The War We Fight by Lady of the Dragon
Summary: This is the story of a war. A war between good and evil, light and dark. This is the war Harry will fight, where he will learn the meanings of life and death, love and friendship, sorrow and betrayal, honor and hardship. This is the war where he will fulfill his destiny.
H/G with some R/H sixth year fic.
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Post-OotP
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2005.10.24
Updated: 2011.03.16
Index
Chapter 1: Home isn't always where the heart lies.
Chapter 2: The Helper and Her Charge.
Chapter 3: Because every fortress can be breached
Chapter 4: Inside Tom's Lair.
Chapter 5: When all that's left is hope.
Chapter 6: Through the enemy's fingers.
Chapter 7: Returning home
Chapter 8: Recovering
Chapter 9: Visitors, Conversations, and OWL results (part 1)
Chapter 10: Visitors, Conversations, and OWL results (part 2)
Chapter 11: Back to Grimmauld Place
Chapter 12: Trouble in Paradise
Chapter 13: Of compromises and further drifting. (part1)
Chapter 14: Of compromises and further drifting (part 2)
Chapter 15: Meetings at Gringotts (part 1)
Chapter 16: Meetings at Gringotts (part 2)
Chapter 17: Family heirlooms and nasty surprises.
Chapter 18: Divide and Conquer
Chapter 19: And so it began...
Chapter 20: Ramifications
Chapter 21: The flimsy weight of solitude among others
Chapter 22: New professors, old classes
Chapter 23: The gift of shared understanding
Chapter 24: Midnight strolls in the eve of chaos
Chapter 25: Warfare and Deception
Chapter 26: Meltdown
Chapter 27: Of Family
Chapter 28: Unexpected Circumstances
Chapter 1: Home isn't always where the heart lies.
Julian of Norwich — 15th century
A young man was lying on his back in the neat backyard of a suburban house in Surrey.
His eyes were closed but he could feel the warmth of the rising sun. He knew that in a few minutes his aunt would come down and shatter the peaceful atmosphere surrounding him. He decided it was better to be ready for her call, and slowly opened his dark green eyes, that didn’t seem to fit in his young face, having seen horrors best left unknown. Slipping on his glasses, he slowly stood up, stretching and readying himself for another day.
The boy was relatively tall but slender. The last remains of boyhood had recently left him, leaving behind elegant cheekbones and startlingly green eyes. His dark hair, slightly long and endearingly messy framed his face and made for a very pleasant sight. However, dark circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion and lack of sleep.
His clothes were obviously too big for him, but didn’t hide the proud, determined set of his shoulders that wasn’t there a couple of days ago.
“Harry Potter! Get inside the house this instant! You’ll make my grass uneven, lying there every morning!” The shrill voice rang clear in the morning silence, cutting through the young man’s musings and shaking him out of his meditative state.
“Good morning aunt Petunia.” said Harry as he entered the kitchen. His voice, as well as his face had changed; it was smooth, grave, and almost sombre - certainly not a child’s voice. His greeting was met with a cold glare. Moody’s warning had made life at Privet Drive bearable, but by no means pleasant.
“Quiet boy, and start making breakfast, your uncle will be down any minute now”
Ignoring the icy tone and even icier glare, Harry smiled slightly and did as he was told, knowing this would enrage his aunt more than anything else he might do or say. As he fried the bacon and the eggs and dropped several slices of bread in the toaster, his aunt rambled on and on about her roses and her garden and just exactly what would happen to him if he ever damaged any of her plants. He wondered what exactly she would do if he activated one of the twins’ swamps in her back yard... He gave a bark of laughter at the mental picture, successfully shutting her up, at least for a moment, as she built up for a more enthusiastic harangue on proper respect. It was a blessing, especially for his ears, thought Harry, that an owl suddenly came soaring in through the window, fluttered around the room a few times and came to rest lightly in Harry’s outstretched arm. His aunt gasped loudly, but didn’t speak; something that he was sure wouldn’t last.
He untied the letter and slipped it in his pocket. The owl took off immediately, not waiting for a reply.
His aunt was glaring at him menacingly, and Harry wondered what would happen next, he wasn’t really in the mood for a big row, and his aunt seemed to be itching for a fight. He didn’t know how much longer his patience would last, especially when his uncle joined the mix.
“Aren’t you going to open that?” she snapped.
“I don’t think know would be the proper time or the proper place to read my mail, Aunt Petunia.” he replied evenly.
In this moment, Vernon entered the kitchen. His greeting was just as warm as Petunia’s had been. “Boy! The toast is burning! You should at least do your work properly after all we’ve done for you!”
Just another morning in the Dursley household, thought Harry. It really never changed.
“Good morning to you too, uncle Vernon.” he said lightly, serving his uncle’s breakfast and watching him turn a deep purple. Deciding that now would be the perfect time to beet a hasty retreat, he grabbed a handful of toast and left the kitchen, heading upstairs to his room, intent on reading his letter.
He wondered who had sent him mail. He hadn’t recognised any of his friends’ handwriting: it wasn’t Ron’s messy scrawl, or Hermione’s tidy small writing. It wasn’t even Ginny’s long elegant lettering, and consequently, Harry was slightly concerned. He wasn’t used to receiving strange anonymous letters or packages and that left him slightly wary of what the envelope might contain.
Sitting comfortably in his desk, he examined the seal of the heavy envelope, and realised exactly whom the letter was from: he had seen this crest a few times when crossing the threshold of the wizarding bank, Gringotts. But why would he be receiving letters from the Goblins was beyond him, and he would only discover it by going ahead and reading what was in there.
He broke the seal and opened heavy parchment and was surprised when he found another two letters inside the first envelope. He unfolded the letter from the bank, wanting to find out what the whole business was about. His surprise mounted with each passing sentence, and by the time he was finished he felt he had more questions than answers
Dear Mr. Potter,
Gringotts bank wishes by the present letter to express its greatest sympathies for the passing of your godfather, Sirius Orion Black. We also wish to hereby inform you of your emancipation as per Goblin Law, by the express wishes of the previously mentioned Sirius Black, your legal guardian.
This decision concerns the Goblin High Council, and can only be applied in the wizarding world once it is followed and accepted by the Wizengamot. Nevertheless, for all intents and purposes falling under Goblin jurisdiction you are legally an adult, and will be treated as such.
This means that you can now take full and exclusive control of your entire estate, and will be able to make decisions concerning this estate and any other financial problems that may befall you.
Enclosed in this envelope are two letters: the first written by your parents, James Potter and Lily Potter, née Evans, nearly fifteen years ago, and deposited at our institution with clear instructions to be delivered to you at your majority, once you took control of the ancestral Potter estate. As your legal majority was attained at the death of your godfather, Gringotts has thought it best to pass this letter on to you now that your are in full control of your rightful estate.
The second enclosed letter was written by your late godfather a few weeks before his demise, and to be delivered should his death happen to be untimely. In his last will, Sirius Orion Black made you, Harry James Potter his exclusive Heir. Although you must sign several documents concerning both your estates, let it be noted that you are now one of Gringotts' Bank largest contributors, as head of both the Potter and the Black estate.
It must also be dully noted that, unless you so desire and in this case you must contact this institution immediately, all control over the Black and the Potter estate has been removed from one Albus Dumbledore. For reasons that are unclear at the present time, both estates were under the care of this wizard for the last fifteen years. This is no longer the case, and both accounts are now under your sole control, to do with as you please, under the boundaries of Goblin and Wizarding law alike.
Gringotts feels that it would be in your best interest to visit one of our institutions, in order to fill all the required documents and to meet with your assigned manager. It might also be in your best interest to bring with you legal advice, if you happen to be unfamiliar with any aspect of our legislation. A meeting of the sort may also bring you more specific information on the contents of the ancestral family’s vaults and stocks and properties that you posses. We encourage you, should anything be unclear, to contact your bank manager, who is always there to fulfil your needs.
We wish to express once again our sympathies for your loss, and our desire that our transactions in the future be numerous and beneficial to both parties.
The Goblin Head Council.
Harry could barely make out the thirteen signatures hastily scrawled below the letter itself. His head was reeling from all the information that he had just discovered. As he assimilated all he had just read, his anger bubbled to the surface. He wanted to know why no one had ever bothered to inform him of any of this or why was Dumbledore making decisions in his name without his knowledge? Why didn’t anyone tell him he had an ancestral vault? Malfoy bragged a lot about his, so Harry was familiar enough with them. He had had no idea that his family was old enough or even important enough to have such a thing. Deciding that it was better to save his irritation until his next meeting with the headmaster, he turned his attention to the two other envelopes. A cold shiver of dread run through him. What had they written? Why now, when he had just about gotten his life halfway together, with a whole lot of help, let it be known? He continued to stare at the two envelopes.
The first, bright and white, was obviously quite new. The dark green seal, a capital B entwined in vines proved that it came from a Black heir. Harry put this one aside. He just wasn’t ready to deal with the pain of losing Sirius, again. The wounds were too fresh. So he turned to the next one, a creamy thick parchment, with a musky sent he always associated with old books and the Hogwarts’ library. It was the smell of ancient parchment. This was written by his parents, to him. Or at least to the ‘him’ they knew, the one-year-old baby that they would never be able to see as a grown man. It was heartening, Harry thought, that faced with probable death, they had remembered him, realised that it might be good to know his true parents, even if it was simply in the form of a few written words. This he could deal with, he thought, focusing in the crest in the seal. He felt like he had already seen that symbol somewhere. The phoenix, the dragon and the Griffin, with the elegant P in the middle, he just couldn’t remember where. They were his family’s crest. His family, what a family it was, with its single member, he thought bitterly. A member, that knew exactly nothing of the family’s past. How ironic. Gathering his courage as best he could, and preparing himself for an emotional blow, Harry began to read the second letter of the day.
Dear Harry,
If you are reading this, then our worst fears have come to pass.
That sounded dramatic, didn’t it? Just for the record, Harry, that was your mother’s sentence. She always had a flare for the dramatic, you know. A true marauder would never write such a thing, nothing so, tragic, if you know what I mean. We live for the day.
As Lily flower is urging me quite gently (I won’t have a head soon, if she keeps hitting me, you have quite a violent mother, little Harry, I hope you don’t inherit this trait of hers, must be the red hair) to move on, I’ll explain the reason for this letter. You just turned one, and we must go into hiding, because you are in danger, caused by the existence of a prophecy that may or may not concern you and Voldemort. If you have no idea whatsoever of what I’m talking about, then Dumbledore is being his usual meddling self. Go to Hogwarts and grill him, or just ask Sirius, who should have told you years ago. Show him this letter if you must, to get him talking. This is important, do everything in your power to find the contents of this prophecy. We would write it down here, but it just isn’t safe.
I hope that at least one of the above mentioned people had the intelligence to tell you something that concerns you so exclusively and so completely. If none of them have, let them know that I’m disappointed. It’s a pity that no house is completely safe, no fortress impossible to breach. It doesn’t matter how much we wish to see you grow up, it might just not be meant to be. In fact, if you are reading this, then we’re gone, and you grew up with Sirius or Remus, without us. I can only hope that you are happy, although I don’t have many doubts, with those two. You probably became their partner in crime by the time you could talk. Harry, you can trust Remus and Sirius with your life, they would never, ever betray you. Of this I can assure you.
It’s sad, that isn’t true for a great number of people. They are one of the few that I know of that will put your well-being before their own, and before any kind of greater good nonsense that Dumbledore might come up with. Don’t always take Dumbledore word as truth, Harry. He means well, but he can be a manipulative bastard. Don’t be afraid to confront him. He is certainly one of the most powerful wizards alive, but he isn’t always right. Sometimes a swift kick in the (here you can insert the word that I’m sure you know, but your mother has forbidden me to write down) is the best solution to your problems than countless hours of debating, trying to find a compromise. Have faith in your abilities, and never few lessened by anyone.
The handwriting of the letter suddenly changed, and Harry was sure his mother had written the next part.
Well Harry dear, now that your father has gotten all of that out of the way, we can go on to the serious stuff, the real reason I wanted to write this letter (not, as James seems to think, to give you advice on how to deal with your headmaster, you must remember that your father beat the last record for most detentions in a single school year, so advice from him is shifty at best) I wanted you to know first hand exactly how much we loved you Harry. And not just I, James might seem like an insensitive git most of the time, but he loves you more than life itself. We have only known you, Harry, for a little more than a year, but you are the centre of our lives, the bright spot that has kept us going through the darkness that is becoming our world. It doesn’t matter that we might not see you grow up, and become the wonderful person you’re bound to be, we’ve loved you since the day we discovered you existed. The day you were born was without a doubt the happiest day of my life. You mean everything to us Harry. Remember that, my son. Now, there are some other issues your father needs to discuss with you, pay attention and never forget what I said.
His father continued the letter.
Well Harry, Lily flower has gotten all the mushy stuff out of the way and we can get down to business (don’t get me wrong, all she said is the truth, I’m extremely proud of you Harry, only my son could already walk at one, and show such a promising future as a seeker. Lily doesn’t believe me, says a one year old can’t show any talent for quidditch yet, it’s scientifically impossible or something, but I know better. I can already see you flying for Gryffindor) as your mother kindly reminded me, I must get back on track. You are now of age, Harry, and will consequently be taking control over the Potter estate, most particularly, the Potter ancestral vault. What I’m about to tell you, I learned from my father on my birthday, and he learned from his father, and so on, for as far as our line goes. I might not be there to tell you in person, but I want to make sure the information gets to you.
Our vault is locked by some of the most powerful blood magic known to wizard kind. That means that the vault will respond to you and to you only, because of your blood. You are the only one that can open the vault, you and your direct decedents. This old tradition has one huge advantage, no matter who controls the Potter estate, or even if the Potter estate no longer exists, this vault will always remain untouched, even by the Goblins who take care of Gringotts. It was a safety precaution because of all the goblin rebellions that took place over the course of history.
Inside the vault are several objects, artefacts really that will be useful to you, I believe, when the time comes for you to face the war you were destined to be a part of. Those are powerful ancient objects, Harry, and mustn’t be used lightly. They can be extremely dangerous, not to you, but to all of those around you. Don’t be afraid to use the things in the vault. They are all attuned to your blood, and will respond to your call. Everything in there is bound to serve you, so do not be afraid. One of the perks of coming from an old family is to have all those useful things at hand. And everything in there is useful somehow, Harry. Don’t judge things by their appearance. You’ll understand all of this better once you’ve visited the vault; something I advise you to do as soon as you get control of the estate, the trip is certainly worthwhile.
As for the estate itself, don’t bother yourself with it. It will only cause huge and unnecessary headaches. Get someone qualified, who understands all the ancient laws in which the estate is based, to sort out all of the mess. I recommend to you John Hellington or one of his associates. Send him an owl; he isn’t cheap, but worth every last Knut. Put everything in his hands, lie back, and enjoy the fruits of his labour.
That was certainly a long letter, but at least all the important stuff was said. Now I can give in to my heart’s desire and launch a full description of all the disgusting things you did as a baby....
New change in handwriting.
You will do no such thing, James! You’ll just embarrass him with your horrible stories! Harry, dear, this is the end of our letter. There aren’t words to properly describe my feelings, just know that my heart will be forever full with my love for you, no matter what happens.
James was the one that finished the letter.
Enjoy life; prank a lot, wrack havoc in school and anywhere else you go. Laughter has its place everywhere, no matter the situation. While you can still laugh you can hope for a better end, a better place to be. I love you, little Harry, and I probably will forever and ever.
Your mother and father,
Lily and James
Harry’s hands were shaking as he finished his letter. He hadn’t realised how hard it would be to get a glimpse of his parents as they really were, so happy, so full of life. He had always wished for something of the kind, spark that would show him their true person. How right the person was who had said to be careful with what you wish for. Blinking several times to try and dry the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes, he carefully folded the long letter his parents had written him. He really didn’t know how to react to most of the things his father told him. He would just trust him, and follow his advice. What hurt him the most was the way they talked about Sirius. For them it was such a certainty that he would be with him, if they were ever gone. They couldn’t be more wrong, Harry thought.
Thoughts were swirling in his head, but he couldn't focus on any of them. It was way too many shocks for a single morning. Looking at his table, he decided that he was in no condition to read whatever it was that Sirius had to say. Studying was also out of the question; he couldn’t focus if his life depended on it right now.
He decided to follow Ginny’s advice once more and go for a run, to clear his head. As he was tying his tattered tennis shoes, he remembered he hadn’t received owls from his friends in more than a week. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother him that much. He was quite happy having his one faithful correspondent: Ginny. She was the only one who had written regularly; every two days an owl would deliver a letter. He might have answered her previous one or not, she always found something to say, other than the usual apologies about not being allowed to tell him the news. Those letters only angered him, made him feel even more distant from the word he was prophesized to save. So much so that he simply stopped reading or replying to Ron and Hermione’s letters.
But not Ginny, and for that he would be eternally grateful to her. She seemed to realize that what he needed wasn’t news of more tragedies and deaths, or lack of them. He needed someone to tell him that things could be good, and that everything would be okay in the end, no matter what happened, that he would always have a friend to talk to, to come back to, someone to trust. That was what Ginny had done, slowly bringing him to trust her unconditionally.
While he started a steady jog towards the park, smiling mischievously at the thought that someone from the Order had to keep up with him, he remembered her first letter. He didn’t remember what it said exactly, only that it had been a light in his conscience when everything else was dark. He hadn’t moved for more than three days, just lying in his bed starring at nothing, trying to find a reason to keep on going, when there was nothing else he wanted that was still in this world. His mind had been miles away from this world, as if all it needed to leave completely was for Harry to say so. Her letter had been like soft music, sometimes grave, sometimes sweet. She had somehow reminded him of his duty, a duty he could not walk away from. Reminded him that his actions affected others, and that what he was doing was incredibly selfish, leaving all those that depended on him, looked up to him, to fend for themselves. She made him remember his mother’s sacrifice, and the heavy price she had paid, so he could live. It did the trick. A few hours later, he was out of bed, clean and fed, preparing for the battles ahead of him.
Spurred by a constant and reliable flow of letters, he had little by little regained a semblance of normalcy. Not that his routine was at all normal, just, more normal than what the first weeks of summer had been. He couldn’t sleep without his subconscious mind playing dirty tricks on him, bringing him no respite and tones of nightmares. His solution was to exhaust himself thoroughly, physically and mentally, so much so that he would not so much go to sleep, but black out of sheer exhaustion, catching a few hours of deserved rest.
He had taken to running every morning, accepting all his aunt’s chores without complaint, something that kept him busy for most of the day. Evenings and nights were spent working his magic. He couldn’t practice spells and use his wand, but the theory and many other kinds of magic he practised. Not a minute was wasted in his new schedule. It would make Hermione proud.
Now, as he passed the gates and entered the park a few miles away from his aunt’s house, he wondered how Ginny had known exactly what to write, when to write, to write at all.... How could she know what was going on with him when he didn’t know himself? Her timing had been perfect, really. He had been so caught up in his efforts to get himself together that he hadn’t realized how amazing she had been. Tired of thinking too much, and just wanting to clear his mind, Harry focused his whole attention on his breathing, and on putting one foot in front of the other, after all, what would come would come - and he would meet it when it did.
Chapter 2: The Helper and Her Charge.
Laurens Van der Post
Chapter two: The helper and her charge.
“Mom? I’m going for a walk; I’ll be by the pond!”
“Be back by lunchtime, Ginny!” replied a voice through the kitchen window.
“I will be!” yelled back a softer, younger voice.
The young woman who had just taken part in this conversation walked out of the Burrow, at a leisurely pace, lost in her own world. The fields surrounding her home were always Ginny’s favourite hiding place, her haven. They were always so calm and empty, no noise to interrupt her thoughts. Family life was sometimes so oppressive, that she could do nothing but run away for awhile, to be alone with herself.
Her auburn hair, punctuated by golden and chestnut locks, was tied loosely in the top of her head, allowing a few tendrils to frame her face. She was wearing a comfortable burnt-orange t-shirt (anything to make her hair more copper than ginger), a printed-cotton skirt and sandals.
Walking down the hillside, she closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun. She felt a sense of peace here, of retreat, that she never found at home. Living with six boisterous and noisy older brothers made that to you, no matter how much you loved them.
Sitting on the roots of an old oak, with a delightful view of the sun gleaming as it hit the surface of the water she smiled happily. Her face was slightly tanned from the summer sun, hiding even the light dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose.
She considered her clear skin a blessing from the gods of genetics, after all, who had ever heard of a Weasley with almost no freckles? Even her hair was a shade darker than most of her brothers... A pity her nose wasn’t a bit more patrician, but it would have to do, as would the hand me downs, and the house that was only standing by magic.
Sighing deeply and gathering all of her Gryffindor courage, she reached inside her pocket, drew a worn piece of parchment and read it, although she obviously already knew what it said. It was Harry’s last letter, and Ginny didn’t know what to make of it.
Never in her wildest dreams had she expected such a response from Harry as the one she had gotten after her first letter. Truth be told, she had only written because Ron had yet again - with a disregard for Harry’s feelings that still astounded her - written another letter that said that much was going on, but he couldn’t talk about it.
She could still remember the shouts of the night she got a reply. Ron had been furious, livid. His temper could be worse than that of all his brothers put together, and that night it was totally unleashed on her face. She hadn’t been expecting such a strong reaction. A reaction certainly, Ron was too possessive to enjoy having anyone in his turf, but not the screaming match that had ensued. If she had known, she didn’t think she would have told everyone that she had written, and, certainly not, the worst offence in Ron’s eyes, that he had responded.
They had all been seated in the kitchen table, her Mom had been serving dinner and she had just received Harry’s letter, she had been so excited that she had simply wanted to tell someone, anyone that Harry was responding to someone. And that was why she had unexpectedly blurted out, in the middle of the table:
“Harry wrote today.” If the whole situation hadn’t been so tragic, she might have found the unusual silence that descended upon the table highly amusing. Every conversation had come to an abrupt stop, her mother had stopped steering a pot, that was currently in the process of burning and all the Weasley family had their gazes locked incredulously in its younger member.
“I wrote him a letter a few days ago, and he answered. Hedwig was here this afternoon.” She continued happily. As if on cue, every occupant of the room started talking at once, her mother insistently asking after his well being, her older brothers either rejoicing or (in the twins case) teasing her on the exact nature of her relationship with Harry...
Only Ron hadn’t smiled, or been grateful that Harry had reacted at all. Over the noise of the table he had suddenly yelled, furiously:
“That’s nonsense, he isn’t writing to anyone!”
“I’m anyone then, Ron?” she had answered, hoping against hope this wasn’t going where she thought this was going.
“He hasn’t written me or Mione in weeks. He couldn’t possibly have written you!” he continued, ignoring her completely.
“Well, Ron, he wrote, and he was very nice, thanked me for taking the time to write, and being concerned with him and everything.”
“What did you tell him?” he asked suspiciously “we can’t tell him anything that’s going on, of course, you wouldn’t care for safety, if it meant getting a letter from Harry, would you?” he spat, angrily. Now the whole table was looking at her questioningly, her mother struggling between happiness at the letter, and the wish to scold her for her supposed irresponsibility. However, her temper had risen with Ron’s last outburst.
“Actually, Ronald” she glared defiantly “I didn’t talk at all about the war with him! Not a single mention of Voldemort in my letter, or in his answer!” but her logic didn’t seem to phase Ron one bit, and he continued his assault.
“Then what could you have written? It’s not as if you have anything else important to say, you don’t even know him!”
If Ron had been in his right state of mind, he would have realized immediately that this wasn’t the right thing to say, if not by the furious flash that suddenly lit Ginny’s eyes, then by the silence in the room when he finished talking.
“If this is what you think, Ron, than why don’t you make an educated guess as for the reason he actually answered my letter, the single letter I sent, and he didn’t bother to answer a single one of yours? Tell me, do you think it was because I didn’t have anything to say that was worth knowing?”
Her answer stunned him into silence, but it didn’t last. She might wish he would just drop the matter, it didn’t mean it would happen.
“Let us see the letter, Ginny.” he said suddenly.
“What!?” she was too stunned and horrified at his request to even formulate a response.
“I want to see what he wrote to you; after all, it’s the first contact he made with anyone in weeks. It could be important.” he said smugly.
“There isn’t a chance in hell I’m showing you that letter!” she snapped loudly.
“I want to know why he wrote to you and not to any of his friends, Ginny.” he continued, unflinchingly.
“Maybe, unlike you, he considers me a friend.” she replied, tiring already of this squabble.
“You aren’t his friend! And I want to know what you did to drive him away from his true friends!” He yelled.
What Ginny didn’t understand was why no one in the table was doing anything to stop Ron’s verbal assault on her. She hoped this last ridiculous accusation would cause some kind of reaction, so she looked pleadingly at her mother, who was apparently too stunned to do anything. Her brothers seemed happy enough to let her fend for herself. What a great show of familiar support, she thought sarcastically.
“Where did you get that idea from!? I did no such thing! I wrote to a friend who seemed like he needed help!” she replied angrily.
“So you are saying you had no ulterior motives? No wish to take advantage of him?”
Now, Ginny thought, Ron had gone too far. Way too far. And the collective intake of breath from the other occupants of the room showed that they noticed it too. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and in a low voice, much scarier, somehow, than the previous yells, she whispered.
“What are you implying, Ronald?”
“That you are taking advantage of the fact he’s not himself to become his friend, or maybe even more, and to drive him away from us!” He yelled back, temper in full swing.
For a moment Ginny didn’t know what to say. Ron couldn’t honestly believe that, he just couldn’t. Taking advantage of her silence he added.
“I don’t want you to write to Harry any more.” he said somewhat more quietly.
She raised her eyes to him so fast that her neck hurt. Who did he think he was?
“I forbid you” he continued.
Enough was enough, she decided. Her mother had finally decided to intervene, but now she didn’t want help any longer, she could deal with Ron by herself.
“It’s just too bad then, Ron, that I don’t take orders from egotistical bastards like you.” she said, while leaving the room, silence on her wake.
And now, even though more than a week had passed since “the event” Ron was still in a high rage, especially since she kept receiving mail from Hedwig, while Harry hadn’t spared Ron and Hermione a single note. She should remind him to do that sometime... they were his friends, no matter how insensitive.
But that didn’t change the fact that Ron’s newest pastime was to throw mindless accusations at her, preferably before the whole family, forcing her to continually have to justify what she did. It wasn’t true that she was driving Harry away from his friends. She was his friend too, and right now, she was actually being a better friend than Ron and Hermione had been. She understood him better than they did, she knew what he needed, because she had been there before, had faced the overflowing guilt as well as the anguish and depression.
However, Ron was way too self centred, she thought bitterly, to look past his own needs and his own feelings and look at what was under his nose. She knew he meant well, for the most part, but he desperately needed to grow up a bit. She bade a silent encouragement to Hermione, who would have to deal with this particular human being.
Staring at the piece of parchment in her hands, she willed it to give her some answers, or at least a clue as to how to deal with the problem at hand. Her correspondence with Harry had gotten much deeper than Ginny had intended or expected. When Harry’s letter had come back, finally showing some fleck of emotion, she had answered in kind, and both of them had finally opened up, spilling the pain and the guilt they shared, the taint left by Tom Riddles touch, and that she felt would someday come back to haunt them both.
She reread the letter that she felt she would end up knowing by heart. She had to write something back, otherwise her post would be late, and who knew what that would do to Harry in the state he was in. She had noticed that the fact that she was reliable, that she would write every two days no matter what, had been an important factor to gain his trust, and she wasn’t about to lose that now.
Dear Ginny,
I don’t really know why I decided to write... Sometimes I just feel this urge to write everything that happens to me down, and recently you have been the only person to whom I could send anything. I used to do this with Sirius, when I could owl him, but now... I got used to writing to you when I have so much in my mind that I can’t focus in anything, and when I feel that any more and I’ll go nuts. So that’s what I’m doing, but sometimes it’s just so hard to put feelings down on paper! I always feel like I’m rambling and spouting out a whole bunch of nonsense that you probably don’t want to hear.
It’s in times like this that I miss Sirius the most; he was always there for me, the perfect person to talk to, to get advice from. No matter what Hermione might say, I’m sure everything he said and did was for my own benefit. It’s one of the only things I’m absolutely certain about in my life.
You know what’s funny, Gin? I think this was the first time I actually managed to write about Sirius in the past tense. Shows just how much you helped me these past weeks, to accept life as it is, to grieve but not to be drowned by sorrow. Lots of little lessons, you helped me learn. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you in full measure for the favours this summer. And now I’m about to, yet again, burden you with my problems. I know that it isn’t really fair, but somehow I feel you won’t mind too much, and that as always you’ll help me move past everything or just deal with what’s thrown at me. I think this was something you wrote in one of your letters, you are really rubbing of on me, and for once I think it’s a very good thing!
I just got a letter from Gringotts, Gin, informing me of many things I should have already known. I probably shouldn’t go into any details, as I guess it’s not safe. I’ll tell you everything when I see you; hopefully very soon as I don’t know how much longer I can last in this bloody prison Dumbledore wants me to call home.
Have you ever felt betrayed by the one person you trust the most? Sorry this was a silly question, of course you, of all persons, already have. It just made me so mad, Gin, to know that he knew all that concerning me and my family, and he never bothered to tell me. I feel as if any person who grew up in the wizarding world knows more about the Potters than I do.
Sometimes it seems so unfair! That because of the decision of one person, I should be totally cut out of everything that rightfully belongs to me? That because one person decided, against the expressed wishes of my parents, I should be exiled for my entire childhood from the world I belong to? Doesn’t seem very fair, nor very free. I had no choice at all in the matter, and in the end, I was the only one concerned by the decision.
He totally disrupted my life, and my relatives life too, come to think of it (they never wanted me here, they had no choice in the matter either) because HE thought it was best. Right about now I feel as if I live in under the iron fist of dictatorship and the tyrant is Dumbledore. After all (I learned this in the muggle world, I feel they understand this kind of thing much better than we do) there is no liberty where there is no choice.
Wow! I don’t know where all that came from! Sorry about the rant. But I can’t help but wish that he didn’t use me as a chess piece. A secret weapon he can take out of his closet any time he wants. He wants me to fight a war. To take control of my destiny. But how can I fight a war, how can any of us fight a war, when we don’t know how to fight? How are we supposed to survive, if we can’t protect ourselves?
I’m the best defence student at Hogwarts (I’m not bragging or anything, I just had a lot more practice), Gin, and I don’t think I can last in a full-fledged duel against a Death Eater. I can trick and be lucky, but if we ever come wand to wand, I could never survive.
This should say something about our ability to fight this war. I might be wrong, but I think we shouldn’t be sitting on our butts doing nothing. We should be practising, training, and learning everything we can. Voldemort and his Death Eaters have age and experience in their favour, and right now, apart from sheer dumb luck, we have no advantage whatsoever.
Anyway. this letter from Gringotts made me realize a number of things, the first being that I can’t, in fact, we can’t rely on Dumbledore and the Order to win this war. That’s why I’ll be continuing the DA next year, as an official club, if Dumbledore authorises, underground if I must. It will no longer be called Dumbledore’s Army. We shouldn’t be fighting for Dumbledore, and I certainly am not, but for something we believe on. It may be the destruction of Voldemort, the supremacy of the light, or just plainly, for survival, but we should fight for ourselves, for our ideals, not because of someone. That’s why I will be continuing with the Defence Association, and will be taking the training up a notch.
I’ve had some time to think everything through, and I think I’m making the right decisions here. I have a destiny to fulfil, and as much as I hate having a destiny, there seems to be greater forces at work here, and I guess I’ll just go along with the flow, doing the best I can. Training those that will be by my side in battle, giving them as much chance as possible to survive, seems a noble goal to me. I realized last year, with the Department of Mysteries that there will always be someone by my side, and that I won’t be able to save them all. The best I can do is try to give those persons a fighting chance, and that’s what I’ll do.
I wrote this to you, Ginny, because I value your opinion. If you think I’m wrong, tell me plainly and openly. And now, I think I should just send you this monstrosity, as it’s getting late.
Much love,
Harry
Harry had changed this summer, Ginny could see it, and she didn’t quite know how to deal with him now. He had grown so much, emotionally speaking, that she sometimes didn’t follow. What she saw in this letter was that he wanted to take control, not only of his life, but of this war. She couldn’t blame him, but it was a huge step for a sixteen year old to make. He was still in school, for Merlin’s sake!
The truth, Ginny admitted to herself, was that she was afraid to write a reply to his letter and she was procrastinating. But not for long, she vowed, she just had to come to grips with all that information. She wondered what exactly had been kept from him for so long, that had elicited such a response. Dumbledore was losing his touch, she thought. His pawns where leaving his iron grip, and she didn’t blame them one bit.
It was certainly something that had touched him deeply, but somehow also made him come to terms with everything going on in his life. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what had changed since his last letter... A sense of certainty and confidence, assurance that wasn’t there before. As if he had no doubts left, closure. She wondered what had caused this sudden growth, this new-found trust in his own abilities, his own capabilities. Whatever it was, it had done wonders, and she was glad. As for Dumbledore, she had a feeling their next meeting was going to be heated.
She stood and walked slowly back to the house, she had about an hour before lunch, and she must send her answer before then. Hedwig was waiting for her. That Owl was really amazing, she thought, she always knew when she was needed, and she never left without a letter, as if knowing instinctively that they were important to her master, and that there was no other way for her to send them to him.
Dear Harry,
You have no idea how much I enjoying receiving a letter from you. It had been awhile since your last, and, truth be told I was starting to get worried.
I know exactly what you mean, it’s a horrible feeling, to be betrayed by the one person you trust the most. In fact, there is nothing I can write or say that will ever make that feeling pass. Trust is something that is gained, not given, and once it’s lost... let’s just say a lot of work has to be done, by both parties, for it to ever be achieved again.
I don’t know what happened between you and professor Dumbledore, Harry, I don’t know what he did to lose your trust, what I do know, is that you are right to make your own decisions, take control of your life. I’m not saying that you should do everything by yourself, because you can’t. You need our professors, and you need the headmaster, but that doesn’t mean you have to abide by all his decisions, especially if they have a bearing in your own life.
You are right that we need training. You saw the disaster that was the Department of Mysteries, and we had the best Hogwarts has to offer with us. I think that continuing with the DA is a terrific idea; in fact, it will be great to build trust and inter-house loyalty. People have to realize that in a war there is no such thing as rivalry. There are friends and allies, and there are enemies. So I think that you certainly have to continue what you started, and even open it to the rest of the school.
Here at home things are pretty much the same. I’m beginning to think that you wouldn’t be so happy here after all. You have no idea how Ron has been, I didn’t think your brother could be so mean! He has to learn that he can’t control other people’s lives, just to bend them to his desires. But truth be told, he’s really starting to get on my nerves. Mum’s too, I think, but she doesn’t show it, most of the time.
I can’t wait to see you Harry, writing is grand, but I really wish I could see you face. This seems like it’s going to be a loooong summer!
Love,
Ginny
Ginny finished her letter, sealed it and was in the process of tying it to Hedwig’s leg when Ron’s voice startled her from behind.
“Is that to Harry?”
She whirled around, clutching her heart that was suddenly beating a mile a minute.
“Merlin, Ron! You startled me!”
This didn’t elicit any reaction from her brother. He was still watching her, stony-faced. Quickly gaining her composure, Ginny finished tying the parchment and Hedwig flew out the window, to Ron’s obvious displeasure.
“Well, was that to Harry?” he snapped at her, angrily.
Deciding that she was tired of Ron’s petulant attitude, she replied exasperatedly:
“Do you know anyone else who owns a Snowy Owl? Because I don’t.”
“So you kept writing to him, even though I told you to stop.” voice cold as ice.
“Look, Ron” said Ginny tiredly “I don’t see why you don’t want me to write to Harry. It did both of us loads of good to talk, and you know it. I had hopped you would understand that” but looking at his expression she saw clearly that it was no use, Ron was too stubborn for his own good. “However, if you don’t, it doesn’t matter. I’m not about to stop writing to Harry just to fulfil a ridiculous whim of yours. It would be best if you learned to deal with the fact that Harry does indeed have other friends, and that I‘m one of them.” the end of her tirade was almost shouted at his face, and still didn’t move him one bit.
“You are driving him away from his friends when he needs us the most, Ginevra. And you are putting yourself at risk in the process.” for once, Ron’s voice wasn’t raised, but his feelings were clearly visible in his face.
“I’m not driving him away; I don’t care about the risk. He’s my friend. He needed me, I helped him, and he accepted my help. If you paid a little more attention in what was going on around you, Ron, you would have noticed what Harry was feeling, and then, maybe, he would have talked to you and not to me. But you didn’t and that’s not my fault. Obviously there was something in my letters that wasn’t in yours or in Hermione’s, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered to write to little old me.” she huffed exasperatedly and left the room, heading down to lunch.
Chapter 3: Because every fortress can be breached
Unknown
Chapter three:Because every fortress can be breached.
Hermione had sent him this book, Harry thought, for his birthday. Nothing new in itself, but it was the first time he had bothered to read any of them. In fact, in the last three weeks he had read just about all the books he owned, and then some. He guessed insomnia was a good thing when one wanted to study and train. Too bad his head didn't seem to agree, and that headaches seemed to be a permanent state with him now.
Putting the book aside for the moment, he heard a clock somewhere strike four. It would be morning soon, he realized. Another sleepless night. He got up, and made his way to the bathroom. It happened when he was crossing the threshold of his room, a sound he would recognize anywhere, the soft click, the turning of the hinges. The front door of the house had just been opened by an Alohamora spell.
He stopped dead in his tracks, fear gripping his heart, blood pounding in his ears, straining to hear anything else. Slowly and as silently as he could possibly be, Harry turned round and went back to his room. Struggling to think things through, to do the right thing he tried to slow his breathing and get his emotions under control. This is no time to panic, he thought, I escaped worse things before. Taking deep calming breaths, he quickly grabbed a stray piece of parchment and scribed a note to his headmaster.
Harry
What had happened to the guard? They where supposed to always have someone on guard! How had they gotten past the protection of the blood wards? Dumbledore had sworn Privet Drive was safe! Forcefully pushing those thoughts aside, Harry focused on the task at hand. He handed the note to Hedwig, who had arrived a few hours back with a letter from Ginny, not bothering to tie it to her leg, and trusting she could get it to his Headmaster fast.
He heard a faint crash downstairs and a muttered curse. This was it, proof that he hadn't imagined the spell. Quietly opening the window he whispered to his Owl.
“Be fast, and try not to be seen, please. And stay safe, Hedwig” she nipped his fingers affectionately and flew out the window, trying to remain covered.
Harry turned back to the problem at hand. Seeing his Firebolt leaning against the wall, he realized the safest thing to do would be to cover himself with his father's cloak and fly away, let the Death Eaters find his room empty. But he quickly dismissed the idea. They would be furious, and the Dursley where defenseless against them. He might no like them, but his conscience wouldn't let him abandon his relatives at the hands of a bunch of muggle-hating wizards. It would mean certain painful death.
What could he do, then? Stay in his room and wait for them to come? Not a good idea, no place to fight, no room to move and they would certainly have the upper hand. No, he decided quickly, as his time was running out, even though less than five minutes had passed since the break in, he would go down and meet them, take them by surprise and try to take as many out as possible, before he was discovered. He was sure he would be outnumbered and that his chances of survival where minimum, but he pushed that thought aside too. He wasn't afraid of death, he reminded himself, and if he was going down, he was going down fighting.
He grabbed his invisibility cloak, and tied her on, like his school robes, to give him as much freedom to move as possible. He covered his head with the hood and disappeared completely from view. He eased his wand from his pocket, ready to cast. Moving silently down the stairs, stepping over the steps that creaked, he pulled all his magic to the surface, as one of his books instructed, coating himself in it. This way, his spells where supposed to move faster and be much more powerful than if he simply used the spell words and the focus of the wand to draw his magic. His heart was beating loudly, and he could feel the cold sweat in his brow and temples.
He could now see the people he would be fighting against. He wasn't afraid anymore, but worried. Adrenaline was cursing through his veins, putting him on edge, and at the same time spurring him to act. There where five of them, that he could see. They were whispering quietly in the entrance hall, probably planning their next move, now that they were inside.
He had been right in his assumptions, he realized. The five men were all wearing the black cloak and skull like mask of Voldemort's followers. Harry crouched low behind the banister of the stairway, gaining as much protection from his position as possible. He tried to imagine how many he could take out before they noticed his presence. Probably no more than two, he decided. Pointing his wand at the wizard closest to him he fired a stunning spell, and in quick succession, taking advantage of the confusion that followed he stunned another Death Eater that happened to cross his way.
There was silence for a second as Harry run for cover, and the three remaining Death Eaters tried to figure out what had happened.
“Macnair, what the hell is...” but he didn't finish his sentence, as Harry dove behind a sofa, conjured ropes shoot from his wand, and the third man fell down, hitting his head hard on the floor in the process.
There was a moment of confusion, but Macnair, who was obviously the leader of the operation, quickly took control of the situation. Stepping over his unconscious companions, he walked towards Harry's hiding place. Feeling threatened, Harry launched a stunner and a cutting hex towards the man, who blocked them easily enough.
Later, Harry realized that move had been a mistake, as it gave away his location. His hiding place was suddenly bombarded by spells, curses and hexes from the two remaining wizards. A dark purple curse whizzed past his head that he didn't recognize, but by the damage it did to the wall, it probably wasn't pleasant. Harry could feel each spell that hit the settee. The cushions exploded in a million pieces. “If I ever escape those two, I certainly won't escape Aunt Petunia” Harry thought sardonically. He was sure it wouldn't resist much longer, but he was stuck. There was a wall behind him, and he couldn't risk leaving the relative safety of the piece of furniture.
“He has an invisibility cloak, the little bugger”, yelled one of the Death Eaters, Macnair's cohort. Taking his chance by the respite that followed, Harry sent a barrage of minor hexes at his two remaining assailants, but none hit, he was rusty, he realized, and his magic wasn't responding as well as it had at the end of the year. A month of inactivity had taken its toll on him, and at that moment he felt like hexing Dumbledore for his lack of opportunity to train. That is, if he got out of this alive.
Taking deep steadying breaths he crawled till he could look at the room through the side of the sofa. The two Death Eaters seemed to be enjoying themselves, seeing what it would take to blow the furniture to pieces. He really was in deep trouble, Harry thought. There was no escaping this time, he couldn't run and abandon his relatives. He had to stand and fight.
He sent another barrage of curses towards the two men, this time taking more careful aim by looking at them through a hole that had formed in the sofa. The first one fell, victim of one of Harry's stunning spells. But the remaining Death Eater was obviously more experienced. He sent a strong cutting hex that flew past the sofa and grazed Harry's arm, a superficial cut, but it started bleeding immediately.
Suddenly Harry heard noise coming from the stairs and panic took hold of him. He was barely managing on his own, there was no way he would be able to protect anyone! But the noise of footsteps distracted his opponent too, and Harry took advantage. Just as the man turned to see who was coming down, he was hit by a stunner, and fell head first into the floor.
Harry got up from his crushing position and gave an inward sigh of relief. He could see just how lucky he had been. Voldemort certainly hadn't sent his elite to get him or he wouldn't be alive and kicking just now. But the thought disturbed him greatly. Voldemort wasn't a fool; he wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating him again. That could only mean... that there were more of them, probably outside, and they had surely seen and heard the noise coming from the house. The cold feeling of dread was taking hold of him again, but he would have to first deal with his uncle, who had finally reached the bottom of the stairs, and was in the process of popping an aneurism while he took in the battleground that was part of his house, and the unconscious men lying in his hall.
“What happened here, you little punk!” he yelled suddenly, rage evident in his whole countenance.
Harry heard a noise outside the house, they were coming in to see what is taking so long, he thought frantically, turning to his uncle he said:
“Go upstairs, Uncle Vernon, and don't come down, no matter what you hear or see. Do you understand?” Harry's voice was obviously an order, and no one other than Vernon Dursley would have obeyed without another word. The flicker of silver in his eyes and the power Harry seemed to be radiating would have been enough persuasion to anyone. But Vernon Dursley wasn't just anyone, and he wasn't about to follow an order given to him by his problematic nephew.
“Who do you think you are, boy? How dare you...” Harry cut in trough his rant, raising his wand and leaving no doubts whatsoever that he would use it.
“Now, Uncle Vernon, quickly!” Vernon's eyes went from the point of the wand to Harry's face and he finally decided it would be in his best interest to do as he was told. Grumbling colorfully the man went back the way he had come.
Slightly relieved Harry turned around to deal with however it was that had been outside. And found himself face to face with the business end of two wands. He was caught.
He closed his eyes in defeat, silently praying for a quick release or a quick death.
"Be careful, boy" a deep tenor, tinted with malice said from his left "no abrupt movements or, accidents, may happen" He knew this voice. He was face to face with Rodolphus Lestrange. And the women would be Bellatrix - just perfect.
Harry nodded his understanding.
"Take your wand and this cloak of yours and put them down in the corner, you won't need them” the Death Eater continued.
Harry, cursing profusely inwardly did as he was told. He was racking his brain for a way out, but no ideas came to mind. He was alone, unarmed, at the hands of two of Voldemort's closest servants. There was no escape.
He made a bundle of two of his most prized possessions, threw them in a corner and showed them his empty hands, palms facing forward. No need to piss them off before he even left the house. The pain, he was sure, would start soon enough.
A shrill laugh that sent a hot surge of anger spiraling through his veins left the slender feminine form of the right. Bellatrix sing song voice spoke next, sending shivers down his spine as it always did. Her madness was probably the most frightening feature of this whole drama. He didn't know what to expect.
“Baby Potter knows when to give up! Little Potty is leaving without a fight!" then she added in a lower, much saner voice that sent chills trough his skin "Sirius would be so disappointed! What a pity he is dead!” and the screeching laugh left Bellatrix's mouth again, setting Harry's nerves on end.
“But look, Bella, the boy does know how to handle himself. He took care of those five with barely a scratch” He poked the first body that came across his path with his shoe, muttering under his breath, “pathetic. A boy that is barely sixteen. The Dark Lord will be disappointed. Look at those five useless…” he seemed to hesitate on the term that would properly describe his fallen companions “he was impossibly outnumbered; otherwise, he might have escaped. However,” the voice was now stronger, and it cut trough Harry like a steel knife, “he won't. Go ahead with the boy, Bella. You have the portkey. I'll patch those pathetic beings up and follow you in a minute.”
Bellatrix didn't bother to answer; she bound Harry's hands behind his back, touched his shoulder and activated the portkey, hidden in her necklace. There was a flash of light then the familiar pull behind his navel as Harry left the safety of his aunt's house and entered the unknown but familiar world of Darkness, Evil and Pain he had known deep down he would soon be coming back to.
Many miles away, Ginny Weasley was sleeping peacefully, unaware that this night was about to become her worst nightmare. Sleep claimed her, and she tossed and turned in her bed as her mind was filled with unwanted images.
It all started as her usual nightmare, a continuation of the chamber, but this time there was no Harry to save her and where, just as she closed her eyes for the last time, Tom rose and described to her the destruction he would bring to everything she held dear. But suddenly, she wasn't looking into Tom's handsome face, and dark, sparkling eyes. As the Chamber dissolved around her, she became aware of serpentine like red eyes staring into her very soul. She was face to face with Lord Voldemort.
His voice, the cold spectral sound that came out of his mouth called her, just as fear the like of which she had never felt seized her. That voice called her name, over and over, and she tried to run, but she could not move. She could only cower under the gaze of the one man that knew the deepest recesses of her soul. Cower and wish the voice would quiet and leave her alone.
“Ginevra… You see, you can't hide from yourself, and you can't run from your own mind.”
The young girl from the dream curled into a small ball in a corner, rocking back and fort whispering time and time again “stop! Go away, go away!” tears streaming down her face.
“But I don't want to go away, Ginevra, do you want me to go away? I don't think you want Tom to go away… You love me don't you little Ginny? You don't want me to leave!” A deep inhuman laugh shook his body.
The younger version of herself crawled as far away from this monster as she could, tearing her pristine nightgown in the harsh floor, tainting it with dirt. “Go away, Tom, go away!” she moaned faintly.
The dream world she was imprisoned in continued to swirl around her, changing her surroundings and her body. She wasn't eleven anymore, she wasn't the girl who had been in the chamber. She was herself, and she could think like her almost fifteen-year-old self could. And the person she was faced with became clear too. He wasn't the young, beautiful Tom that looked so much like Harry it hurt. The being before her had nothing human left in him, and was nothing but a shadow, darkening the whole world.
“Hello, little Ginny Weasley, do you remember me?”
“Tom,” she spat the word in his face, although her dream self was visibly shaking.
In the real world, she was tossing and turning in her bed, hugging her sheets for comfort. Her skin was moist and her red hair was sticking to her face, a stark contrast to her unhealthy pallor.
“Ginny, Ginny… No need to take this tone,” he mocked, “we are only here to talk for a while” he took a few steps towards the girl, who gave as many steps backwards until she reached a wall.
“What do you want from me Tom?” She kept her voice steady, but she was hugging herself for comfort, visibly terrified.
“I'm here to remind you, young Ginny, that I' m still here. I wouldn't want you to forget our little connection, especially now, that I can open and close it at will. I' m always here, Ginevra, I'll always be here, in you.”
A wave of panic engulfed her at his words. That couldn't be true, it simply couldn't. The diary had been destroyed!
“You aren't real Tom, Harry destroyed you!” she whispered fiercely.
“But I am, Ginevra. Don't you see? The diary contained my memory, the memory of my seventeen-year-old self. So everything that happens to it, exist in my past, because that diary WAS me, just us I was the diary. Do you understand? The connection exists, because I possessed you, when I was seventeen, and I have just reopened it. Quite a handy little thing, if I do say so myself. Quite similar to what I share with our dear Mister Potter, although that will be taken care of soon enough.”
Ginny decided that what she hated the most about this newer version of Tom was his laugh. It was frigid, and made his eyes spark, becoming even more demonic than they already were. Deciding that enough was enough, and that they were in her mind, and that she should take control of her own head, she squared her shoulders, and said, in as strong a voice as she could muster.
“Get out of my dream, Tom. There is nothing you might say that I want to hear, so you might as well leave.”
“Tiring already of our little chat, my dear?” he was mocking her, again, and it made unfathomable anger curse trough her. “I think I'll stay a little longer, I have things to say to you.”
“I know this is just a dream, you can do nothing to me here, nothing is real in here. You can't harm me, so get out!”
“Maybe so, Ginevra, but how can you be sure that you are safe? Do you want to test that theory? If I were you, I'd do as I was told.” His voice had no laughter in it anymore, he was done playing games, she realized, at least now she would now why he came. Because the one thing she had realized since the beginning of all of this, was that this was not a dream, and that she was really talking to Lord Voldemort.
“I came here, little Ginny, to deliver a message to you. Let me ask you a question, do you know what happened to your beloved Harry while we were chatting?”
A new wave of panic swept trough her. This couldn't be happening, she thought frantically, this simply couldn't be happening, she needed to wake up, now, this very moment. But try as she might, she couldn't make her body open its eyes; she was trapped in this nightmare, until Tom freed her.
“You can't hurt him,” she said finally, but her voice, for the first time that night shook. “He is protected, and you can't reach him.”
“You put a lot of faith in what that old muggle-loving fool says, don't you? Don't you know that every protection can be broken, every ward breached, every curse countered, if you put enough power behind the spell? Haven't they taught you that at Hogwarts yet?” It was the first time she felt any emotion in his words. He spoke with such passion and a fanatical gleam in his eyes that frightened her to her very soul. He wasn't lying, and he certainly had the power to break into whatever it was that he wanted to beak into.
Deciding it was time she provoked him a little, she said.
“You can't breach the Hogwarts wards, Tom. You never attacked the school, because you know Hogwarts is stronger than you.”
“You are right, my dear, at this time Hogwarts is stronger than me, But it will come a time, very soon, when it will no longer be the case, and then I will finish what I started in my seventh year, and purge the school of those unworthy. You will see, Ginevra, it will all happen very soon, and then, we will meet again.” And he laughed again, certain of his own power.
“What have you done to him, Tom? Where is Harry?” she asked desperately.
“Don't you know the saying, keep you friends close, and your enemies closer? He's with me, my dear, I will soon be meeting him, as there are things he knows, that I would like him to share. I hope he cooperates more than you did, my dear.”
“Why did you bother to tell me all this, Tom? Why did you come?” she was sobbing, tears streaming down her face, unchecked.
“Because I'm coming, my dear and I'll arrive soon enough.” He made as if to touch her cheek, but she flinched away, escaping his fingers.
“Are you threatening me? Are you saying in some cryptic way that I'm next? Is that it, Tom?” she cried.
“You know, little Ginny. You're the only one that I allow to call me that unpunished. It's a great honor, which derives from our rather unique relationship. I wonder what Potter would do to thank you for your unwavering support this summer? Do you think he would let you suffer? I'll have to test his limits; his love and compassion” he spat the words as if they were some foul tasting potion “were always his greatest weaknesses. And now, they will be his downfall, as soon as I know what I need to know.”
He paused for a moment, contemplating her horrified face, and departed, with those parting words.
“Goodbye, Ginevra, sleep well, my dear.”
In her bedroom, in her home, she woke up, tears still streaming down her face, fear and despair slowly creeping into her breaking heart.
Chapter 4: Inside Tom's Lair.
Thomas Paine (1737-1809)
Chapter four:Inside Tom's Lair
Harry landed in what looked like a dungeon. Bellatrix, still pointing her wand at him, exited the room without a word, locking the door magically behind her.
The room was damp and cold, as if sunlight had never touched its walls. It had no windows, and the walls were all solid rock, just like the dungeons at Hogwarts, thought Harry with a pang of homesickness.
He realized he was in deep trouble, the moment they had made him drop his wand. Dumbledore had failed him, yet again. Truth be told, he had trusted the old man when he said that Privet Drive was safe, he had been neither expecting nor prepared for an attack. He had been trusting and lax and was now paying the price.
He took a few deep breaths, clearing his mind, and focusing in the problem at hand. He could always deal with Dumbledore once he escaped, and if he didn't, let's just say Dumbledore would be the least of his concerns. Right now, he had to stay alive, or risk everything that he held dear. Unbidden, Ginny's smiling face popped in his mind, and it comforted him in an odd sort of way. It reminded him of what he was fighting for, what he had to come back to, why he shouldn't give up.
He realized that this was probably the worst bit of trouble he had ever been in. No magic, no company, no idea whatsoever of where he was. Sighing heavily, he felt the walls around him, in the darkness, trying to find any kind of opening or hole. But all he felt was the slime and humidity that clung to his fingers. His search was completely fruitless.
He turned his attention to the door, trying not to let despair take hold of him. But that search turned out even more hopeless than the walls. It didn't even have a lock, and was closed solely by magic. Without a wand, he had no way to open it.
Discouraged, he sat down, leaning against the wall furthest from the door, and hugged his knees tightly to his chest. There was nothing to do, he was trapped. Fighting the waves of panic threatening to engulf him, he cleared his mind, working on the mental shield he had created in the past month. He felt it was going to be put to intense use in the near future. For the moment, he had nothing to do but to prepare as best he could, and wait for events to unfold.
Ginny sat on her bed, still panting from the dream. She got up, pulled on a dressing gown, and walked towards the door, puzzling on what to do. Waking her parents was out of the question; she would never hear the end of it if she did. Her mother was sufficiently demanding and overwhelming on a normal day, Ginny didn't think she could deal with her fussing this night. Ron too, she couldn't go to for advice. The way he had been these last few days, he would bang the door in her face out of spite, just to hurt her. That left Charlie and Bill, who were at home for the holydays, and it felt right to talk to them. They were both in the Order; they would know what to do. Plus, they had always been her favourite brothers, she thought with a small smile.
She went down a flight of stairs to Charlie's room, which was closer to hers. The door wasn't locked, and the light was still on. That meant he was still awake, good.
Knocking lightly and opening the door further, she saw that Charlie was sprawled in his bed, feet dangling from the sides, reading a book. Just to see her brother this relaxed calmed her ragging emotions, here was someone she trusted implicitly, and that would always help and protect her.
When he heard the noise of someone at the door, he dropped his book and glanced at his watch, noticing that it was quite late for anyone other than an insomniac to be awake. When his eyes finally landed at the door, it took a moment for his mind to register the trembling form of his sister, as pale as death, dried tears running down her cheeks. He jumped out of bed, grabbed her hands, that were cold and shaking under his larger ones, and sat her down beside him. But she seemed to need human comfort, so she threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him tightly. Not knowing what to do, but rather pleased with the display of affection, he just hugged her back, feeling the tremors slowly recede from his sister's small form, and she calmed down enough to answer any questions.
“Ginny, what happened?” he asked urgently. It was highly unusual for his rather contained sister to break down like this; she seemed to be on the verge of panic. Something important must have happened. He noticed that new tears were running down her cheeks as he asked the question, but she took a steadying breath and in as calm a voice as she could muster, began talking.
“I had a dream, Charlie, more like a nightmare, really. He was inside my head; he talked to me, in my sleep, just like he does with Harry.” Her voice shook. “I knew he couldn't be totally gone.”
Charlie was stunned. He had a pretty good idea of who 'he' was, but the idea that he could touch his sister in their own house was more than disturbing; it was downright terrifying.
“Who was?” he finally asked, for lack of a better thing to say. Ginny shot him a withering gaze, as if asking just how stupid he could be, but answered nonetheless.
“Tom…” she stopped “he left me a message…” another hesitation “I don't know what to do! I don't even know if what he told me is the truth!”
“Wait a minute, Ginny, Tom?” Since when did Ginny call Voldemort Tom?
“Yes Charlie. Voldemort if you prefer.” Charlie didn't flinch, or squirm, and for this Ginny was glad. She didn't want help from someone who was afraid of a name.
“When did you start saying his name, Ginny?” He asked curiously. He had thought that, apart from him a Bill, his whole family was still using the blasted You-Know-Who.
“When I started to know Harry better. And Sirius helped, too. He said that if I was afraid of the name, I would be even more afraid of the thing itself. I'm afraid of Voldemort, I can't deny it, but I'm not afraid of his name, I refuse to be afraid of his name.”
Charlie was glad that he had taken Ginny's mind away from the events of the night. Now that she had calmed down enough, they could talk properly without her breaking down completely. And it was refreshing to hear the conviction in her voice when she talked about Harry, and what Harry believed in. He was even more convinced that she was right, and that her correspondence with Harry was a good thing, despite Ron's assurances.
“You're right, little Gin-Gin, now why don't you tell me what happened tonight?” she had smiled at the old nickname, but her face darkened when she heard his question.
“He talked to me about a lot of things, about the Chamber and the Diary and how we had a link because of that, just like he has one with Harry because of the curse.”
Charlie closed his eyes dejectedly. So Bill had been right. They had talked about this after Ginny's first year, what would be the long time repercussions for her of the events of the Chamber. At the time they hadn't been very worried, as they thought the Dark lord was mostly dead, and consequently couldn't harm Ginny trough any connection that might have formed. But now, everything was coming back to haunt her.
He hugged her again, not so much to give comfort, as to receive it from her, a reassurance that she was safe, although the danger she was in had increased tenfold.
“What else, Ginny?” He felt there was more to it than just that.
“He said something was happening to Harry, that he was no longer with his relatives, that he had him. He also talked about something that Harry knew, and that he wanted to know.” She was quiet a few moments, and then dropped the last bomb, all in one go. “And then he said he was coming for me. He wants to use me to make Harry talk.”
Charlie sucked in a huge gulp of air, as dread took hold of him. He was quiet for a long time, deep in thought, just holding Ginny against him, drawing comfort as well as giving it. Finally, he asked, more to set his mind at ease, then because he actually doubted her word.
“Ginny, you're sure this wasn't just a regular nightmare? I know you have those often enough…”
“No, this was different. It started as a regular nightmare, but then I actually felt him, inside my head and I couldn't wake up, no matter what I did, I was trapped inside my own mind. I could wake up only when he left.”
Ginny had calmed down significantly since she had entered Charlie's bedroom. Her voice was still weak, and it still shook slightly, but her heart and her breathing were normal, and she didn't have to struggle as much to focus on what she was saying.
“You believe me, right?” she asked uncertainly, her head still resting on his chest.
“Yes, love, I believe in you. We must wake mom and dad up, and then write to professor Dumbledore.”
“No!” she cried, letting go of him “I don't want mom and dad to know! I can't deal with her right now, Charlie! I would never hear the end of it!”
“They must know, Ginny” he said sternly “you are in danger!”
“I know, and I'll take care. But I don't want anyone to know. In fact, I wouldn't have told anyone if the message had been only about me, but something must be done about Harry.” Her voice didn't leave much room for discussion, but to sweeten her harsh words, she laid down against him again, hugging him tight.
“Ginny, this isn't right. They deserve to know! You know that if anything happened to you, it would kill mom. And she would never forgive me for keeping it a secret. You can't keep this a secret!” he was trying to be gentle.
“I can and I will. Just send a message to the Order about Harry, and that's that.” Her voice was muffled and slightly exasperated.
“Come on, Ginny! It won't be that bad… In a few days, they will treat you normally again. You know mom, she' s just concerned about you.”
“Don't you remember how it was, after first year? All I wanted was to be left alone, to deal with everything that had happened, and instead, I had to deal with her in overprotective mode, fussing over me every moment of the day, never giving me a moment' s peace. I don't want to deal with that again, Charlie.”
“But Ginny!”
“No Charlie! They have enough problems as it is. Just write to the headmaster telling him what happened. Oh, and professor Lupin should know too, I think. That's all. I don't want anyone else to know.”
Charlie realized this was a losing battle. No one could change Ginny's mind once it was set to something, the best option was to compromise.
“If I agree to this Ginny, to not telling our parents, you have to agree to tell Bill, never stay alone at home, leave unaccompanied and to always stay near him or me until the end of the summer.”
She smiled at him, The Smile, as the Weasley brothers liked to call it. The one that would get her anything she ever wanted.
“If you'll stay with me, I don't mind. Now go write to Dumbledore.”
Harry had rested his head his crossed arms, and was starting to doze of, when he heard the door swing open and two masked men, all dressed in black and both with wands in hand came in. Their uniforms were so similar that they left no recognizable signs appear. They motioned for him to get up and one said in a crisp, cold voice.
“Come, the master is ready for you.”
Harry got up slowly, his eyes slowly getting used to the bright light coming in from the door. Shivers ran trough him, as he realized he would be meeting Voldemort again. Then a freezing cold engulfed him, this was it, Harry realized. He was as good as dead. There was no way he would escape Voldemort again, the dark Lord would never make that kind of mistake again. But instead of fear at this realization, that those were the last minutes of his life, a deep, unreal calm engulfed him. He felt a strange detachedness of his own body, any feelings of reality receding to the point of having completely vanished, as if his own life was but a dream.
A small part of his mind noticed that he was walking through a dark corridor, that lead to massive metal door, which was, strangely, unlocked. Beyond that door the universe changed completely. Where there were dark, bare walls, he saw rich tapestries and pictures hanging, some obviously dating back hundreds of years. Darkness faded, as a soft, early-morning light seeped trough the uncovered windows. The floor was squishy under his feet, covered by a rich green carpet, deep and soft.
As he passed trough richly decorated rooms and corridors, his astonishment intensified. How could there be any danger, when there were such flowers in the windows? Nothing could harm him, not with the sun rising behind far away mountains, warming him after the freezing cell. His mind seemed to be miles away from this manor where he was imprisoned and where he would be spending the last minutes of his life, utterly alone, surrounded by his most loathed enemies.
His guard halted before a massive double door, fashioned in some sort of dark wood. The door seemed to absorb all the surrounding light, a prelude to the darkness that resided behind it. The first masked man knocked twice in quick succession, asking for permission to enter.
Soundlessly the hinges turned, seemingly of their own volition, and with just a slight hesitation Harry was pushed inside, to come face to face to the men, the monster, he was prophesized to kill. The silence was deafening, the darkness blinding, and the smell of decay overwhelming. The perfect reflection of Voldemort's soul, thought Harry as he took in the totally barren room, kept in the dark by heavy curtains and blinds.
The walls were painted black, and seemed to have the same quality as the door, drawing all the light, and making it disappear in its depths. But by far the most prominent feature of the chamber was the blood red ceiling, only colour present in the room, which enveloped everything under it in a red glow.
In the centre of the room, seated in jet-black, obsidian throne seated on an elevated platform, was Lord Voldemort. He wasn't any more human than Harry remembered. Serpentine face, dark red eyes that seemed to exude dark magic, skeletal fingers… He was as terrifying as ever, and yet, in the state Harry's mind was, that fact didn't seem to penetrate his conscious thoughts. He stood alone, before the most powerful Dark Lord of the century, and yet he didn't tremble, he didn't shy away. He was, in fact, barely aware of his surroundings.
The Dark Lord didn't speak for a few moments, simply savouring his victory, his final moment of triumph, mad red eyes staring into unseeing green ones. When he spoke, his eerie, unearthly voice sent shivers trough Harry's whole body but was not enough to bring him back from whatever world he was in now.
“Mr. Potter, what a pleasant surprise. I hope you have been treated well, I did recommend you to my servants, but my orders are not always followed quite as well as I would wish. I believe we have some very serious matters to discuss. Why don't we start, for example, so as not to lose any time, with the prophecy?”
So that was it, thought Harry. Once again it all came down to that bloody prophecy. He closed his eyes very slowly, as if exhausted and kept them closed for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. When he opened them again, a drastic change had taken place in them. His eyes were bright with awareness and flashing with anger. He was standing before his parents' murderer; he would not give him the satisfaction of being afraid. And he would die, before giving in to him.
Voldemort might discover the prophecy, but it would not be through him. After all, the worst thing that could happen to him was death, and he was not afraid of death. I fact, death was quite an appealing prospect, allowing him to see Sirius and his parents again.
“What about the prophecy? It was broken.” Answered quietly, in barely more than a whisper.
“I want, obviously, to know what the prophecy said. Since it concerns me, I should think I had a, right of sorts, to know.” Voldemort answered evenly.
“Who do you think you are to talk about rights, Voldemort? Maybe before asking for your so called rights, you should respect other peoples.” Answered Harry angrily, his eyes flashing.
“Let's say I have the right of the stronger. Considering that you are my prisoner, that you don't have your wand and that you are impossibly outnumbered, it would be in your best interest to do as you are told. What does the prophecy say?” It was obvious that he was used to command and be obeyed, and that Harry's bravado was annoying the Dark Lord slightly.
Harry felt small tendrils of magic leaving the Dark Lord, and trying to enter his mind. His touch was smooth and delicate, like a woman's caress, tempting you to let your guard waver, even for just a second. Much more dangerous than Snape's direct hits, Harry realized, as he struggled to keep his mind safe and beyond Voldemort's reach.
Remembering everything that he had studied during the summer, he found a focus, something he loved and wanted to protect, and at the same time trust all of his magic in his mind, holding his barriers in place, looking for weak spots, strengthening the whole structure he had painstakingly built. Unwanted, Ginny's smiling face filled his mind, working as his focus, filling him with energy and hope.
Voldemort winced visibly and left his mind alone, at least for the time being, glaring at Harry with eyes full of hate.
“So, Potter, you've learned Occlumency, have you?” It was more of a rhetorical question, but Harry answered anyway, slightly breathless from his previous exertion.
“Anything, Voldemort, to defeat you. Anyway, what makes you think that I know what the Prophecy says anymore than you do? It smashed before I could listen to it.”
“Because I'm sure that old coot told you its contents. He always knew what it said, and he wouldn't keep it from his golden boy, so spit it out. You'll talk before this is over, Harry, so you might as well do it by your own means. I assure you, my servants can be very persuasive.”
“You'll have to do better that that, Tom, to make me talk, supposing that I did know what it said.” Harry was caught up in the game now, he focused his whole attention in the monster standing before him, trying to guess what the next move would be, carefully phrasing his answer, so as to give away as little as possible.
“Harry, Harry,” his voice was mocking, “I have some very effective ways of convincing unwilling people to talk. Trust me, you don't want to try them.”
Something clicked in Harry's mind as Voldemort spoke. He was afraid, scared of the prophecy and what it said. He wouldn't act before he knew it all, and that gave Harry and advantage, as long as he kept his mouth shut, and his mind protected. Deciding that he might as well act as if he was totally unconcerned with these so-called methods, he said,
“I'm not afraid of pain, Voldemort, you've made me feel enough of it in my life, and I'm quite used to it.” He raised his eyes defiantly, and squared his shoulders. If he could have seen himself, he would have seen that he looked quite imposing, raw power swirling in his eyes, surrounding him like armour.
Voldemort eyes flashed dangerously, and raising his wand with a muttered “we'll see” he whispered the dreaded word “crucio”.
The spell hit Harry in the chest, quickly spreading trough his whole body. For the next half minute all he knew was pain, but he didn't give Voldemort the satisfaction of screaming. Willing his mind to block the pain, the feeling that his own skin was melting, every nerve ending on fire, he bit his lips savagely to keep from crying out, only a muttered groan leaving his mouth. He closed his eyes tightly, focusing on his own magic letting it course trough him like medicine, dulling the pain, but not making it any more bearable.
He fought his body's urge to curl in the floor and cry, and made an enormous effort simply trying to keep standing. The pain was so great, his legs were giving way and he was about to fall down on his knees when Voldemort lifted the spell.
At that Harry sucked in a huge gulp of air and too tired to keep on standing, he let one of his knees fall to the ground, while his muscle shook in the aftermaths of the curse.
Voldemort's voice cut through the silence of the room. He didn't sound pleased.
“Very well, Mr. Potter. That was an admirable show of self-control. But pain isn't the only method of persuasion, as you'll soon see.” Turning to a crouched form beside him he ordered “Bring Veritaserum.”
The man, to which Harry had paid little to no attention, hurried to do as his master had ordered. As he left trough a side door, a surge of cold fury made itself know, that silver hand could only belong to one person, he realized. Turning back to the matter at hand, he pushed Pettigrew to the back of his mind. He would deal with him later. Revenge was a plate better served cold.
Voldemort spoke again, in a voice that could only be qualified as confident.
“We'll see how you fare against that potion, Mr. Potter. It's the most potent truth potion that exists.”
Harry's only response was a strangled laugh. Let him relish his false victory a little longer, he thought.
“What can you possibly find funny, Mr. Potter, in this situation?”
But Harry only smiled as he waited for the most powerful truth potion in the world.
A few minutes latter, in which Voldemort showed obvious signs of impatience, Wormtail arrived with the potion. At a sign from his lord he approached Harry, and dropped three drops of the potion in his mouth, without any kind of resistance from the boy.
