Chapter 1: The End of an Age

August 1997

Harry sat alone in the library at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. It was well past midnight, and everyone else had gone to bed. Now seventeen years old, he'd been permitted to sit in on his first Order meeting. The meeting had begun slowly as the other members became used to his presence. Molly Weasley had remained tight-lipped the entire time; she had not allowed Ron or Hermione to attend but had been overruled as far as Harry was concerned. Since Sirius' death the previous year, Dumbledore had been very careful to keep Harry well informed. Barring him from the actual meetings had been a formality to appease Mrs. Weasley. Harry, for his part, had also remained silent throughout the meeting. He had keenly felt the absence of his godfather at the table and had not trusted himself to speak.

By Harry's estimation, very little of any worth had been discussed. Perhaps this had been due to his presence or, more likely, due to Mrs. Weasley's pointed looks at several members. Lupin, Tonks and Mundungus had sat with him on the right side of Dumbledore, who'd presided at the head of the table. Harry had felt their support but it hadn't been enough. Sirius should have been there too. Sirius would have looked Molly Weasley in the face while he discussed the issues at hand, daring her to silence him. When Snape spoke ambiguously about the Dark Lord's plans to regain a more youthful self, Sirius would have made several pointed remarks and forced him to be more specific. Instead, they were all left with the vague idea that Voldemort was planning something major, but no one was sure just what. As discussion of business had come to a close, many of the members rose and left immediately. A couple stayed behind to engage Harry in conversation but left when they found him unresponsive. He'd retreated to the library and had listened in solitude while the house quieted down.

Harry stood up and began to pace, his mind in a state of limbo. He couldn't focus his thoughts but neither could he sleep. Frustrated, he scanned the book titles that surrounded him. His eyes landed on a small leather-bound book and widened with amusement when he read the gold embossed letters: Virgin Sacrifices, Rites and Rituals. Grinning, he lifted it off the shelf and settled back into the chair to read. The morning light was drifting through the cracks in the shutters before he set the book down in revulsion. Childish delight in the taboo subject had caused him to begin reading, and morbid curiosity had seen him through to the last page. He felt a great relief in knowing that virgin sacrifices were a thing of bygone days. The descriptions in the book had been vivid, and each more disturbing than the last. The gory depiction of the ritualistic slaying of unicorns had been especially chilling. The sacrificial daggers made from their horns and infused with their blood were the weapon of choice for murdering virgins. Only in the home of a Dark wizarding family would there be such a foul book in the library...

~ : ~ : ~

June 1998

Harry ran down the long corridor. He'd slipped away from the thick of the battle to find Ginny; he had to find her, had to save her. Another Death Eater awaited him at the end of the cellblock. Bellatrix Lestrange was standing there, wand at the ready, anticipating his next move. He duelled for endless moments, praying that he wouldn't be too late to save Ginny from whatever nefarious plans Voldemort had in store for the youngest Weasley. It was an even match; she sidestepped his stunning spells and he blocked her hexes. In desperation, he screamed out, "Crucio!" The witch before him attempted to shield herself and failed. She tried to throw off the curse, but this time was unsuccessful. Harry felt the power of hatred coursing through his veins as Bella writhed before him in agony. She was all that stood between him and a captive Ginny. He smiled broadly; there would be no interruptions. Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna would hold the other Death Eaters at bay. It was just him and Bella, and he'd repay her tenfold for Ginny's suffering and the death of Sirius. Sirius. Harry lifted his wand and broke off the Cruciatus Curse. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as he realised what he'd done. "Forgive me, Sirius," he murmured as he stepped around Bella's limp form.

He pushed open the door to the cell and stared in horror at the sight before him. Ginny lay bound to a great stone table. Her eyes were closed but her lids fluttered, and she was completely naked. A ledge on the wall contained several thick, drippy candles that were made of a dark, coarse wax. The scent which wafted from their smoke was cloying and intoxicating. On a small stand at the foot of the table lay a tray with a white dagger. The blade was round and spiralled to a sharp point, like the horn of a unicorn. Harry gasped in dismay and recalled the book he'd read the previous summer. His stomach clenched and he felt the bile rise to his throat as he recognized the scenario before him. By the twitching of her eyelids he knew that Voldemort had already conjoined his mind with hers. The Dark Lord would be in a nearby room, preparing himself for the sacrificial rites. The door slammed shut behind him and Harry knew without a doubt that there was no escape. He heard an ominous cackle in his head and suddenly his scar burned with a fiery intensity he had not felt in almost two years. If Voldemort succeeded in completing the ritual, the echo of Tom Riddle would be severed from Ginny, and her life force would be used to renew him to his former youth.

Harry looked to Ginny's form, and an idea began to take shape. He struggled to think of another way, but there was none. He could not hope to defeat Voldemort here, alone, with naught but his wand. In Ginny's mind, however, he would hold the advantage. She cared for him and her love would help fuel his power over the Dark Lord. Even the vestiges of Tom Riddle would not be enough to aid him. Though the idea of using Ginny's body and soul for such a purpose was repulsive to him, it was the only option left to him. Harry pushed aside the pain in his head and strode over to Ginny's side. He laid a hand on her cheek and caressed her mouth with his thumb. "I'm sorry, Gin," he whispered as he leaned down to press his mouth against her lips.

