There should be laughter after pain
There should be sunshine after rain
These things have always been the same
So why worry now?
- Mark Knopfler
So yes, dear readers, this chapter gets a bit dark... but have faith in your beloved protagonists to right the wrongs -- perhaps even before they actually happen.
Chapter 5. A Godson and a Princess (August 10-11, 1995)
Around sunrise, Harry resumed his semi-official breakfast role in the Grimmauld Place kitchen. He'd already set out a loaf of bread, and found eggs and rashers from the ice box but, unfortunately, he was missing one useful ingredient. Enthusiasm.
At least there was coffee. He swigged back a half cup, and quietly began the process of assembling a full spread for a household that was already started to take it for granted.
A few minutes later, the coffee began to kick in and his outlook began to improve. He told himself he'd enjoy the task; it wasn't difficult and he was quite good at it. And besides, there was a decent chance Molly would reward the effort with a pass on afternoon house-cleaning.
Making breakfast was also a good way to connect with people, which Harry appreciated after his annual isolation in Little Whinging. Late morning could get a bit wearisome with the entire cantankerous household down here competing for oxygen, but the casual early-bird coffee klatches with Ginny, Hermione and Professor Lupin were becoming a highlight for him.
Above all, Harry looked forward to time spent with Ginny, but he also valued the chance to talk to Lupin, and was getting to know a different side of Hermione, who seemed especially at ease in the small group, showing a warmth and wit that few in the household would have suspected.
Thoughts of the gathering were enough to bring a small smile to his face... but not quite a grin. He took another long pull of coffee, cracked some eggs into a pan whose rashers were beginning to sizzle, and gazed at the two chairs he and Ginny had occupied early yesterday morning.
The chairs were empty.
Harry sighed. He silently berated himself for weakness, but had to admit that he felt a bit off; stalled in some sort of discontent.
He knew the dreams were weighing on him. A while ago, he'd awoken to residual glow left from the riverside image of the Publican and Lanossëa, but that glow snuffed out as soon as he remembered the historical mess they'd soon be ensnared in.
They were like friends to him now; he hated to think that they'd be swept into tragic warfare, yet all that mattered less to him right now than those empty chairs – the girl who was not yet occupying one; not yet chatting with him; not yet lifting his spirits the way nobody else could.
Rationally, Harry knew he ought not weigh her down. He was self-reliant; his own best friend. From an early age, he'd known to never be a burden, and had gotten by without leaning on others, right?
Well, yes and no. Self-reliance had gotten Harry through plenty of danger and hardship before. He'd felt stretched, stricken and sometimes even afraid, but he'd kept his will and wits, and somehow always steered himself clear... until this summer.
Harry was just now learning that self-reliance is only as good as self-awareness... both of which had recently let him down.
The entire stretch since the Tri-Wizard Tournament had been a ghastly ordeal. Yet, through most of it, he'd been largely unaware just how truly awful things were; unaware he was fighting (and mostly losing to) his most insidious foe ever. The foe clouded his mind, strangled his will, and very nearly quenched any chance he had for surviving and prevailing in the battle with darkness.
His foe was despair.
Thinking back, it had been like endlessly circling Dementors, harrying him long before he'd stepped into that underpass, and persisting long after. His desperate gasp of defiance had expelled the real Dementors, but he'd been too weary and weak to beat back the despair. Its wreaking stench had soaked his very soul, following him even here.
By the time he'd arrived at Grimmauld Place, he'd been too fogged to sense the chasm spreading beneath him. He'd reached the very brink.
Then Ginny had 'happened'.
Life had resumed that night he'd lifted her from her bedroom floor. Every moment since then – every chat and laugh; every incidental touch of her hand, had brought healing...
Healing?
Harry stroked his chin.
Was he still healing? Was that why he instinctively still leaned on her? Like a trauma patient taking those first uncertain steps up from a hospital bed?
Was that okay?
Harry sighed. Coming to grips with a valid reason for missing her, he admitted that he did sincerely wish she was seated in that chair right now. Chatting and smiling. Drinking her tea. Glancing over in concern at the breakfast that was-
“Burning!” Harry yanked the pan from the stove. Grumbling, he scraped the charred mess onto an old plate, scowled angrily, and resolved to get his ruddy head together.
With fresh rashers and newly cracked eggs, Harry's breakfast efforts began anew... the same way Ginny had given his near-scorched life another run. Hopefully there'd still be time to still set it right.
Of course, resolving to not burn another pan of food was nothing compared to the greater matters he needed to 'set right'.
How should he prepare for the final showdown?
How much time did he have?
What will be lost? Who must die?
Harry knew none of that, but at least he had just processed a crucial first lesson – the lesson of 'never again'.
Never again anguish endlessly over the past, or there will be no future. Never again forsake the joys of the present, or there would be nothing to fight for.
Harry nodded, pleased with the wise-sounding thought. Pleased enough that he wanted to share it with someone – the one person he felt comfortable telling such things to. Now, if only she-
“Good morning, Harry.”
Harry's heart leapt... and fell. Trying to conceal his disappointment, he manufactured a smile. “G'morning Hermione.”