When he was sure that he had swallowed the potion, Voldemort started his questioning.
“What does the prophecy say, in it's entirety?”
Harry felt the potion take effect, felt the almost overwhelming urge to say the truth and spill all his secrets, hold nothing back. But it wasn't for nothing that he was the only wizard in his class that could fight the imperious curse, he resisted the urge, and said happily.
“Well, ol' Tommy boy, I really don't feel like telling you that. You know, maybe some other time, if you ask me nicely.”
Voldemort sprang from his throne, fury evident in all his movements.
“What potion did you give the boy, Wormtail?!” he yelled. Peter cowed in evident fear, trembling so much he wasn't able to answer his master. Harry did it for him, feeling an unpleasant surge of pity for his father's old friend.
“I can resist the imperious curse, Voldemort. How could you possibly think I was vulnerable to a simple truth potion? Wormtail did nothing wrong, you simply underestimated me. Again.” Harry had risen from his crouched position, and was standing tall in the face of his enemy.
“Maybe I did, Mr. Potter,” said Voldemort thoughtfully as he sat down once again, his eyes gleaming malevolently in the half-light once again. “But there is one thing I know you won't be able to withstand. We'll just have to use the girl. I don't think she'll have your self-control. How long, do you wager, before her mind breaks under Cruciatus?” He laughed before snapping to two Death Eaters standing near the door.
“Take him away. Spread the news that you have carte blanche. But I want him perfectly sane and in acceptable health the next time I meet him. If anything happens, I will be most displeased.”
Harry felt a large hand in his shoulder, leading him back to his cell, but Voldemort's last words kept ringing in his ears, and fear gripped his heart. Who was the girl? It could only be Ginny. What could he do to save her?
Chapter 5: When all that's left is hope.
Chapter five: When all that's left is hope.
It really was amazing, the way that man was able to override all objections, and do things exactly the way he wanted, with no regard whatsoever to the wishes of others. The last few hours had given her quite a new perspective from which to see Harry's letters about Dumbledore. If the headmaster dealt with him like he had dealt with her, she was surprised Harry hadn't reacted sooner.
Insinuations, half words, most of the conversation left unsaid, veiled treats all in a half hour chat. No wonder he was the leader of the light, the man certainly knew how to make things turn out the way he wanted them to. She had always taken pride in her ability to hold her own, she had a lot of practice: the seventh child, the only girl, if she wanted something, she had to fight for it - especially when the boys ganged on her. And yet, her headmaster had discarded all her wishes, without a second thought. And she would be lying if she said she didn't resent his meddling.
She had been open enough, had told him all she knew, couldn't he tell her enough to allay her own worries? It wasn't as if she would suddenly be inducted into the order, simply because Voldemort had decided to contact her. Harry, who was much more deserving, still hadn't joined. Truth be told, there was no reason at all to drag her name into this mess, and she would feel much safer if it wasn't. However, she had seen more then enough proof that her wishes counted as less than nothing.
He had looked deep into her eyes, and she felt as though he was making a quick sweep of her mind (quite possible; she had learned from Harry that Dumbledore was one of the most skilled Legilimens of the age) and had said quite calmly, quite gently, not at all the voice one would expect from someone who had just overruled her most tender desire, that they needed all the information they could gather, and that her input would be most welcome. He had flattered her, made her feel important, and wrapped her around his little finger. It had been too late by the time she had come to her senses.
Ginny didn't mind telling the Order about her dream, but she did mind her mother learning of the dream, and her mother was part of the Order. So, as she stood, preparing to tell a bunch of wizards and witches she barely knew, about one of the most emotionally charged experiences of her life, she readied herself for the confrontation that would follow. There was no way Molly Weasley would let this particular deception pass. And for once, Ginny seriously doubted her father would be much help.
Once she stopped talking, Dumbledore stood, thanked her for being so open and thorough, and made a small gesture, inviting her to leave. She ignored the sign, feigning confusion, and sat down. She doubted Dumbledore would press the issue in front of the whole Order, and there was no chance in hell she would leave, anyway. She had done as she was told; sitting in the rest of the meeting was a very slight compensation.
With a slight frown, he turned to the rest of the people assembled in her living room, and started talking. His voice was level, calm and grave, his eyes had the same twinkle they always had. He didn't seem at all disturbed by Harry's obvious kidnapping. She wondered how he did that; she was barely holding herself together as it was. Was he so hardened by suffering and war that he didn't feel the individual losses anymore? But Harry wasn't just anyone: he was the whole wizarding world's beacon of hope, the last defiance of the light. How could he calmly preside over yet another meeting, as if his worst concern was Voldemort's plans for the future?
“Yesterday, I received, in the early hours of the morning, a hastily scribbled note from Harry, expressing his fear that his house was under attack. I reacted with a great deal of scepticism, his place of residence is one of the most heavily protected in the whole of England, and a guard was present at all times. I decided to check on him nonetheless, as he isn't usually easily scared, and he doesn't usually ask for assistance without good cause.”
Here he paused, and for the first time Ginny noticed some kind of emotion hastily cross the wizened face. It was gone so fast, that she thought she might have imagined it all.
“I found the two aurors that were guarding the house dead, the hall and the living room of the house nearly destroyed, and Harry's wand and invisibility cloak tossed in a corner. Harry was obviously correct in his assumptions, and Death Eaters did attack his house that night. He was not taken quietly though. Harry put on quite a fight, if the state of the house is any indication. His relatives seemed slightly distressed by the situation, but I explained what had happened to them, and that immediate action would be taken to find their nephew.”
At this point, Remus, who was paler than usual, and had such an expression of pain and worry etched in his face that made him look quite pitiable, made the remark that had been in the tip of her tongue. Quite forcefully, might be added.
“As if they care! They were probably worried about their precious furniture, and the paint in their spotless wall! These miserable…”
Dumbledore silenced him with a look, warning him about where that would take them, and Ginny was disappointed when Remus complied, and let Dumbledore finish his speech.
“A few hours later I received an owl from Charlie Weasley, where he explained roughly what Miss Weasley just told us.”
When she heard this, Mrs. Weasley turned indignantly to her son and cried:
“You knew! You knew and you didn't tell me! What kind of son are you?” her mother seemed much angrier at Charlie for not telling her, than she was at Ginny, and she felt a little sorry for getting her brother in a tight spot.
“Hey!” He shot a reproachful glance at Ginny, who made an effort to ignore him. “Ginny made me promise. I tried to convince her to tell, but I couldn't force her. It wasn't my secret to tell either, I wasn't going to go against her wishes. Plus, we alerted the Order and took steps to ensure her safety.” He said defensively. Then he looked apologetically at his brother before continuing. “And I wasn't the only one who knew. Bill knew everything!”
“That's no excuse” Mrs. Weasley huffed, then turning to Bill. “I'm extremely disappointed in you, William! I expected much more from you, I thought you knew better than to keep something like that from your mother.”
“Ginny asked, mom. I wasn't about to break her trust and go against her expressed wishes. Not when she had come to me for help.” Said Bill, standing by his decision, even faced with his mother's wrath. It was in moments like this that Ginny remembered why she had always trusted Bill so much. He was reliable, and he wasn't afraid to face the consequences of his decisions. She smiled gratefully at him, and he gave a small smile back.
“Ginny is a child!” Yelled Molly in her shrillest voice. “She doesn't know how to deal with these things!” No one spoke, but Ginny felt her eyes blazing. Her brothers obviously didn't know what to answer to this, so she spoke instead.
“Actually, mother, I knew exactly what I was doing. I was preventing a scene like this one. I'm sorry if I sound rash, but this is the truth. And now I think we should hear what else Professor Dumbledore has to say.”
Her mother's eyes had opened wide, her daughter's tone had obviously hurt her, but it was time she realized she wasn't a child anymore, Ginny was sorry it had to be like this, in the middle of an order meeting, and with such cutting words. She could only hope that with some time, things might improve, and her mother would get past the image she had of her daughter as a six year old baby girl, who had to she shielded from the world.
The headmaster cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable, and began speaking again.
“I believe that it is quite clear that Voldemort,” roughly half the room flinched, “is planning to use Ginny in some fashion in order to make Harry provide him with information that he desperately needs. What this means is that, firstly, at least for the time being, Voldemort needs Harry alive and that secondly, Harry isn't talking.”
Suddenly Tonks, who had been silent trough the whole meeting, content with simply hearing what the others had to say, asked:
“But why Ginny? I mean, Ron or maybe Hermione would certainly be better choices if what You-Know-Who wants is to make Harry talk. He wants to excite Harry's compassion. Then why not take one of his closest friends? Some of the people he knows Harry couldn't live without? It certainly worked with Sirius!”
She furrowed her brow, deep in thought, trying to figure out the intricate workings of a psychotic Dark Lord. A futile attempt, in Ginny's humble opinion. But the fact remained that Tonks line of questioning hit a nerve with Ginny. She was feeling rather irresponsible for writing that much to Harry, knowing that there was a very high possibility that the post was being watched. They hadn't compromised the Order, but they certainly unveiled some deep feelings in their letters, that could easily be used against them.
But the more she thought, as the meeting continued, the less she regretted her actions. The good it had brought, far outweighed the potential danger that might befall them. It was true that she was in danger, and that her letters had reminded Tom of her existence, but if she hadn't written, Harry would be so far gone, that being held captive might very well be the last drop to send him over the edge, into what, she wasn't sure, but it wouldn't be pretty. As it was, she was confident, that if they got him out alive, he might, with time and help, recover from this blow and move on. The only itch was the very big if in the middle of her sentence.
“Maybe, he just wanted to test his link with Ginny... See if what his old self had with her was still working. That should be reason enough. For him anyway. Professor, maybe Ginny should learn Occlumency, it might help her.” After that little tangent, the metamorphmagus settled back in her chair, satisfied with her reasoning, and content to simply listen to the rest of the meeting.
Dumbledore smiled slightly and answered the young woman.
“I planned some lessons for Harry, and I see no reason why Ginny shouldn't partake in them too. It will surely be profitable for both of them.”
“Albus, we all know the situation, but what will we do to get him out of there? You know what they do in those places, every second is agony, and we can't leave Harry there any more than necessary. I'm glad you think we can hope to find him alive, but right now, I think we should all focus on a way to get Harry out of there.” Remus, who was already extremely pale, was turning slightly green around the edges as he turned to the rest of the room, and said in such a pleading voice, that tightened the not in Ginny's chest. “You all know what Death Eaters do to their prisoners!”
Tonks, seated beside him, reached out and took his hand, squeezing comfortingly.
“I know Remus.” And the stoic headmaster himself seemed to pale slightly at the thought. “But we have no idea as to the location of Voldemort's headquarters. Our best supposition would be the basements of Malfoy Manor, but they are just that, suppositions. I sent Moody and Mundungus to investigate, if they manage to gather any conclusive information, we might attempt a rescue mission.”
“That's not good enough! This will take weeks! He might not last weeks!” cried Remus desperately.
The headmaster hung his head despondently, obviously affected by Remus outburst. Turning to all those presents, he spoke in an obviously forcibly cheerful voice.
“Harry is very important to our cause. We cannot lose him. We will do everything humanly possible to rescue him, even a full-fledged attack if we must. He is, until further notice, our number one priority. I will speak to our inside man and try to gather as much information as possible. I impress upon you the need to track down known members, see if there has been any kind of change in their routine, or in their behaviour that may tip us in the right direction. You are all to stand by, ready to be called to the field at any given time. Remus, Tonks, you will be staying at the Burrow until the end of the summer, if it can be arranged, or, if it isn't possible, all the Weasley are to be removed to headquarters. The first option is, in my opinion, less disruptive and less likely to draw unwanted attention, can it be arranged Molly?”
The still disgruntled woman nodded wearily, and Dumbledore continued speaking.
“Very well, that's settled then. I'll be at Hogwarts, should anyone need to contact me. Is there anything else anyone has to say?”
“Do you think he can escape by himself Albus?” asked Remus desperately “This is Harry Potter we're talking about! He killed a Basilisk when he was twelve!” But the look in the headmaster's eyes was enough answer.
As the room remained silent after that, he drew the meeting to an end, and, after a hasty good-bye, apparated away.
In pairs or in trios, all the members begun to leave, either disaparating or portkeying away. Soon, the only ones left were those staying in the house, plus a despondent Remus and a comforting Tonks. All the Weasley soon left, leaving only Remus and Tonks in the sitting room. The werewolf dropped his head into his hands in defeat, and mumbled.
“Oh Harry, we've all failed you!”
But Tonks, who was still holding one of his hands said, forcing the man look her way.
“You did nothing wrong, Remus, there was nothing you could have done that would have stopped this.”
“Yes there is, I should have taken care of him, he is James son! Why did I leave him with those muggles? Sirius had an excuse, he was in jail, and as soon as he got out, he started taking care of Harry. But I didn't. The Ministry said I couldn't have him, and Dumbledore said he was better off with the Dursleys, so I did nothing. I let him go. I didn't even come to visit now and then, to see how he was. What kind of person does that to his best friend son?”
Tonks just held his hand comfortingly, letting him say everything that was eating away at him, trying to take some of the burden.
“James must be so mad! To know that his son grew up with those people, he must be so disappointed. I didn't even come to see him once he started at Hogwarts. I didn't have the excuse that he shouldn't know about the magical world then! He was at school, and I didn't come. Why didn't I insist he stay with me? Even at Grimmauld Place he would have been safe! Why?” His shoulders sagged, and Tonks felt that, if she didn't say something, Remus would break down completely.
“Remus, you couldn't have done anything. Dumbledore said that his relative's house was the safest place. Because of the blood protection.” She tried to sound comforting, to make him feel better about the whole situation.
“We should have seen this coming, after all, we knew Voldemort had Harry's blood. And we made him go back to that living hell, to be despised and abused, and it was all for naught. He won't be able to recover from this Tonks, not so soon after Sirius.” His voice caught as he struggled to say the name. After a few moments he continued nonetheless. “You don't remember how it was, Dora, during the first war? There were a few who came back alive from those kidnappings, it was, it was awful, Dora. I felt sometimes that they would have been better off dead. And now Harry, I can't... I couldn't bear it, if he came back like that. Everything would be lost then.”
“Remus.” He didn't look at her, so she waited a few minutes, before calling his name again. “Remus, I know that what's happening is awful. Harry is just a kid; he should be worrying about pranks and girls and what he should wear for the next Hogsmead weekend. But you must realise that none of this is your fault, none of it. Now, stop blaming yourself.”
It was a few minutes before he reacted at all to her words. But he eventually smiled slightly at her and whispered. “Thanks Dora. It helped a little to talk about all of this. Thanks for listening”
The young woman grinned back at him and said, in a slightly devious voice:
“Now, I have a very serious conversations to have with Miss Weasley. I want to know exactly what she and Harry have been up to all summer that got to the Dark Lord's ears but not ours. Want to accompany me in my little mission? Come it should be fun, and it will probably lighten the mood a bit around here.”
Remus chuckled, but said:
“Leave her alone, Tonks. She's suffering enough as it is, no need to meddle and embarrass her further.”
Tonks pouted prettily.
“But I'm curious, and they have been incredibly stupid and careless. Probably sending each other owls all summer, with Hedwig, who isn't exactly a very discreet owl.”
“It's true they were careless, but at least... at least Harry had someone to talk to. Maybe some good may come of this. If Ginny managed to pull Harry back together, he might recover better from this whole ordeal.”
“Yes, but they still deserve to be teased mercilessly once this is all over.
“Come Dora,” said Remus softly, “we must check the wards, and put a few traps around the house.”
“Fine, I get it. You want me to leave this alone, at least for now. But little Ginny will get a visit from me soon, she must learn how to properly keep a relationship secret.”
Remus didn't bother to answer, as they left the house together. He knew that all Tonks wanted was to lighten the mood in the house a bit, something they all badly needed.
Harry was curled in the cold stone floor, trying to warm himself as best he could with the shabby clothes he had on. They had stationed a dementor just before his door, and if that monster was kept there, he was pretty sure he would go insane. Despair was slowly making its way into his heart. He had just about forgotten what it was like to feel happy. Happiness seemed like such a distant memory, that it might as well have been felt in some other life.
Sometimes, when he could think clearly, he wondered how Sirius had managed to hold on to his mind after twelve years of this torture. The thought sometimes warmed him slightly, bringing forth the memories of his godfather and the hope that he might possibly survive and endure. But the dementor was quick to remind him of incredible loss that had taken him away.
He was waiting for his next visit from his hosts. Sometimes, a long time passed between their visits, other times they would come into his cell, one group after the other, not even giving him time to catch his breath. But they always came back. It seemed to be the new constant in his life. Just as he used to wait for letters from Ginny, he now waited for the next round of torture from Voldemort's servants. They never went too far, knowing that to disregard one of Voldemort's direct orders was a sure way to receive a huge amount of bodily harm. They always came back, though. Always.
He had lost track of time, but he was sure at least a week had already passed. It didn't matter, really. He could remember nothing but pain. Pain, suffering and despair. Time had stopped amid the cold, the chills and the overall suffering he was in. He dreaded the footsteps in the hallway, knowing it brought more pain, but with time, he learned to bear it better, numbing his mind further and further to the cruciatus curse. He felt like thanking Voldemort for forbidding any type of physical harm. It made every visit easier.
He didn't even move now, when they came in, just lay there, knowing that to fight would prove pointless. He was always so heavily outnumbered. He waited for the curse to hit, time and time again. The pain was excruciating, and it didn't seem to bother the masked men that it was no use to torture him. He refused to even scream, so there was no chance that he would suddenly pour forth the prophecy.
His only source of contentment in the dreary cell that had become his residence was that he hadn't screamed. Not once. He didn't want to give those monsters the pleasure of seeing him beg. And seeing the effect it had on his captors, the growing frustration and irritation, gave him a perverse sort of satisfaction.
Sometimes, when the dementor wasn't very near, when it had moved down the corridor, or left for some time. In times when, for a few moments, Harry felt like his normal self, he felt like he should be attempting to escape. He remembered that Sirius had escaped, and that he should do the same thing. Sirius had escaped for him, and he should escape for his friends. For Ginny, whom he had yet to thank, for Ron and Hermione, who had never left him. For all these people, who, at one time or the other, had crossed his path, helped him. They deserved to have a chance at a normal life, without a crazy madman, with too much power for his own good trying to conquer the world.
But those thoughts never lasted long once the dementor returned. They were pushed to the far end of his mind, which filled instantly with unwanted images and sounds. Boggarts were right, Harry realized. He hated those monsters with a passion. Hated his helplessness when he was faced with them. The way he couldn't fight his own feelings, his own thoughts, his own memories. And he hated it.
He felt, with a deep sense of certainty that went beyond simple reasoning that if he didn't get out of here soon, he was going to either die, when one of the Death Eaters lost his patience, or Voldemort got his information from someone else; or go insane from the pain and the despair, and most certainly from the foul creature at his door. And for once in his life, Harry admitted that he was afraid. Not of dying, but of losing his sanity.
Once, in his way to Voldemort's throne room, as he had done a few times (to have a variation of the same conversation that always led to nowhere) in the middle of his week and a half of captivity, Harry's eyes fell on a jar of floo powder, sitting atop a majestic fireplace. And in that moment he knew, that if he somehow escaped from his cell, he could get out of the house easily enough. It was a pretty big if, Harry realized, but the knowledge that he wouldn't have to wander trough that manor, alone and lost, was comforting, and gave him hope. And Ginny had said, in one of her letters, that once you have hope, accomplishing seemingly impossible goals becomes much easier. How right she was.
But in the return trip, faced once more with the dementor in his doorstep, he realized he would never be able to leave the room. He was too weak, and that door didn't open by regular means. Little by little he returned to the lethargic state he had been in, so deep in despair he was barely aware of his surroundings. But the plan was etched in his mind, begging to be tried, as nothing could be worse than the situation he was already in. As those disconnected thoughts swirled in his mind, another group of Death Eaters entered the cell, looking for some fun. Harry closed his eyes and waited.
Chapter 6: Through the enemy's fingers.
T.S. Eliot
Chapter six: Through the enemy's fingers.
It had been almost two weeks since Harry had been caught. By the end of the month, school would start, and Ginny didn't think she could bear to enter that train, go back to her usual life at school, knowing that Harry was still in danger, suffering in some damp dungeon, far away from her.
She had lost faith in the Order. Days had passed, and they hadn't found him. The last supposition was that his prison was made unplottable by a Fidelius charm, and that, even if they discovered where he was, there was no way they could save him. The ease with which they had accepted that verdict still astounded her.
Her own life was becoming increasingly hellish. She was a prisoner in her own house. She couldn't cross the threshold without “accidentally” bumping into Remus, Tonks, Bill or Charlie. She understood now, why Harry was so set against having people following him around. To have no privacy, to be watched every hour of the day, was slowly grating on her nerves, and nowadays she was having a hard time controlling her temper.
Her arguments with Ron were getting more and more vicious, especially since he had taken it upon himself to blame Harry for putting her in danger by writing. She had thought their friendship was stronger than that. That Harry was more important to Ron than Voldemort and this stupid war they were fighting. That Ron would be able to deal with danger and life and death situations. Apparently not.
There were times when all she could do was stop herself from hexing the git until he couldn't remember his own name. She had talked to Bill about this stupid feud, of which she wanted no part in. He had said that Ron was simply trying to deal with everything that had happened. Almost dying in the Department of Mysteries, Sirius getting killed, the depression Harry had entered, his obvious inability to relate to his friend, and now, the last drop, Ginny being in the Dark Lord's to do list. Instead of facing his problems, trying to find a solution, he blamed others. It made sense, Ginny thought; he blamed her for driving Harry away and Harry for putting her in danger. She understood, in spite of the obvious contradiction, but it didn't make Ron any less of a prat, or living under the same roof as him any more bearable.
Several minutes had already passed, and she was surprised none of her usual baby-sitters had made his way to the garden yet. Maybe she could get a few more minutes of peace, away from the prying eyes of her whole family. But her luck was short lived, and not a minute after she had seated under her favourite tree in the front yard, Tonks came out of the house, looking for her.
“Wotcher, Ginny! There you are; I was looking for you.” The auror said lightly, coming to sit beside Ginny. “Mind if I join you?”
“Hi there. And go ahead; I could use some company, instead of wallowing in self pity.” She answered, although slightly annoyed at the entirely too joyous tone of the older woman.
Tonks frowned at the girl's tone. It had an underlying sadness that didn't escape her, although Ginny tried hard to hide it. So she asked tentatively, not too sure of the reaction her inquiry would get.
“You're really worried about him, aren't you?”
Ginny's gaze turned away, showing her unwilling to face an obvious truth.
“Of course I'm worried about him, he's my friend." She was immediately on guard. Not that she hadn't been expecting a conversation of this sort; she was more surprised that it had taken this long, after the Order meeting. After that whole deal, she had thought everyone would be dying to know every little morbid detail of her relationship with Harry.
"No Ginny, Ron and Hermione are worried, Charlie and Bill are worried, even Dumbledore is worried, but you..." She paused, at a loss to describe exactly what it was that Ginny was feeling.
"According to Ron, I'm scared." Said Ginny sarcastically, giving a harsh little laugh, as devoid of any humour as one of Voldemort's dementors. "I'm scared because the most powerful Dark Lord of the millennium is after me, and there is nothing I can do. Maybe that's why I look worse than them!" She glared at the older woman for a moment, before adding in an undertone, "Don't you agree with him, Tonks? Don't I look scared to you?"
"Actually, I don't buy any of Ron's crap." Answered Tonks lightly. "He's just trying to deal with too much, he's brain is acting up." She laughed slightly at Ginny's rather put out expression, but asked the question that had been on her mind for the better part of the week. "What happened this summer, Ginny? This whole thing can't be a simple coincidence. Voldemort coming after you, Harry actually showing an ounce of emotional maturity and not drowning in guilt after Sirius died, and now your reaction to his capture. You are getting paler by the day, you've stopped eating, talking... So tell me, Ginny, what is going on?"
Ginny was silent for a long time, so long that Tonks had stopped hoping for an answer, and was about to change the subject of the whole conversation.
"I guess it might do some good to talk to someone about all of this. It's just so hard!" She stopped talking, as her eyes slowly filled with tears. "I think I finally, after all those years, connected with him in a deeper level. I think he finally stopped seeing me as Ron's baby sister. And now, I might never see him again, see the change for myself, see his eyes when he looks at me. I finally had a bit of hope... But now..." She wiped her eyes hastily, but ineffectively as more tears streamed down her face. "He had so many plans for this next year!" She smiled, thinking of Harry's eagerness to go back to school, to see if all the things he had planned would work. "And now, he might never do any of those things, he might never even see Hogwarts again!"
Tonks sat quietly, digesting all that Ginny had told her. She wondered if she should continue her questioning, Ginny seemed pretty shaken, but her curiosity won.
"How did you talk, owl post?" Ginny nodded. "You knew it was being watched! That was a reckless thing to do."
"I guess," answered Ginny noncommittally. "We weren't talking about the war, or the Order, so I thought it wasn't dangerous. I guess I was wrong."
Tonks patted her hand comfortingly, and tried to be gentle. "We're going to find him, Ginny."
"How, how are you going to find him?!" said Ginny, suddenly furious. "You sit in those blasted Order meetings, discussing plans and strategies, making arrangements, and all the while the only one suffering is Harry! For once in his life, when he actually needs you people, and when you could make a difference, you stand back, losing time!"
"What would you have us do, Ginny? Hunt down every known Death Eater, until someone gives us his location?"
"If you had to! Harry would do that, for any of you! Obviously, you people are quite unable to repay the favour." Ginny's deep brown eyes, still filled with tears, flashed with rage. She was quite the sight, standing there in the middle of the garden, eyes flashing, wind blowing her dark flaming hair.
"Ginny, we aren't doing nothing," the auror rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Things are difficult right now, and there are things I simply can't tell you."
"Then forgive me for keeping my rather unflattering opinion about your Order. You should be ashamed of calling yourselves Order of the Phoenix. Fawkes took action when Harry needed him. He told me that there was no way he could have defeated that basilisk, if Fawkes hadn't blinded him before, and then cured him of the poison. Right now he is miles ahead of you people in my gratitude and appreciation. Phoenix indeed! You are no more a Phoenix then Harry is a… a… worm!"
She continued to glare at Tonks, who sat stunned in place by Ginny outburst. Finally, she whispered.
"Maybe we should have a bit of faith in Harry, too. He got out of tight spots before."
"You're right. In all this mess, the only person I still have complete faith in is Harry. As for his getting out of this mess on his own, we can always hope."
With those last parting words, Ginny stalked away, to the peace and quiet of her room.
Harry slowly woke up from a light slumber, filled with disturbing dreams, and unwanted visions. Being this close to Voldemort was slowly destroying all the mind shields he had painstakingly built. First came the pain in his scar, every time someone with the Dark mark came to his cell. Then the nightmares, flashes of the Dark Lord's feelings, sometimes even whole thoughts would come forth through their link.
He tried to take a deep breath, but couldn't, he wondered if he was getting ill. Lately he felt like he was drowning in his own body, and a deep searing cough would sometimes seize him, leaving him breathless for a long time afterwards.
He slowly got up, wanting to get some feeling back in his body. His head seemed clear enough, which meant the dementor wasn't near. That didn't make the cell any warmer, though, or the chills that seemed to continually rack his body more bearable. They were probably after-effects of all the cursing he was being subjected to.
His arm too, the one hit with the cutting hex, was in bad shape. A dark, thick, greenish substance was flowing from it, and instead of healing, the wound seemed to be growing. It was obviously infected, and it was spreading to the rest of his arm.
He sat down again, even walking around was tiring these days. He wondered what would happen if he tried to use his magic. Curious, he closed his eyes and letting his mind and his consciousness relax, searched for his centre, his magical core, deep inside his body. It was an exercise he had done countless times during his time at Privet Drive, something he had learned from one of the books Professor Lupin had sent him when he asked for studying material. Usually, all he did was feel the magic flowing around him, a calm and soothing power, a dormant power. However, this time, it reacted.
All awareness of the outside world left him, all he felt, all he could see, was the warmth of his magic, flooding through him, comforting, healing, giving him strength. Later, Harry would never know exactly how much time had passed, minutes, days, weeks as his power answered his call and for at least a little while, gave him the relief he so desperately needed.
Hermione was confused. It wasn't a feeling she was used to, and it was grating on her nerves to never know what to do, or how to act. She had come to the Burrow as soon as the news of Harry's disappearance had reached her. What she found as she walked out of the fireplace wasn't rejoicing.
Ron and Ginny, in the middle of a screaming match. The reason for the argument was completely forgotten, and both were cursing enough to make the Twins proud. She had waited for a few minutes, until they had both calmed down enough to notice her presence. After a quick hello, Ginny had left the room, scowling at Ron the whole time. Smiling tentatively, she had asked him what was happening.
"Nothing is happening." He had snapped, taking her bags and carrying them to her room without another word.
Things had all gone downhill from there. She had tried to remain neutral in their small feud, to no avail. Not giving her opinion was as good as backing Ginny up, as far as Ron was concerned. And she wasn't about to lose her only remaining friend on account of a stupid sibling fight. She hadn't given up on Harry yet, but she needed someone to help her through this whole ordeal, and that only left the red headed git.
With that in mind, she had decided to go after Ron, to sit him down, and to work through everything that was eating him up. After all, friends were there to do this kind of things, she thought.
She found him in the Orchard, flying loops in his old Cleansweep. It was an amazing sight, to see Ron flying. It was the only time she ever saw him actually concentrating on something he was supposed to do. His hair windblown, his eyes sparkling from exertion. This was the reason she liked him, this hidden passion that made her breath catch and her heart beat faster. Not that he knew the effect that he had on her. But this was not the place to think about it. She called out to him, and he landed gracefully in front her.
"Hi Ron," she said lightly, "I was wondering if we could talk."
"Sure, what do you want?" He was oblivious to her obvious nervousness, but she kept going nonetheless.
"Could we sit down somewhere? It's rather important." She couldn't quite meet his eyes.
They made their way to a bench, near the back yard of the house, hidden by a few tall bushes.
"Well, Hermione," prompted Ron, "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"I, I wanted to know how you were." She took a deep breath. "How you were feeling about Harry's disappearance, and Ginny, and everything. I wanted to talk to you." She was pleading with him. Ron had never heard her voice plead; he felt a deep ache in his chest at the sound. But it wasn't enough to melt the knot of resentment, anger and hurt that had been steadily growing in him since the beginning of the holidays.
"I'm fine." He didn't say so much as growl.
"Ron, please! Talk to me! It will do you no good to keep all of this inside of you. You can't keep going like this!" "There is nothing to talk about. After everything we did for him, Harry put Ginny in danger. He should have known better. And Ginny doesn't realise that, and still thinks that he is some kind of super hero, saviour of the whole blasted world." The bitterness in his voice was painful. She would have never expected to hear that tone in someone so young, with so much to look forwards to.
"Ron! You can't honestly believe that, can you? Ginny was the one who wrote to him, it was her choice."
How she wished he would listen to her, see reason. But she knew it was a foolish wish. He would have to deal with everything that was happening on his own, first. Voldemort and the war, they were already taking their toll on them, straining their friendship. She wondered what they would be like after it had all ended, if it ended one day, and if they would be able to move on, back to their normal lives once again. Everything had changed after the night of the third task. Everything.
"I obviously believe that, Hermione, I wouldn't say it otherwise. Don't get me wrong, I'm sorry that Harry was kidnapped and everything and I hope he gets back okay, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm mad at him for doing this to us."
"What should he have done then, when she wrote?" She asked, not letting the annoyance she felt appear in her tone.
"The same thing he did to our letters, ignore it." He got up, and kicked a pebble on the path, that went flying into his mother's roses. "How could he do this to us, Hermione? How could he ignore us so completely and totally after all these years and instead spend the whole summer writing to Ginny?"
That was it, then, he was jealous of the attention Ginny got from his best mate. Typical Ron, she thought fondly.
"Maybe, Ron, there was something that Ginny was writing, something she said, that we didn't. You know that no one can force Harry to do anything, and that he hates to be pushed. We must try to understand him too, Ron. He was hurting after Sirius, and he wasn't quite himself." She tried to reason with him.
"That doesn't mean anything. He could have talked to us, we would have listened, instead, he put Ginny in danger. He knew that anyone he became close to would be in danger."
"That includes you, Ron. But it didn't stop you, or Harry for that matter, from becoming friends."
"He didn't have to put Ginny in that position. She's suffered enough at the hands of You-Know-Who."
"And that's exactly why she wanted to help Harry. She knows what it feels like to be in his place, even more then we do."
"It doesn't matter!" roared Ron. "Don't you see Hermione? She could die because of this! She should never have been involved in this bloody war in the first place."
Yes, Hermione saw quite clearly. But Ron was delusional if he actually thought that Ginny was going to simply sit back and let others fight this war. It was her war, after all, just as much as it was Harry's. She and Tom Riddle had some unfinished business.
"He won't crack. This is useless. We should just kill him and be done with it."
Harry had still been bathing in the pleasant warmth of his magic when those two had come in. The one who had spoken was the smallest, the one actually doing the cursing. The other, a tall imposing figure, seemed content in indulging in a bit of voyeurism. He spoke, however, when the other made that particular remark. Harry was glad; it gave him time to recover from the last round of torture.
"We are not to harm him. The master gave specific orders." Harry hadn't heard this voice yet. It was low and dense, a pleasant voice, except for the underlying cruelty, plainly visible to all.
When Harry processed the words, he couldn't help but chuckle. Not to harm him? What where they doing then? Fooling around?
"I believe he has greater plans for the boy." The tall man continued. "Be careful, you wouldn't want to compromise them. But by all means, continue with your little game, I have other things to do."
With those words, thrown over his shoulders, he left the cell. The other Death Eater muttered angrily and cursed Harry again, who growled and curled to his side as the pain hit him, in unforgiving waves, seeming to stretch on forever.
The man lifted the curse, seemingly satisfied, for the time being. Turning to Harry's prostrate form, he grunted. "I'll come back for you later. We have a lot of catching up to do, you and me. Fourteen years in Azkaban aren't a pleasant experience, Mr. Boy-Who-Lived."
He turned, and opened the cell door with a wave of his wand. Harry's eyes snapped open. He was finally alone in the room with a single Death Eater, and the Dementor wasn't anywhere near. This was his chance. He had to take a leap. It was obvious the Order had no idea of where he was, or they would have done something. He was on his own. And this was an opportunity he couldn't miss.
Focusing on everything he was fighting for, and on Ginny's words in that letter, about hope, with superhuman effort he got to his feet. The man, surprised by the movement, turned around, away from the door. Harry didn't give him the time to utter a curse, and lunged bodily at the man. They were both knocked from their feet, and fell in an undignified heap on the muddy floor. The wand rolled away from the struggle.
Harry felt the magic that had already helped him that day react from the fight. He could feel it at his fingertips, begging to be used, to be released from his tight control.
They rolled on the floor. The smaller, but heavier man finally ending up on top of Harry, and restraining him bodily. The Death Eater was about to cry out for help when Harry said from underneath him.
"I wouldn't do that, if I where you." His voice was raspy from disuse, but understandable. The man closed his mouth and looked at him as if he had suddenly lost his mind, so Harry continued, while he caught his breath from the fight, and made a last dash. "What would Voldemort do, if he learned that you couldn't handle one unarmed, underage wizard on your own? I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be pleasant."
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the door begin to close, inch by inch. He couldn't let that happen, or he would be stuck there again. He finally had a small hope of escaping, he wouldn't let it pass.
Closing his eyes, he felt his magic again. And a small passage from the book Hermione had given him came to mind.
The wand, or more specifically, the magical core of the wand, serves as a focus point for the power from the wizard himself, enabling him to shape the magic according to his will. Legends tells that, in ages past, wizard-kind had enough power, that the focus of the wand was unnecessary, and that most witches and wizards could cast without one, using their own body as a conduit to the power. To master this particular method, wizards had to have a very strong link between their body and their magical core, and sufficient will power to bend the energy to their will.
In a wand, the magic contained in the core, the phoenix feather, dragon heartstrings, unicorn hair and other substances that are completely magical, attracts other magic, easing the whole process, enabling the witch or wizard to cast.
The book then went on to state that, although theoretically possible, the whole thing was probably a myth, impossible to accomplish. But now, as Harry felt his magic, spreading through his body, he wondered if it was really a myth, and wondered what would happen if he set his magic free, and let it fly.
At a loss for what else to do, he closed his eyes, and released all the power that had been concentrating inside of him. There was a blinding flash, and suddenly he couldn't feel the man's weight pressing down on him anymore. Blearily he opened his eyes, and saw the unconscious form of one of his captors. Wasting no time, he got up again, and rushed to the door, just as it was about to close. He had the presence of mind to grab the other wizard's wand on his way out.
The dementor was on the other end of the corridor, but Harry doubted he could conjure a patronus in the state he was in, so he simply ran the other way, towards the stairs and the fireplace he knew existed, at the end of the corridor.
He was surprised when he had to stop, every so often, to catch his breath, and wondered, not for the first time, what was wrong with him. He finally reached the fireplace, and after a bit of effort, managed to conjure a fire. Dropping a pinch of floo powder, he hesitated for a moment. Where should he go? The Burrow? Headquarters? Or Hogwarts? He heard a noise in the other end of the corridor, and decided that the school would be the safest option, if only Dumbledore were there.
Stepping into the fire, he whispered "The Three Broomsticks", tucked in his elbows, and prayed that for once, he arrived safely where he wanted to.
Miles away, as she was about to enter her house, Ginny felt an acute pain grip her heart. Feelings and thoughts foreign to her nature cursed through her, anger, hatred, cruelty, and she felt a message being forced into her brain.
It was the same voice as the one in her dream, speaking, murmuring in her ear.
"You are safe for now, my lovely Ginevra; I have no more use for you. But don't hope for a very long rest, I will come for you again, and this time, there will be no escaping."
He left, leaving her weak and trembling, but with a new hope blossoming. As Tonks, who had seen her collapse came rushing over, all she could do was mutter "He's escaped! Harry escaped!" before blackness overtook her.
Chapter 7: Returning home
Chapter Seven: Returning home
Harry didn't like floo powder. Even under normal circumstances he had a lot of trouble landing upright, so he had little to no hope of succeeding today. But that certainty didn't prepare him for the awkward fall, tumbling and jerking that took place at his arrival at the Hogsmeade pub, nor for the heavy wooden chair that rolled over him, knocking his breath away.
The loud noise attracted the attention of just about every customer in the place, and brought Madame Rosemetra's clinking hills to his side. With some effort, he sat about halfway upright, leaning heavily on his elbows, trying to face the woman when he talked to her.
She gasped loudly when she recognized the dirty and bloodied form that had landed in her establishment; quickly kneeling beside the boy and helping him find a more comfortable position in her hard floor.
"Harry," she cried, "what happened to you, dear, what's going on?"
He didn't seem to register her question, and was staring concernedly at the fireplace from where he had just fallen. Then he whispered, in a low growl, his voice catching.
"Close the fireplace."
"Why?" She asked concernedly.
"Just close the fireplace. Block it from the floo." Realizing that she probably didn't want whomever it was that had done this to Harry to find his way to her pub, she did as she was told, and after a few waves of her wand and a muttered incantation, blocked her fireplace completely from the network.
Harry knew that there were strong wards around Hogsmeade, including anti-apparition wards, except for a few authorized persons. But the floo wasn't being monitored at all, and the last thing he wanted was for a few of his captors to come tumbling out of that fireplace. He was in no condition to fight.
"It's done." The older woman said to him, and a heavy burden was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. He breathed, deep steadying breath, trying to clear the cobwebs that were threatening to overcome his mind.
By now, every patron at the bar had assembled around him, and Harry suddenly felt very self-conscious, knowing that his grand entrance would be in the front page of the Prophet by the next morning. It was obvious that someone had already recognized him, from the various whispers about the “Boy-Who-Lived” circulating the room. It seemed that just as all other aspects of his life, his captivity would become common knowledge.
Wanting to get out of the pub as fast as possible, not feeling at all safe in the crowded room, full of whispering and staring strangers, Harry made a huge effort, and shakily got to his feet. He needed to warn his headmaster of the danger Ginny was in. His whole being seemed to be driven by that one foremost thought. It was what gave him strength to stand up, and keep walking, when every fibre of his body was screaming at him to just give up, curl down on the floor and sleep.
Madam Rosemetra quickly pulled one of the most comfortable chairs of the pub towards him, and, despite his protests, made him sit down.
“Harry, you're in no shape to be going anywhere! Be reasonable, dear.”
“But I need to see the headmaster, I need to see Dumbledore!” He whispered over and over.
“Sit tight, I'll see what can be arranged. You wouldn't get to the gates in the state you're in.”
She turned towards the customers still surrounding her unexpected guest and, pointing to a tall, slightly plump, balding man, said:
“Rudolf, yes, you. Think you can get all the way to the station and bring the spare carriage? You know, the one they keep for visitors?”
The man didn't bother to answer her question, and nodding his assent, left the pub, in a brisk pace.
She turned back towards Harry, and in a soft voice asked:
“Can I get you anything Harry?”
His eyes were starting to glaze, but he whispered:
“Water.”
A few minutes later, she sat back down beside him, and handed him a glass, with iced water, with the admonition that he drink it in small seeps, else he might get sick. She noticed that the simple act of bringing the goblet to his lips was proving to be a huge effort for the boy, and felt a stirring in her heart. No one deserved to have to suffer that much.
Taking the cup from his unresisting hands, she put it in the counter. Patting his hand, she whispered in a strangely motherly tone:
“Don't worry Harry, you'll be up in the castle in no time at all. And I'm sure Dumbledore is there; he hasn't left for the holidays. He'll be able to set you straight in no time at all.”
“Thanks, Madam Rosemetra.” Harry managed, his voice a little less raspy after some water. “I need to talk to the headmaster, Ginny is in danger, they must keep her safe.”
His incoherent mumbling didn't make much sense to the woman, but she felt an urgency to his tone, that left little doubt as to the importance of what he had to say.
A few minutes passed, and Harry was getting increasingly restless, fighting a losing battle with his body to stay awake, before the unmistakable sound of a carriage pulling over was heard by the door. Rosemetra helped Harry to his feet, and for once he didn't complain. He was barely standing, and she was supporting all of his weight.
The carriage was the same one students used to get to school on September the first, a couple of Thestrals, their black shiny coat glistering in the afternoon sun stood before it. Their blank eyes followed Harry's every move, with a grudging respect.
As Harry's bleary eyes locked with theirs, they seemed to acknowledge his presence, giving a deep, unexpected bow, which confused Harry to no end. The whole scene was deeply disturbing, and would have shaken Harry in any other circumstance. However, his mind felt too full to give the incident more than a fleeting thought.
His only concern was putting a foot in front of the other and getting inside the carriage that would take him to safety before he blacked out completely. He managed to step into the carriage and thank Madam Rosemetra for her help, before she closed the heavy door for him.
The soft movement of the carriage, the warm, comfortable interior, calmed Harry's frayed nerves. He managed to get his emotions into some semblance of control, before he slowly drifted into unconsciousness, the quiet and comfort lulling him to sleep.
Ginny slowly woke up in her bed, comfortably tucked in by her mother. She stretched languorously, noticing for the first time the terrible headache she had. The light coming in trough the window was hurting her eyes, and she wished someone would come in and close it for her, as she was way too tired to move that far.
She closed her eyes, and turned over in her bed, intent on going back to sleep, but the light was unforgiving, and kept her awake. She wished with all her heart that someone had remembered to close the damn shutters.
As those thought were crossing her mind, she heard someone quietly opening the door, and peering inside. Tonks, seeing her awake, stepped inside. Her foot made contact with the rug, and she ended up sprawled on the floor.
Ginny couldn't help it. She laughed outright, and ended up groaning as a sharp pain racked her head.
“Yeah, go ahead Ginny, laugh at my misery.” Muttered the young woman, getting up from the floor. She pulled a chair nearer to the bed, and said, going straight to the point:
“Ginny, before you passed out, you said something. Could you repeat it to me?”
Ginny took a moment to assemble her thought, at the same time making herself comfortable in her bed.
“Yes, I told you that Harry had escaped.” As she remembered those last moments, a true, heartfelt smile lit Ginny's face, and for the first time in weeks she felt like laughing out laud, for no reason at all.
Tonks didn't seem as happy with the news as Ginny thought she should be. A slight frown marred her features. She was silent for a long while, but finally asked her:
“How did you know he had escaped Ginny? How can you be sure?”
“Tom told me. That's why I passed out, I guess. I'm not used to having him inside my head. He told me I wasn't in danger anymore, at least for the time being, because he had no more use for me. He was very angry, furious even. Of course, Harry slipping trough his finger again would do that to him, I guess.” She sighed happily and was about to go back to sleep when Tonks cut in with yet another question.
“But how can you be sure? He didn't say it outright did he?”
“I just know it, Tonks,” said Ginny exasperatedly. “I can't explain it any better than that, I can feel it.” She closed her eyes, again, waiting for the other woman to leave. She was tired, her head felt like it was splitting open, and for once in a very long time she felt she could sleep safely. It really wasn't fair that Tonks begun her blasted interrogation the moment she opened her eyes.
When it became apparent that the auror wasn't leaving, Ginny opened her eyes and said tiredly:
“Don't you have something to do? Like, alert professor Dumbledore, the Order, Remus. You know, start looking for Harry? I don't know where he is, only that he's escaped. He's probably hurt, and will go somewhere he fells safe. That means either here or at Hogwarts. Maybe Headquarters, but that would remind him too much of Sirius, so probably not.”
After staring at the girl on the bed in stunned silence for a few moments. Tonks got up quickly, and muttering something that sounded like “I have to talk to Remus” left the room in a hurry. Without closing the shutters.
Ginny closed her eyes in exasperation. She had no intention of getting out of her bed just to close the window. But she wanted it closed nonetheless. Wanted it closed with all of her being. Suddenly, she heard a loud bang, and opened her eyes, panicking. Was something happening?
The window had closed itself.
A black carriage stopped before Hogwarts front entrance. No one stepped out of it, and no one came forth to greet its occupant. No noise disturbed the silence surrounding the school, no voices, no footsteps. Only more silence.
Said school's headmaster was currently in the middle of a heated conversation with one of his aurors.
“Look, professor. She's pretty sure of her facts, and they match what information Severus gathered from his last summons. The time matches as well: he was called only minutes after Ginny collapsed. I think you should at least take a look at Hogsmeade's floo points. Just send someone, if he escaped, then he probably needs help and medical attention. Ginny was quite emphatic when she pointed that out to me.”
The old headmaster wasn't pleased with this whole situation. He had failed to save the most important piece in this war. He was acutely aware of his failure, but had no hope left for Harry. Too much time had passed, and Voldemort wasn't a patient man. They had to move on and find a new way of defeating the Dark Lord. Ginevra would just have to accept those facts. Their hero was gone, and he seemed to be the only one accepting that fact.
“Tonks, I believe the chances of Harry escaping from Voldemort's headquarters are next to nonexistent. Miss Weasley is obviously distraught, and I don't hold this against her, but I'm sure Harry is still lost to us.”
The young woman whose head was in the fire made an exasperated noise. She obviously had great faith in whatever it was that Ginny was saying. But Dumbledore was trying to think rationally. And his reason was telling him that no one, and that meant no one, not even Harry Potter, escaped from Voldemort once Voldemort had them in his prisons, and wanted them to stay there.
The Dark Lord sometimes released prisoners, once they were so far gone that he lost interest, when their mind was so damaged that no repair was possible. But no one escaped. And that was the simple, no matter how harsh, truth.
“Professor, you should at least hear what she has to say! I know it seems farfetched, but she seems pretty sure, and… I don't know professor; it wouldn't cost us much to send someone to The Three Broomsticks, Honeydukes, The Hog's Head and Zonkos. They are the most probable places where he would go, that have floo access.”
“And why do you suppose Harry flooed out of his place of imprisonment, Nymphadora?”
That made the young woman stop, not only because of the use of her name, but also because of the question. She didn't know why she was working with the theory that Harry had access to floo powder. It had seemed logical at the time.
“Professor, well, it seems like the most likely option. He can't apparate. If he had walked, Voldemort would easily catch him, and flying seem unlikely for someone who's been with You-Know-Who's Death Eaters for the better part of two weeks.”
It all made perfect sense, thought Dumbledore, apart from the part where Harry escaped from Voldemort all by himself. As he sat there, before his fireplace, thinking about the possibilities of it actually happening, Fawkes, who had been napping on his perch, suddenly opened his eyes and trilled a few happy notes.
This, above anything else made the old Headmaster start. Fawkes hadn't sung since he had heard about Harry's disappearance. His bird was unusually fond of the young wizard. Nothing else would have brought him to the chamber, with the sorting hat no less, giving Harry a fighting chance.
He fixed a piercing glance in his lifelong companion, an unasked question hanging in the air. The Phoenix opened his wings, and continued singing his haunting melody, beckoning the old man forward with his voice. He bade the metamorphmagus a hasty goodbye, and followed his pet.
The bird flew with undisguised glee towards the entrance hall, effortlessly beating its wings, only stopping to allow his master to catch up with him. Dumbledore couldn't believe his ears. First Ginevra, then Fawkes. He felt, for the first time, hope blossom in his war-hardened heart. It seemed impossible, a miracle he couldn't understand, but apparently it was happening.
He pushed the front doors of his school open and stepped outside. A carriage was there to great him. It took his mind a moment to process this information. His heart seemed to miss a beat. He couldn't seem to move forward, to confirm or deny his hopes. Fawkes had no such qualms, and soared trough the open window, and all the Headmaster could hear was his happy trilling.
So it was true, he thought, as he moved forward, and opened the door of the carriage. Harry had escaped. Eying the sleeping boy inside the carriage, dirty and bloodied clothes hanging from his frame, Dumbledore felt a rush of emotion that left him shaking. This boy, this young man, had gone through so much, and yet lived on to fight another day. He could only hope that he would still be the same after all was said and done, that their saviour didn't break before his time.
Madam Pomfrey had worked for more than an hour, non-stop, before she finally left Harry's bedside. Once she did, the Headmaster, Remus, Professors Snape and McGonagall were still waiting for her briefing.
“Well?” Asked Remus impatiently. “Can we see him?” He seemed to be barely controlling his urge to blast the screen separating him from his young charge into oblivion.
“How is he Poppy?” Asked the headmaster more quietly.
The healer sighed tiredly, before answering.
“He's not in as bad a shape as I was expecting from the state his clothes were in. The blood actually came from a single cut in his arm, obviously the work of a cutting hex. The wound wasn't healed at all, thus becoming infected. I treated it as best I could, but I think he will be left with a slight scar from this one. The infection is too far-gone, I can't close the cut before it's treated, so I'll have to let it heal naturally. It won't be a very large scar, a thin line, in his upper arm, I believe.”
“What else, Poppy?” The headmaster asked quietly.
“He has a bad case of pneumonia. He was obviously restrained in a dank place. I'm treating him with antibiotics, and he should be fine in a few weeks.”
“Why can't you treat him magically?” Professor McGonagall asked.
“He's used an incredible amount of magic in a very short period of time. I need to give him some time to adjust to the change this has brought. I can't risk his having a burnout. And he's been cursed continually for a long time, I don't know how his body would react if I used too much magic in him right now, I have to wait until the residual magic has left him.”
“What do you mean, cursed continually?” Remus voice shook.
“I mean exactly that, Remus.” Madam Pomfrey's voice was incredibly sad as she said this. “There are residual traces of many, many Cruciatus curses, and a few other pain ones. I gave him some potions to alleviate the discomfort, and a dreamless sleep potion, but I won't risk anything more for the time being. His body has to deal with all that on his own, or I could risk aggravating the situation. You know what too much foreign magic can do to a person, I don't want his immunologic system turning against himself.”
“Will this have any long time effect on him Poppy?” Remus was turning green as he talked, and the mediwitch thought that he might be occupying one of her beds soon.
“I can't see any physical damages from the cursing if that's what you want to know. I measured brain activity, and everything seemed fine. Emotionally speaking, we'll have to wait until he wakes up. Another thing you might want to know is that I found symptoms of a long exposure to dementors. I think his guard was one of these creatures. I treated him with some chocolate, but like the cursing, this might have some emotional long time effects.”
“Oh god. Poor Harry.” Whispered Remus. “He hated dementors so much.”
“Is this all Poppy? He wasn't subjected to any kind of physical torture?” The headmaster, contrary to Remus, seemed relieved by the nurse's presentation.
“No, I found no signs of physical torture. They only used their wands, and that is unusual for Death Eaters, but I won't complain, as it means he will heal more quickly.”
Snape, who had stood quietly in the back of the group said:
“The Dark Lord had plans for him. He gave explicit orders not to damage the boy, Potter was lucky.”
“Lucky!” Exclaimed Remus. “How can you even say that Snape?”
“Would you rather he were dead, Lupin? Or insane? His brain turned to mush? No more useful to us than if he were dead? At least no one was actively trying to cause him long time harm.”
Remus paled considerably at this, and didn't answer.
“Well,” continued the nurse, “he's sleeping now, and I don't want any of you to wake him. He needs to rest, and he'll sleep for a long time, I hope. Come back in a couple of days, and maybe he'll be able to talk.”
“Can't I see him?” Asked Remus desperately. “I won't wake him. I just want to see him with my own eyes, please.”
The nurse smiled sadly, and nodded. “Go ahead. But only for a few minutes, Remus. He must rest.”
The others left the hospital ward, while Remus crossed the curtains surrounding Harry's bed.
Ginny was seated in the living room of the Burrow, fresh out of a shower and feeling more relaxed than she had in months, when Remus stumbled out of the fireplace. He didn't seem to register her presence and sank heavily into one of the overstuffed armchairs before the fire. He seemed to have aged a decade in the last month, Ginny noticed, and the burden only seemed to grow.
Seeing Harry alive and back hadn't helped matters much. Remus had simply come face to face with his own faults, and the consequences of his mistakes. The pale form of his charge had been a living accusation, his almost transparent skin, in sharp contrast with his ebony hair made his heart clench, every shivers and every cough sent a stab to his conscience.
Ginny was desperate for some news on Harry, so she decided to make her presence known to the distraught man in front of her. Clearing her throat loudly, she asked quietly:
“How is he Remus?”
The werewolf was startled out of his musing, and turned towards her. It took him a moment to register her question and when he did, he made a noncommittal noise, before answering in a tight voice:
“Madam Pomfrey said he should be fine in a couple of days. Physically at least.”
She nodded. Then said:
“I wonder how he'll be after he comes to. It'll be hard to get him to trust us again…” she added in an undertone, that Remus' enhanced senses caught nonetheless, “we had come such a long way...”
“He'll be fine, Ginny, you'll see.” He seemed to want to convince himself as much as her, but that didn't sit well with Ginny. Glaring at him as she said:
“That's a load of bullshit. He won't be fine! He wasn't fine to begin with! Do you have any idea how he was during the holidays? How he was feeling after Sirius died?” As he didn't answer she continued. “Of course you don't know how he was, because all you and Dumbledore and your bloody Order did was dump Harry with his horrible relatives when he had just lost the closest thing he had to a father!”
She stopped talking, as she looked him up and down, as if measuring him. “You know, Professor, I would have expected something like that from the Order, even the Headmaster. But not from you. You know Harry! You knew he wasn't himself after what happened at the ministry. Why didn't you check on him, let him know there was still someone who cared about him, that he wasn't all alone?”
She felt like she had said enough. It felt good to come clean, to say out loud the things that had been on her mind all summer. But looking at Remus she regretted her outburst almost immediately. She seriously needed to learn to control her temper and her tongue. Looking at the defeated look on the man's face, her anger on Harry's behalf quickly turned to pity. Truth be told, Remus was beating himself up enough without her adding her two knuts to the pile.
“You know, Professor, Harry really cares about you.” She tried to take his mind off the subject at hand. “You were the first adult in the wizarding world that knew his parents well, and that talked to him about them openly. You have no idea how much he valued that.” Remus didn't know, but she did. Harry had written many letters about his parents. Remus always figured in them somehow.
“Did he…” Remus voice cracked, but he continued, after swallowing the lump in his throat. “Did he say that to you?”
She smiled; trying to sound comforting, and not letting the pity she felt show in her face. She, of all people, knew that pity was never a welcome emotion.
“Many times, Professor. He admires you. Says you were the best defence teacher he ever had, that you saved his life at least twice already.”
“Saved his life?” He gave a bitter half-laugh. “I never saved Harry's life. I failed him every way I could.”
“It's true, Professor, that you should have visited Harry, that you should have taken him away from that house. But give yourself some credit, you did teach Harry how to conjure a Patronus. He would have died in his third year if he didn't know that charm, and last year too, come to it.”
“That's all I ever did for him Ginny. Taught him a charm he could have learned from a book. I wasn't there when it really mattered.”
“Maybe you weren't, Professor, but you can make up to him. It's no use beating yourself up about something that is past and gone. Harry needs you. Now, not yesterday, or tomorrow. He needs you right now, the moment he wakes up. You must be there for him, Professor. You're all he has left.”
As the thought hit her, she felt tears prickle in her eyes. This was the truth, she thought. Harry was all alone now, he had no one left that he knew for a fact would put his wellbeing before everything, even the survival of wizardkind. All the cheerfulness she had felt, after receiving the news that he had been found, left her in a gust of sorrow. Suddenly, life didn't seem quite so bright.
Chapter 8: Recovering
Arthur Golden
Chapter Eight: Recovering
Harry woke up in a warm bed, wearing comfortable pajamas. It took him a moment to recognize the pleasant feeling, and realize where he was. A warm afternoon light was streaming in from the high windows of the empty hospital wing. It was a sight Harry had missed. Light wasn't forthcoming in a dungeon. He basked in the heat, closing his eyes, and simply enjoying the sensations pouring trough him. Warmth, safety, light. Simple pleasures he had learned to appreciate after living without.
He opened his eyes, but his vision was blurry: he had lost his glasses a long time ago. He wondered how much time had passed; every day was eternity in that place, every minute a century under the Cruciatus curse.
He tried to sit up, but every fiber of his being protested against the sudden, unwanted movement. A groan escaped him, and he fell back on his pillow. He didn't really mind staying where he was, truth be told. He was singularly pleased with himself: he had somehow escaped a house full of Death Eaters, not to mention Voldemort himself, and no one was hurt but himself. A most successful result, in his own meager opinion.
He was about to doze off again when he heard footsteps approaching his bed, looking up quickly, a momentary wave of panic, immediately quenched, spreading through him. He saw Madam Pomfrey's familiar, reassuring face moving towards him, and immediately felt ashamed of himself for his unreasonable fear. He thought he saw a look of profound relief cross the nurse' s face, before her professional mask fell firmly into place. Things had been bad, then. The woman wasn't easily scared.
“Good afternoon, Mister Potter,” she said, in her usual, no nonsense voice. “I'm glad to see you awake, you've slept for more then two days. I'm sure your body was thankful for the necessary relief. How are you feeling? I want a truthful answer.”
“I'm feeling great,” he answered smiling softly. But his answer didn't seem to please the mediwitch. She huffed exasperatedly, and chided:
“You're feeling nowhere near great, Harry. You're probably in terrible pain, almost died of exhaustion, not to mention a near magical burnout, which kept me from treating you by normal means. Humph! Feeling great! Maybe in a few days I'll believe you…”
Throughout her rant, Harry was hard pressed to keep himself from laughing out loud. Seeing the expression on his face, the woman before him couldn't help but smile too, and say, in a warm, affectionate voice.
“It's good to have you back, Harry. I was really worried for some time. You gave me a right fright this time. And in the holidays, no less. Couldn't wait until term started?”
“And here I thought you had missed your favorite patient! I'm not sure if I should feel offended, Madam Pomfrey!” He laughed, but quickly stopped, as it made his breath catch and a painful, harsh cough to rack his body.
“Here, drink this Harry.” She said, handing him a steaming goblet, and helping him drink the potion in small sips. “I told you you'd have a long way to go before being 'great' again.”
When Harry managed to breath normally, the witch told him to lie down quietly, while she checked his magical reserves, and other injuries. She made small noises, as he glowed different colors after each spell she muttered.
“You're progressing nicely, Harry. Your magical reserves have gone back to their normal levels, or as normal as they'll get after this whole ordeal you went through. I can't even imagine what kind of spell you performed to use so much magic in so little time. Anyway, I think that by tomorrow I can start treating you by magical means again, and then your pneumonia should be a work of a few minutes. After that, you'll begin to feel better, and the after-effects of the curses will start to fade. In maybe a week you can get out of here, and see your friends.”
Harry felt that, at the moment, she could have told him that he wouldn't last the day, and he couldn't have cared less. The potion was spreading in his body, leaving pleasant warmth and numbness in its wake, coupled with her soothing voice, and was slowly making him drowsy.
“Just one last thing, Mister Potter, before I let you rest.” She said, rousing him slightly. “I wondered what you wanted me to do about your eyes. I believe you lost your glasses. Do you want me to order another pair?”
He thought about it for a fleeting moment, and hesitated for just a moment, before asking:
“Can't you fix them? Like Muggles do with surgery? It would be great not to depend on glasses anymore.” And in a much quieter voice, not quite meeting her eyes, he added. “It's horrible not to see your enemy.”
He thought he saw a light sheen of tears in the nurses' eyes, but she quickly blinked and they were gone. She nodded said:
“I can fix them. Right now if you want, it's a simple spell that won't interfere with your magical reserves. Is this what you want, Harry? The spell is permanent.”
“I'm sure.” He said in a resolute voice, leaving no space for discussion.
“I suspected you'd say that. You can close your eyes. The spell takes a few hours to take effect, and your vision can be a bit blurry for up to ten hours. But I expect you'll be asleep during this time. Once you wake up, your eyesight will be perfect, maybe slightly above average. Nothing big, mind you, only slightly better than what you had with your glasses.”
As she waved her wand above his face, Harry had already slipped into the realm of dreams. Madam Pomfrey realized as he did, that she had never come round to giving him a Dreamless Sleep potion, and she shuddered, as she thought of what might await the boy before her, as he traveled inside his own mind.
Severus Snape, dignified Hogwarts professor and a most useful asset to the underground resistance group intent to stop Lord Voldemort's rise to power, stepped through his Headmaster's office door, a most unpleasant scowl marring his features.
The above-mentioned Headmaster welcomed him with a smile, studiously avoiding any comment on his professor's features. At the snapped response to his warm welcome and proffered sit, the old man said:
“Severus, sit down, I have a very good idea as to how you are feeling. You may be able to fool your students, but not me. Voldemort is obviously in a high temper, with extremely good reason, might be said. Today's meeting can't have been pleasant.”
“The understatement of the century, Headmaster,” growled Snape.
“I will not keep you long, then, Severus. How did the meeting go? Is Voldemort planning to retaliate to Harry's actions?”
The spy's face darkened considerably, as he started to speak:
“The Dark Lord considers Potter's escape as a direct attack to his authority and power. He is planning several attacks, mostly in small wizarding communities, and muggle villages. He expects Potter to do something foolish, such as think that he was the cause of the attacks and the deaths that will follow.”
He shuddered before continuing, voice not quite so assured as it once was. “The Dark Lord does not deal well with failure: he's killed at least half a dozen new recruits in the last couple of days. The rest are suffering the brunt of his anger. He's never used the Cruciatus so much before: he wants us all to see that mistakes have consequences very dire indeed. Brooks' screams could be heard through the whole house, after he allowed the boy to escape. His explanation was less than satisfactory, I'm told. That a wandless teenager could do magic strong enough to subdue a fully trained Death Eater wasn't very convincing, to say the least.”
Dumbledore's head snapped up, and he said:
“And yet he did. Harry managed, without any training, to unseal his magical reserves. That he did this without help is not a little frightening. It's magic almost never attempted today, because of the sheer force of will needed, and even then, not before years of training and apprenticing with a master. It is usual for his lineage to unseal power, but never like this, never without the proper trainings and rituals. I wonder what the consequences of his actions will be.”
“It's a good thing, Headmaster, that the Potter boy can barely keep his eyes open. He will need to learn to control his magic all over again.” A small, cruel smile lifted the corners of his thin lips. “Perhaps we should block his magic until he does learn to deal with his powers, after all, right now; he's a danger to himself and to others. Restraining him somewhere safe would also be wise. Completely volatile powers, and no control at all over them. A very dangerous situation, if you ask me.”
Dumbledore's glare was enough to silence the man.
“Although you might be right, Severus, in regards to Harry's powers, there will be no restraints imposed on him, while we don't discover the extent of the psychological damage that was done. I am not foolish enough to believe that there won't be any long-term consequences because of Harry's captivity. I won't risk any further damage, or an incident with his powers, should his emotions run wild. There is too much at stake.”
His tone was final, enough to quell any remaining ideas in the Potions Master's mind of torturing unsuspecting students. Dumbledore continued, laying out thoughts that were on his mind, more for his own benefit than his interlocutor's.
“Harry will certainly need training, though. Occlumency, for starters. He will need control over his emotions now more than ever. Before he was captured I was planning on giving you this task, Severus. After all, you're probably one of the most accomplished Occlumens of the century. Now, however, I don't think I'll force Harry to go through this. I'll train him myself.”
“Very well, Headmaster,” answered the Potions Master, “I can't say I'll miss my evening sessions with the brat.”
“This does not mean, Severus,” said Dumbledore gravelly, “that I don't wish you to work on your relationship with Harry. It will do our side no good to fight among ourselves, and trust must begin somewhere, I expect you to act more humanely towards your students, Harry Potter included, this year.” He locked eyes with his potion professor, and said, more gently, “Severus, times are much too dangerous to concern ourselves with petty rivalries. I know James Potter wasn't the most respectful young man to cross this school, but although Harry is his son, his attitudes are vastly different. You might do well to reflect upon that.”
“Your talent for understatements is surpassing itself this evening Headmaster. James, not the most respectful person! Quite an exploit, really.”
The headmaster chose to let this remark pass, knowing full well that entering a verbal duel with Severus would lead them nowhere.
“When does Voldemort plan to start this series of attacks, Severus?”
“He didn't give us precise dates, but the attack parties are already formed, all of them under the orders of a member of his Inner Circle. I was spared this relishing task, as he wants me to brew him some kind of potion, that will slowly allow him to regain his former appearance.”
A surprised look crossed the Headmaster eyes.
“Why would Tom do that? I thought he would be pleased by his less than human appearance. It certainly gives him an edge over possible adversaries. Fear always was one of his preferred weapons!”
“I won't even pretend to understand the workings of the Dark Lord's mind.” Said Snape tiredly. “What I do know, however, headmaster, is that he never does anything without good reason. He wouldn't use my skill in such a fashion by simple caprice, he must have a reason, and probably a very good one.”
The old man sighed tiredly, and rested his ancient head on his hands. After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, he finally said:
“I cannot see how changing his appearance will benefit Tom in any way. You should proceed with the potion as is expected of you. It might regain you Voldemort's trust, something that has been less then forthcoming this past year.”
The other man nodded his assent:
“Very well, headmaster. I will proceed likewise.”
“You should retire, Severus, and rest. I must now go check on Harry. Madam Pomfrey tells me he should be awake and coherent sometime today.”
As they made their way down the revolving stairs outside Dumbledore's office, and slowly walked towards the entrance hall, Snape asked:
“Will you question him as to what happened during his captivity? It might not be the wisest curse of action, considering what he went through.”
“I feel like I must. Talking about it can only help him deal with what happened. It will do him no good to repress the memory, in the long run. Furthermore, I need to know what he said, in order to take measures to ensure all of our safeties.”
“What makes you think that he said anything? The boy is stubborn, if nothing else. He might have held his tongue. Rumors were that he was holding his own, even faced with the best interrogators of the Dark Lord's army. Even before the Dark Lord himself. He resisted my Veritaserum. Three drops of my own Veritaserum, and that is a feat not many can boast. In fact, some egos were severely rumpled by him, I've heard.”
There was something akin to respect on the Potion's Master eyes and voice. But Dumbledore had no such faith:
“No one keeps quiet for two weeks.” He should have learned by now that general rules didn't apply to one particular boy.
Harry's eyes snapped open, as wave upon wave of panic flooded his body, he sat up in his bed, heart beating loudly in his chest, unseeing eyes scanning the room he was in, looking for a way out. A gentle hand in his arm, from witch he flinched away reflexively, brought him back to reality.
“Easy, Harry. You're safe. No need to panic.”
He immediately felt ashamed of his reaction.
Letting his sore body fall down on the bed, he muttered an apology.
“Sorry, Professor. Nightmare.”
As he said this he didn't quite look his headmaster in the eye. He was still rather out of breath, and the images were still running wild in his mind, sending shivers down his body. He hugged his covers closer, drawing comfort from the heat.
“Harry?”
“I'm sorry professor,” he turned his head towards the old man, and said in a low voice smiling slightly, “it's good to see you again.”
“I must say, it's good to see you again too, Harry. It's been a long time.” There was a deep sadness in the old man's eyes, that didn't escape Harry.
“How long exactly, Professor? Time hasn't exactly flown normally to me lately.”
“Two weeks since you were captured at your relative's house, four days since you arrived at Hogwarts. Term starts in a little over two weeks.”
Harry closed his eyes, and in an inaudible voice whispered:
“Two weeks… only two weeks. It felt like a century.”
They were silent for a some time, each seemingly absorbed by their own thoughts, waiting for the other to start unloading the burden that had been accumulating over their once crystalline relationship.
While they stood there, face to face, in total silence, footsteps approached from the end of the infirmary, and Madam Pomfrey approached the bed, not noticing, or choosing not to comment on the obvious tension that had settled in the air.
“Headmaster, I told you to call me the moment Harry woke up!” She said to the headmaster reproachfully. “What were you waiting for? You will have your ten minutes after he's eaten and had his potions.”
Dumbledore only smiled apologetically, somewhat grateful for the interruption, that gave him time to assemble his thoughts and plan on the best way to approach his young charge.
The mediwitch settled about half a dozen bottles of potions that were levitating in front of her, and a plate full of scalding chicken broth in Harry's bedside table, and started fussing around in his bed. She arranged his sheets and his pillows so that he could sit halfway upright without effort. Then she started handling him potions, one after the other, watching him intently as he drunk every last drop of each and every one of them.
“Blood replenishing potion, this is your last dose. Nourishing potion, you can expect a few more of those. Strengthening potion. Regular antibiotics, much more effective than the muggle medicine I was having you take before. Numbing potion, nothing too strong, as you've taken just about all your body can accept of those.” After each potion she made a small mark beside the name on her list.
