as the face of the tournament and as a progressive face for the rights of magical creatures. Apparently, posters of Gabrielle had been plastered all over Gringotts and several veela colonies in France.

"Yes," McGonagall said, "She has become quite a symbol for non-humans in our world, hasn't she?"

"Indeed," Flitwick said sincerely (and Harry supposed Flitwick would be quite happy at that, with a bit of goblin blood in his line).

McGonagall nodded and rejoined, "Which is why I'm moving the duels from the Great Hall to the Quidditch Stadium."

Harry gaped at her. "Ma'am?" he asked.

McGonagall smiled shrewdly at him.

"I'm opening up the next few matches, Mister Potter," she said, "I'm letting the public in. The Grounds shall be expanded to seat a crowd a thousand. Dignitaries, parents, students, media crews… they shall all be expected, and allowed, to turn up for the next few matches."

"I see," Harry said quietly. He did not quite mind a crowd, but it did place him on edge.

"What's really encouraging though," McGonagall continued, "Is that quite a few goblins and veela have purchased tickets for the duels. The Grand Chieftain of Gringotts is expected to turn up. And so is the veela matriarch for the French colonies."

Everyone looked impressed at that.

"And they're all going to be watching Gabrielle," Harry said with a grin, "That will really ruffle the feathers of those old-fashioned purebloods."

"Feathers that need to be ruffled," Flitwick said, grinning just as wide as Harry, "It's about time."

"But that's amazing, is it not?" Mary MacDonald said from next to Slughorn, "We just fought a war against Voldemort – a pureblood supremacist – but it's a half-veela getting into the penultimate round of a dueling tournament that really pushes buttons."

"No," said Slughorn, "The war has definitely affected the entire thing. It's because the supremacists lost the war that the media isn't tearing Miss Delacour apart. In this atmosphere, pureblood supremacy is frowned upon and politically incorrect – it's exactly why Miss Delacour's achievement is getting so much traction."

There was a pause as the meal appeared before them at that point and everyone started eating.

Eventually, Mary MacDonald looked at him curiously as Harry pushed aside the book that he had placed on the table and began to dig into his mashed potatoes. She smiled at him and sighed.

"You remind me of Lily," she said softly, "Lugging a book around with you everywhere."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "I realized you went to school in my mother's time," he said, "But I had no idea you personally… knew her."

MacDonald had a distant look in her eyes as she answered, "I did know her. I was in her year. Shared a dorm with her."

Slughorn nodded. "Indeed," Slughorn said jovially, "Thick as thieves you two were."

"Never quite matched up to Lily though," MacDonald said, "She was… extraordinary. I just sort of orbited around in awe of her like a planet around its star."

"Nonsense, Mary," McGonagall said dismissively, "You're a very talented witch."

MacDonald raised her hands and said defensively.

"I know. At the same time, I know that in terms of skill and talent, Lily was leagues ahead of me. Of us. All of us."

Slughorn nodded.

"While I'd hesitate to rank my students," he said, "Lily was indeed talented. Nonetheless, Mary, you are selling yourself short."

Harry listened with rapt attention – he had never really heard much about his mum before. Granted, everyone told him he had his mother's eyes, and Petunia had much to say about his mother, but he had never heard anything about her like this.

"Sounds a bit like… Hermione," he said in awe.

McGonagall frowned as she contemplated the notion.

"No," she said, "Not really. Miss Granger is different. She's a bit too headstrong, a bit too disciplined. Their academic performance is comparable and so is their prodigious intellect; however, your mother had a different spirit."

"Yes," MacDonald said, "While I've only known Miss Granger for a while, she strikes me as a… crusader. A headstrong woman that embraces a cause. Lily was never… that. She was a gentle, compassionate soul, but she was a bit of a pacifist."

Harry grinned – it was interesting to hear his teachers compare Hermione to his mom. The conversation drifted after that, as his teachers made small talk with each other and Harry quietly continued to eat his meal.

And then he picked up something else.

"… Dumbledore on the seventh floor," McGonagall finished.

He snapped his head around.

"What?" he breathed.