Hermione examined him carefully. “How are you this morning?”
Her tone had nothing to do with small talk. Harry looked away for a moment, weighing the relative merits of lying.
Lacking the energy to hold a smokescreen over a friend with x-ray vision, he opted for bluntness. “I'm actually feeling rather crappy, thank you. No, I do not feel like talking about it. And, to blatantly change the subject, how would you like your sodding eggs?”
Hermione shot him a look, then softened. Then she burst out laughing.
“What?!” Harry's left eyebrow shot up past his fringe.
“Harry Potter is back.” She wore a distinctly un-Hermione-like smirk. “You should have seen the odd duck we've been stuck with the last few days!”
"Oi!” Harry recoiled theatrically. “Since when does Ms. Granger wound with audacious wit! Bring back the cross old schoolmistress, or I'll bring back the odd duck.”
“Go ahead.” Her eyes twinkled. “He was actually sort of cute.”
“Ack!” This time Harry was jolted by duty. Darting back to the stove, he attacked the pan with a spatula. “Argh. As you distracted me, you're officially getting your eggs scrambled.”
“Suits me.” She gave him a tentative smile. “So... still feeling lousy?”
The corners of Harry's mouth curled a little. “I'm okay. I've had better mornings, but I'll be fine. Thank you for asking.”
“Would it help to know I've never see Ginny so enthused by 'work' as she's been with this project of yours?”
Harry nodded, smiling.
“I'm sure she would love to be down here right now chatting with you about it.” Hermione took a seat. “If she wasn't sleeping in, that is.”
“Oh?” Harry paused for a moment. “Well, I think it's a good thing she's catching up on her rest.” He resumed his labours, hoping that his statement sounded more magnanimous than he felt.
“I agree.” Hermione poured some tea. “That's why I stopped her alarm this morning before it went off.”
“Huh?” Harry blinked. “You what?”
“I unset her alarm.” Hermione sounded slightly defiant. “Ginny's not really a morning person, Harry. The last few days, she's been adjusting her life to spend more time with you, working on your research. I told her last night I thought she ought to scale back some of those changes.”
“I beg your pardon?” Harry's eyebrow spiked.
“Don't be angry, Harry.” Hermione raised her hands defensively. “I'm not certain what you two are really up to, but I strongly suspect it's very important to both of you, and instinct tells me to support it...”
“Which is why you chose to interfere?”
“No, you thick oaf, listen to me!” Hermione's finger waggled. “You've got to be more subtle! For your own good! I've already told Ginny, and now I'm telling you – if you're truly committed to this project then the last thing you want are a bunch of hyperactive Weasleys blundering into it like a flock of well-intentioned wrecking balls!”
“Oh.” He turned away. Scooping eggs and sausage onto plates, he thought for a moment, then chuckled.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. “Did I say something to amuse you?”
“Flock of wrecking balls.” Harry grinned. “Normally I'd be a bit stiff-necked over this, but that's a brilliant image.”
“Not bad, yeah?” She smiled; her tension vanishing. “The one benefit from being mashed in here with these numpties is that they inspire me to new heights of acerbity.”
“Acerbity?” Harry winked as he served her plate. “I have no idea what that means, but I couldn't agree more.”
“Ah!” Lupin walked into the kitchen, smiling. “No better way to start the day than hearing a note of sunny consensus!”
“Erm...” Harry pursed his lips, turning to his former Professor. “Seeing as you're in such a fine mood, is it okay if we don't tell you what we just agreed about?”
Lupin raised an eyebrow then chuckled. “Suit yourself. So, have you made any progress up in the library?”
“A few more potentially relevant questions...” Harry sighed. “But in general, no, we're mostly still grasping at straws.”
“Well, I have no idea whether this has any bearing on your thesis at all, but...” Lupin paused to take a seat. “I ran across some trivia yesterday as I was thumbing my way through a new NEWT-level Defence Against Dark Arts text. It struck me as an interesting coincidence.”
“Oh? Do tell?” Harry brought him a cup of coffee.
“While reading a chapter on the origins of European dark magic, I learned that the first recorded use of the Imperius curse was by Roman wizards during the reign of Emperor Nero.”
“Nero?” Hermione stared. “He was emperor at the time of the Iceni revolt!”
“Yes, exactly.” Harry frowned. “In fact, the Imperius curse crossed my mind just yesterday as a possible sabotage tool. A brilliant coincidence – thank you, Remus!”
“Ooh.” Hermione looked from Harry to Lupin and back again. “Do you think the Imperius curse might have played a role in Queen Boadicea's defeat?”
Harry shook his head thoughtfully. “Maybe not directly, but I'd been wondering if it could have contributed to the political instability that sparked the rebellion in the first place.”
“That was my thought, too.” Lupin nodded. “It occurred to me that those terrible misunderstandings bespoke a level of misgovernance that was rare in the early empire. So, perhaps they weren't accidental?”
“Hmmm...” Harry gazed off distantly for a long moment, neither nodding, nor shaking his head.
