**The Forest of Dean - 2:34 AM**
Harry hit the forest at Mach 8, his passage through the trees creating a shockwave that stripped leaves from branches and sent wildlife fleeing in terror.
He decelerated in the clearing with the standing stones—the place where he'd buried Mad-Eye's eye almost a year ago, giving the old Auror at least a partial rest since his body had never been recovered.
The clearing was lit by conjured torches. The standing stones had been moved, excavated. And in the center—
A ritual circle drawn in what looked like blood. Ancient runes that made Harry's skin crawl even through the armor. And at its heart, a cauldron—cracked and cooling, but recently used.
*No,* Harry thought desperately. *Please no.*
His enhanced perception took in everything in microseconds: Footprints in the disturbed earth. Three distinct sets—one small (house-elf sized), two adult. Recent magical residue that tasted of dark magic and resurrection. And there—
A scrap of fabric caught on a stone. Red and gold. Gryffindor colors.
Ginny's scarf. The one she'd been wearing when she left for France.
Harry's hands trembled as he picked it up, and the armor's lightning went completely crimson for a moment—Death's power surging in response to his rage and fear.
"She was here," he whispered. The helmet's sensors confirmed it—Ginny's magical signature, faint but present. Mixed with other traces. Blood. Her *blood*, spilled in this cursed place.
The Speed Force whispered suggestions about moving faster, about racing through time itself to prevent this. But even Harry knew that was impossible. Time travel was dangerous, paradoxical, and he didn't know how to do it anyway.
But Death's power offered something else. Something darker.
*Track them,* the Hallows' crimson energy suggested. *Blood calls to blood. You have her scarf—soaked in her essence. You can find her. Find who took her. And END them.*
Harry forced himself to breathe. To think. To not give in to the rage that threatened to overwhelm him.
Draco's words echoed: *Don't give them what they want. They want you to lose control.*
Fine. He wouldn't lose control.
He'd be *precise*.
Harry held the scarf and focused the crimson lightning through it. The armor's sensors—enhanced by the Resurrection Stone's power to see connections between living things—showed him a thread. Faint, but there. A magical link between Ginny's blood and wherever she was now.
North. Roughly forty miles north.
Another safehouse? Or—
Harry's enhanced memory supplied the answer. There was an old Crouch family property in that direction. Abandoned after Barty Crouch Senior's death, left to decay because no one wanted to claim it.
*Barty Crouch Junior.*
The realization hit like a physical blow.
The eye. Mad-Eye's magical eye that Barty had worn for a year while impersonating him. The eye Harry had buried here, not knowing—never even *suspecting*—
"A Horcrux," Harry breathed. "He made the eye into a Horcrux."
Which meant Barty Crouch Junior—kissed by Dementors, his body destroyed—had survived as a soul fragment. Had been buried here, dormant, waiting for someone loyal enough and broken enough to find him.
Winky.
Harry remembered the house-elf's devotion to her young master. The way she'd drunk herself into stupors after his death. The desperate loyalty that had defined her existence.
Of course she'd been the one to find him. Of course she'd help him return.
And now Barty was back. Resurrected with dark magic. And he had Ginny.
The armor's lightning blazed white-hot—crimson and gold spiraling together so intensely it hurt to look at directly. Harry's rage and fear merged into something colder. Something *absolute*.
"I'm coming for you," Harry said to the empty clearing. "And when I find you, Crouch—when I find what you've done to her—"
He didn't finish the threat.
He didn't need to.
Death Speed vanished in an explosion of lightning that scorched the earth black, racing toward the Crouch estate faster than he'd ever moved before.
Faster than thought.
Faster than mercy.
Fast enough to kill.
---
**Crouch Estate - Basement - 2:36 AM**
Ginny woke to darkness and pain.
Her arm burned where they'd cut her. The wound had been healed—roughly, leaving an angry scar—but the memory of the blade remained. Along with worse memories: the resurrection ritual, the figure emerging from the cauldron, Barty Crouch Junior's triumphant laugh.
She tried to move and found herself bound. Not with rope—with *magic*. Invisible chains that held her immobile against a cold stone wall.