McGonagall, who had been talking to Professor Flitwick, turned around to look at him.

"Sorry," Harry said, blushing, "I just heard something about Dumbledore… sorry, Professor."

But McGonagall's eyes were warm.

"It's okay Mister Potter," she said, "I was just telling Filius here that the refurbishment of the Seventh Floor corridor is complete."

"Ah," Harry said.

Then, after a moment, he asked, "Is the Room of Requirement… is it back?"

"I'm afraid not," Flitwick replied in his squeaky voice, "It was a remarkable room though, from what I've heard of it. The fiendfyre overwhelmed any remaining strength it possessed."

"However," McGonagall said quickly, "We have transformed that space into a memorial, Mister Potter. Dedicated to the war. With a portrait of Albus Dumbledore watching over it. It's linked to the one in my office."

Harry gulped. The ghostly figure of his former mentor rising from the Stone still haunted him.

"I see," he rasped.

***

An hour later, Seventh Floor War Memorial

Harry gaped at the sight around him. McGonagall's animated suits of armor – that had once been compelled to march upon the Death Eaters - dented by the force of countless spells, stood in a corner, sealed inside a display case. There were quite a few things there that he recognized, including an epitaph with the names of all those that had fallen during the battle, on both sides of the war.

Countless students would come to this room in the future and gaze upon these artefacts, marveling at the notion of a battle being fought at a school. The more historically inclined students would point out this armor and that broom to their peers, and weave stories around it.

But only a handful of them would ever know what it was to be like right in the middle of the battle. Only a handful would know what it was like to march to certain death and take on the most fearsome Dark Lord in all of Europe.

Harry shook his head, clearing it of morbid thoughts. What he needed to see was on the far wall of the room – the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. And his mentor's portrait was occupied.

Harry walked ever so slowly towards the portrait, praying that it did not know what he had done only this morning. He could not bear to see that look of disdain again.

He need not have feared at all. The two-dimensional figure of Albus Dumbledore looked upon him with a kind smile.

"Sir," he said, "Hello."

"Harry," Albus greeted warmly, "It's nice to see you again. What brings you here?"

"I…" Harry stammered.

His mentor's portrait, with its warm smile, was so incongruous with the harsh specter he had conjured up only this morning.

"I miss you," he finished.

He meant it.

Albus looked at Harry in pity.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he said.

Harry shook his head. "In any case, sir," he continued, "I just wanted to ask you about… you know… your wand."

Albus merely looked at him curiously.

"Your wand, sir," Harry repeated.

"My wand, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"How… how did you control it?" Harry asked desperately, hoping and praying that Dumbledore would not vanish this time around.

"Control?" Dumbledore asked, "I'm afraid I do not know what you are asking me, Harry. Is this a question about magical theory?"

"I…" Harry paused. There was no light of recognition in the portrait's eyes.

"Your second wand, sir," Harry said.

The portrait stiffened and looked around the room with furrowed eyes. "Silencing Charm, please, Harry."

Harry obeyed and cast a bubble around him, sealing them off from the world outside. He turned to the portrait expectantly.

"Why do you ask, Harry?" Albus asked.

"I..." Harry said, but Dumbledore interrupted him.

"You are asking about the Elder Wand," Dumbledore stated.

It was not a question, but Harry nodded nonetheless.

"Well," Dumbledore said, smiling at him, "You need not fear, Harry. The wand's power died with me."

Harry's heart sank. Dumbledore sounded so… hopeful. But he knew better – Dumbledore's portrait clearly did not know that Harry had inherited the wand. They did have a conversation before he had discarded the Elder Wand, but the portrait hadn't quite caught on that Harry actually owned it.

He could work with that though.

"Sir," Harry said casually, "I… guess, I just wanted to know how you managed to control it. You once told me that the Elder Wand was… that it affected you. Mentally. Physically. That it compelled you to… destroy."

"Did I?" Dumbledore's portrait asked.

Harry nodded and the portrait looked into the distance, pondering his words.

"I suppose it is harmless now to discuss this. Yes, the Elder Wand did affect me, in several ways. It exists to corrupt and destroy – it is not a tool that lends itself easily to constructive work."