“The sections I read were mainly focused on the origins of the modern conflict between dark and light magic. The book claims that social pressures in the emerging empire may have played a key role.” Lupin stirred his coffee. “Do you you recall the basic motivations of light and dark magic?”
“Of course.” Hermione sat up straight, as if reciting. “Light magic is traditionally practised for the greater good of society, while dark magic often arises to intimidate or persecute those that wizards deem to be inferior or threatening, or both.”
“Precisely!” Lupin beamed at her. “So as the Romans grew their empire, their Muggle administration strategically granted their conquered subjects full imperial citizenship, with all its incumbent privileges. To the magical community, this meant that their small, insular population suddenly multiplied dramatically over the course of a few short generations. Some communities were easy to absorb – especially wizards in the Mediterranean region whose practices evolved from the same Greek traditions that the Romans espoused, but others were too different for the Roman magical elite to tolerate. When confronted by northerners like the Druids, the culture shock proved overwhelming.”
Harry and Hermione nodded in grim fascination.
Lupin's face darkened. “The most immediate consequence was the formation of dark cults sworn to protect the magical purity of their own core society. But there was a second, long-term effect that reminds me of the old adage – 'necessity is the mother of invention'.”
“New spells?” Harry inquired.
“Quite so.” Lupin nodded. “The paranoia and hatred festering in these cults spurred dark creativity. Many terrible new hexes and curses were devised between about 50 B.C.E and 150 A.D. I already mentioned the Imperius, but the Cruciatus curse also came from that era; probably a bit earlier during Caligula's reign.”
“Fascinating.” Harry frowned as he reached across to serve Lupin his breakfast. “Did the book provide any descriptions of these cults? Any names?”
Lupin shook his head. “No, sorry. I don't recall reading specific names, but, well...” He paused uneasily. “I suppose that may be something you can find out on your own.”
“Oh? How?” Harry's eyes widened.
Lupin opened his mouth to reply, then froze.
Through the kitchen door, they heard the approaching sounds of the two Weasley parents arguing as made their way downstairs to breakfast.
Hermione's hand fluttered, urging haste.
With a furtive final glance toward the doorway, Lupin leaned close to whisper. “Library upstairs. The upper shelf at the back has dozens of books on dark magic.”
With every hour that the currach traveled down river, Ginny felt the tugging sensation from brooch grow a bit weaker. Hidden within her Icenian shift, the Cupla's song did still convey the ache of parting, but she did her best to push it from her thoughts. Instead, she concentrated on the waters ahead, lest a submerged branch or rock once again jolt the queen from her dark brooding.
The departure from camp that morning had been wordless. Heanua had not spoken to anyone in days. The queen and the Publican felt no desire for further speech. And to Lanossëa, the previous night had conveyed, wordlessly, everything that could be said to the man she loved. The man she had left.
Embittered by fate, and stung by the teeth of a glacial north wind, Ginny cursed silently and soldiered on.
In the early afternoon of that cheerless day, they traversed a wide bend and entered a broad expanse of water that she assumed was the confluence of the Great Ouse and Little Ouse Rivers. From there, a left turn would follow the merged rivers north through wild, unfamiliar lands, eventually finding the sea. Instinctively Ginny steered right, toward Iceni settlements lying up the smaller river to the southeast.
“Stop girl!” The queen's fierce eyes flashed open. “Where do you think you're taking us?”
“Home, mother.” Ginny's reply was factual and undaunted. Out of the accursed wind, she added silently.
“Be not a fool!” The queen pointed imperiously toward the grey north horizon. “Did you not heed my words? I require wands for myself and your sister. A great wand maker dwells in the woods to the west of the river, about eight leagues down stream. Steer us there.”
“But those are Coritani lands, Mother,” Ginny protested. “They are no friends of ours!”
“True.” Boadicea's mouth formed a thin, hard line. “But they despise the Romans even more.”
Without further argument, Ginny turned them back into the wind. After the queen had once again pulled a heavy blanket around herself and huddled into the bottom of the currach, Ginny drew her shawl tight against the growing gale and scanned the broader, calmer waterway. In the weariness of someone who had slept little overnight, she let her mind drift... and opened her eyes to the greyish late-morning haze of Grimmauld place.
“Eleven o'bloody clock?! “ Ginny shook the flimsy timepiece lurking guiltily on her night stand. “I needed to be up hours ago!”
She burst from bed, indiscriminately kicking clutter on the floor. “Less than two days to prepare for the Ministry, and I lie about all bleeding morning like some shiftless piker!”
Wrapped in her bathrobe, Ginny's thundercloud stormed its way into the corridor toward the stairway.
“Har!” Ron barked as she passed him. “The princess better hope there's a pea under her mattress, because there sure as hell won't be any breakfast left this late.”
“Naff off!” She barged past him, wasting barely a glance. For a moment, she considered simply heading straight up to third floor, but a jabbing hunger pang made it clear that she'd not concentrate well without at least an old crust to sustain her.
Hurrying into the kitchen, she did indeed find an old crust. He was sitting at the table, nursing something dark and sludgy.
“G'morning Princess.” Sirius gave her a wink.