“This is to dispel all magical detritus that have accumulated in your body, it should help with the aftereffects of the curses. Finally, an energizing potion. This is to help you stay awake long enough to talk with Professor Dumbledore. I'll leave the dreamless sleep potion on your bedside, so you can take it afterwards and rest some more. Now drink your soup, and I'll leave you two to it.”
As Harry slowly made his way through the bowl of soup, Dumbledore took the time to look at him, truly look at him after his imprisonment. For someone who didn't know Harry well, they might see little difference: indeed, physically at least, he hadn't changed much. A little paler than he was before, thinner too, but nothing that two weeks of Molly's cooking couldn't fix. The true difference was in the eyes.
All the softness, the childish goodness was gone, replaced by a sharp edge and twirling silver power. And even the silver would be gone soon. As soon as Harry was well enough to start training. All that would be left was the sharp gaze, which seemed to pierce one's body and look directly into the soul. It wasn't a look that fit the face of a boy who had just turned sixteen. It was a look that spoke of experience and pain, sorrow and suffering.
Dumbledore noticed that while he ate, Harry was casually bantering with Poppy, as if they were long time friends. Another drastic change, if one were to look back towards the old Harry, one of the most closed off persons he knew, not someone who chatted with the first person to cross his path, simply for the joy of hearing a familiar voice.
All small changes, maybe, that spoke of a much deeper, much more drastic transformation, one that Dumbledore had yet to discover.
Madam Pomfrey, managing somehow to giggle and look disapproving of one of Harry's remarks at the same time, took the empty bowl from him and turning to Dumbledore said sharply:
“Ten minutes. And I mean it, headmaster, the boy isn't complaining, but he's exhausted and in pain. He needs to rest, in order to give his body time to heal.”
With those parting words, she turned round and entered her office.
“Harry, I believe we have much to talk about.”
“Indeed, sir. But there's something important I needed to tell you, I've been sleeping so much that I didn't get the chance… Ginny's in danger, or at least she was in danger, I'm not so sure now, but you must protect her.” The strong urgency that was becoming a familiar feature to his voice was back, as was the palpable tension radiating from him.
“We already knew that Ginny was in danger, Harry. She's well protected. Or as well protected as someone can be during those dark times. May I ask you why you thought that Miss Weasley was in danger Harry?”
Harry's face, open and trusting, closed immediately. It was as unreadable as a closed book, and it unnerved the headmaster to no end that Harry could hide his emotions so well.
“Voldemort wanted to use her as a persuasion of sorts. Regular interrogation means were obviously not working on me. I'm glad he didn't get the chance, I'd have probably spilled my guts out to him if it meant even a minute less of suffering to her.”
Dumbledore's eyes previously wandering around the room as Harry spoke, snapped back to his face:
“Do you mean that during all the time you were there, you didn't talk? You didn't reveal any secrets?”
Harry looked truly insulted by the old man's suggestion.
“Considering, Professor, that there are only two things that Voldemort might want from me, and that both are worth dying for, I'd say that no, I didn't say a thing.”
“Harry, I want you to know that I won't think any less of you if you did let something slip. It is only natural after all, a preservation instinct. However, I prefer to be forewarned, so that Voldemort next move doesn't take us by surprise.”
Harry's eyes hardened considerably at Dumbledore's words. And considerably more as he felt the slight tendrils of thought magic wrapping around his mind. The headmaster had either lost all faith in him, or wanted to see things for himself: either way, Harry didn't want him strolling around his memories. If he could block Voldemort, he could block his headmaster.
Dumbledore, who had always prided himself on his subtle, delicate touch, was very surprised indeed, when the air suddenly filled with suppressed magic, and a strong barrier snapped up before Harry's mind, as impenetrable as a concrete fortress. He knew he couldn't break this kind of defense without considerable struggle, and certainly not while sitting down and chatting as if nothing was the matter.
“You know, professor, I expected this kind of dirty play from Tom Riddle, maybe even from Snape, but not from you.” Harry said, while reinforcing his barriers with the little magic he felt it was safe to use without incurring Madam Pomfrey's wrath.
“I always thought that you trusted me, but in fact, you were constantly double checking my answers… That's why I always felt like you could see into my very soul when we talked in the past. Because you could. You were continually rummaging through my memories, to see if I was lying or keeping something from you. That's why you always knew what I was thinking.”
Harry was silent for a moment gathering his thoughts, and trying to regain some sort of control over his powers that seemed to want to go awry again.
“Well, this time you'll have to take my word for it. Voldemort doesn't know about the Prophecy, and he doesn't know where the headquarters of the Order is. And if he somehow gets hold of this information, it won't be from my mouth or my mind. My mind, from now on, belongs to no one but myself.”
As Dumbledore was forcefully pushed from his student's mind, he couldn't help but let the surprise he felt from showing openly on his face.
“Professor Snape, Harry, had felt that you had but a very slight grasp on Occlumency. It's heartening to know this is not the case.”
“Snape was right in assuming that I hadn't learned any Occlumency from him. It's the perfect truth. Luckily, information is much more forthcoming from other sources, and I grasped the basics during the summer. Luckily it was enough to stop Voldemort, which was my one and only objective.” Harry still wasn't pleased with the turn this conversation had taken, but he relented slightly anyway.
It was no use arguing with Dumbledore about something as trivial as his liberty to think freely. He needed his help, no matter how much his trust in the old headmaster was shaken. He needed strong allies, and to focus in the one true enemy, a concept he had grasped much better during the last two weeks. His enemy was Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and although there might be some small obstacles along the way (Harry spared Fudge a fleeting thought) he needed to focus on his task.
“Very well Harry, I trust you, and I trust your judgment. I hope you won't withhold essential information from me,” said the headmaster gravely.
“If you can do me the same favor, Headmaster.” After all, an unbalanced relationship was no relationship at all.
Dumbledore was silent for a few moments. Whatever it was he had been expecting from Harry, it wasn't this unflinching resistance and slight audacity that he was currently facing.
“I mean it, professor. I won't deny the fact that I need your help to do what must be done, but for this to work, we must be able to trust each other. No more half-truths, no more lies and omissions. I want the truth, plain and simple. You have to realize, Professor, that I'm not a weapon, a chess piece you can direct as you please. For this to work, if you want me to win, I need to know what is happening. From now on, I want to have a say in every decision that is made that affects my life and my well being, otherwise, prophecy be damned, we're finished!”
As Harry finished his little speech, he was panting slightly. He made himself comfortable, while he waited for the headmaster to absorb all that he had said. All he was asking for was to be treated fairly after all, and he wouldn't back away from his decisions.
“Very well, Harry,” said Dumbledore finally, sighing heavily, “I'll do my best.”
“Do you still want to know what happened to me, sir?” Harry asked, relieved at the old man's easy acceptance. “I'm afraid I don't have much useful information, as I stayed mostly in a single room…”
“Yes Harry, I think I must know what happened in detail. Everything, what you heard, what you said, what you saw as well as what happened to you in particular.”
Harry's eyes darkened considerably as he thought back on the last few days of his existence, image after image flashed before his eyes, all the pain and suffering coming back to him, threatening to drown him in memories. He clutched his sheets, fighting the flood of memories and sensations, and said in a tight voice:
“I would much rather not, sir. I'd much rather simply forget that any of this happened, but I'll tell you everything I can remember.”
“Thank you Harry. I think it might do you good to talk about what happened.” Dumbledore smiled encouragingly.
“I don't think so, sir. At least not so soon. But I will, if I must.” Harry's eyes lost their focus, as he struggled to remember details he wished to forget as soon as possible.
He began talking, a low, monotonous, unemotional voice, that had no feeling, no spirit behind it. He told Dumbledore of the fight at Number 4, and how he had finally been caught. Harry missed the amazed look on his headmaster's face as he explained how he had faced and secured five Death Eaters before being interrupted by his uncle.
He told him of his capture, the cell, and his talks with Voldemort. He mentioned the dementor and the torture, but didn't explain in detail, skipping to the most relevant parts. But the old man caught the painful inflexion in the boy's voice, the shiver that run down his body, the way he closed his eyes tightly, trying to control his raging emotions and fears. He talked about how he had escaped, and how his magic seemed to respond to his need, begging to be used.
Dumbledore knew better than to interrupt Harry's story, so he let him talk, and talk he did. For more than an hour, he talked, and once he was done, he almost immediately fell asleep, exhausted both physically and emotionally.
Dumbledore remained by Harry's side for a long time afterwards, deep in thought. Faced with this boy, all of his previous, long standing prejudices were crumbling, and his certainties were shaking. And yet, he couldn't help but be proud, and pleased by the changes taking place.
He got up slowly, noticing that once again, Harry had slept without dreamless sleep potion. It would be a rough night for him.
He gently, lovingly almost, ran a wrinkled hand through Harry's hair and brow, murmuring under his breath:
“James would have been proud of you, Harry. So very proud…”
The headmaster made his way to the exit, and quietly opened the door. He found Remus waiting for him on the other side, and smiled feebly, all twinkle gone from his eyes.
“How is he?” Asked Remus impatiently.
Dumbledore took a minute to formulate an answer.
“He'll recover - physically, at least.” He paused, and Remus was shocked to see a silent tear running down the withered cheek and into the older man's silvery beard.
“But he'll never be the same again.”
Chapter 9: Visitors, Conversations, and OWL results (part 1)
A/N: I want to state quite clearly, the OWL results are not mine. They belong to Nimbirosa's Bond of the Gryphon, a brilliant fic which she is rewriting as The Return of the Ancients. If you haven't yet, go check them out, and leave a nice review.I think the way she did the results is brilliant, and therefore asked to borrow them, seeing as I know for a fact I'd never come even close to something as good or as developed as that. And she very kindly agreed to let me use them. So thanks Nim! You're great.
Now, on with the story, and don't forget to review.
- King Whitney Jr.
Chapter nine: Visitors, Conversations, and OWL results.
Ginny opened her eyes and stretched languorously. She had slept more in the five days since Harry returned then in the two weeks he had been gone put together. Slowly getting up, she walked to the window, and let the light in. The sun was already quite high in the sky, and she could hear the bustle of conversation down in the kitchen, meaning that everyone else was already up.
She put on some clothes and made her way downstairs, to join her family for breakfast. But she stopped just outside the door once she heard the angry tones and raised voices. It seemed her mother was trying quite valiantly to set some order in the room, to no avail.
She slipped in unnoticed, and sat quietly at the end of the table, letting the heated discussion wash over her, as her own thoughts wandered. She grabbed a still warm piece of toast and started to chew slowly, smiling inwardly.
“We can't all go! It'll overwhelm him!” Someone shouted.
“He needs family support!”
“Poppy will freak if we all go! You're crazy if you think she'll let us all see him!”
The argument was still going on full force around her, and Ginny was beginning to feel sorry for Harry, she was pretty sure he wouldn't appreciate everyone's concern at this particular moment in time. Or their pity for that matter…
She had started writing to him again, but his answer had been vague and quite frankly wholly unsatisfactory. She had missed their previous understanding and confidence, but hadn't been surprised at his reaction. He had never been one quite adept at sharing pain.
She had wanted to tell him about the dreams, but seeing his letter, had hesitated. Truth be told, his words had not been conductive to such confidences; they had a drop of cold distance she hadn't liked. She wondered if the two of them would ever reach that level of familiarity and trust they had during the summer. If not, she would certainly miss it quite dearly.
“Ginny!” Her mother's sharp tone snapped her out of her reverie. Looking up she saw that everyone's attention was fixed upon her, waiting for some kind of answer, to a question she didn't know.
“What?” She asked to no one in particular.
“We asked you what you thought of the matter,” said her mother impatiently.
“What matter?” Asked Ginny, still surprised at the question. No one had ever cared to ask her opinion on anything before.
“The 'visiting Harry' matter, obviously.” Mrs. Weasley's voice was chilling. Ginny realized she should really say something, or else the woman might explode.
“Uh…” she begun hesitantly. “It really depends on what sort of message you want to send Harry.”
“What are you trying to say Ginevra?” Snapped Mrs. Weasley.
Ginny felt her own temper flaring at her mother's tone, but answered calmly enough.
“Well, mom, it's quite simple. If you want to show Harry that he has the support of a family, that we all consider and love him as one of our own, then the lot of us should go.” She paused to draw breath, and saw that her whole family was listening to what she had to say. She wondered for a brief moment what had gotten into them; it had got to be the first time she was actually heard in the Weasley household. “However, if you want him to feel comfortable enough to talk to us, and maybe - just maybe mind you - open up and talk about what happened, then it should only be Ron, if he can keep his temper and hold his tongue, Hermione and me.”
The moment she stopped talking Ron was all over her, like usual. He didn't miss a chance to disagree with her of late. He usually didn't even think before speaking and ended up looking foolish and petty. It was the case right now.
“And why wouldn't he talk to us if we all went? He knows we're like family.”
“Oh, I don't know Ron,” her voice was dripping sarcasm, and she saw her Dad actually flinch, “maybe he would feel, I don't know, overwhelmed, I think.” She glared at him, before continuing more seriously. “Be honest, Ron. Would you talk about spending two weeks in the hands of your worst enemy, probably being tortured incessantly, being absolutely powerless to stop it, to a bunch of people who will come, stand beside his bed wringing their hands, embarrassed and not knowing what to say? But no, of course you're right, it's the perfect environment for confidences!”
The others were no longer listening to their argument; after all, it had become a common enough sight over the holidays. Mutterings were heard around the table as they started discussing again what to do.
“Then why should you go?” Ron tried again. “You aren't even his friend!”
She felt a stab of hurt at his words. Ron never spared her lately. He went directly to what was the tenderest; the most precious to her, what he knew would hurt the most. Blinking quickly, so as not to show her distress, she answered, in a quieter voice, but no less vicious than his.
“Maybe Ron, I might not be his best mate, as you obviously are. You seem to forget, however, that I spent the whole summer corresponding with him and that the Dark Lord used me to blackmail him into talking. I'm simply the person he spent the last two weeks worrying about; it will do him no good whatsoever to see for himself that I'm fine, and that Voldemort didn't get to me after all.”
She took another bite out of her now freezing toast and continued to glare at Ron, to Bill's obvious amusement. He had been listening in to their discussion, and she was somewhat comforted by his approval. He had nodded when she talked, and that was enough for her.
She continued to eat in silence, simply listening to the loud voices around the table, her previous good humour totally evaporated after her argument with Ron. Suddenly her mother slammed her cup on the table, immediately silencing everyone. She was obviously tired of the whole subject, and was decided to put a stop to the whole discussion.
“I think Ginny is right. She, Ron and Hermione will go see Harry,” she said at last, and she silenced Ron, who was about to talk with a single look. The look, as the other Weasleys liked to call it. “Ron, I'm saying this once, and only once, if I somehow get to know that you said anything harsh, acted as anything but the most supportive of friends… You'll have me to deal with once you come back. Is that clear?”
Ron didn't actually answer. He glared at the table in general, narrowly sparing Hermione, and left the room, climbing the stairs loudly to make his point. Ginny felt like giggling, or maybe even laughing out loud. Ron was acting like such a spoiled brat these days! It was refreshing to see her mother at the other end of his temper for once and not herself, his favourite scapegoat.
Her mother's voice once again brought her back to the present:
“I want all of you down here in half an hour. Hermione, can you tell Ron that? I'm sure he will be more receptive if the information comes from you. You'll floo to the three broomsticks and from there a carriage will take you all the way up to Hogwarts. Go on, now, go get ready.” She shooed all of them from the kitchen as she started to wash up.
Her brothers left for work immediately after, as did her father. As she walked up the stairs to her own bedroom, she saw Hermione enter Ron's room, and heard some raised voices. Ron was going to have to get his act together, and soon, otherwise he would find himself all alone without even noticing it. This whole situation didn't bode well for their visit.
Ginny entered her room, and changed into something nicer. After all, if she was going to see Harry, it was the least she could do. The whole situation would probably be awkward enough without her feeling self-conscious on top of everything else. She had no idea what she would say to Harry once she got there. Would it be as easy to talk to him as it was to write? Or would she stutter and flush, as if she was eleven all over again? Simply thinking about seeing him made her heart beat faster, and pleasant warmth to spread through her body.
She put on a nice pair on jeans, one of the few clothes she owned that she had chosen herself, and was not some cast off from her brothers or a second hand her mother had bought, and a nice, dark grey shirt, with and imprinted dragon that matched her hair.
She realized then, that she wouldn't even be alone with Harry. How could she speak freely with Ron less than three steps away? She shuddered, and the small amount of dread that had begun to creep inside of her suddenly doubled in size.
Someone knocked on her door, then, just as she was finishing plaiting her hair, and Hermione came in.
“You look nice, Ginny.” She said softly.
“Thanks, Hermione. How did it go with Ron? I heard him shouting…”
“Well, he likes to make his feelings perfectly clear to everyone, and he wasn't happy with what your Mom said, so… But at least he agreed to go, and that's something.” She plopped down unceremoniously on the bed, and sighed loudly.
“I'm getting so tired of this situation with your brother, Ginny. At first, I thought it was only a phase; that he was dealing with all that had happened in the Department of Mystery, and You-Know-Who, but now… He's so angry with the world!”
“Well,” Ginny smiled mischievously, “he seems happy enough with you, Mione. You're the only one he still listens to.”
The other girl blushed crimson, and mumbled:
“Well, yes, but he hasn't done anything yet.” Then, a bit more forcefully. “You seem pretty comfortable defending Harry's interest too, Ginny. Anything you're not telling me?”
Ginny plopped down beside the older girl and sighed despondently.
“I wish! I actually thought, before he was taken, that I might have a chance. But now… His last letter was so cold! It was as if he wasn't there, really. As if he was writing automatically, and didn't feel any of it. It was scary, really.”
“Well, Ginny, you should just be glad he wrote. I haven't heard from him in ages.” Hermione said bitterly. “I'm glad that at least he's opening up to someone, even if it's not me and Ron.”
“Well, maybe it's good Ron is keeping his distance. I'm not sure Harry would deal well with the things Ron has been saying lately. I'm not sure he realizes just how much he hurts us, or me, more specifically.” For the first time Hermione really heard the hurt Ginny was feeling expressed in her voice.
“Yes, Harry takes thing too much at heart. I hope Ron doesn't do anything stupid, or it could get nasty…”
“Well, we'll have to see how today goes. You think Ron will keep his head cool?”
“We'll see…” said Hermione worriedly, as she got up and together they made their way down the stairs.
Remus wasn't sure he should enter the Hospital Wing. Poppy had said that Harry was fine, that he would be weak for a few days, but otherwise, would recover perfectly. And she assured him he could talk to him now.
But if he were honest with himself, Harry wasn't the one he was worried about. Poppy had said that it would be good for him to have company, that Harry needed a distraction, and some light conversation to take his mind off the pain, and Remus didn't think he would be any good as a distraction. He had no idea what to say, or how to act around Harry anymore.
Gathering all the remains he could find of his Gryffindor courage, Remus pushed the door open, and stepped inside the ward. He spotted Harry straight away; he was lying in the only occupied bed of the whole infirmary.
His heart gave a small lurch as he once again saw his best friend's son lying in a hospital bed. They looked so alike, it was scary. Especially now that Harry had grown a bit, and was no longer such a lanky kid. If you didn't meet his eyes, Harry could pass for James anywhere.
Remus walked towards his bed, and saw, with slight relief, that Harry was indeed looking much better than when he had first arrived. Harry heard his approaching footsteps and turned his head to see who was coming. His green eyes lit up, and he smiled faintly when he saw the werewolf.
The older man tried to smile back, but wasn't sure he quite managed to hide his discomfort from the boy. Judging by Harry's expression, he saw through his disguise with ease, but chose not to comment on it.
“Hi Remus,” said Harry cheerfully, “came to save me from boredom?”
“Hello Harry.” Remus slapped himself internally for his foolish worries, and sat down next to the bed. “Not sure I'm the answer to your problem, however.” They laughed slightly, but soon slipped into an uncomfortable silence.
“How have you been Harry?” Remus asked at last, cursing himself for his lack of tact. He couldn't keep the concern out of his voice, and knew it would sit well with Harry.
“I'll be fine.” Harry's voice made it quite clear that the subject was not open to discussion. But Remus couldn't quench his conscience, that told him he was responsive for this particular young man's well being, and that it was his duty to ask. He plunged on, even though all his instincts told him to back off.
“You don't look fine, Harry.” Harry shot him a reproachful glare, before turning away. He answered nonetheless.
“I'm perfectly fine, under the circumstances. You didn't expect me to come bouncing back after the last two weeks, did you?”
Seeing and opening, Remus asked tentatively:
“Do you want to talk about what you went through?”
The silence that followed his question was so long that he actually stopped hoping for an answer. Harry's voice actually startled him, when he finally did speak.
“I saw Bellatrix Lestrange there, Remus. She was one of the ones that came to my uncle's house. I saw her afterwards as well. She's a sadistic bitch, that woman. Voldemort treats her like some sort of lap dog, and she thrives in the attention. It's disgusting.”
Harry stopped talking, but Remus felt he hadn't said all he wanted to say, so he gave him time, and soon, Harry took up where he had left off.
“I never thought I could hate someone more than I did Voldemort, Remus.” He paused, and for the first time since he had begun to talk, looked Remus in the eye. “But then, I didn't actually think I could feel this kind of hate.”
Remus shuddered fearfully at the fire that he saw burning in Harry's eyes. It went beyond the silver twirls, and the haunting green. It was a deep, heartfelt pain; a new feeling that had been totally absent from Harry's eyes until that moment.
So this was what Dumbledore had been talking about when he said that Harry would never be the same again, Remus thought. Somewhere in a dark damp cell, in between two curses, Harry had been robbed of his last naivety; the innocence of childhood, and in that same dungeon, he had learned what it was to hate.
Remus gave Bellatrix a momentary and fleeting thought, wishing her luck if she ever faced Harry alone again. He was quite sure she wouldn't have Wormtail's luck.
Snapping back to the matter at hand, Remus searched his mind for something to answer. Hopefully something smart, and witty, that would alleviate both of their consciences. No such luck, though.
He wasn't sure what Harry expected him to say in response to his statement. He chose, since Harry was being so blunt and to the point, to ask him what was on his mind.
“Why do you say you hate her more than Voldemort? I mean, everyone expects him to be your worst enemy…”
It was quite an honour to be in the top of Harry Potter's enemy's list, the objective of every Dark Lord, when they were done wracking havoc in the world. He wondered what Bellatrix had done to deserve it; after all, to surpass even Voldemort must be a difficult achievement. Harry's eyes, still burning with that strange new fire, were fixed in the pristine white ceiling when he spoke, voice tight with barely suppressed emotion.
“Voldemort robbed me of my parents, Remus, thanks to him I'll never know first hand what having a family really means. But Bellatrix went beyond that… She took away the only support I knew. She robbed me of something that I can actually miss. I had Sirius for two years, I had a small taste of trust and love…” Harry blinked to stop the unwanted tears to fall from is eyes. “I know exactly what I lost when Sirius, when Sirius…” Even after more than a month, he couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud. “And all of this because of my own stupidity. It's so much worse!”
The heartfelt pain in Harry's eyes, wagging a losing battle with his hate, reminded Remus of how young he actually was. He wanted to take him in his arms, to tell him to let go. Show him that repressing all his feelings would be the end of him, but something held him back. His pity would not be welcome, and his concern even less so.
“I don't know how to deal with this Remus,” continued Harry. “I've never, ever wanted to hurt another person in my life. Even the Dursleys, and they treated me pretty shabbily my whole life. Not even Voldemort, I only ever wanted to stop him from hurting others, never to actively hurt him. Now… I'm not sure now, that given the chance I would not hurt, maybe even kill - who knows - Bellatrix. And you don't need to tell me how wrong it is to want revenge, I know it already. But I don't seem to be able to make it feel wrong!”
Harry turned away, ashamed of his confession, and Remus felt his heart clench at the sight of this pain, those conflicting emotions that were eating him alive.
It was ironic really that he had come to the hospital to try and get a better look at Harry's feelings, and now that he had, with almost no effort in his part, he had no idea of what to say, or how to deal with them. He wished Sirius were here. He always knew what to say, what to do in those situations. He was the one who should be here comforting Harry after this ordeal, not him. He wasn't cut out for the job, and it made him feel awfully inadequate.
“Harry,” he said at last, “look at me.” But Harry didn't. Remus continued talking anyway. “I don't think you should feel bad for hating someone who has done you so much harm, caused you so much pain as Bellatrix Lestrange has. You must understand however, that emotions are just that, emotions. You must allow yourself to feel them, but not be blinded by them. There must be balance in everything, you see… You can't let yourself to be disconnected from your heart, Harry, it gives you strength. But you can't constantly struggle with your emotions. It will drive you crazy, and I'm talking from experience.”
“Balance!” Harry gave a bark of laughter, filled to the brink with bitterness. “How can there ever be balance in my life again, Remus? My balance disappeared the moment I stepped into that blasted place.”
“It might take you some time to feel like yourself again, Harry, but I'm sure you'll get there sometime. You're tough, Harry, and I've got faith in you.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Look, Harry, I want you to know that I'll be around the castle a lot more this year. I'm not Sirius, and I'd never presume to take his place, but I need you to know that anything, anything at all that may be in my power to give you, I will.”
Harry turned and looked at him then. That piercing gaze that had previously been a Dumbledore prerogative piercing through Remus like a knife. And then he said, smiling slightly:
“Thanks Remus. I… It was good talking to you. And I know you miss him too. Maybe even more than I do, I guess. He was your friend for so long!” Harry struggled to say the last words, coming out in a strangled sob. Remus reached out, and took his hand, comforting him with as much as he thought would be welcome.
They were silent for a long while, a comfortable, thoughtful silence, quite unlike their first. It was finally broken by Remus, who realized their time together was coming to an end.
“Harry, in another matter altogether, I discussed things with professor Dumbledore regarding the rest of your summer. He thinks it's best if, as soon as you are well again, you go to headquarters. It's the safest place right now, since Privet Drive is out of the question, and you can't stay here all alone. The Weasleys will be there to keep you company.” He added the last part when he saw the distress in Harry's eyes when he heard the news.
They heard footsteps in the corridor, and Lupin smiled.
“That would be Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Madam Pomfrey let them come today, to save you from your boredom as you so mildly put it.”
Harry's whole countenance lit up, and Remus felt slightly better after the whole conversation.
“The headmaster gave me your OWL results as well, so that you can open them with your friends. I'll leave you alone now, should I?” Remus handed him a pristine white envelope, with the ministry's seal in bright red in the front.
“Thanks, Remus. Really.” The werewolf only smiled, and left without another word.
As he watched the older man's retreating back, Harry sagged back in his bed, and closed his eyes briefly. As much as he hated to admit it, he was tired. Remus visit had been quite the emotionally draining experience, and he wasn't so sure to be up to the task of seeing his friends. Not that he had much of a choice anymore, they where already here, and fast approaching his bedside.
A/N: Hang on, the chapter isn't done yet, I had to cut it in two, otherwise it wouldn't fit!
Chapter 10: Visitors, Conversations, and OWL results (part 2)
Second part of the chapter:As he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw, and felt, was a mass of bushy brown hair, suddenly blocking his whole line of sight, and the crushing hug that one of his two best friends, his almost sister, gave him.
“Harry!” she sobbed in his shoulder, while clutching him, as if to let go would mean losing him all over again. “God, Harry, I was so worried! I thought I'd never see you again!” She let him go, and suddenly, in a frightening voice, a far cry from her usual calm and composure. “Don't you ever frighten me like this again! My heart couldn't bear it!”
Harry didn't manage to hide the smile tucking at the corners of his mouth as Hermione rambled on. He had missed her so much, that it didn't really matter what she was saying, as long as he could hear the comforting and reassuring sound of her voice.
“Come, Hermione, you're strangling him. Let him some time to catch his breath again.” Ron's voice cut through the overly emotional scene, and he came to stand in the other side of Harry's bed, but didn't say anything else. Harry didn't seem to notice, or chose not to comment on the unusual silence, and said instead:
“Hey, mate. It's good to see you again, Ron. It's been a long time.”
“Yes,” the redheaded youth said, “a long time indeed.”
Hermione moved, to stand beside Ron, the thought that she might have to control his temper later on crossing her mind, and it was then that Harry's third visitor became visible to him.
His mind suddenly became blank, as wave upon wave of relief cursed through him, and a new feeling he hadn't been prepared for spreading in his body. He took a moment, simply staring at her, taking in all the little details of her person, from the dark shade of red of her hair, to the almost invisible dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose, and the smile that lit her face when she caught his eyes.
Suddenly, words seemed a superfluous thing. Her eyes, to Harry at least, spoke more fluently and more vividly than a thousand speeches. Their relationship had changed so much since the last time he had seen her, and he was so acutely aware of how much he owed her, that there was simply nothing meaningful enough to express all that was speeding through his mind at the moment.
“Hello Harry.” Her voice snapped him out of his daze, and he fought the urge to blush. He shouldn't have been ogling Ginny! But he couldn't seem to break her gaze either. He felt that, if he wanted, he could drown in her pools of brown fire, and die a happy man.
“Ginny!” Harry's voice was low, full of barely suppressed emotions, and his eyes suddenly glowed even more brightly, as his magic reacted to him. “You came!”
Ginny smiled, a small, happy smile, which warmed Harry's heart.
“Of course I came, Harry. After all that's happened in the summer, I had to come.”
Ginny had seen the emotion in his eyes, and it had warmed her heart. She had been expecting something much worse from Harry. She had expected an empty cold shell, and it was heartening to see that her fears had not been proved true. Harry still felt; he just had to learn all over again that it was not wrong to let them go and roam free occasionally.
She reached for his hand, but he pulled her down instead for a hug, as fierce as, if not more so, than Hermione's had been, and he muttered in her ear, only for her sake.
“Thank you Gin, thank you. For everything.” More than a minute passed before either was ready to let go, and in that time the rest of the world didn't seem to exist. It was nothing more than an unwelcome distraction from what mattered in reality.
But Ron suddenly cleared his throat loudly, and Harry jumped, letting go of Ginny in a same movement. Ginny glared at her brother, who brushed it away with a smirk, and Ginny fought her temper that was threatening to rise. She didn't want to make a scene in front of Harry; she would deal with Ron in private.
Hermione, who had also frowned at Ron's interruption, turned towards Harry and asked concernedly:
“How are you feeling, Harry?”
Ginny marvelled at the instantaneous reaction: Harry's face, open and trusting, became a blank book in the space of a second. She rolled her eyes internally, cursing Hermione's lack of tact. She was really almost as bad as Ron when it came to dealing with Harry when he was in one of his moods.
“I'm fine, Mione.” Harry answered. “How was your summer so far?” His attempt to change the subject was blindingly obvious, but apparently worked, as Hermione decided not to push the subject.
“It was good, Harry. I received my OWL results a few weeks back.” Ginny half expected the other girl to jump up and down in her excitement to tell Harry how she went. It was almost comical. Harry, however, was happy to oblige her, and asked:
“How did you do? I'm sure you were the best, Mione.”
“Well…” She blushed slightly and continued. “I got all twelve of them, and I've got a high O overall. I was very pleased, and my Transfiguration theoretical grade was said to be just a tiny bit under the school record. Of course I was a little disappointed that I didn't actually break it, but I'm pleased nonetheless”
Harry smiled, truly happy for her.
“That's great, Hermione. We all knew you had it in you.”
“Well… My Defence grade was pretty much your doing, Harry. If it wasn't for the DA…”
“You'd still have done it, Mione.” Harry cut in. “You'd have studies by yourself, and would've had a good grade too.”
“Well… Maybe, but that's not the point, Harry. Ron had an outstanding in the Defence practical, and I'm sure he has you to thank.”
Ron's head snapped up as she said this, and he glared daggers at Hermione's back. Ginny, sensing an imminent outburst, caught his gaze and shook her head, sending a message quite clearly, that he could not ignore.
“He did well too, Harry.” Hermione continued, oblivious to the boy standing behind her. “Got nine OWLs total, with two Os, and three EE. How about you? You didn't tell us how you went.” She looked at him expectantly, and he opened the envelope he was still holding, mumbling:
“Just received them, wait a second.”
Harry felt unexpectedly nervous, his stomach churning uncomfortably. It was unnerving, really, what with people always having such high expectations… So it was that he received one of the biggest surprises of his life once he opened the envelope. But Hermione didn't give him the time to finish reading, and snatched the paper from his hands before he could even move to stop her.
Hermione finished reading, and looked at Harry. She had palled when she saw his results, and further still when she read all the examiners comments. With a little effort she said:
“You did… Incredibly, Harry. I knew you could be great. Congratulations.”
It was obvious to all present, however, that her heart was not in what she said. She passed the results on to Ron, who, with a mere glance at the overalls, stormed out of the ward, pale with fury.
Hermione looked helplessly at his retreating back, and said haltingly:
“I'd better go after him, Harry. He hasn't been himself lately, I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.” She looked at him, smiled a little forcedly, but with true affection shining in her eyes and said: “It was nice seeing you, Harry. I hope you can get out of here soon.”
“Yeah… Thanks Hermione, and say… No never mind, I'll talk to him once I'm out of bed.” He smiled encouragingly at her, and watched her as she chased after Ron, a heavy weight settling in his chest. He had a feeling it would be some time before they were ever together again, as friends.
He then turned towards Ginny, who was slowly going through his results. And asked:
“Could you read them out loud? I didn't even have a chance to glance at the comments before Hermione…”
Ginny didn't even answer, but begun to read.
Key
'O' - Outstanding (89-100): Superb level of magic and concentration as well as a good amount of self-confidence in their abilities. The student knows what he/she is doing, and is doing it more than adequately. The student has made no mistakes at all or only the most minor of mistakes and corrected them almost instantly.
'E' - Exceeds Expectations (80-88): Good magical prowess in the subject. The student may have made a couple of minor mistakes, but had no problems in figuring out what was wrong and reversing the effects easily. The student demonstrates an adequately pleasing amount of self-confidence in what their abilities are and what they are doing.
'A' - Acceptable (60-79): Adequate ability, knowledge and confidence are demonstrated. Self-confidence in their abilities is not as satisfactory, and they had problems correcting the mistake they had made in this exam.
'P' - Poor (50-59): Poor performance in magic and demonstrated little or not self-confidence in their abilities. Clearly, this student must improve more and figure out what went wrong and how, as they had problems doing so during the exam.
'D' - Dreadful (Under 50): A mournful demonstration of knowledge, magical ability and self-confidence in their abilities as well as being unable to reverse whatever mistake they have committed in their exam. The student must study and/or work much harder. Also, they should request tutoring during the NEWTs."
"Core OWLs
Defence Against the Dark Arts (for 2 OWLs)
Practical: O - 100 plus
Written: O - 100 plus
Overall: Outstanding
OWLs: 2 plus 1 (honorary)
Brief Professor's Comments:
Potter is very disruptive in class and is loud in his objections toward the Ministry methods. It would not surprise me if he should get into trouble one day for his troublemaking. His class mark in Defence is abysmal due to constant interruption in my teaching.
“This woman should be hung in a bloody post! It's a necessary action for the good of humanity.”
Ginny's remark managed to extract a small smile from Harry, whose mind was still dwelling in his two best friends unexpected departure.
Examiner's Comments:
It was very surprising when Mr. Potter showed extraordinary Defensive ability and form in direct contrast to Dolores' comments. His wand work is superb and his stance is flawless. He completed the entire bonus booklet, scoring himself the highest written paper in Hogwarts' history and shattering the previous record held by his own mother, Lily Potter née Evans. His practical application of the method was captivatingly hypnotic in its efficiency. Most astonishingly, he could produce a corporeal Patronus, and one of the most powerful and substantial ones I've seen to date. At such a young age, it is more than remarkable, and a colleague of mine claimed that he had mastered it at age thirteen. The Patronus alone merited more than a few bonus marks - add to that the points for his power and confident spell casting and we've got another Defence record from Harry Potter. Note, the previous record was held by his own father. I think we can expect great things from this student.
“So this' what got Hermione's knickers in a twist! You beat a school record! She should have expected this though… You are the best Defence student at Hogwarts.”
“That's not the point here, Gin. Hermione's supposed to be the good student, not me! I'm the one who leads us all into dangerous situations and then blunders out of them, hoping to end the day with my life.” Harry's voice was slightly bitter, and Ginny noticed that a large amount of it was due mostly to his friends' reactions to his good results. She silently cursed them for abandoning him when he needed them the most, and made a promise to herself to be there for him.
“Well, Harry, you were the one teaching the DA. It's normal you had the best grade in that class.”
“What about the rest, then?”
“We'll see. Let me continue.”
Transfiguration (for 2 OWLs)
Practical: O - 94
Written: O - 91
Overall: Outstanding
OWLs: 2
Brief Professor's Comments:
Mr. Potter is a good student of practical transfiguration, although his attention may wander a little at times. His stance and ready will to apply any theory we have learnt has earned him a good overall mark in the second half of the school year. I wish him the best of luck in the OWLs and the pursuit of his career.
Examiner's Comments:
Potter has lived up to his Professor's expectations and I am pleased to note that he has inherited a little of his Father's Transfiguration prowess. Excellent grip demonstrated, and although he faltered the smallest fraction during his practical, he succeeded in completing the Transfiguration. I, like my old friend Minerva, wish the best of luck to Mr. Potter in pursuing his career.
“You should show this to Professor McGonagall. She'll be so proud of you Harry! And she helped you so much last year!” But he simply mumbled something unintelligible, that she took as a sign she should continue reading.
Charms (for 2 OWLs)
Practical: E - 88
Written: O - 96
Overall: Outstanding
OWLs: 2
Brief Professor's Comments:
Mr. Potter has demonstrated great potential in this class, and I am pleased to have worked with Lily's child, who has obviously inherited her Charming ability. However, Potter can be flustered doing practical charms work in front of an audience, which is why I commend him for his flawless Summoning ability. With a little bit of work and effort, Lily's record may well be surpassed. I would not be surprised should Mr. Potter pull off an Outstanding.
Examiner's Comments:
True to his professor's observations, Potter was highly nervous while performing Charming in front of me; so much, in fact, that he mixed up the incantations for the colouring charm and the growing charm. However, he was able to reverse its effects quickly and recast the spell. His written, however, was impressive, as he finished several of the bonus questions on Summoning charms as well as the bonus page. Well done Mr. Potter, and good luck in walking your chosen path, whichever that may be."
History of Magic (for 1 OWLs)
Practical: N/A
Written: E - 79 (Incomplete Portion only)
Overall: Acceptable (circumstantial)
OWLs: 1
Brief Professor's Comments:
Perkins has always been a quiet student in my class and rarely ever volunteered information. He has a tendency to doze off occasionally, but I give him my blessings in his future, because he has rarely given me trouble. I say goodbye to him and his class, for I am moving on to sunnier locations. It will be interesting to see history unfold from somewhere other than this castle.
Examiner's Comments:
Mr. Potter had only done a few pages of this written OWL when he collapsed in the testing hall, likely due to stress. However, he has done adequately enough that we boosted his letter grade by one and his percentage by ten. We wish Mr. Potter the best of luck in his chosen career.
“Harry, you really are a lucky bastard! How the hell the ministry accepted to grade only part of your exam we might never know!”
“Probably another stupid advantage of being the blasted Boy-Who-Lived.”
“Why do you complain, then? It's a nice advantage to have, Harry, and you should use it, because the disadvantages that come with that position are certainly very large indeed.”
Harry seemed to perk up slightly at her remark, and a small grin spread in his face.
“You know what, Gin? You're probably right. I'd never thought of it that way.” He gave a small bark of laughter, and continued. “Do you think Snape might eventually be convinced to see things your way?”
“Keep up the wishful thinking Harry! Probably not even in your dreams!”
“Hey, I don't want Snape in my dreams! Old Tommy is more than enough subject for nightmares.”
This managed to make Ginny laugh, and the sweet sound send a small shiver to Harry's heart. After settling down in a chair, Ginny continued reading.
Astronomy (for 1 OWLs)
Practical: Acceptable - 72 (circumstantial)
Written: E - 87
Overall: Acceptable (circumstantial)
OWLs: 1
Brief Professor's Comments:
Mr. Potter is one of the few students of mine who appreciate the night sky. While he may not be overly excited about staying up late to do the necessary classes, he knows the constellations well, and he knows the stars well, particularly one Sirius; the Dog star.
“That's sweet, Harry. Will you continue with Astronomy this year Harry?”
“I've no idea Gin, maybe, I guess.”
Examiner's Comments:
All students taking this OWL practical had their letter grade bumped up one due to circumstantial distraction. We wish Minerva McGonagall a speedy recovery here and curses and hexes upon the dishonourable folk who have put her in her current condition."
Herbology (for 2 OWLs)
Practical: E - 87
Written: E - 83
Overall: Exceeds Expectations
OWLs: 2
Brief Professor's Comments:
"Potter has a rare appreciation for anything alive, and I think that Professor Rubeus Hagrid will agree with me. He is gentle with whatever he handles in the greenhouse, and, while not possessing the complete love of Herbology that Mr. Longbottom has ("Does anyone?" laughed Ginny), he does have a natural aptitude with working alongside and with plants. I wish Potter the best in the coming years.
Examiner's Comments:
Mr. Potter is gentle with what he works with, and the only problem I have with his examination is that right at the tail end of it, someone jostled him and he snipped off the stem halfway up. He was mortified and seemed more concerned for the plant than his grades, so I have taken the liberty to grade him for the time before that and took ten percent off for the 'accident'.
Potions (for 2 OWLs)
Practical: O - 89
Written: O - 93
Overall: Outstanding
OWLs: 2
Brief Professor's Comments:
Potter has caused countless problems in my class and I have no reason to believe that he will even pass either Potions OWL. He is arrogant; he talks back repeatedly and never follows my instructions. I give my luck to Mr. Potter now, because he will need it when he is thrown out of this school eventually.
“What a greasy bastard! Why does he have to teach such a nice subject as potions?!”
“What? You like potions?” Asked Harry incredulously, sitting halfway up to look her in the face.
“I love potions! If it wasn't for Snape, it would probably be my favourite subject.”
“Ginny, you're totally nutters! How can anyone like potions?!” He shook his head incredulously. “Anyway, go on. If I actually believed any of this crap, it would certainly be quite the ego buster.”
“But it is true, Harry! You just don't seem to realize the potential you have…”
“Of course, Gin, and I'm Merlin himself, in disguise.”
Shaking her head reproachfully, Ginny continued:
Examiner's Comments:
Contrary to Professor Severus Snape's rather depreciating comments about Mr. Potter, he has done remarkably well for someone who has been christened the class vagabond. I wish Mr. Potter the best of luck in the future.
Elective OWLs
Care of Magical Creatures (for 2 OWLs)
Practical: O - 98
Written: O - 93
Overall: Outstanding
OWLs: 2
Brief Professor's Comments:
Harry is a very good student in my class and always agrees to volunteer whenever no one else will approach the critters I've got. Due to his careful following of the instructions, he has always had a high mark in practical Care of Magical Creatures. I have complete faith that Harry will make it through with flying colours.
Examiner's Comments:
Professor Rubeus Hagrid obviously has taught this young man well, because his practical performance was near-faultless. I hope to observe Mr. Potter more in the near-future around what other 'critters' Hagrid might turn up with.
“At least this will make Hagrid happy, Gin. Show him that he can be a good teacher.” Harry smiled at her.
“Yes, although Hagrid has some rather, uh… unorthodox methods, I've learned a lot in his class.”
Divination (for 1 OWLs)
Practical: P - 55
Written: A - 65
Overall: Acceptable
OWLs: 1
Brief Professor's Comments:
Harry Potter possesses no inner...
“Well, I'm not interested in what that overgrown dragonfly has to say. What about you?”
“Sure, Gin, anything you want.” He gave her his trademark half-grin; the one that sent shivers running own her spine and gave her butterflies in the stomach. She wondered briefly if he had any idea of the effect he had on her. Probably not, the great prat. He was as clueless as Ron, when it came to feelings. Sighing, because she hated to see the hurt that had settled in his eyes as soon as Ron and Hermione had left, she said:
“Don't worry about Hermione too much, Harry. You just caught her by surprise, is all, and she'll probably apologize as soon as she seen you again.”
He closed his eyes as if in pain, and said, in a tight voice:
“It's not so much what she did, Gin, but the fact that school, and grades are enough to drive her away… You saw the way she reacted! It's not as if I asked for those results, and I'd change them in a heartbeat, if I could, if it meant Mione would feel better. You know that, right?” He looked at her pleadingly, and the tightness in her chest increased. Damn Hermione and her bloody obsession with proving herself the best.
“Of course I know that Harry. Hermione knows too… She's just a little obsessed with grades, it's not as if she isn't your friend anymore or anything. She's just not used to having someone better her at anything.” She smiled and said. “In a few hours she'll realize that, although you got an honorary OWL, her overall is better than yours, and that will console her, and everything will be alright again.”
This lightened the mood a little, and they chatted lightly about Ginny's summer, and how was life at the burrow. Ginny made sure to stay clear of any subject that might prove even slightly stressful, and was rewarded by Harry laughing several times, even to tears sometimes, as she told him about some of the Twins newest inventions.
She was surprised at the ease with which she was talking, spinning out tales she had forgot she even knew. And she was not a little proud of the way she was managing to make Harry laugh, something she was pretty sure no one had done for a long time.
However, this train of conversation eventually lead her to Fred and George's Guinea Pig: Ron. And this in turn reminded Harry of the little scene that had just transpired in the infirmary.
“Ron… Is going through a rough phase right now Harry. You'll have to forgive him for his little outbursts. I'm hoping this will go away soon, because otherwise it will become impossible for me to live under the same roof as him.”
“That bad, Gin?” Harry asked concernedly.
“Worse, Harry. And as nobody agrees with him, and Bill and Charlie give their opinion quite frankly and openly, he is becoming even more defensive. He thinks that the whole family is turning on him or some other such crap. The only person who still manages to get through to him is Hermione.”
They were both silent for a few minutes, and then, just as Madam Pomfrey appeared outside her office, and motioned for Ginny to leave as her time was over, she turned and said:
“Look, Harry. I wanted to thank you.”
He looked at her, surprise written all over his face.
“What for? I'm the one who should be thanking you here!”
“No Harry, let me talk, I've got to go soon, or Madam Pomfrey will kick me out. I want to thank you for talking to me, and sending me letters, taking me seriously and being my friend over the summer. You have no idea how much good talking about all those things did me. So, thanks Harry.”
“Gin.” He sat up, took her hands in his, and gave them a friendly squeeze. “Gin, you saved my life this summer! I'm the one who's indebted to you. You gave me hope, when I had none left, you reminded me that there were still things worth fighting for, that a better world was possible, that I shouldn't give up.” And that I could still love, he thought. But he didn't say this out loud. There would be a time for such things later. A time when he would be able to be completely open with her.
But that time was not now. So he simply held her hands, until an angry nurse came, and took her away.
A/N: Okay, here we come to the end of this 8000 words monstrosity. To stop any flames coming this way because of Harry's very good results, I have four things to say:
-Harry's a smart kid, he wouldn't have survived this far if he wasn't. All he has to do is apply himself a little, and he'd probably be at the very top of his class. And that's where Hermione comes in. She's sure to have rubbed in on him as exams approached, forcing him to work. And if you don't agree, well, too bad.
-Secondly, Harry is James and Lily's son. They were said to be brilliant, two of the finest minds to have crossed Hogwarts. And James doesn't seem to be the type to study all day long, he has natural talent, and a sharp mind. For the purpose of this story, Harry inherited both qualities.
-Thirdly, Harry has to defeat Voldemort. That means that he has to be better than all the above mentioned people, and I'll start by giving him natural talent and a generous amount of intelligence.
-And lastly, I want Harry to be smart. I can't bear stories that make him a blubbering idiot, who has to be dragged forward by Hermione or Dumbledore, so I refuse to write that, and my vote, in this case, is the only one that counts.
Obviously, if someone totally disagrees with me, they're welcome to state their reasons in a nice, polite review, and I'll certainly answer. Polite being the important word in that sentence.
Chapter 11: Back to Grimmauld Place
Chapter Ten: Back to Grimmauld Place.
Harry made a disgusted face, while forcing his reluctant throat to swallow. Once he managed this, he turned to the nurse and asked, in an incredulous voice:
“Are you quite sure you chose the most dreadful potions you had, madam Pomfrey?”
“What are you talking about Harry?” She asked distractedly, while making notes in her chart.
“Well, seeing as since I arrived here I didn't drink a single pleasant tasting potion, I've come to the conclusion that you're punishing me for spoiling your vacations.” He continued, grinning. “And I'm pretty sure that the other times I had a replenishing potion it didn't taste quite so bad.”
Harry chuckled when he saw the look in his doctor's face.
“Well, Potter, if that was my intention, I'm sure I could find something more fitting. I've got some skele-gro in my office, if you want a taste.”
Harry's grin faded somewhat at her statement, and at the slightly evil glint in the nurse's eyes. He was discovering a whole new aspect of the quiet medi-witch.
“I'm quite all right, thanks.” Harry shuddered internally as he remembered his previous experience with that particular potion. “That thing shouldn't even be called medicine! Vile stuff, I tell you.”
“Humph! It works, doesn't it? That's all I care about.”
Harry pretended to be hurt at her words:
“So your patients well being means nothing to you, Madam? As long as they walk out of here alive, is it?” He gave a bark of laughter, as he continued. “This casts a completely new light upon your cares.”
She harrumphed indignantly before saying:
“I'll let you know, Mister Potter, that my cares are some of the best wizard medicine have to offer, as you should very well know by now.”
Her tone was playfully upset, and he laughed, while sipping the last remains of a glass of water. Suddenly serious, he said.
“Yes, I do know that. And I don't think I've ever thanked you for taking care of me all those years. I'd probably never have survived this long if it weren't for you.”
She blinked suspiciously, before saying in a rather strangled voice:
“You're more than welcome, dear, it really was my pleasure.” She helped him settle down on the bed, before continuing. “The Headmaster will be here sometime today. I think he'll be the one to take you to headquarters, Harry, so you should be ready to leave.”
“This soon…” His voice had a faraway quality to it. “I'll go back today…”
“Yes, dear. I brought you some new clothes, as the ones you had were beyond repair. I got your size from Molly, so they'll probably fit you just fine.”
“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I'll be ready.”
Ginny was in one of the many drawing-rooms at Grimmauld Place. The whole Weasley clan had moved to the Order headquarters', in order to give Harry some type of moral support. She didn't know what exactly had been in Dumbledore's head when he had made the abysmally stupid decision to bring Harry to this place.
But that wasn't the predominant thought in her mind as she paced the empty room. She was still reeling from the meeting in the infirmary. As much as she had prepared herself for the encounter, going over countless scenarios in her mind, it had still been a difficult experience.
Her heart constricted as she remembered his pale face, the dark circles under his eyes. The thing that had amazed her the most was the look in his eyes. She had expected to find him in pieces, totally overrun by the whole experience. Instead, he had retained that quiet aura of calm and power that made all those around him feel safe and comforted. It was an air she had only seen in a few, very powerful people: Professor Dumbledore, for starters, and, although she was loath to admit it, Tom Riddle.
She could still remember how awe-inspiring his presence had been. Not calming, as with Harry, but overwhelming and frightening. Anything seemed possible when she was around those people… What obstacle could be too big that a power like that couldn't surpass? None, apparently, if Voldemort was any example to go by. Not even death was enough to claim him. She shuddered, visibly this time, a cold feeling of dread seeping through her soul.
She had been so focused in her own thoughts that when she heard a loud crash followed by low swearing right behind her, she couldn't help the startled gasp that left her. Turning around quickly, she grinned at the poor sight that Tonks made, sprawled on the floor a heavy, probably antique chair pinning her down.
She helped the other woman up:
“You're not one to make a discreet entrance, are you Tonks?” The other was happy to simply send a murderous glare at her, after her comment.
“And I came here simply to do you a favour! You've got funny ways to show your gratitude Ginny,” the auror said, while waving her wand and putting the furniture in its right place.
“It was a perfectly innocent comment, stating something that is undeniably the truth, so you can't blame me.” Ginny laughed, and sat down in a couch, waiting for whatever news Tonks had brought.
“Ginny.”
Tonks voice had lost all humour, and the younger girl looked up, worried at the change of tone. “He'll be here in a few moments. You should prepare yourself. His portkey is set to arrive in the hall. It might be a good idea if you were there to great him. He isn't very happy with everyone else at the moment.” She took a look at her watch and continued. “Go on, move, Ginny, or there'll be no one there to greet him.”
Ginny didn't need to be told twice. She got up, and hurried down the stairs, a million thoughts running rampant in her mind. How would he react to the house? How would he deal with Ron and Hermione? Would he talk to her, or be cold and distant? She had a little over a week to get them back on good terms, to try to salvage their relationship before they were thrown into the crazy world of classes and homework that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
She heard a faint pop, and ran the last flight of stairs, stopping only when Harry appeared before her. Her heart constricted when she saw his face, and the way he was looking at the house around him. As if searching for the one thing he knew he wouldn't find in it anymore. She saw that his hands had started to tremble, the portkey he was holding dropped with a loud clank to the floor, and the air suddenly shimmered, albeit almost imperceptibly. Magic was tuned to emotions, she had read, and Harry's was apparently very responsive.
She took the last few steps that separated her from him, and reached up, hugging him tightly.
“Ginny,” he said, holding her almost convulsively, “I've missed you so much.”
He hadn't been prepared for the rush of emotions that had come crashing down on him the moment he had landed in his Godfathers' old house, the moment he became aware of his surroundings. Unwanted, painful memories of Sirius and of all the happy moments he had spent in this house.
It was all too much, he thought, the sorrow, the guilt, the longing, too much for a single person. He felt like turning round and running, never looking back. But he felt trapped: the exact same things that made him want to run, forced him to stay. He had a job that needed to be done, no matter how repulsing it may seem. And he knew, without ever having run, that he would never be free while he didn't, once and for all, fulfil his destiny.
Ginny's smaller body pressed to his gave him comfort he had never expected to gain from such a small gesture. Her hug had grounded him, reminded him of who he was, what he owed to the people around him, and to none more, or more deeply than to Ginny. She was a lifesaver, his lifesaver. The debt he owed this small girl was one he knew he would spend the rest of his life - however long that might be - repaying, and still never get even close to even.
The simple, friendly, gesture brought more comfort than he expected, and he allowed himself to relish it a bit longer than might be considered proper, or merely friendly. It was only when a new set of footsteps was heard in the stairs, and Tonks cleared her throat loudly, that he let her go, reluctantly. He whispered, as he did so, in her ear, “Thank you Ginny, for everything.” And more loudly, “Hello, Tonks.”
“Wotcher, Harry. As sorry as I am to leave you two lovebirds alone, I have an Order meeting to attend in the kitchen, where, I expect, some important things regarding you children should be decided,” the young woman said flippantly. “Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you should let them know you arrived safely.”
After Tonks had left the room, Ginny noticed a significant change in the atmosphere of the room. The air became stifling, and the slight shimmering increased tenfold. Ginny saw the anger in Harry's eyes, and the tensing in his shoulders, and although she was loath to admit it, it scared her. She hugged him a little tighter, and asked quietly what was wrong.
“They never learn, Ginny. Don't they understand that it's always worse to leave us in the dark? That we have a right to make our own choices regarding our own lives? That if we don't have a clear picture of what is going on, we are bound to make stupid choices? I thought Dumbledore understood, I thought that I had proved time and time again that I was capable of handling the truth…” His eyes were by now more silver than green, but he seemed to be enough in control of his feelings to handle the magic pulling at him.
“I know Harry. That's what Remus has been telling Dumbledore since you came back safely. We are already by far too much involved, by far too high targets to even pretend to have a normal life while the war is still going on.”
Harry smiled at her words, and she felt a little of the pressure easing,
“He has? I had no idea. I'll have to thank him then… And no one listens?” he inquired. She sighed before answering:
“It's really mum's fault, Harry. She can be very eloquent when her mind is set on something, and she doesn't want any of us in the Order, or even aware of what is going on. Call it super-protection, or maternal instinct, or whatever you want, but the fact is that if Lupin is alone, he can't win this fight. And his oath to the Order stops him from telling us himself.”
“What about Dumbledore?” he asked, again with a hint of anger in his voice.
“I think, Harry, that Dumbledore likes to decide by himself what exactly we know. This way he can control our actions a lot better… A kind of censorship if you will.”
Ginny stopped talking when the feeling of barely contained power reached her again, and looking at Harry, she noticed the faint glow that enveloped him, the same silvery glow that was now constantly in his eyes.
“The bastard. After all he told me, last year. He should know better. He knows he can't win this alone!” The glow was increasing, and Ginny felt the air cracking all around her.
Concerned, Ginny reached a hand, and touched his arm. He startled and the silver glow disappeared.
“Thanks Gin, I was about to lose it there…” He smiled at her.
“Yeah, I noticed that.” She gave him a sly grin, noticing that this was the first real smile she had seen in Harry's face since he arrived. But it faded quickly, replaced by something she knew well: guilt.
He took her hand in his, and holding it tightly, said in a small voice:
“Gin, I… I should apologise to you. And I don't think you should forgive me; god knows I don't. I'm sorry I put you in danger because of my letters.” He paused and the next words clearly cost him a lot. “I'll understand if you don't want to be close to me anymore, and if you chose not to be my friend, you've suffered more than enough, more than you deserve.”
Ginny couldn't believe what she was hearing. He couldn't seriously blame himself for what had happened.
“Harry, are you stupid or something?” He looked at her, surprise written all over his face. “This is not, and I mean none of this at all, is your fault. I was the one who wrote the letters, and sent them with Hedwig, even though everybody told me not to. Tom already knew I existed, he was the one who invaded my mind, and I was the one who wrote in the diary. So you can hate Voldemort, I can accept that after all he made us suffer, but you are forbidden to blame yourself. You should know better, Harry, you are too important for that, you must concentrate on the more crucial things.”
He didn't answer, but he listened. And after a few moments, he suddenly hugged her tightly once more, whispering over and over: “Thank you, thank you…” She let go of a breath she didn't realize she had been holding, and said:
“Come Harry, you don't have to thank me. We should go meet the prat and Hermione. They're upstairs. I must warn you, though, he is totally mad at us, for some unfathomable reason that he is the only one who can understand. He says that you put me in danger, and that I kept you from him, robbed him of his friends and things like that. Stupid git. How I would like to send a Bat Bogey at him. Hermione, on the other hand, is very, very sorry for her behaviour in the infirmary. She's been in a right state, wanting to apologise to you. Come, you'll see.”
“Ron's still mad at you?” He asked, as they made their way upstairs.
“Yes…” she sighed. “Ron isn't at a very good place right now. He didn't do too well on his OWLs and mum got a bit mad and Mione wasn't very kind either, so when he saw your results… in addition to that, he feels like he is losing his best friend…”
“He isn't losing his best friend!” Harry cried indignantly. “I only needed some time…” He paused, and hesitated before asking: “Then why did he go visit me?”
“Mum made him go, Harry. Said you needed his support, that he had no right to be mad at you. All of which are true, but it only made him more bitter.”
She stopped, as they were climbing the stairs and looked at him seriously.
“Harry, you must be kind with him. Don't let your temper get the better of you. He is miserable enough with me not talking with him, you must show him that he is not alone.”
“What am I, his therapist? I shouldn't have to deal with Ron's little identity crisis!”
“But… you're his friend Harry!” She was surprised at his reaction; that is, until she heard his laughter, and the mischievous glitter in his eyes. Hitting him playfully in the arm, she continued her climb up the stairs.
“Okay, Gin, I'll be nice to our most stubborn redhead, but you must promise to try to make up with him.”
She sighed dramatically, but accepted, thinking to herself that as long as he stopped being a prat, there was no problem with keeping that promise.
Harry opened the door to Ron's room. They could her the soft buzz of conversation going on inside the room, so they knew that Ron as well as Hermione were inside. As soon as he appeared in the doorstep, all sound ceased and Hermione suddenly launched herself at him, engulfing him in a hug. He was being crushed in her hug, and drowning in bushy brown hair. Smiling, he savoured the moment, the love and friendship he felt. This was his best friend, his sister, and he had to admit he enjoyed being hugged by her. It felt right, and he was glad that she hadn't been too hurt by his grades.
“Oh Harry! It's so good to have you back! I'm so sorry about the other day. I acted like an immature teenager, I'm sorry. I was jealous, and it's petty and ridiculous and below me, so please, please forgive me! I was so stupid! I acted awfully, I should…”
“Hermione.” Harry interrupted.
“I mean, I'm so ashamed of myself. I still can't believe I wasn't happy for you…”
“Hermione,” he said a little more forcefully. She stopped talking, and looked at him, her eyes, he noticed, where almost overflowing with tears, and she seemed genuinely miserable.
“You're rambling, Mione. Of course I forgive you. I know how important school is for you, and I don't care what your reaction was. If you put up with my mood swings last year, how can I be mad at you for that? And I should thank you for making me work so hard. I wouldn't have done nearly as well without your help.” He reached out to her, and hugged her once more, watching as relief became apparent on her features.
“Thanks, Harry, and you're welcome. I'm glad I could help. Have you chosen your classes yet?” she asked excitedly. “I chose to take seven classes, even though McGonagall said it would be a tight schedule. I'm taking Transfiguration, obviously, as well as Charms, Potions, DADA, Arithmancy, Duelling and Care of Magical Creatures. How about you?”
“Uh…” Harry was at a loss about what to answer. Truth be told, school had been far from his mind, and no one had questioned him on his choices since giving him his results. “I'm not very sure Hermione. How did you guys choose your classes?”
“Well, we received a form to fill in with our results, of course. You haven't applied for anything Harry? You haven't bought your material yet? How will you get your books?” Hermione was starting to sound a little frantic, so Ginny, thinking that the subject of classes had gone on quite enough, decided to cut in at this point.
“Don't worry, Mione, Dumbledore will probably have things sorted out once we get to Hogwarts.”
Throughout the whole conversation, Ron had been silent. Even now, as Hermione entered the room again and took her place beside him on the bed, he refused to even meet Harry's eyes. Hermione, noticing the underlying tension in the room now that she had stopped talking, looked at Ron expectantly.
There was an awkward silence, as every occupant of the room waited for Ron to do something, or to even acknowledge his sister and his best friend's presence in the room. To no avail. He kept his eyes fixed resolutely on the floor.
“Hello Ron,” said Harry quietly, as he took a step forward, and entered the room. Only silence greeted him. He was standing near the door, with Ginny just behind, waiting to see what Ron's reaction was going to be. It unnerved him no end that he no longer knew what to expect from his best friend, the one person he had always known he could count on to watch his back.
Tentatively Hermione asked: “Ron… are - are you going to say something?” She reached a hand and touched him lightly on the shoulder, afraid of what he might do.
All eyes were fixed on the redhead, and the silence seemed to stretch on and on, even as Ron's ears became redder and redder.
Finally, Ginny snapped. She grabbed the back of Harry's shirt and pulled him with her towards the corridor, half yelling at her brother as she left: “Fine, Ron, keep being a selfish prat. Harry doesn't deserve the way you are treating him. Just think about all that he went through, and compare his attitude to yours.” She grabbed the door, as if to snap it shut, but appeared to have a few more things to say. “You talk about Percy, Ron,” she hissed, “but you're just as bad as he is. I expect an apology, and soon, otherwise Mom will hear about this.”
The door slammed with a resounding crash, and Ginny stormed down the hall, pulling Harry with her.
She finally stopped, just before a closed door, and took a few deep, calming breaths, trying to get a rein on her ragging emotions. She didn't want to say anything to Harry that she might later regret.
“This is your room, Harry. Dumbledore helped the renovations along a bit, so that you could have a nice place to stay once you got here. I suppose you could call it your temporary home, since you won't be going back to the Dursleys anytime soon.” She motioned for him to follow her inside.
Harry thought for a fleeting moment that it was thoughtful of Dumbledore to prepare him a room. Didn't make up for everything he had messed up this far, but Harry was grateful nonetheless.
The room was simple, but decorated by someone who knew about his tastes. The walls were done in pastel colours, which made the furniture stand out. A few overstuffed armchairs were positioned around a fireplace, and a large desk and a bookshelf, filled with his books, stood near the window. He was glad the latter was quite large, and faced an empty, open space. London rooftops were visible as far as the eye could reach.
The other side of the room was filled with a comfortable four-poster bed, reminding him of Gryffindor tower, and making him long to be back at Hogwarts. But he would not dwell on those thoughts. There was much to be done before he could think about school again.
Turning towards Ginny, he asked:
“The books in the shelf seem to be mine, do you know if anyone got my stuff from the Dursleys? There were a few papers in my desk back there that were quite important.”
“Bill and Charlie were the ones who got your stuff, Harry. Mum put them away, your trunk is near the bed, your clothes in the wardrobe, and your papers, I assume, are in the desk. However, for your wand and your cloak, I think you'll have to see Dumbledore.”
Harry looked up, surprised, from his rummaging at the desk.
“You mean the Death Eaters didn't take them? I was already thinking about how to get myself a new wand… That's lucky, I guess. One less thing to worry about… I'll have to ask Dumbledore for them soon, I feel helpless without a wand. Naked and exposed.” Ginny noticed that he shivered visibly when he said that, even though the room was warm and welcoming.
He found all his letters stacked neatly in one of the drawers, and sighed in relief. He wondered for a moment if anyone had opened them, and if Dumbledore already knew that Sirius had emancipated him. He left his godfather's letter untouched. He was in no fit state to open that yet.
Plopping down on a chair., he saw that Ginny was still lurking near the door, as if afraid to invade his personal space. He didn't want to be alone right now, though. He needed someone to talk to, and Ginny seemed to be the only person he could stand for long periods of time those days.
“Come in Gin, sit down. If you've got nothing better to do, we could… I don't know, chat for a bit, and keep ourselves company. I don't really fancy being alone right now.” His tone was light and playful, Ginny noticed, but there was a slight pleading in his eyes. There was no way she could say no to him when he was looking at her that way.
He smiled when she came forward and sat down on one of the other armchairs, asking: “So what do you think of the room? I helped choosing the furniture.”
“Really? I love it Gin. The whole house, actually, seems fit for human habitation now. Your mum must have worked a lot here.”
She nodded, and waited a moment before changing the subject.
“You know Harry, if any of my brothers called me Gin, they would not see the end of the day.” She glared playfully at him, and continued. “I'm opening an exception for you, because I like the way you say it. Be aware that it's a great honour.” She blushed slightly, realizing he might take what she had said the wrong way, but was relieved when he simply laughed and looked at her appraisingly.
“I'll keep that in mind, Gin. I've heard that your Bat-Bogeys are quite the nasty experience.”
“Damn right. No one can escape from my Bat-Bogey. Not even the mighty Harry Potter.” He seemed to swallow painfully when she said this, and she was about to apologise, when he smiled.
“I'm not sure mighty is the correct adjective to use there, Ginny. You should try, maybe, magnificent, fantastic, awe-inspiring; they're much more striking.”
“You're one to talk, Potter. But don't worry, I'll use the correct vocabulary next time I have to describe you.”
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, each mulling their own thoughts and worries, Harry planning his next actions. Finally, he broke the silence.
“Ginny, do you think things will ever be the same again?” He laughed bitterly. “When I think about everything that's happening, Voldemort, Ron, Dumbledore, I can't help but wonder if it isn't a huge nightmare, and if I won't wake up soon.”
“I wish…” He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time and realized how worn out she was. She was pale, and her eyes weren't sparkling with life as he remembered. Concerned, he asked:
“How have you been, Gin? I got your letters, when I was in the infirmary, but Madam Pomfrey didn't want me to write… This whole thing must have been hard for you too.”
She smiled, and blinked back tears that were threatening to fall unbidden.
“I should be the one asking you this, Harry. You're the one who's been gone for two weeks.” She noticed how he tensed at the single mention of what had happened. It was the only sign that he was not comfortable with the subject, and Ginny asked herself how she was going to broach the subject with him, and when would be the proper time.
“Maybe you're right, Gin,” he said, “but I don't want to talk about that. At least not right now. However, I do want to know how you've been, and what's been going on in your life. It's much harder to talk then to write, but I think we should continue what we started during the summer.”
“Okay. I agree with that. But it must work both ways for this to work, I talk, you talk, we have a conversation. But I don't mind starting.”
“Then we have a deal, Gin. A personal and always willing ear to listen.”
“And a mouth to talk and give advice. As well as a shoulder to cry on, and a wand to help. You shouldn't forget that we'll always be there, Harry. Not just me; Hermione and Ron too, as soon as he gets a hold on his feelings.”
Harry's eyes were glowing, Ginny noticed. Whatever she had said had affected him. She didn't say anything on that, however, and choose to start to recount how the end of the summer had gone for her, she told him everything she had held back when she visited him in the hospital. The order, Ron's tantrums, and the constant fear. He listened, only nodding now and then, and smiling when she hit particular spots. When she talked about Voldemort, and how he simply imposed his presence inside her mind, the tears she had been keeping at bay finally took over, and rolled down her cheeks.
She hated to cry in front of him. Hated to show that kind of weakness. But he didn't seem to care. She was glad that there was no reproach from him in his eyes. There was no pity either, and she was pleased. She didn't want nor need his pity. All she could see was deep compassion, and comprehension, from someone who had been there, felt what she was feeling, dealt with what she was dealing. For her that was enough, and the greatest support anyone could give her.
Harry, once he saw the silent tears running down her face, made his way to her armchair, and slipped in beside her. With a gentle hand, he dried a few of her tears, but that simply made her cry a little harder. He had never been very talented when it came to consoling crying people, and physical contact was foreign country as far as he was concerned. With the slight girl in front of him, however, he simply acted by instinct.
Gently he drew her to him, and she buried her face in his shoulder, wetting his shirt. He gently stroked her back; bringing what measure of comfort and reassurance he could. Once her sobs subsided, he didn't let go of her, and she made no move to leave, either. This was the second time he had hugged Ginny in a single day, Harry thought, and he would gladly stay in her arms forever. It was certainly a comfortable place to be.
A/N: A huge thank you to my new beta Andy: you're the best!
Chapter 12: Trouble in Paradise
Chapter 10: Trouble in ParadiseHarry had been in Grimmauld place for almost a whole week, and he was ready to jump out the top window if it meant getting even a wisp of fresh air. He hadn't realized that coming back would be quite this hard. Image after image of other times, happier times, seemed to jump at him from every corner, slowly plunging him into that helpless state he had worked so hard to escape.
The house still served as Order headquarters, even though Harry had learned that everything that had been Sirius' was now his. He figured that, if things got rough, it would be a nice bargaining chip to have against Dumbledore if he didn't change his attitude soon. Harry just hoped things didn't go that bad… The sorting hat may have recognized this more devious side of him, ready to take the lead when needed, but that didn't mean that he liked using it.
