"Are you sure you want to do this, Arthur?" an elderly witch asked skeptically.

"Yes, Kaelah" Arthur replied, "I'm sure."

The elevator clanked merrily and office memos fluttered quietly on the ceiling as Kaelah McCreed, the Ministries Keeper of the Keys, and Arthur Weasley slowly descended into the lower levels of the Ministry. Arthur had been riding this elevator nearly every day for over two decades, but today he felt like a stranger. Today a suffocating hand of foreboding clutched at his throat, his better judgment scolding him menacingly.

Today, Arthur was venturing into the Department of Mysteries.

The doors slid open soundlessly, and Kaelah ushered Arthur forward with an encouraging smile. He followed her slowly with measured steps, past the old courtrooms and into a narrow hallway. His stomach flipped uncomfortably as he passed the spot he'd been attacked four years earlier, the image of the slithering serpent with jagged fangs still fresh in his mind.

Kaelah led Arthur through a series of doors, magically creating and vanishing a special key for each as they continued on. After making a few dizzying turns though the confined hallways, Arthur found himself in a tiny room with black walls. Standing alone in the corner was a man he had, surprisingly, never seen before. An Unspeakable, he thought to himself, sizing the man up.

"Mr. Deogol, this is Arthur Weasley. I'll leave him to you now," Kaelah said in a polite, business-like tone.

Deogol didn't respond.

Kaelah turned to Arthur, her lips pressed into a thin line, worry etched in her kind, wizened face. "Shall I wait here for you?" she asked searchingly.

"No. But thank you," Arthur smiled kindly. "Who knows how long this might take. I'll send you a memo when I'm ready for the doors to be unlocked, shall I?" Kaelah nodded in response, squeezing Arthur's shoulder gently before departing, closing the solid black door behind her with a snap.

After watching Kaelah depart, Arthur slowly turned to face his new companion with some trepidation. So little was known about the Unspeakables, their lives clouded in mystery. Mr. Deogol was on the shorter side, his raven black hair slicked back neatly. His face was blank, expressionless, as though he were completely void of emotion or feeling.

Taking a step forward, Arthur extended his hand warmly, saying, "How do you do, Mr. Deogol?" As he had done with Kaelah, Deogol neither moved nor responded.

Arthur dropped his hand slowly, frowning slightly and looking Deogol straight in the eye. In response he received a piercing glare, as though Mr. Deogol could see straight into his soul. For many minutes they stood, staring, each examining the other. Arthur dared not move, somehow suspecting that his resolve was being tested. Suddenly Deogol turned around, his hands folded behind his back.

“Follow me, Mr. Weasley,” he said drolly, walking through a door Arthur had not previously seen. On the other side, Arthur found himself in a black circular room illuminated with blue candlelight. As he shut the door behind him they were plunged into darkness. Arthur’s heart leapt to his throat. Slowly his eyes began to adjust, Deogol’s emotionless face illuminated in the pale blue light.

Without warning, the room began to spin, blurring Arthur’s vision and threatening to send him into a bought of nausea. Deogol watched Arthur with interest, as if he was rather amused by his green complexion. When the spinning finally slowed, Deogol walked with purpose across the room, coming to a halt before a door that looked quite like all the others. Arthur followed, looking at Deogol questioningly.

"This is it, then?" he asked, amazed that their journey had been so short.

"This is it," Deogol said simply, his hands once again folded behind his back. Arthur gazed at the door, his heart pounding ridiculously in his chest. "There is still time to turn back," Deogol spoke softly, his words touched with a hint of understanding.

"I have to do this," Arthur replied, his voice firm. "I want to do this."

"Very well," Deogol said, unclasping his folded hands and moving steadily closer to the door. He stopped mere inches away and turned, an air of professionalism exuding from his presence. “There is a reason this door is kept locked, Mr. Weasley. The magical force you will experience beyond this room will be greater than anything you’ve ever encountered, I guarantee you that.”

Arthur nodded in understanding, breathing deeply to settle his raging heartbeat. Deogol cocked one of his eyebrows, gazing intently at Arthur’s face. “You don’t look surprised, Mr. Weasley. Most people underestimate the magical power of love, but apparently not you.”

“I’ve seen the outcome of love,” Arthur said with a wry grin, “I dare not question its power.”

Deogol smiled, the first bit of emotion he’d expressed since Arthur had arrived. “Wise beyond your years,” he whispered quietly. “Indeed, there is no force greater on this earth than love. Very few things in this world have the ability to create both happiness and fear at the same time. Oh yes, the opposite of love is fear, and you will likely experience a heavy dose of it upon entering The Hall. Every act, thought, or idea inspired by love leaves a magical imprint. The powerful magic behind love intrigues us all. It is truly a mystery, hence why this Hall came into being. Beyond this door, every memory of love, whether beautiful or terrifying, lay in wait to be explored.”

Silence fell between the two men, Arthur desperately trying to reclaim his waning bravery while Deogol observed him with benign interest. “Tell me what I need to do,” Arthur finally spoke.

Deogol sighed softly, as though he’d been hoping Arthur would change his mind. “This will likely be a truly dreadful experience for you, I cannot deny that. Very few Unspeakables return to The Hall after their first encounter, and they have been well trained for such things.

“The Hall is mentally and physically demanding. Once you are inside, words and spoken requests have no importance. Only your thoughts and wishes will be answered. Think of what you’d like to see, to explore, and it will come to you. Keep your mind focused on exactly what you are searching for and the imprints will come forth more clearly. You may search as long as you can physically hold out. The Hall will know when you are ready to leave. Once you find a memory that suits your purposes, you may store it in this." Deogol removed a small crimson box from his robes and offered it to Arthur.

"Do you know my purpose in being here?" Arthur asked before he could stop himself.

Deogol was quiet for a moment, examining Arthur’s face with interest. "I imagine nary a soul in the wizarding world doesn't have some inkling," Deogol replied. "We don't give this privilege to just anyone. But, you are here on behalf of those whom we all owe a great debt. The Ministry couldn’t possibly deny your request, knowing whom you seek to help. That being said, I guarantee the Ministry will be unlikely to extend this offer again. I suggest you make the most of it, hold on until you physically break."