“Call me that again and someone will be mopping blood off the ceiling,” Ginny snarled... then instantly regretting it. She turned to apologise, but instead laughed to see the rogue cowering halfway beneath the table.
“Sorry, sorry! Poor turn of phrase!” Sirius's wide-eyed, wobbly apology earned another laugh as he dared straighten up again. “Sorry, the word was stuck in my head from badgering my thick godson. Just finished giving him a right talking to – told him he needs to spend more time appreciating what's right and less time stewing over what's wrong. Told the dope that life will only give him one chance to find his true princess.”
“You believe that? Don't be ridic...” Ginny's protest stalled as she began to absorb Sirius's words.
Oblivious to the odd look crossing Ginny's face, Sirius burst up energetically. “Harry's gone to the library, but he set aside a full plate for you.” He whisked a loaded plate from the counter, placing a still-hot breakfast by her place at the table. He then proceeded to pour Ginny a glass of pumpkin juice and a cup of tea as she, dumbfoundedly, took the well-appointed seat.
She was just about to set her fork to the food, when she blinked. Staring right back at her were two sunny eggs and a healthy serving of fine rashers, all arranged about the plate like a cheery face. Breakfast with a smile! The improvised art may not have been the precise smile she had most hoped to share her meal with, but she was touched by the gesture.
Typical Harry!
For the remainder of breakfast, the actress within Ginny smiled and laughed at all of the best lines in Sirius's collection of 'silly Buckbeak' stories. Unfortunately, the amusing tales were completely lost on her... because she'd still not recovered from that offhand comment.
Something about a godson and his princess...
Yesterday's pile of assigned readings had been rearranged to make room for yet another volume – a dusty, cracked tome, adorned with strange runes. Innocuous books had been stacked around it to conceal its troubling title. 'A Historie of Magicke Moste Dark'.
With material like that, the day's studies were likely to be disturbing and interesting. Yet, by late morning, the books still lay unopened. For the time being, Harry was using his solitude for another purpose.
He was staring into the blankness of a large, flat sheet of parchment he had found inside the escritoire. Minutes had passed with almost no motion.
Finally, he dipped a quill into one of the wells and tapped away the excess ink. Beginning with slow deliberation, then growing confident, he ran the tip smoothly across the page, creating a dark satisfying stroke.
Other marks followed – smooth curves, neat cross-hatches, sharp angles and intriguing little flecks. Another world began to take shape in front of him.
After a while, Harry placed the quill in its holder and pushed back from the table. He rose from his seat and gazed at what lay before him. A curious frown alighted on his face, almost as if he was not quite certain where the picture had come from.
What lay before him had meticulous, elegant expression. The rendering was perfectly clear, even if only two people in the world would understand what it meant.
“Heavens Harry.” A gentle breath stirred across his cheek. “It's breathtaking! Look how you captured their faces in the moonlight!”
Harry hadn't heard Ginny's approach, yet for some reason he did not startle. Instead, he sighed, turning regretfully to his closest friend. “You weren't supposed to see this yet. I meant it for tomorrow but, well... sorry.”
Puzzled by both the statement and apology, Ginny angled her head; waiting for him to explain.
“I'm sorry Ginny.” Harry looked away. “First I was distracted, then busy, then imprisoned here in Grimmauld...” He paused a long moment, before exhaling. “So, this is the only gift I have for your birthday tomorrow.”
Ginny stared at him wide-eyed. And then suddenly she was no longer staring at him, because she had lunged forward to squeeze every ounce of air from Harry's chest, as only a Weasley can.
“Thank you thank you thank you.” Her whispers were ragged like a scratched phonograph.
“Yh... ...hm?”
Ginny pulled back to let him breathe. She sniffled a little, and dried a corner of her eye with her sleeve. “You know, with all this insanity, I don't think even Mum and Dad remembered my birthday, but I honestly don't care.” She grinned widely. “Because this is the best one ever!”
“Er, you mean tomorrow is... or will be...?” Harry scratched his head.
“No silly.” Ginny touched his cheek. “August eleventh is just another day – maybe a cake and silly song, and maybe not. But August tenth is the day when my best friend ever gave me the best gift ever.”
Harry responded with a goofy smile.
Ginny beamed at him, then angled back toward the escritoire, studying the sketch of the princess and the Publican embracing above the moonlit river. “I do have a question, though?”
Harry nodded.
“Where did you learn to draw like this?”
“Well, you see...” Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I actually, uh, don't have any idea...”
“Hmm... This might be useful.” Hermione traced her finger carefully along a page in one of the older, more decrepit volumes she had removed from the top shelf.
Harry and Ginny put down their own books to listen.
“Let's see now...” She squinted a moment. “This will only be a rough translation because I'm not very good with German.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. Harry smirked.
“Okay, here's the general gist.” Hermione cleared her throat. “'We know from comparing the charters of other distinguished societies, that they share not only the ideals, but most likely the same origins as our own Gesellschaft für Magische Säuberung...'” She paused for a moment to think. “Er, I believe that translates as 'Society for Magical Cleansing'.”
Ginny and Harry nodded.