However, he didn't think at that precise moment that this situation would be resolved without a bit of, we might call it, aggressive negotiations; he wouldn't have his ear glued to the door, and a couple of Fred and George's extendable ears making their way into an Order meeting unannounced if Dumbledore had been acting reasonably. He didn't precisely enjoy sitting in the hard stone floor, after all.
Trying to find a comfortable position, he thought ruefully that the Order was growing lax in their security precautions: now that the Twins were in, Molly wasn't quite as careful with her imperturbable charms as she had been. They shouldn't have let their guard down like this: the war was still in full swing, and the Ears were a common product, available to anyone that happened to waltz inside Weasley Wizarding Whizzes.
Concentrating on the voices coming in from the kitchen, Harry prepared to listen to the news he shouldn't have had to sneak around to hear.
Moody was in the middle of his report:
"…he is silent here in England, but many foreign factions are appearing around Europe. From what I have gathered from Intel, the largest ones are in France, Germany, Hungary and Poland. We fear that in those eastern countries he might try to contact the vampire population.
The leaders of those foreign factions are all inside You-Know-Who's inner circle, and respond only to him: this makes them even more dangerous, I believe, for they have true power of decision, and may attack with much more ease than we can defend with all the political struggles and responsibility issues.
Right now, these factions are slowly but surely building attack forces, capable of taking action as soon as a sign from their master is sent. Their response time, right now, should be around 20 minutes. Ours, roughly calculated by the aurors, should be about the triple of that. Facing the facts, if the Death Eaters chose to attack today, they would have an hour free reign to deal as much damage to their target as they want, and then escape unscathed."
Moody had delivered the report in a monotonous, unemotional voice. It was the voice of a seasoned fighter used to the most dire circumstances, and prepared to face them head on, with no illusions as to what exactly it was he was up against.
"Do you know what it is he is waiting for? You-Know-Who knows we are not ready to face him, that if he attacked today he would most probably have free reign of the continent in a matter of days!” Tonks voice, the only fixed thing about her whole appearance, was tight with worry.
It wasn't Moody, however, that answered. Dumbledore's voice was tired and more worn than any of them had ever heard it as he spoke to the whole Order.
"He wants to be sure that there will be no surprises awaiting him here. Tom wants to secure his home ground before venturing further into the world. He is keeping his forces close to him, so as not to be spread thin should something happen in Britain.
Harry's stubborn refusal to tell him what the prophecy says has proved to him that it is important information. He won't proceed before he is confident in his total victory. He won't risk another fiasco such as the one that happened fifteen years ago."
No one seemed to know what to answer to this. The members seemed to be deep in their own thoughts reflecting on the repercussions this news might have in their own private war. Each and every one of them could see that it meant only more fighting, more slaughter, in their own home.
"Moving on,” said Dumbledore, "it is my wish to take advantage of our complete numbers and discuss what has happened to Harry. The boy hasn't been open regarding his capture, and has limited his accounts to the bare minimum. I want reports from everyone that has been in contact with him. We need to be able to predict his action, have an idea of what is going on in his mind. Know exactly how the torture has affected him, so as to be able to take action if needed."
Severus Snape sneered, although Harry couldn't see it. He heard, however, the contempt in his voice when he said:
"I say we block his powers until he is able to control them. Every one of us can feel that he is close to losing control. A backlash that strong could tear down the wards and put the entire Order in danger. It would be in the best interest of all of us to put a restrain in them."
Harry, hearing this, did indeed have a hard time controlling his raging emotions. How dare they? How dare they even suggest such an action? He was bound to his magic, as strongly and as completely as anyone ever was. Since his ordeal at Malfoy manor he felt it pulsing, deep inside him, every moment of the day, just as he felt his heart; he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his magic was just as much an integral part of him as the blood that flowed in his veins. He hadn't figured out exactly what had happened to his powers, he only knew that it had something to do with the spell he had used to escape, and that had thrown the Death Eater at the wall. What he did know, however, was that him and his magic were no longer two separate identities, but two parts of a whole. If Snape thought he could somehow separate them, he had never been more mistaken in his life.
Dumbledore let the Potions Master finish talking, but as soon as he stopped, and before the angry muttering reached unwanted proportions, he stepped in:
"Severus,” he said tiredly, "we've gone over this already. We don't know exactly the extent of the psychological damage caused by his capture. I wouldn't want to put him through another wrenching experience so soon. Furthermore, I don't think that there is anyone in this room with enough power to contain his, except if the procedure was done willingly. You are, of course, free to try and convince him Severus.” The last was said with a small laugh.
Harry, outside the door, bristled angrily. Dumbledore had no right to be talking about him like this. He didn't even know if there was any psychological damage done to him, and he was appalled that the Headmaster was even considering taking his magic away from him. The mere thought was enough to terrify him, and there wasn't much this days that could terrify him. He was sure he couldn't live without his magic, with each passing day it became more and more of an integral part of him, as essential as any of his other organs. That his own allies, the very people that had sworn to protect him, were considering robbing him of his magic, what had the world come to?
Turning his attention back to the meeting, he heard Dumbledore speak:
"Well, does anyone have any relevant conversations to report?” Dumbledore asked pleasantly.
So, thought Harry, now I'm being officially spied upon by the Order.
How very charming! He smiled sardonically.
Remus cleared his throat uncomfortably before saying:
"I'm not very comfortable with where this meeting is going Albus. I think that, if we are to discuss Harry, he should at least be present, in order to give his opinion. It is not fair to make decisions concerning his welfare without him.” All the while, Remus was glaring with something akin to hate in his eyes, at the Potions Master.
"I understand, Remus, that you may feel uncomfortable with this, however, you have to understand that it is all for the best. I don't want any unnecessary amount of stress to be put upon Harry. The more time he has to recover, the better. We have to keep in mind, however, that as long as Harry doesn't master Occlumency, he is a liability and must therefore be treated as such. We don't know how his prolonged exposure to both the Cruciatus and Voldemort affected him. I don't want any information he might come across to somehow, even unwittingly, fall into the wrong hands."
The silence that followed this statement was, to Harry, one of the most dreadful in his life. He had never thought possible that the very people he trusted the most, the one he had counted upon to keep him in the loop and help him prepare, were the very ones he know discovered were actively working against him. Anger at that moment would be welcome, he thought; the disappointment, the pain of betrayal would then be much more bearable.
Sitting outside the door, he did not see the disapproving gazes of many Order members, that didn't, however, feel free to oppose openly to their leader. Sitting outside the door, he felt totally and completely alone, as even the hope of support was now gone.
After a few moments, Dumbledore spoke again:
If there are no other comments, we can move forward. Is there anyone with relevant information? What has he been doing with his time, is he still close to his friends, what has he been reading, what was his reaction to coming back to Grimmauld place? Any information at all is welcome, and may help us understand his state of mind at the moment."
Slowly, people began to talk. And soon, comments and stories began to overlap, people rushing to give Dumbledore all the information they had. Everything he had said and done since arriving back at Hogwarts was gone over and analysed, as if he was some sort of interesting test subject. Outside the door, Harry had trouble believing his ears.
Loads of voices, people he didn't even realize he knew, that he didn't even know watched him, spoke.
"He seems to be spending much more time reading than is natural."
"Yes, only Defence books, Ginny brought them to him, even when he was in the hospital."
"He is training a lot too, I think he must have gotten his hands in some kind of Auror training guide, the things he seems to know, and some of the exercises he's been doing can only be found in there."
"He isn't talking to Ron at all. And Hermione spends her whole time with him, so Harry doesn't talk to her either."
"They spend hours locked in the library, doing research. And it's not for homework, he finished that ages ago."
"When he walks into a room nowadays, there's this stifling feeling of barely contained power. It's quite scary actually… I'm always expecting something to blow up. I guess it's only a matter of time, or of someone getting to him enough."
With each voice that spoke, Harry felt a little more of his trust in the Order wither and die. He took note of those that didn't talk, and that he knew were the ones he would, later on, be able to trust again. Possibly. In the distant future.
"He's teaching my Ginny things too. They spend hours on end in that parlour, studying, and doing strange movements and exercises. But I know that none of it is schoolwork. I've seen some of the books. All advanced spells, old magic."
"Old magic?” asked Dumbledore, startled. "What kind of old magic, Molly?"
"The book was called, something like Altus Fides: a guide to old magic protections and shields I didn't say anything to them at the time, but I was worried Dumbledore. They are too young to be messing around with old magic. I knew it wasn't a good idea to leave the library open here."
She sounded honestly distressed, and Harry laughed internally. If she was worried about that particular book, perfectly innocent in his opinion, he wondered what she'd say to some others he and Ginny had found in the library of Sirius' house. It had become their new hiding place, as no one liked to enter the gloomy old room.
"The library will open for him with or without our interfering, Molly. This house is his, and it acknowledges it, even if the portraits don't. Even the wards are his to control, if he wanted. The only reason they still respond to me is that Harry hasn't wished for anything different, and hasn't actively tried to fight my control. We must tread carefully in this matter."
"But Albus, they are just children, they shouldn't be meddling in those things. It is dangerous magic."
"I know, Molly. For the time being, I will do nothing, but rest assured, I am taking the matter into consideration.” His voice made it clear that that particular matter was not open to discussion.
Dumbledore spoke to the silence that followed:
"I thank you all for your openness and willingness to share this crucial information. I will be talking to Harry tomorrow, and it is useful to be informed of what I will be facing. During our last meeting, he wasn't as forthcoming as he usually is."
A voice, that Harry did not know, but that sounded harsh and mocking, while still maintaining a certain feminine grace, said:
"What you mean to say, Professor, is that Harry didn't let you lose in his mind, and that you are wondering where he learned to block the most accomplished legilimens in the world without your help.” She laughed, a sound that reminded Harry of tinkling bells and warm summer nights, and that left him completely mesmerized, before continuing. "I find it, on the contrary, quite admirable that at such a young age he has already enough control over his thoughts, emotions and above all his magic, to maintain such a strong mental shield. He should be congratulated, Dumbledore, not spied upon in such a dishonourable way."
There was a deafening silence inside Grimmauld Place's kitchen, but outside, Harry was grinning. He had an ally after all. An unknown ally as of yet, but someone he looked forward to meeting.
"It is refreshing to see that you have lost none of your honesty, Elektra. You'll be able to congratulate him for his magical accomplishments if you so desire. You have, after all, accepted my proposition, haven't you?"
"Indeed. I have a debt that needs to be paid. But there will be no reporting, Dumbledore. What I do, say and teach, are my business, and my business alone. I am not a member of the Order, nor do I plan to become one, and I owe you nothing at all. I want that to be very clear, Professor.” She said this calmly, but there was no questioning her seriousness or the scarcely veiled accusation in her words.
"I could argue that Hogwarts being my school, I have the right to have a say on everything that goes on under its roof and inside its grounds. However, for better or for worse, I trust you Elektra, and I trust your judgement in this matter. So let us drop this subject and move forward, it is getting late"
The young woman snorted derisively, and whispered, so that only those closer to her could listen:
"You trust no one Dumbledore, that's your problem."
Meanwhile the Headmaster continued the meeting, drawing up plans of action and hearing other members' reports. But Harry couldn't process any of it. His mind was still numb after everything he had heard; still shocked at the callous and manipulative way Dumbledore was treating him.
He shouldn't have been fooled by the old man's act in the hospital wing. He should have known better. But he realized, even as his feelings for the headmaster took a turn for the worst, that he would still need his help, that he would still need training and guidance. Dumbledore was the only wizard he knew that could provide both. He would have to find a way to work with the old coot. This realization didn't stop the flows of anger and disappointment flooding Harry's system, and he chose not to let go of them. If he came prepared for the worst, there would be no surprises during their little conversation Dumbledore had planned for the next day.
Suddenly, when Harry realized that the sounds coming from inside the kitchen had changed and that meant the meeting was probably over, he got up quickly and silently, moved towards the staircase, and hid near the top, behind the thick old banister.
…
He wanted to take a good look at the Order, try to discover who the new members were, see if he could get a glimpse of the woman who had taken his side. He wanted to meet her. He felt, with a deep and unexplained certainty, that he could trust her. It was if he recognised her from his past, which was crazy, considering he had never seen her before.
He was disappointed, as most members left hastily, hoods drawn and not talking. He didn't even see of some if his old acquaintances were still working for Dumbledore. But he supposed that, if anything had happened, he would have known. Bad new had a way of always finding their way to him.
Sighing heavily, his mind working overtime to try and assimilate everything he had heard, Harry made his way upstairs, taking care to muffle his footsteps with a little internal magic (a trick Ginny had found and that was proving immensely helpful) and jumping over the creaking steps. He stopped at the landing when he noticed that there was still light streaming from under Hermione's door. She was still awake then.
Following some mad desire to talk to his almost sister again, Harry knocked lightly and pushed the door open. He knew it was probably a mistake; Hermione had made it quite clear that, even if neutral in words, she was going to support Ron in their stupid little argument. It didn't matter to Harry. He needed to know if he still had a friend, if he could still count on a welcoming ear, an unflinching ally. He wanted to talk to her alone before they were back at the crazy world that was Hogwarts, and this was as good a place and a time as any. At least it wasn't a planned meeting… She wouldn't have time to get her story straight; she would have to be honest.
Hermione was lying on the bed, wearing nothing but a thin nightgown. She was propped on her elbows, a thick, leather-bound book in front of her. Harry realized almost instantly that he could see much more of her skin than she would usually allow and that the nightgown left very little to the imagination; he felt his cheeks go warm. Slapping himself internally, and remembering why he was here, he cleared his throat, to make his presence known.
Hermione gave a startled gasp, and turned quickly, covering herself with the sheets.
Smiling slightly at her dishevelled appearance, he said in a light conversational voice:
"Hello, Mione. Do you mind if I come in for a sec? I wanted to talk to you."
"Oh, Harry! You startled me! I didn't hear you come in!” She took a deep calming breath. "Come in, just close the door behind you, will you.” Her voice sounded a little tense, and Harry noticed that she was fiddling with the sheets, twisting them in her hands. It annoyed him a little that he couldn't even have a simple, innocent conversation with Hermione without having her worry about Ron. He had thought they were better friends than that.
"Are you alright, Hermione?” he asked. "We haven't spoken in a long time, I wanted to see how you were doing."
"I'm fine, Harry, don't worry about me.” But her answer sounded forced, and Harry didn't buy it even for a second. "I should be the one asking that… How are you holding up?"
Harry, for a second, felt like giving her the usual "I'm fine” she had seen fit to offer him. However, thinking about all the things they had faced together, he decided to honour her with a truthful answer.
"I've been… dealing with stuff, Mione. I won't lie and say it's been all sunshine and roses, too much happened in too little time… sometimes I can't even believe that all of this is real. But Ginny's been a great help.” He had hopped to get a reaction from her with that last comment, maybe an explanation for her distance and coldness, or, if he was really lucky, an apology
All she did, however, was nod uncertainly, and twist the sheets a little more forcefully. She was, Harry noticed, totally uncomfortable with his presence. What had happened to their easy friendship? Their brutal honesty? God, he missed his Hermione, the bushy haired, know-it-all, who liked to mother him to death, and whom he had saved from an angry Troll. It was obvious she was not in this room, so he decided to leave this other girl, this stranger, be.
Not wanting to intrude any longer, he started backing towards the door, and apology at the tip of his tongue.
"Should I go, Mione?” he asked at last, one hand already holding the doorknob.
"No!” she cried. "Don't go… It's just… Harry, I-I miss you, but I wouldn't like Ron to see you here, he would freak out!” She was pleading, begging him to understand, and to forgive her.
"I know, Hermione. I just wished that my problems with Ron wouldn't hurt our friendship. It's unfair to make you chose between us. I just wanted to keep being your friend, to be able to, once in a while, carry on a conversation with you without having to hide and sneak inside your room during the night.” He said all of it quietly, calmly, trying to keep all accusation out of his voice. He didn't want to make her feel guilty; he only wanted his friend back.
She had tears in her eyes, threatening to stream down her face at any moment now, but she had at least stopped torturing the poor sheets, and was only staring at Harry, struggling to say something. Anything.
"I also want to continue being your friend Harry. I'm sorry I haven't been there for you. I-I really wanted to. It's horrible to be right here, under the same roof, and not being able to talk. I had thought that, if I didn't get involved in your argument, it would be fine. But Ron wants to hear nothing about it. He said that if I so much as spoke to you, he would know I had chosen a side. I know it's horrible, Harry, but I don't want to abandon him know. I'll do more good by his side, trying to convince him to make up with you, than fighting him, being another enemy. I don't want to abandon him, Harry. His family has already turned its back on him…"
All through her tirade, Harry said nothing. It was all perfect logic, obviously, it was Hermione he was dealing with, but when she talked about the Weasleys, he snapped back:
"They turned their backs on him because he is wrong, Hermione. Look at the way he's been treating Ginny! All of it simply because she helped me, was a friend when I needed one the most. I was slipping Hermione! I didn't have anything left to live for, or at least that was what it felt like at the time. After Sirius… After Sirius died, I was a goner, Voldemort would have had his work cut out for him. She brought me back!” His eyes were clouded, his voice brimming with emotion.
"Yes, but look what those letters did: you, imprisoned by You-Know-Who; Ginny again under his radars and having visions that could rival with yours!” Hermione immediately realized that it was the wrong thing to say. Harry's green eyes flashed with a dark light. She might be certain he would never intentionally hurt her, the power she felt in the air was still enough to make her shake in fear.
Harry was furious, and when he spoke it was in a tightly controlled voice:
"You may be right. After all, no good deed goes unpunished, and every action has it opposite. To keep the cosmos balanced, or so they say.” His voice dripped sarcasm. "However, what I am certain, Hermione, is that her letters were what kept me going, they're what made me want to stay alive. I would never have gotten out of that place if I didn't have something to hope for, and without Ginny, I wouldn't have anything to hope for. She saved me… And I will never be able to thank her enough. If there had been no letters, it is possible that there would have been no kidnapping - and that's not a certainty, I have information that Voldemort needs - but there would be no Harry either to save the freaking wizarding world. So you shouldn't be blaming Ginny for something she did with the purest and most noble intention, taking every measure of precaution she had at her disposal. You should, in fact, be eternally grateful that she took an initiative no one else did."
As he spoke, small sparks of power seemed to erupt around his hands, and Hermione cowered in fear. She was at the same time amazed and afraid of the display of power in front of her, but most of all she wanted it to end.
She wondered what had happened to Harry, what had made his powers grow this much in such a small amount of time. There was a time she might have asked, but she felt she had lost the right to enquire after such personal details of Harry's life. Not that he would have answered if she had had the guts to ask… he was obviously quite angry, and apparently not done with his speech.
"As for Ginny,” he continued, "it's a fact that she's at a risk. I know it, she knows it, even her parents know it. And we're all willing to accept the risk, as there is nothing else for it. There is no alternative path, no hideout safe enough for her while Voldemort,” she flinched and his eyes flashed at her cowardice, "is still alive. We must carry on, keep building a world worth living on, worth fighting for, otherwise, he has already won."
He paused, and waited for some kind of reaction. Hermione didn't even have tears left to cry; she just sat in the bed, stunned, and for the first time in many years, speechless.
"You know I would never let anything happen to Ginny, if it were in my power to stop it, don't you Hermione? I would trade my life for hers, if it meant she would be safe. I thought you of all people would understand and respect that."
He threw a last, half angry, half disappointed look at her, and left the room, without a backwards glance. The stifling feeling of barely contained power left with him, and Hermione was once again able to take a deep, shuddering breath.
She fell down on the bed, clutching her pillow, realising, for the first time that week, that her action and her choices really did have consequences, and that she might, however unwittingly, have lost a friend because of her unfeeling comments and linear logic.
She closed her eyes and cried herself to sleep.
A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the new chapters. The next is already with my beta, Andy (by the way, I need to thank you again, you're great!) so you should see it soon enough!
Chapter 13: Of compromises and further drifting. (part1)
A/N: If anyone is wondering why these last few chapters took so long, take a look at my profile: for once, it wasn't entirely my fault!Dost thou swear it serpentine?
Or do I find thy secret lies,
Will haunt me for the rest of time?”
Monvagon Minchanton -“ Creatures Words.”
Chapter twelve: Of compromises and further drifting.
As Harry slowly moved his pawn to block an advance by Ginny's rook, he's mind begun to wander. He wondered how Sirius had managed to stay inside this house for the better part of a year, without losing it completely. Harry was sure that if he stayed there much longer, the memories would be enough to finish the job the Dementors had started when he was in that prison. He was hanging to his sanity by a thread.
The house had certainly been changed: it was now filled with clear rooms and airy spaces, no remains left of its gloomy past. But that wasn't enough for Harry to forget the past. He felt like he was continually drowning in painful memories and there was nothing he could do to save himself.
If it wasn't for Ginny's soothing presence and her continuous efforts to keep his mind busy by training, talking and studying, he was sure he would have already left, taking his chances with Voldemort and his minions.
And the truth of the matter was, bloody Ronald Weasley wasn't helping matters either. His whole family was now involved thanks to Ginny's intervention, and no one seemed to be able to talk any sense into his thick skull.
The twins were the first to give up, and had settled into simply making his life miserable as long as he continued to act like a selfish six year old (and that was probably insulting the poor child, thought Harry). Bill had stated quite plainly, and before half the Order, that if he couldn't act like an adult, he shouldn't expect to be treated like one. Harry was pretty sure Bill hadn't said five words stringed together to Ron since that declaration. The curse breaker was quite comfortably going about his business without acknowledging Ron's presence. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to be growing increasingly angry and hateful.
Harry wasn't very sure that what the Weasleys were doing would help the matter. As long as Ron was angry, he wouldn't apologize, and they wouldn't be able to move on with their lives…
The only person in this whole affair that had remained loyal to him was Hermione. Harry had seen her, every now and then, shooting him apologetic glances, behind Ron's back. She wouldn't however, come and talk to him, and that was something Harry was starting to get annoyed with and not a little hurt.
It was safe to say that the atmosphere at Grimmauld place was tense. Harry knew that it was only a matter of time before someone really lost it, and then it wouldn't be pretty.
As Ginny moved her queen, putting Harry in quite an uncomfortable position, Molly Weasley burst into the room, saying urgently, “Harry, dear, there you are, I've been looking for you all over the place! Hurry, Professor Dumbledore wants to have a word with you.”
Harry didn't move for a few seconds. Ginny saw the anger flashing in his eyes, and half expected the waves of tightly controlled magic that came next. Except it never came, and she was not a little amazed at how well he was controlling his emotions. His face was as mysterious as a closed book, and even his eyes were now cold and unreadable.
He was seething inside, wondering if the headmaster expected him to be ready to answer his every call and whim. He chose, however, not to fight the summons, and go talk to Dumbledore. After all, who knew, maybe they could find some sort of agreement, maybe they could work together. Those may be childish hopes, but Harry really wished it were possible. Voldemort had already won, if they fought amongst themselves.
His headmaster was seated in the kitchen table, calmly sipping a cup of tea as if nothing was the matter. He smiled warmly when he saw the young man coming in, but the expression faltered when he saw the look in his pupil's eyes.
“Good afternoon, Harry. I trust you are better than the last time we met?” The old man could still remember the pain Harry had been in during his stay in the Hogwarts infirmary.
“I'm as well as can be expected under the circumstances, Professor. Might I ask what it is you want with me, sir?” Harry thought he saw a small flicker of hurt in the wizened wizard's face, and he felt guilt tearing at his heart. But he controlled his emotions, and reasoned that what Dumbledore had done was much worse than his own abruptness.
“No time for pleasantries, then. Very well. I wanted to discuss your timetable with you, Harry. For your next school year.”
When Harry heard that, he felt like laughing aloud. The headmaster himself, come all the way to Grimmauld place to discuss his schedule? Of course, as if he had nothing better to do.
“Really, sir?” he asked, letting a little of the scepticism he felt appear in his voice and demeanour. “You came all the way here simply to have me fill in a form?”
Dumbledore laughed at his question, and answered lightly, “I was already around, Harry, so it wasn't a long trip. Furthermore, I wished to check in on you, see how you were doing.”
Harry's face closed off even further, his eyes resembling two chips of silver fire. This did not escape the headmaster notice: it only worried him further. Harry needed training, desperately, urgently. They couldn't let him lose himself in the magic, couldn't let it consume him. Dumbledore was in fact quite impressed with the amount of control Harry had over himself and his powers… He hadn't needed to solve any magical emergency yet, and Harry had been released from Hogwarts a whole week before.
“Thank you for your concern, Professor, as you can see, I'm fine. Hermione told me I had to fill in some kind of form? And I will need to go to Diagon Alley as well: I have some things to do there that can't be postponed indefinitely.” Dumbledore noticed the not so subtle change of subject, but didn't press the issue further. He would let Harry have his way in this conversation.
“Here is the form you have to fill, Harry,” he said, handing the boy a piece of parchment and a self inking quill, “Why don't you complete it, and we can then work on your schedule, as there are a few other classes, training mostly, that I would like you to attend.” He didn't mention Diagon Alley. Harry wouldn't be going there if he had a say in the matter.
Harry looked at the paper. In it were listed all the classes he was eligible to take at a NEWT level, as well as a recommendation for students not to enter more than five, or at the utmost six classes, since the workload and class-time was very important in each and every subject.
He scanned the list, and finally decided on following the path he had discussed with McGonagall the year before, at least for the time being. There would be time to worry about other possible carriers later on, now he needed to work on his battle skills, and on staying alive. He circled Transfiguration, Charms, - after the slightest hesitation - Potions, Defence against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures and finally Duelling, something he had qualified for since he had pulled off an O in DADA. It sounded interesting anyway. He signed the paper, and it immediately transformed into his list of necessary items for the next term. He would take care of those once he was in Diagon Alley.
He turned back towards Dumbledore expectantly. “What else did you wish to discuss with me Professor?”
“First of all, Professor McGonagall asked me to deliver this to you, with a strict warning that she expected the cup to remain in her office, seeing as she has become quite fond of it.”
Harry smiled delightedly when he was handed the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain badge. It was something he had always wanted, and yet half-expected never to get. After all, there were other people with a much vaster knowledge of the game that might… But he wouldn't think about that now, he was simply glad that for once he had a responsibility that he might actually enjoy.
The headmaster was pleased to see a smile in Harry's face for the first time since he had got back. He let the boy flavour it for a few moments before continuing, “On to some more serious business, Harry: I would like you to follow some extra training this year, with your Defence and your Duelling professors. Twice a week, about two hours after dinner. Is that acceptable to you?”
“That means I would have only three free evenings… Professor, how am I supposed to keep up with my homework? And with Quidditch?”
Smiling, the headmaster said, “You'll notice, Harry, that with your knowledge of magic deepening, you'll be able to keep up with your usual classes quite easily.”
“If you say so…” Harry mumbled.
“Furthermore, I would like to train you as well a few hours every week. I'll find a few hours on your schedule and let you know when you are at Hogwarts. Is that agreeable to you as well?”
“I'm agreeable to anything that doesn't involve Snape, Headmaster.” Harry said forcefully, and he was most serious about it. He'd have to deal with the man enough as it was, during classes; he wasn't going to subject himself to his abuse during his free time.
Dumbledore smiled and said, “I was going to ask him to further your Occlumency training, however, I think I shall assume that responsibility. You'll have classes together with Miss Weasley, since she needs to master the skill as well.”
Harry simply nodded his consent, a little worried about how he would manage to cope with all of this, in addition to Quidditch, and the DA, that he would be starting again.
“Very well, Professor, I'll do as you ask,” his voice was by no means warm, but the outward coldness that had been there had faded considerably, “I do have a request of my own, however. I will be continuing the DA this year, as the Defence Association, and I want to make it an official club. I trust this won't be difficult?”
“I would like to think that with a decent Professor, that wouldn't be needed. Don't you have enough on your plate already, Harry?” Dumbledore asked concernedly.
“Do you allow the club or not, Professor?” Harry asked, staring hard at the old man.
“Is this some kind of ultimatum Harry? Either I allow the club, or you won't follow the training?” The headmaster said this extremely calmly, but there was a strong disappointment in his expression. “Do you not wish to do this?”
Harry's eyes flashed, and he said, angrily, “Of course I want to train, Professor, I've done nothing but train since I heard the blasted prophecy, all on my own. However, I have come to realize two things during this summer: that I can't fight this war alone, and that war doesn't only come to those that are ready for it. I want to be sure that as many people as possible are prepared to defend themselves when or if they are attacked. Furthermore, I want to know that there are at least a small number of people at Hogwarts that I am able to trust unconditionally. Mione will make sure there are no traitors in our ranks, and I'll make sure they know what to do when the time comes.”
When Harry saw that the headmaster wasn't inclined to accept his project - probably didn't feel comfortable sharing even that small amount of power over his students - Harry got annoyed. Hi eyes hardened, and his face became a blank mask. “I'll be doing this, Professor, whether you give me your permission or not. You know that we are quire adept at sneaking around; we have been doing it this far. It would be much more productive, however, if the club were out in the open, it isn't, however, necessary for it to be.”
“You aren't leaving me much of a choice Harry.” The headmaster said, quietly, so as not to anger him further.
“You didn't either, Professor.” At this, the old man's gaze that had been wondering through the room snapped back to Harry. There had been an inflection in the boy's voice, a small hint of accusation that made Dumbledore wonder what exactly it was that he knew.
“What do you mean, Harry?”
Harry answered with a question of his own: “What has been going on in the Order Professor?”
Dumbledore was silent, wondering how or if Harry had managed to listen in to a meeting. Had someone grown relapse with the warding of the room?
“You know, Professor, you could have saved yourself the trouble and simply asked me what you wanted to know.” Harry said, his voice still freezing, but the slightest bit of hurt and disappointment appearing in his whole countenance.
There was his answer: Harry had listened, and to the worst possible one.
“Would you have told me what I wanted to know, Harry?”
“Probably not everything. Some things, at least, I might have. In exchange for your confidence; after all, you had promised to keep me on the loop. Now, however, I don't know who to trust, Professor. I certainly can't trust you.”
Dumbledore's face registered not a little amount of surprise. This was a new aspect altogether of Harry. And he wasn't, truth be told, used to having it said to his face that he wasn't trustworthy.
“I am sorry to hear that, Harry.”
“You're sorry?” Harry gave a bark of laughter. “Is that all you have to tell me, Dumbledore? That you're sorry?” Harry glared daggers at the other man.
“What do you want from me, Harry? I've been doing my best to keep you safe, and allowing you to lead a normal life.”
“That isn't nearly good enough!” Harry growled. “We're at war, Professor, and whether you want it or not, I'm in the centre of it. I am, not you, sir. I would expect, given the circumstances, to be kept on the loop, to have enough information to be able to make clear decisions instead of diving into the unknown headfirst, hoping to get out of it alive. We need information, in order to make the right choices, taking the whole picture into account.” Harry was breathing hard as he finished his little tirade. He was hanging in to the back of a chair with such strength that his knuckles had turned white and the small glow of power was encompassing his hands.
Dumbledore was silent for a long time. He was surprised, shocked. He had forgotten whom it was he was dealing with. This was the boy that had escaped from Voldemort's stronghold after two weeks of torture. All alone. Not a simple student that he could lead by the nose.
“Do you understand, Professor?” Harry continued. “Empty promises are no longer good enough. I want to be able to chose, to have a say in any decisions that concerns me. You had assured me, Professor, that that wouldn't be an issue anymore. Have you kept your promises?”
It was hard to admit, but Harry was right. More than a week had passed, yet he had said nothing, had conducted Order meetings under his nose, and had not deigned tell him what was said and what was discussed. Harry deserved an apology; otherwise he risked losing even the small amount of trust the boy had placed on him.
“You are right, Harry, and I apologise. I am an old man, and old habits are hard to break. You'll have to forgive me.” He said, smiling comfortingly.
“That isn't good enough either, Professor. I need more than and apology.” Harry said, looking the professors straight in the eyes, unblinking.
“Of course, I would expect nothing less from you, Harry.”
Harry took a deep breath, controlling his ragging emotions that were ordering him to walk away and forget Dumbledore and his Order. The more reasonable part of him, in the other hand, ordered him to stay and work out some kind of truce. He needed Dumbledore's advice, he needed his training and his help, he didn't however, need to be guided every step of the way.
“Very well, Professor, what is going on?”
Dumbledore hesitated for a long moment, and finally said, “I would be much more comfortable discussing this after you have finished your Occlumency training. It would simply not do for Voldemort to find out just how much the Order knows. I'm sorry, Harry.”
Dumbledore was surprised at how fast the atmosphere of the room changed, and the stifling feel of magic overwhelmed his senses. Harry, that had finally relaxed enough to sit down, sprang up once more, and said, his voice low and dangerous, “Were you not there when I told you that Voldemort doesn't control my mind anymore? Were you not there when I assured you that he didn't even know the contents of the Prophecy? It is rewarding to see the confidence you have in my words, sir.”
Harry stopped talking for a moment, and just glared, trying to decide if it was worth it to try to convince Dumbledore. He finally continued. “I had hopped that my proficiency to defend my mind even in the physical presence of Voldemort would be enough to convince you. But if you aren't willing to take my word for it, by all means, do test my abilities yourself.”
The headmaster nodded, and almost casually, with no warning whatsoever, pointed his wand at Harry and whispered, “Legilimens.”
Harry was taken completely by surprise, and even stumbled backwards a few steps. This wasn't Dumbledore's silky touch, almost undetectable; this was Dumbledore trying to prove a point. Well, Harry wasn't going to let him do it!
It was a good thing Harry kept up mental barriers at all times, otherwise Dumbledore's first assault would have been his downfall. The magic crashed against his mind like a tidal wave. And he almost caved in.
Concentrating, Harry found his centre, and his focus. Breathing evenly, he called for his magic, and as it had never done before, it answered. Harry was used to having a few slight wisps of magic at his disposal when reinforcing his barriers. Today, he felt like he had enough power at his hands to construct a fortress. For a fleeting moment he wondered what was happening to his powers, before he focused once again in the task at hand.
Dumbledore, as he conducted his mental assault, saw the slight glow that Ginny had already seen once, slowly surround Harry's body. The resistance he was encountering was amazing, much stronger than anything he had ever seen in a student. Not at all what he had expected, considering Severus's reports.
After a few minutes, he broke off the attack, not having, even for a second, managed to breach the barriers. Harry stumbled as the pressure was relieved, and leaned against the wall, completely winded.
The shields were by no means what one might call usual or traditional Occlumency shields. They were undoubtedly, however, just as efficient. It was held mostly by willpower, and Harry obviously had that in spades. How the boy had managed to construct that on his own, however, was a question running through his mind.
“Very good, Harry. How did you construct your defences? Who helped you? Have you been in contact with anyone this summer?”
“No one helped me!” Harry snapped. “Snape did mostly the contrary. I worked with a few books, and mostly messed around until I found a method that worked for me. Are you satisfied now, Headmaster?” Harry asked scathingly.
“I am, Harry. What do you want to know?” Dumbledore didn't rise to the bait, and didn't react to Harry's tone.
“Right now, no thanks to you, I know all I need to know. I hope in the future you won't withhold essential information from me.” Harry glared and, without another word, started to storm out of the kitchen. He stopped at the door, however, and said, through gritted teeth, “I will be going to Diagon Alley sometime next week. If you want to send someone with me, let me know, otherwise, I shall go alone. I don't care one way or the other.”
“Harry!” Dumbledore exclaimed, standing up for the first time. “You can't leave the house, it's not safe!”
“I wasn't asking, Dumbledore, I was stating a fact. As far as I know, I am not a prisoner, nor are you my legal guardian. You can't keep me here.”
“Do you want to get caught again, Harry? I thought you knew better.”
“I don't plan to get caught. And I won't let Voldemort hinder my life. I can take care of myself.”
“Harry…” Said Dumbledore, his voice pleading.
“This matter isn't open for discussion, sir. I was letting you know that I have business to take care of at the Alley, and that I would be going there sometime next week. Nothing else. Goodbye, sir.”
With those words, Harry turned around and left the room, leaving a frustrated and slightly scared man behind.
A/N: Had to cut the chapter in two! So, please continue to the next part (or leave me a few words about this one, lol)...
Chapter 14: Of compromises and further drifting (part 2)
A/N: Part two... Sorry the chapter is cut in two, I have no idea why this is happening...The door to the study Ginny was in burst open, and Harry stormed in. Things hadn't gone too well at the meeting, then, Ginny thought. Especially if the flash in Harry's eyes and his inability to stand still were anything to go by. Her heart constricted when she realized that, more than angry, Harry was hurt.
Cursing Dumbledore under her breath, she motioned for him to come and sit beside her in the couch. She wanted to know what had happened, but first she needed Harry to calm down some.
He sat, but didn't look at her. She wondered if he was even aware that she was there. He simply let his head fall in his hands, and tried to get a grip on his emotions. Ginny hesitated for a moment, wondering if maybe she should simply leave Harry alone for a while, let him deal with things. But finally, she decided to stay. She was his friend, and she wouldn't leave him alone when he so obviously wasn't fine.
She tentatively reached forward, and put a comforting hand in his hunched back, rubbing it soothingly. She could feel his heartbeat and his quick breathing under her fingers, and it calmed her, knowing that he was there, even if he was an emotional wreck. She waited until he had calmed enough for his hands to stop shaking, and said, “I take it the meeting didn't go well?”
“Understatement, Gin.” Harry mumbled, his voice muffled by his hands.
She didn't want to force him, but she felt compelled to ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He sighed deeply, and let his head fall back on the couch, closing his eyes. Ginny felt that he was trying to run away from this whole situation, that all he wanted at the moment was to get as far away from that house and those people as he possibly could. It scared her, for she wondered how much longer he could stand, before he snapped and simply walked away. As far away as he possibly could.
It took a while, but finally he started talking. “Dumbledore…was being Dumbledore. Why does he insist in treating me like a child, Gin? Why does he continue to keep me in the dark? After everything that's happened, everything I've been through, he only sees the stupid eleven year old that arrived at Hogwarts and knew nothing about magic.”
He grew silent, but Ginny knew better than to interrupt him. She knew he wasn't done yet.
“He knows this is my war, and that I can't possibly fight it without information. He knows it will eventually come down to me, and only me.” He gave a mirthless laugh as he continued. “Believe me, this point was brought home pretty effectively last June. Then why doesn't he let me loose? Why?”
Ginny started as she heard the last bit of his diatribe. What did Harry know? What did Dumbledore know that they didn't? He sounded so sure! She was torn between asking, and waiting for Harry to tell her in his own time. Of course, she'd always had a slight suspicion, but it was never confirmed…
Finally her curiosity won, and she asked, “How can you be so sure, Harry? What exactly does Dumbledore know that we don't?”
Harry flinched, and shot her a panicky look. It was obvious he thought he had said too much. Indeed, at the end, Ginny was pretty sure he had forgotten she was in the room, and was talking mostly for his own benefit.
For a moment, Ginny thought he was simply going to change the subject, and she would have to let it drop. But soon a sort of calm fell over his countenance, and he seemed to reach a decision. A moment latter he said, his voice cool and detached, as if he was reciting a well learned lesson, something that he had gone over so many times in his mind that he could go over it even tied up and half dead.
“You remember the prophecy that smashed at the Department of Mysteries?” She nodded and he continued. “Well, that copy was gone, but the Headmaster had heard it from the source, the Seer herself gave it to him, many years ago, just before I was born.”
“Who was the Seer?” Ginny asked, noticing that he was starting to struggle with whatever it was he was trying to say.
“Trelawney,” said Harry, “amazing, right?” She nodded.
“Well, he showed it to me, when we came back. After… After Sirius.” He got a grip on himself once more, and continued. “In short, it says that I'm the only one with the power to vanquish Voldemort, that I have some sort of mysterious power, and that, someday - soon I think - we'll have to face each other, and one of us will not walk out alive. Kill or be killed, basically.”
Ginny nodded, signalling that she had heard what he said. It took her a while longer to process everything. So, as it was, she had been right, and her gut feeling had just been confirmed. It didn't change anything. Not really, she told herself. And with that thought, she turned to Harry and said, “Well, Harry, this isn't such a huge surprise, after all. I had always half expected it to be you. After all, you're the one that saved me from Tom, and defeated him all those years ago. It's logical that you're the one that will have to finish off the job.”
He gave a mirthless laugh at this.
“Well, I never expected anything of the sort. I always assumed it would be Dumbledore - you should have seen him duel at the ministry, Ginny, a sight to see - maybe the Order or the Aurors. No. I never thought it would be me.” He was shaking his head despondently as he said it.”
She smiled comfortingly, and took his hand, squeezing it lightly. “It will be hard Harry, but you won't do this alone. We'll train and study and work our asses off until you're ready for this. You might be the one to the actual Dark Lord chopping, but we'll be there by your side every step of the way.”
“We Gin?” he asked, even if he did smile slightly after what she said. “I don't see anyone else in the room.”
Sighing exasperatedly, Ginny replied, “Yes Harry, we. Ron's being a prat, but he'll have to come round eventually, and Mione's still your friend, she just thinks that Ron needs her attention right now.” Smiling cockily, she continued, “Ron gets Mione, and you get me. Come on, it isn't such a bad deal! At least I don't make you study by force during the holidays!”
Harry grinned, and answered, “That's all a bunch of excuses and you know it Gin. The fact of the matter is that Mione can't keep her eyes off Ron, and is neglecting poor old me!”
“Oh! Ickle Harry is feeling neglected? Isn't there anything I can do to help solve your little problem?” She asked, while laughing delightedly.
Harry slid closer to her as he said, softly, making Ginny's heart catch. “Umm, I think a kiss would probably solve a big part of my problems…”
“You think so?” She answered, leaning closer to him. “I believe I could help you, then.”
Ginny was about to do as he had asked, that is, kissing him senseless, when the door burst open once more and her brother Bill walked in. The two of them jumped apart guiltily.
Bill seeing this, grinned broadly and asked roguishly, “Am I interrupting anything little Gin-Gin?” he laughed at her disgruntled glare and continued. “You should have posted a notice at the door, so no one would bother you.” Then, frowning mischievously, “Is there anything I should know about? You know, I have to fulfil my big brother duties and all…”
“Bill!” Ginny growled, “There was nothing going on that concerns you!” The way his sister was looking at a blushing Harry, and how her eyes were sparkling madly betrayed her however, as far as Bill was concerned.
“Okay, little sis, I was just asking!” He was smiling broadly, however, seeing his sister that happy was a rare thing. “Mum sent me to call you, by the way - dinner will be served in five. You two coming?”
That night, when most of the household was already tucked in bed, Hermione quietly crossed the corridor that separated her room from Harry's, careful not to crack any floorboards and not to make any noise, lest she wake Ron up.
She found the person she was looking seating before a roaring fire, even though it was the middle of summer. His feet were pulled under him, and he had a book propped on his knees. That was new. The Harry she knew didn't usually read for pleasure.
He didn't move when she entered, and did nothing whatsoever to acknowledge her presence, even once she was seated. She waited until he lifted his eyes to her face, before saying, “Hello, Harry”
“Hi Hermione. How nice of you to drop by. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Harry's voice was quiet when he said this, but she felt the badly hidden sarcasm. When had Harry become sarcastic? Hermione felt like she was missing in an essential part of her friend's life, and it hurt her more than she was willing to admit.
“I-I wanted to talk to you.” She said hesitantly, her first eagerness slightly damped by his detached response.
“I wanted to talk to you too. A pity it has to be in the middle of the night, don't you think? A pity we have to hide.” He was staring at her fixedly, and she felt uncomfortable, fighting the urge to fidget.
“What happened to us, Harry? Why did we let it come down to this?” She sighed heavily. “Since when do I have to creep up to your room to try to have a conversation with you? This is ridiculous!”
Harry didn't answer for quite some time, but then said, with a twinge of bitterness in his voice, “I would like nothing more than to talk to you Hermione. The only thing stopping you from doing that is yourself.”
“You know that's not true, Harry! Ron -”
“Is acting like a selfish prat, Hermione.” Harry interrupted harshly. “And yet you chose to stay by his side… Why Mione? I though you knew better. Or is there something else to be taken into account? Something you aren't telling us?”
“I don't agree with what Ron has been doing, Harry!”
“Then why?” They were silent a moment, before Harry said, lowering his eyes. “I needed you, Mione. I needed my friends, when I got back, and you both turned your backs on me. If it weren't for Ginny…” He stopped, and lifted his gaze.
“I understood the message, Hermione. It was crystal clear. From now on, if any of you want to get close, the effort will have to come from your side. I'm done, Hermione. I have too much to deal with right now, to lose my time and energy on Ron's petty emotional issues. And you seem to have chosen a side too, so…”
“Harry, it's not like this!” She exclaimed, pleading. “I didn't want to have to choose between my friends, Harry! That isn't fair, I thought you understood!”
“But you have chosen, Hermione. Don't you see? You chose Ron! I understand, Mione, really, I do, and under normal circumstances I would have been more than happy that the two of you are finally working things out. You did always see him as more than a friend, didn't you? And I won't even mention Ron… He's been crazy about you since fourth year, I think. Maybe even before…” He shook his head, as if to clear it from the memories, and turned back to the matter at hand. “I hope everything works out for you, Mione, for the both of you. But I can't- I can't deal with this right now. I had promised Ginny I'd try, but I can't anymore, not after today. I have so much to do! And I'm just too tired.” Too hurt, too, but he didn't say it aloud.
They sat, and uncomfortable silence seemed to fall in the room. Finally, Harry said, “You should go, Mione. It wouldn't do for Ron to find you out of bed.”
“I don't want to go, Harry. I - you're one of my closest friends, almost my brother! What happened, Harry? We were so good together!” She was blinking furiously, trying to stop the tears from falling. She didn't want to cry, not right now. She was stronger than that!
“Yeah, we were.” He smiled slightly, but his voice still had a bitter twinge to it. “We could even have given the marauders a run for their money. Voldemort happened, Hermione. And Ron's stupid jealousy happened. And now, here we are, meeting secretly, in the middle of the night.” Trying to salvage the last tatters of their friendship. Not that there was much left to work with, Harry thought.
“Do you think,” she seemed to hesitate for a moment, “do you think things will ever be the same again? Do you think everything will go back to normal?”
“That would depend greatly on your definition of normal, Mione.”
“The golden trio, like we used to be?”
“I'm still here, Hermione. I would like nothing better than to have my friends back. And by back, I don't mean empty houses at the dead of the night. I mean really back. But we wouldn't be a trio anymore.” He smiled, the first true sign of emotion she had seen in him that evening.
“Why? What would we be?” She asked, curious.
“A quartet, maybe.” He laughed at the possibilities. But sobered quickly enough when he realized the reason for this discussion. “Ginny, right now, is the only person by my side. She stayed a true friend, even when it felt like the entire word was crumbling around me. I won't simply turn my back on her because the two of you decide to stop acting like babies and come strolling back into my life.” He shook his head. “No, I could never do that to her, I owe her too much. She'll become part of our group, or there won't be a group. At least one that I'm part of.”
Mione sighed heavily.
“Ron won't be pleased. She's his baby sister.”
Harry's eyes flashed dangerously.
“Right now, I couldn't care less what Ron thinks. He lost that privilege long ago, Hermione. He's much more of a baby than Ginny ever was. At least she cares!”
Hermione looked guilty and said defensively, “I have nothing against Ginny, Harry. She's one of my only female friends! It's just that this will make things with Ron even more difficult.”
“Then Ron will simply have to deal with it, won't he?” Harry snapped.
After several minutes of uneasy silence on Hermione's part and quiet thinking on Harry's, the girl could take it no longer, and standing up, said goodbye quietly.
Harry just nodded, barely acknowledging her presence in the room anymore. He was quietly losing himself in his thoughts, hoping that sleep would come for him soon.
Hermione shut the door quietly, and with faint footsteps made her way back. She felt like all she did lately was go back to her room to cry.
Chapter 15: Meetings at Gringotts (part 1)
A/N: New chapter! Once again, I can't seem to post it all at once: it seems the archive won't accept anything with more tha 4000 words. Anyway, it's not such a big deal! I hope you enjoy!Little things that we remember.
But too soon the good times pale,
As we slip beyond the veil."
-- "Memories" Ethel Kline
Chapter 13: Meetings at Gringotts
Harry was lost in the void. Magic his only guide. Inhale, exhale. Carefully controlled movements, a deadly dance.
He stood in his room, in Grimmauld Place, all furniture pushed against the walls to make space. The sky outside was still a dark reddish violet, the sun beginning to appear over the horizon.
His whole body seemed to glow, as his magic came forth and with a smooth touch guided his body. Harry had done this every morning and evening since his departure from school, it was now an integral part of his daily routine.
Sharp turn left, followed by a quick back-flip. Crushing down, he twirled right and made some sort of defensive movement. Eyes unfocused, seemingly taking in every detail that surrounded his body.
The whole exercise was part of an advanced fighting technique he had found in some old books, stolen from the Hogwarts library. It consisted, for the most part, in forcing your body and your magic to work as one, as seamlessly as possible. This in turn broadened your perceptions of your surroundings, sharpened reflexes in addition to, after a certain amount of training, honing your body so that it instantly answered every command.
With a last forward roll, out of which Harry came out perfectly balanced and prepared to launch an attack, he relaxed and came out of the light meditative state he had been in. He sighed deeply and sat down on the floor, ready to stretch. He had learned early on (and the hard way) that it wasn't a good idea to train intensively and not stretch afterwards.
As Harry thought back on this latest session, he had to admit that he was improving. His movements weren't as stilted or as stiff as they had been when he had begun his training, back in Privet Drive. He moved smoothly, and he had to admit his reflexes, already sharp after years of Quidditch, were becoming deadly.
But he had hoped to accomplish so much more during this summer! He still had a stack of books waiting for his attention, not to mention duelling techniques he had to try out. It seemed like so much work… Half a century of experience he had to make up for… Harry had to admit, the task was daunting, and he had more than once wished he could simply give up.
Sighing deeply, and pushing any depressive thoughts out of his mind, Harry stood up, feeling the slight rush that always seemed to take hold of him after a brutal training period. Grabbing some clean clothes, he went to the showers and prepared to face another day in the life of Harry Potter.
* * *
On his way downstairs, now dressed in a crisp grey shirt and black slacks, Harry crossed paths with Ginny, who was obviously just getting out of bed. Her hair was completely tousled and her eyes still half closed. She exuded languor, and Harry, shivering slightly at the sight, thought he had never seen anything as captivating in his life.
Ginny, noticing the spring in his step and, in her opinion, completely outrageous amount of energy he seemed to be carrying around at that time of the morning, only grumbled a monosyllabic response to his cheerful good morning.
Laughing at her disgruntled appearance, Harry gently took her hand and steered her towards the kitchen, saying flippantly, “Come, Gin, there's coffee in the kitchen, I'm sure afterwards your synapses will kick off properly.”
“Humph, how do you do it, Potter? Being this awake at eight in the morning should be forbidden,” she mumbled, following Harry's lead without question.
Laughing happily - he really was in a good mood this morning, he had finally reached a decision concerning Gringotts and his family estate the night before, and it felt as if an enormous burden had been taken from his shoulders - he replied, “Been up since half past five, Ginny, my morning is already way underway.”
This only drew an incredulous stare from Ginny, as they continued their way into the kitchen.
* * *
It was amazing, thought Harry, just how quickly a perfectly good day could be spoilt. He hadn't taken three steps inside the kitchen and his perfect mood was already ebbing away into nothingness.
Sighing deeply, and biting back an angry retort that he knew would not in any way serve his purpose, he said, with forced calmness, “This subject is not open for discussion! I'm going to Gringotts today, I've already made arrangements with my attorney and one of the High Goblins. I do not intend to miss this meeting.”
Silence greeted this statement, and finally, Bill, who seemed content to simply sit quietly in the background, smiling at the loud arguing going on - even if he didn't admit it out loud, especially in front of the Order, he personally thought it was high time Harry started living his own life - asked confusedly, “You have a meeting with one of the High Goblins? Are you sure Harry, they never, and I mean never, meet customers personally, they have other matters to take care of…”
“Yes, I have a meeting with a High Goblin!” snapped Harry. “The head of the Council, if I'm not mistaken. His name is Ragnok.”
Bill drew a sharp intake of breath at this. “How? How did you get a meeting with Ragnok? I had to work at Gringotts years before I even got to meet his secretary! Are you sure it's him, Harry? Because if it is, well, you were given an enormous privilege! This could change our dealings with the Goblins completely! We could actually make an ally out of them!”
The curse breaker's eyes were now shining excitedly, and Harry could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, plans and possible approaches coming together. Harry realized that it might be a good idea to talk to Bill for a bit before going to this meeting. Things should run much more smoothly if he had a bit of background information and knew some Goblin etiquette.
Smiling, Harry said, “Yes, I was quite surprised myself when I saw the seal of the letter from the bank. I mean, they did screw up royally when taking care of my estate, but still, I never thought this would get me a meeting with the big boss.”
Bill laughed at this. “Oh, so not only did you get a meeting, but you'll have the upper hand? He's the one who will be apologising? Wow, this is completely unprecedented! Harry, you do realize that, without ever stepping out of Headquarters, you did more than my entire life's work? I should feel incredibly jealous!”
“Well Bill, what can I say, I'm good!” said Harry cockily, before giving up the pretence and laughing out loud.
The other Order members present shot both of them supremely disapproving glares, none more so than Mrs Weasley that seemed to consider the whole business as some sort of despicable undermining of authority, a complete and utter lack of respect for their elders and betters.
When Harry saw this, the last bits of cheerfulness he had felt left him. And not for the first time he wondered why everything in his life had to be so complicated. Breathing in, and forcing himself to calm down - the last thing he needed right now was for his magic to spiral out of control - he addressed the room at large, “Look, I told Dumbledore a week ago that I needed to go to Gringotts. I told him that I was going anyway, but that if he was worried about security he could arrange for an escort or something, I didn't care too much. But I leave for Hogwarts tomorrow, and he didn't do anything, so I'll consider his silence as authorisation to go by myself.”
“Potter, that's twisted logic and you know it,” replied Kingsley Shacklebolt, very impressive in his formal Auror gear. He was already late for work, Harry knew, but he wanted to see where this whole business would lead, and if he'd have to pull some strings in the department.
“Maybe, Kingsley, but it's mine.” Ginny almost choked on her coffee when she heard this, and had to struggle not to laugh. Seeing her mother, she had a feeling it wasn't a good idea to fall about in hysterics over something Harry said right now.
Nobody argued this statement, but Remus tried a different approach, “Harry, do you think it's sensible to go out right now? You know this will only make matters more difficult with Professor Dumbledore… You do want to settle things with him before going back to Hogwarts, don't you?”
“That depends greatly on the headmaster, Remus, you know I won't bow to his every whim anymore. I want to have a modicum of control over my own life.” Harry said seriously, and the swirling silver power was visible once more in his eyes. “I think I deserve it after everything that's happened.”
No one had anything to say to that, but Harry felt that most of the Order didn't agree with what he was about to do. Feeling slightly guilty, but forcing himself not to care, Harry continued, “Remus, I don't really care about any of that. I just want to go to Diagon Alley and to my meeting with Gringotts. This is too important for me, I'm sorry, but I won't change my mind. I really don't care if you send a whole battalion of Aurors with me, or none at all, but once and for all, I'm going. And Dumbledore will just have to live with it.”
Unnoticed, Hermione, sitting at the other end of the table, shuddered. Harry's words reminded her uncomfortably of the previous night. Ron too, apparently, would just have to live with it. She was beginning to understand what Harry was doing, now. He was past the stage of caring about what others thought of his actions. He had plans and he was going to put them in motion, whether those around him agreed or not.
Remus looked miserable, faced with the angry green eyes, swirling with too much power. He knew that look, that stubborn determination that made everything possible. He had seen that look on James face enough times to know that once there, it would not go away. He had yet to meet someone that could change a Potter's mind once he decided something. Not even Lily, if he remembered correctly… And James never refused her anything…
If Harry was this decided to see his vault and meet Ragnok, then, short of locking him up, he would go and there was nothing else to it.
Remus didn't quite know what to say to him, he had to try to keep him safe, even if it proved to be a futile attempt. He couldn't - and wouldn't - forbid him from leaving the house, Harry wasn't a prisoner, and he was old enough to make his own decisions. Plus, his powers were volatile enough as it was, the werewolf couldn't even phantom what his reaction would be, should he, or even Dumbledore do anything of the kind.
“Harry” his voice was soothing, he didn't want the boy to have any reason to blow over the top. “I know you don't want to be here, but we can't risk you being captured again! You know that, right?”
This, apparently, wasn't the right thing to say.
“And you think you know where I'll be safe, don't you, Remus?” Harry answered scathingly. Standing up he growled. “Let me remind all you respected folks that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, in theory perfectly safe and protected, when I was captured. Give me one reason why I should trust you people to tell me what's dangerous and what isn't?” He glared at the table at large and continued. He was grasping the back of his chair with enough force to turn his knuckles white. “The last time I trusted one of you I ended up in one of Voldemort's dungeons for two whole weeks and, let's not forget this small detail, had to escape on my own because apparently you couldn't get your act together and rescue your secret weapon!”
Ginny put one of her hands on top of Harry's, she needed him to calm down, and quickly. She had just seen her mother leave the room quietly and she knew Dumbledore would be here in a few minutes. Harry needed to be thinking straight if he was going to face the headmaster.
She forced him to sit down, and in the silence that followed Harry's little rant she grabbed his hand, and smiled comfortingly. When his breathing evened, she said, in a quiet voice meant for his ears alone, “Mum just left the room, I expect Dumbledore at any moment, are you up to it, or do you want to beat a hasty retreat?”
Harry didn't answer but his slow dangerous smile said it all. “Let them come!”
* * *
“There will be no meeting, Harry isn't leaving this house.” Dumbledore said imperatively, the moment he stepped inside Grimmauld Place's kitchen.
Harry's hand clenched around Ginny's small one, the Professor's opening statement didn't bode well for how the conversation would continue. This thought was only confirmed for Harry when he saw the person following the Headmaster and who had just crossed the threshold.
“Oh, just brilliant, just bloody brilliant! Exactly what I needed today, a dose of Snivellus Snape,” groaned Harry, low enough so that only Ginny, sited right next to him, could hear.
She tried to control the giggle, she really did, but couldn't. The whole situation was too absurd. Dumbledore, greatest wizard of the age, standing upright and all righteous in a kitchen, looking ready to wage war. Harry, the hope of the light, the Boy-Who-Lived, studiously ignoring the afore mentioned greatest wizard of the age, and worrying about his greasy haired, turncoat Potions Master, while clinging as if for dear life to her hand, that is, little Ginny Weasley's hand. She couldn't help it. She giggled.
This in turn made Harry smile and look up. Seeing Mrs Weasley shooting daggers at her daughter, he smiled wider, and then, quite unexpectedly, he laughed outright, in front of the headmaster's nose.
Harry didn't know what had come over him. But the moment Ginny started laughing, he had felt compelled to do the same. Her good humour was contagious, he didn't think he knew anyone that could quite like her find things to laugh about in the most illogical situations.
Sobering up quickly however, he took a look at the clock in the wall and, standing up, said, a trace of laughter still in his voice, “I don't think there's anything else left to discuss here. It is obvious that none of us will change our opinion, and I have things to prepare.” Turning towards Ginny's older brother, he said, in a completely different voice, that was suddenly all business. “Bill, do you have a moment?”
“Sure Harry, more than one.”
But Dumbledore, that didn't look at all as the cheerful headmaster they knew so well, interrupted him.
“I'm afraid, Harry, that I can't allow you to leave this house. I'm sorry, but this is for your own good.”
Harry froze in mid stride. He was so incredibly sick of people telling him what was or wasn't for his own good! The headmaster had lost that right the moment he forced Harry back to Privet Drive with no kind of moral support right after dumping the prophecy in his lap on top of Sirius' death.
“And how would you know what is and isn't for my own good, Professor?”
Harry was almost snarling, Ginny thought, and she wanted to laugh again. It was probably nerves that were making her slightly too chirpy. She was after all watching a confrontation between the two most powerful wizards she knew… It was enough to make anyone nervous. The rest of the Order didn't seem to be faring much better, even if their reactions weren't the same as hers.
“Harry,” said Dumbledore in a placating voice, but losing none of his majesty, “your magic is completely out of control, you must calm yourself immediately.”
There she thought he was exaggerating quite a bit. It was true that the room had that stifling feeling again, doubled in fact by Dumbledore's own power. But Harry wasn't about to release his magic, she knew what that felt like. Harry wasn't even glowing - so far…
“I'm perfectly in control of my powers, Headmaster, is that the only reason you won't let me leave the house? Because if that's it, you don't have to worry, I'm already getting the hang of this thing.” His tone was light but his eyes were burning in cold fury. “You can ask around, since that Death Eater that was guarding me, I haven't blown anything up, Professor. That should count for something.”
“I know Harry, and I must admit I'm surprised at that, but you aren't even near your usual self, and I don't want you to leave the house.”
“Too bad, because I am. This meeting is too important to miss,” said Harry with finality.
“What's important is to keep you alive. You know as well as I do that your survival is vital to the cause,” said Dumbledore, with just a hint of exasperation in his voice.
“The cause, as you say, is better served by my going. You can ask Bill for details, since apparently you didn't care enough to ask me.” Ginny noticed a twinge of hurt in his voice. Dumbledore was dealing with this situation in completely the wrong way, she thought.
“My only concern is with your safety, Harry, and that of the rest of the wizarding population. I won't risk you leaving a secure location while you haven't mastered you powers.” It was obvious that Dumbledore wasn't used to having his orders contradicted. But Ginny had a feeling he was in for a nasty surprise: Harry wasn't the same boy they had all known. He wouldn't bend under pressure any longer.
Harry was silent for a long moment. He was reflecting about just how much he knew Dumbledore was keeping from him. He had to decide just how much of his hand he would reveal to the Headmaster. Making up his mind - after all, his training was something he would eventually have to ask for help with, and talking would possibly let him out of the house without a civil war, he said, “Actually, Professor, I'm already about halfway bonded with my magic.”
He knew that, to most of the Order and to his friends - with the possible exception of Ginny who was training with him almost everyday - that statement wouldn't mean anything. However the Headmaster knew what a bonding ritual was. He would immediately understand that Harry had already discovered what had happened in that cell, that he knew Dumbledore was keeping secrets, and taking an enormous risk, letting him alone with no training and with his magical reserves unsealed.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Harry saw true shock register in the headmaster's face. It was in a halting voice, which confused their audience that he asked, “You're - you're already bonded?”
Harry simply nodded. The headmaster looked so perturbed that he actually pulled a chair and sat down shaking his head in denial
“You know, Professor, it shouldn't be so very shocking to you.” Harry said, with a hint of a smile, after some time had passed and no one had spoken: the Professor still trying to grip the new information, and the rest of the order too afraid to talk. “It was impossible not to notice that something was not right with my powers, I made some research, discovered what happened and took the necessary precautions. If I'd had a say in the matter, I would have thought it very reckless to leave me in the state I came back.”
“But, my boy, we weren't even sure of what had happened…”
Harry laughed derisively and replied, “Then you are not only fools but also stupid. I told you what happened and Madam Pomfrey surely noticed that my magical levels had gone completely awry. For someone with you experience it should have been like putting two and two together, Professor. Simple maths.”
“You must admit, Harry, that it was completely unprecedented…” The small voice spoke quietly to Harry's ear, but carried through to most of the room. Harry snorted derisively again.
“Not quite, Gin. It was actually a common practice with some ancient wizards.”
“Common… I think you're pushing it there, Harry. Three known wizards in recorded history is hardly common,” said Ginny smiling at him.
“I'm making a point here, Ginny, do you mind?” He was smiling however, and that took the sting out of his words.
“So, I gather that Miss Weasley knows?” asked Professor Dumbledore.
“Yes, I know. I'm the one who helped Harry research what was happening to him. And I must say, Professor, that if the books we found were accurate, you were taking a gigantic risk, leaving Harry alone, with no training, no information, no advice. He could have burnt this house to the ground, if for some unfortunate…” But her mother harshly interrupted her tirade, “Ginevra Weasley, be quiet! Show some respect.”
Ginny blushed, embarrassed, but didn't seem at all repentant. Harry, however, wasn't quiet, “No, you should listen. Ginny is right. You were taking an impossible risk, and knowing myself, if I hadn't discovered what was going on, I'm not sure there would be much left of Headquarters. Look, Professor, I don't know what you were thinking, but the fact is, I'm taking care of things. If there is something that I've learned from Hermione first, and by experience later, is that books are extremely reliable teachers, much more reliable in fact, then people.” The last was said with an accusatory look shot at Professor Snape that didn't go unnoticed.
“And may I ask what ritual you performed?” The headmaster was all business again, apparently recovered from his surprise.
“It isn't any of the traditional bonding ritual, if that's what you're asking. I didn't like the side effects of those, especially when it said that it only allowed limited control over the subject's magic. I'm doing concentrated exercises called custodio imperium, you must have heard of them…”
The headmaster had a faraway look in his eyes as Harry said the words.
“Yes… Meditative and concentrated work, very difficult to achieve properly. Has it been working, Harry? I would never have thought this technique was the right one for you.”
“Yes, well, I simply had to adapt my training. I had been doing the curator tractus - the protector's steps - since I came back from school. It wasn't very difficult to adapt them to the meditative exercises, when I had the proper information.” Harry was getting supremely impatient with this whole discussion, but knew that this conversation might help his relationship with the headmaster. However, he had a meeting to go to, and he had it on good information that Goblins didn't like to be kept waiting.
“Incredible work, Harry. Can you show me how far you've come in this short time? We will continue to work at school, of course, but I would like to know how far ahead you are.” Harry didn't quite know how to interpret the look in the Headmaster's eyes. It seemed like a cross between an incredible amount pride, a certain amount of precaution and something else… But the fact remained that he had to leave, and that this discussion and demonstration would have to wait.
“Yes, Professor, I can show you. But not today, and certainly not right now. As I've said about a thousand times already, I have a meeting to attend, Ragnok expects me there in half an hour, and I won't keep him waiting.”
Dumbledore's head snapped up and he whispered, a slightly frightened light appearing in his eyes.
“Ragnok?”
“Yes,” snapped Harry. “Ragnok. Don't worry, Professor, he won't tell me anything I don't know yet. The secrets are coming out, and there's nothing you can do to stop them. Goodbye, I should be back in a few hours.”
Harry straightened up, and grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the kitchen counter. Moving quickly towards the fireplace unchecked, as no one dared to try to stop him now, not after the public confrontation they had just witnessed, he threw it in and said, in a loud and clear voice: “Gringotts!” and was gone.
Chapter 16: Meetings at Gringotts (part 2)
A/N: Here's the second part! Don't forget to leave a few words at the end, reviews make a writer's day!* * *
Stepping neatly out of the fireplace in the hall of the wizarding bank, Harry gave himself a satisfied internal smile: he was finally starting to get the hang on this flooing business.
Gringotts hadn't changed a bit since the last time he was there. He supposed the bank was one of those things that stood still and unaffected while history flowed around them. It was still all white marble and shinning bronze, everything in impeccable condition.
For once, Harry didn't feel dwarfed by the obvious wealth and power contained inside those walls. No… This was just a building: what interested him, what still caused a slight shill to run through his whole being was thinking about the still pending question of the goblins allegiance. Goblins were powerful. Not only were they powerfully magical creatures, but they also had an important role in keeping wizarding society together as a whole. If they chose, they could generate mayhem in a matter of hours. This power completely out of his control scared Harry more than a bit.
Trailing his eyes around the room, he looked for someone who might fit his preconceived idea of what a lawyer might look like. John Hellington was supposed to meet him here before the meeting.
Soon, he noticed a man, probably in his early fifties, crossing the room towards him. That would be him then, Harry thought, smiling internally. Not quite the old bookworm he had pictured in his mind.
The man was tall and seemed to emit energy and life. He had dark hair, speckled with grey, which gave him an uncanny sort of respectability. His sharp grey eyes were completely aware of his surroundings and coupled with the distinct cut of his features, made him look vaguely dangerous. The image that crossed Harry's mind was that of a sleeping tiger. As harmless as a kitten, so long as no one decided to poke him awake.
Harry's smile at seeing the man was particularly pleased. He was already satisfied with this man: he was obviously competent, and seemed like the kind of person Harry would be able to rely on. He had a feeling he would be a precious ally in the coming months.
“Good morning, Mister Potter, I am John Hellington. I was extremely content to receive your owl, even after all those years. The control over your family's affairs was taken out of my hands rather abruptly after your parents passed away, and I fear we might have quite a few lose ends to mend that could become quite problematic.”
They had shaken hands briefly, and then jumped straight to business. Harry was glad; he wasn't one to stand small talk well.
“I hope the task isn't too daunting, Mister Hellington,” said Harry with a half-smile.
“Not at all, Mister Potter, not at all.” Harry noticed that a slightly vicious glint had appeared on the man's eyes. Yes… Quite dangerous, given the right motivations. “As I explained to you on my letter, there are a number of unresolved issues tied to your estate, the first being the fact that its control was passed on to a completely unrelated person. This is what we will discuss today with Ragnok. I advise you to try not to be too aggressive today. We will have a number of future dealings with the Goblins: it's better to be on good terms with them. They have the means to make your life miserable - and mine by association. It's better to have them as allies.”
“Don't worry, Mister Hellington, I have no intention of being anything less than perfectly civil today.” Harry grinned at the man, and they understood that they had the exact same motivations. “As long as my estate is back under my control, and the Goblins are willing to work with us, then I'm satisfied. I want, however, to discover why this whole mess happened. I want to know if it was only a mistake, a document overlooked, or a real treachery. I also want to discover why I was never informed of the existence of this estate until this summer.”
At this, Hellington made a startled sound, totally at odds with his contained behaviour.
“You - you didn't know of your family estate? How have you been living this far?”
“Trust fund.” Harry answered shortly.
“And no one bothered to tell you? Not Sirius? Not even Remus? What are those people playing at?”
Harry was impressed. The man seemed really angry at his being kept in the dark. Things were starting to look good.
“I take it you knew my father then? And his friends as well? You obviously know about Sirius being innocent…” His voice caught as he said this.
“Yes, I was a good friend of your grandfather's and helped your father out on more than one occasion. I've been keeping an eye on the Potter estate since I graduated from law school, many, many, years ago.” He paused, as if considering if he should say something. “I'm very sorry for your loss, Harry.”
Harry nodded his thanks, not feeling up to answering. The attorney led him towards an empty counter, and asked the Goblin there to show them to their meeting place.