Arthur looked to his feet and nodded his head in agreement. He had been shocked to learn his request to enter the Department of Mysteries was approved. He’d felt it was a long shot at best, and yet here he was, ready to step into the unknown. Every instinctive part of him was begging him to reconsider, but there was no turning back. This was their last hope. He had to try.

Deogol placed his hand on the door, his eyes closed in concentration. After a few minutes the door shuddered and rippled, like a stream of water. A hint of color began at the doors center, sweeping out in long-reaching circles until the entire surface was stained a brilliant blood red.

"Simply step through the door when you are ready,” Deogol instructed, folding his hands in an increasingly familiar pose and moving aside. “To leave The Hall, just wish it deep in your heart, and you will find yourself back here. I shall await your return. Good luck."

Arthur nodded and held his breath. He clutched the small box tightly in his fist as he slid forward. Raising his arms, he slowly pressed his hands against the door. They sunk through gradually, a thumping, pulsing sensation meeting his skin as he pushed further. With his eyes firmly closed, he cast himself forward, throwing his body into the abyss known only as The Hall of Love.

Disclaimer: Though this unique plot bunny came from my brain, nothing belongs to me! Writing for pure enjoyment =)


Arthur felt an unsettling rush of energy around his body, like he was spiraling rapidly through the air, though he was too afraid to open his eyes and find out. He finally landed, rather unexpectedly, nearly toppling to the ground on impact. After catching his breath, and adjusting his glasses, he took a moment to gaze around him.

He beheld a vastly open space, reaching unfathomably high into the heavens, seemingly stretching on into eternity. Shivers rippled down his spine, his mind consumed with a feeling of being trapped in an infinitesimal space, though the room stretched on forever. All around him, crimson steams flowed through the air, weaving a seamless web, floating slowly down from the sky. The streams came to a halt at the center of The Hall, wrapping fluidly around a great pulsing mass, almost like rivers of blood flowing to a beating heart.

Arthur took a harrowing breath, his mind momentarily wiped blank in awe of the sight before him. The undulating streams of red mesmerized him, filling his heart with both dread and a strange longing. After quite some time, he tore his eyes away, struggling to remember why he was here. He needed to help someone... I'm here to help my son. My little boy.

The moment the thought swept into his mind, the room began to change. Fluid scarlet waves swept outward from the heart, weaving in an almost terrifying manner towards the spot where Arthur stood. He gasped as the torrent consumed him, drowning him in a swirling mass of red light. For a few horrifying moments, Arthur doubted his resolve. How can anything be accomplished from this? he thought desperately. Abruptly the swirling motion slowed, bringing forth a hazy image. Arthur gasped and stepped forward.

Sitting before him was a younger version of himself, clutching a small infant in his arms. Ron, Arthur thought, a happy smile spreading across his face. They were sitting quietly, Arthur rocking the sleeping baby tenderly, grinning in a way only a father could understand. Ron awoke and stretched out his tiny hand, grasping at Arthur's glasses and cooing merrily.

Arthur watched this imprint for quite a long time. He would have been content to stay in this memory, to remember such innocent and happy times. But this wasn't what he was here for. Ron's not a little boy anymore. He's grown up, experienced love of his own, he thought with a sigh.

The scarlet clouds were pulled away instantly, leaving Arthur gasping for breath as a new wave swept towards him. This time he shut his eyes tightly, waiting patiently for the rushing sound to cease. It took much longer for the wave to settle this time, as if numerous moments and memories were queuing up for the chance to be seen. As the rushing stilled, Arthur's ears were filled with a barrage of sounds.

Slowly opening his eyes, he found a rolling wave of crimson imprints, spitting flashes of moments and memories forth at mind-blowing speed. A moment of Ron walking through the grounds of Hogwarts gazing happily at the school flowed quickly into Ron playing Quidditch, making a spectacular save as he played Keeper. That image faded instantly to show Ron and Ginny, playfully teasing each other and laughing merrily.

Wrestling with the twins.

Giving Pig a letter for Harry.

Standing beside Bill on his wedding day.

The pictures kept flashing before Arthur's eyes, so quickly his head began to ache. It didn't take long for desperation to kick in as he weakly tried to focus on the cavalcade of memories.

Hugging his mother.

Playing a game of Wizards Chess with Charlie.

Having a blazing row with Hermione.

Hermione, Arthur thought, gazing intently at her face as she raged at his son. Ron loves her, he thought with a sad smile, remembering the days he'd secretly hoped that they might admit their love, and eventually marry.

The crimson streams nearly erupted in response to these thoughts, billowing like mad and practically shooting forth new imprints. There before him, Arthur saw image after image of his youngest son and his true love.

Looking.

Touching.

Holding hands and loving embraces.

Passionate kisses.

Muttered oaths.

Declarations of love.

The clashing of skin on skin.

Arthur felt his ears and neck burn red as the memories took a more personal turn. He shut his eyes quickly, certain that neither Ron nor Hermione would want him to see such private moments of expressing their love. No, he thought desperately, begging his mind to clear of his frenzied thoughts. With a great rocking force, the swirling mass was sucked away, sending Arthur painfully to his knees.

Sweat poured from his brow as he agonizingly gasped for breath. Deogol hadn't been joking when he'd said this would be a physically demanding experience. Arthur's entire body ached, and his heart was threatening to beat straight through his chest in his mounting exhaustion. He needed to focus. Somehow he'd never expected it to be this difficult, simply remembering why he had come into The Hall in the first place.

His stomach flipped uncomfortably as a new wave emerged from the pulsing heart of the room, spiraling swiftly in his direction. He pulled himself to his feet as it collided with him, swallowing him in the rush. As he waited for the churning to cease, Arthur was startled to find that this wave was much smaller than the last, its energy strong yet not overpowering. A new image materialized before his eyes, this one far clearer than any other he'd seen. He gasped and clutched at his chest, the realization of this imprint setting in.

Arthur was standing beside Molly, his arm wrapped around her shoulders protectively as she sobbed into a handkerchief. Before them stood three identical beds, their occupants hidden behind thick, white curtains. But something was amiss. Something was happening in the center bed, something that was sending both Arthur and Molly into hysterics as a half dozen witches and wizards rushed into the room. A gap in the curtain revealed the tormented soul to be none other than Harry, flailing wildly, shouting indistinctly into the ward. Through it all, Harry's eyes remained shut tight, as though he were suffering from a nightmare he could not escape.

