Harry couldn't say who was the most uncomfortable as the four of them made their way up the rotating staircases and through the portrait-lined halls. It was a toss-up between himself, Ron and Jane. 

Luna, as always, was unperturbed. She ambled along, gazing idly up at the lofty rafters far above, somehow managing never to stumble over her own feet as she went. 

"Dumbledore knows everything that goes on around here, doesn't he?" Ron asked anxiously. "That's what you've always said, Harry. He knows everything."

It was this that had tied a knot in Harry's stomach. On several occasions over his years at Hogwarts, he'd gotten the very strong idea that Dumbledore did, in fact, know what was transpiring within its walls. That Dumbledore had, for instance, in some indulgent spirit of letting Harry test and prove himself, sat back and watched throughout the business with Professor Quirrell – that had to have been a test, for why else would something so important as the Sorcerer's Stone been purposefully put at the end of a series of tasks designed to challenge? If Dumbledore had really wanted to keep the Sorcerer's Stone out of hostile hands, he could simply have locked it away within his own quarters, or sealed it within a stone wall, and no one would ever have been the wiser. 

Other times, though …

"Does he?" asked Jane, dread and skepticism warring in her eyes.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Sometimes it seems that way. But … well, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened, remember, or when Barty Crouch replaced the real Mad-Eye Moody … if he had known about it, he wouldn't have let all that happen, would he? Not when peoples' lives were in danger."

"Omniscient and omnipotent aren't the same thing," Luna remarked. 

"Aren't you worried?" Ron turned to her. "Not the least little bit?"

"Why should I be? I haven't done anything wrong. Do you have a guilty conscience, Ronald?"

Ron flushed, and Harry knew that the row – and the kiss – with Hermione were uppermost in his mind. 

As for Harry himself, this was the first time he'd been summoned to Dumbledore's presence since the end of last term. He had far more to contemplate than an illicit kiss. When he had last been in Dumbledore's office, they had exchanged words. Heated words, on Harry's part. A full year of neglect, of questions without answers, of being snubbed and treated like a helpless, foolish child … and then to have to stand there and listen as Dumbledore criticized Sirius, defended Snape … 

It still made his blood boil.

Dumbledore had not wanted Voldemort to get the idea that he and Harry were friends, were anything other than student and benevolent but distant headmaster. And so he had ignored Harry all year … but Voldemort had known anyway … and the most bitterly ironic part of it was that by the end, their close relationship had been gone anyway. Gone, buried beneath built-up layers of anger and distrust. 

Now here he was again. Dumbledore had barely said a word to him in the weeks since school started. Whether he was still trying to maintain that appearance of distance – an illusion that had become, as far as Harry was concerned, all too real – or whether his feelings had been hurt and he was waiting for Harry to approach him and apologize …

Harry didn't know. And found, with a dismal sinking feeling, that he didn't much care. 

He had trusted Dumbledore, loved him like the grandfather he'd never known, and Dumbledore had pushed him away. Claiming that it was for Harry's own good. Claiming he didn't want to burden Harry with even more responsibilities. Everything that Dumbledore had done to make Harry's life bleak, desolate and miserable was for Harry's own-damned-good. 

Sending him to live with the Dursleys. Forcing him to return there year after year. Making Ron prefect instead, without a word of explanation. Ignoring Harry all of last year, making him feel like he had done something wrong. Throwing him into Occlumency lessons with Snape, while knowing full well that Snape hated Harry with every fiber of his being. 

And there was the way Dumbledore had treated Sirius, too. Harry had wondered, in his darker moods, whether Dumbledore had been trying to punish Sirius for replacing him in Harry's affections. Keeping Sirius confined to Grimmauld Place, knowing that inaction would drive him crazy … blaming Sirius for what Kreacher had done. Lording it over them, and always … always … for their own good.

The four of them came to the stone gargoyle guarding the way to Dumbledore's quarters. Harry, Ron and Luna hastily cast spells on themselves and their clothes to clean up the worst of the remnants of the greenhouse chores and repairs. 

Jane hung back, looking like she was steeling herself for the worst. "I've never been sent to the headmaster's office before," she said. 

"For a Slytherin, you're not much of a troublemaker, are you?" Ron asked. 

Her eyes narrowed. "Maybe I just don't get caught."

"Maybe you're just bluffing," Luna said. "I know you only pretend to cheat in Ancient Runes."