The small creature checked the letter they presented for a long time, probably making sure it wasn't a forgery, thought Harry, before standing and saying, “Elder Ragnok will be pleased by your visit, Mister Potter, please follow me.”
Their guide opened a door in the far end of the Hall, leading them through a maze of long, dimly lit corridors and locked doors. The whole thing made Harry feel claustrophobic, and he felt his palms moisten and his heartbeat fasten considerably. Swallowing his discomfort, and taking a deep steadying breath, he continued to walk.
They were led to a comfortable looking waiting room, before a richly carved wooden door. Harry, however, immediately noticed that the room had no windows, and he started to feel stifled. He felt as if the walls were closing in on him, and wondered what was happening to him. He had never had problems with closed spaces before! He'd grown up in a locked cupboard, for Merlin's sake!
Hellington immediately saw that something wasn't right, and as soon as the clerk left to warn Ragnok of their presence, he turned towards Harry and, forcing him to sit down he asked concernedly, “Are you up to this, Harry? I can ask Ragnok to postpone, if you want.”
Harry shook his head, and closed his eyes. He was feeling frantic, but realized that he needed to get a grip on himself. This was starting to get ridiculous.
Hellington had an idea of what was happening to the boy. He had been fine while they were in the spacious Hall, after all. Considering the rumours that had circulated during the last months, he wasn't surprised. It didn't solve his problem however: Harry had to be calm and collected during this meeting, it wouldn't do for him to have a panic attack on the middle of a conversation.
Meanwhile, Harry was trying to remember his training. Controlling his breathing, he slowly forced his mind to relax, and found his centre, feeling his magic fill his body, soothing the unreasonable fear.
“Harry?” The attorney asked again, the room was starting to feel oppressive with excess magic, and he was starting to seriously worry. Harry didn't answer straight away. He had just managed to calm his body, and force his mind to stop playing tricks on him, when he opened his eyes again.
“I'm fine, now, Mister Hellington, don't worry.” He let go of his magic, and took another deep breath. He would be fine, he told himself.
The older man sighed in relief, and looked at the now perfectly composed young man beside him. He really was a carbon copy of James at that age; it wasn't a fable. It was almost scary to see the same confidence, the same stubborn determination. He had a feeling that his life was about to get a good bit more interesting, now that he would get his hands on the Potter estate once more.
A few minutes later, the clerk came back and said, making an inviting gesture towards the door, “Elder Ragnok is ready for you, sirs. You may go in.”
Harry gave himself a short moment to collect his thoughts, before getting up and entering the office.
They were ushered into a spacious meeting room, with a centre table that could hold four, maybe five people comfortably. From a side door entered a respectable looking Goblin, much taller than any Harry had met to day. His eyes, of a dark brown speckled with gold held a barely hidden intelligence, and Harry wondered how wizards could have ever catalogued those people as simple creatures.
Ragnok greeted them with a slight bow, which they answered in tandem, and then motioned towards the table, where they all took sits.
“Greetings, young Potter, Mister Hellington. It is a pleasure to meet you. I was afraid that, due to recent events, you would be unable to attend today's appointment.” He paused, for a second, as if giving Harry the opportunity to speak, and then continued, in his grave, melodious voice - completely different from that of the common Goblins.
“I have asked you to come here today so that we can at least begin to settle the matters of both the Potter and the Black estate. I was grieved to discover, at your emancipation, that there were a number of irregularities on both accounts. Gringotts has always prided itself on its reliability. I am decided to discover who was responsible for those blatant disregards for our customers' wishes as well as for our institution's rules and regulations. Meanwhile, I hope that, together, we might correct some of those wrongs.”
Harry smiled pleasantly and said, “I'm glad to notice that we have the same goals, Mister Ragnok.”
“Very well, let us move forward then. Your late godfather, Sirius Black, sealed a will a few weeks before his untimely demise. His wishes were quite clear, and he took steps to ensure that they would be followed. It is my regret to inform you that those wishes weren't followed.”
Harry's head snapped up, he had been perusing the first document of the pile in front of him, a copy of Sirius' will, and fighting the urge to break down and cry.
“What do you mean, they weren't followed?” Harry's eyes flashed. “I was under the impression that only my family estate presented any irregularities.”
Ragnok's voice had taken a sorrowful tone now.
“I was under this impression too, until I ordered that the documents for this meeting be assembled. It would seem that, when dealing with Mister Black's estate, his perfectly legal and approved will was dismissed, and all his assets transferred to another account.”
Here, Harry's attorney felt he had to intervene, “I trust that Gringotts is already taking steps to correct this mistake?”
“Of course, Mister Hellington. As soon as I became aware of the problem I took steps to ensure that it was being corrected.” He paused, looking apologetic, before clearing his throat and continuing.
“Mister Black, other than a few donations and a trust fund to be set that will cater for the education of a small number of Hogwarts students providing them with a scholarship of sorts, has left his whole fortune and estate to you, Mister Potter.”
Harry gulped, and felt his hands starting to shake. He didn't want the money, but he knew, from what was written in the document before him, that the next in line of succession was Narcissa Black Malfoy, and the last thing he wanted was for the Malfoys to have even more money, and to get a hand on everything that had once been Sirius.
“If you are willing to accept this will, then all you have to do is sign the next two documents on your pile. I assure you that I will personally deal with any further problems that might arise, and I assure you that the culprits of the deception will be punished. You have my word.” Ragnok's voice had taken a deadly voice near the end. Goblins had always prized their trustworthiness; it was a great offence to have taken that from them.
Harry scrawled his name at the bottom of both documents after a silent nod from his attorney. He handed the goblin the documents, with a quiet word of thanks.
“Now, Mister Potter, Mister Hellington, would you please take notice of the last couple paragraphs of Sirius Black's will.”
Harry, who had been satisfied with skimming the document before, read the end more carefully, All my other earthly goods, titles and assets are to be bequest to my godson, Harry James Potter, as my primary heir. Furthermore, in the instance of my death, it is my wish that no new guardian be appointed to my charge, but that he be emancipated in all instances of the law, whether it be under Goblin, Wizarding or Muggle jurisdiction. Those are my last wishes, and all means are to be used to ensure that they are put in practice.
“As I explained to you in my first letter, Mister Potter, for all intents and purposes falling under Goblin jurisdiction you are legally an adult. The Wizengamot, however, has not accepted Mister Black's emancipation, so you are still legally a minor in the wizarding world. This causes us a number of problems when dealing with the estate seeing as - ”
“Why wasn't I informed of this decision?” Interrupted Harry harshly.
Ragnok looked surprised for a moment, and then asked cautiously, “You weren't informed of the Wizengamot's ruling?”
“No, I was not. Excuse my abruptness; this took me by surprise, Mister Ragnok. How does this affect my control over my estate? Is there any way to go against the ruling?”
“I believe that Mister Hellington is better equipped to deal with this problem than myself.” The elder said, shooting John a questioning look.
“Indeed. I'll take care of the bureaucracy as soon as we leave, Harry, and file for an appeal. I have a feeling this was Dumbledore's doing: rumour has it that the two of you are slightly at odds.”
“You could say that,” growled Harry.
“What are the practical implications of this, Mister Ragnok?” asked Hellington trying to placate the underlying tension in the room.
“For everything that concerns Gringotts, there are no consequences. Your family vault will open for you, and you can dispose of the things that are stored in any or all of your vaults as you please. For assets and titles, I'm afraid, you could encounter some difficulty, since they are all tied to wizarding laws and regulations, since the vast majority of them are in wizarding territory.”
“Brilliant.” Harry said, glowering at the room in general.
“Don't worry, Harry, we'll work something out. I'm sure I can unearth some long forgotten wizard law that will solve this issue. I'm well known for this.”
“Okay, thanks. So, if I wanted to visit my family vault, I would still be able to do so?”
“Of course, Mister Potter. If you want to, I can have a clerk accompany you there after we are finished with this meeting.”
“I would appreciate that, thank you.” Harry said, grateful that at least this was working out properly.
“Very well. Would you sign those documents, please? They allow you to take possession of your family estate, even if you'll have to wait till you become a legal adult before you can make any changes, sell any property, and so on and so forth.”
After signing the new pile of documents and handing them to the Elder Goblin, Harry looked at the other man questioningly. Was this all it would take to solve the legal mumbo-jumbo?
“That finalises our legal matters. Copies of all the documents, as well of all titles and other assets have been made for you and your attorney Mister Potter, and will be available to you as you depart. I believe, however, that we have a number of other matters to discuss.”
“Yes. I want to understand what happened to my family's estate after my parent's death. I trust you have discovered why control over it was passed on to Dumbledore?” Harry asked, trying not to sound accusing, or too demanding.
The respectable Goblin made a sound that seemed to be a sigh of disappointment.
“I'm afraid that there was little light shed over this matter since we last spoke. After your parents demise, you were too young to take control over what was legally yours. The next logical choice would be to lock your vaults and give a passing power over the estate to your guardian. Unfortunately your guardian was also unavailable, and your relatives were all Muggles, unable to guard a magical estate. For some reason that is still not clear to me at this time, control was given to Albus Dumbledore: a powerful and influential wizard, certainly, but who wasn't mentioned either in your parents' or godparent wills. It has been in his hands for the last fifteen years.”
Hellington cut in at this time, “At the time I was the steward for the Potter estate. I didn't even have the chance to prepare the estate for its long dormant state. I hope that any problems that should arise from this will be swiftly resolved, with as little complication for my client as possible. If things work out properly, we will be willing to overlook the blatant disregard to my client's right and his family's wishes.”
“You have my assurance that I will make every effort to facilitate the transition.” Here the Goblin seemed to hesitate for a moment, before saying, addressing solely Harry for the first time in the meeting. “I hope, Mister Potter, that what was exposed those last few weeks will not compromise any further dealings that we might have in the future.”
The Goblin's tone had changed completely. It had lost its businesslike frigidness, and was now urgent, pleading almost. Harry knew, without being told, that the matter they were discussing had no longer anything to do with Galleons and vaults, and everything to do with a war being waged by the whole of the magical world. He waited for Ragnok to continue talking.
“Strange and deeply disturbing rumours have reached our ears, Mister Potter. Prophecy is a delicate art, shifty and devious. But us Goblins, we have learned by experience that it should never be overlooked.”
“Believe me, Mister Ragnok, it is not being overlooked.”
The Goblin's eyes opened wide, and he made a surprised sound in the back of his throat.
“It is true then?”
“I'm afraid so.” Harry said, nodding.
The Goblin slowly closed his eyes, and let out a breath.
“Then darkness is once more upon us.”
“Yes,” was all that Harry said.
“There are no war efforts. Your people aren't prepared. Are they going to stand idly by, lambs to be slaughtered?” Ragnok asked, a disturbing light in his eyes.
“Let me worry about my people, Ragnok. I'm more interested in what yours are going to do.” Harry's attitude had changed the minute the subject had. He now sat straight in his chair, and his eyes were glowing, as he had loosened his control on his magic. He wasn't a schoolboy any longer, simply the young inexperienced heir to an ancient line. He was a leader, preparing to wage war. “Should I worry about new enemies?”
The Elder didn't answer for a long time. He sat in his chair, assessing, weighting his chances at throwing his lot in with this boy.
“Would we have any guarantees, Mister Potter?”
“None that I can give you,” was the honest reply.
“We are not mercenaries. If we were to join you, we would be equals. I want your word that we will no longer be considered second class citizens.”
Both were staring at each other with such intensity, that they had become completely unaware of their surroundings. John simply sat, feeling that he was the only audience to an alliance that could quite possibly change history.
“I am not prejudiced. I want nothing more than equal rights for all magical beings. Of this I can assure you, if we are successful, one of my goals will be to use whatever influence I might have in this world to back up your cause.”
“Others have offered me the same, Mister Potter. Why should I trust you?”
“Why shouldn't you? From my perspective, I'm your best shot. You can't even give Voldemort the benefit of the doubt, we all know he's a chauvinistic bastard.” said Harry, smirking slightly.
“Your ministry is corrupt. Their forces cannot be trusted. They are the ones that have banished us from your society as outcasts.” Ragnok continued, eyes glowing.
“I'm perfectly aware of that fact. If you so chose, you would be allying with me, not the ministry. This is my war to fight, not theirs.”
They were silent for a long time. Finally, Ragnok broke the silence.
“This is your war… Then why have you come here today?”
“Because I can't fight it alone, Mister Ragnok. Voldemort has strong allies, dark creatures, spies infiltrated in every possible sphere of wizarding society. He might even have turned a few goblins, from what we have discussed here today. I don't believe you want to become another of his lapdogs, Mister Ragnok. You want freedom for yourself and for your people. We have similar goals, you see? I too want freedom. I want peace once and for all. As a great poet once said: He who wants peace, let him prepare for war.” Harry had stood as he talked, and his whole countenance was alight with passion.
Whatever Ragnok had been searching in Harry, he must have found, because when silence fell once again in the room, he slowly nodded, and said, quietly, simply, “I believe you will one day make a great leader for our people, Mister Potter. You are correct; we do have similar goals. You may consider the Goblins as your allies. And you may consider me, Mister Potter, as a friend.”
A/N: Custodium Imperium means to guard and control in common latin. I hope you enjoyed the chapter as much as I did. Truth be told, the last part of Harry's conversation with Ragnok is one of my favourite parts so far. Please tell me what you think!
Chapter 17: Family heirlooms and nasty surprises.
A/N: Okay, two important things: first, I opened a Yahoo Group, for all of those who want to talk, ask questions, or simply chat about anything and everything. It can be found at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/the_war_we_fight/ or just follow the link in my profile.Second, I wanted to explain why this took so long. I just finished school; I'm in the middle of college applications; I'll most probably be moving to Europe next year, to study, all alone and away from my whole family. Those are all great things, and I'm extremely exited, but they are also completely earth shattering. I'm telling you guys this because I got a couple nasty reviews complaining about updates. I'm still writing, this isn't an abandoned fic, and in fact, the most exiting is still to come. But please, understand that Real Life comes first, and that I can't simply press a button and force myself to type, when I'm worried and stressed, things simply don't flow. Anyway, thanks to everyone who's still interested, and don't forget to leave a few words, they make my day!
And lastly I'd like to thank Bill, who looked this over for me, and gave me the most complete beta job I've ever had. Thanks!
it can also be a hell from which we cannot escape.
John Lancaster Spalding
Chapter 14: Family heirlooms and nasty surprises.
As the small cart made it's way through the mazes of dimly lit colours and moist underground passages, Harry fought against the rising waves of anguish that cursed through him. The simple thought of the kilometres of earth and stone separating him from fresh air made him want to panic. He realized, feeling the cool air in his face as they made their way downwards that he would probably never feel entirely safe underground again.
As they entered a last corridor, light suddenly flared all around. They had apparently reached their destination. The Potter vault, Harry knew, had no number, since it was considered one of the foundations over which the bank had been built centuries ago, before there were enough vaults to justify numbering.
Not many families, Harry had found out during his long journey in the homicidal cart, could boast about such an honour as having one of the foundation vaults. His guide, a small overexcited goblin, couldn't seem to get his mind around the fact that he'd been chosen to escort such an illustrious client - nor that he'd finally be able to see the ancestral vaults. The small creature reminded Harry uncannily of Colin Creevey mingled in with a strong dosage of Dobby essence.
Vaklof, however, was proving to be quite the useful source of information - and not an useless distraction from his wrecked emotions. From what Harry had gathered from the constant chatter, Gringotts had been set up at the request of maybe a dozen wizarding families who wished for a safe place to deposit their belongings, away from the constant clan wars and sacks - a normal occurrence apparently, some fourteen centuries ago.
The Potters were one of those prestigious families, along with others such as the Blacks, the Malfoys, the Dumbledores, the Prewetts, the Ravenclaws - a noble line who had unfortunately died away, informed the goblin - the Gaunts and the Longbottoms. There were others too that hadn't stuck in Harry's mind. The heirs to those lines where still treated by the bank with uncommon respect, even a full millennium later. Goblins, his guide informed him, did not easily forget those to whom they were indebted. Gringotts was all the goblins had, the last stand, their very last bargaining chip. Without this bank, they would become complete outcasts from all magical society.
This explained why Ragnok himself was interested in him, why he promised to always deal with Harry personally, the boy thought. He was the heir to two of those vaults now. No wonder the Goblins thought he was someone important. For once, the fame didn't bother Harry. If it had helped him get an interview with Ragnok, and had helped him forge an alliance, then everything was worth it.
Struck by a sudden thought, Harry asked, “Vaklof, you mentioned Ravenclaw. That's one of the founders. What about the others?”
The small creature emitted an excited squeak. Apparently he wasn't used to people actually listening to what he had to say.
“Oh, Mister Potter, this Ravenclaw isn't the one that founded Hogwarts. This bank is older than that. But I think I can answer your question: Slytherin never owned a vault in his name, and his daughter married into the Gaunt line. The Hufflepuff vault was already numbered, even if one of the lower level vaults, one of the very first. And Gryffindor… There is very little information about Gryffindor's descendants. After his duel with Slytherin… Well, he more or less removed himself from all contact with other wizards. He became more or less a recluse in the family property, and little is known after that. However, sir, if this subject interests you, you might find it helpful to look at a few of the genealogy books in your vault. They have much more detailed information than I ever could give you.” The Goblin gave a toothy grin, and Harry nodded in thanks.
This last tunnel brought them to a large cave. Vault doors were built into the walls in a wide circle around the entrance tracks. It was a dead end, with a single entrance. The ceiling was high, and disappeared in darkness, but the air was fresh and moist, making Harry wonder if perhaps there wasn't an opening somewhere in the heights of the cave.
Each vault door was as large as the Great Hall's entrance, with a family crest emblazoned in the metal. It took but a moment for Harry to find his own vault, step out of the cart and walk towards it.
“I can go no further, Mister Potter. Goblins aren't allowed inside those vaults, sir. Powerful magic, blood magic, allows only the heir of the line to step inside and be admitted by the vault. From now on sir, you're on your own,” said the goblin in a serious voice.
He stepped forward and raised his hand, with not a little amount of trepidation. A smooth disk was placed in the middle of the door and the Goblin had instructed him to place his palm there. The moment his skin made contact with the cold iron, he felt a slight prickling, as if he was being shocked, and resisted his impulse to draw back. The whole door lit and the surface he was touching warmed pleasantly.
Both animals in the shield suddenly came to life, the Gryffin roaring loudly and phoenix song filling the whole space, lifting Harry's spirits, and making a smile appear in his face. After a few moments of this cacophony, silence fell once again in the cave, but the door continued to glow, and would stay like that for however long there was a Potter to claim it's ownership.
Soon, with a horribly loud cracking noise, the door slowly, ever so slowly, opened. Harry, amazement still written on his whole countenance, watched as the vault that contained all that was left of one of the wizarding world's most noble and ancient lines unlocked for him.
As the stale air inside the vault was released, Harry had to fight to manage to keep breathing. He hadn't realized what more than fifteen years could do to a closed room atmosphere. Fighting against his impatience, that demanded that he walked in, regardless of the air, he waited, letting fresh air slip inside.
The vault, Harry realized as soon as he stepped inside, was no more than a division of the larger cave he had been standing in, not a minute before. It was large, deep, not like his trust vault. He could stand here, and not be able to touch the ceiling; he could walk, and not come to the end of the space. He could, he realized, do just about anything he could do in any spacious living room.
Everywhere he looked, there were personal objects stacked haphazardly, everything covered with layers upon layers of dust. Bank security apparently worked: no one had been here since his parents had died.
The back of the room, he noticed, was filled with piles upon piles of coins. There was more money inside this vault than he could ever spend in a lifetime of frivolous and liberal spending. He shook his head angrily. How come no one had ever bothered to tell him this was here, waiting? He would need to meet with John Hellington again. He had plans, and he had suspicions. And above all, he needed answers. Now more than ever before.
Taking his eyes off the dusty piles, Harry continued to walk around the room. A whole section of it was crammed with furniture and family pictures. Some pieces were obviously antiques, but all in perfect order, probably, he guessed, carefully wrapped in protection charms. He knew where he'd come, if he ever got round to furnishing his own house.
He passed those quickly, and moved to the next interesting part: a whole section of wall filled to the brink with ancient tomes. John had told him that the Potters owned one of the most important private libraries in England, and that most of it had been transported here when the war began, as James didn't think even the old manor was safe enough for such a treasure.
Harry stepped closer to the bookshelves and noticed that there was more than just books there. Heirlooms and small bibelots were speckled between books, or on otherwise empty shelves. One whole pane was filled to the brink with strange artefacts, probably what his father had talked about in his letter.
As he slowly turned round, trailing his eyes around the whole cave, he willed himself to feel something, anything. He craved some sort of foundation, some sort of attachment, that might help him understand just what he was doing, something that might ground him somehow. Sighing, he realized that it was not to be.
Getting back to the business at hand after an internal slap, Harry quickly and carefully began sliding his eyes all the way through the titles on the shelves. He realized very soon that he'd done a giant mistake not bringing his book bag from school, or something else to carry things. He'd have to take only what his arms could hold.
Every now and then, Harry picked up a tome and deposited it in a side table close at hand. His first stop came when he reached a delicate sandalwood jewellery box that still held the delicate fragrance of the wood. Lightly running his fingers across the top, he tried to blow away most of the dust, to see the carving. He was amazed at the delicate floral patterns, the careful craftsmanship. It was obvious this was something built with love and care, and used in the same spirit.
He opened the box, and inside were several pieces of jewellery, but what made Harry start, what made his heart suddenly pound in his chest, were two identical gold bands, engraved with fine runic symbols, held together by a silk ribbon. There was no doubt in his mind that those were his parents' wedding bands, even if he had no idea how they had ended up here. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and glanced once more inside the small box.
The next thing that caught his eyes was a delicate necklace, made of several thin treads of gold, laced like vines, with small emeralds encrusting. The centrepiece was a phoenix in flight, so very real that Harry half expected it to flap its wings and fly.
He took it in his hands and lifted the necklace out of the box. This made the bottom become apparent, and what Harry saw there nearly made him drop everything he was holding. In a delicate, flowing script, was his mother's name.
Deciding, after a few moments of avid gazing, that he'd had quite enough emotional upheavals to last him through the day, he closed the box with a snap, and put it back in it's place. He kept the necklace, slipping it in an inside pocket of his jacket, feeling that there was one other person that might enjoy wearing such a beautiful piece.
He finished roaming the book titles, and had a small careful selection he'd take with him on his way back. He'd followed the Goblin's advice and had taken a couple genealogy and Potter history books with him. He wanted to know where he came from, wanted to discover why no one every talked about his family's past.
He stopped to look at the swirling, smoking instruments next and wondered what each of them did, what each beep and alarm meant. He imagined that through the generations, each father had explained them to his son. But that would never happen. He'd have to figure it out all alone.
There was one thing however, that drew his attention even more than all the moving silver instruments. In a slightly raised platform, in obvious display, was a scabbard. It was simple, made of a thick red leader, with slight engravings near the top and bottom. Complicated straps hung from it, obviously meant to fasten it to clothes, although the mechanics of the thing completely escaped Harry.
He was strangely drawn to it. He felt as if he'd finally understood the purpose of his whole trip to this damp and mouldy cave. He extended his hand and grabbed the light sheath. He immediately felt that it wasn't a regular tool. His whole hand was tingling with magic; an old, deep power was embedded in the very fibers of it, and he was resolved to find exactly what it did, and what was the sword meant to reside inside the simple, elegant scabbard.
Grabbing the half dozen books he'd selected, a small bag of Galleons that should last the trimester, and the scabbard, Harry left his vault, and the bank, and went back to the world of conflict that was Grimmauld place in the summer.
Harry had not meant to fall asleep. Especially not in one of headquarters parlours where any Order member could walk in on him. He knew that, those days, sleep meant more likely than not nightmares and visions. No matter what he did with his Occlumency shields, at night they were always weaker and more prone to attack.
He'd been exhausted however, between his arguments with Dumbledore and the lonely trip down memory lane, and the moment he'd sat down, his eyes begun to droop. He hadn't even had time to give his barriers an additional nudge before sleep claimed him. That explained why he wasn't incredibly surprised by what happened next…
He was angry, supremely angry. After all, failure was not something he was used to, something he could easily accept. The figure kneeling before him in the dank chambers knew this. Knew that, unless perfectly justifiable, failure was not tolerated, and punishment never pleasant. The figure was trembling visibly, his fear strong enough that he could taste it in the air, feel it in the way the magic seemed to quaver. Cowards, all of them!
Miles away, Harry's pleasant nap was suddenly interrupted, and with a great, shuddering gasp, he began to dream.
His thoughts were circling between barely contained rage, and a cold calculating anger, that was the trademark of all his actions. So the boy was under the fidelius. Hadn't he learned from experience that the charm was not infallible? He would have to come out eventually. He knew Potter, he was not like those fools he had as servants, he would not cower away forever, even if he could.
It took but a moment for Harry to realize what was happening. It had been months since he had entered Voldemorts mind in his dreams, months since either one of them had been careless enough to let such a thing happen. He cursed the moment he had allowed himself to rest, and wondered what would come of this. He couldn't let Voldemort feel his presence otherwise he was done for. He needed to wake up, as soon as possible.
Yes, the boy would leave the house eventually. In fact, the boy would leave very, very soon. He was sure of it. And then, when they all thought the worst had already passed, when the whole bunch of them thought they were safe, he would strike. He wanted that prophecy, now more than ever. If the boy had struggled to hide it for so long, then it had to be important, had to mean something, for both of them.
Exasperatedly, Harry wondered if Voldemort wouldn't give up on the bloody prophecy. When it said “and either must die at the hands of the other”, Harry had imagined a mighty duel, spells flying, magic everywhere. Not this ridiculous chase for a prophecy that was already starting to fulfil itself.
A new wave of anger swept through him as he watched the quivering figure at his feet. Those fools had let the boy escape, had let him slip through his fingers once again. He would not become a laughing stock! He'd had enough of this ridiculous chase! Next time, one of them would not come out alive. That was a promise, he thought, and Lord Voldemort kept his promises.
Harry gave an internal laugh, even as he struggled to wake up from the nightmare. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Voldemort and him agreed on something. But right now he had to focus, this was no time for distractions. He knew what would come next, and he knew that the moment Voldemort used an unforgivable, his scar would explode in unbearable pain, and he honestly didn't want that.
Turning towards the kneeling man, he casually, lightly, waved his wand and muttered, “crucio!”… Ah… Yes… As the man writhed and screamed, he finally felt some of his anger abate. Yes, he would get the boy again, and then… Once he had proof that his victory was inevitable, he would drown this world in fire.
Harry gave a muffled scream, and fell from the couch with a spasm, his hands grasping his forehead. He needed to wake up! Now!
He lifted the curse, and with a contemptuous stare at the shivering mass in the floor, snapped, “Prepare the troops, we attack tomorrow.” Yes. The boy wouldn't escape his stronghold a second time. This round, he'd deal with him personally.
“Harry!” Ginny had entered the room the very moment Harry had suddenly clutched his scar and tumbled down to the floor. “Harry! Wake up!”
She crushed down next to him, and wondered what she was expected to do. Harry was still clutching his face, but the worst of the pain seemed to have subsided. His body had relaxed, and as she grabbed a cushion and placed it under his head to make him more comfortable, she saw that his eyes were fluttering, and that he was about to wake up.
She continued to call his name softly, “Harry, wake up, you had a nightmare, wake up!” She was more than slightly relieved when he suddenly blinked and opened his eyes. It took him only a second to get his bearings, and another to recognise the face hovering above him.
“Ginny,” he whispered, voice slightly hoarse.
“Yes. Are you alright, Harry? You fell from the couch.” She laughed slightly, her eyes twinkling.
“Really?” he asked absent-mindedly, while he picked himself up from the floor. “Merlin, this is bad,” he muttered.
Ginny immediately lost the light attitude. “What's bad, Harry? Did you just have a vision? What's going to happen?” Her voice was frantic now, as she watched him pace the room.
Harry however, didn't assimilate what she was saying. He was running through every option he had, every possible scenario that might explain what Voldemort had said and thought flickering in his mind. He wondered who he should tell, who would believe what he had Seen.
Ginny, tired after a few moments of being completely ignored, marched up to him and, making him look her in the eyes, asked forcefully, “Harry! Tell me what's going on!”
He closed his eyes as if in pain, and said in a strangled voice, “Voldemort is going to attack the Hogwarts Express.”
Ginny blanched, and whispered, “He wouldn't!” Then, in a stronger voice, “What did you see, Harry? Tell me!”
He took a deep breath, sat down heavily, and as quickly as possible went over the vision. Ginny listened in silence, let him talk, knowing that if she interrupted his tale, she might not get him going again.
“He didn't actually say the Hogwarts Express, Harry,” was her first comment.
“But isn't it the most likely option? He said tomorrow, he said that he'd get me as I leave…” His voice died away as he remembered being inside that monster's mind, listening to his thoughts as he plotted to kill him, feeling that creeping, sickening darkness that plagued the Dark Lords whole being. “He doesn't know where we are now, but he knows that I'd never miss the train, he knows that Hogwarts is too important to me.”
Ginny nodded, thinking hard. When she spoke, it was in a tentative, timid voice, “Harry, the most obvious answer would be for you not to-”
He interrupted harshly, however, before she had time to finish her reasoning, “That's out of the question, Ginny. I'm not missing the train.”
“But think, Harry! If you're right, and you arrive at Hogwarts in some other way, a portkey, or floo, then you'll be safe!” Ginny's voice was quivering, she knew he'd never go for it, but she couldn't bear even the thought of loosing him again, couldn't imagine how she'd survive the uncertainty, the doubts again.
“Yes, you're right, Ginny,” his eyes flashed angrily, “and then what? I'll be safe, yes, and then what? What will happen when they don't find me in that train?” He got up, and started pacing angrily again. “They'll tear it down, they'll kill everyone inside, it'll be a massacre. I can't let that happen. I can't!”
Ginny closed her eyes as if in pain. And indeed, she was in pain. This war, the sacrifices it forced them all to make, was tearing her apart, and she knew, without being told, that she wasn't the only one that felt as if she was slowly, ever so slowly, giving way, losing herself in the pain and anguish.
Harry continued, after a few moments. “You, however, Ginny, you need to get there some other way. I'll ask Dumbledore for a Portkey. Ron and Hermione too, if someone can talk some sense into that thick head of his.”
“I'm not going,” she said quietly. That stopped Harry in his tracks. He turned an incredulous stare at her.
“What?” he asked.
“You heard me. If you're willing to sacrifice yourself, then I'm going to be there too. And don't start,” she continued when she saw that he was about to protest, “it's my choice, Harry. And if you're going to be there, I will too.” Her eyes were shinning with a steely resolve
“But don't you see, Gin? If they have both of us, then we're finished. I couldn't bear to see you in pain, I'd give them everything they want!” He knelt in front of her as she sat on the sofa, and gently took both her hands in his larger ones, feeling the delicate fingers, firm muscles. His eyes were begging, but she couldn't give him what he wanted.
“I can't, Harry. It's just too hard. I need to be there with you, and you know that you need me there too. We'll just have to work hard and not let ourselves be captured. Either of us.”
She smiled, a gentle, serious smile, that didn't quite reach her eyes. But at the same moment, she gently freed her hands, and wrapped them tightly around his neck, pulling him into a hug, that he returned with the same fervour. He was afraid, he realized, afraid not for himself, but for the small figure he had wrapped in his arms, and for what life would be like if he suddenly found himself without her.
“Mrs. Weasley, where's the floo powder?” Harry asked anxiously, as he entered the kitchen a few moments later.
“We don't leave floo powder lying around anymore, Harry.” He started at her tone of voice, this certainly wasn't the same one he was used to being addressed by Molly Weasley. There was no warmness; for the first time Harry wondered if she was really so completely opposed to his actions that it would hurt any future dealings he might have with the Weasley family.
“I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, trying not to let any annoyance he might be feeling appear in his voice.
“You'll see him tomorrow at Hogwarts, Harry. I'm sure whatever it is can wait until then.” Her tone was awfully condescending, thought Harry, and sent small chills of annoyance down his back. He did not have time for this right now.
“Actually, it can't. Can you please tell me where the floo powder is, Mrs. Weasley?” He was making a tremendous effort to continue to be civil and educated. He realized that Mrs. Weasley wasn't someone that would understand if he suddenly acted any different, even if the circumstances warranted it.
Ginny entered the room and frowned at what she saw. What was going on in here? Harry stood to one side of the kitchen, arms crossed, and an annoyed expression in his eyes. Her mother, her back to him, was acting as if he wasn't even there.
“What's going on?” She looked around, seeing the exasperation in Harry's face, stubbornness in her mother's, and wondered what could possibly have happened.
“I was just asking Mrs. Weasley where the floo was. Apparently the jar has grown legs and moved since this morning.” Harry said, with forced calmness, and a faint drop of sarcasm slipping in his tone. If Harry was resorting to irony, then things were bad.
“Mother?” Ginny asked, looking at Molly, begging her in her mind not to cause another fight. Harry had had enough confrontations for one day. “This is important, Mum, give Harry the floo.”
“This is important?” Molly snapped, “What exactly is important enough to a sixteen year old, that can not wait until tomorrow?”
Ginny's eyes opened wide, and she glared disbelievingly at her mother. “Mum, please don't cause a fuss, we really need to talk to Dumbledore.”
“You need to talk to Dumbledore? Like Harry talked to him this morning? Is that it?” Mrs. Weasley glared menacingly at the two teenagers, daring them to contradict her.
“Actually, Mrs. Weasley, this morning it was Dumbledore who needed to talk to me,” Harry answered, in a would be casual tone. Inside, however, he was seething, and wondering how long it would take Hedwig to arrive at Hogwarts, and if the delay was acceptable, considering the situation they were in. This is simply ridiculous, thought Harry, to think that help would be late simply because people weren't able to see past their age. He'd wait; see if Ginny could get a handle on the situation first.
“Don't talk back to me Harry Potter!” screeched Molly, and Harry actually jumped. He definitely wasn't used to being snapped at by her. “I will not condone with any more of your ridiculous new attitude! This is no way to treat the adults around you!”
“My attitude?” Harry asked, in a dangerously low voice. He was wondering what had happened to everyone around him. “Every single thing I did, every word I spoke this summer were justified, Mrs. Weasley. You have no right to judge me. Not you, not anyone else. None of you know what it's like to be in my shoes!”
Ginny secretly agreed with Harry, but she didn't want to say it in front of her mother. They needed to find a diplomatic solution to this issue, and soon. Too much time had been lost already. Time they needed to prepare.
“I know you've had a rough time of it, Harry, but this is no excuse. The way you've been acting is simply inadmissible. Meddling in the affairs of adults, dipping in old magic, this is no proper behaviour for a sixteen year old.”
“What would you have me do then, Mrs. Weasley? Simply give myself up to Voldemort? Or leave the war for you to fight? Is that it?” His voice was still low, a mere whisper, but his eyes were flashing, and Ginny could feel the atmosphere of the room changing. She knew that Harry would never hurt her mother, he would die rather than harm any one of them, but for the first time in a few days, she saw him struggle to control his powers.
“Yes Harry. This fight isn't fit for children. You have no business messing in it. You'll only cause more trouble, and possibly get people hurt.” Harry couldn't believe his ears. What were these people playing at? Were they all blind and deaf? Didn't they see that it wasn't his choice? That Voldemort had made it for him, before he could even talk?
“I would like nothing more than to do that, Mrs. Weasley. But I can't. Now would you please tell me where you hid the floo power?” Harry's eyes were mere slits, his fists clenched, but he managed, somehow, to control his voice so as to make his request as polite as possible.
“Mum, please. There is a lot at stake here.” Ginny's delicate, placating voice cut through the heavy silence in the room like a knife. “People's lives, Mum, this isn't some ridiculous, wilful request. You know Harry, Mum, please!”
“What could he possibly want with the headmaster that couldn't wait until tomorrow? This is preposterous!”
“Jeez, I don't know, I might, just possibly, let him know that there's going to be an attack by the psychopath that's been trying to kill me my whole life?” Harry's voice was biting, and Ginny saw that her mother felt the sting. Served her well, she thought, this was no time for a bout of sudden mothering.
“Inside the cabinet, under the sink,” was all she said in response, although she had paled considerably. Her eyes unfocused, and she whispered, in a voice not her own, “I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking, I'm so sorry.” And with those parting words, she left the room.
“That certainly went well,” muttered Ginny tiredly. Harry only nodded in response, apparently as drained as she was. He didn't want to even imagine how it would go when the whole Order was assembled.
A/N: Okay, so, this is it. I had intended to add the Order meeting in this chapter, boarding the train in the next. But I liked how this ended, and you know what to expect next. Sorry once more this took so long!
Beta Note: Our dear authoress would have had this out a week ago, were it not for a huge delay on my end, caused by a recalcitrant computer. I take the blame for the lateness of this, and beg her forgiveness and yours. BillHagridsson
Chapter 18: Divide and Conquer
Chapter 15: Divide and Conquer
“And how, may I ask, did you come about this information, Harry?” asked Dumbledore quietly, gazing over his half-moon spectacles at the young man standing in front of him.
“I-I saw it. I was inside Voldemort's mind as he planed the attack.” Harry closed his eyes irritably at the response this got. He had expected this, he told himself sternly; he had known the Order wouldn't believe him; he shouldn't be surprised. Or hurt. He just had to deal with the situation. Reasonably.
Taking a deep breath, and trying to calm his anxiousness, he stated clearly and simply, “I had a dream, in which I found myself inside Voldemort's mind. I can assure you this wasn't planted in my mind. My Occlumency barriers were intact when I woke up.”
“Are you sure of this, Harry?” Tonks asked with a concerned frown.
“Why should we take this child's word for truth?” sneered Professor Snape, which warranted him an annoyed glance from Dumbledore.
Harry held back an incensed retort, and said, “You might not want to believe me, Professor, but are you ready to accept the consequences if I am, indeed, right?”
“And are you ready to accept the consequences if you are not?” Snape answered, his voice spiteful. “I would have thought you had more sense then to fall for the same trick twice, Potter. Weren't you satisfied, getting that mutt killed?”
Harry took a step back as if he had been slapped. His eyes took on the glazed look of someone who had received an unexpected punch. Bill sprung from his chair, his wand in hand, followed closely by his brother Charlie, both Weasleys with a look of pure loathing in their eyes.
Harry stumbled and found himself leaning against the cold wall of the kitchen. He felt as if he would be sick. Somewhere in his mind he knew this was a low trick; Snape only wanted him destabilized. He felt his control slipping, the tight leash he had kept around his magic loosen.
Suddenly, he felt himself being pulled into a warm, comforting hug. A friendly voice calling to him, “Harry?” Remus cried in his ear, snapping the boy out of the numbness and shock that had taken hold of him after Snape's little speech. “Harry, don't listen to him. Get a hold of yourself; you're letting your magic slip! Snap out of it, Harry!”
Around the table, the situation was quickly getting out of hand. Fred and George had also risen in Harry's defence, and seemed more than happy to take a swing at Snape in revenge for seven long years of abuse.
Suddenly Dumbledore rose and said, his voice magically carrying over the pandemonium in the room, “ENOUGH!”
It was on times like this, Harry thought, that one realizes why Dumbledore is said to be the greatest wizard of the age. He couldn't imagine anyone going against a direct order when the headmaster spoke like that. The response was instantaneous. Every last person in the room sat down, and was quieted.
“We will NOT quarrel among ourselves. I would like to take this moment to remind all those present that we have the same goals. I will not tolerate threats and insults. Is that understood?” Dumbledore gave Snape a hard, reproachful look, and then gave the room at large a disappointed glance. His eyes finally fell on Harry, who had taken a seat at one end of the table, and seemed to be struggling to control his anger. He asked the boy quietly, in a much gentler tone, “Do you need a moment, Harry, or might we continue?”
“I'm fine, Professor,” snapped Harry, as he raised his eyes which had been glaring at the table, “We may continue. I now know where I stand with most people in here.” The professor noticed immediately that the slight silver glow was back in the boy's eyes. Not a good sign.
“Very well. You said that you had proof this was a valid vision? Could you explain that in more detail to us?” He sighed slightly and told Harry, seeming tired and worn out. “I appreciate you coming forward with this information, Harry, but you have to understand our reluctance to take this at face value. You have been wrong in the past, I'm afraid.”
Harry took a deep, calming breath. At least, he thought, Dumbledore was willing to listen. Clearing his throat quietly, he said, “I have managed to learn Occlumency, to some extent, this summer. My barriers aren't strong, and I have by no means mastered the subject or the technique, but my shields are acceptable and I have managed to block Voldemort for long periods of time, even in his presence. You've seen this yourself, Professor, so you can't doubt my word.” He stopped, and wondered if it was worthwhile telling those people the second reason he felt this was the true thing. He wasn't sure they would believe anything he said, either way.
Dumbledore, seeing Harry hesitate for the first time that night, asked, “Is there something else, Harry? Please don't keep anything from us, from me, tonight. There is too much at stake here for us to afford half-truths.”
Harry nodded, and not meeting anyone's eyes, said, “I could feel what Voldemort was feeling. I could feel everything he felt as he talked. Glee, anger, rage, happiness, pleasure.” He shuddered visibly as he talked, his eyes glazing.
“And how is that different from your other visions, Harry? I was under the impression this was a normal occurrence, due to your link.” But Harry was already shaking his head even before the Headmaster finished his speech.
“No, Professor, it's normal for me to see what he sees, hear what he says, feel what he does. But never like this. I could never feel his feelings as if they were my own. See his thoughts filtering inside my head. No, this was something different. I don't know why it was different, and why it was so strong, but I know it was real. He couldn't have planted something like this without breaching my barriers. Certainly not without my noticing.”
Harry didn't waver at the pitying and often disbelieving glances, but kept his eyes locked with the professor's, and even went as far as carefully lowering part of his Occlumency barriers, allowing the Headmaster to see that all he said was in good faith.
Dumbledore smiled sadly at him, but said carefully, “Our instincts, our impressions, can be misleading, Harry.”
“I, of all people know that Professor. But the circumstances here are different. I told you, my barriers were intact!” Harry was trying to answer every question reasonably, calmly. He couldn't let the frantic urge to act to get the better of him.
“Then how did you find yourself inside Voldemort's head, Harry? You couldn't have done that while your mind was occluded. The whole process of Occlumency is designed to block all contact of the mind with anything outside of itself.” Dumbledore's voice had changed tone. It had taken the slightly patronizing edge Harry heard on most teachers, or on adults dealing with children, and it unnerved him to no end.
“Maybe so, professor, but you know as well as I do that a wizard will never be completely blocked from the outside world. His magic would never allow it. We all feel the pull, the urge to let our magic connect with…” He suddenly stopped, eyes wide, then frowned, and whispered. “That's it. Of course, how stupid of me. I should have seen it before.”
“Harry? What is it?” asked Remus frantically. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Harry knew enough theory on an advanced mind protection technique to argue with the headmaster on it. It was mind blowing, sometimes, to see how far Harry had come.
“The magic, yes. Don't you see? Magic attracts magic. It's obvious.” Harry seemed to be talking to himself, but looked around the room, as if searching for understanding. Finally, he looked up, and once more locked gazes with his Headmaster. “Don't you see, Professor? Magic attracts magic.” He willed Dumbledore to grasp what he was trying to say. He didn't want to have to spell this out, not here, in a meeting with most of the Order, people he had never met before, didn't know if he could trust.
One of the first things Harry had realized during his long study sessions was that most scholars agreed that magic, by it's very nature, was attracted to magic. And due to the fact that nature, the whole of existence really, was filled to the brink with the thing, it was impossible for a wizard to completely close his body or his mind from outside influence.
Said wizard's power would be drawn to the magic in the outside world, and would seek new channels in order to connect with it. Occlumency was, because of that, an art that went against the very nature of a wizards' being, and thus extremely difficult to fully master. The whole process demanded acute self-control, and a deep knowledge of one's body and magic. Both of which Harry thought he had.
But Harry's magic had changed drastically those last few weeks. It had changed, and he hadn't bothered to modify his shields. He had been afraid, truth be told, of messing with that kind of power before he had full control over it.
He had reasoned that it was still the same magic, his very own powers, only a little more capricious than before. It really shouldn't have changed the internal workings of his barriers. But then, he thought, he had forgotten to take into account his blasted connection with Voldemort. It was only to be expected that his magic would reach out through the most accessible route. Especially considering what an extensive well was at the other end.
In the few moments after he stopped talking, while most of the Order watched him expecting some sort of answer, he had come to the most obvious answer, the only logical conclusion to the problem of why he'd had this vision. Voldemort hadn't gone searching for Harry. The truth was that, on the contrary, his magic had lead him to the Dark Lord.
The thought terrified him more than he would ever be able to admit, and proved, at least to him, that the vision was real. He needed to talk to Dumbledore, needed to understand the implications of this discovery, but that wasn't happening tonight. Not in the middle of a meeting, the night before an attack.
He had to acknowledge, however, that the results of this whole ordeal weren't so bad. He'd had his little dip into darkness and had come back with information that might save hundreds of lives. Hundreds of kids, his schoolmates. Innocent lives, for the most part. Maybe, after all, Dumbledore was wrong, and his instincts weren't misleading. He felt like smiling, laughing, even if it meant ruining all the effort he'd put in this meeting.
Controlling his sudden exuberance at the realisation that his scar link might have finally done some good, he turned his attention to the Headmaster once more. The old man was frowning, gazing at Harry calculatingly. He seemed ready to ask questions. Questions Harry didn't want to answer right then.
Standing up once more, Harry said, “Look, I know you don't want to believe me, not after what happened in June, but I give you my word, my word as a wizard, that I know for a fact this is true, that Voldemort is indeed planning an attack.” He'd given his word. When he swore by his magic, he wasn't able to lie, and they all knew that.
Sighing heavily, Dumbledore turned to Harry and said quietly, “Thank you Harry, for being so forthcoming. I'll want to discuss this further with you, but I believe that this is not the right time. The Order will consider this information, and take as many steps we judge necessary to protect you and the students. You can rest assured that our best efforts will be put into this.”
It took a moment for Harry to realize that he'd just been summarily dismissed. Harry would have laughed at the directness of the professor, if he weren't so angry at being, once more, treated as a kid. Frowning, Harry pulled a chair and sat down.
“That's good to hear, professor,” Harry said, smiling.
“Harry,” Dumbledore answered in a disapproving voice, “I thank you for the information. You can go now. Enjoy your last day of summer with your friends.”
“Can't do that, Professor. It is, after all, my safety that will be discussed here. I want to have a say in the matter.” Harry kept his voice level, and forced himself not to lose his temper.
Surprise was quite visible on Dumbledore's face. Murmurs broke around the table. Harry didn't take his eyes off Dumbledore.
“Harry,” the headmaster said, “we can discuss this later. Right now, the Order must have a meeting.”
“I understand that you must have a meeting, Professor, you obviously will be discussing security arrangement s for the train ride. For once, I want to know what they are, seeing as I'm the one person concerned. I don't want a repeat of Privet Drive,” said Harry seriously.
“You don't need to worry, Harry. I assure you, you'll be perfectly safe.”
“You'll forgive me for not taking your word for it, Professor. You don't exactly have a clean record where I'm concerned.” How dare Dumbledore ask him to leave, when he was the one who had come to him in the first place!
“I'm sorry, Harry, but you'll just have to trust me. Don't worry, I tell you, enjoy the last of your holidays!”
Harry's eyes flashed at this. It was amazing how Dumbledore simply could never admit he was wrong, or at least that someone else might be right. He stood up, finally admitting to himself that he was more than a little angry.
“Don't worry?” he whispered fiercely, “Is that all you have to say to me?” He gave a bark of laughter, quickly replaced by an ironic smirk. “I suppose you expect me to go to my room like a nice little boy, and ignore that I just had a vision with the bloody Dark Lord plotting to kill me.”
“I expect you to do your utmost to continue to have a normal life, Harry. Nothing more.”
“And what exactly is normal, Professor? Being kidnapped from my so-called house? Seeing my Godfather die? Killing a basilisk? Is any of that normal? And all you have to say is not to worry?” There was a moment of tense silence before Harry continued, “That's not nearly good enough. Voldemort wants me dead, and he wants information that I'm the only one that can give him. Forgive me if I can't stop worrying!”
Harry's whole body was tense when he stopped talking. He looked around, and noticed quite a few supporting faces. Maybe the Order wasn't so much Dumbledore's puppet as he had thought. Remus was smiling - he thought Dumbledore deserved all he got from Harry; Tonks and Bill were sharing a laugh. Other faces around the room were nodding silently. But Dumbledore wasn't moved, and Mrs. Weasley, he noticed, still seemed torn by what he was doing.
Seeing that the headmaster would not be talked out of anything, and that this fight was making them both lose time, Harry let out an exasperated breath and said, “I thought we could work together, to end this quickly. I thought I'd be able to trust you, seeing as you've been where I am before. I thought you would keep your word, and keep me informed, seeing as you can't possibly win this without me. I just realized what foolish hopes those were. Very well, I'll leave. Don't expect me to come to you again, Professor.” He gave one last, disappointed glance at the faces surrounding him, and stormed out. He needed Ginny.
The noise from the slamming door had just faded when Tonks, of all people, voiced the question on everyone's mind. “What the hell was that?” Her voice was incredulous, but one could still see that she was struggling not to laugh.
All those present turned to Dumbledore, at the head of the table, waiting for an explanation. The headmaster, however, decided not to satisfy their curiosity. “Could we go back to the matter at hand, please?” he asked the table at large with a hint of impatience in his voice.
Protest broke around the table, but the quiet yet strong voice of Remus Lupin broke through it. “Don't you think we should discuss what just happened here, Albus?”
Several nods around the table confirmed that most of the Order agreed with Remus. Snape, who had kept uncommonly quiet since his outbreak, sneered, “Want to give the brat even more attention, werewolf?”
“What got your knickers in a twist, Severus? You are uncommonly bitter today, even for your sunny persona,” answered Remus with a smile.
The headmaster frowned, and said, “I don't see what there is to discuss. Harry won't join this Order until I see fit to extend him an invitation. This isn't happening today. He's too young, and he isn't ready. There is no discussion, I forbid it.”
Silence greeted his announcement, but it was visible that many did not agree with his reasoning. Suddenly, a lilting, feminine voice spoke from a darkened corner of the room. “I didn't see Harry saying anything about joining the Order, Albus. I think he'd be more than satisfied with simply sitting on this meeting, and being reassured that he wasn't alone. You just took that comfort away from him.” She added with a bitter twinge in her voice, “I see your people skills haven't improved with time, Albus. You're digging your own grave. Or rather, I should say, Harry's.”
“Elektra is right, Albus,” came Mad Eye's gruff growl, “Voldemort won't wait until the boy has graduated or becomes of age of some other such nonsense. It's obvious he wants his head in a platter, and I assure you, it's not pleasant to be hunted. Especially when you're young and have no training.”
Dumbledore fixed Alastor with such a glare that would have cowered a lesser man. The old Auror disregarded the warning with supreme indifference, his magical eye twirling in amusement at their leader's predicament. He'd never, since James had died and Sirius was imprisoned, had so many of his orders questioned. It was all in all incredibly refreshing.
“We will keep him safe until such a time as he is ready to take his place in this war. Meanwhile he will train, and lead a normal life.” Dumbledore was obviously starting to lose his patience. His eyes had lost their twinkle, and he was drumming his fingers on the table, a lack of composure he'd never have allowed himself under normal circumstances.
“Keep him safe?” cut in Bill Weasley's incredulous voice. “Yeah, sure, cause that worked perfectly well, up till now!” He paused a moment, controlling his temper, before continuing, “How can you even say that Professor, after this summer?”
Molly shrill voice interrupted her son's rant, “Bill! Show some respect! What happened wasn't -”
“Wasn't what, mum? Wasn't professor's Dumbledore's fault? Whose fault was it then? Certainly not Harry's - even though the way you've been treating him says otherwise!” He glared at his mother, and continued in a softer voice, “All of that for the sake of protection! Protection!” He took a deep breath, and said, addressing the room at large, but focusing on Dumbledore. “You should know, you should all know, that if it weren't for Ginny and her letters, letters, must I remind you, that you blamed her for writing, Voldemort would have had his work cut out for him! Harry wouldn't be here, no matter how protected he was. What good is protection if you can't have a life worth living? I'd rather face a horde of Death Eaters than a week with those Muggles. And you call that protection! Now,” he took a deep breath and sat down again, “if we could get back to the matter at hand…”
There was a tense moment where no one spoke, and then Remus added his grain of salt, “I happen to wholeheartedly agree with Bill, although I'm not sure how he could possibly know so much about Harry's state of mind…”
Bill smiled, “I happen to be Gin-Gin's favourite brother, Remus. She tells me everything, mostly because I'm one of the few people who actually treat her as an adult. Not even Charlie knows this much, do you, brother?”
“Actually, I don't, brother, and let it be noted that I resent it!” he smiled, dissipating the tense atmosphere in the room, “However, we both know who she came to after that dream.”
“Don't flatter yourself, Charlie. That happened simply because your room was closer to hers. It has no bearing whatsoever on the matter at hand.”
Remus, although he was internally laughing at the two brothers bantering, felt it was time to move forward with the meeting. “Albus, have you told Harry that he was emancipated?”
“He hasn't been, the Wizengamot hasn't verified Sirius' will. None of us wished to risk harsh decisions on Mr. Potter's part.”
Silence greeted this statement. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the Wizengamot hadn't made any decision whatsoever, and that Dumbledore had forced the vote. This would not sit well with Harry.
“Have you told him of his alleged heritage?” Elektra, who had been silent throughout the meeting asked quietly.
“I haven't,” answered the headmaster once more, “and I would prefer if no one else that is familiar with the old tales spread the information.”
“You are making a mistake, Albus,” was the quiet answer. “He deserves to know, especially considering what is going on in his life. He will find out soon enough, since he went to the vault, but it will be worse if he finds out through other means. I tell you, you are pilling up errors of judgement when it comes to Harry.”
“He has too much on his mind, he has too much to deal with. I won't burden him with unnecessary responsibility,” muttered Dumbledore, glaring at the young woman's swirling eyes.
“He won't be able to deal with anything if he doesn't have the facts. If you don't do it, Albus, I swear I'll do it myself.” She was glaring right back at the old man.
“You would go against my expressed wishes, Elektra?” he said calmly, calculatingly.
“I have done it before, and I'll have no qualms about doing it again. I'm not a member of the Order, nor do I wish to become one. I answer to no one but myself. Regretting having called me back yet, Albus?” she asked, smirking.
“Merely concerned. Why have you come?” he asked tiredly. The meeting had certainly not gone as expected, and they still had security arrangements to plan. Elektra being here would simply complicate matters further, and he knew she wouldn't be dismissed as easily as Harry had. He was still amazed by the fierce loyalty the boy seemed to command, and be concerned that, through his blind confidence in his plans, he might be making a mistake.
“I've come because Harry's vision was real, and you need to prepare. There is no more time for idle chatter…”
Crossing the barrier to platform 9 3/4 Harry felt a warm rush spreading through his body. The sight of the red train, smoke pouring out on the platform, held many - if not all - of his fondest memories. Meeting Ron and Hermione in his first year, seeing the small 10 year old Ginny running after the train as they waved, realizing that for the first time in his life he was free to be himself, to build his own life.
Looking at the smoking locomotive, thinking of Hogwarts, he realized that, in a few moments, this whole place might become a battlefield. And that right here, one of the happiest places he knew, people might die. He shuddered at the thought and pressed onward, leading Ginny towards the train.
Every now and then, he'd cross a familiar face, old DA members, house mates, and stop to say a few words, flinching away from questions, and enjoying the mindless chit chat.
Soon afterwards, the rest of the Weasleys, plus Remus, Tonks and Hermione joined them. As if in a déjà vu, Molly started saying her goodbyes, hugging each of her offspring. She finally reached Harry, who was standing next to Ginny, surveying the crowds, watching as student after student mounted the train.
“Goodbye, Harry. I hope you have a nice school year,” said Molly quietly.
“We can always hope, Mrs. Weasley,” was his reply. He looked at the woman who had previously been so open, so accepting, that had taken him in, and saw that she seemed about to cry.
Suddenly, she flung herself at him, and enfolded him in a crushing hug, whispering fiercely in his ear, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Harry, for the way I've been treating you. I'm so afraid; it's so frightening to see you all growing up. I wish you were still children, and that I could protect you all from the horrors of this war. Oh, Harry, please come back to us! I couldn't bear to lose you, any of you!”
Harry sighed in relief, and hugged Molly back just as forcefully, and said, quietly, for her ears only, “I'll do my best, Mrs. Weasley, and I'll do my best to keep them all safe too. Thank you for everything, and don't worry about the last few days. I'll be okay.”
The last warning sounded, and the four teenagers realized they were the last students outside the train, and hurriedly started pushing their trunks inside. Neville, always ready to help, came out to help them. Soon, their things were inside, and they started mounting the steps leading to their cabin.
Harry was about to give Ginny a hands up when the first explosion rocked the station, followed by the screams and the sound of dislocating air from Apparition. Then, a rippling wave of magic swept over the train, encircling the whole vehicle in a shimmering golden light.
The station was under attack, and the Aurors and Order members were nowhere to be found.
Chapter 19: And so it began...
Author's Notes: I'm awfully sorry this took so long... And I'm perfectly aware that you must all be sick and tired of hearing this, but I have nothing better to offer other that a nice, long chapter. I hope you enjoy!!!
Jeannette Rankin
Chapter 16: And so it began…
For Harry, the first moments of the battle were little more than a blur. He had followed nothing but his instincts as he clutched Ginny’s waist and threw the two of them to the floor, protecting her from the blast with his body.
Opening his eyes a fraction as he felt the worst of the explosion blow over, he was immensely relieved to see the slight rustling of reality as invisibility cloaks were removed and all kinds of concealing spells cancelled. This was good. Dumbledore still trusted him enough that a warning such as the one he had given didn’t go unheeded.
Picking himself up from the floor as he realized they were much too exposed, he helped Ginny to her feet, noticing in the process that her hands were steady, but ice cold. Hastily, he steered them towards the relative safety the bulk of the train provided.
Neville and Ron were frantically trying to get the doors to open, so that they could get inside with the other students, but to no avail. When Harry saw this, he couldn’t help a flow of expletives from leaving his mouth. “Of all the abysmally stupid things to do! Why, oh why, seal the students inside?”
“Or, more to the point,” muttered Ginny, with only the barest trace of sarcasm in her voice, “outside?”
“I suppose this is Dumbledore’s idea of a security measure,” grumbled Harry under his breath. Whipping out his wand, he begun bombarding the door with every unlocking spell and charm that he had ever heard of. It never even budged.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw two cloaked figures surreptitiously trying to approach the train. Turning suddenly, he observed as they started systematically placing small transparent crystals at regular intervals along the rails.
“Bloody hell, this can’t be good. Hermione, are those Faust’s crystals?” he asked, keeping his eyes locked on the two wizards.
“I-I don’t know Harry. Possibly. I have no idea, I only saw them in pictures.” Her voice had a slight edge to it, as if she was in the border of panic.
“They want to blow up the train. This is bad, people are locked inside!” Harry’s eyes were cold and slightly narrowed in thought. Turning back to the door, he moved on to more destructive spells, reasoning that if he blew it to pieces, people would be able to get away. But even those did little more then dent the iron. Dumbledore’s spell work was much too strong.
Things didn’t look good - he was just glad that the Order was keeping the Death Eaters busy, and that those particular gentlemen hadn’t realized that he was outside and exposed. Motioning towards a large pillar, Harry directed his friends to hide behind it. He needed a moment to think.
Near the gate, chaos reigned. Terrified families tried to leave through the passage in order to Apparate to safety, following that most basic of human impulses: the need to survive. Aurors had formed a barrier surrounding the fleeing mass, and did their best to keep the Death Eaters too preoccupied to have time to turn their wands against the mob.
Peering from behind the pillar, Harry realized for the first time how completely unprepared for any kind of confrontation wizards were. The fear of Death Eaters was so deeply ingrained in people’s minds that no one seemed to have realized that they had the option of turning around and fighting back.
Order members, still holding the element of surprise, even if desperately outnumbered, were trying to incapacitate as many of their opponents as possible before the tides turned and they were forced to defend themselves.
Harry knew that the moment they created another explosion, everything would change. However what worried him the most at the moment was the fact that everyone was too engrossed by the battle to notice the two lone Death Eaters near the train. If he was correct, they were the biggest treat of all, and so long, they had been doing their work completely unchallenged.
Turning towards the people behind him, he took a deep breath, and said the first thing that crossed his brain. “We have a problem.”
Ginny smiled mirthlessly. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
Shooting her a quelling glance, he fought back his own smile. Harry glanced one last time at the battle, and begun talking. “If I’m right, and those are Faust’s crystals, then we have a very big problem. They stacked the train with enough of them to blow up half the station. It will be a massacre. And from what I can see, no one has noticed anything yet.
“I know very little about those things, other than the fact that the magical energy contained inside, when released, will destroy just about anything that it crosses. I also know that they’re attuned to their creator, so I’m not sure we can just destroy them, even if we knew how. Any ideas?” he asked, glancing at their worried faces.
His question was greeted with silence. Frowning, Harry closed his eyes, and willed his brain to find him something, anything, that might solve his problem. He couldn’t call out for help; any distraction in the middle of a duel could be the death of someone and it might bring unwanted attention to their corner of the station. He had to solve this one by himself.
Sometimes he wished problems would just disappear, even if he knew it was just wishful thinking. But as soon as this thought crossed his mind, his eyes widened slightly in surprise and then narrowed once more in thought. Turning towards Hermione, the only person who seemed to know what he was talking about, he asked, “Do you think Vanishing them will work? Or are they immune to such simple spells? If we could get them to go somewhere remote, where there’s no risk to anyone…”
Hermione was looking at him with glazed eyes. It was obvious that she was in no condition to have an academic discussion on a subject she by no means mastered. “I-I Harry, I don’t know anything about those crystals! I-I…” She shook her head, as if to reinforce her desire not to give an opinion.
“You know more than any of us, probably,” Harry said gently, taking her hand and looking her in the eyes. “Try to remember, Mione, this is important. Did you read anywhere that Faust crystals are immune to outside influence?”
“I-I don’t remember, Harry! I don’t remember!” she cried. Harry saw that there was a slight shine of tears in her eyes.
“She answered you already, leave her alone!” growled Ron suddenly, speaking for the first time since they had found themselves in the middle of a war zone.
“Shut it, Ron, this is serious.” Harry saw the flash of anger in his eyes, but was too preoccupied to be bothered.
“I think it might work, Harry. I don’t know. It all depends on the timing, really… The person who created them can activate at any moment, it’s a simple spell that can be done anywhere, really.” Hermione made a valiant effort to keep her voice steady, but spells were flying much too close to their hiding place for her liking, and she was having a hard time controlling her panic.
Ginny, who was keeping an eye on the battle as they talked, suddenly said, “We need to move. The Death Eaters are gaining ground. They’ll be here in a minute and we’ll be exposed as well as trapped outside.”
Cursing once more under his breath, Harry glanced at the only escape route: the next pillar. He clutched his hands, controlling his magic that seemed to want nothing more than to turn around and face the storm. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” he said, turning to the four teens behind him, “I’ll disillusion myself and try to vanish those things before they hurt anyone. I want you all to hide behind that,” he pointed to a deserted area in the further corner of the station, “and warn me if anyone approaches. A pity our trunks are inside the train, I could have used my cloak.”
Hermione nodded immediately followed closely behind by Neville, even if the boy did seem to have a slightly rebellious expression in his eyes and was clutching his wand tightly, as if he wanted nothing more than to make himself useful. Ron frowned, but didn’t seem inclined to argue. Ginny, however, was already disillusioning herself. “You’ll need someone to cover your back, you idiot, so don’t even think about dismissing me.”
He opened his mouth, couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make the situation worse, and heard the approaching explosions. They needed to move. As much as he wanted to enter the battle, loose himself in the duels as he knew he could, he needed to protect the people around him first. And Ginny was right; he needed someone to stand guard while he worked on the crystals.
“You’re doing nothing of the kind, Ginny,” snapped Ron to the place where he could see the faint outline of his sister, “It’s too dangerous. You’ll be caught in the explosion!”
“It’s not up for discussion. Especially when the concern comes from you.” Taking Harry’s now disillusioned arm, she crawled towards the train, her wand firmly in hand, and every sense on high alert.
Tonks could see without being told that they were in very deep trouble. The Aurors were down to half a dozen, and most of them were being slowly shepherded towards a corner. She didn’t know how smart this technique was - after all, a cornered enemy is the worst there is - but the result was that they were cut out from help, and left to deal with the dark mass alone.
The Order was straining to protect the last escaping parents - the few who had stayed back out of concern for the children, and the even fewer who had wanted to help. It was useless, really; the Death Eaters were too well trained to be bothered by a handful of inexperienced wizards who didn’t know what they were doing.
She saw the last person leave out of the corner of her eyes, and felt a wave of relief so intense it left her shaking. There would be no civilian casualties today. This was much more than she could have asked for. Turning back towards the man in front of her, she let impulse kick in.
Stunner, duck, forward roll, come out with a cutting hex on her lips, raising a shield to block the nasty orange curse sailing her way. Her moves had the silken perfection of a dance routine, practiced until they involved only muscle memory and the certainty of instinct. Her last hex, a neatly placed stunner, was too good to miss.
Remus, seeing no way to dodge the hex sailing his way, let himself fall to the floor and watched it sail above his head. Forcing his recalcitrant body to move, he was up again in a minute, attacking with a vengeance. There was nothing here of the quiet professor, the reserved man with the shy smile. With a last diffindo that sent his opponent crashing into a wall, he ended the match. As he lowered his hand, a small twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth that for a moment transformed his stoic face.
Glancing around at the battlefield he searched for the person that seemed to be in the most need of assistance. Mad-Eye - in true form - was holding his own against two masked opponents. Tonks, at the other side of the station sent him a quick grin as she finished off some poor fellow unfortunate enough to cross her path.
What happened next was only a sequence of feelings and sensations. Tonks’ eyes widening in terror, her silent scream that would never reach him in time. Then the glowing light surrounding his body, the sharp pain in his lower back. His last thought before he fell was a sharp reprimand at his own inattention; but then, only a Death Eater would attack from behind.
Looking back, Harry saw Neville grab a handful of Ron’s robes and drag him to the next pillar, keeping an alert eye on the battle ragging. Good, thought Harry, at least someone here has got his priorities straight. Returning his full attention to the task at hand, he focused on the glimmer of the first crystal. He was struck by how perfectly innocent it looked. No larger than a snitch, completely transparent and glowing with a soft light, it certainly didn’t own to all the horrific tales attributed to the small stone.
Feeling Ginny beside him, keeping guard while totally blending in with her surroundings, Harry squatted beside the rails, trying to feel the magic that surrounded the small crystal. He knew that if his plan didn’t work, he’d have to enter the battle long enough to call for help and that, once that happened, he might not be able to escape again. The thought made him shudder and work harder.
Blocking the outside world from his conscious mind, forcing every shouted spell, every flash of light to disappear from his perceptions, he started with a minor spell to dispel any barriers that might surround the stone. After a soft shimmer, it returned to normal. Still feeling there was something not right with the stone, Harry did the strongest cancelling charm he knew, a variation from Finite that he had found during his research that summer.
There was a sudden bright light that threw Harry a few feet and, unfortunately, brought unwanted attention to their part of the station. Keeping as still as a tomb, so that the disillusion spell had the best chances of working, Harry prayed for the Death Eaters to be too busy to come and investigate what was happening. He silently hopped that Ginny wouldn’t draw any attention to herself.
“What the bloody hell was that, Harry?” growled Ginny after some time had passed and no one came any closer.
“Some type of protection, Ginny. I’ll need to do the spell every time for this to work. Think they’ll leave us alone?”
“Not bloody likely, Harry. This whole thing was only going to work if you were discreet. I assure you, that light was not discreet.” Harry could almost see the frown on her face as she spoke.
“Well, do you have an alternative? I’m not particularly fond of the idea of going into that mess to ask for help!” Harry snapped, pointing an invisible hand towards the mass of wizards, surrounded by flying spells, cries of fear and surprise.
“Neither am I. We’ll do as many as we can, and then run for it, I suppose. Teach me that charm, it’s better if we work together. We’ll get more done.”
Harry did, and was amazed to see that Ginny managed the complex charm with surprising ease. On her third try, less than five minutes after he had started explaining, her spell-work was impeccable.
Smiling impishly, even if Harry couldn’t see it, she said, “Charms was always my best subject, Harry. No need to be so surprised. Where were you thinking of sending the stones?”
“Uh, somewhere empty… The middle of the ocean, maybe?”
“I pity the fish, but okay, the ocean it is.” And she strolled purposefully towards the next crystal.
They worked in silence for a moment, both struggling with the protection charms cloaking the stones until suddenly, Harry felt everything give way. He’d cleared the way. Vanishing the still glowing crystal, Harry thought bitterly, one down a dozen to go.
Tonks felt as if her world had suddenly narrowed down to one single objective: make her way across the battlefield and reach Remus who lay unusually still on the ground.
She plunged, feeling a hex sail inches above her head. She was getting careless in her despair; her left arm was already throbbing from some sort of burning hex that she hadn’t bothered to block.
What she was doing went against every last fibre of the Auror in her. During her two years of training she’d had the notion that casualties were a fact of battle, that the best way to help a fallen comrade was to keep fighting, ingrained in her mind and in her reflexes a thousand different ways.
Today, she couldn’t respond as she had been thought. Today, as she saw the man she secretly loved fall, she dashed through the concrete floor, dodging hexes as best she could, until she could be beside him.
She came to a stop next to him, and pressed two fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Closing her eyes for a moment, gathering her wits, she stood up, prepared to keep him safe until more help arrived.
Harry was so completely focused on his task that it took his mind a minute to register the pain-filled cries that suddenly filled the air, and another to recognise the voice.
His heart clenching, he jumped up, and started running towards the place the cries were coming from, Ginny hot on his heals. With growing dread he realized that the sound was coming from the place where his friends were hiding. Someone had spotted them.
The scene that met his eyes was akin to his worst nightmares. Hermione, curled on the floor, still moaning as the aftermaths of the curse flowed her body. Neville sprawled on the ground, unnaturally still. And lastly Ron, being restrained by two masked men, a murderous rage burning in his eyes.
He came to a skidding halt before the three men. And growled, even as he removed the masking charm, “You can stop, I’m here.” He opened his arms, pointing his wand away from the Death Eaters, trying to look as little threatening as possible. They wouldn’t get him without a fight, but first he needed to get his friends to safety.