"Ah, she's awake."
Ginny's eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing Barty Crouch Junior sitting casually on a conjured chair, watching her with the intensity of a predator studying prey.
He looked exactly as he had during their fourth year at Hogwarts—young, handsome in a sharp way, eyes that burned with fanatical intelligence. But there was something different now. Something *hollowed* about him, as if his time as a soul fragment had burned away whatever humanity he'd once possessed.
"Don't bother trying to break the chains," he said conversationally. "They're keyed to my magic now. Only I can release you." He smiled. "Though I suppose you could try. It would be entertaining to watch."
"Go to hell," Ginny spat.
"Already been there, actually. The Dementors' Kiss—do you know what that's like? Having your soul ripped from your body while you're still conscious?" Barty leaned forward. "It's exquisite agony. And the only thing that kept me sane during it was knowing I'd left a piece of myself behind. Safe. Waiting."
"The eye," Ginny said. "Mad-Eye's eye. You made it a Horcrux."
"Very good!" Barty clapped mockingly. "You're smarter than you look. Yes, I made it a Horcrux. During my year at Hogwarts, when I wore that ridiculous disguise. I'd killed enough people by then—Muggles mostly, ones no one would miss. The soul-splitting was easy."
"You're insane."
"I'm *loyal*," Barty corrected sharply. "Loyal to the Dark Lord's vision. Loyal to the cause your precious Harry Potter destroyed." His expression darkened. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. We're waiting for him, you see. Waiting for Potter to arrive—and he will arrive, I'm counting on it—so I can show him what happens to those who dare oppose the Death Eaters."
"Harry will destroy you," Ginny said with certainty. "He's faster than anything you've seen. Stronger. He's Death Speed now, and he'll—"
"He'll rush in blindly to save you," Barty interrupted. "He'll be so focused on your rescue that he won't think strategically. Won't consider that this might be a *trap*." He stood, pacing. "You're the bait, Miss Weasley. And when Potter arrives—when he tries to free you—I'll have Rookwood and Selwyn hit him with everything we've prepared."
"You can't beat him," Ginny insisted, though fear was creeping in. "He moves faster than spells. Phases through magic. You can't—"
"We'll see," Barty said. "I've had years to plan this, you know. Years as a disembodied soul, watching through Winky's eyes, learning about this 'Death Speed' that Potter's become. I know his weaknesses."
"He doesn't have weaknesses."
"Everyone has weaknesses," Barty said softly. "And Potter's is *you*. His need to save people. His pathological hero complex." He crouched in front of Ginny. "So here's what's going to happen. He'll arrive—probably within the hour, knowing him. He'll sense you're here, rush to your rescue. And while he's distracted trying to free you, we'll spring our trap."
"What trap?" Ginny demanded.
Barty's smile was cruel. "You'll see. We all will. And then—then Harry Potter will learn what it means to lose. To fail. To watch someone he loves die while being too slow to stop it."
He stood and moved toward the stairs, leaving Ginny alone in the darkness.
She tested the magical chains again, but they held firm. Her wand was gone—taken when she'd been captured. Her magic was present, roiling inside her with fury and fear, but without a focus and unable to move, she couldn't cast anything.
*Harry,* she thought desperately. *Please be smart about this. Please don't just charge in.*
But she knew him better than that.
Harry Potter, for all his power and speed and divine armor, would always choose to save people over strategy.
It was what made him a hero.
And it was exactly what Barty Crouch Junior was counting on.
---
**En Route to Crouch Estate - 2:38 AM**
Harry pushed past Mach 10, the world becoming a blur of motion so extreme that even his enhanced perception struggled to process it.
The Protean Charmed Galleon in his armor's storage was *screaming* now—Hermione's modifications activating because she could sense Harry's speed and knew what it meant.
He was going to do something reckless.
Harry's communicator—integrated into the helmet—crackled to life.
"Harry!" Hermione's voice, frantic. "Harry, I know you can hear me! The Aurors are fifteen minutes out! Wait for backup!"