Hermione's finger traced along the passage as she continued. “'Other societies most closely mirroring our noble objectives include the English 'Order of Death Eaters', the Italian 'Federazione della Purezza', and 'La Flamme Purificatrice' from France. Our scholars have concluded that each of these organizations likely descends from 'The Glorious Order of Letum', a courageous defender of civilized Magical Society, founded more than one thousand six hundred years ago.'”
Hermione paused to glance at the volume's cover. “This book was published in 1645, so this 'Order of Letum' must have originated in Roman times. Does that help you at all?”
“Blimey!” Harry looked at Hermione for an inscrutable moment, then fell silent, gazing into the distance.
Ginny studied Harry for a moment, then turned to Hermione. “So Death Eaters were around in the seventeenth century, and had their origins a lot earlier?”
“It would appear that way.” Hermione nodded.
“Interesting.” Ginny drew a breath through her teeth. “Some filth is ancient filth, yeah? I always thought they were just cronies groveling to Tom Riddle.”
Hermione looked at her curiously. “You use that name for... you know... ?”
“A name is just a name.” Ginny shook her head dismissively. “Dumbledore is forever badgering the Order to get over their silly phobia.”
“Yes, that's true.” Pursing her lips, Hermione gazed at the window. “Speaking of Professor Dumbledore, I'm sure that he or Professor Lupin would know far more than I about how the Death Eaters evolved, but my own guess is that they swelled and dwindled through the years. If Professor Lupin is correct that Dark Magic is strongest when the insular elite feels most threatened, then perhaps the current crop of Death Eaters emerged from the same mid-century tensions that Grindelwald thrived in. Regardless, I suspect they now bear far more allegiance to, er... Riddle, than to any ancient tradition. Harry, what do you think? You've met more of them than we have.”
“Huh? Oh, right.” Harry pulled himself back from deeper ponderings. Frowning, he took a moment to silently replay the conversation. “Uh yeah, I think it's safe to say that most modern Death Eaters are spineless stooges. As far whether Voldemort co-opted an existing group, or merely recycled the name, I don't think it matters much. What most interests me is how much Snake-face knows about the ancient origins.”
“Ancient origins?” Hermione stared at him, beginning to fit tricky puzzle pieces together. “You're curious what Voldemort might know of the Order of Letum? And you also believe the cult may have played some role in the Iceni Rebellion?”
Ginny gave Harry an uncomfortable glance, but Harry nodded, conveying that he would answer.
“Yes, and perhaps.” Harry turned back to Hermione. “I think it's probable the cult was at least peripheral to the rebellion. I'm hazy on the details but I also believe that, around the time of the Rebellion, something else happened. Something with major bearing on Voldemort's future success. Or his failure.”
“Something?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Could you be more specific? Any hints or details that might help us narrow down what to search for?”
“Not yet. I think we'll have wait a bit longer to see...”
Harry caught himself, realising it would sound stupid to suggest 'waiting to see' something that had taken place many centuries ago.
“No, Hermione,” Ginny broke in. “It's difficult to explain, but Harry and I just need more time to think about this.”
Hermione's narrow eyes darted between Ginny and Harry, then she shook her head. “Have you any idea how frustrating the two of you are?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Harry grinned sheepishly.
“Uh huh.” Ginny offered a small contrite smile. “Sorry.”
If circumspection is a sin, then Harry and Ginny had to do penance.
After supper, Hermione browbeat them into joining in a gobstones tournament that the twins were organising for that evening. It would be 'good cover', Hermione had argued. It should help convince the others that Ginny and Harry were their regular 'normal' selves, and not up to something intensely secretive that others might otherwise feel compelled to poke their noses into.
Hermione's missive was not greeted with enthusiasm. There were still lots of books be to scoured, and they were running out of time to research before the Ministry appointment, but they reluctantly agreed.
As the tournament unfolded, Ginny nonetheless proved to all that she was a tough competitor in the somewhat revolting game. By the time she faced off against Fred in the tourney final, she had not been gobbed a single time.
Harry on the other hand, had required three trips to the loo to wash off the foul liquid, and had been the second player eliminated. While others continued to cheer and jeer for the finalists late into the evening, he found himself sitting quietly in the corner, gazing into the fire... feeling anxious, though he wasn't sure why.
Occasionally, Hermione took her eyes off the inane competition to steal furtive glances at her friend, wondering what exactly Harry was thinking about, sitting quietly by the fire. She also pondered whether his 'thinking' was somehow aimed at resolving how an ancient mystery could relate to Voldemort's supposed advantages for some future conflict?
Over the course of the next while, Hermione noticed Harry silently tuning out the chaotic room; gradually slipping into something like an open-eyed trance. And that was then it suddenly occurred to Hermione...
Dreams!
Hermione recalled how Harry had experienced terrible, disturbing nightmares in the past – some of which would seem eerily similar or relevant to frightening real events that he couldn't have possibly experienced or even known about.
Was Harry having strange dreams again?
Hermione frowned thoughtfully.
The one thing that the 'dream' hypothesis did not explain was why Ginny seemed to be so intimately involved in all of his mysterious deliberations. That part did not make sense...