“Decided to join us, have you, Potter?” The man gave a raucous laugh that grated on Harry’s nerves. He remembered this man…
“Are you going to cooperate this time?” the man asked, his smile barely visible under the mask. “Or do you need to hear her scream once more?”
Harry’s eyes narrowed, he was filled to the brink with repressed anger, remembering all the dreary hours he had spent at the hands this scum. He had told himself countless times in the last few weeks that the best way to deal with everything was to move on, accept and forget. But know, watching the barely hidden mirth in the face of his assailant, he felt a nearly overwhelming desire to thrown himself at him, and release all the pent up anger and desire for revenge that had been eating him inside.
“Let them go, Rookwood, your business is with me,” Harry snarled between his teeth.
“Oh, but you were so very fast in gracing us with your presence once you heard the mudblood screaming! I think your friends will stay a while longer, Harry.” His tone was careless, joyful, and it sent a shiver of rage curling down Harry’s spine.
“You really don’t want to do this, Augustus. I’m not lying in a cell today. I have a wand, and I have several very good reasons not to show any mercy. You should remember that, before doing anything foolish.” Harry grinned as the smile disappeared from the older man’s face. “You must have heard what I can do without a wand… Do you really want a taste of me with one?”
Harry was trying to gain time. He was perfectly aware that he could not duel three Death Eaters unassisted and still protect his friends. He was happy to see that Augustus at least was buying his cocky act, and was hesitating. It was good to have him unsettled.
He felt Ginny’s presence behind him, and was glad that she hadn’t been foolish enough to make herself known. She was partly hidden behind a wall, and quite invisible with the disillusionment charm still working. Maybe, if she could stun one of them out of the blue… But she was too far away, it would never hit the mark.
Willing his brain to think, to come up with a solution, he kept his gaze locked on the man in front of him. Hermione was still on the ground, even if she now seemed to be trying to pick herself up. It hurt Harry to see the lost look in her eyes, he had wished none of his friends ever had to feel the pain he was put through. They were all better off not knowing the extent of human cruelty, in the end.
“So, what will it be, Augustus? I promise to be gentler if you let them go... It is me your master wants. I’m the only one who knows the end of the prophecy. It is useless to involve innocent people in this, Rookwood.” Harry’s eyes were mere slits, but he tried to maintain his voice even. It was better not to show emotion. Fear and anger would only add to their already considerable advantage.
Smirking, Rookwood asked, “Do I feel a bit of desperation there, Potter? I have all your friends at wand point here. I don’t think you’re in any place to be bargaining.”
“And what will you do, then? Kill them all? That won’t give you any information, I can guarantee you.”
“How about we test that theory, Harry?” he asked, a vicious glow in his eyes that made Harry cringe. As if in slow motion, Harry saw the Death Eater lower his wand once more towards Hermione, her eyes widening in horror. “Cru-”
His body moved as if of his own accord, he suddenly burst into action, and threw himself against the man, his shoulder making painful contact with the other man’s ribs. He rolled to a stop, his wand in hand, and cried to Hermione: “Move! Get out of here!”
This was the moment he had been wishing for; he had been only waiting for a good enough excuse to enter a duel. Keeping a close eye on the two robed figures still holding Ron back, Harry watched as Rookwood picked himself up from the ground.
The Death Eater slowly took off his mask, face contorted in a manic grin, and said in a low growl: “Don’t interfere. He’s mine. Today I bring the Dark Lord his worst enemy.”
Harry was slowly circling the Death Eater, every sense tingling, waiting for the attack that would undoubtedly come. The fight transformed him. Ginny, from her privileged spot, saw a fierce light enter his eyes, the quiet intensity hidden in each movement. He seemed eager to be lost in the battle, to find himself once again face to face with his enemy; the sudden shifts of emotion; the strategies and errors and spontaneity.
He had erected his strongest shield the moment the older man had moved his lips. He saw the course bounce of, in the direction of the major battle, but didn’t stop to see what it hit. He uttered a hex in response, and started moving.
Ginny smiled as she saw Harry using the tactic they had practised during the summer. He seemed to be continually moving, dodging, rolling. Augustus curses all straying far from his intended target, as he was continually forced to block the spells flying at him.
By what alchemy, Ginny wondered, had Harry made himself this good? Stunners, cutting hexes, disarming charms, spells she had never heard or seen before were streaming from his wand. He spared himself the hassle of continually blocking his opponent’s attacks by moving and dodging and had found a sort of perfect measure between the two that had Rookwood seriously worried.
But suddenly, the Death Eater anticipated where the boy would move next and Harry stepped into a curse, feeling it grazing his leg, burning the fabric of his trouser, hitting skin. The sharp pain was like a cold shower. He was suddenly aware once more of his surroundings, saw Hermione’s frightened face, Ron’s eyes that held a mixture of concern and respect. He realized the situation was getting out of hand.
Ginny frowned when she saw the ugly gash that had now appeared on Harry’s leg. The burn had slowed him down, and he was now being forced to back down more and more, erecting shields instead of attacking. She needed to do something.
Hoping that the duel would keep the other two Death Eaters occupied, she slowly crept to the other side of their enemies. She was now hidden behind a low wall, and before her, barely two feet away, were the two men holding her brother captive. In one of their pockets she could see her friends wands. She needed to incapacitate both of them fast, before either could raise the alarm.
Deciding that the best way to do that would be with two stunners cast close together, she raised her wand, and muttered the spells. The first hit his target, and the man fell without a sound. The other only had time enough to cry out, before he too felt darkness encompass him.
As soon as Ron was released he dashed towards Hermione, crushing her to him as if she’d disappear the moment he let go. She was still trembling, sobbing against him, and Ron was suddenly immensely grateful that she’d been spared a second round of Cruciatus.
Glancing at Harry, he saw that Rookwood had been distracted enough by his companion’s cry that he’d forgotten to block a full body bind and now lay on the floor, petrified. Harry had been lucky this time.
Harry was panting, his forehead glistening with sweat. It was obviously the duel had taken a lot out of him, but he had miraculously come out on top. Ginny knelt by the two fallen wizards and searched for Ron and Hermione’s wands and handed them back to their owners, before running towards Harry and putting a comforting hand on his back.
“Harry? How are you? He got you on the leg… will you be alright?” she asked quietly.
“Just give me a moment Gin.” He smiled at her, but his voice sounded weary, drained of feeling. “I’m just out of breath. How’s Neville?”
“Just stunned, I think. He was still breathing.” They walked towards where the other boy still lay on the ground. Ginny quietly murmured “Enervate” and was glad to see his eyelids flutter and open.
“Hi there, mate. I’m glad you’re okay,” Harry said quietly, while helping the other boy get to his feet. “Come, we need to find somewhere safe, Hermione is in no shape to deal with more Death Eaters.”
He glanced around and was relieved to see no more masked figures in the proximity. The Order and the Aurors were keeping most Death Eaters busy near the gate, and even the two who had been depositing crystals seemed to have joined the main battle.
Harry whisked the four of them to the most deserted end of the platform, and once he felt sure enough that he’d hear anyone approaching he let himself fall against a wall, and closed his eyes. Just for a second, he told himself.
“Harry, we need to finish with the crystals!” Ginny’s soft voice was like a slap on the face. They were still far from safe.
He opened his eyes blearily. He was still reeling from the adrenalin rush, but his brain felt fuzzy. “How many were left, Gin? I don’t want those things to blow up in out faces.” Was the first answer that crossed his mind.
“There are still five of them I think, and they won’t blow them up with the Death Eaters still here, Harry. We need to hurry, come! Neville will cover us, this way we can both vanish them.” She turned to Ron, and said, in a harsh voice, “You take care of Hermione, and if anything happens you’ll have me to deal with afterwards!”
Harry thought this was a bit of a redundant order, considering that Hermione seemed to be so completely locked onto Ron as to make him wonder if she would ever let go. But he didn’t argue, and let Ginny lead him back to the nightmarish world surrounding the train. The three of them had disguised themselves once more and were blending in with the station, but Harry had a bad feeling things wouldn’t end up well today.
Harry felt a surge of hope as he finally Vanished one more crystal. He could see the last two… both beside the engine at the very beginning of the train. His good spirits didn’t last however as the moment he got up to walk to the next stone, he heard Neville’s scared whisper: “Harry! Harry, I think they saw us! There are four of them moving our way! No one’s even trying to stop them!!!”
Harry turned around and saw that, indeed, Neville was right. Calculating the distance they were, and the speed they were walking he decided that if he hurried he could vanish one more. He’d have to deal with the other later.
“Try to delay them, Neville! I can do one more!” He was already running as he finished speaking. “Ginny, be careful! Go hide!”
His heart was beating a hasty tempo in his chest, and the feeling at the pit of his stomach reminded him that he could still be afraid. His hand was trembling and he had to repeat the incantation twice before he was able to disable the protections around the stone. As soon as the flash of light died off, he saw the first hex hurtling his way.
He had to dive almost under the train to escape the red flash, and still felt the displacement of air as it sailed past him. Lying down, he pointed his wand once more at the stone, knowing that he had only one incantation left before this one two was dispatched to the depths of the ocean.
A bright blue curse hit the ground not a feet from him, and he had to once more stop to protect himself from the suddenly flying rocks and dirt. Groaning at the sudden attack, he erected a shield that blocked attacks for a small moment - but it was enough for him to finish his job. He got up and slipped away, unnoticed amidst the sudden bombardment of the place with spells and hexes.
Harry bumped into her as he retreated. Ginny gave a small cry, and grabbed his arm, saying quietly: “I’m here, Harry. I managed to finish before they came. Now there’s just the one left… How much damage do you think it can do? It’s just one crystal…”
“I don’t know, Gin… I’ve heard some pretty awful things about them. But where’s Neville?” She could hear the worry in his voice, and it warmed her to know he still cared enough to ask after his friends. He was still Harry, after all.
“He tried to delay them for a moment and then said he was going to meet Ron and Hermione. I think he was hit with something, but he said he was okay.” Her voice sounded strained to her own ears, and she wondered what they were going to do. In her eyes their situation was quite helpless.
They were standing in the middle of a station, both under their strongest disillusionment charm, with a time-bomb waiting only for a command to explode not five feet away. Oh, and they were more or less surrounded by battling Death Eaters and Order members, so the chances that they might be hit by a stray hex were quite high as well. She felt a wave of fear hit her for the first time that day.
“What will we do, Harry?” she asked quietly, reaching out to touch him, and taking hold of his arm.
“I have no idea, Gin. They have blocked our way to the train, and if the Order can’t control them… well, I don’t see that much we can do except wait and try to stay a step ahead of everything.” He covered her hand with his and tried to draw what little comfort he could from the warmth of her skin.
They were surrounded, he knew. He could hear spells being shouted all around him. It was really only a matter of time until someone noticed their presence. His magic was itching for a fight, his hands tingling with the effort of controlling his power. But he couldn’t risk leaving Ginny alone, and he knew that the moment they noticed he was there, he would be toast. Every conscious Death Eater would turn their wands on him, and he couldn’t fight a whole army by himself. No, for the moment it was best to stay hidden.
Tonks saw Kingsley rush past her, wand in hand, in hot pursuit of one of their opponents. She cried to his retreating back: “We need back up, Kingsley! They’re gaining too much ground! We need to send word!”
“Already have, Tonks, Dumbledore’s coming! Hang on for a few more minutes!” was his reply, shouted over his shoulder as he ran. Tonks smiled, delighted. This was the first batch of good news she received that day and it helped release the knot of worry in her belly.
For some reason, she saw, the Death Eaters seemed to be conglomerating near the front of the train. For the moment the fight was evenly matched, but she knew things were hanging on a tightrope, and that everything could tumble down any moment. Dumbledore had better hurry or there would be nothing left to salvage when he arrived. Even his protective wards could be broken with enough will, and the train wouldn’t stay sealed for long if the Death Eaters decided to open it.
She debated for a moment whether she should join the fray, but eventually decided not to. Her arm was stinging horribly and the burn seemed to be expanding instead of decreasing making her slightly worried. Most of all, however, she was reluctant to leave Remus unattended. The werewolf was breathing raggedly and his pulse was weakening with each passing moment. The very little medical training she had received in Auror School hadn’t helped her so far to discover what was wrong with him.
She settled down next to him, prepared to wait. And was a few moments later rewarded with several pops of displaced air.
“Harry, I think we need to get out of here,” whispered Ginny, huddled next to him and tracking the movements of the battle around her with care.
“And go where?” was his only answer to the perfunctory remark. They were trapped, and she knew it. The battle was going on all around them and they had so far managed to keep themselves safe only by an intelligent use of shield charms and last minute ducking.
She gave a quiet sigh, thanking the heavens for the existence of invisibility spells and replied: “There must be some kind of help on the way. There’s no way the ministry won’t send more Aurors. And Professor Dumbledore would never abandon the Order. We just have to hang on a bit longer.”
“Let’s hope so, Gin,” was his laconic answer. He was trying to keep track of the people he knew in the fray. So far he had seen Kingsley leave, in pursuit of some obviously squeamish Death Eater who had decided to flee and not fight, Mad Eye dispatching with surprising ease opponent after opponent, never stopping to take a breather.
Bill and Charlie were fighting back to back, and so far no one had managed to get past their joined front. He saw flashes of the twins who would suddenly pop up out of nowhere to the rescue of those who seemed in trouble, disappearing once more a moment later. He’d have to ask them how they managed to do that later. He was worried at not seeing Remus’ face anywhere. He knew his old professor had been at the station, and in the very thick of the mêlée only moments ago.
Suddenly one of the Death Eaters turned his back to him, and Harry couldn’t resist quietly stunning him, saving a young and terrified looking Auror from one more duel. The young man seemed at a loss to explain why his soon to be opponent had suddenly lost consciousness, but was obviously too relieved to ask questions. Harry grinned and heard Ginny’s soft chuckle beside him, before they were both forced to throw themselves at the ground, escaping from a reductor curse that slammed into the wall above their heads.
“Think we could help some more, Gin? There are so many curses flying about, a few more wouldn’t be noticed.” Harry didn’t wait for her answer, before quietly dispatching another Death Eater. He felt stupid for not thinking about this before.
This way the two teens were able to help overcome their enemies, never staying too long in one place, stunning or binding only those that seemed too distracted to raise an alarm. Slowly the number of dark robed figures still standing started to diminish, and Harry couldn’t help but be happy, couldn’t help but triumph.
“Harry, they’re leaving!” Ginny’s voice was tainted with wonder. It was true. Something was driving the Death Eaters away, and they were suddenly disaparating en masse from the station, even if only moments earlier they might still have had a slight chance of turning the battle once more in their favour.
He turned to see what everyone was looking at and saw his Headmaster had just apparated into the station with a dozen fresh Aurors.
“Yep. I think we won, Gin.” He sounded strange, as if he was suddenly overwhelmed. Ginny felt compelled to take his hand.
“I hope the others managed to stay hidden as well,” she said quietly as two last pops were heard, and peace seemed to return to the station.
It was a strange silence that took hold of them all, as if as they left, the Death Eaters had drained the place of all life. As the victors stood, gazing at the remains of the once beautifully kept station no one found the words.
But Harry suddenly wasn’t rejoicing anymore. He was staring as if transfixed at the spot where lay the last Faust Crystal. The only one they hadn’t managed to vanish. The small stone was pulsating with sudden life and all Harry could do before pandemonium broke out was shout out at the top of his voice: “RUN! RAISE SHIELDS!!!”
Chapter 20: Ramifications
Author's Notes: And they finally make it to Hogwarts. I’m not absolutely happy with this chapter, there are parts I like and parts that I fear are dragging a bit. But it was necessary… one of those transition chapters that I don’t like to write. At least I managed to post it soon! Keep an eye out for the next one, it won’t be long! Oh, and don’t forget to drop a few words to tell me what you think!
John Brown
Chapter 17: Ramifications.
It was over in an instant. A blinding flash of light that sent everyone to the floor. The deafening explosion. And then once more, silence.
Harry slowly got back up. The backlash had thrown him far away, but his hastily erected shield had kept the worse of the explosion at bay. He was aching all over, but no worse for the wear.
His ears were wringing and he wondered how bad the situation was, the dust was so heavy in the air that he could barely see. Giving a tentative step forward he called out Ginny’s name. She had been beside him only a moment ago and he wouldn’t be able to think properly before he saw her.
By now the station was filled with cries and moans, and he couldn’t hear amidst the cacophony of sounds. He lit his wand, in an effort to discern the faces around him, and was relieved to see a flash of red close by. It was her, leaning against a pillar, obviously alive.
He ran the few meters that separated them and she let herself fall to his arms, hugging him close. They didn’t need any words. Her presence was enough to calm him and clear his head, his enough to reassure her that, for the time being, things would be okay.
Relaxing her hold slightly, so that they could talk, Ginny asked: “Did you find the others?”
“No, I wanted to find you first. Everything is a mess… I can’t even imagine what would have happened if they’d all exploded at once.”
There was a sudden gush of wind and the air became clear. Harry could see Dumbledore, wand raised, a few meters from him. His headmaster seemed to be in remarkable shape, considering the ordeal they had all gone through. His beard was slightly singed, his bright robes covered in dust but his eyes were burning. And suddenly, Harry understood. With this attack, Voldemort had crossed a line.
There was a delicate balance in war. Each side working quietly to fulfil his needs, careful not to drive the other into too harsh a response. When he sunk low enough to attack children, innocent children on their way to school, with no provocation, quite deliberately Voldemort had crossed that line.
Taking Ginny’s hand, Harry approached his headmaster. They had things to discuss.
“Professor,” said Harry, with a slight nod and a chilly voice, “thank you for sending help. It could have been a massacre.”
Dumbledore’s eyes held barely hidden surprise, and Harry had to wonder whether it was at his words or the fact that he was there to say them.
“What are you doing outside the train, Harry? And you, miss Weasley?” The headmaster’s voice held the slightest traces of reproach.
“We got stranded outside, professor, by your barriers,” answered Ginny. Under her breath she added, “Not the most intelligent thing to put up, really.”
“And why do you say that, miss Weasley?” asked the Professor, a slight twinkle appearing in his eyes when she blushed a crimson red.
Harry answered for her, with a question of his own. “Do you know what did that, Professor?” he asked, pointing at the carcass of the engine.
“I have not had the time to go investigate, Harry. I suspect some sort of time-delayed curse. Why do you enquire?” he asked, with polite interest.
“Because it wasn’t a time-delayed curse, Professor. It was a Faust Crystal. A single one. The Death Eaters had packed the train with about a dozen of them.” Dumbledore’s eyes widened slightly at the information.
“Merlin,” he muttered. “How did he find so many of them?”
“That’s not the point, Professor!” growled Harry. “How could you seal the train? How could you leave hundreds of students with no escape route? Do you have any idea of what would have happened if we were inside, as we were supposed to? No one noticed the Crystals, Professor! No one would have gotten rid of the things, and the whole train would now look like that!” he finished with a harsh cry, pointing to what was left of the front of the train, nothing but a pile of smoking rubble.
“I didn’t want any of the students involved in case there was indeed a battle. It was a simple safety precaution,” replied Dumbledore, not cowering under Harry’s accusing gaze.
The boy’s voice rose with sudden strain. “Supposing your bloody safety protection had actually worked, you never even stopped to consider that some people might be left outside? Or that the Death Eaters might decide to attack the train? What were you thinking, Professor?”
“I never suspected Voldemort would lower himself quite this much, quite this soon, Harry. It was my decision, and I did what I thought was best,” answered the headmaster quietly. It was strange, he thought. The young man he had before him had a look in his eyes he had never seen. The old Harry would never had dared to question any of his actions. Dumbledore had to admit that he had never expected to find himself in this position, having to defend his decisions. For a long time now, he had thought he was above such petty activities. Not anymore.
“And this was why, Professor, I needed to be at that meeting,” hissed Harry between his teeth. “For better or for worse, I know how Voldemort thinks. I could have avoided all of this while you almost got a train-full of children killed, Professor. This is no longer your personal war.”
Harry’s anger seemed too deep now for shouts and raised voices. His eyes were burning as he stared at Dumbledore, but he seemed to feel too much to explode. His body seemed unnaturally still.
“Harry…”
“Don’t, Professor.” Ginny saw his anger as a change in his eyes, nothing more. “One of my best friends was just put under Cruciatus because the Order and the Ministry combined weren’t able to properly defend a station, when you were warned in advance of the attack. I’m sick of it. None of you are ready for this war and quite frankly it’s more than a little pathetic. I wonder how you’ll fare if he gets you by surprise.”
Harry’s eyes were mere slits now, his arms crossed, so focused on the man before him that he was completely unaware that they now had an audience.
“I’m sorry, Harry.” Dumbledore’s eyes held a deep sadness, and Ginny felt a slight stirring of pity for the man.
“Aren’t we all,” answered Harry, before he turned around and noticed the people watching the discussion. “What are you all staring at?” he snapped. “There are people under the rubble! Start digging!”
Disgusted with the whole thing, Harry turned round and walked towards the corner of the station where they had left Ron and Hermione. He could see now that the Crystal had only destroyed a small portion of the train, and that most probably no students had been hurt. He felt sheer relief run through his body, and reached out to Ginny.
“We did something good today Gin,” he said quietly.
“I know, Harry. You did great.” She smiled at him, wishing that he could accept the compliment, even as he shook his head despondently.
“I didn’t get that last stone. And Hermione was hurt. It wasn’t great, Ginny. Acceptable, maybe. Not great.”
“Look Harry,” she said, grabbing him by the arms and forcing him to look her in the eye, “you were trust into a situation where you were never supposed to be, unprepared and completely ignorant of what was going on. No one told you who was here, what was the plan, nothing. And you still managed to keep us all alive in the middle of a battlefield plus save most of the Hogwarts Express. Whatever else happens, it will not have been your fault. After what I saw, I don’t think anyone could have done better.”
Harry was quiet a moment. In some small measure, he realized, Ginny had lightened the burden he felt. She let go of him, and stepped back, waiting for his reaction, watching the flow of emotion in his eyes.
His hands were shoved in his pockets, he looked slender and solitary. Much too young to have lived the life he had lived and to bear what it had brought him now. All that she wanted to do was hold him.
Harry did not answer. He gave her a slight smile and started walking, hands still in his pockets. She remembered that he had been hit by a hex, and wondered if he was hurting, but knew better than to ask.
They found the other three teens where they had left them. Neville was pale and holding one of his arms close to his body. Something was obviously not right.
“What happened, Neville?” asked Harry in a concerned voice.
“Rock, in the explosion. I think it’s broken,” his voice was shaking slightly, and he bit his lip as soon as he finished explaining.
Turning to Ron, who still had Hermione locked in his arms, he asked quietly: “How is she?”
“I think she’s in shock. She doesn’t answer my questions and she won’t stop trembling. She needs a healer or someone to look at her.” Ron didn’t meet his eyes as he spoke, but Harry figured that at least he’d acknowledged his presence. Maybe something good would come out of this whole mess, after all.
Half an hour later, Charlie came by with a portkey and a short message from Dumbledore: none of the students, other than the five of them, were hurt. They were to go to the Hogwarts infirmary and wait for the headmaster there.
For once, Harry didn’t mind the abrupt dismissal. He had watched as the Aurors started the search and had realized that they knew how to deal with the aftermath of the battle, if not with the battle itself. Soon, a triage section was set up, those with the worse injuries being sent immediately to St. Mungos. Death Eaters were portkeyed to holding sells pending trial. They were remarkably efficient, all in all, he thought ruefully. A pity it was slightly too late.
They had been waiting in tense silence. Neville was in too much pain to hold a meaningful conversation and the other four had too much between them to even try.
Harry kept running his conversation with Dumbledore over and over in his mind. He knew he shouldn’t have been quite so forward. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d actually qualified the headmaster’s shield of ‘bloody’. If he didn’t feel so strained, and if the situation wasn’t quite so bad he might have laughed. In the heat of the moment he’d forgotten his place, and he could only hope that it wouldn’t hurt their relationship too much.
Ginny watched Harry from afar. She could almost feel his tension, but knew she had to wait him out. He needed time to process whatever was going through her mind, to put his finger in exactly what was eating him inside.
He knew that the headmaster would want to see him once they were safely back at school, and he needed to decide how much he was going to tell. He needed Dumbledore’s trust, but at the same time he wanted to keep his game in hand. It was a delicate balance, and Harry didn’t want to mess it up.
Touching the portkey, he allowed his body to relax for the first time that day. He was finally safe.
Harry sat in a corner of the infirmary, gazing out the window and waiting for his Headmaster to arrive. Madam Pomfrey had harrumphed the moment they had appeared in a flash of light, apparently not very pleased with the invasion of her territory for the second time before turn started.
Ron hadn’t hesitated before gently helping Hermione to a bed. She wouldn’t let go of his hand, but seemed calmer now that they had reached some more welcome surroundings. Harry really didn’t like the glazed look in her eyes... He simply hoped that with a little time she’d recover the bit of herself that the curse had stolen.
Watching the girl in the bed, the nurse had turned to Harry and asked quietly: “Cruciatus?”
Harry nodded sadly as he heard her murmur and sigh quietly: “Then there’s not much I can do.”
She had proceeded to make Hermione as comfortable as possible and put her to sleep. Watching, Harry had remembered all the times the nurse had done that to him, helping him move on simply by stuffing him full of Dreamless Sleep potion.
While she took care of Neville, he’d been drawn towards the windows, reacquainting himself with the grounds, the castle. He was finally as safe as magic and strong buildings could make him, and he couldn’t deny the slight loosening of his heart. They had made it, and Voldemort was probably beyond furious. He’d have to deal with the consequences eventually, but for now they were safe.
A moment later, Ginny joined him and sat silently on the sill. Seeing that he was much calmer now that they were finally at school, she asked: “Do you want to talk?”
“Not really, no. But I’m pretty sure Dumbledore won’t care for that.” He smiled a tight, bitter smile, and never looked at her.
“You still have some time before the headmaster arrives, Harry. You can think about what you want to say.”
“And remind myself to keep my vocabulary clean while I say it?” He smiled slightly, and Ginny realized that he was amused by his slip.
“I really don’t think he noticed it, Harry. He was too preoccupied by your murdering glare, you know?” she simpered at him.
His eyes opened wide at her statement and he couldn’t hold back a bark of laughter. Something about it had picked his sense of the absurd.
“Merlin, was it that bad?” He started laughing and couldn’t stop.
There was a sudden carelessness about his smile that made Ginny want to keep it there: for a moment she could remember the young man he used to be, before time and circumstances had changed him. And in that moment, when his eyes were for a moment completely unguarded, she realized how attractive he was to her. How he seemed to appeal to all her senses, making her breath catch without her noticing.
“Only for Professor Dumbledore.” Ginny grinned. “Oh, and for the poor Auror you caught gawking… He’s probably scared for life.”
“Nothing more than he deserved,” Harry said, but there was no anger in his voice, and the smile had not disappeared from his lips.
They slipped back into a comfortable silence, watching the wind blow through the trees of the Forbidden Forest, the soft waves in the lake.
“What will you do, Harry?” Ginny asked.
“I don’t know, Gin. Talk to the Headmaster, probably,” Harry answered, shrugging.
“Is that what you want to do?” Ginny insisted, watching his face for some clue about his emotions.
“What I want to do, Gin, is something else entirely.” There was something in his eyes that Ginny couldn’t read. She didn’t know what to say, so she just watched him, waiting for him to continue.
“What I want is to stop feeling guilty each time I talk to you, what I want is to finish what we started in the parlour at Grimmauld Place. But I don’t know if we should.”
She took a moment to try and understand how the conversation had shifted so completely and gather her thoughts.
“Why shouldn’t we, Harry? If it’s what we both want… We can’t let him rule our lives, and I’m not afraid.” She spoke quietly, not wanting to attract the attention of the others in the ward.
“But I’m afraid, Gin. I couldn’t stand to lose you. Too many people around me have gone. I couldn’t stand it if it were you.” For the first time he turned from the window to look her in the eyes and she felt the hurt as acutely as she could see it in his eyes.
“I know, Harry. But there is only so much we can do, and no one is entirely safe those days. I refuse to let Tom rule my life. You told me this summer that if we did that, he would have already won. I believed you then, and I still do.” She smiled slightly, before continuing, “And in the end it’s my choice, with my life.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed; Ginny could not tell whether this was in contemplation of her statement or of what he would answer.
“In a way, Ginny, I understand what you’re saying,” he said finally. “It’s what my mind tells me is true. But I can’t help but be scared… for you and for what he can do to people. You saw Hermione today, Gin.” He shuddered visibly, and Ginny wondered if it was in remembrance of his own pain or of Hermione’s.
“We can’t live if we think like that, Harry. We’ve managed to keep ourselves alive this far, that should count for something. That should give us a little hope, don’t you think?”
Harry gazed at the beds in the far end of the ward almost idly, and was saved from answering by the arrival of Madam Pomfrey, wand in hand, ready to put them back in one piece. Ginny gave a small smile at his wry expression as he turned to her, as if in search of rescue. With an internal laugh she remembered he was the one who had started that particular conversation, however unwise the idea might have been.
Harry sat in one of Dumbledore’s comfy armchairs, watching the headmaster watch him. They had been sitting there in silent for long moments, both waiting for the other to start diminishing the gap that sat between them.
Suddenly Harry asked, out of the blue: “You had already given up on me, hadn’t you? That’s why the Order never found me, because they weren’t looking.”
Dumbledore saw no anger in Harry’s voice, only acceptance. The statement of a fact. He chose not to lie. “Indeed, Harry. I thought it highly unlikely that we would ever find you alive, despite miss Weasley’s strong expression of the contrary. But I never pulled out the search, and the whole Order did its best to find you. Obviously our best wasn’t enough.”
“Then it’s even worse then I thought. You aren’t prepared for this war. I wasn’t even in a place under Fidelius…” Harry felt strangely empty, as if his last conversation with Ginny had drained him of all emotion. His head was clear for once, and he didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to snap at the headmaster he’d felt at the station.
“We don’t have endless resources Harry, and the ministry doesn’t approve of our actions,” said Dumbledore quietly, imitating Harry’s demeanour.
“The Ministry won’t last another month, Professor. If the Wizengamot doesn’t throw Fudge away, then Voldemort will and there will be no more ministry.” Harry’s tone didn’t change and Dumbledore wondered how the boy could talk of the utter destruction of the structure of the wizarding world with such cool. “I don’t know what would be worse… on the one hand we might get a decent government; on the other people might realize just how serious the situation is and actually start organizing some sort of resistance. Maybe that would even get the I.C.W. involved.”
“I hope to avoid leaving the wizarding world without leaders, Harry. The Wizengamot won’t let it go that far.”
“It’s gotten this far, Professor, and no one did anything,” said Harry with an ironic smile. He knew Dumbledore wouldn’t answer, and waited for the barrage of questions to start.
The headmaster sighed deeply and Fawkes, who had watched the conversation from afar, quietly took a perch on the old wizard’s knee, crooning softly. Dumbledore let his hand sink slightly into the warm comfort of his life-long companion’s feathers.
“Harry, you know that we need to talk, politics aside.”
“Okay professor. But first tell me what happened at the station. Did everyone make it?” His voice was tight, but he needed to know.
“For the moment there are no casualties from the battle. The Aurors have three of their number in critical condition; they were very close to the crystal and the explosion shattered their shields. But they are getting the best possible care, and there is still hope. As for the Order… Remus is stable, but he was hit by an unknown curse. The Healers are trying to find out what’s wrong with him. Tonks was hit my a rather nasty variation of the burning hex and will probably be in considerable pain for the next few days, her injuries are not life-threatening, however. The Hogwarts Express’ conductor has some severe injuries. Healers aren’t confident he will recover. Most of the other people involved had minor injuries and burns - nothing too worrisome.”
“Everyone was lucky. The Death Eaters weren’t there to kill; that should have been the Crystals work. They were there to capture me… Voldemort will be furious, neither part of his plan worked and he probably lost a few men. How many were captured?”
“Unfortunately, most Death Eaters had Portkeys to escape. There are only eight of them in custody.”
“Did you get Rookwood? He was stunned and bound, no way he could have used a Portkey.”
“Indeed, he is one of them. He was found near two other men, rookies with no experience. Where they your work?” Dumbledore watched him with a penetrating gaze that made Harry more than a little uncomfortable.
“Only Rookwood. Ginny managed to surprise the other two while I was duelling him. He’s the one who got Hermione.”
“Congratulations, Harry, it is not a common accomplishment to get the better of one of Voldemort’s most trusted Death Eaters.” Harry saw the question in the headmaster’s eyes without his having to ask, but didn’t want to broach that particular subject yet. So he simply nodded, reluctance creeping back into his eyes.
The headmaster gave another heavy sigh and closed his eyes briefly, as if preparing for a confrontation.
“Harry, do you have any further questions or can we move into more serious matters?”
“I have nothing else to ask, Professor, but there are things I might chose not to answer. I will be as honest as possible, and I trust you understand that there are compelling reasons to keep quiet about certain matters.”
The headmaster didn’t seem pleased, but said nonetheless: “I cannot force you to talk, Harry. We’ve seen abundant proof of that in the past weeks. I can only hope that under the circumstances you are as open as possible. You may not be best pleased with me right now, with good reason, but I can assist you and in the end we have similar goals.”
Harry nodded once more, waiting for Dumbledore to get to the point once and for all.
“I would like to discuss your training with you, Harry. Rest assured that I don’t mean to stop you in any way, on the contrary, I would like to offer whatever help is in my power to further your education and your magical skills.”
“And I will be grateful for the training, Professor. At least in this matter we seem to be in perfect accord.”
He paused for a moment, in thought, and made a split second decision before continuing, “Maybe the best way would be for me to show you, Professor. I’m sure that would clear most of the questions you’re about to ask me anyway.”
Harry got up and cleared a space in the centre of the room with a quick flick of his wand. Dumbledore watched in silence. He stood in one of the corners, taking a deep breath, trying to stop the doubt creeping up on him. Now he had to do this, and the first thing was to make his heart stop beating quite this fast.
Closing his eyes, he blocked everything from his mind but the feeling of magic around him; felt the slight tendrils of his power coming to the surface pooling around his hands, guiding his body. Before he was even completely aware of what he was doing, he felt his body move in the rhythmic dance of the battle, following the steps that had made wizards feared opponents in battle centuries ago.
A few minutes later he paused, his breathing slightly faster than usual, his heart beating a slow drum in his chest. He felt invigorated, as if his magic had cleansed his body of the last vestiges of the battle of the station taken away the hurt. Turning towards his headmaster, he waited for the comments to come.
“That was impressive, Harry. Obviously not the work of the last few weeks. How long have you been training?” His eyes were twinkling slightly but there was a concerned frown on his brow.
“As I told you professor,” said Harry as he sat down once more, “I started working the steps as soon as school was out. I… Well, I kind of borrowed a few books from the library for the holidays.” He blushed slightly but didn’t feel too guilty. He had, after all, intended to put the books back where they belonged as soon as he was done with them.
“I’m sure madam Pince will be pleased to know that her book did not, in fact, grow legs,” the headmaster commented, smiling. “I am amazed at the speed with which you bonded with your magic, Harry. I expected the transition to take much longer.”
“The control I learned while working on my Occlumency helped me a lot. Now I just have to keep practicing, I guess.”
Dumbledore was quiet for a long moment before saying quietly: “You should talk to your duelling Professor, Harry, if he doesn’t come to you first with a proposition. I’m sure it would be beneficial to both of you.”
Harry didn’t know what to make of the cryptic remark, so he only nodded.
“Thank you, Harry, for showing me what was going on.” Harry nodded once more, wondering where the headmaster was going. “And I am sorry I didn’t have more faith in you. I know you are dealing with emotions and situations that we can only imagine, and you’ve shown more character than me or the Order could ever ask for… So I have decided to try not to intrude in your personal life. If you have a problem, I trust you to come to us for help, but otherwise, I’ll let you figure out your own way.”
Harry furrowed his brows, and then asked: “What about the Wizengamot ruling? You made pretty sure I couldn’t take control of my life, professor. I don’t care for fancy speeches that you won’t actually live up to.”
The headmaster sighed deeply and then said: “I see that the time has long passed when I could comfort you with words. Very well, I hope at least my future actions will meet your expectations, Harry.”
“We can both hope, Professor. That doesn’t mean you won’t be hearing from my attorney. Nothing personal, Professor, I’m only fulfilling Sirius’ last wishes.” Harry smiled slightly, and amused glow in his eyes. Sirius would have liked to see this, he thought.
“I understand, Harry. I will talk to your professors about what I saw here. I have a feeling that your classes will lose much of their challenge this year, but that will mean you’ll have more time for your training. I’ll make sure Professor McGonagall gives you a detailed schedule in the morning, and any further questions you might have, my door is always open.”
“Thank you, Professor.” They both seemed to know that the offer was perfunctory. Harry wasn’t at all likely to come up for a chat at the moment, and none of them had any illusions as to the contrary. “Is that all, Professor?”
“Yes, Harry. I’ll see you at the feast.”
Harry bowed himself out.
Chapter 21: The flimsy weight of solitude among others
Author's Notes: Hello all! I want to clarify something before we go on about what happened to Hermione and that Cruciatus curse.
I got so many responses I thought I needed to explain it better. First of all, she isn’t in the same state as the Longbottoms: she was under Cruciatus for maybe half a minute, not longer. She simply didn’t react to the pain as well as Harry does, and was in a bit of shock. Not everyone can bear the same amounts of pain, you know…
Harry grew up being abused in every possible way; I assumed he has a high tolerance for the sensation. Hermione on the contrary was a pampered only child: her first encounter with Cruciatus was bound to leave a mark. She clung to Ron for comfort, and relaxed when she reached safety. Madam Pomfrey couldn’t help her because there was nothing really ‘wrong’ with her. She just needs to deal with the experience. That’s it.
I hope that cleared things up a bit… I honestly never expected that part of the chapter to cause such a reaction. And absolutely no comments on the Harry and Ginny conversation… Strange…
Anyway, someone also noticed that my plot was a little scattered, and I had to admit he was right. So I took the time to sit down and write a new outline with everything that needs to happen in order for everything to come together. So, things should start to pick up from now on. That said, I hope you like the new chapter!
Oh, and I translated the quote myself, and posted the original in Portuguese (my mother tongue if anyone is interested) in case anyone understands it. It’s simply too beautiful to capture properly in another language, even if I tried not to butcher it.
"Minha alma tem o peso da luz. Tem o peso da música. Tem o peso da palavra nunca dita, prestes quem sabe a ser dita. Tem o peso de uma lembrança. Tem o peso de uma saudade. Tem o peso de um olhar. Pesa como pesa uma ausência. E a lágrima que não se chorou. Tem o imaterial peso da solidão no meio de outros."
Clarice Lispector
(“My soul has the weight of light. Has the weight of music. The weight of the word that was never spoken, but is perhaps about to be said. Has the weight of a memory. Of yearning. Of a look. Weights like an absence. And the tear that no one cried. Has the flimsy weight of solitude among others.”)
Chapter 18: The flimsy weight of solitude among others.
Harry stood in the groping darkness at the head of the Entrance Hall staircase, watching with dispassionate interest as the waves of Hogwarts students filled through beneath him, on their way to the Great Hall.
He could feel the excitement in the air, the slight shiver that seemed to occasionally seize the crowd… Could hear the sudden raised voices, the agitated murmurs... Could feel in his gut the rumours being spread.
He knew from experience that the moment he showed himself a sudden hush would befall the Hall, that every eye in the room would turn towards him and after a moment - a single endless moment - murmurs would arise and the unforgiving machinery of gossip would continue its uncharitable grind. He knew it, and for once he didn’t worry too much. He was done living his life by others standards and a few nasty words by people who didn’t have enough nerve to say them to his face weren’t going to faze him. Not after this summer.
Sighing deeply he kept watch, waiting for the scurry to die down some before attempting to find a place at his house table. He felt a presence beside him and knew from instinct that Ginny was there. He waited for her to talk.
“Worried, Harry?” she whispered, while leaning against the wall.
“Actually, no, Ginny. I can’t wait to hear the novels they’ll come up with this time. But really, I’m not worried.”
Ginny knew that Harry didn’t quite mean what he was saying. She could see the tense set of his shoulders, the way his fingers were twirling his wand around, a nervous habit he’d acquired during his time at Grimmauld Place.
“Well, I am terrified. Hogwarts gossip scares me more then a horde of Death Eaters, I tell you. They might not kill you, but they can make you suffer. I know it.” She went for humour, and was rewarded a small smile. It was refreshing to see Harry becoming less strained, opening up to a gentle mockery of even the most touchy subjects.
“Don’t worry, Gin. We’ll face them together.” He smiled at her, eyes glowing gently, and left her to wonder if his sentence had a double meaning. Her conversations with Harry always seemed to carry a hidden significance: what he said and what she was left to guess - those things he would say if she ever got close enough.
“Company is always welcome. Especially in our misery.” She heard the catch in her own voice and felt absurdly comforted when Harry reached out and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, saying softly, “They don’t matter, Gin. We need to live our own lives, regardless of what anyone thinks.”
He tuned away then, leaving her to wonder if his words applied to Voldemort too. If they applied to the two of them and what they might have, if he ever got past the fear. But she knew better than to push him at the moment. They would find a time to talk later, when Hermione’s scared eyes weren’t still so fresh in his mind, when the blatant way Rookwood had used his friends as leverage was maybe not forgotten, but at least more of a remote memory.
“Is Ron coming? He seemed to want to stay with Hermione…” Harry asked.
“He stayed. He didn’t really talk to me, but I heard him grumble something about waking up alone and what not.” She sighed before continuing. “Jerk. He really doesn’t realize that he’s hurting everyone more by not apologizing.”
Harry smiled tightly, frowning slightly. “I don’t know what’s going on in his mind anymore, Gin. But something changed at the station. Maybe the clue was to take a curse for Hermione. If only I’d known this before!”
Ginny gave a small laugh, remembering how her brother’s eyes had shifted as Hermione was finally able to get out of that Death Eater’s grasp. Maybe Harry was right.
“If only we’d known, right? Maybe it’d have been a bit hard to unearth a Death Eater to do the hexing, but still…”
Grinning, Harry replied, “Oh no, that would’ve been the easy part. Voldemort seems to keep an ample supply of them, I’d only have to send him a few words and I’m sure he’d comply.”
Eyes opening wide at the absurd proposition, Ginny started laughing. “Merlin, the mental pictures!”
Harry’s eyes seemed to sparkle at her amusement, and his grinned widened.
They were silent once more, watching the last few students scramble across the hall, but a heavy burden seemed to have left both of them. Ginny in particular couldn’t hide the small smile that seemed stuck in her lips.
“Should we face the mob, Gin?” Harry asked, shoving his wand in his pocket with a decided gleam in his eyes.
“Yep, I think it’s time. We’ll be all right, you’ll see.” And shoving him playfully, they made their way down the stairs.
Harry started as he crossed the Great Hall’s gigantic double-doors. The walls, which he’d expected to be decorated with enormous banners in the four houses colours - exactly as they had for the last five years of his life - were covered in black fabric.
He felt the bottom of his stomach drop as a wave of dread coursed through him. “Oh no…” he murmured.
“Something’s happened…” answered Ginny in kind.
“Someone died.” Harry’s toneless voice was as devoid of apparent emotion as the rest of his face. He was thinking back to his meeting with the Headmaster, wondering how he could have let himself believe that they would all pull through. Even the Headmaster had warned that there were some serious injuries.
Ginny watched him with deep sadness, all her previous good humour slipping away. “I’m sure the Headmaster will let us know, Harry,” she said quietly, while leading him to the few empty seats near the front of the room.
They sat down quietly, amid the clamours of voices and emotions around the Hall. Apparently most people remembered the last time the Hall had been decorated in black and speculation was running high. Harry just hoped that Dumbledore would appear soon. The wait and uncertainty was worse than the news themselves.
Neville, who had found a seat near theirs, turned to Harry and asked, worry etched on his face, “Do you know what happened, Harry? The headmaster talked to you this afternoon…”
“I don’t know anything, Nev. When I talked to Dumbledore nobody had died, and things were exactly as they were when we left the station,” answered Harry, in a monotone.
“Don’t worry too much, both of you,” chided Ginny quietly, “the sorting will start soon and then the Headmaster will tell us the news.”
As if on cue, the double doors behind the Head Table opened wide and the professors streamed in, a colourful swarm of robes and hats, each more extravagant than the last. The whole thing seemed calculated to stand in sharp contrast to the gloominess of the drapes and sent shivers of unease gliding down Harry’s back.
The headmaster waited for the staff to take their seats and, smiling at the assembled students, said in his booming, warm voice: “I welcome you all to one more year at Hogwarts. After a somewhat bumpy ride, we have finally arrived, unscathed, and for that we must all rejoice. And now, before anything else, let us enjoy this year’s sorting ceremony!”
Harry watched distractedly as the queue of diminutive first years made their way into the hall. He searched for a familiar face and, finding none, let his thoughts roam. He clapped with everyone else, but his mind was miles away. He didn’t understand why things were suddenly picking up, why Voldemort was no longer trying to hold onto the pretence that he wasn’t reborn after all. He didn’t understand why, the moment he had crossed the doors and seen those black drapes, the war had suddenly felt so incredibly close and personal. Watching the happy faces around him, he felt as an intruder in a party. There and yet not invited. Hogwarts had always felt like home, despite the trouble that always seemed to find him in the castle, but now… Now he was no longer so sure.
“Zabel, Geoff” became a Gryffindor. And suddenly the deafening noise permeated his brain and Harry realized that the sorting was over and that the small boy with golden curls making his way to their table was the last first year.
His eyes immediately turned towards the head table, searching Dumbledore’s to try and gauge how bad the situation was. He realized that the headmaster had been watching him and wondered what the old wizard was searching for. He wished he could see into his thoughts, know everything that was happening; be able to finally stop second-guessing every decision.
Dumbledore, resplendent in dazzling violet robes, stood up. Silence fell in the Hall and Harry held his breath. Ginny reached for his hand beneath the table and held on tight.
“Dear students. Today I must once more be the bearer of dark news. As I am sure most of you are aware, the Hogwarts Express was victim of a most coward and deadly attack this morning.
“It was the work of Lord Voldemort and his followers, as most of you must have guessed. It is my sad duty to inform you that there were, unfortunately, casualties. The Hogwarts Express conductor, a dedicated wizard by the name of Edward Mole, was killed in the blast. Furthermore, two ministry Aurors died due to injuries sustained during the battle. I now ask you for a moment of silence to remember those brave men.”
Everyone kept quiet, not even the sound of a breath heard. Harry closed his eyes tightly, thinking that if only he had gotten to that last crystal, the outcome could have been very different. He wondered if those men had left behind families. If somewhere, someone was at that very moment in unbearable pain. And deep inside he felt his hate grow a tiny bit.
“Today’s attack was meant to deal a fatal blow to this school. Indeed, if it had been successful, Hogwarts would probably no longer exist. But what we have learned today is that we can fight. That we can stand strong in the face of adversity.” The Headmaster’s voice grew in intensity, his power visible behind each word. “What we have learned today is that if we resist, if we fight as one, as allies, good can prevail. And what a valuable lesson this is! Good can prevail!”
Harry heard those words, remembered how they might have comforted him even a few months ago. But they hadn’t stood together, this time. They had been saved because Mrs. Weasley liked long goodbyes and for no other reason than that. The Order hadn’t seen a thing and the Aurors were few and more or less unprepared for a real battle. Those were only words; Dumbledore’s speech was nothing but meaningless words. Harry tightened his hold around Ginny’s hand, his stomach clenching.
“Voldemort feeds upon fear; he feeds upon discord and dispute. Do not let him win. We are at war. A war still clouded in darkness, that has yet to be let out in the open and declared, but a war nonetheless. Let us prepare for it; let us look out for it, so that it can never catch us unawares. And remember this: together we are strong. Together we are strong.”
Dumbledore paused after each word, putting a world of feeling behind them. And Harry saw that this was what the headmaster really believed in. Unity. Harmony. But he knew better. This wasn’t something that they would win in numbers. Voldemort wasn’t someone who could be defeated by a numerous army. This was his own personal battle, Harry knew. This was something that he would have to finish. Alone.
“My dear students, let us enjoy our feast with the knowledge that for a day we have thwarted darkness. Tuck in!” And as all kinds of dishes appeared on the tables, Dumbledore sat down.
“Harry?” Ginny gave him a slight nudge, concerned. He hadn’t so much as moved a muscle since the Headmaster sat down and the food appeared. He had just sat there, looking at his golden plate, lost in his own mind.
“Um?” he mumbled, his eyes loosing their slightly glazed look.
“Dinner, Harry,” she said, motioning to the giant piece of roast-beef and the piles of potatoes before him. “You should eat. We’re still running on breakfast, you know?”
Harry had to admit that she was right. He could make plans and decide what to do in a few moments. His stomach deserved his attention too, after all.
“Sorry, Gin.” He smiled at her, reaching for the roast-beef and serving them both a plate. “I was lost in thought.”
Thanking him with a smile for the proffered food, she said, “I noticed that, Harry. But mum will kill me if I don’t look out for you, make sure you get three square meals a day, eight hours a night, blá, blá, blá…” She gazed at him speculatively, before adding, “You are starting to look healthy again, I have to admit. It’d be a pity to lose that, after all my mum put into you those last few weeks.”
“Stuffing me like a goose is more like it,” Harry grumbled morosely between mouthfuls.
“It worked, didn’t it?” said Ginny petulantly. “So don’t argue with success, it’s not polite.”
Harry smiled, and decided not to answer. It had worked, and he wasn’t above enjoying a bit of Mrs. Weasley’s pampering. Deciding that a change of subject was in order, he turned towards Neville and asked, “So, how was your summer, mate?”
“Well,” the other boy took a moment to swallow, “I stayed around the house mostly. Grandma was too worried to let me out much. It was a bore most of the time, but it gave me a chance to go over the things we did last semester…”
“What we did?” Harry asked, puzzled.
“Yes. I went over everything we did in the DA last year. I managed to scrape an EE in the OWLs, you know? My best grade other than Herbology. Grandma was ecstatic, even said I was starting to take after my Dad and threw a party for the whole family. It was all on you, mate. Probably wouldn’t even have gotten the blasted defence OWL if we hadn’t practiced so much last year,” he rambled.
“Wow, Neville, that’s amazing! Congratulations!” Harry said, sincerely pleased that his friend was finally starting to see the fruits of his hard labour. “But it was your hard work that paid off, Nev. I was there just to nudge you in the right direction.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve heard that everyone in the DA did great in the exams. So I still think it had something to do with you being a great teacher, Harry,” said Neville through a mouthful of meatloaf. “Right, Seamus?” he asked, addressing the boy next to him, that had been quietly following the conversation.
“Yes. I had an EE overall too, but only because I screwed up the written exam. The examiner was really nice, said my wand-work was excellent.” With an ironic smile he continued, “I certainly didn’t manage that because of Umbridge. The bloody cow didn’t let us touch a wand in class all year long! But anyway, me mum was very pleased.”
Neville smiled at the slightly flabbergasted look in Harry’s face. “Ernie managed an O, I think, as well as Susan and Hannah. I’m not sure about the others, but I heard Alicia had the best results in the school at her NEWTs, but it may be just a rumour.”
Harry could feel the heavy weight of the DA’s golden galleon in his pocket. He wanted to set up a meeting as soon as possible, but couldn’t stop wondering how that would damage his relationship with the headmaster. The old wizard had never given his permission after all… However, being assured that his efforts had paid off was more than a small incentive. Seeing the happiness in Neville’s eyes as he described his party and the reaction of his family was the most rewarding thing he had ever felt.
Leaning slightly against him, Ginny whispered in Harry’s ear, “Did you think no good would come out of this? Even if there was no war, practice is always good, as you can see.”
Harry smiled, and the mindless chatting continued. She was right, of course. The DA was too important to bargain with. He savoured the food and listened to Seamus’ tales about the latest misfortune his father had gotten into when he messed around one of his mother’s cauldrons. He let the familiar noise and atmosphere wash over him, and felt safe for perhaps the first time in months.
“…it was sitting in the stove, like stew or something, and me dad thought it okay to taste it before dinner. It was some sort of healing potion for sores but it didn’t work too well. Dad had those nasty blue blotches covering him for a week, had to miss work and all. He completely blew the top at mum, and now she has to put little signs that tell what’s magical and what isn’t, and explain what each thing does. She’s none too pleased, I tell you…”
On his other side, Ginny was talking to the small boy that had been the last to be sorted, explaining how the castle worked, pointing out the different teachers. Harry was struck at how normal everything seemed, when just that morning they’d been fighting for their lives. It was amazing how people had the ability to put things behind them and move on.
He ate the last bit of his treacle tart, and smiled as everything disappeared a second later. Just in time, he thought.
“Just a few last announcements before we all head to bed in this eventful day,” said Dumbledore as he stood up once more. “We have a few more security measures that were added to our usual routine. They have been designed to ensure that the rest of the year runs smoothly. Considering the state of affairs, I expect all of you,” his gaze strayed pointedly towards the Gryffindor table, “to follow the rules. They are there for your safety and breaking them will only get you into serious trouble.
“Curfew is set at ten o’clock sharp. The library closes a quarter of an hour before that to give you all time to get to your Common Rooms, no excuses allowed. The grounds are strictly out of bounds as soon as the sun settles, excepting if you’re accompanied by a staff-member.” He paused, gaze drifting around the hall, catching every eye to reinforce the seriousness of this last rule. After a few moments pause, he started speaking again, in a much lighter tone:
“On a more pleasant note, I would like you all to welcome the two new additions to our staff this year: Ms. Elektra Tedakis. She has been gracious enough to accept the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.”
As an enthusiastic round of applause started around him, Harry couldn’t help but stare. This was the woman who had stood up for him at the Order meeting. This was the unknown ally he had so wished to meet. She was a tall woman, with flowing dark hair framing a heart shaped face. Her skin was pale, an almost translucent white, and her lips a dark red - the image that crossed Harry’s mind was Snow-White - but her eyes transfixed him. They seemed to be constantly changing colours, shifting with her emotions.
She stood up as Dumbledore announced her name, and gave a slight bow. Her eyes were roaming the room, taking in the students and seeming to look for one in particular. Harry finally caught her gaze. As her eyes stopped on him, sizing, calculating, they stopped their incessant changing.
Harry felt drawn to this woman, a deep, unreasonable liking, that surprised him by its force. She seemed so familiar, and he felt certain they had met in the past, even if he couldn’t remember it. He had a feeling that Defence classes would regain their interest this year.
“Next, let me present you Michael Agilius, who will be teaching Dueling to the older students. This class will be an important addition to our curriculum, as we once again open an elective that hasn’t been taught at Hogwarts for dozens of years. It is a great honour to have Mr. Agilius join our staff.”
There was a round of applause as a man Harry hadn’t noticed yet rose at one end of the table. He was tall and slight, with a look of finesse about him, the result of great self-discipline and much exercise. He brought to mind the image of a cat, with infinite patience and still blue eyes.
As Dumbledore finished the announcements in his usual fashion, speculation ran high among the students, in particular about a young professor with unusual eyes.
Harry made his way back to the Hospital Wing in silence, Ginny by his side. She sensed his need for quiet, the need to organise his thoughts. Stopping in front of the door, she asked in a low voice, “Are you sure you want to do this, Harry? We can come back tomorrow, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, I know, Gin,” he answered with a smile. “But I would. This needs to be done, and the sooner the better. No more procrastinating.”
Nodding, she pushed the door open and walked in before him, finding at once the only occupied bed this early in the term. They made their way there quietly, realizing as they got closer that Hermione was awake, and watching them approach.
With a slight grin, she said, “Hey Harry. Ginny. Thanks for dropping by.”
“It’s our pleasure, Hermione. It’s good to see you awake.” Harry dropped his eyes to the floor and asked quietly, “How are you feeling? I’m sor-“
“Well, don’t be, Harry,” cut in Hermione sharply. Raising herself on her elbows, she continued, “You saved me, alright? If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be dead, or worse. I should be thanking you.” With a groan, she let herself fall back on the bed. “So, thank you, Harry, for saving me.”
“Are you feeling okay, Hermione?” asked Ron concernedly, speaking for the first time. “Do you want me to get Madam Pomfrey?”
“I’m fine, Ron.” She reached out for his hand. “But since we’re all together for the first time in weeks without anyone shouting at anyone, I think it’s time we talked about what’s happening to us.”
Ron’s face seemed to cloud immediately, and he turned away from the others around the bed. He didn’t, however, walk away.
Tugging gently at his hand, Hermione made him look down at her. “Don’t you think they deserve an apology, Ron? Wasn’t today proof enough that they’re still our friends?” Seeing that this had no effect on the red-headed boy, she sat up once more, with a slight moan, obviously sore. “Ron, we almost died today. Died. Can’t you see that?” Her voice filled with emotion as she continued. “Life’s too short to let your stupid pride ruin this friendship more than it already has. We need to treasure every moment we can. That’s the one thing that’s still obvious to me after today. Ron, I can’t keep this up, I need my friends back. In fact, you need your friends back. I’m tired of choosing sides and crying and pitying myself. I just want us to solve this. Yell at each other, punch each other, whatever. You have my blessing, just… solve it.”
Harry and Ginny had kept silent throughout the whole exchange. They knew it wasn’t meant for them. Ginny was silently praying that Ron would finally get past his stupid jealousy and whatever ridiculous inferiority complex that was eating at him and realize that it was causing nothing but his own misery. Harry just waited for things to unfold and felt desperately sorry for his former best mate. It was never easy to own up to mistakes, but sometimes it just had to be done.
Slowly, Ron lifted his eyes. With a last glance at Hermione, lying in the bed and silently pleading with him to get it over with, he opened his mouth and said, “I’m sorry. I know it’s late, and that I should have said something a long time ago, but I’m sorry. To both of you.”
In the bed, Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. At last they were tears of happiness, and she reached out to Ron, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Harry kept silent, however, feeling that there was more to be said, and Ginny followed his lead. She couldn’t believe that her brother thought a meagre ‘I’m sorry’ would compensate for a whole summer of fighting.
“Look,” Ron said tersely, “I know I screwed things up.”
Harry frowned; Ginny shot Ron a slighting look before speaking. “You didn’t ‘screw things up’ as you so aptly put it, dear brother, you screwed up. There’s a difference.”
“Really? And what’s that?” Ron gibed, not joking.
“You spent the whole summer acting like a selfish pig, for no reason whatsoever other than it suited your feelings at the time. And now, when you suddenly have a change of sentiment after seeing your girlfriend,” she hissed the word, “be nearly killed, you decide that an apology is in order. As if friends are disposable; as if we’re here to serve you at your convenience. It’s disgusting!” She paused. “And more than a little degrading,” she added in a softer tone, taking her eyes off her brother.
She turned away, as if to leave, but Harry grabbed her gently by the elbow to hold her back. “Wait, Ginny. We should try to work things out. I agree with you, and I share your feelings, but our relationship deserves that we at least try to solve this. For old times sake.”
“Except I have no ‘old times’ to remember, Harry. I’m not part of the Golden Trio,” she answered miserably.
“You are now, Gin,” he told her softly, assuring her that he, at least, would never take what they had for granted. “And he is your brother. I hate to see you all fighting, it’s not fair to your parents. Family is important, that at least I’ve learned from you guys.”
Simple words. Ginny didn’t know why they filled her eyes with tears. She nodded quietly, not trusting herself to speak. Harry turned back to the bed, contemplating Ron speculatively, as if carefully planning his next move.
“Look, Ron,” he said finally, “what I wanted was to understand how things got this bad this quickly. You screwed up this summer, and what made it worse was that, since the train ride first year, I expected you to have my back. I think we deserve an explanation.”
Ron looked miserable and couldn’t seem to find the words. Of all the things he had lost that year, Harry thought that his easy friendship with Ron was probably the biggest casualty of his break in Voldemort’s headquarters.
“I was angry.” Ron’s voice cut the uneasy silence that had settled in the room. “You weren’t answering my letters and Ginny was getting huge packages every other day. I was angry, and a little hurt.”
“Maybe if your letters didn’t all include the words ‘but I can’t talk about that’ he’d have answered,” whispered Ginny acerbically.
“Maybe you’re right, Ginny,” answered Ron softly, gaze locked on the floor. “But he was also shutting Hermione out, and making her miserable. After some time, I got angry. You were around, so it was easy to take it out on you.”
“Sirius died, Ron. I wasn’t exactly in a chirpy mood, locked in that bloody house with nothing but memories and nightmares for company!” cried Harry suddenly, thinking that his part in the debacle was starting to get a bit exaggerated. “I did the same thing the year before and you had no breakdown then!”
“I know that now, Harry. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight,” Ron’s voice exuded guilt. “And you weren’t talking to Ginny then. I was afraid she’d drive you away from us… But I was wrong…” Ron looked up, finally meeting Harry’s eyes. “You saved everyone today — you saved Hermione. Thank you.”
Harry gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. Hermione watched him expectantly, waiting for the verdict.
“I won’t pretend to understand what was going through your head, Ron. Truth be told, I’d have expected you to have a lot more faith in our friendship than you showed. I had a lot more faith in us than that.” Harry looked away before continuing. “It hurt, Ron, when you weren’t there after…” He hesitated, not really knowing what to call it. “When I got back. You were supposed to be my best mate, and you turned your back on me when I needed support.”
Ron bit his lip, he had already apologised; all he could do now was wait. Hermione, however, took the opportunity to talk. “For that, Harry, I’m sorry too. We both abandoned you, and I’ll never completely forgive myself.”
“I won’t pretend to be okay with this,” Harry glanced at both his friends when he said it. “It will be some time, I think, before I can trust both of you the way I did before, but you’re still my friends. We’ve been through things that few people ever face, and we’re still here. So, I’m willing to try. If you believe we can start over, than we can.”
There it was, thought Hermione contentedly. After so many weeks of uncertainty, they were finally here. She reached her free hand to clench around Harry’s and whispered with a smile: “Everything will be okay. You’ll see, we’ll be fine.”
Later, as they left the Hospital Wing together, Ginny asked Harry, “Do you think things will ever be the same?”
Harry took a moment to answer, watching her. “I don’t know. Honestly.”
“But are we the same? You, me, Ron, Hermione?” She gazed into his eyes, completely serious.
“I don’t think we’ll ever be the same,” he said. “We’ve been through too much. But that doesn’t mean things have to necessarily change for the worse.”
And all Harry knew was that he believed what he had said. As he smiled at Ginny, watching emotions shift in her chocolate eyes, he was never more certain of anything in his life.
A/N: I was proof reading this chapter and a few others and realized that I have a few sentences that seem very similar to the Richard North Patterson’s books I’m reading. If they are more than my impression, and I have unwittingly used something from the books, it was done perfectly innocently - due mostly to the fact that I have a tendency to commit to memory things I like. And truth be told, I simply love his style and the way he develops characters.
I hope you all liked the chapter, don’t forget to leave a few words! They always make my day.
Chapter 22: New professors, old classes
Author's Notes: Sorry for the very long delay, life was overwhelming for a while, and even though I never forgot this story, I simply didn’t have time to write. I’m slowly getting back in the loop, so we’ll see how long it will take me to update.
To develop true compassion, first we must know that suffering is real, and that sufferings hurt.
- Thupten Rinpoche
Chapter 19: New professors, old classes
The first morning of term dawned bright and windy. As Harry looked at the grounds on his way to breakfast, he could see the trees of the forbidden forest bending and trembling under the strain. It made him want to go outside, feel the wind on his skin, run through the grounds. Things he hadn't done at all during the whole of his summer. But he could not. In fact, if he wanted to have any kind of breakfast, he needed to hurry to the Great Hall.
He had wondered how he would be able to keep up with his training at school, but that very morning had realised how futile his worries were. His body had had no qualms in waking him up way earlier than he needed to get to class, just as he had for the last three months. He'd had time to do the whole sequence of exercises that allowed him to keep a tight reign on his powers, and still have time to shower and make it to the Hall in time to grab a bite to eat. That was a great relief, Harry thought; he really didn't want to have to start struggling with his magic again - especially not in a school full of children, who didn't know what they were dealing with.
It was one less problem, Harry reflected, running his hands through his hair, wet from his quick shower, and thinking back to the letter burning a whole in his pocket. He'd have to deal with that soon, and probably have one more chat with the Headmaster in the process. And the sooner the better, since Ragnok did not seem like the kind of person who appreciated waiting for a reply.
He let his thoughts slid down that path for a moment, getting darker by the moment, before shaking himself internally. This was his first day at school, after all, and for now, he wanted to focus on normal things. Normal problems. In particular, what his first class of the term would be. With a slight smile, he slid in the vacant space beside Ginny in the Gryffindor house table.
"Morning everyone," he quipped, reaching for a piece of toast and some scrambled eggs.
Ginny, eyes still drooping from sleep, grumbled a monosyllabic response while sipping on a cup of coffee, hopping beyond hope that the caffeine would make her brain start working before her first class.
His other housemates, in various states of wakefulness, gave a chorus of replies. It was really a normal day at school, Harry thought. Down to the gossip mill, already full to bursting with unflattering reports about the newest staff members.
Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned to him, saying in an annoyed tone: "They're saying that Professor Tedakis isn't human, can you believe it? They have theories from her being a Fairy to her being a descendant from Circe, ready to enchant us all."
Harry grinned, comforted almost in spite of himself by the normalcy of it all. "And do you have a better explanation for her swirling eyes, Hermione?"
The girl harrumphed in annoyance. "I wasn't here yesterday, Harry, I didn't-"
"She hasn't had time to go to the library yet, Harry. How could she have an answer?" cut in Ginny with a smile.
"Of course. How silly of me," he answered, laughter evident in his voice.
Before Hermione had time to answer, Professor McGonagall passed by distributing everyone's schedule. Once Harry took a good look at his, he couldn't help but feel a small wave of apprehension rush through him.
"Let me look at yours, Harry," asked Hermione, who had also frowned slightly. "They seem to have upped the number of hours in class for some subjects... I suppose they want us better prepared. Six hours a week of Defence... The same for Duelling... Professor Dumbledore isn't taking any chances," she mumbled, apparently talking more to herself than to those around her.
Meanwhile, Ron had also been comparing his schedule to Hermione and Harry's. Raising his eyes, he said with a smile: "Man, am I glad I didn't get into Potions! I have Tuesday mornings and Thursday afternoons free, at least. That's a relief!"
Harry nodded absently. What was really worrying him was the prospect of the advanced training Dumbledore wanted to add to his schedule... If things kept pilling up, he had a feeling he'd have to start choosing between sleeping and eating. And he'd have to make time for Quidditch and the D.A. as well... It wouldn't be an easy year.
Beside him, he heard Ginny groan. "Uhg. My very first class is Potions! Potions on a Monday morning! I can't deal with Snape this early in the week!"
"I'm sure he is equally unable to cope with Gryffindors, Gin. You'll do fine. Think of it in terms of getting it over with once and for all." Harry smiled encouragingly at her, remembering Snape's particularly terrible moods during first periods.
"Or simply ruining a perfectly good week."
"Don't be so pessimistic, Gin. You'll do fine. You told me you actually enjoy making potions, so just ignore him and focus on whatever it is you like about the class. It never worked for me, but then, the old bastard always went to great lengths to make my life miserable." Harry took a bite of toast, and focused once more on his breakfast. Ragnok would have to wait a few hours. So would the headmaster. Right now, he had a Transfiguration lecture to attend, and he was determined to make the best of it.
...
N.E.W.T.-level transfiguration was a small class. Harry would realise later that most of his classes had fewer students, even if the four houses now had joint lessons. The level of skill demanded was such that most students simply chose those subjects they needed or enjoyed the most, and dropped the rest. Hermione excluded, obviously.
He had hesitated slightly at the door, wondering if he should take his usual seat beside Hermione and Ron near the front. Hermione, noticing he had stayed behind, turned round and motioned for him to join her. It was settled, then, he sat down.
Professor McGonagall swept her eyes around the room, meeting each of her student's eyes and gave the class a small, rare smile.
"Good morning, I am very pleased to see you all in N.E.W.T.-level transfiguration. I would like, first of all, to commend you all on your more than respectable results in the exams. I was exceedingly happy to note that your hard work paid off.
"We cannot, however, lose time over such pleasantries. We have a very heavy program to complete and more than a bit of advanced magic to conquer. I'd like, first of all, to give you a general view of what we will be working on this year."
She moved to the front of the class and waved her wand at the black board. A small piece of chalk appeared seemingly out of thin air and started printing the word CONJURING at the top.
"Conjuring," said the professor in a loud voice, pointing at the board. "The study of this particularly tricky but highly useful type of magic will occupy the first part of the school-year." She paused, turning to the class. "I will not allow, however, any of you to be lax on your revision: I want all your skills to be flawless, not only the ones we are currently working on. For this purpose, we will have bi-weekly practical evaluations, where you will be asked to blend a number of skills and techniques."
Hermione seemed to be gulping down every word the professor was saying, a light flush lending a rosy tint to her cheeks, eyes glowing. "Wow, this will make us work really hard! Amazing..." she murmured.
Harry didn't know just how amazing bi-weekly practical exams were, but he knew McGonagall would keep them on their toes. He could physically feel the weight of the work pilling over his head, and it was not a pleasant sensation. Stealing a glance at Ron on the other side of Hermione, he was faintly amused to see the other boy looking pale and decidedly queasy.
Waving her wand, McGonagall continued, "CROSS-SPECIES TRANSFIGURATION, as some of you might realise this is the first step of the Animagus Transformation. Now, I don't expect any of you to actually accomplish that, but you might manage, with some work, to do partial, or maybe even a whole body incantatory transfiguration. Who can give me a precise definition of incantatory transfiguration?"
Half a dozen hands flew up at the question, and McGonagall pointed to Susan, saying, "Miss Bones?"
"It's transfiguration that requires the use of an incantation and wand movement to work. It's different from the Animagus Transformation that can work only mentally," said the girl with quiet confidence.
"Precisely. Five points to Hufflepuff." McGonagall started pacing once more, and continued her lecture. "Any wizard can theoretically manage an incantatory transfiguration, with enough training. However, an Animagus is born, not created. To be able to accomplish that sort of transformation, one must have certain genetic traits. For those interested, we will be conducting tests later on in the school year. But even those that test positive don't necessarily accomplish the transfiguration: that takes hard work and a certain level of skill. So don't think that any of you is likely to become Animagi any time soon."