"Can't," Harry said, his words compressed by speed. "She's there. Ginny's there. I can feel her blood calling through this connection. She's alive but in danger and I'm not waiting for—"
"HARRY JAMES POTTER, YOU LISTEN TO ME!" Hermione rarely shouted, but when she did, it cut through everything. "This is a TRAP! They took her to draw you out! If you rush in alone, you're playing exactly into their hands!"
"I know it's a trap," Harry said, and his voice was cold. Colder than Hermione had ever heard it. "But I'm faster than their trap. Faster than their plans. I'll get her out before they can react."
"You don't know what they've prepared!"
"Then I'll improvise."
"Harry—"
"I'm not losing her, Hermione." Harry's voice cracked. "I've lost too many people. Sirius. Dumbledore. Fred. So many others. I'm not—I *can't*—"
He couldn't finish.
"Then be smart," Hermione said, her tone shifting from frantic to firm. "Be strategic. You're faster than anyone, yes—but speed without planning is just rushing to your death. So tell me your approach. Tell me how you're going to rescue her *and* survive."
Harry forced himself to slow slightly—down to Mach 7, still supersonic but not quite reality-breaking. His enhanced mind processed Hermione's question.
Strategy. Not just speed.
"Reconnaissance first," he said, thinking it through. "I'll do a perimeter sweep at superspeed. Map the estate, identify all hostiles, locate Ginny's exact position. Then I'll—"
"Then you'll extract her using the fastest method possible while I coordinate the Aurors to cut off escape routes," Hermione finished. "No confrontation unless absolutely necessary. Get in, get Ginny, get out. Let the Aurors handle the Death Eaters."
"They kidnapped her," Harry said through clenched teeth. "Used her blood for a resurrection ritual. They deserve—"
"They deserve justice," Hermione interrupted. "Which means trial and Azkaban. Not execution by an angry speedster. Harry, I know you're furious. I know you want to hurt them. But that's not who you are. You're better than that."
Harry wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that people who hurt Ginny deserved whatever he gave them.
But Hermione was right.
He'd spent months learning control. Learning to be a hero, not a weapon. Learning that having the power to kill didn't mean he should.
"Okay," he said finally. "Recon first. Then extraction. Then I let the Aurors have them."
"Thank you," Hermione breathed. "Harry—be careful. Please. We've already lost too much. I can't—we can't lose you too."
"You won't," Harry promised. "I'll be back in five minutes. With Ginny."
He disconnected the comm and pushed his speed back up.
The Crouch estate appeared on the horizon—a decrepit manor house surrounded by overgrown gardens and protective wards that had weakened over years of abandonment.
Harry began his reconnaissance run.
---
**Crouch Estate - Perimeter - 2:40 AM**
At superspeed, the estate became a frozen tableau.
Harry circled it in under a second of real time, his enhanced perception cataloging everything:
*Front approach:* Two Death Eaters standing guard—Rookwood and someone Harry didn't recognize. Both armed with wands, alert despite the late hour.
*Side entrance:* Warded heavily. Anti-apparition jinxes, detection charms, something that felt like a trap triggered by speed.
*Rear entrance:* Collapsed. Unusable.
*Basement windows:* Barred but visible. Through them, Harry could see—
*There.*
Ginny. Chained to a wall in what looked like a dungeon. Alive. Conscious. Terrified but unbroken.
And standing near her, watching with predatory interest—
Barty Crouch Junior. Restored to full life, his magical signature bright and wrong, tainted by the dark ritual that had given him flesh again.
Harry's rage threatened to overwhelm his reason.
*No,* he told himself. *Strategy first. Get Ginny out. Then deal with Crouch.*
He continued his perimeter sweep, counting hostiles: Four total. Rookwood and the unknown Death Eater at the front. Crouch in the basement. And one more—a woman in the main hall, setting up what looked like ritual components.
A trap, just as Hermione had warned.
But what kind of trap?
Harry focused his enhanced perception on the ritual circle the woman was creating. The runes were familiar—he'd seen similar patterns in books about binding magic. About containing speed.
They were creating a trap designed specifically for *him*.
A circle that, once activated, would slow everything inside it. Turn supersonic speed into normal motion. Make his greatest advantage worthless.