Ginny, meanwhile, was not dreaming. She was seriously wrapped up in her assigned chore of acting unseriously. She had never been a huge fan of gobstones, but things were definitely going her way this evening. Half an hour into a fiercely fought final, Fred was playing with his usual intensity, but she still had the upper hand. If she could just hold him off a while longer, she could probab...
A shiver ran through her. Subconsciously, she slid a hand into her pocket, touched the brooch, and felt a deep, bracing chill.
Ginny glanced quickly about the assembled faces, all bantering, grinning and laughing... except for Hermione. The older girl was frowning and stealing a glance to the far corner of the room, by the fire... toward Harry.
Ginny herself twisted around for a moment to catch a quick glimpse of her best friend. Muscles in Harry's face were tense... and was that a sheen of perspiration on his...?
Splattt!!
“My point!” Fred's fist pumped jubilantly. Ron and George hooted loudly, sniggering at the gob running down their sister's cheek.
Antsy in a way that had nothing to do with the match, Ginny turned back to the gobstones circle. Dabbing the slime from her face with an old kerchief, her mind raced. Then she raised her hand. “Time out, please.”
“Ho ho!” George grinned. “L'il Gin-Gin's feeling the heat!”
“Time out approved.” Fred leaned back, looking quite pleased. “But everyone keep an eye out that she doesn't try to slip old 'Sulphur Spray ' back onto her pile. That stone's illegal.”
Ginny, however, went nowhere near her pile. Instead she shuffled over several paces on knees, angled her head towards Hermione to audibly whisper, “Can you go get some tea on, luv?”
In the buzz that followed, however, nobody but Hermione heard her faint coda. “Take Harry. I'll be quick.”
“Ginny's already ordering tea!” Ron smirked. “She thinks she'll take you down fast, Fred!”
“You bet!” Ginny replied with a wide counterfeit grin... then she proceeded to calculate the least suspicious way to lose quickly.
“Okay Harry.” Hermione brooked no dispute as she handed him a steaming cup. “No more evasion. No excuses. What's the matter?”
“I, uh, don't feel very well.” Harry raised the cup to his lips, absently forgetting to add milk or even blow on it. “Oi!”
“Well thank you for enlightening me.” Hermione rolled her eyes, pouring him a glass of cold water for his burnt mouth. “Care to elaborate a bit?”
“I... uh...” Harry fidgeted, drinking the water.
“Were you having a bad dream?” Hermione's pitch rose slightly.
Harry stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “Not yet.” He took another drink of water, then cautiously re-attempted the tea.
“Not yet??” Hermione blinked at the odd but earnest answer. “Are you, uhhh, planning to?”
“Planning to have a bad dream?” The corners of Harry's mouth twitched slightly before seriousness reasserted itself. “No Hermione, I'm not planning any of this. But sometimes dreams come... and sometimes I can sort of sense when they're likely to hit.”
“What sort of dream...?” Hermione began asking, before hesitating over how to phrase a rather strange question.
“I don't know – I haven't had it yet.” Harry shrugged in a matter-of-fact manner.
“Harry!” Ginny whipped into the kitchen, closing the door. “Are you okay?” Unconsciously taking his hand, she slid into the seat next to him, studying his face.
Harry's gaze flickered from the pretty hand grasping his own, across to several sacrificial gobstone smears trailing down the girl's jumper, to the wide-eyed look of concern etched in her face.
He smiled... for the moment grateful to just live for the moment.
It took several seconds for the warmth of Harry's smile to register with Ginny, but then it did and, hesitantly, a small smile of her own formed to acknowledge a moment of special friendship... then the worry reasserted. She squeezed his hand. “Are you okay, Harry?”
“Right now, I'm more than okay.” Harry looked weary but content. “I'm sitting here with two wonderful friends. No lame jokes or tiresome horseplay. No more bleeding gobstones...”
Hermione laughed. Ginny's eyes darted down to the sticky accretions on her jumper and she groaned, reaching for a napkin.
“Anyway,” Harry continued, “I'm okay for now. I may be run through the ringer a bit tonight, but these are only dreams, right?”
Ginny and Hermione both regarded him skeptically.
“I'll be fine.” His tone was sincere. “If you're up early tomorrow morning, then let's maybe talk it over. With luck, hopefully we'll learn something.”
“I don't know, Harry.” Ginny chewed her lip. “I feel like I should stay with you tonight. I think it could help to...”
“No.” Hermione waved dismissively. “You've made fine progress today to throw jackels off the scent, but there's no way we can discretely arrange for you two to spend another night together, and... well I can't think of anything else we could try, other than maybe asking Sirius for some Dreamless Sleep potion.”
“No Hermione.” Harry shook his head. “The dream has to happen; I'm certain of it. I doubt it'll be pleasant, but I think we'd be far worse off if I tried to avoid it.”
“Very well then.” Hermione frowned. “Ginny, I think we'll just have to trust Harry to get himself through tonight, and we'll be there for him in the morning. Is that okay?”
Ginny pursed her lips silently for a long time, but did not quite disagree.