She paused and pointed once more to the board. "Those two branches of transfiguration are this year's program. Do not think for even a moment that this means this will be a light year. We will study those two branches in dept, practically and theoretically. Please note down the bibliography that you are required to know and that I expect you to use as reference in essays and papers..."
As Harry finished noting down the last name on the list, the Professor was already moving forward, to the actual lecture. With a flick of her wand, the board cleared, and as she talked, complex plans started appearing, detailing energy transferal and magical reactions. But what surprised Harry the most was that he was actually able to follow the lecture, and he understood most of what McGonagall was teaching. It was more advanced magic than any he had attempted in school, but merged quite neatly with everything he had read during the summer.
With an internal grin he realised that his compulsive search for knowledge of the summer would serve him well, and that spell structure was something he was now perfectly capable of understanding. As McGonagall finally allowed them to take out their wands and start practicing, he felt fairly confident - quite a long shot from the usual bewilderment that normally followed a purely theoretical lecture.
"As you attempt this simple transfiguration, keep in mind that conjuring is not creating matter out of nothing, but actually the transfiguring of air particles. You need to visualise that as well as the final object while you cast. You may proceed. I will be stopping by to see your progress." And with those parting words she stepped down and started circling the desks.
"Visualise air?" muttered Ron. "How can you visualise air?"
"It's a figure of speech, Ron, you just need to remember that you are transforming one thing into another and not creating things, changing the balance. You should know this," Hermione answered irritably. "Just start small, if you don't get it we'll go over it tonight."
That caused Ron to scowl indignantly, and turn to his empty desk in annoyance.
Harry, taking his time, and sure, for once, that he could do what was asked of him, was reviewing the schemes on the board, when McGonagall stopped beside him.
"Are you still with us, Mr. Potter? Or are you waiting for time to pass?"
Harry smiled slightly and answered, "No professor, just making sure I understand the logic of the energy flow before I try it."
"Very well, let's see what you can do then," she said, expectantly.
Taking a deep breath, and gripping his wand, Harry concentrated of the empty space on his desk. He'd start small, a needle. He felt his magic reacting to the incantation, and carefully waved his wand. The air in front of him quivered. He was sure it would crystallise into something but after a moment, everything settled, and his desk remained as empty as before.
"You're thinking too much, Potter. It's blocking the magic. It knows what to do, just let it flow. Try again," said McGonagall.
Nodding, Harry closed his eyes, relaxing, and felt for his magic again, letting it guide his wand, barely whispering the words of the incantation. A moment later, the air shimmered and, right in front of him, there was suddenly a perfectly formed needle.
Smiling, he saw his professor's eyes shift, and with a small nod, she said, "Good job, Harry, very good job. You can try bigger things now: buttons, quills, bottles and dishes if you can manage. Just keep it inanimate, for the time being, and don't try transfiguring a conjured object. That's much more complex."
She continued her tour of the class, and Harry started examining his work, inordinately pleased that he was achieving complex magic with minor effort. It felt strange using a wand again, he could control his magic with ease once more, and that gave him confidence with difficult and powerful spells. Looking at his friends beside him, he noticed that Ron was waving his wand around, reciting the incantation loudly but with no real intent behind... He hadn't grasped at all the nature of the magical flow for this type of magic, Harry realised, and Hermione, though concentrating tightly hadn't yet solidified her needle.
She shot him an annoyed glance when she noticed him watching and snapped "Why don't you help me instead of gawking, Harry? What am I doing wrong?"
Surprised at her candid - if irritated - demand, he said, "I think you're just forgetting the final twist, you know, the one that solidifies the construct and seals the transfiguration."
She seemed surprised for a moment, but, frowning slightly, waved her wand once more in the circular pattern that brought fort the image of her needle, then, quite determinedly, twisted her wand and finalised the incantation, squeaking joyfully at her success.
"Harry, I did it! Look!"
He smiled, glad that she hadn't taken his interference as an attack - perhaps old habits from the D.A. were coming back, and she was ready to learn from him - and felt truly happy for his friend. Catching her eye he gave an imperceptible nod towards Ron, and she understood immediately. He would not enjoy Harry teaching him something, their friendship was healing slowly, but it hadn't gone quite that far yet.
As Hermione turned and tried to simplify the theory of Conjuring, Harry decided to have a little fun and go wild with his magic - yep, Dean would look very nice in a pink wig.
...
At the end of the period Harry was surprised to notice that very few students had accomplished a complete conjuration even of the simplest objects. McGonagall hadn't been pleased with his humorous attempts, but he noticed she was kind of proud of the ease with which he had grasped the whole concept. During Charms, a quick revision of everything they were supposed to know to date, he had once more been surprised by the depths of his education since, with no more effort than a regular student at Hogwarts, he had learned and assimilated quite a lot of magic.
As he plopped beside Ginny for lunch, he noticed that Gryffindor had lost quite a few House Points that morning. He knew a few were his fault - and so very worth it! - but wondered about the rest. Noticing Ginny's gloomy look and half-hearted attempts at eating, he realised that she probably had something to do with the whole thing.
"You okay, Gin?" he asked concernedly.
"Just... Snape. On a Monday morning, you know?"
He nodded and smiled. "Don't worry about it, we've all been there."
"You've managed to lose 80 points in one double period?" she muttered despondently "We actually have negative points right now."
"We lost 150 points in one night, Gin, in our very first year. People get over it; don't worry. Was it very bad?"
"He... Made some insulting comments about... Well, about you, Harry, and like a good friend I jumped to the rescue. It was only later that I realised that was his plan all along." She turned to him, and he saw she was angrier at herself then worried about the points. "I need to learn to keep my big mouth shut sometimes... Mom always says I need to learn to control my temper."
"I don't know about Snape, Gin, but I happen to like your temper," he whispered, close to her ear. That got a smile out of her, and she started eating with more conviction. "You know, Gin, I got some news this morning from Ragnok and from Hellington about what's going on at Gringotts. Ragnok is worried about some sort of plot to destroy the financial stability of the wizarding world..." She turned to look at him as he started pilling food on his plate. "Can you imagine it, Gin, trying to fight a war with no money? It would be complete chaos... No money to pay the Aurors, no commerce, nothing. Just fear and chaos."
"It's a good plan then, you think, to start by either turning the goblins and starting a new rebellion or, if that fails, simply destroying the whole institution?"
"I think it's a very good plan, and very likely to succeed, since the ministry couldn't care less what happens to the Goblin society, and can't seem to realise that they are actually one of the pillars of the wizarding world. Merlin, but we are horribly outdated. Mione is right, this sort of absurd prejudice would be frowned upon by most Muggles, you know? My dear family excluded, obviously."
"Of course, but I have serious doubts as to the humanity of the Dursleys, Harry. You sure they really are your family?" she asked.
"I do wonder sometimes, but then alien life forms are a bit difficult to come by, and it would be a surprise to discover I've been living with three of them for the last 15 years..."
She giggled lightly at his joke, but frowned as her mind got back on track. "So, economical warfare... Do you have an idea how we can fight this? Do you know if the Goblins have security measures in place? What would happen if there was an attack?"
"Well, assuming Ragnok can control the Council and keep the Goblins as our allies, they do actually have quite a well organised army. Apparently Goblin society is a highly hierarchical thing, and military prowess necessary to go up the ranks - which is very good for us, because that means that every Goblin is a potential soldier, and that they can all follow orders." He glanced around to make sure no one was spying on their conversation and went on. "So, Ragnok expects to be able to withstand just about any attack, but he can't assure me that Gringotts will be working if the thing is massive or takes too long. He said that the easiest and safest way to save the bank is to shut it down and go underground," Harry explained.
"That makes sense, the worst Goblin massacres always happen when wizards try to follow them to the tunnels. They are ruthless - I don't think anyone has ever defeated them on their home ground..."
"Yeah, I know. But even if it saves the Goblins, and might lower Voldie's numbers somewhat, I don't think it would help us much. Closing down Gringotts would cause the same amount of chaos as its destruction. Maybe more if people like Fudge and company start screaming Goblin rebellion and saying their money was stolen."
"Yep. Sticky situation. What does Ragnok want?"
"My support if things go that far. He wants my word that I will take the Goblins' side and try to calm the wizarding world if he is forced to close down. He thinks that people have enough faith in me to follow my lead. He's afraid of repercussions, you know. He doesn't want wizards to turn on him at the end of the war. I think he has a little too much faith in me for comfort, but we need him, and well..." He sighed, and just fumbled with the food on his plate for a while.
Ginny smiled slightly, and rested her hand on his thigh. Leaning close, as if to whisper a secret, she said, "I trust you, Harry," then, in a normal tone, "plus, you never know, by the end of all this, you just might be minister of magic." At his horrified glare, she laughed outright and went back to her food.
"I don't know, Harry," she said, a while later, "if all you told me about Ragnok is true, and he is on the level, just trust him to hold out as long as possible, and we'll deal with the fall-out when the time comes. It's easy enough to communicate in the wizarding world, and a few well placed articles can turn people around. What did Hellington have to say about it?"
"Not much, Gin, just that it's a case of making the best out of a bad situation. And I kind of agree... Especially since I hope one day this whole war will be over, and I'd rather Gringotts was still there to help us pick up the pieces."
Ginny nodded, secretly relieved beyond measure that Harry was actually imagining a life beyond the war, and steered the conversation onto more pleasurable topics.
...
Harry waited for the other students to start the walk towards the castle after their first Care of Magical Creatures class of the year, as he wanted a word with Hagrid, if only to say hello to his old friend, and ask after his summer. Hermione and Ron were waiting as well, since they had Defence Against the Dark Arts afterwards, and they wanted to arrive together.
"Hey Hagrid! Good lesson!" said Harry, as the large half-giant started collecting animal cases to take to the back of his cabin. And it had been a good lecture, well prepared, with animals that were actually in their program. It seemed that the more time passed, the better teacher Hagrid became, especially with advanced classes that weren't as afraid of the beasts as some ickle firsties.
The older man smiled his thanks, and asked carefully, "And how was your first day back, Harry? You getting back on track here at the castle?"
He smiled, and said, "Yeah, it was just fine. Thank Merlin I haven't crossed paths with Snape yet, that is one class I'm not looking forward to."
The whole group chuckled, and Hermione said. "It was nice to see you Hagrid, but we have class, so we should probably get going. I want to make a good impression on Professor Tedakis."
"Stop by for tea when you can!" Hagrid said, as he sent them off.
They crossed the front lawns of the castle at a light jog, and made their way quickly to the Defence classroom. As Harry stepped inside and saw Elektra again, he was once more swept by that strange awareness, that intimate knowledge and understanding.
She stood at the front of the class as the students made their way inside her classroom, letting her strange gaze rest on each one for just a moment, sizing each of them, testing potential. Harry took his usual place on this class (in years that didn't have Umbridge as a teacher), front row, to the right of the teacher's desk, and tried to quench the growing bubble of anticipation in his chest. He knew instinctively that this would be a memorable moment.
As the bell rang and one last student quickly sat down at the back, Professor Tedakis slowly made her way to the centre of the class, seeming to gather her thoughts, then went back to the front and leaned against her desk, smiling.
"Hello class," she had a clear, feminine voice that carried to the back of the classroom with no visible effort on her part. She had a commanding presence that kept all students in check, without, however, feeling threatening. "As you probably know - or so I hope - this is N.E.W.T.-level Defence Against the Dark Arts, and if you're here we can reasonably assume you're somewhat talented in the subject. And believe me, this is a very big compliment on my part, considering the teacher you had last year."
There were a few muffled laughs around the room, and behind him, Harry heard Neville mutter, "Well, we had more than one teacher last year." Harry laughed at that, and relaxed on his seat, realizing that the woman before him had a real sense of humour, and would probably run a light class.
She did, however, somehow hear Neville's quiet statement and, turning to him with a smile and a somewhat confused expression, asked him, "What do you mean, Mister - "
"Longbottom, Ma'am".
"Ah, Neville, right?" He nodded at her, surprised. "What do you mean you had another teacher last year? I was not aware that Hogwarts had several Defence Against the Dark Arts professors. However, it would certainly explain the absurd disparities in O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s grades last year. It's a little mystery I had been looking forward to solving." She seemed honestly curious.
Neville blushed, and looked at Harry, apologising for the slip and quietly asking for permission to talk. The other boy sighed and simply nodded for him to continue. It wasn't as if the D.A. was a secret any longer, most of the school had heard rumours, and most teachers new of the club's existence after last year's debacle. He was actually surprised the new Professor hadn't been informed.
"Well, Professor, we... I mean, uh... Some of us were part of a group, and we practised defence together, and well... Harry taught us. That's why we had such good grades, especially on our practical tests. Most of us here were members; otherwise, we would never have made it through O.W.L.s."
The professor's eyes turned towards Harry and once again he felt the rush of familiarity, and now, respect. Then, he saw a mischievous glint in her eyes, and he knew he was about to be tested.
"So, Mister Potter, you took it upon yourself to teach your peers what you knew? What made you so uniquely qualified?"
Silence descended on the class - everyone was wondering what Harry's reaction would be. He smiled graciously and answered calmly. "It was a group effort, Ma'am. I was asked to share my, let's call it practical experience, with the Dark Arts, and help everyone get some spellwork done. Umbridge was a horrible example to follow. She was a danger to the safety of anyone who followed her advice in a crisis. Considering the situation of the world, I felt I had an obligation to do my best to protect my friends. I wasn't alone in the effort, and, I have been told, our work had positive results."
He gazed evenly into her eyes that, as they always did when looking at him, had stopped shifting. He couldn't read her expression any longer, and so wondered if he had passed her test. Wondered what she thought of their group, and if she would ask them to disband. That was something he could not do. Not for Dumbledore, and not for her.
She was silent for a moment, and then said, to the class at large, but still looking at Harry, "There was enormous disparity in the grades this year, in the standard test that weren't administered by the former Professor. Many at the Ministry of Magical Education feared that the tests were somehow compromised, but the spells that prevent cheating were intact and practical exams aren't easily foiled." She turned towards the desk and shuffled some papers around, until she seemed to find what she was looking for. Turning towards Neville, she said, "Mister Longbottom, I see you had EE on both your practical and your written exam. Yet during the year, you never managed more then an acceptable, and actually consistently only scored Ds. Was your grade in the exam the results of this study group you were a part of?"
The class could feel the seriousness of the question, and Neville, once again glancing at Harry, who motioned for him to go ahead and answer, nodded. "Yes Ma'am. Umbridge didn't let us touch our wands in class. Harry did the exact opposite: we focused basically on the applications of magic. We worked really hard, and we learned a lot of advanced magic. Some of us even managed a Patronus - I'm sure I could have done it too, if we'd had more time."
The professor glanced at the list again, the said, "Miss Abbot, you have the same gap between your class work and your O.W.L. grades. Were you a part of this group?"
The girl nodded, then said, "Yes, I wouldn't even have passed my Defence O.W.L. if it weren't for Harry. Most of the things the examiner asked, I only learned in the D.A."
"D.A.?" Elektra asked curiously.
"That's what we call ourselves," Harry jumped in. "It now stands for Defence Association."
Harry saw that the teacher was curious about his choice of words, and that many of his classmates looked at him curiously, but he chose not to elaborate. He would explain the change to the members of the D.A. in their next meeting, and he wasn't in the mood to delve into his relationship with Dumbledore in the middle of class.
The professor asked a few more students, after checking their grades, if they had been D.A. members. The class wasn't very large. Most were. She seemed to gaze into space for a moment, and then murmured, but Harry still heard her clearly, as close to the front as he was seated, "This should go on, it's a good thing." Then, shaking herself, she turned to Harry and asked, "Could you give me a quick rundown of what you did in this club, Mister Potter?"
Harry gathered his thoughts, then said, "We didn't do a lot of fancy stuff, but mostly things with real practical application: useful disarming spells, such as Expelliarmus, the stunning curse, a few Locker curses, a whole pane of the binding class of spells. I wanted to run through as many shields as I could, but because of the younger students, we focused on Protego some also managed Contego. It works well against a whole range of curses and hexes and doesn't require much power, even the first years got it after a while. Uh, we did a lot of duelling practice, so that people could actually do the spells in a combat situation..." Turning to Hermione, he asked, "Uh, what am I forgetting, Mione?"
"Well, Harry, you're forgetting quite a lot. We also did summoning and banishing charms in a combat situation, exploding hexes, blasting curses, a few others from the Bolidus-class of spells - " as if suddenly realising she was talking about exploding things in front of a professor, she added hastily, "We were careful, no one ever got hurt. We did a lot of hex deflexion, as well. Ma'am, I have a detailed list in my notes, if you want, I could make a copy for you... It would be easier than trying to remember what we did last year."
The professor nodded, and said, "Yes, I would appreciate that. And you said, Mister Potter, that you even had first years in this group, and that they managed to keep up with the older students?"
"Yes, Ma'am. I always paired people up according to their level of skill, but we all worked hard to make sure that the younger students could profit from what we were doing. The goal wasn't to learn the most difficult magic possible, but to be able to defend against attack. In those circumstances, it's better to be sure of what you're casting, then to try something miraculous and have it explode in your face. I only moved on when I was sure everyone could consistently cast a spell, hex, curse or shield, and we practiced constantly with everything we had, to be sure we could really use the magic we learned."
"That's a very good way of looking at it. Yet Mister Longbottom said you taught those young people how to cast Patronuses... That is hardly easy magic, Mister Potter."
Harry frowned at her, but answered anyway, "It's the only defence against Dementors, professor. Under the circumstances, I thought it worth the time and effort to teach them. It's not impossible for a student to cast; it only demands a lot of concentration and willpower."
"But were you successful in teaching those students such advanced magic? Many Auror apprentices can't do it." Harry knew, somehow, that she was provoking him, but he couldn't help answering more harshly then he might have under different circumstances. He still hadn't forgotten the debacle at the train station.
"My respect for the Aurors’ abilities is very limited, Professor. This only confirms that my opinion of them is warranted."
Silence seemed to descend on the class, and the professor raised one eyebrow in surprise. "That is a harsh assessment."
"Not harsh, professor, only honest. I was at the station yesterday, and I saw how they reacted. The wizarding world is not ready for this war. If I could teach fourth year students how to cast a patronus, and the Aurors can't get their apprentices to do it, then we have a serious problem, since Dementors are one of Voldemort's preferred weapons, and can incapacitate large groups of people by their mere presence. The Death Eaters don't need to be powerful, or master duellists, in fact they don't need to be much of anything, if they can make all their victims cower in fear before they even get there."
The professor gaze was locked on him as she answered, "True. But the accepted opinion is that a Patronus charm can't be cast before magical maturity - that is around twenty years of age - unless the wizard is uncommonly powerful. Particularly in front of a Dementor, who can disrupt magical conduits."
Harry snorted, and said, "That's ridiculous. I cast the spell when I was thirteen, and drove away about a hundred Dementors. And if you think I'm somehow too special to count as an example," he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, "then let me prove it to you. We don't have a Dementor around, not even a Boggart to pose as one, but I'm sure the result would be the same." He turned around in his chair and looking around, saw both Seamus and Ernie sitting further back in the class. "Hey, Seamus, why don't you show the professor your fox? And you Ernie... yours was a boar, if I'm not mistaken."
The boys looked at each other and then, seeing no objection from the professor, waved their wands crying "Expecto Patronum." Just as Harry had expected, the spells solidified into a fox and a boar which circled the class a couple of times, then came to rest in front of their masters before misting and disappearing when their concentration relaxed.
Harry wondered what was going on in the professor's mind. She seemed pleased, in the beginning, with what they had done. He had been persuaded she was provoking him intentionally, to see how he would react. But now her face was a mask, and her eyes were again focused on nothing.
"Mister Potter, if you could stay behind after class, I would like to speak with you for a few minutes." Hermione shot him a concerned glance. Harry sighed, so maybe he was wrong, and he was already in trouble with the new Professor. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he could read this woman, that he had been right in his assessment of her. And he couldn't forget what she had told Dumbledore on that fateful Order meeting, how she had been the only one who came even close to speaking out against the Headmaster and the way he was behaving towards Harry.
"What I have learned today has only confirmed what I had learned from your grades and the notes left by the previous professors. The constant change has left clear gaps in your background and basic knowledge in this subject, and we need to remedy to that, the sooner the better. Before we advance any further, I want to bring all of you up to speed and put everyone on the same level of skill, so that we might all progress together. That will involve a good amount of theoretical work on defence spells," at the groans this statement elicited, she chuckled slightly and continued. "Yes, theory is important. We are getting at a level of magical study where understanding of the theory behind the spell is needed, if you want to grasp complex magical constructs. I will try to be concise and not loose myself on needlessly complicated spell charts and diagrams, but I know this will help anyone who is struggling, or will soon be struggling, and will compliment the knowledge of those of you who are more gifted for... applied defence."
She flicked her hand at the board and a piece of chalk began filling the black surface.
"As you can see, I have outlined the seven basic categories of defensive magic, as well as shields and wards. We will go over them one at a time, and try to finish one category per week..."
Fifteen minutes later, as Harry finished outlining what they were supposed to do by the end of the trimester, he began to wonder how he would ever fit all of this inside 24h days - and what he would choose, eating of sleeping.
"Once all of this is acquired," Elektra continued, "and I promise you, this will be as familiar to you in three months time as the back of your hand, we'll move on to constructed spellwork, double and silent casting, and maybe, if you have the talent, wandless casting." The class's eyes lit up at those last announcements, and the professor smiled. "Don't worry, kids, doing theoretical work does not mean you won't be using your wands and magic. I'm a firm believer that one can only understand magic by using it."
She paused, and let the students catch up on their note taking.
"This is how our more traditional work should progress. We're on Defence against the Dark Arts here, and I'm sure by the end of the year all of you will be able to cast a shield, feel the difference between a curse and a hex, and distinguish between categories of Dark Spells. And all of that could save your lives, don't get me wrong. But, on the side, I would like to propose something more delicate, more original, that will follow somehow what we were doing today. You have to understand what is out there, what magical society is fighting against. What is a Dark Spell? What makes it evil? Why is a cutting hex different from an Unforgivable Curse, if the results can be the same?" She paused, pacing at the front of the class. "What I want to share with you is something like a crash course on profiling, if you will, and the motivations behind dark magic," she said, smiling slightly.
Harry grinned slightly, and thought that, all things considered, this still might turn out to be an interesting year. He glanced at a few of the scowling Slytherins, and wondered with relish what it would be like to debate the moral value of Dark Magic with them. Yes, he was sure they would have quite the eventful class.
Chapter 23: The gift of shared understanding
Author's Notes: A/N : Hey, so as promised a new chapter (without years of wait!). I know the end is a bit abrupt, and I did have more planned for this chapter, but it was turning out to be waaaay too long for a single installment, so I broke it down. The good thing is, next chapter should also be out soon! Cheers, and I hope you all enjoy this!
-- Friedrich Nietzsche
Chapter 20: The gift of shared understanding
The Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture progressed in a traditional manner — the professor lecturing on the energy flows surrounding the use of shields — up until a quarter of an hour before the end. That’s when Professor Tedakis smiled in a decidedly wicked fashion, Harry thought, and turned towards the class.
“I would like to conduct a little experiment, if you are all agreeable. I noticed that there are about half a dozen students present here that did not take part in Mister Potter’s D.A. I would like four volunteers from among them.”
Harry saw a few raised hands, mostly Slytherins, he saw, but a couple of Ravenclaws as well. Malfoy was among them, he noticed, but the professor didn’t call on him. Harry didn’t quite understand why the other boy seemed so subdued. He had expected taunts and jabs from the moment he entered the castle, but had received only a stony silence and half-hidden glances whenever the two were in the same room. It was food for thought, he supposed, but certainly not the most important thing in his mind at the moment.
Professor Tedakis motioned for the four students to stand at the front of the class where a large space had been left bare, probably for this exact kind of exercise. She then turned towards the rest of the class, and asked, “Now for some volunteers that were in the group, please.” There was a sudden rush of hands, and Harry smiled; then raised his as well for good measure.
The professor raised an amused eyebrow, eyes twirling, and glanced at her class. “Not you, Mister Potter, that would invalidate the whole point of the test. Not you, either, Miss Granger, your reputation precedes you. How about you, Mister Longbottom, she looked at her list, Miss Brown, Miss Padma Patil and mister MacMillan, with the boar Patronus. That ought to do it.”
She waited for the eight students to gather in the front of the classroom, then waived her hand and produced a shimmering ward that separated the front of the class from the seated students. Harry frowned, as he felt a tingling sensation along his hands and forearms. That was the second time he had seen her do wandless and wordless magic, and this time, with the stronger spell, he had felt a bit of the ambient magic slip into the construct. With a sudden rush of understanding, he suspected he now knew just what she was, and why her eyes twirled different colors. At least he thought he did. It would explain quite a few things, he supposed...
Getting back to the present, he saw the professor asking the gathered students. “You are all familiar with free style dueling I suppose?” At the blank looks from most of the class, she sighed, and explained. “None of the traditional rules of courtesy apply — you can hit an unarmed opponent, you haven’t lost as long as you can stand, losing your wand is only a minor inconvenience. Any spells that don’t cause long term damage or warrant a stay in the infirmary are allowed. I hope I don’t need to spell out that the only kind of magic I want to see is light magic. If I have forgotten something, use your common sense when deciding what to do.”
She waved her arm once more, and a number of blocks and tubes, some forming rickety structures that could be used as cover, appeared. Now THAT is conjuring, Harry thought.
“The duel will last for ten minutes, the team with the most standing members at the end will be victorious. You may begin.”
As soon as she was done talking, the four D.A. members jumped behind a few of the blocks and started shooting stunning spells at their opponents. Harry cheered inwardly when one of Neville’s hit a slight Ravenclaw girl square in the chest, even if the others went flying wild.
Turning towards Hermione, he whispered, “I think a few marksmanship exercises are in order, don’t you? One in four is not good.” She nodded and noted something in a small notebook she seemed to be carrying around constantly lately.
Neville had somehow managed to organize the four members of the D.A. and was maintaining a steady stream of stunning and binding spells with Padma while the other two went around the other team. He was obviously trying to pinch the others between the two teams. Not a bad strategy, in Harry’s opinion.
The other four students hadn’t devised any sort of strategy whatsoever, and where simply hiding behind whatever kind of cover was closer to them. No one had bothered to revive the poor girl in the floor, even if the professor hadn’t forbidden it. Harry didn’t know if it was funny or depressing. It only proved to him how very necessary the D.A. was. He would have to convince the Headmaster one way or the other.
Suddenly, Padma was hit by a lucky shot, and went down, struggling with heavy ropes. Neville kept on the steady fire, making sure the other students were sufficiently distracted not to notice the new enemies coming in from behind. Lavender sneaked in on a burly Slytherin who never saw the stunner coming in from above the large boulder he was leaning against.
Seeing the other two were in place, Neville waved his wand at the girl beside him, vanishing the ropes, and, breaking up, they each went their separate ways, while Lavender and Ernie kept the steady stream of curses, hitting another of their enemies. The last one standing, the tall Ravenclaw that had hit Padma, tried to retreat among the many obstacles that were strewn around the space, but he hadn’t noticed that his opponents had moved, and walked right in front of Padma’s wand. Once the spells stopped flying, Lavender appeared on his other side, and Ernie stood up from on top of a boulder, from where he had been casting. Surrounded, the boy gave up, and put his arms in the air.
The whole thing hadn’t taken five minutes.
Disengaging the ward, the professor made her way towards the front of the class, vanishing conjured objects as she went. Soon, the class was back to its former order.
“Very good, all of you. Could you revive your classmates, please? Then you can take your seats. Now, what do you think just happened?”
“They kicked their asses, that’s what happened!” Ron whispered from Hermione’s other side.
“Well, yes, Mister Weasley, that is true. If somewhat colorfully put. But why would you say that happened?”
Just as Ron was about to answer her question, the bell rang, and the students began gathering their things to leave for the day. Over the sudden commotion, the professor said “I want two-foot parchment from each of you reviewing the duel, what some did right, some did wrong, strategies, things that could be improved. Mister Potter, if you please, I’d like to move to my office down the hall.”
“Of course, Professor.”
He motioned for Ron and Hermione to go on ahead to the common room, and made his way to the D.A.D.A. professor’s office. He had been there a number of times under previous occupants, and had had both good and bad times in the space. He remembered long conversations with Professor Lupin, and the first glimpses he’d had of his parents as more than fanciful fantasies. More recently, he could remember long and painful detentions with Umbridge — even if, compared to the summer, that kind of abuse was almost laughable.
He wondered what awaited him now. The professor had seemed open and good-humored enough during class, but had been quick to single him out. He couldn’t bring himself to feel threatened by the woman - that strange flash of feeling and rush of familiarity still hit him every time he looked at her - but he couldn’t help the slight tightening in his muscles as he approached the open door, and looked for the first time at the office.
He was more than a little relieved to see that all possible reminders of previous owners had disappeared. The walls were clean, with nothing but some colorful, abstract paintings to give a splash of personality to the room. A whole wall was taken by floor to ceiling bookshelves that must contain hundreds of volumes, in all shapes and sizes, in at least half a dozen languages that he could see. Two comfortable armchairs were placed in front of a large marble fireplace, in a cozy arrangement.
The professor was seated behind a large desk, covered in a jumble of papers, notebooks, quills and different colored bottles of ink. She motioned for him to take a seat and leaned back, just watching.
Harry dropped his backpack on the floor and sat down, making himself comfortable. With an internal laugh, he realized that a few months ago, this situation would have had him in a cold sweat. Life could change so much in such a small amount of time... He looked up at his professor, wondering if he should perhaps say something, but realized that the question he wanted to ask, “Do I know you?” was perhaps not appropriate for a first meeting.
Deciding that he could wait until she was ready to say whatever it was she wanted to say, he sank back against the chair and let his mind wander. He needed to see Dumbledore this evening, and get an Owl back to Ragnok and John before the day was over. This whole situation with Gringotts was worrisome, and had to be handled with tact... Especially as long as Fudge stayed in office. He couldn’t afford any tantrums from the Minister. But he would wait until after dinner to talk to his Headmaster. He wanted to savor the end of his first day back. If his professor could get around to whatever it was she wanted to tell him.
“You seem comfortable waiting,” she said. “It is a useful virtue, patience.”
Confused as to where the conversation was going, Harry said, “Yes, it is something I learned this summer.”
Harry saw something like pain cross her eyes, but it was gone so fast he wondered if he had imagined it. She let another moment pass. He wondered if maybe she didn’t know what to say. If she knew what had happened, there wasn’t much she could say that wouldn’t sound absurd. “I suppose that is something to take away from such an experience,” she said finally. “I wanted to talk to you about the D.A., Harry. Can I call you Harry when we are in private? I like to keep the formalities to a minimum, being a professor is sufficient stuffiness for me.”
He grinned and nodded, “Of course. What do you want to know about the D.A.? I would think after today you would have to admit its usefulness.”
“You misunderstand, Harry. I am more than convinced of its usefulness, I think it absolutely essential. However, rumor has it that the headmaster hasn’t given you permission to continue the club, is that right?”
“We aren’t on the best of terms at the moment. And yes, he never answered my question about the D.A..” Harry sighed tiredly, and let his head drop against the back of his chair. “But it’s no matter, he knows I’ll do it either way. I asked for permission out of respect for him. Since he hasn’t bothered showing me the same courtesy, I’ll just go ahead with it and keep it a secret.”
“If that is the case, why are you telling me about it?” the professor asked.
Looking seriously at her, Harry paused thoughtfully before answering. “I told him the same thing, so it isn’t as if it’s top secret. And I listened in on a few Order meetings the last couple of weeks... I feel like I can trust you, Professor.”
Harry was surprised when he noticed the sheen of tears on his professor’s eyes. But she got up quickly and leaned against one of the window, looking out at the forbidden forest and the setting sun.
“I would like to help you with the Headmaster, Harry. It is not useful to fight among ourselves, and keeping secrets is even worse. That little exercise in class wasn’t simply class work.” In an undertone, she muttered, “It’s more along Michael’s subject, anyway.” Turning back towards him, her small hands clasped tightly together, she continued, “I recorded the whole duel. It went even better than I could have hoped for; you trained those young people well. They were fast, worked as a unit, took advantage of the terrain, and had impeccable spell work, even if their aim left something to be desired. When the Headmaster sees that, and hears about the rumors that must be already circulating, he’ll be forced to give his accord, you see, or risk sounding petty.”
Harry groaned, “I promised myself I would never let myself play a politician’s game.” He shook his head despondently. “Why does Dumbledore push people to such lengths?”
The professor laughed her clear, fresh laugh, and Harry couldn’t help smiling as well. “Don’t worry, Harry, I’ll be the one doing the arm twisting, you just have to swoop in afterwards and ask for his final decision. I assure you, you will be happy with the results.”
“I need to talk to him, today after dinner. Is it too early? Do you need more time?”
“No, you’re right, the sooner the better.” She sat back down, and looked at him seriously once more. “Harry, there is something else the headmaster asked me to talk to you about. It has become... Common knowledge among the Order and most of the staff that... Your role in the war is important.”
Harry snorted, “You could say that again.”
The professor frowned, “You shouldn’t be taking this so lightly, Harry.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t? What should I be doing then, rolling around on the floor, crying? Cursing fate and destiny and whatever other deity is out there for the unfairness of it all?” He snorted contemptuously again. “Really, Professor, if I took any of this the least bit seriously I would run away and hide so far among the muggles that no one would even remember there once was a Boy-Who-Lived.”
She lifted worried eyes to him, “You’ve thought about this!”
“Of course I have. The Headmaster dropped this bloody bomb on me on the worst day of my life, and then sent me away to live with my Oh! so loving relatives. What did you guys expect, that I’d shoulder the burden of the wizarding world and just... Soldier on? Because I’m the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, and I’m expected to save the day once more?”
“Maybe... Maybe you have led such a life that people aren’t surprised by the exceptional from you.”
“I don’t care!” This time Harry was the one to get up and go to the window. He was breathing heavily and he could feel the slight tendrils of magic reaching towards his hands, begging to be used, to be unleashed against whatever was causing him distress. He gathered it in his palms, then let it flow through him, calming and soothing. “What no one seems to understand is that, in my humble opinion, and it’s the only one that counts, I’ve given more than enough for the wizarding world. I’m not fighting for any sort of greater good bullshit. I’m fighting because there are people I love in danger, who wouldn’t turn their backs on this place and on these people.” He fixed her with a glare, “So I came back. I came back from the Dursleys, and I came back from Voldemort. And now I’ll train, and I’ll fight. But I’ll do it on my terms, and my own way. People will just have to deal with it. They want a hero, they want their secret weapon? Very well. They should know that it comes with a mind of its own.”
“I don’t think anything less would be up to the task, Harry. I only wish to help.” There was enough honesty in her eyes that Harry calmed down and sat back down, and finally nodded. She continued, “The Headmaster came to me, and asked me to train you. I didn’t understand what he meant before just now. Did you see what you just did?”
Harry looked at her, confused, “I rambled for a little while?”
She laughed her crystalline laugh, and actually had to lean back against her chair to catch her breath. “Yes, you did at that, but I was talking about how you manipulated your magic.”
“Oh. That.” Harry frowned. “I’ve been able to do that since I came back. From my little vacation in Voldemort’s dungeon.”
“You unsealed your magical core,” she nodded. “How did that happen? Was it intentional?” She saw Harry tense, his whole body acquiring a preternatural stillness.
“Didn’t Dumbledore tell you how it happened, when he asked you to do this?”
“You know how Dumbledore likes to dole out information in little doses. He didn’t tell me anything.” She paused for a moment, and then asked quietly, “Will you tell me? It can change things, further on, how it happened.”
Harry turned his head, letting his eyes linger on the colorful books in the bookshelf, then let his gaze wander to the window. He was silent for so long, Elektra lost hope of getting an answer. But finally, without looking at her, seeming surprised at himself, he started speaking. And he told her everything. About the books he’d read, and how his magic reacted to the curses, and how he finally let it loose against one of his captors, and escaped at last.
“After that it got really out of hand... A stray thought and my hands were tingling. But I got it under control, mostly. I can use a wand again, and my eyes aren’t silver anymore.”
“That is impressive, for such a short amount of time. Especially since I can’t sense any of the rituals in you — you used the Custodio Imperium , right?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“By the flow of magic, and the fact that I can’t feel any of the bonds that the more traditional rituals leave in your conduits. It’s a difficult path to follow, and you must practice every day until the bond is complete, or we will all be in danger. You’re a particularly gifted wizard, Harry; a backlash from your powers could bring down the wards. Even such wards as exist around this castle.”
Harry saw the seriousness in her eyes, and felt relieved to finally have an adult that didn’t shy away from difficult truths. It was refreshing to have the dangers and difficulties laid out in front of him, and know that there was a solution for the problem, and that he could work towards it.
“I know Professor, I’ve been very disciplined with my training. The books I read were pretty scary in their descriptions of magical backlashes and stuff. That’s why I was so angry with the professor for not telling me anything when I was at Grimmauld Place. He just left me there, with no information, no advice. I could have burnt down the house, and killed myself and everyone there in a second, simply because I didn’t understand what was happening.”
“Believe me, Harry, when I was told that was the case, Dumbledore got an earful. It was so completely irresponsible; I still can’t understand his logic... But no matter, when would you like to start training? I could simply join you during meditation, and add more exercises as the time goes on. You will see, Harry, this is a delightful journey.” Her eyes started glowing and Harry felt the power lines shift in the room, as Elektra gathered a trickle of power in her hands, and let it flow around her. “Learning to be one with the Magic, to feel its power, its hidden secrets. It is the best feeling in the world. I can’t wait to finally teach it to someone else.”
She smiled at him in genuine happiness, and Harry felt infected by her joy. He was actually looking forward to next morning.
“That would be great, Professor. I’ll be at the Room of Requirement, tomorrow, at 7 am. See you there!” He got up, and started towards the door. Then he paused and, turning back with a smile, said, “And Professor, aiming exercises are at the top of my list.” He had time to see her eyes flash in amusement before he closed the door and made his way towards his common room.
Ginny was seated in her favorite armchair by the fire waiting for Harry to come back from his meeting with the new D.A.D.A. professor. She had news and needed someone to share them with, and lately, her go-to person had been Harry. And she needed to tell someone about the amazing dueling class she had just had.
Finally, almost an hour after the end of last period, Harry shuffled through the portrait whole. He seemed tired, but relaxed, and Ginny was glad that the meeting went well. She still wasn’t sure what to think of their new professor, and hadn’t had class with her yet, even if the rumors were spreading fast and thick. She waved and he wove his way towards her, plopping down on the couch by her side.
“Hey Gin!” he said cheerfully. “I’m knackered. How was the end of your day?” He let himself slip further down in the couch, finally resting his head against her shoulder, and closing his eyes. “Tell me all about it.”
Smiling at the top of his head she gushed excitedly, “I had my first dueling class, Harry, you know, with the new professor, Michael Agilius. It was amazing, it was like everything we did during the summer, but condensed and structured, and — and I was good at it, Harry!.”
“Yeah? That’s good,” Harry said, closing his eyes and enjoying the sound of her voice drifting past him.
“The professor said we’d only have practical work — no books, no essays — and I swear, Harry, the guy makes dueling seem as natural as breathing. He tested all of us, to see if we had any idea of what he was talking about, and it was absolutely hilarious. People getting hit in the first seconds of the fight. Dropping like flies.” She sighed, and continued more seriously, “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but it was a massacre, even if in a purely figurative sense.”
“How did you do, then, Gin? If it was a test on the stuff we practiced, you should have held at least a little longer... You’re progressing nicely.”
She glowed at the compliment, even if the great prat didn’t even notice, and couldn’t resist running a hand through his hair. “I did better than most, especially since he began at the same rhythm as everyone else, and got progressively more advanced. But I can’t say I was a great challenge. But he gives such great advice, on stance and rhythm and... I don’t know, Harry, I just feel we’ll learn so much in this class... Especially if we can keep training on the side. When do you have Dueling, Harry?”
He didn’t answer, and she saw that he had dozed off. She smiled softly, and held still, not wanting to wake him before she absolutely had to. They had some time before dinner, and she could let him rest. She knew he was stretched too thin, that he would burn out if he kept pushing himself as he was, but didn’t know how to say that in such a way that he might actually listen. And she did understand that there was so much at stake, and no one activity that he could simply put aside. But she vowed to be there at his side, every step of the way.
She made herself comfortable on the couch, trying not to jostle Harry, and pulled a Transfiguration textbook to her lap - it was the only reading material within reach, and she wasn’t about to move. She might as well read ahead, and be prepared for the next lecture. Even if Professor McGonagall might die of shock.
Some time later, as she finished going over the first few chapters of the textbook, Hermione came down the stairs from her dorm, and sat down next in the sofa.
“He looks so cute when he’s asleep,” she noticed, smiling.
Ginny snorted, “Only when he’s asleep?”
“These days, he mostly looks scary when he’s not asleep,” Hermione answered, losing the smile.
“He’s only doing what he has to do, Hermione. He always did that, but the stakes are higher now. He’s still the same person as before.”
“No he’s not.” The older girl sighed. “You should have seen him in class today, Ginny. He’s changed. He’s more confident, and self-assured. He stood up to a professor in front of the whole class and didn’t even blink. He’s so much more than he was before.”
“And why does that make you sad?” Ginny asked, frowning. “I was so afraid this summer, that he would come back changed — alive, but just an empty shell. Unfeeling, uncaring. Broken. But instead, he chose to fight back, to — to take his destiny into his own hands, and live to the fullest. That’s not a bad thing!”
“I know.” Hermione looked away, as if unwilling to look her in the eye. “I know that. But he has changed, and it has changed us. It’s just sometimes I miss our old, easy friendship. When I knew everything that went on in his life, and we did everything together.”
“This has nothing to do with Harry, Hermione.” Ginny said harshly, but still keeping her voice quiet. “This is your fault. Ron’s fault. And you know it. He had so many plans and thoughts and feelings, Hermione, and he was aching to share them with friends. And you guys never gave him a single opening. Don’t you see that? How much it must have hurt?”
“I know, Ginny, believe me, I know. And it’s one of the things I regret the most in my whole life.” She sighed unhappily once more.
“How did things go today, with Ron? I know things won’t go back to the way they were for a while, it takes time... But I’d hoped things would improve.”
“They did...” She paused. “But there’s something missing, you know? Harry was up before any of us, and he was late for breakfast, and he didn’t tell us where he was. And he had a letter in his pocket today that he kept reading during breaks but he never mentioned what was in it, never asked for advice or told us what was going on... So, you see, we might all be speaking again, and smiling to each other, but things are not back to normal. I don’t even know if they can get back to normal, if Harry even wants them to.”
“You know he does, Hermione. You saw that in the infirmary.”
“But he won’t talk to us, not like he used to!”
“Yes, trust is a fragile thing.” Ginny glanced at Harry, still asleep on her shoulder. “I think now more than ever, for Harry. Because so many people he trusted failed him, or even openly betrayed him. But once you have his trust, Hermione, it’s the most precious thing in the world.”
“I never thought I’d see the day Harry fell asleep on someone’s shoulder,” Hermione smiled, a bit sadly. “I’m really happy for you, Ginny. You two are good for each other. You bring out your good qualities, and that’s so rare.”
“Yeah, well.” Ginny frowned slightly. “I’m still waiting for him to take that last step. He’s been a bit of a wimp about it, but I’m sure he’ll remember his Gryffindor pride eventually.”
With that thought, Ron came charging down the stairs from the boy’s dormitory and announced loudly, “Let’s eat!”
Albus Dumbledore was pacing in his office. He’d heard some disquieting news from his network of portraits about the rumors circulating in the hallways. He was always careful to keep an eye out for the mood in the school during the first few weeks of class, in case he needed to remedy quickly to any problems. And he couldn’t deny that, for the most part, the day had been good. The new teachers were a resounding success, and the atmosphere in the hallways was as light and relaxed as outside circumstances would allow.
However, Elektra’s little experiment had done the job. He knew when he was being manipulated, and he did not enjoy the feeling. But then, he should have expected this when he had asked her to come back. That was one person who did not know the meaning of giving up. It was only a matter of time until she came to finish driving the point home.
“Nothing is ever easy, my old friend,” he said softly, running his fingers gently along Fawkes’ neck.
The bird trilled a few notes, and Dumbledore had the uncomfortable sensation that the phoenix was laughing at his predicament.
“I know. I should have expected this when I hired her. But I thought the good outweighed the bad.”
“Have you changed your mind since this morning, Albus? You do know my contract is a year long, and that you can’t fire me without cause. Plus, I find I quite enjoy teaching. Young minds are a fascinating thing.”
Sighing, he turned around to look at his expected visitor.
“You are the only person to ever be able to come up unannounced to my office, Elektra. My gargoyle’s debt is still not paid?”
The young woman laughed quietly, “Nope. And since he is stuck here and unable to do any grand gestures, I imagine it will take quite a few free passes before I’m satisfied.”
“Yes, I suppose I could expect nothing less. Is there a specific reason you are here?”
“I spoke to Harry today.” She paused a moment, lost in thought. “It was a difficult conversation, Albus. But he is an incredibly resilient young man.” She looked him in the eyes, not a trace of her previous good humor in her eyes. “However Albus, you must stop taking him for granted. It is not because he was here in the past to do what needed to be done, that he will do it in the future. The prophecy is nullified if one of the two refuses to fight. He may be the Chosen One, but he still has free will.”
Dumbledore was surprised at the earnestness in her face, and it made him pause. This was a problem he hadn’t for a second imagined he would have.
“I don’t understand, Elektra. Why are you telling me this? My problems with Harry have always run towards too much eagerness, not too little.”
She shook her head sadly, “Albus, I cannot pretend to know the boy, but he made it perfectly clear to me, after an unfortunate comment on the seriousness of the situation, that he wasn’t above turning his back on the magical world and never coming back. He has had a most trying summer, and I think for a good part of it he was ready to give up, and try to find a life somewhere else.”
And suddenly, a number of small comments he had heard during the summer, from the Weasleys, and Ginny in particular, suddenly made perfect sense. How could he have been so blind?
“So you see, Albus, I think it’s about time you changed tacks with Harry. He’s not a boy anymore, even if he seems young. You should have seen him manipulating magic, Albus, he’s a natural. I never saw anyone take up the Custodio Imperium so fast. He’s growing more powerful by the day. Soon it will be dangerous to let him practice with just any student — Michael should be really careful.” She shook her head exasperatedly, and stood up, glaring down at the headmaster. “You know who he is, Dumbledore, and what we expect him to do. Maybe it’s time to let him do it.”
“Maybe you are right, Elektra, but I did so hope to let him have a real childhood. Real memories.”
“I think that’s all over now, Albus, and that Harry knows it. So how about you let him have what he wants, Professor, and learn to compromise? You saw the grades from the students in the D.A., you know that what he’s doing is important.”
“I know it is, that is why I asked for you and Michael to come back.”
“But it’s not the same, Albus. It’s always different when you’re in class, and you’re being graded for what you’re doing. Don’t you remember being sixteen, and learning to be independent? It’s important - just as important for them as learning to use magic, and cast spells.” She smiled mischievously. “I assume you’ve heard the rumors about my little experiment? I recorded it for you.” She took a small glass orb from her pocket and put it on the table, in front of the old Headmaster. “You’ll see that Harry is doing important work. He’s taught a bunch of teenagers how to cast patronuses, for Merlin’s sake. That should count for something.”
When he didn’t say anything, and simply stared at the small orb, she prodded, “Go ahead, Albus, it didn’t last very long. They were that good.”
He reached forward and closed his hand around the orb, letting the memory replay behind his closed eyelids. Then he sighed in defeat.
“Very well, Elektra, I’ll do as you wish. I’ll give him permission to reform his club. But they do need to work on their aim.”
Elektra rolled her eyes, but said, “Good, then you can tell him that tonight, he’s coming to see you after dinner.”
“Indeed? What does he want?”
“I don’t know, Albus, but I trust you’ll react differently this time. Harry needs your support, and he’s obviously tired of never being met half-way.”
“Did you talk to him about training, Elektra?” the Headmaster asked quietly. She was sad to see how old he sounded, defeated somehow.
“I did,” she answered quietly. “We’ll start tomorrow. He dealt with this whole thing in a most responsible fashion, Albus. You should be proud. He took the most difficult route, and he’s thriving in it.”
“I am most proud, Elektra. But I can’t help but miss the easy relationship we had before. When he was so eager to learn, and craved even the simplest guidance.”
“He grew up, and he’s learned to think for himself. That’s not a loss, you just need to realize that things changed, and adapt to new circumstances. I think you’ll find they are no less rewarding. I had him in my classroom for one period, Albus, and I could feel it.”
“I am not sure he will want to learn from me, even if I feel there are still things I must teach him.”
“He will, Professor, if you treat him with the respect he deserves. Talk to him this evening. A real conversation, not a lecture, and you’ll see the truth of what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Dumbledore took a deep breath, and looked thoughtfully at the young woman in front of him. “Maybe you are right, Elektra. You saw him in class, how is he dealing with his magic?”
“We didn’t do any practical work today, but afterwards, in my office, he lost his temper for a moment, and I could feel it. The ritual is not complete... I’m guessing it will take at least another month for the bond to be secure. But he already has an ease and familiarity with it, Albus, which are truly amazing. He manipulates energy without a second thought... I’m really looking forward to working with him.”
“Have you told him what you are?”
She smiled. “No, but I saw him looking at me when I worked magic in class. I’m pretty sure he knows.”
“What are you planning to teach him, Elektra?”
“I’m not sure yet, I have to see what he has been doing, I’m meeting him tomorrow. I’m mostly in uncharted territory here. James never came this far...” she sighed, lost in memories. “And I never got to meet his father before he was killed.”
“I remember. It was a difficult time.”
“I can’t help but wonder, sometimes, Albus... If I had pushed him harder, if maybe it would have made a difference. They went into hiding so suddenly, I never even got to say a proper goodbye.” She sighed, and let herself slouch against the back of the couch.
“You cannot blame yourself for what happened, Elektra. Voldemort was there in person, nothing would have stopped him, not when fate was on his side.”
“You know I was never a strong believer in fate, Albus.” She looked him squarely in the eyes. “I won’t make that mistake again. I won’t Harry let down. He wants to train, and that’s what I’ll do. There’ll be no mollycoddling. I don’t like it, and from what I gathered Harry abhors it even more. That means, Albus, that when I think the time is right, I’ll be telling Harry everything. All those things James never had the chance to.”
“You know I do not think he is ready for the responsibility, Elektra.”
“It’s out of your hands. You know training is binding among sorcerers. I offered, he accepted. We are bound until his training is complete or one of us wants to leave the path. No other alternative exists. So, it is out of your hands.”
“He is still too young, Elektra! He’s got enough to occupy all his time and energy,” he said in a pleading voice.
“His magic disagrees. As you well know. He couldn’t have unsealed his core without a ritual if that were not the case.”
“He was in an impossible situation, it would not have happened otherwise.”
“You’re probably right, Headmaster. But that doesn’t change the reality of the problem. Plus, he’s been to the Vault, I’d rather he not find out on his own,” she replied, seriously.
“You’re right.” The old Headmaster sighed again, and seemed to slump a little further in his chair. “Events are moving at a faster pace, Elektra. I had hoped to have more time, for Harry to have more time...”
“I know it’s difficult to accept, Albus. But take heart in the fact that he’s proving himself time and again. You have to admit, it is a heartening thought.”
Once dinner was over, Harry left Ron, Hermione and Ginny on their way to the Common Room, and walked to the Headmaster’s office. He had waited until the end of the meal, to be sure Dumbledore would be in his office, before leaving the Great Hall. The first obstacle that crossed his way was the ugly Gargoyle guarding the stairs. He really did not feel in the mood to guess the password — he simply wanted to get this conversation over with, as quickly as possible. He felt tired and yet restless, as if his body had lost the habit of sitting still for a whole day of classes.
He rested his hand on the Gargoyle’s head, wondering if perhaps he could get a message across, and jumped back, his hand tingling. “Wow,” he whispered.
The brief touch, with all his senses open had allowed him to feel the depths of the magic ingrained in the rock, and how it had come alive. “It’s just like the sorting hat,” he whispered. He could feel the intelligence, of the spell, the personality given to the guardian, and wondered where his senses had been all those years, that he had been blind to the magic around him.
“Well, my friend, you know who I am, and whom I’m here to see, so how about opening up?” he whispered to the rock, certain now that it could understand him perfectly. And, to his surprise, the doorway opened and he stepped into the moving staircase.
At the top of the stairs, the door to the Headmaster’s office stood wide open, and his old professor was standing at the window, Fawkes on his shoulder. Harry felt a twinge of pain run through his heart as he remembered once more all the good and the bad memories he had inside this room, and how one fateful night here had completely changed his life.
But just as the pain hit him, Fawkes thrilled a few notes in welcome, and took off from the Headmaster’s shoulder, to land on his outstretched arm.
“Hello, Fawkes. How are you today? At the height of your health, I see, my friend.” The bird thrilled a few more notes in reply, and Harry felt the gloom that had been about to set around his heart lift.
“Harry,” the Headmaster said in welcome. “May I ask you, how did the Gargoyle let you in?”
“Uh, I asked him?” Harry answered, sitting down in one of the comfortable armchairs facing the fire, and letting Fawkes settle down in his lap.
“Did you, indeed? You are the first to make such a request in a couple of centuries, my boy,” the old man said, his eyes twinkling madly, turning to face his visitor.
“Really? Well, the Gargoyle seemed intelligent enough, I didn’t see a reason not to be polite. And, truth be told, I was in no mood to play guess the candy, Professor.” The bird in his lap, following the conversation, gave a small, joyful trill, that Harry felt sure was a small laugh.
“Fawkes is unusually fond of you, Harry. You are one of the few people other than me that he will show affection to.”
“Well, Fawkes saved my life, so I have nothing but the greatest respect for him,” Harry said, running his fingers through the warm and smooth plumage in the birds’ neck.
“I can see that, Harry, and most importantly, so can he.” He left his spot by the window, and sat down in the armchair facing Harry. “How was your first day of classes, Harry? I hope you aren’t having too hard a time adapting to the castle again.”
“I’m fine Professor, don’t worry about me.”
“But it is my job to worry about you, Harry. You are under my responsibility after all, and the least I can do is make sure your well being is assured, to the best of my abilities. I imagine it must not be easy to be in such a crowded environment after this summer.”
Harry sighed, and gazed at the fire burning in the hearth, but found out he didn’t mind sharing. “I’m just tired, Professor, it’s been a bit exhausting. I’ll be fine. I’ll get used to it.”
“I’m sure you will. And how were your classes, any problems controlling your magic?”
Harry smiled, “No, no problems. It’s so good to be able to hold a wand again. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it. And the things I can sense now...” He paused, at a loss for words. “It’s like the whole castle is alive with magic, as if everyone who has ever passed through here has left a mark, and given a little of himself back to the castle.”
“That is quite right, Harry. That is what makes Hogwarts special. The building itself is alive, after a fashion. It has a certain awareness of what is going on inside its walls.”
“I wonder how I never noticed it before... When I stepped in, it was almost overpowering.”
“Most students never do, Harry. It takes a special relationship with magic to feel it.”
Harry sighed, but didn’t answer. He felt like there wasn’t really anything to say. The price had been too high, for him.
“Harry, Professor Tedakis approached me today with some very convincing arguments, and I have come to realize that you are both right, in regards to the D.A. So I’ll give you permission to continue it. But I must ask you to treat it as a normal school club: you’ll need a professor to oversee it, and you’ll have to be open to all Houses.”
“Okay, as long as they sign whatever Hermione comes up with to ensure there are no turn coats inside, I don’t mind.” Harry had expected nothing less, when he had asked Dumbledore to make the club official.
“Very well, that is one problem settled, then. Was there a reason for your visit, Harry? Even if my door is always open for you, I understand that you had a specific reason to come?”
“Yes,” Harry said. He sat up straight in his chair, and got his mind back on track. He had been growing comfortable with the comfortable warmth that was Fawkes in his arms, and the relaxed conversation, an unusual commodity in his meetings with Dumbledore lately. “I received a letter from Ragnok. I asked him to keep me informed if Voldemort made a move on the bank, and asked him to make discreet inquiries among the Goblins, to test their loyalty. Apparently Voldemort has already approached a certain number of high placed members of Goblin society, even a couple of members of the Council. Ragnok is not sure what exactly is his goal, since he is not loved by the Goblins. Ragnok is afraid he might use force later on, when negotiations fail, and that they might need to close the bank.”
“I see...” Dumbledore said, frowning. “That is useful information. I might be able to twist a few arms in the ministry so that if that happens we don’t find ourselves in the middle of a media frenzy. However, Cornelius has not been open to suggestions, lately.”
“Fudge is a danger to everyone, Professor. We could really use a decent minister,” Harry grumbled.
“That is another problem altogether, Harry,” Dumbledore interrupted, and Harry decided he was way too tired to argue this point again with the Headmaster. He had come to talk about Gringotts, and to see if the Headmaster was going to help with the ministry, and that was all.
“Yes, well. Anyway. How do you think they’ll react, if Ragnok closes his doors?”
“There would be an uproar, that is certain. Talk about a new Goblin rebellion, certainly. Especially among more contentious members of the press.”
“Contentious?” Harry snickered. “Is that what you call Rita Skeeter and her friends at the Prophet?”
“I imagine they could pose a serious problem, Harry, but if we prepare them for the eventuality, we might soften the blow, as it were.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it, Professor, but I suppose there is nothing else for it, except force every reporter on the planet to tell the truth.”
“I had hoped to spare you from this kind of problems, Harry. To leave you with more time to train, and concentrate on your studies. But I see you are by far too involved, now, to back away.” Harry noticed how old his Headmaster sounded, all of a sudden, and understood a little better some of his actions during the summer.
He sighed resignedly, “I think it’s too late for all that, Professor. This is my war, my destiny... I can’t do anything if I’m not aware of what is going on, what others are doing. I hope you can understand that.”
“I’m doing my best, Harry. And I trust you’ll remind me quite forcefully when that is not the case.”
Harry smiled. “There is that.”
Harry was glad to see that some of the tension had been purged from their relationship. He needed Dumbledore’s advice, and his knowledge of how things worked in the wizarding world. And that was what he did, as he questioned his mentor on everything he could think of regarding ministry policy regarding the Goblins, the inner workings of the High Council, and how power struggles within the Wizengamot might affect the rapports between wizards and goblins. All in all, Harry thought, it was quite an enlightening meeting.
Chapter 24: Midnight strolls in the eve of chaos
William J. H. Boetcker
Chapter 21: Midnight strolls in the eve of chaos
Ginny was waiting for him in front of the portrait whole when he came back from his meeting with Dumbledore. He was glad to see a friendly face, and to be able to forget about war and destiny for at least a little while.
She smiled at him, and suddenly he didn’t want to go inside, and face the crowded common room. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to run away somewhere, with Ginny, and forget that there even was a wizarding world.
She must have felt the shift in his mood, because she stepped forward, and put a hand on his arm, and asked concernedly, “Harry, are you alright?”
He smiled slightly; she was the only person he knew who could read his moods quite that fast, and quite that accurately. “Yeah, Gin, just tired. And not really in the mood for people.” He brightened suddenly. “Come on, let’s take a walk!”
“A walk?”
“Yeah, a walk. I’ve certainly explored this castle enough, and always for the wrong reasons. I’m sure we can find an agreeable spot for a midnight walk. Come on, Gin,” he quipped, “you know you want to.”
She smiled at his sudden renewed energy, and couldn’t say no. And truth be told, she wanted nothing more than to take midnight walks with Harry.
“If we get caught, I’ll say you abducted me and was corrupting my innocence!” she teased.
“Ha, as if anyone here would believe you, miss Weasley!”
“What, that I’m not a perfectly innocent young girl?” she asked, blinking exaggeratedly.
“No!” Harry laughed, “That anyone could actually take you anywhere against your will.”
“And don’t you forget it!” she said, grinning. “So where are you taking me, this fine evening, Mister Potter?”
Harry laced their arms together, and started down the corridors. “Um, what are you in the mood for, Gin? A snack? Or we could go up a tower and watch the stars. Or maybe take a walk in the Rose Garden, I heard professor Flitwick is keeping his tiny faeries there, it should be a nice sight.”
Ginny smiled at him, and he thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight in his whole life. He felt he could drown in her, and die a happy man. “I think the Rose Garden is a good choice, Harry. And inside the castle, so we won’t be breaking too many rules.”
“Since when do you care about rules, Ginny?”
“Since I lost 80 house points in my first day back? I don’t think anyone would be very happy if we lost any more tonight.”
“You’re still upset about that, Gin? We’ll get the points back; don’t worry. With Quidditch, if with nothing else.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “No one blames you. Everyone in Gryffindor knows what Snape is like.”
She smiled up at him, and relaxed, enjoying the quiet of the castle, the long empty corridors, and the comforting warmth that was Harry, walking beside her.
“How did your meeting go, Harry? Could you talk things through with the Headmaster?”
“Yeah, actually. Fawkes was there and he pretty much kept us both in check. You now how Phoenix song won’t let you get angry, or afraid, just... Calm and serene.”
“Kind of like a breathing batch of calming draught, huh?”
He smiled at the analogy, “Yes, exactly. But it was useful at least. We talked about the war, and the Order, the ministry, Gringotts... It was very productive.” He paused for a moment, not sure if he wanted to broach the next subject. “Dumbledore also said he wanted to help the two of us with Occlumency, Gin, if you’re up for it... It’s not easy to learn, but... He said it might help you with the things that happened this summer.”
She nodded. “He’d talked about something like that a few weeks ago.” Her voice suddenly took on a slight pleading, and she squeezed his arm. “Will you be there, Harry? I-I’d rather not do it alone.”
“Of course, Gin. Because you want me to, if nothing else.” She nodded gratefully, and the look in her eyes was enough to remind him of how precious his connection to her was. “Fridays after class, Dumbledore said. Is the time okay for you?”
She nodded in reply, and they continued walking quietly, side by side, the long empty hallways stretching on in the darkness, the silence around them almost alive. The castle itself was a living presence, tangible now that the students were gone, and that the two of them were the only people walking the halls.
They soon made it outside, and to the Rose Garden, where dozens of tiny lights flitted about among the flowers like golden flecks drifting in the air. Ginny couldn’t hold back a small gasp at the simple beauty of the place, calm and inviting.
“They’re beautiful,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Harry said, quietly. “It’s nice to be reminded that there’s still beauty in the world.”
“It is. Come, Harry, let’s walk.”
The air was fragrant with the sweet smell of roses, and a gentle breeze was blowing. The air felt fresh, but not the biting cold of winter, and Ginny couldn’t think of a more perfect moment in time. She could feel all her nerves attuned to the magic around her, flowing in the flowers and in the tiny specks of light. And she could feel Harry with every one of her senses, and the yearning in her heart was almost a physical pain.
“I wish we could stop time, Gin, and stay here forever.” All the light banter from the corridor was gone from his voice, and she could feel another shift in his mood, and wondered what it meant. He stopped in front of her, and tucked a few tendrils of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger across her face, sending tingles running through her whole body.
“I can’t think when you’re this close, Gin.” Harry said softly, his voice sounding pained.
“You don’t need to think, Harry.” Her eyes were glowing in the gossamer light and he wanted nothing more than to let go, and lose himself in them. But he couldn’t help the knot of apprehension in his stomach, and the muted fear every time he looked at her. “Just let go,” she said.
He let his forehead touch hers, and gently brought a hand to cup her cheek, letting the other run through her hair, and bringing her closer. Ginny felt she could hardly breath. And suddenly his mouth was covering hers, and her arms were around his neck, and she didn’t need to breath, only to feel. It was a gentle kiss, drawn out, and savored. The whole universe seemed to hold still, and for one perfect moment, nothing in the world was as real, as important, as this.
Harry pulled back, after an infinite amount of moments, but held her close, and she luxuriated in the feel of his arms around her, and this perfect closeness.
“I can’t lose you, Gin. I can’t.” There was real pain in his voice, and she realized, perhaps for the first time, the effort it took to open himself up for that kind of vulnerability, that kind of hurt, again.
“Harry...” she whispered softly. “We’ll be careful. I can’t live without you, either.”
He leaned down once more, letting his lips slide against hers, and she was lost in the moment, every other thought leaving her head. And she couldn’t hold herself back any longer and she laughed, her eyes sparkling with uncontained joy. “What took you so long, Harry? We shouldn’t have wasted so much time!”
“Well, you said it yourself, I’m a bit of a wimp, in such matters,” he smiled down at her, seeming to drink her up with his eyes.
“You are at that. But not anymore, now you’re all mine, and no take back’s allowed.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Gin. Not even for a second.” And she couldn’t doubt his word, even for a moment, as she saw the simple happiness in his eyes, and the way he was holding her to him, like a last lifeline in an insane world.
The next morning, Harry came skipping down the steps to the boy’s dormitories, feeling, for the first time in a very long while, that maybe all was right in the world after all. He had a surprise waiting for him in the common room, where he found Ginny sprawled in one of the couches, dressed in comfortable clothes and tennis shoes, her feet dangling awkwardly from the sides of her seat.
“Gin,” he said with a smile, “what are you doing up so early?”
“I,” she said, getting up and stretching languorously, “am going running with my boyfriend. That is what you have been doing in the mornings, right?”
He felt a grin spread on his face at the title and answered, “Yes, I just never figured you’d be up for it so early in the morning.”
She came forward, and, getting up on her tiptoes, gently kissed him good morning. “I want us to have something to do together, Harry. I loved training with you this summer, and I don’t want to lose the habit. Plus, they say sports are good for you, so let’s go. Come on. We don’t have all morning.”
“Okay, you’re right. I have to meet professor Tedakis afterwards, but we should get a good 40 minutes in, if we leave now. You up for it, Ginny?”
“Bring it on, Harry,” she said with a grin while at the same time, trying to fight down a yawn.
As it turned out, she kept up with him for all of twenty minutes, before coming to a sudden halt and gasping in between breaths “Tell me again why I decided to do this Harry?”
He laughed at her predicament. “Because it’s good for you? Keep walking Gin, tomorrow you’ll do better. I’ll meet you at the steps.”
After he finished one more lap around the castle, he found Ginny stretching in the front steps of the castle. “How are you, Gin? Starting up can be hard.”
“I’m fine now,” she said, smiling. “I actually feel pretty good, now that I can breath normally again,” she laughed. “I’m actually wide awake, Harry! Even before my first class of the day! This is a complete first for me.”
“So you’ll be up at six tomorrow again?” he asked carefully.
She frowned slightly, and sat down next to him on the steps. “Of course I’ll be here tomorrow, Harry. This is where I want to be. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
He smiled then, and placed a small kiss on her lips, resisting the urge to let things spiral further. “Thanks Gin, it’s actually pretty cool, having some company. It can get lonely out here in the mornings.”
“Well, not anymore.” She got up, and reached out to give him a hands up. “Come on, you’ll be late for your meeting, and I need a shower.”
They walked in together, making their way up in the castle.
“Are you free this evening, Gin?”
“Yes, why?”
“Well, we could meet after dinner, and get in some training and some sparing, to keep you sharp.”
“Okay! See you at breakfast!” And with an excited spring in her step, she took the steps up to Gryffindor Tower two at a time.
Harry kept on walking, thinking ahead to the next hour. He wondered what this new training would entail, and felt a small trickle of excitement. It was so reassuring to finally be able to get help with this whole new aspect of his powers that had suddenly opened up under his feet. He knew he’d been dealing with it the best way he could, but it had still felt like wading through murky water.
He found his Professor leaning against the tapestry in front of the room of requirement, waiting for him. She smiled slightly when he appeared.
“Good morning, Harry. I see you’ve already started your day.”
“Yep, just a quick jog. I figured since I finally acquired some good habits, I shouldn’t stop just because I’m at school.”
“Of course. Let’s go in, then.”
She was dressed casually, and he found it strange to see a Professor out of the robes that were the usual fashion in the wizarding world. The room looked like the she usually did for DA meetings when they would practice dueling, a large open space in the middle of the room, and no sharp objects on which someone could get hurt.
“Well,” said Elektra. “This is a useful little asset you found here, Harry.”
“I know. It can do just about anything. It’s amazing.” He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, now that they were here... Was he supposed to just carry on as usual, as if she wasn’t there?
Elektra was silent for a moment, seeming deep in thought, and finally sighed, and said “Okay Harry, I have to be honest with you. I believe that any kind of apprenticeship needs to be based on trust, and this is something of the sort. I must admit that your situation is unique, and that I’ll be learning with you as time goes by.”
“I know, I read that unsealing your magical core is pretty rare,” he said, nodding.
“It’s more than that, Harry.” She started pacing in front of him, in what he now recognized as her teaching mode. “Unsealing your core is possible, if you have certain magical characteristics. Your family was well-known for this ability — it was a common practice among wizards and witches of your lineage. In doing that, they acquired a certain number of sorcerous powers, while maintaining the ability to use a wand.”
Harry nodded. He had read about sorcerers when he was researching what had happened to him. They were practitioners, but unlike wizards, had no magical core, only conduits, and relied therefore solely on ambient magic to cast. And while they couldn’t use a wand, their ability to use their whole bodies as magical conduits for extreme forces was legendary.
They were also supposed to be extinct.
“That’s why you don’t have a wand, then?”
She smiled, her eyes twinkling, “Yes. I see you figured out what I am.”
“I did, but I can’t really wrap my mind around it... Sorceresses were supposed to have all died during some war in the Middle Ages when a Dark Lord went berserk, and didn’t want competition.”
“Well, he didn’t get us all. There are still a few dozen of us around the world, a few families. But we keep ourselves hidden from the wizarding world, teaching our sons and daughters ourselves. However, we always kept in touch with the Potters, in case one of them wanted to go through with the ceremonies and needed training.”
“Okay, so what is so special about my case?”
“Well, when you go through the rituals, there is a lot of work and preparation involved. You prepare your body for the added power that will be running through it, you prepare new conduits that can deal with the constant bond with magic... It takes years, Harry, of hard work and discipline, and it is still risky, even if what the rituals create is only a small, neat crack in your core. Even so, wizards have died in a backlash afterwards.” She paused, and looked at him seriously. “What you did, Harry... Was violent. It tore your core apart. That is why you could suddenly feel so much power running through you. And that means it will be that much more difficult to form a stable bond, and to get your conduits to work seamlessly with your magic. However, on the bright side, it also means that if you do manage it, you’ll have that much more power to work with, since you’ll be able to call on ambient magic as well as your core.”
“I don’t understand, how does that work?” As his Professor spoke, Harry felt a wave of helplessness hit him. This was so much more real than reading something in a book, cloaked in academic language and so far removed from reality.