*They've done their homework,* Harry thought grimly. *But they're assuming I'll walk into their trap.*
He had no intention of doing so.
Harry's mind raced through possibilities at superspeed. He could phase through the wards, grab Ginny, and be gone before anyone reacted. But the chains—they were keyed to Crouch's magic. Only he could release them.
Which meant Harry needed Crouch alive long enough to free Ginny.
Or—
The armor's sensors pinged. The chains were magical, yes, but they were also physical. Attached to the wall with medieval-style brackets.
Harry could phase Ginny *through* them. Pull her molecules out of phase with reality for a split second, move her through the chains and the wall itself, and be gone before the magic even registered the escape.
It would be delicate. One wrong vibration and he could hurt her. But it was possible.
*Plan,* Harry decided. *Phase through the wards. Vibrate Ginny through her chains. Extract her at superspeed. Gone before anyone can react.*
He was about to move when his enhanced hearing caught something.
Voices from the basement. Crouch was talking to Ginny again.
"—should be here any minute. And when he arrives, Miss Weasley, you'll watch him fall. Watch him realize that all his speed and power mean nothing when the people he loves are in danger."
"You're wrong about him," Ginny said, and despite her fear, her voice was strong. "Harry's not stupid. He won't just rush in."
"He will," Crouch insisted. "Because that's what heroes do. They sacrifice themselves for others. It's their greatest weakness."
"Or their greatest strength," Ginny countered.
Harry's heart swelled with something that wasn't quite love anymore—it was deeper. Respect. Admiration. The recognition that Ginny Weasley, even chained and terrified, was still fighting.
*Time to get her out of there.*
Harry positioned himself outside the basement window. The wards sparked as he phased through them—his molecules vibrating between dimensions—and dropped silently into the dungeon.
Subjectively, the world was frozen. Crouch mid-sentence. Ginny mid-breath. Harry had all the time he needed.
He approached Ginny carefully, examining the chains with his armor's sensors. They pulsed with dark magic, designed to hold even powerful witches. But they weren't designed to hold someone who could exist partially outside reality.
Harry placed his hands on Ginny's shoulders—gently, so gently—and began to vibrate.
His molecules shifted frequency. Then hers, guided by his touch. They became translucent, ghostlike, existing in the space between dimensions.
The chains couldn't hold what wasn't quite there.
Harry pulled Ginny forward, and she slipped through the restraints like smoke through a screen. He maintained the vibration, keeping them both phased, and moved toward the basement window.
Almost there. Almost—
Crouch's eyes snapped to them.
At superspeed.
"NO!" Crouch roared, and his wand came up impossibly fast. Not human fast—*speedster* fast.
Harry's mind processed the impossibility even as he dodged: *He's enhanced. The resurrection ritual—he gave himself speed.*
A cutting curse missed Harry by inches. Then another. Crouch was moving in something approaching Harry's time-frame, his reactions boosted by whatever dark magic he'd woven into his resurrection.
"You think you're the only one who can be fast, Potter?" Crouch laughed, and the sound was unhinged. "I spent YEARS planning this! Years watching through Winky's eyes, learning about your powers, finding ways to match them! The resurrection ritual wasn't just about bringing me back—it was about bringing me back *better*!"
Harry accelerated, pulling Ginny through the window. But Crouch was *there*, blocking the exit, moving faster than any non-speedster should.
Not as fast as Harry. But fast enough to be dangerous.
"You're not leaving with her," Crouch said, and his wand traced a pattern that made the air itself solidify. "Not until you've paid for what you did to the Dark Lord."
The basement erupted into chaos.
---
**Crouch Estate - Basement Battle - 2:42 AM**
Harry had fought many opponents over the years. Dark wizards, Death Eaters, Voldemort himself. But he'd never fought someone who could partially match his speed.
Crouch moved in stuttering bursts—not true superspeed, but something close. The dark ritual had given him enhanced reflexes, accelerated time perception, the ability to cast spells faster than human eyes could follow.
It wasn't the Speed Force. It was something darker, more costly. Harry could see it burning through Crouch's body—the ritual's power consuming him even as it enhanced him.