"How did you control it?" Harry asked.

"I did not," Albus said simply, "I never used it until the year before my death, Harry."

Harry gaped.

After a moment's pause, he asked incredulously, "Professor… what?"

"You have to use the wand, Harry, at least once before it begins to eat away at your mind. Every owner that has ever used that terrible wand has been perverted by its will, slaves to a never-ending cycle of violence and lust. It pitted fathers against sons, brother against brother and wizard against wizard. None that has used the wand has ever truly managed to subvert it."

"But… you were not influenced."

"I saw what it did to the man I loved, Harry. Gellert Grindelwald was betrayed by his wand – I will not deny that he was drawn to power. But he was never malicious – not like Tom. And yet, once he began to use that accursed wand, he began to change. To transform. He became a shell of the man he once was. And it pitted love against love."

A single tear rolled down the portrait's cheek.

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly.

"And I knew how the wand affected its conqueror, Harry," Albus continued, "So I never used it. I entrusted it to the one man I could truly trust to keep it away from me."

"Who?" Harry asked curiously.

"My brother," Albus said quietly, his eyes peering into the distance once more.

"Aberforth, more than any other wizard on the planet, never forgave me for what happened to our family. He would never yield to my whims – if I turned up at his door out of the blue and asked for the wand, he would never have handed it over to me without good reason."

"And during those years," Albus continued, "I searched and searched for a way to control the wand. To use it and bend it to my will."

"But I never quite managed to find the solution. I even consulted Aberforth about it – he's quite the wandcrafter himself. But neither he nor I were able to come up with a solution to that dilemma. The wand itself is an impenetrable mystery to us, Harry. Apart from the thestral core, we know absolutely nothing about it."

"And wandcrafters protect their secrets very well. Most wandcrafters we spoke to had not even heard of a wand that could influence its wielder. Aberforth's own research did not yield much, either. The Elder Wand is an anomaly, Harry. A blight on the world. A tear in the fabric of reality – it should not exist. It is monstrously empty – incomplete, filled with neither good nor bad. Utterly hollow. It should not be used. It can never be controlled."

"I was one of the few owners fortunate enough to have the mental fortitude to not use it and succumb to its allure, and I had a brother who loathed me and was willing to keep away the most powerful wand in the history of magic away from me."

"So you never came upon a way to… control it?" Harry asked, his heart sinking.

"I'm afraid not, Harry," the portrait said, "And if I did, I did not have enough time to tell… me… about it." Dumbledore chuckled.

"Remember, Harry," he said, "Portraits are limited by what their subjects teach them."

Harry floundered for a moment and then asked, desperately, "What if… what if… did you try the other Hallows?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"In my last year as a living, breathing human being," he said tiredly, "I did go back to my brother and retrieved the Elder Wand. He had kept it under a Fidelius Charm all along – I told him I intended for it to die with me and after swearing an Unbreakable Vow that I did not intend to abuse its power, he let me have it."

"It still influenced me Harry. Had I been a younger, and brasher wizard, in the prime of his health, it would have compelled even me to do horrible things."

It all made sense in Harry's head. Dumbledore had been reckless in his final year, teasing Harry with information, letting death brush him by with Draco Malfoy's repeated attempts on his life and endangering the entire school.

Dumbledore continued, "I did try using the Resurrection Stone. I touched the wand to it, on a silly whim. Nothing happened. I even borrowed your remarkable cloak, Harry, but the effect is not nullified. Place all the objects together and they only tear you apart with their suggestion and allure. One commands you to act, the other encourages you to strive for mediocrity and the last whispers sweet nothings in your ear, comforting you with thoughts of death. The three Hallows do not nullify each other – they merely combine and clash. The myth of the Wielder of the Deathly Hallows, the Master of Death… is just a myth, Harry. A lie."

Harry looked at Dumbledore in despair.

Great, he thought, yet another dead end.

***

January 8, Hogwarts Express

Ginny took a deep breath and leaned in to speak to Hermione. They were alone in the Prefects' Carriage and were on the way back to Hogwarts for the start of their second semester – Hermione had stayed behind at Ginny's urging. Ginny did not dare meet Gabrielle before she had fulfilled the half-veela's request.