Then Arthur remembered. That's precisely what the Healers at St. Mungo's had come to believe. After the Great Battle, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been found lying together, as though asleep in a comatose state. Everyone had been confident they would awaken soon, but after a year they still lay in troubled slumber. The only signs of life they ever showed were the occasional scream, or the release of anguished tears.

Arthur's heart clenched as he watched the Healers pin Harry's flailing body to the bed, speaking reassuring words in his ears to no avail. This heartbreaking image flashed to a close, bringing forth one that had happened just weeks before.

"What do you mean they're trapped in their minds?" Molly said incredulously, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you saying they will never wake up?"

"We don't know anything for sure," the Healer replied, a strained look on his face. "We're doing everything we can."

"But why do they keep screaming? Do you know what's causing it?" Arthur questioned, his voice filled with concern.

"Well, we have a theory that they may have been exposed to a Memory Snaring Potion. The victim is forced to relive a moment, lost in a perpetual nightmare."

Molly gasped and placed her hand over her mouth in shock, her other hand clutching Arthur's arm.

"Is there an antidote?" Arthur asked in an amazingly calm voice.

"No," the Healer replied sadly. "The potion just runs its course until the victim snaps out of it I'm afraid. The problem is we've never had victims of a Memory Snaring Potion with such vividly disturbing memories before. Usually they are able to break away from their nightmares, even for a moment, and in remembering how beautiful life can be they awaken. Your son and his friends seem trapped in one very intense memory. They may never wake up…”

Arthur slid to his knees, his heart aching madly. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were trapped in their memories of the war. A war that by rights they should never have had to fight, but did so without complaint. A war that never would have been won had they not taken action, and now a lifetime of tormented dreams was their reward.

But the Healers had a new theory. If they could inject a memory into their minds, perhaps they could tear them away from their nightmares. But no one could imagine a moment powerful enough to pull them out of such torment. Nothing seemed strong enough, or beautiful enough, to accomplish such a feat. That was when Arthur had decided to come here, to The Hall of Love in the Department of Mysteries. Where else could he find a memory they could all share, filled with enough love to pull them back from the edge of hell?

But now that he was here, Arthur didn't know what to do. The imprint he'd just seen of his days at St. Mungo's hardly seemed worthy of existing in the realm of love, drenched in darkness and despair, and yet he knew each scene was filled with extreme thoughts of love. Love from he and Molly. Even love from the dedicated Healers. With so many imprints to choose from, how was he ever going to find the right one?

I wish I knew that they were going through, Arthur thought sadly, rubbing his tired eyes. He looked up suddenly as a rumbling began in the distance. A new red, swirling wave was fast approaching, and Arthur dreaded to see what horrors it might tell.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just writing for fun.



A grunt escaped Arthur’s lips as the churning wave swept over him; his exhausted body still crouched weakly on the ground. The swiftness of this stream was terrifying, as though The Hall held this particular memory in high regard and was anxious to let the imprint be known. Arthur closed his eyes, screwing up all his remaining strength, sensing that this memory would be the most difficult of all.

The whirling slowed, and Arthur’s ears were met with a quiet symphony of sounds. The chirping of crickets, the rustling of a soft breeze through leaves, the gentle hooting of an owl. He opened his eyes warily to find a vivid scene before him. It was night, though the world was lit by the haunting glow of a full moon. Shadows stretched eerily across an unkempt yard, a once grand, but obviously forgotten house visible in the distance.

I know this place, Arthur thought, his stomach filling with dread. This was where the final confrontation took place, The Great Battle where Voldemort fell, and the war was finally won. His heart sank even further when he realized it was that very same night, before the Order swept the scene, battling Death Eaters and desperately searching for Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

The end of it all had come so quickly. The three of them had been missing for weeks when suddenly the Order had received a call for help, followed by an abrupt victory. Their success had almost seemed cheap. Everyone knew the real battle had occurred before the Order had even arrived, and yet there was no one to tell the tale. The three heroes, their saviors, were found asleep, their story untold. Until now, Arthur thought as three figures appeared in the darkness before him...

Harry, Ron, and Hermione crept through the trees, their wands held high, their faces alert. They slunk wordlessly toward the abandoned house, a deep frown spreading over Harry’s face as he moved, clearly weary at the thought of entering such a place. He turned towards Ron and Hermione, nodding once before moving towards the door. As if on cue they pulled out a silvery cloak, wrapping it around themselves and disappearing instantly into the shadows.

Harry moved inside, the old floorboards creaking loudly under his feet. He crept stealthily through the aging halls, the dust from years of neglect deafening his footfalls as he moved further into the mansion. He passed room after room, obviously looking for something, or someone. At last, in an old drawing room, he found his mark. In the center of the room, a bright, toxic blue light was glowing radiantly, surrounding a thin floating wand. Harry paused and looked around him, examining the room closely. After a few moments, he finally stepped forward, reaching out his hand and grasping the wand firmly in his hand. There was a loud crack in the doorway, a tall figure obscured in the shadows. Harry looked almost nonplussed, as though he’d been expecting the arrival of some unknown visitor.

“Transitus statum!” a voice like a hiss echoed from the doorway. Harry momentarily flinched, as if surprised, before regaining his original composure. Out of the darkness stepped Lord Voldemort, his long black robes sweeping ominously behind him.

“Well Harry, so nice to see you again. And in my father’s house, no less,” Voldemort said with a mirthless grin. “And I see you’ve found my treasure! It really was quite generous of Mr. Ollivander to, shall we say, donate it to my cause.” With a firm swipe of his hand, the wand Harry had plucked from the blue light was thrown aside, landing far across the room, the blue light returning. “Now Harry, let’s not draw this out. Be a good lad and just die quickly, though if you insist on dueling, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

“Let’s just get on with it,” Harry said suddenly, slashing his wand through the air and hurtling a non-verbal spell at Voldemort. Whatever spell he’d cast was tossed aside with a hollow laugh, Voldemort retaliating instantly, a jet of yellow light issuing from his wand. Harry narrowly avoided it, sending out a Stunning Spell in response. The stunner never hit its mark, but the Cruciatus Curse hit Harry dead on.