*He's living on borrowed time,* Harry realized. *The speed is killing him.*
But that made him more dangerous, not less.
"Ginny, stay behind me!" Harry shouted, positioning himself between her and Crouch. The armor blazed with full power—crimson and gold lightning creating a shield of crackling energy.
"You can't protect her forever, Potter!" Crouch sent a volley of curses—Killing Curses, all of them, green light filling the basement. "Eventually you'll slip! Eventually you'll be too slow!"
Harry phased through the curses, his molecules shifting frequency, letting the deadly magic pass harmlessly through his form. But he couldn't phase Ginny—she was still recovering from the vibration through the chains, her own molecules not ready for another shift.
Which meant he had to fight.
"I don't need forever," Harry said, his modulated voice cold. "I just need five seconds."
He moved.
Not at his full speed—he couldn't risk the collateral damage with Ginny so close—but fast enough. Harry became a blur of crimson and gold, circling Crouch at speeds that should have been impossible to track.
But Crouch *did* track him. The dark magic enhancing his perception let him follow Harry's movements, let him anticipate and dodge and counter.
"You're not the only one who can move fast anymore!" Crouch laughed, manic and triumphant. "I've *leveled the playing field*!"
A blasting curse caught Harry in the shoulder, and only the armor's protection saved him from serious injury. He stumbled, decelerated for a fraction of a second—
And Crouch was *there*, wand pressed to Harry's chest.
"*Crucio!*"
Pain exploded through Harry's nervous system. The torture curse bypassed the armor, went straight to his nerves, and for a moment that lasted an eternity, Harry knew agony.
But he'd felt worse.
He'd walked toward death. Had let Voldemort kill him. Had endured the Horcrux being ripped from his soul.
This was just pain.
And Harry Potter was *very* good at enduring pain.
He grabbed Crouch's wand hand—his armored fingers closing around fragile human bones—and *squeezed*.
The crunch was audible. Crouch screamed, his concentration breaking, the Cruciatus cutting off.
Harry drove his other fist into Crouch's stomach—carefully calculated force, enough to incapacitate but not kill—and the Death Eater flew backward, hitting the wall hard enough to crack stone.
"Stay down," Harry commanded.
Crouch laughed through blood. "You don't understand, do you? This isn't about me winning. It's about making sure *you lose*."
He raised his unbroken hand and pressed something in his palm.
A trigger.
The ritual circle upstairs *activated*.
Harry felt it immediately—the air became thick, syrupy. His enhanced speed stuttered, slowed, fought against magic designed specifically to counter velocity. The basement, the estate, everything within a hundred-foot radius became a slow-time zone.
Not a complete stop. But enough to bring Harry from supersonic to merely fast.
"There!" Crouch gasped triumphantly. "Now let's see how your precious speed serves you!"
The other Death Eaters burst into the basement—Rookwood and Selwyn and the woman, all of them protected from the slow-time effect, all of them firing curses.
Harry dodged—still faster than them, but not overwhelmingly so. Not fast enough to simply evacuate Ginny while ignoring the attacks.
"Ginny, run!" he shouted.
"I'm not leaving you!"
"*Run!*" Harry deflected a Killing Curse with a kinetic blast from his gauntlet. "The Aurors are coming! Get clear of the estate and find them!"
"But—"
"*Please!*" Harry's voice cracked. "I can't fight if I'm worried about you! Please, Ginny, run!"
Ginny hesitated one more heartbeat. Then she ran for the stairs, ducking under a curse, her own magic flaring as she cast shield charms with wandless desperation.
Harry watched her go and felt something settle in his chest. She was safe. Getting to safety. That was what mattered.
Now he could focus on the Death Eaters.
"You're outnumbered, Potter," Rookwood said, circling. "Four against one. And you're slowed down. This is how it ends."
"No," Harry said quietly. The armor's lightning intensified—both colors spiraling together faster, brighter, more concentrated. "This is where you learn what happens when you threaten people I care about."
The Speed Force whispered suggestions. But Harry reached for something else.
For the crimson lightning. For Death's power.
For the ability to *end* things permanently.