"Pepper Imp," Harry quickly said to the gargoyle, before Jane could respond. 

At the password, the gargoyle slid out of the way, revealing a spiral stair revolving smoothly upward and upward like a barber's pole. Harry stepped onto it and was carried up and around. Ron, Luna and finally Jane followed. 

Dumbledore's office was a place of leather-bound tomes resting in shelves and mysterious silver instruments gleaming on tables. Portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses snoozed on the walls – or so they appeared; Harry knew now that they were keenly attentive to what went on in here most of the time, and even now he spotted a few eyeing the students surreptitiously from beneath lowered, shamming eyelids. On his perch, Fawkes the phoenix crooned at them, his plumage brilliant red. 

The room was warmer than usual thanks to the presence of Rayyid. Harry did not know where the other aureliphim had gone, but their leader stood silently at the corner of Dumbledore's desk, arms crossed, the golden spear held slantways across his body. 

"Ah," Dumbledore said from his large chair behind the desk. He waved his wand "Do be seated, please."

Four chairs materialized in the middle of the room. Luna sat down first, head cocked in polite alertness. Harry, Ron and Jane sat as well, their movements stiff with apprehension. 

Harry did not look at Dumbledore. He couldn't bring himself to. It was not because he feared he might feel the cold, coiling urge to attack. That had been Voldemort working through him. No, it was because Harry could hardly stand to look at that lined, careworn face. He didn't trust himself not to yell. 

Dumbledore folded his long-fingered hands on the surface of the desk and leaned forward, examining each of them in turn. When his gaze reached Harry, Harry stared resolutely at the floor. 

"I'd like to know, in your own words, what happened Saturday evening in Hogsmeade," he said. "Miss Kirkallen?"

Haltingly, Jane told him that she and Devona had been taking refuge under the dead oak tree when lightning struck and knocked them down the hill, into the brook. She sounded convincing, and if Harry hadn't known otherwise, he would never have guessed that she was editing the truth.

He risked a glance at Dumbledore, and saw Dumbledore's light blue eyes focused seriously on Jane. Above and behind him, on the wall, the portrait of Dilys Derwent, a witch with long silver ringlets, peered quizzically at Jane as if trying to think of where she'd seen her before. Harry could see the resemblance … Jane and Dilys had the same heart-shaped face, satiny skin, and rosy lips. 

"Mr. Weasley? Miss Lovegood?" Dumbledore said when Jane fell silent. 

"We were in a gazebo at Four Founders Park," Ron said, sounding like he was confessing to the brutal kicking-to-death of a litter of cute little puppies. "Hogsbrook runs right by. We saw and heard the lightning hit the tree, but didn't think anything of it. Not until a few minutes later, when we heard Harry yelling."

"I knew a path that came out by Hogsbrook," Luna said, "and I thought we could see better from there. When we came out of the woods, we saw Harry. He was racing along the stream bank, shouting and waving his arms, and we realized someone must have fallen in. The water was very high."

Ron took over. "By the time we got down there, Harry was out in the water up to his waist, trying to reach something. I waded in, and Luna tied her belt to a tree to give us an anchor."

"Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore inquired. His eyes shifted to Harry. 

The resentful anger simmered anew. Dumbledore already knew … Harry was sure of it. Why was he making them go through this charade? Did he enjoy it? Seeing if they would lie to the headmaster and stick to their stories?

"I'd seen someone fall into the brook," he said, meeting Dumbledore's gaze steadily and unflinchingly. "I ran after, jumped in, and hauled her out. It was Jane."

"She nearly drowned," Luna said. "But Ron saved her life."

Ron and Harry, one startled and one nettled, looked at her. Harry was on the verge of saying, "Excuse me? Who saved her life?" but contained himself. That was exactly the sort of glory-hound heroism Hermione always accused him of. And Ron had saved Jane with the Awakening Charm.

"It was Harry's idea," Ron said. 

"And what about Miss Stormdark?" asked Dumbledore. 

"There wasn't a chance," Harry said. "I only barely saw a pale thing that turned out to be Jane's hand."

"We would have helped her if we could," Luna said. 

From another wall, Phineas Nigellus watched proceedings, the corner of his mouth tucked in a cruelly amused smile. He, of course, would know lies and omission when he heard them, the crafty old snake.

"I'm sure that all of you did everything that you could, under the circumstances," Dumbledore said. "Thank you."