He crumpled instantly, his face screwed up in pain as he fought to keep from screaming. Then, almost as fast as it began, the spell was inexplicably lifted, Voldemort turning about angrily, his gaze falling on the corner into which he’d cast Ravenclaw’s wand. A loud snap split the silence. Two figures fell to the ground, the cloak they’d been wearing frayed beyond repair, revealing pained and bloodied faces, the protections on the wand clearly emitting some damage upon being destroyed.

Voldemort raged, swishing his wand at Ron and Hermione, sending them crashing into a nearby wall where they remained frozen, their eyes fixated on the scene unfolding before them. “Very clever, Harry,” Voldemort hissed as Harry staggered to his feet, his wand shaking in his hand. “Your plan succeeded, but at what cost? Now your friends can watch you die. It will be the last thing they see before I send them to join you!”

Harry launched forward, a blind fury pulsing from his body at this veiled threat. He held his own, casting spell after spell and blocking many more, but it was evident he was no match for Lord Voldemort. He finally fell to his knees, his body wracked in torturous pain, screams bellowing from his mouth. Voldemort’s wrath was unrelenting, his face growing more maniacal with every passing second as he deepened the power behind the curse. On the wall, tears spilled from Ron and Hermione’s eyes, helpless to do anything but watch as Harry was tortured to death.

Suddenly a strange, crimson light began to pour off of Harry, seeping from his very skin. The light grew and spread, whirling violently through the air. Voldemort started, taken aback by this new intrusion. The red bonds swirled closer, wrapping menacingly around his body. Voldemort released his hold on Harry, but the streams kept coming, coiling like a snake around the Dark Lord’s tall skeletal form.

He fired spell after spell, cursing loudly and staggering back, but nothing could stop the streams. Voldemort did not know the power of love. He could not understand the strength of the imprint Lily had left behind. He couldn’t fathom the love Harry felt for those he’d lost; how the caring he felt for those he was leaving behind could change the love from his very soul into something alive and tangible.

Voldemort yelled, his cries drowning in swirling red. The scarlet mass churned tighter and tighter until he could no longer be seen, his cries weakening until there was only a rush of sound from the sweeping streams of love. Finally, with a deafening crack, the streams vanished. Hermione and Ron fell to the ground, released from their bonds.

Voldemort was dead.

“Harry!” Hermione sobbed, dashing across the room and plunging to her knees at Harry’s side.

“You’ll be alright, mate; we’ll get you out of here,” Ron said in a hurried tone, carefully pulling Harry from the ground.

“It’s all my fault. I should have known he’d come himself when you breeched the shield!” Hermione scolded herself, wrapping Harry’s arm around her neck for support.

“I’m alright,” Harry grunted his face very pale, “What was that red light?”

Neither Ron nor Hermione responded for a moment. “Whatever it was, it worked, Harry,” Ron said in a quiet voice, pulling Harry down the hall. “He’s dead. I don’t know how, but he’s gone, this time for good.”

“All the more reason we should hurry,” Hermione added in a rushed tone. “The Death Eaters will have felt it when he passed, they’ll be here any moment. If only he hadn’t cast an Apparation Ward when he arrived!” she finished angrily, opening the door and shuffling through rapidly.

She made a feeble attempt at Apparating once they’d stepped outside, but it was immediately clear the ward was covering the entire property. Minutes later, they were halfway across the yard when a dozen black cloaked figures appeared out of the darkness, running with unadulterated rage towards their master’s killers. Ron and Hermione acted quickly, firing defensive spells and pulling Harry towards a small cottage at the edge of the property. Barricading themselves inside, Harry weakly raised his arm and fired off his Patronus, while Ron and Hermione cast protective spells over the tiny house.

Within moments they were blasted back, the Death Eaters taking aim at the rickety old cottage, intent on bringing it down. Ron covered Hermione’s head with his arms as a mass of rubble fell from the ceiling, the old beams shattering under the hail of spells. They were too grossly outnumbered and injured to fight. Their only hope was that the Order would arrive quickly.

“Stupid brats! COME OUT!” a voice rang through the walls, followed by murmured assents and a continuing stream of spells.

Harry crouched into a corner as more debris feel from the rooms above, Ron and Hermione pressed closely against a wall nearby. A Stunning Spell broke through their defenses, shattering a high window to pieces and littering the ground with jagged shards of glass. Hermione leapt forward instantly, repairing the window and mending her protective spells.

“I have an idea,” another voice said menacingly from outside as Hermione set to work mending the broken holes in the wall. “Liquifluctus!” the man said, receiving mirthful laughs from his compatriots as the spell took affect.

A thin mist began floating through the cracks in the walls, settling slowly downward through the air. It reached Hermione first, her body crumpling instantly as it touched her skin.

“NO!” Ron shouted, sliding forward and pulling Hermione into his arms. Harry crawled painfully to their side, shaking his head in disbelief. Hermione’s eyes opened briefly, tears pooling thickly around her lashes as she gazed at Ron and Harry. The house began to shake again, rubble falling dangerously all around them.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered, as though she’d failed them, her face breaking in sorrow as her eyes drifted shut, her body moving no more. Ron bellowed in despair, clutching Hermione to his chest while Harry, a few tears falling down his cheeks, ran his hand over Hermione’s thick, frizzy hair. Above their heads, the mist was slowly descending, drifting closer and closer. Harry aimed his wand, uselessly trying to blast it away. Finally he met Ron’s eyes, their blue color flooded over with unshed tears as he rocked Hermione gently in his arms.

“Thank you, Harry,” Ron said, his voice cracking. “For everything.”

“I should be thanking you,” Harry responded, placing his other hand on Ron’s shoulder.

They looked at each other for a moment, like two brothers at the end of a long journey, saying goodbye for the last time. In moments the mist reached Ron’s head, sending him to the ground instantly, Hermione still held tightly in his embrace. A defeated roar escaped Harry’s mouth as he clutched his friends weakly, the fog sinking steadily lower to bring him along. Closing his eyes, the mist enveloped him, sending him to the ground beside Ron and Hermione. Three friends, together until the very end.