"I gave you a chance to surrender," Harry said. "You should have taken it."
He *moved*.
Even slowed by the ritual circle, Harry was still the fastest thing in the room. He closed the distance to Rookwood in a heartbeat, his armored fist connecting with the Death Eater's jaw with precisely calculated force.
Rookwood hit the ground and stayed down.
Selwyn fired a Killing Curse. Harry phased through it—the slow-time field made it harder, but not impossible—and delivered a spinning kick that sent the Death Eater crashing into a support beam.
The woman tried to create distance, apparating to the far corner of the basement. Harry was faster. He appeared where she was going to be before she finished arriving, catching her mid-apparition and slamming her into the wall.
Three down.
Crouch remained, leaning against the cracked stone where Harry had thrown him, blood running from his mouth, his broken hand cradled against his chest.
But he was laughing.
"You still don't *get it*," Crouch wheezed. "This was never about beating you in a fight. It was about proving that even Death Speed can be made to *feel*."
"Feel what?" Harry demanded.
"Loss," Crouch said. "Helplessness. The knowledge that you're not fast enough. That you'll never be fast enough to save everyone."
He pressed his good hand to his chest, and Harry's sensors detected—
*Oh no.*
"The resurrection ritual," Crouch said, still smiling through blood. "It had a failsafe. If my heart stops—for any reason—the magic reverses. Violently."
"You made yourself a bomb," Harry breathed.
"I made myself a *martyr*," Crouch corrected. "For the cause. For the Dark Lord's memory. And now—"
He pulled something from his robes. A small vial. Poison that Harry recognized—quick-acting, deadly, designed to stop the heart in seconds.
"—I'm taking you with me."
Crouch drank the poison before Harry could stop him.
His heart stopped.
The dark magic reversed.
And the entire estate began to explode.
---
**Crouch Estate - Detonation - 2:44 AM**
The explosion started in Crouch's chest—a burst of dark magic that had been compressed into his resurrected body, now released all at once.
It expanded outward in a sphere of destruction, consuming everything in its path. Stone, wood, magic, air—all of it transformed into a wave of annihilation that should have killed everyone in the building.
*Should have.*
But Harry had two seconds of warning. Two seconds between Crouch's heart stopping and the explosion reaching critical mass.
For most people, two seconds was nothing.
For Death Speed, it was an eternity.
Harry's perception expanded. Time didn't stop—he couldn't do that—but it stretched. Two seconds became minutes in his enhanced awareness.
*Options:*
*Run.* Save himself. Let the estate and everyone in it be consumed.
*Unacceptable.*
*Phase out.* Exist between dimensions until the explosion passed.
*Leaves everyone else to die.*
*Absorb it.* Use the armor to contain the blast.
*Might not be strong enough.*
Harry made his decision.
He ran *inward*, not outward. Toward Crouch's body, toward the epicenter of the explosion. His armor blazed with every ounce of power he could channel—Speed Force golden lightning merged with the Hallows' crimson death energy.
And Harry *embraced* the explosion.
The armor's chest plate—where the transformed Deathly Hallows symbol glowed—opened. Not physically, but dimensionally. Creating a pocket space, a void where the explosion's energy could be channeled.
It hurt.
Gods, it *hurt*.
Dark magic flooded into Harry, into the armor, more power than any living thing should contain. The pain was beyond description—worse than the Cruciatus, worse than dying, worse than anything he'd ever experienced.
But the armor held.
The Speed Force and Death working together, containing forces that should have torn him apart. The explosion that should have consumed the estate was *eaten* by the void in Harry's chest, absorbed into a space that existed perpendicular to reality.
From outside—from Ginny's perspective as she cleared the estate's perimeter—it looked like the building exploded in a sphere of crimson and gold light, then *imploded*, all that destructive energy collapsing back into a single point.
Into Harry.
Who stood in the crater where the basement had been, wreathed in lightning so intense it burned afterimages into anyone watching, his armor smoking and cracked but intact.
Rookwood and Selwyn and the woman lay unconscious around him, protected by Harry's last-second shields. Crouch's body was ash.
And Harry—
Harry fell to his knees.