He ran the pads of his fingers down her torso and rested his hands on her thighs. As he stared at her nakedness, he felt the blood begin to pulse in his groin. He could do this; he had to. Harry lifted his robes, loosened his belt and hoisted himself on to the table. Perhaps it was better that she remained bound, what he had to do was bad enough without having to worry about her instinctually trying to fend him off. As he sank between her legs, he transcended his own existence and melded with hers, and Voldemort's. Their screams mingled in his head. Hers was one of agony; his were of unbridled fury. The fighting was intense as the two great powers waged war with the soul of a young girl as the battleground. Her spirit, though strong, began to fade and by the time Harry had bested Tom Riddle, he could hear her no more.

Harry came to on the cold stone floor by the sacrificial table. He looked up to see Ginny's limp and bloody form dangling over the edge. Voldemort had been defeated, but at a horrible cost.

~ : ~ : ~

June 2013

"Ginny!"

Sara stroked her hands gently down her husband's sweat-slicked back. She was accustomed to his violent nightmares, though it had been several years since his last one. She eased him back down onto the bed and cuddled up next to him. His breathing gradually calmed as she soothed his brow. He fell back into a deep sleep and remained unaware that he'd disturbed his wife. Sara kissed the scar on his forehead and then rolled over and off the bed. She slipped silently from the room and padded down the hall. She stood a moment at the door of Rhea's bedroom and watched the rise and fall of her daughter's chest. Rhea would start middle school in the fall, and it seemed like this summer would be Sara's last chance to hold onto her baby girl before she became a woman. Children grew up far too fast. Sara poked her head into the next door down and grinned at the rumpled mess that was her son. She crept into the room and straightened his little body, untangled the covers from his legs and tucked him in. She stood in the hallway for a moment longer to listen to her children breathe. After taking in their soft snores, she snuck into the kitchen for a mug of hot chocolate.

Sara pulled the gourmet powder from the top shelf and spooned it into a mug of cold milk. She winced at the clink the ceramic made on the glass plate in the microwave. The piercing beeps cut through the silence as she tapped the number pad. She listened to the soft whir and waited for her nuked hot chocolate. Wandering into the living room, she curled up in the recliner and sipped her drink while gazing out into the night. Early in her marriage to Harry, she'd often wondered who Ginny was and why he called out her name in his sleep. The jealousy she bore for the other woman had gradually faded and was replaced with a mild curiosity. Harry had never given her a reason to doubt his love, and she'd respected his need to keep his past to himself. When they'd met in college, he'd told her that his parents had died and he'd been raised by an uncaring aunt and uncle. He'd said his past didn't matter, that he only cared about the future they would create together. He'd thrown himself wholeheartedly into their marriage and had become fully integrated into her family. Sara smiled as she remembered his British accent; it had long since faded, and he'd settled into the southern drawl which surrounded him.

What kept her awake now was not the old jealousy, but concern. She'd never told Harry about the nightmares, and he had never woken up. As the years passed, his dreams had become less frequent until they had died out altogether. Their son was four years old. Sara had not heard her husband scream out in his sleep since before Morgan was born. She was not one to believe in mystical things but Sara had an odd sense of foreboding. Something was about to happen ... she just didn't know what.

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Rhea tip-toed past her mother through the living room and into the front entranceway. She slowly twisted the knob and gingerly pulled open the heavy door. She was careful not to let it squeak as she cracked it open just far enough for her to squeeze through. She held the screen until it latched, preventing it from slamming shut. While her parents had never told her she couldn't go outside to watch the sunrise, she figured they wouldn't be overly pleased to be woken at such an early hour. She sat on the porch steps and watched as the sun crept over the distant mountains. As darkness changed to light, a myriad of colours filled the sky, and Rhea was overwhelmed by the magic of the world that surrounded her.

The early morning rays were soon at work, melting the dew from the grass. As the colours faded into blue, Rhea turned her thoughts to her mother. It wasn't unlike Mom to fall asleep in the chair, but Dad would collect her after a time and usher her off to bed. She wasn't given long to dwell on the sleeping habits of her parents as a great horned owl flew down and perched on the porch rail. The owl had reddish tufts of feathers and a very stately look about it. It held a letter in its beak, which it set down upon the rail. Nodding its head at her, it turned and took off, flying away towards the mountains. Rhea swallowed back her shock and reached for the letter, when another owl landed on the porch. This one was snowy-white and she also had a letter. Rhea picked up both letters and waited for the second owl to fly away, but the owl just stared at her with sad eyes.

Rhea looked down at the letters in her hand and gasped in amazement. They were both addressed to her! The squeaking of the hinges on the front door startled her, and she looked up to see her father stepping out onto the porch.

"Rhea, sweetie, what are you doing out here?" he asked softly.

"I came to watch the sunrise, Daddy," she murmured. "Two owls just delivered these," she said holding up the letters. "They both have my name on them."

Harry looked past his daughter to the snowy owl perched on the railing. His eyes widened in disbelief.

"Hedwig."

A/N: Snowy Owls have an average life expectancy of 15 years but can live up to 28 years in captivity. So, it is indeed plausible, even probable, for Hedwig to still be alive. ;)