"What's this about, Ginny?" Hermione asked curiously.

"I… I…" Ginny floundered.

Hermione just stared at her expectantly.

"I'm not going to allow Harry to sleep with you," Ginny blurted out. Then she blushed – that had not quite come out the way she had intended.

For a brief moment, Ginny thought Hermione's eyes flashed in anger, but the next moment, Ginny thought she had imagined it – Hermione was merely looking at her with understanding and warmth.

"I… suppose I understand, Ginny," Hermione said slowly, "You want him all to yourself."

Ginny smiled. Hermione was taking this a lot better than Gabrielle had told her she would. Ginny almost felt guilty – she knew there was nothing between Hermione and Harry she should be worried about. It had just been sex.

"Well," Ginny said, "It's not that… I don't… I just…"

"It's okay," Hermione said kindly, and then looked right into Ginny's eyes. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you for him one last time, Ginny."

Ginny just stared at Hermione.

"One last time?" she asked, her suspicions rising once again.

Hermione blushed and looked demurely at the floor.

"I… it's just… Ron's been so insistent about it…" she said.

Ginny flushed as well.

"I don't know, Hermione," she said uneasily.

Hermione sighed.

She asked in a small voice, that made Ginny feel incredibly guilty, "You… don't trust me, do you?"

"It's not that!" Ginny said fervently.

"Just one last time, for Ron," Hermione said quickly, "I even got an orb, Ginny, to record it. I'll record this last encounter, Ginny – so I can relive it again and again… for y'know… him."

Ginny thought about it for a second. She supposed it was bit unfair to Hermione – she hadn't exactly stopped Harry from sleeping around with her mom, or Fleur or any of the others. Just Hermione. She supposed she owed it to the bushy-haired girl, at least for her brother's sake.

"Okay," she said finally, taking a deep breath, "One last time. You can record it… just don't let it get out. But this is it though."

"Of course," Hermione said graciously.

"When do you want to…?" Ginny prompted.

"Oh," Hermione said, "I was thinking… after my semi-final match against Gabrielle. The day after tomorrow."

Ginny nodded at the girl and walked out of the carriage, leaving Hermione behind. Had Ginny bothered to turn around and look, she'd have noticed the thunderous scowl that had settled upon Hermione's face the moment Ginny's back was turned to her.

***

"Well?" Gabrielle asked in a whisper as Ginny sat down next to the half-veela on the train, "Did you tell Hermione?"

Ginny gulped.

"I… yeah," she said.

She did not really want to lie to Gabrielle, but she felt a bit sorry for Hermione and her brother. She supposed that as long as Gabrielle never got to know about Hermione's last encounter, it would all work out – Hermione could sleep with Harry one last time and record it so that her brother and Hermione could use it for their own purposes later.

"Good girl," Gabrielle said, stroking Ginny's hair softly.

Ginny just leaned back and watched Natalie argue with Nandini about something or the other – she was uneasy keeping secrets from Gabrielle.

But it was harmless, in any case. Or so Ginny thought.

***

January 8, Great Hall

Harry missed the silence of the winter holidays, now that the Great Hall was filled with noise again. He supposed he would not be able to roam around the castle at will now that everything had returned to normal – he had enjoyed quite a carefree set of holidays this winter, going into the Forbidden Forest occasionally to satisfy his bloodlust, driving off acromantulas or subduing trolls, and even, on one occasion, driving off a herd of griffons.

That had been a truly epic battle – griffons, in his opinion, were far more powerful than hippogriffs. Of course, Harry had relegated himself to simple spells – but the rush of battle as he evaded a griffon's talons, or as he narrowly avoided a troll's club, was thrilling and seemed to hold the influence of the Deathstick at bay.

Either way, he was glad to see Ginny and the rest of his friends again. To his immense surprise, Hermione seemed to have joined their group. He noticed Ron talking to the Frobisher girl two seats to his right and waved happily at his best male friend.