---
**Crouch Estate Ruins - 2:46 AM**
"Harry!"
Ginny's voice cut through the ringing in his ears. He felt her hands on his shoulders, saw her tear-streaked face through the cracks in his helmet.
"I'm okay," Harry managed. His voice was hoarse, raw. "I'm—"
He wasn't okay. The armor had protected him from death, but absorbing that much dark magic had consequences. His body felt like it was burning from the inside out. His connection to the Speed Force flickered. Even Death's power felt muted, exhausted.
"You *idiot*," Ginny sobbed, checking him for injuries even though she didn't know what she was looking for. "You absolute *idiot*. You could have died!"
"But I didn't," Harry said. The helmet retracted, revealing his pale face and the lightning scar on his forehead that now glowed faintly with permanent crimson and gold. "And neither did you. That's what matters."
"Harry Potter, you—" Ginny stopped. Stared at him. "Why did you do that? Why risk yourself like that?"
"Because I care about you," Harry said simply. "The contracts don't change that. Dating Daphne and Susan doesn't change that. You matter, Ginny. You'll *always* matter."
Ginny's expression crumbled. "But we're not together anymore. You're moving on, I'm in France, we're—"
"We're complicated," Harry interrupted. "But complicated doesn't mean I stop caring. Doesn't mean I wouldn't throw myself in front of an explosion to save you."
"You're an idiot," Ginny repeated, but she was smiling through tears.
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I really am."
The sound of apparition—multiple signatures. Aurors arriving, led by Ron and Hermione. Arthur Weasley. Even Kingsley Shacklebolt himself.
"Harry!" Hermione sprinted toward them, then stopped short at the sight of the crater. "What—what *happened*?"
"Crouch happened," Harry said wearily. "He's dead. Turned himself into a magical bomb. I—" he gestured at the crater, "—I contained it. Mostly."
"*Mostly?*" Ron's voice was strangled. "Mate, you look like death warmed over."
"I *am* Death warmed over," Harry tried to joke. It fell flat.
Kingsley was already coordinating the Aurors, having them secure the unconscious Death Eaters, establish perimeter wards, begin the investigation. But his eyes kept returning to Harry with something like awe.
"You contained an explosion of that magnitude?" the Auror Commander asked quietly.
"The armor did most of the work," Harry said. He tried to stand and nearly fell. Ginny caught him, and despite everything, despite the months apart and the complications, she held him steady.
"Easy," she murmured. "You've had a rough night."
"You were kidnapped, used in a dark ritual, and threatened by a resurrected Death Eater," Harry pointed out. "Your night was worse."
"My hero didn't absorb a magical explosion into his chest," Ginny countered. "So I win the 'rough night' competition."
They both laughed—slightly hysterical, fueled by relief and exhaustion and the knowledge that they'd both almost died.
Arthur Weasley approached, his expression complicated. "Ginny. Thank Merlin you're safe."
"Thanks to Harry," Ginny said. She was still holding him up, still anchoring him to reality when his connection to the Speed Force wavered.
"Thanks to several people," Harry corrected. "Draco Malfoy gave me the lead. Hermione coordinated everything. Daphne and Susan did the investigation work. I just—"
"Just saved the day by being impossibly fast and ridiculously brave," Ron finished. "Standard Harry Potter stuff."
Harry managed a weak smile.
Hermione was examining the crater, her analytical mind already working. "Harry, the amount of dark magic you absorbed—we need to get you checked. Madam Pomfrey, or St. Mungo's, or—"
"STAR Labs," Harry said. "Barry and Caitlin know about the armor. Know how to work with it. They can—"
He swayed again. The world was going fuzzy at the edges.
"Harry?" Ginny's voice seemed far away. "Harry, stay with me. Don't you dare pass out. Not after everything."
"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "Just... really tired. And the Speed Force is being weird. And Death is laughing at me. Which is rude..."
He was rambling. Knew he was rambling. But couldn't seem to stop.
The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Ginny's face—terrified and determined and absolutely refusing to let him go.
*Good,* Harry thought as consciousness faded. *She shouldn't let go. I won't either.*
Then nothing.
---
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