"Is that it, then?" Ron gulped, like he couldn't quite believe it. "We're done? We can go?"

"Are you in a rush to leave, Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore's eyes crinkled. "I rather thought we might have some tea first."

"Excuse me, Dumbledore," Dilys Derwent spoke up. "Might I interject something of a more personal nature?"

"By all means, Dilys."

Jane jumped, and looked up sharply. Her eyes widened. 

"Oh, my dear," Dilys said, gazing fondly at her. "My dear, my dear, can it be true? Look at you."

"Acquaintance of yours, Dilys?" Phineas asked. 

"A many-times-great-granddaughter, if I'm not mistaken," Dilys said. "Aren't you, dear?"

"My …" Jane swallowed. "My mother … was … Amaryllis Derwent."

"Ammy!" Dilys cried. "Oh, she was so lovely. So bright, and sweet, and talented. You favor her, you know. I was so sorry to hear what happened."

"What did happen?" Ron hissed in Harry's ear. 

Harry shushed him. 

Then Dilys took in the rest of Jane's uniform, and the painted wooden snake-shaped ring through which her ponytail was threaded. "Oh … and you're in Slytherin, too," she said, her effervescent tone going slightly flat. "How … nice."

Phineas prominently adjusted his green-and-silver cravat. "Was that an editorial comment, Dilys?"

"No, not at all." Dilys smiled down at Jane. "You'll have to come back sometime so we can have a good long chat. I want to hear all about you. If it's all right with Dumbledore, of course."

"Absolutely," Dumbledore said. "Any time at all."

"That's very kind," Jane said automatically, the good-mannered vicar's daughter once more. 

"Now, I believe I've taken up too much of your time already," Dumbledore said, "and I pray you'll forgive me if I take up a bit more. Mr. Potter, Miss Kirkallen, if you could step into the hall for a few moments, I should like to speak to Mr. Weasley and Miss Lovegood alone. And then, when I've finished with them –"

Here, Ron looked stricken.

"—I'd like to speak to you two, as well," finished Dumbledore. 

"Yes, Headmaster," Harry said, rising from his chair. 

A door, not the one they'd come in through, swung open. On the other side was a curving hallway lined on its outer wall with leaded-glass windows in diamond panes, through which much of the castle could be seen. The inner wall was covered with a heavy woven tapestry. Just at the point where the hall curved out of sight was a large oaken bench supported on the backs of two marble griffins. 

Harry and Jane went into the hall, and the door closed behind them. 

The tapestry showed Hogwarts as it had been in its earliest years, before centuries of expansions and additions. Snow-covered mountains reared behind the castle, against a blue sky where flocks of hippogriffs soared. There was no Quidditch pitch, no Hagrid's hut, no greenhouses, no north and west wings.

A pair of candles in golden sconces were on the wall, but they were unlit, and the stormy daylight filtering through the leaded glass left the hallway in a perpetual cool twilight. 

Jane moved past Harry, nearly as pale as a ghost in that strange misty-grey light, and stood at a window with her hands on the deep stone sill, gazing out. 

"Are you all right?" he asked, coming up beside her. 

She didn't reply. 

"Wasn't that bad," he said joshingly. "I've had worse trips to Dumbledore's office. Nearly been expelled and arrested there a few times."

"It wasn't that," she said. 

"Dilys Derwent?" When she nodded, Harry said, "Hadn't you ever seen her before?"

"Only in The Book of Derwent," Jane said. "A photograph of a portrait, you know, so it's not the same. Not the same as actually speaking to her."

"I think she liked you."

"No, she didn't."

"What, because you're in Slytherin?"

"Partly. And she knows … she must … about my mother. And … my … my … father." She spat the word out as if it tasted foul. "That means Dumbledore will, if he doesn't already."

"I hate to say it, Jane, but he probably already does."

"That I'm the child of a Death Eater," she said bitterly. 

"It's not like he'd expel you for it," Harry said. "He would have known from the start, most likely, and he still brought you to Hogwarts."

"Harry, you don't understand."

"I'm trying to." He paused, then plunged. "Jane … who is your father, then, if it's such a big deal?"

He thought that he was braced for the worst, anticipating her to say that Snape, or even Voldemort himself, was her father. What she did say threw him for a loop, like a rogue Bludger streaking by so close it caused him to barrel roll on his broom. 

"I don't know."

"Excuse me?" Harry said.