The swirling mass retracted, pulling itself away from Arthur Weasley with a powerful rush of energy. Arthur lay on the ground, curled up into himself and weeping openly. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had fought with more love than he could have dreamed, literally bringing the Dark Lord down with the strength of their devotion. And now they relived this night over and over, perpetually lost in the nightmare of torture, pain, and loss. They each fell into their dreams thinking they’d lost the others, each blaming themselves in turn.

Arthur took a deep, shuddering breath. He was more determined now that ever before, seeing the hell they were experiencing every moment. He had to find a memory to save them. A powerful memory, good enough to counteract all the pain and evil he’d just seen. He would find the memory, no matter the cost.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, sadly...

Arthur lay motionless on the cold black floor, his labored breath exhausting him deeply. Somehow he had to collect his remaining strength, center it and use it to withstand one more wave of memories. He was already past needing to leave The Hall, his body suddenly feeling his age, plus years beyond. His hands trembled beneath him as he pushed himself off the ground, threatening to collapse at any moment. But Arthur held fast, pushing until he found himself sitting erect, facing the pulsing red mass in the distance.

You know what I need… don't you, Arthur thought angrily, unable to help himself as he stared weakly at the winding scarlet streams. You know why I'm here… what I'm facing ... you can sense the love I brought with me, the strength it gave me to come this far… why must you insist on torturing me? Arthur filled with dread as the streams wriggled violently, threatening to sweep over him. His angered thoughts seemed to have deeply upset The Hall.

At first he was sure he would pay dearly for his derision, but many minutes passed and the waves did not approach. Instead they almost seemed to call out to him, beckoning him closer, like a child wanting to whisper a secret in his ear. Arthur could feel his skin paling, his stomach sinking at the prospect of moving towards the beating heart of the room. Surely he could not survive such a force, stepping into the very depths of the power of love. And yet the streams summoned him forward, reassuring and calming in their undulating grace. A feeling of ethereal hope sang from their light, piercing Arthur's very soul with trust and longing.

A soft whimper escaped his lips as he pulled himself painfully to his feet, his legs quavering madly. Fear unlike anything he'd even known was screaming in his heart as he crept across the vast expanse, approaching the core, the center of the room. But there was little time for fear. He had come too far, experienced too much to turn back now. He had no other choice but to believe the feelings in his heart, and to keep moving forward. A reassuring voice whispered softly in his mind, telling him he was doing the right thing, begging him to believe in the power of love, and promising that freedom and deliverance lay at the heart of the room.

Arthur swallowed hard, his eyes wide and unblinking as he drew agonizingly closer to his fears. The swirling bands opened wide, wrapping seamlessly around his body in one swift motion. A startled cry rent from his lips as it swept him off his feet, hurtling him rapidly towards the pulsing heart. There was no chance for second guessing his decision, no moment to panic as the streams pulled him in to their crimson folds, consuming him in the warmth of love...

Welcoming winter sunlight shone warmly over the frozen trees, glimmering through the evergreens laden with icicles and fresh snow. The world was slowly coming back to life, awakening after a peaceful night's rest, eager to greet the possibilities of the new day. In a copse of trees, a small flock of birds sat chirping happily, pecking absentmindedly in the drifting snow, their songs breaking the silence of the morning.

Suddenly they stiffened, snapping to attention at the sounds of something approaching. The crackling of wood and the breaking of branches grew steadily closer until the flock finally took to the skies in alarm, scattered bits of snow to the earth in their hastened flight. The cause of their distress became immediately clear; a young man with dark black hair was creeping stealthily into their midst, a wand clutched tightly in his gloved hand. He cringed as the birds cawed in alarm, grimacing with every flap of their wings. He'd given away his position. Any moment now, he would be under attack.

As if on cue, a massive hail of snowballs came hurtling through the trees, hitting him square in the face and sending him crashing to the ground. He laughed despite himself, sitting up slowly and glaring pointedly at a ginger-haired man who had just come into view.

"Nice aim, Ron," Harry said with fake disdain, wiping clumps of snow off his black-rimmed glasses.

"Thanks!" Ron replied, a satisfied grin on his face, stepping forward to help Harry off the ground.

"You'd never have found me if it hadn't been for those blasted birds," Harry said irritably, dusting snow from his robes.

"Is it my fault you woke up half the forest? You're really rubbish at being sne-" Ron's words were cut off as an avalanche of snow came pouring down from the branches above, giving him the look of a tall, gangly snowman as he stood frozen in shock.

"What was that about being sneaky?" Harry shouted, running in the opposite direction, Ron fast on his heels. They bolted through the trees, snaking their way towards a small shack in the distance, each pummeling the other with magically charged snowballs as they raced through the woods. Harry was just about to plunge through the front door of the cabin when it suddenly flew open, revealing a short yet strangely formidable young woman, her arms crossed in annoyance. Harry came to an abrupt halt before tumbling to the ground in a wave of limbs as Ron collided with him.

Ron grunted, pushing himself into a sitting position and adjusting his maroon hat until he could properly see. "Morning, Hermione," he said with a sheepish grin, waving merrily as she scowled at him from the doorway.

"Morhnink, 'erminee," Harry mumbled, his face still pressed partially into the snow.

"Hmpf," Hermione huffed, stalking out into the morning air, wrapped snuggly in her warmest winter robes. "This whole time I thought you were out practicing your spells and preparing for our next Horcrux mission," she grumbled, walking swiftly to the wood pile.

"We were preparing ourselves," Ron insisted, helping Harry off the ground.

"Oh yes, I'm sure this morning will come in handy if the Death Eaters happen to challenge us to a snowball fight," Hermione bit back, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice.

"You could join us if you'd like," Harry said with a grin, twirling his wand with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"No thank you," Hermione replied as she magically stacked a few logs into a floating heap. "I have more important things to do, like studying up to keep you two alive!"

"Oh, come on, Hermione!" Ron whined, walking slowly in her direction. "It's the day before Christmas. Can't you just take one minute to relax and have fun?"

Hermione dropped the stack of wood in annoyance, turning around to face Ron, a severe look plastered on her face. "Are you mad? Have you forgotten that we're in the middle of a war? We don't have time for fun! Harry, I'm surprised you let him talk you into this!"