“A special pleasure to see you again, my dear Publican.” The heavy, balding Roman clapped Harry on the shoulder, oozing a too-wide smile. “Such a fine fortune that, by merest chance, I should be called here to Camboricum on the very same day that you should choose to visit. May I offer you more wine?”
“No thank you, esteemed Procurator.” Harry stepped toward the doorway. “I must not take any more of your valued time. As long as you can assure me that a messenger has been sent to the Proconsul notifying him of this breach of treaty, I shall leave you to your important responsibilities, and return myself to my own.”
“Treaty?” A flicker of vexation crossed the Procurator's face, replaced immediately by his unnervingly effusive grin. “I'm not aware of any treaty with the Iceni, per se, but do rest assured that your message has already been sent. I am most confident that we will be quickly able to resolve this foolish little squabble to your most exacting satisfaction!”
“Now, I bid you, stay!” The man pushed a goblet toward Harry's hand, splashing rich, dark wine. “Tell me some stories of our lands to the east. A merry folk, these barbarous Iceni?”
“They are sober, just and wise.” Harry sidestepped the goblet, moving closer to the door. “Now, if you may excuse my departure, I have need of...”
“You have no needs that I cannot meet, my cherished Peuerellius.” The Procurator clasped Harry's hand. “In fact, for your sole comfort, I have obtained a ravishing young maiden of the Cantii. You must come meet her!” The man's fleshy lips gleamed luridly in the torch light. “You shall swoon under her pleasures! Her skin is white like the virgin Appenine snows of winter; her eyes are the brightest of sapphires, her...”
“No!” Harry tore his hand away. “My sincerest regrets, your honour, but I have urgent responsibilities in the name of Rome and Britannia.”
Harry swept through the door and out into the dusky night... but a final surreptitious glance back through the closing door revealed the Procurator scurrying toward a rear chamber of his quarters.
Anxiety suddenly spiking, Harry disillusioned himself. He turned from the pelagus platea running through the center of town, and instead made for the muddy paths skirting the aft edges of the many military dwellings and pens.
The Publican's quarters in Camboricum were located on the north outskirts of the military district. He spent little time there, preferring to dwell along the Roman roads and the open countryside on the eastern frontier, mostly leaving his official residence in the hands of two trusted servants of Catuvellauni heritage. In his brief conversations with the pair early this afternoon, he had been informed that, several times earlier that day, Roman soldiers had tarried nearby, observing the building... and one had stopped in late afternoon to politely inquire if the master of the residence was expected home soon.
None of that boded well.
Drawing level with an alley with a view to the platea, Harry heard and then briefly saw, two horsemen race past.
That also did not bode well... yet he continued stealthily on his way.
By the northern fringe of the district, the buildings along the platea were quite sparse. Approaching within two hundred feet of his residence, he was able, even by the low light, to see clear across to his property. No lamps were lit within his quarters; nobody appeared to be on the grounds, but... there! On the street nearby, he spied a slight movement in the darkness.
Edging cautiously closer, he was able to distinguish the shape of a single horse, tied to a post in deep shadow, its breath rising in ghostly puffs through the cold night air. Squinting, he detected a second shape as well – a tall man clad all in black, apparently watching the building, waiting, perfectly motionless.
Unease, even some undefined fear, prickled Harry's skin. Instinct urged him to turn away, but he somehow felt a need, a compulsion, to learn who the dark horseman might be. After all, surely the true reason for this dream was to learn deep secrets hidden far back in time...
Harry's left foot raised and moved toward the mysterious figure, landing silently on the soft ground. His right foot did the same. Step after cautious step, Harry moved toward the man. Approaching close enough to pause and observe more closely, Harry slowed... but could not stop!
Straining to halt his traitorous legs, Harry wrestled hard against his straining foot, forced it to the ground... and snapped a brittle twig!
The tall horseman whipped toward Harry, gazing across in the darkness. He threw back his black hood and stepped out of the shadow. Ice flooded Harry's every vein as the man smiled.
Calm, vaguely amused, the rider's face...
Could not possibly be...!
Had to be...?
... the spitting image of Harry Potter!
The cold dark eyes pierced effortlessly through Harry's disillusionment spell.
“You should not try to hide from us father.” The cold face exuded eerie charm.
Harry was just scrabbling for his wand when he was hit in the back with a stunner. Barely clinging to consciousness, he glimpsed a second face hovering above him, waving a wand to cancel Harry's disillusionment charm. The Latin incantation, “Invenias qui honorem,” echoed hollow in Harry's mind as everything faded.
Harry was numb. Detached. He tried instinctively to touch his face... but discovered that he could find neither a face, nor a hand to touch it with.
Opening non-existent eyes, he gazed around... someplace dim. It was not as dark as the cold Camboricum night. There were torches flickering from oddly carved brackets set about stone walls. A glimmer of twilight was beginning to show in tall Gothic windows.
It took several minutes, but Harry recognized this place... sort of.
In this dream, Harry seemed to floating, disembodied, about a room that resembled the Great Hall at Hogwarts. However, the Hogwarts had never sported gleaming, pitch-black mahogany furniture trimmed in green velvet. It also did not have...