Her hands, palms-down on the windowsill, curled enough to dig at the stones with her nails. "I don't know who my father is, Harry. I've never known."

"What? I … how can you not … what?"

"I told you that my mother, Amaryllis, was the last of the line of Derwent," she said. "The last of a pureblood wizarding family with a history dating back to the Middle Ages, if not the Ice Age."

"Yes, I know."

"But my mother, the last of the line, rejected witchcraft and wizardry. She gave up her wand, she swore off spellcasting forever, and she decided to forsake this entire world …" Jane looked out at Hogwarts, the grounds, the lake, the forest. "And live as a Muggle."

"I'd never do it myself, but fair enough," Harry said. 

"Fair enough for you," Jane said. "Not right at all, in the eyes of some. You know what they're like, Harry, some of those old noble pureblood families. How superior they are, how arrogant. A lot of them were drawn to the Dark Lord because of his desire to cleanse and purify the wizarding bloodlines."

"Which is particularly ironic, given that Voldemort's dad was a Muggle," Harry said. 

"But you see … it wasn't just about stopping wizards and Muggles from marrying. It was about making sure that the purebloods stayed that way. Powerful, and strong. They weren't about to let the Derwent line die out. They needed my mother to keep it going."

"They, the other old families?"

"They, the Death Eaters," Jane said hollowly. She was still gazing out the window, her nails scraping the stone. "Several of them decided that my mother was not going to be allowed to dilute the Derwent blood by having half-Muggle children. They sought her out … and they took her. They raped her."

"Oh, no," Harry said. 

Jane's fingernails scraped gratingly over the stone. "One after another. Some of them two or three times. Laughing while they did it. Wearing masks, so she never saw their faces, but she saw the Dark Mark on their flesh. And even that wasn't the worst of it. Do you want to hear the worst of it?"

"No," Harry said, but she went on as if she hadn't heard. 

"It wasn't enough for them to hold her down, or beat her, or hurt her. They had to utterly violate and humiliate her. They used the Imperius Curse. They made her … do things. Horrible, vile, abominable things."

He felt sick. "Jane …"

"They used the Imperius Curse on her and they raped her. Half a dozen of them or more. Over and over. And when it was done, she was pregnant. With me."

"Jane, stop. You don't have to put yourself through this."

"But you have to understand!" She turned toward him, her face a tormented mask. "They told her that they'd be back when the baby was born. That they would take it away from her, to raise in the service of the Dark Lord. That was to be her final punishment for daring to think she could walk away, her, a pureblood, last of the Derwent line. Then they'd kill her, before she could taint herself by having other children, half-blood children with some Muggle."

He hadn't thought that there could be anything in all the world to give him yet more reason to hate the Death Eaters, but here it was. Jane's words evoked stark, terrible images in his mind. He could see them, half a dozen Death Eaters, their faces hooded … could hear their jeers and laughter as they subjected a helpless woman to their malevolent wills. 

"How do you know all this?" he asked. 

"She told me. She told me everything. Even that she'd considered abortion. Do you have any idea what it's like to hear that from your own mother? That she knew she was carrying a child of evil, and the only reason she didn't have it cut from her belly was because she couldn't bring herself to do it? Because she believed that it was wrong, wrong no matter what? Do you have any idea?"

"I can't imagine," Harry said. 

He thought of his own parents, whom he had lost when he was so young. The Dursleys didn't want him, never had and never would … but he at least had the comfort of knowing that his mother and father had loved him, had wanted him. Jane had been unwanted, unloved, perhaps even hated since the violent hell of her conception.

"So she carried the baby to term," Jane said. "Knowing that they would come and take it away, and raise it to be one of them … raise her baby to become everything she had always despised the most."

"But they didn't," Harry said. 

"Do you know why? Do you know the only reason why they didn't?"

He shook his head. 

Jane reached up, brushed aside his hair, and traced with her fingertip the jagged line of his scar. "Two nights before I was born, the Dark Lord walked into your house … and never walked out."

A shivering thrill, as much from her touch as her words, shot through him. He briefly closed his eyes, feeling her stroke his forehead, then took her hand and clasped it in his, against his chest. 

"You're giving me too much credit, Jane. I didn't do anything. It was my mother, giving her life to save mine –"

"It threw all their plans into disarray," Jane said. "In the aftermath, all of his Death Eaters were on the run from the Ministry, or scrambling to save their own skins, or being killed by Aurors, or being sent to Azkaban. None of them cared about loose ends. So that's what I was. A loose end. A leftover."