"It was my idea, actually," Harry said with a smile, laughing at the indignant look spreading across Hermione's face. "Ron's right, Hermione, it's the day before Christmas. Let's take a break for five minutes and just enjoy the fact that we've made it this far."

Hermione frowned, gazing slowly between the two boys before her, shifting her weight as though she were uncertain. Finally she turned back to the neglected stack of wood, continuing her task without a word. Harry looked at Ron and shrugged, turning about and slowly walking away.

Ron frowned a bit, turning around as well, mumbling, "A bit of fun would do you good," over his shoulder as they moved away. He was just about to suggest to Harry that they strike up where they left off when a snowball came plummeting through the air behind him, smacking his face with unexpected force. Stunned, he and Harry turned back just in time to see a dozen more flying through the air, and Hermione racing in the opposite direction with a triumphant squeal.

Many minutes and attacks later, Ron and Harry finally caught up to Hermione, tackling her to the ground and pelting her mercilessly with an avalanche of snowballs. She screamed in response, her face trapped somewhere between exhilaration and terror as the boys retaliated with unrelenting force. Finally, when you couldn't tell their three frozen, soaked forms from the snow covered landscape around them, they called a truce, laughing uncontrollably as they began slowly walking towards the cabin.

About halfway up the trail, Harry began to measure his steps, his eyes shifting slowly between Ron and Hermione. A small grin started to spread across his face as he gazed closer at Ron, who was undeniably having an inner battle with himself about something. It only took Harry a few seconds to realize the source of Ron's dilemma upon meeting his eyes, or counting the furtive glances Ron was regularly throwing at Hermione.

"Oh, I, er, dropped my hat…" Harry improvised, stopping in his tracks. "I'll just be a second, you two go on without me."

"But you weren't wearing a hat," Hermione said in a confused tone, walking in Harry's direction.

"Sure he was," Ron jumped in, correctly interpreting Harry's intentions. "Come on, let's keep walking." Hermione squinted skeptically at Ron for a brief moment before shrugging her shoulders and moving to his side. They walked along in silence for a few minutes, relaxed in each others quiet company. The forest seemed to take its cues from Ron, stirring up a frigid breeze and increasing the speed of the swirling snowflakes until Hermione shivered, giving Ron the perfect excuse to wrap his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. Hermione obligingly melted into him, a shy smile on her face, her eyes cast to her feet as they trudged along.

"This really is a beautiful place," she whispered, breaking the silence as she gazed at the almost enchanted woods around them. She'd chosen it herself as their base of operations, the perfect place to hide, to prepare. "I feel like I could stay here forever," she finished wistfully, a content sigh escaping her trembling lips.

"Maybe we could come back and live here one day," Ron mumbled almost imperceptibly, his free hand adjusting his hat nervously. Hermione froze in her tracks, gazing wide-eyed into Ron's pale, freckly face.

"What?" was all she managed, clearly caught off guard at his words.

Ron looked distinctly unsure of himself, shuffling his feet and not meeting Hermione's gaze. "I said maybe we could live here one day. You know, once all this mess is behind us."

A slow smile began spreading across Hermione's face, obvious surprise in her eyes. "I'd love to," she said, tears threatening to escape, her voice cracking.

"Really?" Ron asked hopefully, looking Hermione in the eyes. He let out a gleeful shout when she nodded her head, snatching her up off the ground and spinning her wildly around in circles. Grinning broadly, he took her hand in his and continued walking along the trail, gazing askance as her rosy face. "I'll do this properly once the war is over," he added after a few minutes.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean when I have some money to my name and we're not standing in the middle of the bloody forest freezing our knickers off," Ron said as they reached the shack, holding the door open for Hermione to enter.

"I don't need anything more than this," she said in earnest, pausing beside him in the doorframe.

"I know… but you deserve it," Ron replied, kicking the snow off his shoes. Hermione smiled serenely in reply, pulling on Ron's scarf until he was close enough to wrap her arms around, trapping him in a warm, loving kiss…

Arthur felt himself slipping deeper into the crimson folds, willingly allowing himself to be pulled further into the imprint around him, losing himself in its simple beauty. He watched the memory of the day progress with a reverent sigh. The Hall had been ready to give him this day, this brief glimpse into their lives, from the first moment he had arrived. He could have received it right off, before experiencing anything else, but The Hall had its reasons for holding this memory back. Arthur had to witness everything else, to experience true terror, love and devotion in the face of destruction, before this imprint could possibly seem worthy.

Given the choice, in the beginning, he would have sought something grander, shinier and more extravagant than this day. His eyes would have been blinded by cheap glimmering moments of happiness, drawn to frivolous days of lighthearted, mindless mirth. But now, now that his heart was filled to overflowing with the true nature of love, and caring, he saw the truth. Love doesn’t need frills to be wonderful. This day, though quite like any other in so many ways, was perfect. Beautiful. The hours passing around him showed friendship, their connection. If anything could pull them out of their nightmarish memories, it was the promise of each other.

Fading into exhausted darkness, his body quickly losing steam, Arthur opened the box Mr. Deogol had given him, absorbing the memory as it passed, letting it consume him completely…

Many hours later, long after the world was plunged into peaceful darkness, Harry lie awake, unable to sleep despite his best efforts. He slowly rose from his cot, casting an envious look at Ron and Hermione, nestled comfortably in their beds, Ron snoring contentedly, Hermione smiling at her dreams. With great care he made his way out of the small room, closing the creaking, aged door with a careful hand. He stalked slowly to the miniscule window at the front of the shack, peering with squinted eyes through the frosted pane.

Beyond the glass, the world appeared almost too peaceful. White and pure, gentle and forgiving. No signs of the war, no indication of the bloodshed they'd already experienced. Just peace. Perhaps it was the warmth of Christmas day, casting a temporary Illusionment Charm on his eyes. Or maybe things always looked better in the quiet hours before dawn. After quite a few minutes of personal reflection, Harry was disturbed from his reverie by the sound of a groaning floorboard and the scuffle of slippered feet.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," Hermione whispered as she came to his side, a tired smile shining on her face as she pulled her quilt tighter around her shoulders. She took a seat below the windowsill, leaning her head against the wall as she gazed at Harry. "You miss them, don't you?" she asked in a knowing voice after a few moments of friendly silence. Harry cast her a confused look, obviously uncertain of whom she was referring. In response she pointed to Harry's hand.