Bloody hell!!
Harry's non-corporeal stomach wrenched as though stricken with a dagger.
Skulls!
The brackets holding the flickering torches were not odd carvings. On closer inspection, each was made from the leering remains of a human head.
Then the distant pulses began.
Th-th-th-th-thud... Th-th-th-th-Thud... Th-th-th-th-THUD... Th-th-th-th-THUD!
The noise steadily grew – a heartbeat drawing inexorably closer and closer... until the sound resolved itself into a procession. Scores on scores of black-cloaked, hooded children and youth marched into the Hall in totalitarian unison, arrayed from smallest to tallest.
The procession fanned out across the Hall into a broad, multi-tiered semi-circle – smaller children forming the inner ring and taller youth spanning the periphery.
Everyone came to a halt. The last students to enter reached their appointed positions, and the entire assembly went stone silent; rigid...
Moments stretching into minutes. Nothing happened. No move nor rustle; not a single cough, murmur or giggle.
Harry was horrified. Disembodied, he had an impotent urge to yell or shout; anything to fill the ghastly vacuum. He wanted to shout, 'Hey! You're children! Move! Run! Laugh and shout! Do something!!'
But he too remained frozen. All was transfixed until...
SSWISSSSSSH!!
The right arm of every child and youth thrust out. Hundreds of black wands extended, like spines of an inverted sea urchin, pointing to the center of the semicircle.
“Good morning children!”
The thin, reedy voice chilled Harry in vapours of despair. Amidst the horrifying children, he had not noticed the emergence of a massive black throne at the far end of the Hall, on the raised dais where the staff table should have been. He had not observed a vile figure seated high above his subjects, in repugnant ostentation.
“GOOD MORNING OUR LORD SAVIOUR AND PROTECTOR OF THE PURE, ” sang the haunting sound of every child's voice raised in flawless, inhuman unanimity.
“On this fine morning, after your night of diligent labours, after your year of dedication, I have gathered you all, my dear students of The Lord Voldemort School of Magical Purity, to induct our esteemed Graduate Class of 1998 in the manner of our forefathers.”
“OH THANK YOU, OUR LORD SAVIOUR AND PROTECTOR OF THE PURE! ”
“Yes, children, you are wise to thank me. Yet I also bestow a token of my own gratitude, to each of you, as fellow protectors of the pure.”
“BY YOUR GRACE, LORD SAVIOUR AND PROTECTOR OF THE PURE! ”
“Indeed children, I see you have all drawn your wands.”
“FOR SO WE MAY DO YOUR BIDDING, OUR BENEVOLENT LORD SAVIOUR AND PROTECTOR OF THE PURE! ”
“Ah, very good.” The repugnant voice was greased with saccharine self-satisfaction. “Then on this fine morning we together shall sanctify our hallowed walls with one more torch, to forever burn that which was once impure.”
The entire assembly fell into deep, expectant silence, before Voldemort once again raised his voice.
“Prefects! Bring forth the impure!”
For the barest moment, Harry glimpsed four stern young men and women. Dressed in black and green silk, they were entering the Hall through a high archway, solemnly levitating the prostrate body of an old woman, clothed only in a ragged white sheet...
With neither wand nor body, unable to even contemplate the obscene atrocity to come, Harry knew only one possible recourse.
“STOP!!!”
The horrific scene extinguished.
Gasping, Harry glanced frantically about his Grimmauld Place bedroom. In near darkness, his anguished eyes somehow found the frightened but resolute face of Ginny Weasley.
He stared blankly, half-paralysed, until the love and concern in her eyes tore away the remnants of his dream wall, and he collapsed into her arms, sobbing.
“It's okay Harry.” Her grip tightened gently around him. “The dream is done. You're safe. You're with me.”
“I don't exist, Ginny,” Harry mumbled disconsolately. “I've never existed. I can't save anyone. I'm powerless, because now I'll never even be born...”
“You're right here in my arms.” Ginny tenderly stroked the back of his neck. “You exist, Harry James Potter. You're as good and as strong as ever. The dreams are over, and you're right here, holding me.”
“Bloody hell??” A disheveled masculine form surged from the other bed. “What do you effing think you're doing in my bloody room?!”
Two large feet thumped hard on the wooden floor and the tall frame of Ron Weasley loomed over them, shaking a dangerously sparking wand. “Ginny, you've got two stinking seconds to get your wretched litt...”
“Stupefy!”
Ron crumpled to the floor revealing, to Harry's and Ginny's bewildered eyes, the unusually sober face of Sirius Black.
Sirius's gaze darted from Harry and Ginny locked in their embrace on the bed... to Ron twitching on the floor... and finally over his shoulder to Hermione who had followed him into the room and was standing several paces back wearing a shocked expression.
Sirius exhaled deeply. “Okay kids.” He put away his wand and scratched his head. “Raise your hand, whoever who wants to explain to me what the hell is going on.”
Arretez! Stoppez vous! That's the end of the chapter!
What follows below is an old unimproved version that I simply can't get rid of. I've tried! Please skip along to chapter 6.