"I'm glad they couldn't get to you," Harry said.

"I think for a while, she forgot. She let herself, or made herself, forget. She convinced herself that I was normal. She told me stories about her own previous life, as if they were … fairy tales, made-up stuff. My mother the witch, and we would laugh about it and she'd pretend she was going to cast a spell on me if I didn't clean my room, or eat my vegetables. But when she started seeing the magic in me, when I started being able to do things that no Muggle child should do … you know what I mean …"

"I know what you mean."

"Then, she couldn't hide from it any longer. It all came back to her. Everything she'd tried to forget, or lie to herself about, for all those years. I was eight. She took me into her sitting room and told me the whole story."

"When you were eight?" He could scarcely bear hearing it at sixteen, and now it was a younger Jane he saw in his mind's eye, a little girl listening to her mother describe such terrible, terrible acts. 

"She wept," Jane said. "Like her soul was shattering. I'd known that the vicar wasn't really my father, and I'd spun a fancy of some tragic handsome lost love … and then she told me the truth."

"How could she say that to a child?"

"It wasn't that she was trying to be cruel," Jane said. "She was broken, Harry. I was a witch after all, and she couldn't handle it. There was no fooling herself anymore. I was the living, breathing, magical reminder of what they had done to her. So she killed herself. But if you want the reality of it, I killed her!"

"No!" He gripped her shoulders. "Don't say that. If anyone's to blame, it's them, the Death Eaters. Not you. You're as innocent as she was, as much a victim – if not more! It isn't your fault. That would be like me saying that I killed my parents, because I was the reason Voldemort came after them, because of that damned prophecy. We didn't have any control over it, Jane. We were kids."

"All right," she said, defeated, trying to pull away from him. "They killed her. It just took them eight extra years to do it."

Harry loosened his grasp enough so as not to hurt her, but not enough to let her go. "I'm glad you told me all this."

"Are you?"

"Not really," he admitted. "It's awful, and I hate that you've had to go through it alone. I wish there was something I could do to help. But all I can do is listen, and … and sympathize. I know what it's like, trying to carry that kind of anger, and guilt, and loneliness. I know what it's like, thinking nobody else could possibly understand."

"How can you be so … good?" she asked tremulously. "How can you still stand there like you're my friend, after everything I've just told you?"

"I am your friend," Harry said. "I want to be."

"But now you know what I am."

"I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me, sure," he said. "A little, maybe. Knowing … or, not knowing … who your father was. But, Jane, that doesn't change who you are."

She looked away, unconvinced. He knew she must have spent so many years believing the worst about herself that he wasn't going to change her mind in a few minutes. Some things were too deeply ingrained. 

"Hey," he said. "Give it a chance, all right?"

"Harry …"

"What?"

"I … you don't … you wouldn't say that if …" 

"Stop trying to talk me out of liking you, would you?" he said with an exasperated grin. "It won't work."

"But I –"

"I said, stop it. Or do I have to kiss you again to shut you up?" He couldn't believe he'd said it, and by the way her eyes got big, neither could Jane. 

"Harry, you –"

"I warned you." He pulled her toward him. 

She put her palms against his chest, holding him at arm's length, and threw a panicked look toward the door they'd come through. "Are you out of your mind? That's Dumbledore's office right there!"

"I know."

"We'll get in trouble!"

"How many points do you think he'll take away?"

"Fifty at least!"

Harry tipped his head to the side and pretended to mull it over. "Hmm. Fifty points. You know … I think it's worth it."

"It's really wrong, you know."

"Don't start that again."

"I must be crazy," Jane murmured. "I must simply be crazy." She let her arms fall to her sides and looked up at him. 

Harry hadn't quite expected her to give in. When he'd kissed her before, he had done so on the spur of the moment, caught up in the intensity of the rescue and all. Here and now, with her watching him expectantly, he felt like he was poised on the edge of a precipice. 

"I must be crazy, too," he said. 

"Whew," Jane exhaled, and smiled a bit. "I thought for a moment you actually were going to –"

He slid his hand to curl around the nape of her neck, beneath her ponytail, and leaned down to press his lips against hers. He lingered there for a few seconds that seemed at once to go on forever and be over too soon, then straightened up again. 

"Oh," Jane said weakly. She went to the window again, leaning on the sill as if dizzied, and brought shaking fingers to her brow. 