Harry looked down, smiling wryly to himself. Within the clutches of his fingers was a tarnished, weather-worn gold necklace, a tiny heart with the inscription " J & L" dangling merrily at the end. Harry had found the necklace in the rubble at Godric's Hollow, a gift from his father to his mother, lost for nearly sixteen years beneath broken stones and forgotten memories. Harry had taken to keeping the necklace with him at all times, as though it represented his parents in some way, their strength resonating from the gilded chain.

"I didn't even realize I was holding it," he said softly, running his thumb over the heart before returning it to his pocket.

"They'd be really proud of you. For everything you've done," Hermione said thoughtfully as she looked through the window.

Harry considered her for a minute, as though he were trying to decide something. "I bet your parents would be proud of you, too." Hermione turned and met Harry's gaze, a sad smile upon her face.

"I know they would."

Silence fell between them, relaxed smiles playing on their lips as they continued watching the morning arrive. "You know, Harry, I've been thinking about Ginny alot recently."

"Really?" Harry said ironically, as though he'd been expecting this conversation, "and why is that?"

"Well, as things with Ron and I have gotten more… complicated," Hermione began, pausing as Harry cocked one of his eyebrows and smirked at her choice of wording, "I started to wonder why you didn't want Ginny by your side. Ron and I are facing the same chance of loss as you and Ginny, but we know we can be more useful to the Order by staying together…"

"Ginny does more for the Order than the three of us put together," Harry interjected fondly. "She's better off in London than out here."

"But why? And don't tell me you want to keep her safe, Harry, I know you better than that and it's complete rubbish."

Harry chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair. "I'll tell you my reasons if you tell me what you meant by 'complicated,'" Harry said mischievously, thoroughly enjoying the flushed look on Hermione's face.

"Well, you see," Hermione mumbled, "Ron sort of asked me to marry him this afternoon."

"I knew it!" Harry said triumphantly, pointing at Hermione and laughing merrily. "So?"

"So I said yes," Hermione replied, unable to conceal a goofy grin as Harry stepped forward and pulled her into a brotherly embrace. "But we agreed to wait until after all this mess is behind us."

"Well, we've been dealing with this mess for over a year and a half now. Are you sure you can wait?" Harry teased mildly as he stepped back to the window, his arms folded across his chest.

Hermione huffed indignantly, trying unsuccessfully to hide a small giggle. "Alright, now it's your turn. Why let Ron and I risk life and limb while leaving Ginny behind?"

"You make it sound so simple, like I can compare one of you to another," Harry said, his voice suddenly tired. "In the beginning I didn't want any of you to come with me. I was determined to face this completely alone. But now… I can't imagine you and Ron not being here. You're more like appendages now, a part of me. I don't think I could function in this fight without the two of you.

"But Ginny is… different. She's my reason. My goal. If I had her here beside me, I don't know if I'd have the strength to keep on fighting. It's the promise of being able to go back to her when this is all through that I'm holding onto. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Hermione said, looking at Harry as though she was seeing him for the first time. “We all have our goals. The things we want that keep us going.”

“That’s true,” Ron said from across the room, surprising them with his sudden arrival. “Mine’s getting back to Mum’s cooking.”

Harry and Hermione laughed, shaking their heads in amusement. “Surely there is something more than food that’s getting you through this,” Hermione smiled in exasperation.

“You know what’s getting me through this,” Ron mumbled, nudging Hermione’s leg with his knee and grinning timidly down at her.

“Shall I leave you two alone, then?” Harry teased with a half smile.

“Don’t you dare! You know what he meant!” Hermione laughed, slapping at Harry’s arm. “He meant his family, and the prospect of maybe having one of his own someday,” she finished, blushing profusely. Ron turned slightly red as well, though his smile remained.

“Speaking of,” Harry said, breaking the awkward silence, “I think you should go home for Christmas, to be with your family.”

“I’m already with family, mate!” Ron laughed, giving Harry a gentle shove. “Just because you’re not a redhead doesn’t mean you’re not a Weasley.” Harry smiled appreciatively, shoving his hands in his pocket and unconsciously clutching the small, golden necklace.

No one spoke for quite awhile, each lost in their own thoughts as they watched the sun creep above the horizon. It was a brilliant sunrise, captivating and warm. It seemed to work some kind of magic on the morning air, bringing the world closer, promising a perfect Christmas holiday.

“Hermione,” Harry mumbled in the peaceful silence, turning his head to stare at his friend. “What’s your reason?”

“My reason?” she inquired, turning away from the dazzling light.

“Your reason for fighting. For being here,” Ron offered, curiosity on his face.

“Other than you two?” Hermione chuckled turning back towards the window, her face illuminated in golden streams of light. “I suppose it’s the possibility of a life without this war. A life without fear and loss. The promise of at least one last golden day when the battle is finally over, a day to just celebrate and be together. That moment when we can finally prove that this wasn’t all in vain; that there is something worth fighting for.”

“A light at the end of the tunnel,” Ron whispered.

“A chance at real happiness,” Hermione smiled.

“Love,” Harry finished, clutching the gold heart in his hand, basking in the glow of promise, his friends forever at his side.

Disclaimer: Just visiting Jo’s creation, nothing here is mine =)


The darkness was all consuming, swallowing more than just the light of the world. All sounds, all feelings, seemed to be slipping into oblivion. The only thing Arthur noticed was the thumping of his heart, a slow yet determined beating against his sagging ribcage.

Unknowingly he drew another ragged breath, his chest rising painfully with the effort. He didn’t notice the figure descending to his prone form, the startled voice speaking his name, or the unusually warm substance being poured down his throat.

“Mr. Weasley?”

Arthur heard his name, ripping through the edges of his consciousness. The thumping in his chest was getting stronger, louder. He suddenly noticed that he felt immensely cold, his body pressed flat on the chilled, black marble floor. A fire started to spread in his stomach, reaching out in sweeping strides, moving to his chest, his limbs, and his face.