Ginny marched straight up to him and kissed him. He kissed right back. And just as he was able to sit down beside her, Gabrielle caught him by the lapels and pulled him towards her, across the table. And then she kissed him deeply. There were gasps all around. After an amazing kiss, in full view of the table, with a lot of tongue involved, Gabrielle let go.

Harry quickly turned to Ginny. To his immense surprise, his girlfriend merely smiled at him and winked at Gabrielle.

Harry blushed and sat down. Ron gave him a very cheesy thumbs up and he grinned back weakly. Most of the guys seated around him were staring at him in awe. His own group, though, seemed to be a bit miffed. Of course, Harry thought, miffed might be an understatement.

He had never seen Hermione look so angry before. Her eyes were blazing with wrath – luckily for him though, most of her ire seemed to be directed at Ginny and Gabrielle.

"So," Demelza said slowly, as they all settled in. They were all sitting in the same positions that they had during the start of the previous term – Ginny to his left, Demelza to his right, Gabrielle in front, flanked by Nandini and Natalie. Hermione was sat next to Natalie, diagonally opposite Demelza.

"Uh… what just happened?" Nandini asked.

"I… thought you two were… y'know, competing for Harry's hand or something," Natalie said. Harry chuckled.

"Guess we found a way to settle our differences," Gabrielle said airily.

"How very… French… of you," Hermione said in a stiff voice.

"Excuse me?" Gabrielle asked, her voice very delicate, holding a dangerous edge.

"Oh… just the whole mistress thing," Hermione said coldly.

"Oh, you mean the French muggle thing," Gabrielle said casually, "Polyamory is acceptable in our world, Hermione. You only have to be open-minded enough to accept it."

Hermione gave a low snarl and Natalie tensed.

"Why do you care anyway, Granger?" Gabrielle asked.

���Oh, just concerned for Ginny's well-being," Hermione said.

Ginny smiled at Hermione.

"That's very kind, Hermione," she said quietly, "But… I guess I don't mind Gabrielle at all. I… I'd rather not talk about the details of our relationship, but we're both very much in love. With both Harry and… each other."

Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as he stared at his girlfriend. Guess a lot of things can happen in three weeks, he thought.

Gabrielle just smiled smugly and leaned back. She winked at Demelza, who was gaping across Harry at Ginny.

"Ginny!" Nandini said, obviously just as taken aback, "You… I didn't know you… uh… not that there's anything wrong with swinging that way… but… uh…"

Ginny giggled.

"I sort of knew," Natalie admitted, "Ginny confessed to me in our third year that she sort of swung both ways."

Demelza just took a deep breath.

"Fine," she said, "I won't deny this isn't a surprise, but if Ginny's happy, we're all with her."

Ginny smiled and basked in the warmth of their group. Harry, though, did not miss the calculating looks Nandini and Demelza were giving him.

"Oh," Gabrielle said sharply, "Don't even think about it, girls." Nandini and Demelza immediately went back to looking annoyed.

Ginny just leaned back on her chair and looked around smugly.

"Isn't she a dear?" she said fondly.

"Oh, don't be so possessive, Gabrielle," Demelza said.

"Oh, I'm not possessive at all," Gabrielle admitted, "And I'm not going to tell Harry what he can or cannot do. However, our relationship is a closed loop, period. Now, if you want to take it further, we can discuss it away from prying ears. The rumor mill is going to be bad enough as it is."

Harry had to admit he was surprised and impressed by Gabrielle's confidence. He was also a bit taken aback by the abrupt shift in his relationship with Ginny.

He had suspected his girlfriend would bend sooner than later and allow Gabrielle into the fold, but this was much more than that. Gabrielle had not just entered the fold, she had taken command of the fold. The power dynamics of the relationship had changed completely – Ginny, from what he could tell, was actually being submissive to Gabrielle. Almost like Gabrielle was some sort of an older sister/lover.

Ah well, he thought as he leant back and extended an arm around Ginny; he grinned as he felt Gabrielle's leg brush up against his own. He looked at the half-veela and saw the beautiful girl raise an eyebrow at him. He just grinned back at her and winked. Gabrielle blushed.

I love my life, he thought.