Stepping beside her – and belatedly hoping that no one had been happening to look up at this particular window that particular instant, but it was too late if anyone had – Harry rested his arm around her shoulders. 

They stood like that in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts, and then the door from Dumbledore's office opened with a click. 

Jane whirled and sprang away from Harry. He turned around more slowly and saw Dumbledore there, looking at them with an unreadable expression. 

Defiantly, deliberately, Harry moved near Jane and put his arm around her again. He lifted his chin toward Dumbledore as if daring him to say anything. Daring him to object, or condemn. 

Besides, Dumbledore had to know something of this already. He must have received full reports from Tonks, Moody, Lupin and Mrs. Weasley. It couldn't possibly come as a surprise to him. 

"Won't you come back in?" Dumbledore invited placidly. "I've finished my chat with Mr. Weasley and Miss Lovegood."

Harry lowered his arm. Jane, who had nearly fainted on the spot, looked at him as if to ask what in the hell he thought he'd been doing, was he trying to get them expelled?

Ron and Luna were indeed gone, and so were two of the chairs that Dumbledore had conjured. The witches and wizards on the wall were for the most part still acting as if they napped, though Dilys Derwent and Phineas Nigellus had forsaken the pretense and observed with interest as Harry and Jane came in. 

"Tea?" Dumbledore asked, indicating a china teapot shaped like a fat little dragon, which sat chuffing steam contentedly to itself. 

"No, thank you," Harry said, and Jane also demurred. 

Dumbledore sighed and studied them. "Miss Kirkallen, how are you feeling after your ordeal?"

"Very well, thank you, Headmaster."

"Madame Pomfrey tells me that in addition to a close call with drowning and the chill, you were bruised about the neck."

Harry's thoughts were a jumble. Ron's hickey … and did Dumbledore think something similar had gone on with Jane? But of course it hadn't … Devona Stormdark had been trying to throttle her and hex her at the same time before he'd disarmed them … but he couldn't say that … 

"I think my robes must've wrapped 'round my neck while I was struggling to swim," Jane said. "I'm afraid that I don't really remember much of what happened once I was in the water."

"Well, no harm done, then," Dumbledore said, smiling benignly. Then the smile vanished, and he laid his hands flat on the desk and regarded them with solemn attention. "Is there anything else either of you would like to tell me?"

"No, Headmaster," Harry said, looking squarely back at him. 

Jane dropped her gaze. "No," she said in a low voice.

"Hogwarts has seen many difficult years lately," Dumbledore said. "I'm afraid that this one looks to be yet another. I'm aware of certain rumors circulating the school, and I'd like to assure you both that I, for one, put little stock in them."

Harry realized he was talking about Malfoy's wild claims of conspiracies, faked suicides, and curses. Almost on the heels of that came the realization that of course, Dumbledore did know about Jane's parents, and knew that Harry knew. Was he … what? Trying to assure Harry that Jane would be safe, because there was no curse? So that even if she was the daughter of a Death Eater, she was not in any danger?

"Still," Dumbledore went on, "it lightens my heart to know that you students are looking out for one another, and not letting House rivalries get in the way. I'm sure you will continue to do so."

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"I regret that my duties currently must keep me so much away from Hogwarts." Dumbledore looked and sounded weary. "Were there any other way, I would take it, but at this time I cannot, no matter how I might like to, put the welfare of this school and its students ahead of that of the entire wizarding world. Not when I know that, while here, you are for the most part well-defended from any external threats."

It made Harry uneasy to hear Dumbledore apologetic, justifying his absence. He wasn't sure how to react. "Yes, sir," he said again. 

Rayyid stirred and fixed his burning topaz eyes on Dumbledore. His posture was impatient. 

"Ah, yes," sighed Dumbledore. "I must be on my way. A quick return to the Ministry tonight, but I will be back for the memorial service. If, that is, you're both quite sure you have nothing more you need to tell me?"

Harry shook his head, and Jane shook hers. 

"Then farewell, and good day to you both."

As they left, Harry heard Dilys Derwent's voice. "She does look so like Ammy … but I can't help seeing what must be her father's legacy in her, too. It's something especially about her –"

The door closed, cutting her off. Ahead of them, the spiral staircase revolved downward. 

He glanced sideways. 

Jane's expression was taut, and he knew that she had heard it, too. 

**

Continued in Chapter Twenty-Three: Hermione's Heartbreak.