“Mr. Weasley?” the voice questioned again, this time much clearer. Closer. Arthur opened his eyes slowly, accepting a cloudy figure into his sights. Mr. Deogol was kneeling at his side, a look of mild relief spreading over his normally unmoving features. “Welcome back,” Deogol said softly, extending his hand and gingerly helping Arthur off the ground. An involuntary groan left Arthur’s lips as he moved to a sitting position, his body angrily fighting against the forced movement.

“Things will get better in a moment,” Mr. Deogol reassured Arthur, handing him his glasses. “It always takes some time for the body to adjust after leaving The Hall, but the potion I gave you should help.”

“And what potion was that, exactly?” Arthur grunted through his dry, aching throat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Ah, sorry, Mr. Weasley, but that is yet another mystery that will remain within these walls for the time being,” Deogol replied with a rueful smile as he conjured a glass of water. “Sip this and rest for a moment, you’ve had quite a hard morning.”

Arthur nearly choked on the water as Deogol’s words registered. “Morning? But I’ve been gone for days!”

Deogol merely shook his head. “You left my side a little over an hour ago. Quite impressive, actually. Men half your age haven’t lasted more than five minutes.”

“But I saw hundreds of memories. Full days!” Arthur insisted, his head beginning to feel slightly less foggy.

“You saw imprints of love, Mr. Weasley. What does time matter to love? A lifetime exists as but a moment in the history and magic of love. Though, love’s perfect moments can linger with us for life. You saw mere glimpses of love’s past, specific instances to help you reach your goal,” Deogol indicated the crimson box in Arthur’s hand. It was glowing now, the bands of love inside shining radiantly.

Arthur lifted the box higher, examining it carefully and caressing it with a gentle hand. “For awhile I feared I’d never find it,” he said truthfully, sighing with exhaustion. “But then I realized The Hall had this imprint in mind all along. The memory was perfect,” he muttered, a soft smile creeping across his weary face. “More than I could have hoped for. And yet…” Arthur trailed off without completing his thoughts, lowering the box to his side. A strange weight was pressing in his heart, an unspoken dread that kept resurfacing every few moments as he slowly acclimated himself to his new surroundings.

Deogol looked at Arthur thoughtfully, his face unreadable. “Fear,” he said quite plainly, reaching out and taking the box from Arthur’s hand. “It’s amazing how it creeps into our hearts. You’ve just been in the depths, the very folds of love, and still you fear you will fail in your task.”

For a moment Arthur wanted to deny this claim. How could he doubt anything now after all he’d seen, all he’d experienced? How could he not trust the power he’d witnessed, the magical strength of love? “What if it was all for nothing? What if I came so far, to retrieve this memory, this perfect day, and it doesn’t work?” Arthur finally said softly, running a hand through his thinning hair.

“No act done out of love in committed in vain, Arthur,” Deogol said softly, catching Arthur off guard upon hearing his first name rather than the formal ‘Mr. Weasley.’ “I’ve been the Keeper for The Hall of Love for nearly fifteen years. Believe me; the courage you’ve shown has not gone unnoticed.”

“I don’t know if I have enough courage left to do what needs to be done,” Arthur replied in a whisper, eyeing the box in Deogol’s hand. “I don’t know if I can face the possibility that this cure might not work. After being in The Hall… after seeing all that I’ve seen… it’s almost like I have them back again. Like I never lost them in the first place.” Arthur felt his ears flushing red and looked down at the floor. He wasn’t usually one to share his feelings so fluidly, especially with a complete stranger. And yet somehow, he felt that Deogol, with his emotionless mannerisms and pristine appearance, wasn’t really a stranger at all. Somehow they’d reached an unspoken understanding, a common ground.

Deogol made an indistinct sound, shuffling himself about as he squatted beside Arthur. “We all lost something in the war,” he finally said, trying to meet Arthur’s eye. “Family. Friends. Even pieces of ourselves…” Arthur raised his head, meeting his companion’s eye, suddenly understanding his cold demeanor.

“And yet love remains through it all,” Deogol continued. “Even if they never wake, you will still have the knowledge that you did all you could. You will still have the memories you witnessed in The Hall. And they will have this moment,” he paused as he held out the glowing box in his hand, “no matter the outcome. They will not be lost in fear and hate anymore, Arthur. You will bring them love, and that is worth everything.”

The two men sat quietly for a moment, each in silent respect for the other: The unlikely warrior on a quest for a cure, and the emotionally broken Keeper of The Hall of Love. Perhaps fate had brought them to this moment. Perhaps it was just another aspect of love’s magic that they would never understand. No matter the reason, Arthur had brought Mr. Deogol an image of courage, a will to keep pushing when the whole world seems lost and dark. In return, Deogol had given him hope. Hope that only love can provide, and who better to bestow such a gift than its Keeper?

“A message has been sent to Mrs. McCreed,” Deogol said, finally interrupting the silence as he placed the box back in Arthur’s hands. “She should arrive any moment to unlock the doors.”

Arthur nodded and slowly rose to his feet, wobbling slightly on his still shaking legs. “Do you think it will work?” Arthur asked, indicating the miniscule box in his hand.

“I have no doubt,” he replied, gesturing towards one of the many doors in the circular room. “Mrs. McCreed shall meet you just beyond that door. Good luck to you.”

The black door opened on its own, beckoning Arthur forward. He stood still for a moment in slight trepidation. This is it, he thought, swallowing hard as his heart rate increased. Somehow leaving the Department of Mysteries was just as terrifying as entering it, knowing the tasks that now lay ahead. He clutched the box tightly for a moment, feeling the swirling scarlet streams emit their welcoming warmth. A slow smile spread across his face. Deogol was right. No matter what happened in the hospital, he was bringing them this memory, this golden moment. The night of The Great Battle would haunt them no longer, he was quite certain of that.

Arthur stepped across the room; hope swelling his heart till it threatened to burst. He paused just before exiting, turning back one last time.

“Mr. Deogol,” Arthur said politely, extending his hand.

“Mr. Weasley,” Deogol replied with a nod, taking his hand and shaking it sincerely.

With a faint smile Arthur turned and crossed the threshold into the black room, turning to gaze at Mr. Deogol once more. His hands were folded behind him; his raven black hair slicked back impeccably as ever, disappearing into the ghostly blue candlelight as the door closed with a snap.