“Well, do you know how a sorceress’ powers work, Harry?”
“Not really, only that you can’t use a wand, and use ambient magic. But I don’t really know how that works.”
“Well, we don’t have a magical core, as such — it’s why we can’t use a wand, you see? — but we are magical beings. Entirely magical — that means that our whole bodies can attract magic, and we can use our conduits to harness it and make it do our bidding.”
“I understand — instead of using internal power, you pull in everything that’s around you. And since everything in the world has magic to some degree or other, you have unlimited supplies.”
“Exactly. The only limitation is the amount of energy the body can stand. And now, since you have unsealed your core, and are, little by little, assimilating your power to your body, becoming one with your magic, you’ll also be able to do that. That’s the objective. The end result of everything I’m going to try to teach you, Harry. It’s a hard, difficult path, but the rewards are... indescribable.”
She had that expression of sheer joy in her eyes once more, that made Harry feel as if he could follow her into Hell and back, to reach that sense of peace and contentment.
“Okay, Professor. As I said before, I’m in. What do you need me to do?”
She smiled slightly, nodding at him. “For starters, do your exercises. I want to see you doing the Custodium Imperium. I’ll be able to sense how far along you are, and see what you need to work on. Then we’ll meditate together, and I’ll show you a few things.”
When Harry left the room of requirement an hour later, he ached on a level he had never ached before. It was as if his very magic, deep inside himself, had gotten a thorough workout. Elektra had been right - it was a difficult path. But at the same time, with her guidance, he felt he had progressed more in one day then in all the previous weeks combined.
He felt strange — and that was saying something, considering just how incredibly peculiar his magic and his body had been acting since his return from Voldemort’s dungeons. All his muscles felt loose, and jet he knew he had worked just as hard this morning as he had any other. His head was clear, and everything around him seemed to have a slight shine to it, as if his eyes were starting to see what his magical senses felt. And he was hungry. Absolutely, ravenously hungry. With that in mind, he made a quick stop by the showers, and hurried to the great hall.
As promised, Ginny was waiting for him there, and he felt that same shock of unrestrained joy that seemed to hit him every time he looked at her after last night. He wondered what he had done right in his life to deserve such a gift. She seemed to feel his presence, and looked up as he approached, and gave him that small, mischievous smile that she reserved just for him.
“Harry,” she said, “glad you could join us.”
“Why, miss Weasley,” he answered, “a gentleman always keeps his promises, doesn’t he?”
“And might I ask how that is relevant to the matter at hand, you rascal?” she quipped.
“You know very well how, miss Weasley!” he replied indignantly.
“Do I, really?” she laughed.
Across from them, he noticed Hermione watching their exchange thoughtfully, a little knowing smile gracing her lips, and he was impressed once more by her sheer powers of observation. Their light banter wasn’t much different from his and Ginny’s usual interaction.
As he sat down and devoted his attention to eating, Ginny, who had already finished, lazily sipped a glass of orange juice, and skimmed the Prophets titles. And suddenly, he felt her senses shift, and saw a frown marring her features. She stopped turning the pages of the newspaper and carefully read a small article in one of the inner pages.
“What is it, Gin?” he asked quietly.
“The ministry mucking about, as usual,” she answered, glowering at the page. “Harry, Fudge is going to ruin this war before it even starts.”
She pushed the newspaper towards him, and pointed to the title of what she had been reading. In black block letters, it said, “New measure in the fight against violence”, and lower, in smaller lettering, “Minister to push for a tighter application of protection against magical creatures laws in response to reports of attacks on wizarding population”. The rest of the article was filled with the usual blabbering of the ministry’s policy against dangerous creatures, and how a stricter application of the laws would help protect good wizarding families. It could have come straight from the mouth of Dolores Umbridge.
Harry frowned, “Where did this come from? What attacks? Why haven’t we heard about this?” He stopped eating for a moment. “Damn, this complicates matters. I need to send word to Ragnok, and to John. We can’t hesitate anymore. Gin, who wrote this bloody thing?”
“It’s not signed, Harry.” She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Harry, how could they have known? How could they time it just right?” Ginny asked, her concern clearly apparent in her voice.
“I don’t know, there must be a leak somewhere... In the ministry and in the Goblin Council. They timed it more than just right, too... It was perfect. Ragnok called a meeting for today of the Goblin High Council. This is bound to cause quite a bit of a stir, and risks pushing them over the edge. Merlin, what a mess.”
Harry hurried through the rest of his breakfast, then grabbed two pieces of parchment from his bag and quickly penned a letter to John Hellington and to Ragnok, and sealed them with a quiet spell. He then turned to Ginny, “Gin, can you swing by the Owlery and give those to Hedwig, I need a quick word with the Headmaster before class. I’m really sorry to spring this on you like this, but this time Fudge really stepped on it.”
“Go on, Harry, I have a few minutes. Don’t worry.” She found his hand under the table and gave it a quick squeeze, letting it linger just a second too long, and then she smiled and got out of her place to do as he had asked. With the simple gesture, she had managed to put him at ease, and communicate her confidence that they would all be able to get past this glitch in their plans.
For his part, Harry got up, grabbed the newspaper, and quickly walked the long way to the Head Table, feeling the eyes of the other students and all his professors following his movement. He stepped up to the Headmaster, who had followed his approach with growing concern in his eyes, and showed him the article. He didn’t need any words. His old professor understood the implications immediately.
“Professor, I told you that man was going to be trouble. The High Council is meeting today. Can you imagine what this will do to our support among the goblins? I told you the ministry was their main issue with us. This will strengthen that position a thousand fold,” Harry said quietly, and slightly desperately.
Around them, the Professors were all watching the exchange unabashedly, even if they kept their voices low enough not to be overheard. He could hear the whispers among the students as well, but couldn’t find any reason to care. He could let them talk.
“I understand, Harry. But you should have more faith in your allies. From what I know of Ragnok, he won’t let this get in the way of his given word.”
“Ragnok may be the High Councilor, but he has only one vote,” Harry spat. “There is only so much he can do.”
“And there is only so much we can do, Harry,” the Headmaster said quietly. “The damage is done, now we can only wait for the repercussions, and try to figure out how this happened. I will see what I can find in the ministry — I will put our best people on the case, to try and find out where the order came from, see if there’s an enemy agent in our midst. I trust you asked Ragnok to do the same among his people. There were really only a very limited number of people who knew about our arrangements, Harry. We will find out how this happened.”
“Okay, professor. But I still think something needs to be done about Fudge.”
“I know, my boy. You’ve said so enough times,” the old man said with a smile.
“I’ve also asked John to make some discreet enquiries around the Prophet — see who the mysterious reporter is, and where he gets his information.”
“Very well — he knows not to draw attention to himself,” Dumbledore said. “Now, Harry, I believe you have lessons to attend, if I am not mistaken?”
Harry smiled sardonically, and turned his back on the Headmaster, rolling his eyes. He always had to have the last word.
Harry had spent the whole day ready to jump out the window, he was so anxious to hear about the results of the High Council. None of his classes had been able to hold his attention, and he had come nearly to blows with Professor Snape during an interminable double period. He had run through every relaxation technique he knew, had called on his magic, but nothing seemed to work. He hated knowing that events were out of his control.
Hermione had been watching him throughout the day, and he was surprised she still hadn’t asked what was bothering him. He stopped a moment to wonder if he would have told her... Perhaps, if only in the hopes that their strained relationship might lighten up a bit.
He stepped inside the Dueling classroom, and felt a sudden spark of glee. Maybe here he would be able to unwind — some serious sparring would be just the thing. He really hoped the professor was as good as Ginny said he was — he needed the distraction. The classroom, was the first thing Harry saw. And it wasn’t really a classroom at all. There were benches set around the walls, were they could sit side by side, but no tables. The floor, instead of the hard stone he was used to seeing in the rest of the castle was covered in a slightly flexible material, that might soften a harsh tumble — but wasn’t too soft that they would lose traction. It was really the perfect place to learn some serious dueling, Harry thought.
All the students settled down around the room, and waited for the arrival of their newest professor. They didn’t have to wait for long. He strode into the room, dressed, not in the usual heavy robes, but in a long sleeved T-shirt, comfortable slacks and what Harry recognized as muggle combat boots. Professor Agilius certainly did not look like a wizard. However, the way he held his wand lightly between his fingers, ready to cast at a moment’s notice quickly relieved anyone of that notion.
“Good afternoon,” he said, “I was asked by your Headmaster to teach all of you how to Duel.”
He paused, letting his eyes wander among the students seated on the benches. “I tried to explain that that was a futile notion, seeing as you are all still in school, but he insisted.” There were a few laughs at that, but Harry wondered why the Professor thought that. He didn’t see the contradiction in the two.
“That being the case, the first thing you will all have to realize is that in this classroom, you must forget everything that you have learned, everything that you think is possible or not, every expected way you are supposed to react to a given situation.” Ha paused, letting his eyes roam the classroom, never stopping on one particular student, but seeming completely aware of all of them. “Who can tell me what is the best way to stop a stunning curse?”
It was a fairly basic question, and half a dozen hands shot up in the air. Harry wondered what was the point behind it. It was obviously not a purely academic discussion — any second year student knew that a Stunner could be blocked with a Protego.
The professor pointed at Susan Bones, who promptly said, “A Protego shield.”
“That can indeed stop a Stunning curse, but it is not the best way to do it.”
Most hands came down. Hermione kept hers in the air, and the professor called her. “A Contego shield requires more power and skill, but is stronger.”
“All true — but it is not the best way to stop a stunning curse.” He paused, and no one else raised their hands. “No one?”
Quietly, Harry said, “Not getting hit is the best way to stop any sort of curse.”
His Professor turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised slightly in surprise. Once he recognized who had spoken, he nodded in understanding and said, in a serious voice. “You are correct, Mister Potter. Can you explain why?”
Taking a deep breath, Harry said, “For a number of reasons, really... You don’t waste the time or energy casting, you can attack while your enemy is expecting you to defend, you don’t get caught up in nasty side effects you had no way of anticipating, but really, mostly because there are curses that can’t be stopped, and unless you can read the mind of your opponent — something not many people can do — you never know what’s coming at you.”
“Precisely.” The professor turned his still blue gaze back to the class and continued, “You must see dueling like a dance - a dance upon which your very survival might depend one day. Each move must be graceful as well as deadly. Speed, agility, force and power. Those are your friends, those are the things that we will be training this year. Each of you will develop his or her own style, and work on it until it is as near perfection as possible. Everything about this class will be practical. This will be the ultimate application of all your knowledge, of everything you know or think you know about magic. Do you understand?”
Harry saw people nodding all around the classroom, but wondered if anyone really understood. He saw now why Ginny had been so taken by the professor — he went beyond the simple, obvious way to use magic, and thus opened their eyes to a much larger range of possibilities.
Yes, he could see how all of that would appeal to Ginny. And if he was honest with himself, it quite appealed to him as well. He wondered if he was going to get a shot at someone in this class, he was simply itching for a fight.
“Today,” the professor went on, “I will be facing each of you, to estimate your level of skill in the subject, and different styles, weaknesses and strengths — if there are any. I will then be able to separate you according to needs and leave you to duel each other. So let us begin. I will go around the class.” He pointed to a slight girl in Hufflepuff colors that Harry knew from sight but couldn’t remember the name.
The girl was visibly trembling as she stood up in front of the class, and stood in front of the Professor, not seeming quite sure what to do with her wand.
He gave a small, ironic smile, and said, “For us to duel, you will have to actually use that, you know.”
The girl blushed crimson, stuttered something unintelligible, but seemed to gather what little confidence she had and raised her wand. Harry wondered for a moment if anyone would have the guts to be the first to attack.
The Professor was gentle with most students, but Harry saw he was mostly toying with them, trying to get them to react with something other than shields and counter curses. It was a wasted effort, most of the time. Harry kept a careful eye on what sort of curses he was using, and what defenses he’d use on the very rare occasions he could get someone to cast something back at him.
Just before Hermione was up, Harry whispered, quietly, “Try attacking first, Mione. Stay on the offensive.”
She gave him a tightlipped smile and stood up, making her way to the middle of the classroom. The Professor had only just finished nodding that the duel had begun, when she whipped her wand in a complex fashion, and launched with a series of curses — mostly disarming stuff, Harry saw, coupled with some minor explosion and blasting curses.
For the first time, he saw the Professor smile, as he sidestepped neatly from most of the barrage, and quickly put up a shield to block the rest. While the shield was still forming, he continued his circular movement, and started an attack, which took Hermione by surprise. She recovered quickly enough to cast her own shield, and held out the barrage.
Harry knew she could hold on to that shield for as long as she wanted, but if she didn’t start casting again, the whole thing would be pointless. She seemed to realize that at the same time he did. At the first interval she dropped her shield and started casting, and Harry muttered, “Move!” But it was too late, just as her stunning curse left her wand, she was caught by a disarming spell.
Professor Agilius gave a slight bow, and handed her back her wand. “Good spell work Miss-“
“Granger,” Hermione answered.
“You need to work on your footwork, however. As most people here.”
Hermione nodded graciously, and took her seat. “Your turn, Harry,” she whispered.
Harry gave a feral smile, and felt that slight rush of adrenaline that he associated with getting ready for a fight, or a Quidditch game. He shrugged off his heavy robes, held his wand lightly in his right hand, and stepped to the middle of the floor. He stretched his neck muscles, relaxed his shoulders and felt his magic rising to the surface, ready to be used at a moments notice.
“Mister Potter,” his professor said, nodding. His eyes seemed to flash, and he answered Harry’s smile with one of his own. This time, there was no pause. As soon as Harry was in place, he started casting. Harry, relieved beyond measure to finally have an object to release his tension on, an activity he could lose himself in, didn’t stop to think, and let instinct take over.
He twirled away from the first barrage, and came out of the turn casting. He felt the rhythm of the fight, his power, held tightly under control, answering to his will. Not waiting to see if his response had hit the mark — knowing instinctively that his adversary was above such simple tricks — he reversed direction and erecting a shield wordlessly to stop the spells flying towards him, started casting his own offensive spells, keeping things simple, stunning and binding spells only.
Smiling as he felt magic rushing around him, swirling in him, he let his instincts guide him. So long, he seemed to be holding his own, not having to rely solely on shields to defend himself. Then, his professor stepped up the rhythm. And suddenly, he had to keep moving constantly simply to stay out of the way of the spells flying towards him. While his opponent contented himself with occasionally sidestepping curses that came too close for comfort.
He let all his training come to the surface, felt the rhythm of the battle shift, and tried once more to start an offensive. But just as he felt he was back on track, the older man stepped up the battle once more. Harry held on for a few more seconds, but suddenly, as he dove under a curse, he landed out of balance, and as he scrambled to get back up, saw the disarming curse and felt it hit him square in the chest.
He stopped struggling to get up, and laughed quietly, as he tried to get his breath back. This had been fun. His professor walked up to him, not even slightly ruffled, Harry saw, and offered him a hand up. Smiling, Harry took him up on the offer, and got back up.
“Good work, Mister Potter. Now can you tell me what you did wrong?” Harry tried thinking back on the last few minutes, but he had been running largely on automatic reaction, and wasn’t quite clear on where he had made a mistake.
His professor didn’t wait for his answer. “The moment you felt you were having a bad landing, you should have had a shield up. Casting a shield as cover must become as natural a response as breathing. You may sit down,” he said with one last piercing glance in his direction.
Harry took his seat, grinning when he saw Hermione’s astonished expression, and wondered when he’d get to duel his Professor again. He was looking forward to the challenge.
Elektra was seated on her desk, going over her lesson plans for the next day, when she saw Michael coming through her door, a strange glint in his eyes.
“Elektra, I just had the second student in this school who had had at least some training in the Curator Tractus. This is getting ridiculous. How am I supposed to teach them with everyone else? How come no one gave me a simple warning?”
She smiled at his discomfiture and said, “Let me guess... Harry, of course, and... Um... I’d say little Ginny Weasley.”
“You knew! ” he growled. “And you didn’t tell me?”
Her smile grew, “Well — Let’s just say I had a very strong suspicion about Harry, and if there are two, Ginny was the logical choice. They’ve become very good friends this summer.”
“So, will I have any more nasty surprises?”
“Oh, come on, Michael,” she said, rolling her eyes, “Teaching gifted students is hardly a nasty surprise. And they can’t be that far along, they’ve had little more than a few months practice.”
“Maybe, but they’re good. Both of them. They have that spark, you know, that makes the great duelist.”
She rolled her eyes again, “The one you keep telling me I don’t have?”
“No,” he replied, in a tone that implied they’d had this conversation a thousand times, and he fully expected to have it a thousand more, “what I keep telling you is that you think too much, and that in a duel you don’t have time to ponder every action.”
She grunted a noncommittal reply, and asked “So, why are you here then? I have classes to prepare.”
“Really?” he asked, strolling into the office and plopping down on one of her armchairs. “Too bad.”
She rolled her eyes once more, but decided that she could join him near the fireplace at least for a while.
“Come on, Elektra, tell me about Harry.”
“Why the sudden interest, Michael?” she asked, frowning.
“I just had my very first Sixth year class. As usual, I started testing them, hoping against hope to see some potential. I really don’t know what Dumbledore’s great idea was - you can’t teach children how to duel when they still have to write essays.” Elektra reached out with a foot and kicked him on the leg. “Right, back on track. So, after the usual series of students, I get my first surprise. I don’t know if you have her in class — Hermione Granger?” She nodded. “Well, she obviously used her brains, because she decided that the best defense was a good offense. However, she kept to the basics, no fancy stuff, and no footwork at all. But still, some creative thinking, I can work with that.”
“Michael,” Elektra snapped, “you’re digressing. Again.”
“Yes, luv, sorry.” He smiled innocently at her, and continued, “Then here comes Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the one who escaped from Voldemort... So, I decided to test him for real, not just poke to see what came out. Elektra, he’s the real deal — his instincts are excellent, he really understands the technique — it was an actual duel we had. Well, he lost, of course, but he has incredible potential. I was already hopeful when I saw the Weasley girl yesterday, but to have two... Can you imagine, Elektra? Two more Curators?”
“I’m glad you approve. When Dumbledore found out, he nearly died of a heart attack.”
“Of course I approve! Doesn’t change the fact that you should have told me, I didn’t even put up any barriers when I dueled him. If we hadn’t been using such low grade stuff, people could have been hurt. And I still don’t know what to do with them in class — certainly can’t pitch them against regular students.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Michael, but it wasn’t my secret to tell. And I’m training him. I have to respect his confidence.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, “The rumors are true? What the other professors are saying? That he’s unsealed his core?”
Elektra frowned at him. “You have a brain, Michael. Draw your own conclusion.” But then she relaxed, and said. “He’s a Potter — you know what that means.”
He exhaled, and made himself comfortable in his couch. “It’s even better, a Curator that can manipulate magic. Voldemort won’t know what hit him. I wonder if Miss Weasley has any hidden talents. We could train them as a team.” Suddenly he straightened up and asked, a concerned frown crossing his features. “Actually, I wonder where those two learned what they did...”
“Books, Michael, can you believe it? He learned everything from books. And he understood enough to teach someone else. I still can’t believe it.”
“It’s impressive all right. I wonder if they’d accept to meet in private a few days a week, to speed things up... I’ll try to work with them in class, but it’s not the same as real training.”
“Harry is desperate for training. He’ll jump at the occasion. Take care to be honest, that boy can’t stand to be lied to, or manipulated. And he has a temper to rival his mother’s.”
Michael looked at her as if she had just sprouted the most ridiculous statement in the known universe, and she smiled slightly. She was, after all, talking to Michael Agilius. He who never lied — or shut up for that matter.
“You know that I wasn’t happy to come back here, Elektra. But I’m starting to think you may have been right all along. This is where we are meant to be.”
“I never doubted it, Michael.”
“I know, and you never let me forget that, either.”
Ginny entered the room of requirement, and smiled at the results of her request. She had asked for an internal garden, and that was what she got. The smell of exotic flowers hit her nostrils, and instantly she felt herself relax. She loved flowers. She loved their colors and their smell and the fact that they could cheer up the gloomiest of places.
She knew Harry would arrive anytime, and couldn’t help the small flutter in her stomach, or the shiver of delight to run up her spine. They were finally here. Together. She could hardly believe that after so much waiting, so much hurting, so much heartache, they were finally here.
She looked up as he opened the door, and simply took him in as he walked towards her. The slender grace of his movements, the slightly stifling feeling of magic that she had come to associate completely with Harry, and those startling green eyes, where she felt she could drown.
“Hey, Gin,” he murmured, while at the same time letting his hands cup her face and his lips reach hers. There was a quiet intensity to his kiss, like a man dying of thirst that finally reaches water. She felt his tongue teasing her lower lip as he deepened the kiss, and let his hands trail down her back. As always when Harry was this close to her, Ginny realized that she could hardly breath, that his presence took up all of her senses, and left her completely oblivious to anything else in the world. She felt the tension leave his shoulders as she brought her hands up around his neck.
“Harry,” she whispered, after what could have been an eternity or a single moment had passed.
“Yeah?”
“Nothing,” she smiled at him, running her hands through his hair, watching as his eyes half closed at the close contact.
“Have I told you how lucky I am today, Gin?” he whispered, bringing her closer to him, and relishing the contact.
“Not today, no,” she answered in the same tone, not wanting to break the quiet intimacy of the moment.
“Well, I am.”
Ginny smiled at him, and took his hand, walking through the rows of wild flowers letting the smells and the colors wash through her, taking away all the tension of the day.
“Do you have any news, Harry?” she asked finally, when she couldn’t wait any longer.
“Yeah, Ragnok sent word.” Harry sighed. “He doesn’t like to talk about his problems or the difficulties he encounters, but from what I could gather, the Council meeting was particularly tense. I still can’t believe the Minister managed to time this thing so perfectly. There must be a Death Eater really high up in the Ministry hierarchy.”
“Or maybe Fudge is up to his old tricks, accepting bribes. He’s well known for that.”
“Maybe. But Dumbledore is determined to leave him in place... I still think he can’t last, and then we won’t be able to control the manner of his departure. The risk of ending up with a Voldemort sympathizer will be much greater.”
“I know, Harry. But that’s a different problem, for a different time. How are things with the Goblins?”
“Well, Ragnok is still in charge, and he managed to adjourn the meeting until next week. But his majority is sleeping, they don’t like what’s going on.”
Ginny scowled, “I don’t like what’s going on, either.” She paused a moment. “You know what they need, Harry? A strong, symbolic gesture, that proves to all the Goblins that you’re on their side. A public disavowing of the ministry. Something... Something like S.P.E.W. , only for Goblins.”
Harry looked at her incredulously. “S.P.E.W. ?”
She gave him a gentle slap on the arm, and continued. “I’m serious, Harry. S.P.E.W. is a good idea; only the House Elves aren’t ready for it. Goblins are.”
“I don’t know, Gin. I’m not sure they’d like it... Too much like charity, they are a proud people.”
“I know that, Harry.” She paused. “It would have to be joint venture. Something you did together. Like a rebellion, only pacific and supported by strong members of wizarding society.”
Harry sighed, and stretched. “I like the idea, Gin. Maybe start small, with a press release protesting against Ministry policies. I’ll talk to Hermione, and send word to John — he’s good at this sort of stuff. And see what Ragnok has to say.” He turned around, concentrating, and the room around them started shifting. “At this very moment, however, Gin, I’m not in the mood to think about this sort of thing. Right now, I want to release some tension.”
Ginny eased her wand from her pocket and felt a feral smile spreading on her lips. “Lets spar!”
Chapter 25: Warfare and Deception
Author's Notes: Just a quick thank you to my new beta, John!
Martin Luther King, Jr.
Chapter 22 — Warfare and Deception
The rest of the week passed uneventfully for Harry and Ginny — something Harry was grateful for, considering the hellish pace he’d had to keep up during his first couple of days back. As it was, he was keeping up with all his classes, and with his new training with Elektra, and had plans to get the Gryffindor Quidditch team and the D.A. up and running by the end of next week.
At this very moment in time, however, he was waiting for Ginny to arrive at the Headmaster’s office for their very first Occlumency lesson with the old man. He couldn’t say he was overjoyed by the idea — his relationship with Dumbledore may have taken a turn for the not so abysmally bad since their conversation with Fawkes, but he couldn’t help but fear the Headmaster’s manipulation. He knew that bad habits were hard to break, and that using people as chess pieces was a decades old tradition for Dumbledore.
Getting bored with nothing else to do, he let his hand rest on top of the Gargoyle’s head, and sent a trickle of awareness to it, wondering just how smart the thing was, and if he could maybe have a conversation with it, like he did with the Sorting Hat. He imagined the old Gargoyle must have countless tales to tell, standing there guarding the door for some of the most powerful and influential wizards and witches of their age.
What he sensed weren’t so much words but rather feelings, and quick flashes of images.
“Okay, got it. Not in a good mood,” he muttered, snatching his hand away as he felt a sudden sting of released energy. “No need to get nasty, just tell me to shut up.”
Sighing, and glancing at his watch for the umpteenth time, he wondered what was keeping Ginny. She wasn’t usually late for this sort of thing, and he didn’t want to go up alone.
Finally, after a few more minutes of pacing along the corridor, he heard the distant clatter of footsteps, and Ginny appeared, running full tilt towards him.
“Sorry, Harry,” she gasped, “McGonagall kept us after class to give us more homework.”
“That’s okay,” he said, smiling at her flushed appearance. “Want a moment to catch your breath before we go up?”
She smiled, but shook her head, and stood up on tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. “So, do you know the password, Harry?”
“No need, I’ll just ask Grumpy here to let us in,” he said, putting a hand over the annoyed Gargoyle’s head. He felt slightly smug at Ginny’s surprised glance, and flashed her a mischievous grin. “He knows we’re expected, he can’t keep us out.”
“Really,” she said, raising an eyebrow and quietly grinning at his obvious amusement, even if she didn’t quite get what was so funny.
“He’s not in a good mood,” Harry explained, “I don’t know why, I’d think it would be nice to have someone to talk to after so long,” he finished, giving a light rap of his knuckles on the head of the statue. “Come on, open up, Grumpy.”
Harry felt another slight shock of magic from the indignant guardian, but the tower opened grudgingly and they stepped together on the moving staircase.
“Ready to face our dearest Headmaster, Gin?” Harry asked quietly as they neared the ornate door that separated them from Dumbledore’s inner sanctum.
“I don’t have a problem facing him, Harry,” Ginny answered, “it’s the idea that he’s going to have free access to my thoughts that gives me the shivers.”
“Yeah, I know,” Harry said, vowing that whatever Dumbledore taught him and asked him to do, he’d keep his promise to himself: his thoughts were his own.
Harry knocked lightly, and opened the door when the Headmaster told them to come in. He glanced quickly around the room, and noticed that Fawkes was perched in his usual spot near the window. He gave the crimson bird a quick smile, and then turned to his Headmaster, seated calmly behind his desk, apparently “more or less” engrossed in paperwork.
He took one of the chairs in front of the desk, and Ginny took the other, visibly tensing now that they were inside the office, and fully committed to this lesson. Harry looked at her from the corner of his eyes, and resisted the urge to hold her hand — it was not the kind of thing he wanted to do in front of the Headmaster.
“Good afternoon, Harry, Ginny,” Dumbledore said, resting his long golden quill in an ornate inkwell. “I thank both of you for accepting to come here this afternoon. I am aware that our relationship is somewhat strained at the moment, so I know how difficult it must be to accept these lessons.”
“It’s not really an issue, Professor,” Harry said, frowning. “The alternative is unthinkable.”
The old man sighed, and said, “I know Professor Snape is not always an easy man to learn from...”
Harry snorted. “Maybe the problem lays in the fact that he doesn’t want to share his knowledge? I can see where that would cause some difficulty.”
“Harry,” the Headmaster said reprovingly.
“Forgive me, Professor,” Harry continued, not sounding the least bit sorry, “but telling me to ‘clear my mind’ is not enough to teach anyone Occlumency.”
“Surely, Harry...” started the Headmaster, a slight frown marring his features.
“No, Professor,” Harry interrupted again. “That about sums up everything he taught me.” Beside him, he heard Ginny shift, and decided he needed to calm down. He couldn’t help the fact that the Headmaster, with his constant grandfatherly act, had the ability to grate on his nerves like no one else he knew. Leader of the light or not, Harry really wished he’d stop pretending.
The old man sighed, and let his gaze fall to his hands, resting lightly on his desk. He seemed tired, Harry noticed, as if this new war, on top of a lifetime of conflicts, was taking its toll.
“All I can promise you, Harry,” the Headmaster said, “is that I will do my best not to make Severus’ mistakes. Occlumency is a difficult, demanding art, and I can not expect you to understand it and practice it without careful instruction.”
Harry nodded, shared a look with Ginny, who didn’t seem reassured by the discussion, and turned back to the Headmaster. The old man took two thin books, covered in dark red leather and titled Occlumency, the art of shielding the mind — a guide and handed them the volumes. Ginny reached forward to take hers, but Harry, glancing at the title, handed his back.
“I have it, Professor,” he said. Dumbledore seemed surprised for a moment — Harry guessed he was wondering how he’d gotten his hands on a copy of the nearly a century old publication — but finally simply took back the book without comment. It had been difficult, and had taken quite a bit of Owl posting with a Hungarian warlock who had finally accepted to part with his copy.
“Have you read it, Harry?” Harry nodded, without saying anything. “As I predicted,” Dumbledore continued, “you are at very different levels of proficiency. We will have to organise the lesson around this obstacle until you are caught up, Miss Weasley.”
Ginny nodded, paging through the small book in her hands. “I’ll do whatever is required, Professor,” she said seriously.
“I would like you to start reading the first chapter of that book, Miss Weasley, and practice the meditation exercises described within, while I work with Harry.”
“Oh,” Harry said, “Ginny can start further along.”
“I can?” she asked, turning towards him.
“Sure,” he answered, “the meditation described there is not much different from the one we use when we’re training the Curator Tractus.” He took the book from her, and started leafing through it, stopping here and there to read a chapter title. Finally, he stopped at the end of the fifth chapter, and handed back the book. “Here, from this chapter on it should all be new to you.”
Dumbledore had an unreadable look in his eyes as Harry turned back to him, and he wondered for a moment if maybe he shouldn’t have interfered. But then he shook himself internally, and remembered that all of this was way too important to hold Ginny back, and make her go over things she already knew.
She gave him a small, imperceptible smile as she took back the book, and sat down on one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, leaving him and the Headmaster to face each other across the desk.
“I didn’t know you were teaching miss Weasley the Curator Tractus, Harry,” the Professor said, fixing him with a penetrating stare.
“I wouldn’t say I’ve been teaching her, Professor. It’s more like we’re learning together,” Harry replied, not letting his gaze or his resolve waver.
“I see,” Dumbledore’s tone, Harry felt, held just the right amount of disapproval that didn’t allow him to call him on it without sounding paranoid. It set his teeth on edge. Particularly when he felt the delicate tendrils of Occlumency wash gently against his mental shields, and prod — most delicately — for any weaknesses.
Not feeling the need for subtlety, he let a wave of his magic power up his defences — something the Headmaster couldn’t possibly miss, and said, “Really, sir, I’d appreciate it if you warned me — and asked for my permission — before poking around in there in the future. As I’ve said before countless times, my thoughts are my own.”
The Headmaster’s eyes regained some of their twinkle, as he said “Very good, Harry! Your defences are progressing nicely. Most Occlumens would not have been able to feel such an intrusion. Now, may I ask your permission to examine your defences more deeply? I will not intrude on your thoughts, I simply want to understand how your shields work — there is something most unusual about them.”
Harry nodded his consent, and gripped the arms of his chairs, fighting his impulse to fight off the invasion, and concentrating simply on holding the whole construct in place. After what felt like an eternity later, the Headmaster took a deep breath, and Harry felt his presence inside his mind recede.
“I understand now, Harry, how you constructed your shields. There is finally only one thing I can teach you on the subject, but I feel it might help you greatly. I trust you have read the chapters on grounding your mental barrier?”
“I have, Professor. It is the last stage of Occlumency — the proof of a master of the art,” Harry replied truthfully. It was one of the aspects of Occlumency that he had a hard time grasping — he was honestly impressed with how Dumbledore had jumped right to the one thing that he had problems with.
“While it is true that grounding one’s barriers makes one a recognised master, it has a much more important function, Harry. What you try to do is develop links, from your mind to your core, and in this fashion, your shields will hold without the need for constant attention. Right now, I imagine, you have to practice at least thrice a day, am I correct?”
Harry nodded once more — holding up his shields was a constant struggle against his magic that wanted nothing more than to run wild into the world. Every time he fell asleep, he was afraid he’d wake up to a vision or a mental attack.
“Once your shields are grounded, or linked, that will no longer be necessary. Your basic shields will be up permanently — for a Legilimens, it will be like your whole being doesn’t really exist. But you will still be able, if faced with an attack, to strength the barrier with more magic.”
“I understand the principle, Professor, but I have a hard time actually figuring out how to apply it.”
The old man paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I believe you have been working with Professor Tedakis on magical conduits?” he said finally.
Harry nodded. “Yes, she’s been helping me with that.”
“The technique is similar, Harry,” the Headmaster said, taking out his wand and tracing in the air, with shimmering tendrils of magic the energy patterns that he wanted Harry to put up.
As Harry watched the construct, he was struck by how often, these days, his subjects seemed to encroach on one another — how a technique he learned in charms was used as the spell base for transfiguration work. How his whole education was coming together in his mind and making him a better wizard. Maybe that was the whole point of Hogwarts, to teach them to view magic as a living force surrounding them, and teaching them how to use it.
“I think I understand Professor,” Harry said. “I’m still not completely certain how to go about setting this up.’
The Headmaster gave him a small smile, and said, “You have to feel it. Magic is a complex force, but I believe you have reached a certain level of understanding that allows you to be guided by it. I propose that for the rest of our allotted time, you try to work on this matter. If you are at all successful, I have a different proposition for our future lessons.”
Harry nodded, his curiosity picked, and decided that, if he had to work on Occlumency, he was going to do it right, and sat down on the floor, resting comfortably on a rug, and breathing evenly, let his mind relax and reach that other state he was quickly becoming familiar with.
He wasn’t sure how long it took — he lost his sense of time when he was working on his shields — but suddenly, in a blinding flash of understanding, he understood the whole point of the lesson, and using a trickle of magic, constructed the first link that would ground his mental shield. The effect was instantaneous, he felt a rush of relieved pressure, and the absence of the strain in his mind that he hadn’t even been aware he was carrying was like a breath of fresh air.
His concentration broken, he slowly opened his eyes, his heart still beating too fast, his breathing irregular. He had grown so used to tension and the mental focus it took to keep his mind protected at all times, that to suddenly have even an infinitesimal part of it go away felt liberating.
He found the Headmaster had stopped lecturing Ginny on the need to find a focus to help in the first stages of constructing a shield and was looking at him, that small, ambiguous smile that had become his trademark when dealing with Harry firmly in place.
Harry got up and stretched his muscles, nothing that over an hour had passed since he sat down. Ginny had taken his place on the other side of the desk, and had obviously been engrossed in the lesson. She gave him a small smile as he sat down on the chair beside her.
“I see you have taken the first step towards becoming a master Occlumens, Harry,” said the Headmaster.
Harry took a deep breath, and smiled brazenly, “It would seem so, Headmaster.”
Ginny gave him a hard and invisible kick under the table for his cheek, and he turned the smile on her, making her cheeks turn pink. He felt so good he almost laughed.
“Seeing as how all you need now, Harry, is time to work on this until the grounding is complete, I have a proposition for both of you.” The old Headmaster paused, and the familiar twinkle appeared in his eyes as he watched the two of them. “It is not difficult to complement Occlumency training with an introduction to Legilimency. As you might know, it is a very difficult art to master, that requires a certain amount of openness of heart and spirit to others. As such, not many try it. For those who do, it can take a lifetime to perfect. However, I do believe both of you have the necessary talent to learn it, and it will certainly make training Miss Weasley easier.”
Harry couldn’t help his interest being picked — he wasn’t used to the Headmaster volunteering knowledge in this way. “Why would it help Ginny, Professor?” Harry asked.
“It is easier to understand the mechanics of Occlumency with a partner who is also discovering the other side of the problem... It’s easier to feel the subtleties of the magic. And since Harry is already trained, you can practice on each other. We can dedicate half of our time for each discipline, if you are agreeable.”
Harry looked at Ginny, and saw the excited gleam in her eyes. It was obvious she wanted to do this, and he wouldn’t deny that he was curious as well. So, seeing no resistance from her, he turned to the Headmaster and nodded his ascent, smiling lightly. “I’d like that, Professor.”
“Very well, then. It is settled. I will see you both next week. I believe supper will start in a few minutes, you should make your way to the Great Hall.”
They took their leave, and started down the moving staircase. As the door shut slowly behind them, Harry slipped an arm around Ginny’s shoulder, bringing her closer to him, and reached down to kiss her, letting his lips slide slowly on her soft mouth, feeling her breath catch as a shiver run through her, and her eyes drift closed. He’d longed to have her this close since that morning — he’d felt as if he couldn’t go another minute without her.
As they arrived down at the corridor, Ginny grabbed his hand and pulled him along until they found an empty classroom, and locked themselves inside. He felt drunk on the gentle warmth of her body pressing against his, her hands running through his hair, making any sort of conscious thought a real effort.
She finally pulled away so she could look him in the eye, and, smiling brilliantly said, “You’re in a good mood, Harry. I take it the lesson with the headmaster was useful.”
“Not at all, Gin,” he replied, grinning, “I’ve wanted to do that since this morning. We can continue and pretend we’re celebrating a good lesson, if you want.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she reached up for his lips again, savouring the moment, leaving Harry breathless and aching for her on a level he’d never felt before.
She pulled back again, and, smiling impishly, said, “Well, that isn’t the only thing we can celebrate, Harry, I finally got together with Neville and Luna and went over the plans for the D.A. Have you talked to Professor Tedakis?”
“Yep. She’s good to go.”
“Well then,” she said, reaching up again, “we can celebrate the fact that the D.A. should be up and running by next week.”
“A very worthy cause,” Harry answered, grinning, and deepening the kiss.
As they came up for breathe a few seconds later, Harry whispered in her ear, feeling the shiver that ran down her spine, “I have another worthy cause for you, Gin. I’ve booked the pitch for us for the year — Monday evenings and Saturday mornings. Are you up for a little flying?”
Harry saw her eyes light up at the prospect and grinned in response. That was very good news indeed, he could hardly wait to get up in the air again.
“That is incredibly good news, Harry. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I don’t know if you remember, but you were late before and we didn’t quite get around to sharing,” Harry snorted.
She grinned, and let go of him, straitening her clothes and picking up her bag. “Well, we should go to dinner, Harry. Ron and Hermione said they’d meet us there.”
They made their way slowly through the corridors, letting the throngs of rushing students pass them by, simply relieved that the week was over and they’d survived.
“You know, Gin, everything is working out too well — I’m starting to get scared.”
She turned and punched him lightly in the arm, getting a wounded look in return. “Stop being paranoid, Harry, just enjoy the moment. Plus, things aren’t so great — have you forgotten all our problems with the Goblins?”
Harry grimaced at the thought, and sighed. “I know. I’m starting to think your S.P.E.W. idea has merit. But I hate having to go to the press with this, it’ll draw all kinds of unwanted attention to our plans.”
“Who are you worried about, Harry?” Ginny asked, frowning. “Voldemort?”
“And the ministry. Especially if they have a mole.”
“I’m sure they have, and I’m not surprised considering what we know of Fudge’s staff.”
Harry run a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. “Can we leave all that till later? I feel too good to discuss this bloody war right now.”
“Sure, Harry,” Ginny said, putting an arm around his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder. “We can concentrate on eating for now.”
“Michael, weren’t you going to start training our two youngsters?” Elektra asked, as she entered the Duelling Professor office and sat down in his couch.
“Youngsters?” he asked in an incredulous voice.
She laughed at the remark and stretched out on the couch. “It’s how Dumbledore refers to Harry and Ginny, sorry.”
“I know.” He stepped forward from his perch on the windowsill and started pacing in front of the couch.
“So?” she prodded. “You were so excited, I thought you’d start right away.”
“You know I can’t do that, Ella.”
“Why not?” she asked, in a concerned voice.
“I’d love to train new Curators, you know I would. We’re a dying breed. But it’s a serious commitment, and it is knowledge that I can’t just dole out to the first person who asks.” He turned to her, and his eyes were extremely serious. For all his irreverence and humour, she knew that in this matter, he would be most earnest.
“So what is the problem, Michael?” she asked, while patting the seat next to her and motioning for him to stop pacing and sit down.
“I want to get to know them better, see what sort of people they are...” He fell down on the coach beside her, sighing despondently.
Elektra looked at him thoughtfully, and took a moment to think the whole thing over before saying, “I think this is an opportunity you shouldn’t pass up on, Michael. I’ve come to know Harry a bit — through training and in class — and I don’t think you have anything to worry about. He’s particularly gifted, you know. He sometimes has some trouble with advanced magical theory, but his grasp on the practical aspect of things is astounding.”
“I know that, Elektra. I have him in class, as well. But he’s angry, and frustrated. That’s a terrible combination and you know it. It can lead to very, very bad decisions,” he replied.
“All the more reason to equip him with what he needs to end this war quickly and without any, let us say, slips into dangerous territory.” She smiled at him. “Come on, Michael, you know you want to.”
He gave her a frustrated glare. “I do, and that is the problem. This is not a decision to be made lightly. And I realize they need some sort of guidance — they’re quite dangerous in class, and completely unaware of the disastrous potential of the things they are trying to learn. They act as if the Curator Tractus is just another duelling style.”
“So talk to them, Michael. I really don’t see the problem. You were much more exited about this the last time we spoke about it.”
He let out a bark of laughter. “I’d just kicked Potter’s ass in class. I was in a good mood.”
“You are a sadist, Michael,” Elektra said, giving him a quick kick in the shin.
“Am not! It’s just quite an ego boost to knock the hero of the wizarding world on his ass.”
“Harry would hex you if he ever heard you talking about him like that. He abhors the hero-worship almost as much as the smearing campaigns the Prophet runs.”
“Really? That speaks in his favour,” Michael said thoughtfully.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you Michael,” she said, her tone frustrated. “You’re making up excuses and procrastinating. So why don’t you tell me what the real problem is, so we can talk about it like grown ups?”
“Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me I have the mental age of a nine year old on a caffeine high?” he quipped, grinning teasingly.
“Yes, so why don’t you get back on track and prove me wrong.”
He sighed heavily and leaned forward, letting his face fall into his hands. “I guess once I thought about it seriously I realized the implications of what I was considering, Ella. Not just for me, even if Merlin knows the commitment it takes to pass on that much knowledge. But for them too. Right know they’re muddling around with the practice exercises, without seeing that to make it really work, you have to have purpose. That being a Curator is a life long thing, and once you have it, you can never give it up.”
Elektra let her hand rest on his back lightly trying to give what little comfort she could. “You never regretted it, did you? Even though the training was harsh and violent, and the aftermath even worse.”
He chuckled humourlessly. “I was pretty messed up to begin with, Ella. And I had nothing else to lose by that point. I’d have taken any offer.”
“And do you honestly think they’re any different, Michael? They’re both embroiled with Voldemort, and that’s not likely to change anytime soon. You could even say that their very lives might depend on what you teach them.” She paused, seemingly reluctant to go any further. But when he didn’t show any signs of reacting to her words, she said quietly, tightening her hold on his shoulder. “Are you sure this has nothing to do with Adrian?”
She felt the muscles in his back tense even before she’d finished the question. “He’s dead, Ella. Why would this concern him?”
She sighed, “He was your brother, Michael, and the last person you trained. I’d understand if you didn’t want to go through it again, but I’d still ask you to reconsider.”
“I should have been there, Ella. I don’t know what possessed him to go into that forest alone.” She felt the shudder that run through him, and remembered those panicky moments when they’d realised Adrian was gone, and their mad rush through the thick forests of Eastern Europe, only to find, two days of no sleep and intense tracking later, that their quarry had escaped and Adrian was dead.
“We might never understand completely, Michael. But you need to think about the here and now. For Harry and Ginny, of course, but for the whole Wizarding world as well. He’s the Chosen One, after all, and I would not like to live in a world where Voldemort won.” She stood up, feeling without having to be told that he needed to be alone with his feelings for some time. “I’m not asking you to commit to it right away, Michael. Just meet with them, maybe ask them about their training, try to get to know them. It will be easier to decide later.”
He nodded, not answering, and she let herself out. She knew, from very long experience, that Michael needed space to deal with grief.
Harry had spent a lazy weekend, focused mostly on his brand new Quidditch team. He’d gotten the old players back up in the air, had planned and scheduled the tryouts for Beaters and their missing Chaser, and tried to forget, for a little while, what was out there. He’d been more than happy to focus on something he could control, and understand. They’d spent the whole morning on the pitch, and the time together, doing something they both loved, had relieved some of the invisible tension that was straining his relationship with Ron.
He was therefore particularly relaxed and content when Monday rolled around, and ready to face his classes. He was munching on some toast and watching Hermione make some last minute adjustments to her Transfiguration work when he saw the beautiful grey spotted Owl that he knew belonged to John Hellington came soaring towards him.
When she finally landed on the table in front of him, offering him the letter tied to her leg, Harry offered her a strip of bacon, before untying the bundle of parchment. He started reading the news, while finishing his breakfast, and marvelled at the wonder of having trustworthy information delivered to him on a regular basis. He’d never felt better connected in his life before he started his correspondence with Ragnok and John.
He frowned lightly as he reached the end of the letter, taping it thoughtfully on the table. He shot the Headmaster a quick look, then turned to Ginny, sitting beside him and hastily finishing the Potions essay she’d been avoiding during the weekend.
“Gin?” he asked.
“Um?” she answered, not looking up.
“I’m thinking we’ll have to go ahead with your plan.”
That stopped her in her tracks, and she stopped writing, focusing her entire attention on him. “What happened to change your mind?”
He sighed. “The minister being obtuse, and Dumbledore not stopping him.” Harry frowned, and continued, “I don’t like showing my hand this soon, but Ragnok told me the Goblins are getting restless, and he seemed to agree with you that a public endorsement would help him keep them on our side. If that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes. I just wished there was a reporter I trusted...”
“You don’t want Rita Skeeter?” Hermione asked, from the other side of the table, from where she’d followed the conversation.
“Yeah, she did a good job last year,” Ron added, quietly. Harry knew the two of them still didn’t know all that was going on, but this was something he could use their help on.
“I just don’t like her,” he shuddered in revulsion. “She’s slimy.”
Ginny giggled at the description, and said, “I could talk to Luna, see if she knows someone serious.”
Harry nodded, and then said, “I’ll need a more detailed description of what we want to set up — I was thinking along the lines of raising public awareness on the problem, maybe get them thinking beyond Goblin Rebellions and Massacres. You guys have an idea on how to do this?”
“I’m sure I can come up with some ideas, Harry, if you want,” Hermione said. “When do you need to do this?”
Harry run a hand through his hair, thinking. “I’ll give the Headmaster one more week to get the Ministry under control, then I’ll try to do it my way. I think my name still means something, so let’s use it to do a little good.”
Everyone nodded, and started moving towards the exits. On the way, Ginny asked, “Anything else, Harry?”
“Yeah, Ragnok found out what happened when my parents died. Apparently, Dumbledore had a very old friend on the Board at Gringotts. An old Goblin that owed him a life-debt, apparently. He’s the one that locked my Family Vault, and entrusted control of the estate to the Headmaster. The Goblin died a few years ago, so that’s that.”
“Well, at least now you know,” Ginny said, hooking an arm around Harry’s, and resting her head on his shoulder.
He sighed, “John says it will take quite a while to entangle all the legal mess, and put business back in order. But he admits that since the whole thing was collecting interest for so long, it wasn’t a complete lost.”
“Oh, so you made money just doing nothing? The rich really are different,” Ginny teased, shoving him slightly.
Harry laughed, saying, “Apparently. You have to understand, it is a new concept for me.”
They stopped in the Great Hall, where they’d both go their separate ways, and continued talking quietly.
“And what are you going to do about the Wizengamot? You wanted to appeal their decision to dismiss Sirius’ will.”
“John also updated me on that. So, apparently, my family is a really big deal on the wizarding world.”
“Everyone knows that, Harry!” Ginny interrupted. “You’re a Potter!”
Harry frowned at her, “Well, yes. I didn’t know that was so important before John told me.”
“You’re among the very oldest families, Harry. Your ancestors are famous,” she smiled. “If we had a decent teacher, you might even have heard about them in History of Magic.”
“What are you talking about, Gin?”
She frowned, asking, “You don’t know? But you said you knew you had a Family Vault!”
“Well, yes — I just thought that meant my family was old.”
“Of course, but there’s more to it than that. You know how before there was a Ministry of Magic, there was a sort of Council that presided over Magical affairs in Britain. I think that was more or less at the same time Hogwarts was founded, maybe a little before. So, the members of this Council are the ones that made a pact with the Goblins to create Gringotts, and try to get the two societies to work together. The fact that your family has a Vault means that they were members of this Council — and you have to understand, not every witch or wizard was accepted. They had trials, and only the most powerful were allowed to sign. It was an incredible honour, and gave the people in it many privileges, and...” She stopped, looking around, and realised they were among the last stragglers. “Harry, I don’t have time to go over this now — we can talk more later. What did your attorney say about your family?”
“Oh, only that apparently because of who I am, and because of my family name, my case doesn’t fall under the normal wizarding law, but on older decrees and statutes. He says that the laws they used to justify their actions don’t apply to me, and that he’d see what he could do to force them to reverse the decision.”
“Oh, that’s because of what I told you — that they were part of the Council and had special privileges. There is other stuff too — I think you have a hereditary seat on the Wizengamot, for example, and something with the Hogwarts board as well, but I’m not sure about that. You should look into it. I’ve got to go!”
She shot him a quick kiss before running down the stairs to the dungeon, but not before seeing the dangerous light that suddenly appeared in his eyes when he heard what she had said. And just before barging into the Potion’s dungeon, she had a quick thought about just how fast Harry was suddenly growing into his own.
Harry felt the blinding hex hit him, felt the uncomfortable prickling that washed over his face and the complete darkness engulf him. He fought against the sudden wave of panic and buried memories that suddenly burst to the surface, and resisted the impulse to try and fight the curse.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, concentrating on his breathing, forcing his heartbeat to slow. He needed to be calm and focused if he was going to get anything out of this lesson. Remembering his instructions, he started by forcing his mind to remember his surrounding, and focused on his other senses. He knew there would be three of them, and that they were not blinded. Not the fairest of exercises, he thought, but Professor Agilius was more focused on reality than justice. And Harry was perfectly aware of the fact that Death Eaters very rarely acted alone.
He heard a quiet footstep to his right, and the swish of a wand to his left, and, not stopping to think and acting solely on instinct, dove to the ground, finishing in a roll, and getting back up in a crouch. He wished he could cast an obscuring charm of his own, but, even as he drew up his wand to do it, he remembered his instructions, and called up a strong shield.
He felt the presence at his back even before he felt the sudden rush of displaced air from the spell that sailed past his head as he ducked. This was getting him nowhere.
Concentrating on his magic, he delicately opened up his magical senses, feeling the power of his classmates all around him, and the overpowering presence of the castle above. And in the middle of this whirlwind of colours and feelings, he realised he was no longer stumbling about, and that he knew enough to allow him to act.
He felt the presence of his three opponents more strongly, as the excitement of the fight brought their magic to the surface. Getting up, he let the magic guide him and, in less than a second, one of his adversaries was down, hit by his stunning spell before he even realised what was happening. He had not expected a blinded opponent to attack. Big mistake.
While he had been busy with the first one, the other two had sent their own spells. Harry wasn’t sure he could identify them by feel, but he thought they didn’t look very dangerous. Not wanting to stop to see if he was right, he called up his strongest shield, and started moving, trying to flank his two opponents. He tried to remember where he was, and which way he was facing, but the darkness was confusing, and he had to rely on his magic more than ever to be sure not to suddenly walk into a wall. He realised this whole thing was much more complicated than he had thought.
While he was moving, he felt the sudden shift in power that meant someone was casting, and swirled around, using it to pinpoint his adversary. One more down. Seeing his last ally suddenly collapse on the floor, the last one suddenly panicked, Harry thought, and started flinging spells haphazardly in his direction. He threw up a shield, held out the barrage and, at the first sign of tiring, dove from behind his shield and hit the other person with one last Stunner, ending the duel.
“Well, Mister Potter,” said Michael Agilius as he stood next to Harry and waved his wand in front of his student’s eyes to dispel his blinding hex. “That wasn’t at all the purpose of this exercise.”
“What?” Harry asked, blinking and trying to shield his eyes from the suddenly glaring brightness in the classroom.
“I’m not saying you failed, exactly,” the Professor threw an amused glance at the three other teenager sprawled around his classroom, being revived by some of the other students. “Just that this wasn’t how I wanted you to go about it. This was about developing your senses, forcing you to rely less on your eyes.”
Harry frowned, confused. “But that’s what I did!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, for the first ten seconds. When you almost got hit from behind, you opened up your magic and ended the thing in less than four minutes,” Professor Agilius said, sliding his wand back into its arm holster, and motioning for Harry to move to a corner of the classroom, so as not to get in the way of the other groups.
“I don’t understand how that doesn’t qualify as one of my other senses,” Harry said, slightly annoyed.
Michael sighed, and Harry wondered at the sudden weariness that seemed to appear in his whole countenance. “It does Harry, it does. But it also means you’re moving beyond what we are doing here.” He sighed again, and Harry wondered just what the Professor was talking about.
“If you want I can do it again without using my magical senses, Professor.”
Michael turned to look at him, and asked, in a slightly puzzled voice, “You would give up an obvious advantage over your opponents?”
Harry snorted, “Those aren’t really my opponents, Professor. They’re my friends and my classmates. I’m here to learn. If you tell me I’m not supposed to use my magical senses, that the exercise is for something else, then I’d be a fool not to listen. You’re a good teacher, I have no reason to think you’re doing something to purposefully set me back.”
The Professor didn’t answer for a moment, and seemed to be lost in thought. Harry leaned back against the wall, and watched the controlled chaos around him. Watching his friends in blindfolds or blinding hexes of their own stumble around, arms extended to feel their way, and getting jumped on easily enough by their opponents, Harry supposed he might understand the Professor’s point. Trying to win a three on one duel blind seemed suddenly a much harder endeavour. He took a breath, and tried stretching his arm, feeling the slight pull that meant he’d taken a bad fall somewhere, even if in the midst of all the action, he hadn’t even felt it.
“What you did here, Mister Potter, was it something you learned with Elektra?” Michael asked, breaking the silence.
“Uh, you mean the whole sensing thing, Professor?”
“Yes.”
Harry thought about it for a second. “Well, I suppose I should say I perfected it with Professor Tedakis, but I started using it before, while I was practising in the summer.” Harry remembered, suddenly, that the Headmaster had told him to talk to his Duelling Professor about his training — but the suggestion had completely slipped his mind in the midst of the flurry of activity and homework filling his days.
“Could you tell me a bit about it, Mister Potter? I’d like to understand how you acquired this skill.”
Harry looked at the man beside him, thought about the hours they had spent together in class, and the sense of ease and confidence that seemed to surround him, and saw no reason to lie or dissimulate. “I did a lot of research this last summer, I wanted to train, and to learn how to fight. Serious fighting, not the nice, you bow, I bow stuff they do in competitions. I read some books, did a little shopping in obscure libraries, and finally paid an insane amount of money to get my hands on a book that describes the training exercises for the Curator Tractus.”
“How did you get your hands on something like that?” Michael asked. “They aren’t supposed to be given to just anyone. Who sold you this?”
“Uh, I can’t say,” Harry said, in a slightly embarrassed voice.
“You don’t know the person?”
“No, I do know his name, but he made me swear a Wizard’s Oath not to reveal his name under any circumstances.”
“Did he?” Michael said in a slow, dangerous voice.
Harry threw a quick glance at his Professor, and decided it was time to change the subject. “Anyway, that’s where I learned that. I read the book, did the exercises, and practised as much as I could. I realised pretty quickly that it was the real thing, and that if I managed to learn it, maybe I could survive this war.”
“You have been practising for no more than four months, correct?”
“Uh, yeah. But I... Got hurt in the meantime, and had to stop for a few weeks.” Harry stopped talking, and let his eyes wander, not looking at his Professor.
The older man noticed this, and seemed to finally come to a decision. “Very well, Mister Potter. I’d like to talk to you and Miss Weasley more extensively about this.” Harry’s eyes snapped back to him. “Do you think we could meet in my office this evening, after dinner?”
Harry nodded, and said, “May I ask what this is about, Professor?”
The older man smiled, and said. “You may ask. That doesn’t guarantee an answer. You will find out soon enough, and it seems it’s your turn once more — and I’ll be watching, so do try to respect the rules this time around, will you?”
“What is this about again, Harry?” Ginny asked, as they stopped in front of the Duelling professor classroom.
“I’m not sure, Ginny. I think it may be about training,” Harry answered, knocking on the door and waiting for an invitation to come in.
“What sort of training?”
“The one we’ve been doing together. Curator training.” Harry saw Ginny’s eyes widen slightly at the news, even as Professor Agilius told them to come in.
He was standing in a corner, near one of the windows looking at the sky above, and turned around as they crossed the threshold.
“Come in, both of you. Take a seat. We have quite a few things to discuss.”
Harry and Ginny sat down on the two chairs facing the desk, but the professor stayed where he was, facing the room now, and watching his two students. He let the silence linger for a few moments, and smiled as the two showed no reaction.
“Well, I thank you both for coming. I have a few questions to ask you, and I would like an honest answer, if possible. You have my word that whatever we discuss here tonight won’t leave this room, no matter what we decide in the end. Can we agree to that?” He waited for the two of them to nod, and continued. “Harry told me today that you have come across a training manual for the Curators. You have to understand, this puts me into an uncomfortable position.”
“Puts you in an uncomfortable position, sir?” Harry asked, frowning.
“Yes. Such training manuals are kept on restricted access, and for very good reason. Becoming a Curator isn’t something that should be taken lightly,” Professor Agilius said, taking a few steps forward and leaning against the desk. “Do you even know what the Curators are? What they do?”
Seeing the blank looks in front of him, he continued, “And that is as it should be. We are the line in the sand, the barrier against darkness. There is no glory — if we do our jobs properly, no one knows we were even there, and if we don’t, then we probably won’t be coming home. It’s constant training, so that when you go out you won’t be taken by surprise, and constant danger. Just the selection process can be an impossible ordeal.” He sighed, and ran a tired hand through his hair. “But here you are, too young and inexperienced to even attempt selection, and yet you got your hands on a training manual. Not only that, you understood it, and have started using it. Which in itself is quite an accomplishment, and proves that you both have quite a bit of talent for this. You understand how this can be a difficult problem for me?”
“Well, sir,” Ginny quipped, “The way I see it, you can either help us or leave us be — we need the training and it’s saved our lives already, so we won’t simply give the book up.”
Michael looked at her, saw the resolution in her eyes, and let a small smile grace his lips. “Actually, I can’t let you be. What you’re doing is dangerous, and the further you go, the more dangerous it becomes. You can’t do this without guidance and supervision. And there are quite a few things you can’t learn from a book.”
“What are you suggesting, sir?” Harry asked, cautiously.
Michael got up again, and walked once more to the window, letting his fingers run along the smooth wood of the windowsill. “I’m suggesting... I’m suggesting that I take over your training. I can pull a few strings, get the two of you inducted without having to go through selection. The way things are in the world, central command won’t turn down two knew recruits.” He turned back towards the two students seated in his classroom, and tried to ignore the nagging doubts that were still in his mind. “But you have to understand, this isn’t something to be taken lightly. It’s a decision that literally changes your life forever.”
“With all due respect, sir, our lives have not exactly been sunshine and roses. Making it official won’t change a lot,” Harry said, smirking slightly.
“There’s something else you need to know before you decide. Those last few years, someone has been picking out Curators one by one. Attacking them when they are alone and unable to call for assistance, with well-trained assassins. It’s a carefully planed attack meant to destroy us. Ironically, it’s the reason why new recruits are so needed, but at the same time it means that on top of all the harsh training, you’ll have to be constantly on guard.”
At this, Ginny looked at Harry, and rolled her eyes. Harry couldn’t keep from snorting quietly, drawing the Professor’s attention.
“Professor, you do realize who you’re talking to? I think I know what it’s like to be attacked,” Harry said, smiling.
“You should take this seriously, Mister Potter. They’ve killed some of the most capable fighters I know, people with years of experience.”
“Yeah, well, they can get in line. What are a few more psychotic killers after me?” Harry quipped, earning him a reproachful glance from the Professor.
Ginny watched the interaction quietly, drumming her fingers lightly on the arm of her chair, but didn’t need long to realize there was only one way to go on from where they were. If there was one thing she and Harry agreed on, it was that they needed all the help they could get. She didn’t know what he was thinking, and he didn’t seem as open to the suggestion as she had expected, but she knew what she wanted to do.
“Professor, could you tell us a bit more about the Curators? If I understand correctly, the training can only happen if we join, so could you explain a bit more?” she asked.
“We’re a secret organisation and we operate internationally. We function like a military command, and specialise in covert operations. The objective is to neutralise treats before they can become major concerns.”
“So you hunt dark wizards?” Ginny asked.
“Yes,” Michael replied, “but that is only part of our job. We try to control other treats as well — vampire population, rogue werewolves, dementors, I could make you a list, but I imagine you get the picture. We try to keep things manageable, so that the danger to civilians is minimal. We have quite a few departments, each one specialized in a specific area — research, intelligence, logistics, operations. What I propose to do is to try to make Operators out of the two of you — that means you’ll be out in the field, completing missions. I’d like to train you as a team right from the start, so that you’ll grow together, and work effectively.”
“And who’s in control of this thing? Who do you work for?” Harry asked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve had some very bad experiences with authority before.”
“We’re a secret branch of the I.C.W. — but our existence is a tightly kept secret, and only a very select few outside the organisation even know we exist,” Michael replied, seriously. He smiled slightly, “The whole point is to avoid abuse. Fully trained Curators are very dangerous — we can’t let that kind of power fall into the hands of just anyone.”
“And what exactly would joining mean for the two of us?” Harry asked, “We still have school to finish, and I have a job to do. When would we find the time?”
“I know, Harry, that this won’t be easy,” Michael said, meeting his eyes. “I believe that what I can teach you might help you do what you have to do, and survive the war. If you’re interested.” He stood up, and paced the short distance behind his desk. “For the time being, joining would mean extra training — as many hours in the week as the two of you can spare. Since Elektra has your mornings, Harry, I’ll settle for the evenings, and a few weekends. I certainly don’t expect the two of you to drop out of Hogwarts. Consider it... a complementary education. It would also mean you’ll have access to the infrastructure of the Curators, and that might be useful to your war efforts. So are you in? Or will I be forced to Obliviate you?” he said, with a small smile.
Harry and Ginny shared a long look, and a whole unspoken conversation. But truthfully, they knew they had decided the moment the professor made his invitation. Harry gave a tired sigh, wondering when he’d find time for all the things pilling on his lap, and said, “We’re in.”
Chapter 26: Meltdown
Author's Notes: So, here is a new chapter. As always, sorry for the delay, but unfortunately RL takes precedence over fiction. It is a long chapter, and for once I’m very happy with it – I hope you all enjoy as well. Thanks to Sorakage Sama for going over it before posting !
Past rustling apparatus
To its gloomy beginning, the original
Chasm where brambles block
The entrance to the underworld;
There the silence blesses his sorrow,
And holy to his dread is that dark
Which will neither promise nor explain.
W. H. Auden (As yet the young Hero’s’)
Chapter 23: Meltdown
Harry had gotten through two weeks of classes when his carefully constructed world came crashing down around him.
As he stepped into the Great Hall one morning, he felt the tension in the air even before he heard the quiet whispering and the half-hidden glances thrown his way. Frowning slightly, he stepped up to the Gryffindor table and found his usual spot next to Ginny. The gloomy countenances surrounding him weren’t reassuring.
“What happened?” he asked quietly as he sat down.
Hermione handed him the Daily Prophet without a word and let him find out for himself. Splayed in the front page in bold lettering, above a picture of a small village riddled with Dark Marks, was the title, “Wave of attacks washes over Britain — thirty official dead”.
He took a deep breath, trying to ease the sudden tightness in his chest — he was the one supposed to stop this madness. But he knew he was doing the best he could. Harry started reading the body of the article, and, as he reached the end, suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“One of the unifying factors of these simultaneous attacks was the message painted on the wall of every house that was hit during the night. Always the same mysterious sentence, like a bloody signature left mocking the dead: If this is the cost of information, I am prepared to pay.”
“Oh my God,” Harry whispered, standing up shakily, feeling the slight trembling in his hands. “This is all for me, he’s doing this for me.”
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t control the sudden wave of guilt and anger and pure unadulterated hate that suddenly swept through him, and he new he had to get out of that room, away from those people, because he wasn’t sure he would be able to control the raging inferno inside him.
Faintly, he heard Ginny calling out his name, but he knew he had to get away; already he could feel the excess magic pooling around his hands, and he couldn’t muster enough will to let it go, to let it flow through him, like Elektra had taught him. The building pressure felt comforting — reminded him that he was alive, that he could fight this psychopath, this monster.
He barely noticed the front doors opening before him, as he ran outside. The air around him smelt of the Forbidden Forest and the slight tang that came from the lake. But once outside, he didn’t know what to do. The phrase kept repeating itself inside his head, “If this is the cost of information, I am prepared to pay.” Voldemort couldn’t have been any clearer — he had given him a clear way to stop the killings. But Harry knew that it was a lie, that that Madman couldn’t be trusted. That if he gave him the information he wanted, there would be no point continuing to fight.
Harry was perfectly aware of the fact that once Voldemort knew he was the only one who could stop him, then there would be no reason to fear anyone else, and no obstacle that Voldemort could not blast through. It would be utter chaos, until, and if, Harry finally managed to catch up to him.
And he knew he wasn’t ready. He was getting stronger, and faster, and actually felt slightly hopeful that he might survive this madness. But not yet. He couldn’t give Voldemort this weapon, and he had to survive long enough to end this. There was no other way.
And yet, the knowledge, however deceitful, that he might save lives, and that he was consciously refraining from doing so, was slowly unraveling weeks of carefully built control, and he felt that if he didn’t do something, and soon, something explosive was going to happen.
Elektra was in her classroom, preparing for her first class of the day, when she felt the first ripples in the energy surrounding her. At first, she dismissed the whole thing as Hogwarts’ usual capriciousness, and continued working, but just as she finished aligning cushions for her fourth years practice with stunning spells, she realised she recognised the patterns in the magic, and knew something was happening to Harry.
Running down the stairs in a mad rush, hoping against hope she wouldn’t be too late, she followed the ragged patterns of energy. She found a large gathering in the entrance hall, being held back by some of the Professors, and quickly made her way through them, trying to reach the front doors.
She crossed Minerva on the way, and asked quietly, “What happened?”
“Voldemort attacked a series of villages during the night. Harry just found out.”
Elektra frowned, and continued running outside. That couldn’t be it, she had come to know Harry during their intense training together, and she didn’t think the boy would have such a reaction to such news. She had taught him better than that. There must be something else to it.
Outside, she found the Headmaster, holding back a livid Ginny Weasley, and watching the wards with a concerned expression.
“Elektra,” he said in relief, as he saw her approach, “Thank Merlin you got here in time. I think he’s about to lose control.”
“Then let me go, Professor!” Ginny ground out from between clenched teeth.
“I am sorry, Miss Weasley, but I cannot in good conscience permit that — your well being is my responsibility.”
Elektra had never seen such an angry glare as the one Ginny shot the Headmaster at his response, but he had one hand clenched firmly around one of her arms, and his wand ready at his side. The girl didn’t stand a chance. Harry’s other friends were also keeping their distance, obviously confused as to what was going on. Well then, Harry still hadn’t told them what he could do and explained all the mystery. She’d have to talk to him about it again.
But first things first. Harry stood at the edge of the lake, his hands glowing up to his elbows, a magical wind whipping his cloak around his legs. It was quite the sight, she thought, if one didn’t know just how very dangerous. She took a deep breath, and started towards the boy she was supposed to train, and who was unconsciously throwing away weeks of painstaking work.
She felt a tightening in her stomach as she got the first look at his face. The whirlwind of emotions in his eyes matched the one he was conjuring — anger, pain, hate and misery of the acutest kind.
“Harry,” she whispered.
His eyes, entirely silver, turned towards her. She wondered if he knew who she was, or if he was falling too deep into the magic to recognise her voice.
“Harry,” she repeated, carefully taking hold, with both hands, of one of his arms. She felt his muscles clench, but he didn’t pull away. At least he didn’t perceive her as a threat. Taking a deep breath, she started drawing the magic away from him, letting it flow through her in an intoxicating wave.
“Harry, remember your training,” she whispered, calling his name again. This time, she felt a sudden shift in his magic as he stopped fighting her, and saw that his eyes were returning to normal. “Harry, come on, you can do this. Remember your training.”
It seemed to take forever, but little by little the stifling feeling of magic around her started to recede. She kept a steady flow of magic from Harry’s body, through hers, and released it harmlessly into the ground.
“Harry?” she asked finally.
He turned slowly towards her and took a deep breath. She felt more of the pressure ease, and the glow that still surrounded his hands dim.
“This is all for me, Professor, and there’s nothing I can do,” he said quietly, in a dead voice. She felt a pang in her heart once more at his tone, and the very real pain she could see in his eyes.
“Sit down, Harry. We aren’t done here,” she said finally, not sure how to respond to his statement, not even sure what he was talking about, trying to give him the comfort of a simple task.
They sat down, facing each other, knees touching lightly, in a position that had become familiar in the last weeks.
“Now, Harry,” she said in a light tone, “We’ll get this under control together. Even if we have to sit here all day, I’ll get you back to the point we were earlier today.”
Her tone, and her easy smile seemed to calm the boy sitting in front of her — and for all his power and responsibility, she thought, he was still a boy, and looking like one right now. She was rewarded with a very faint smile and, most importantly, a further loosening of the stifling feeling of magic in the air.
“Harry, before anything else, I need you to let go of the magic you’ve accumulated. We can’t work while your whole system is so charged. Go on, close your eyes, and focus on your breathing. Whatever happened, you have to take control of yourself before doing anything.”
She saw his shoulders relax, the glow slowly drain away from his body as he let the magic flow through him. Elektra let go of a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, and felt some of the tension ease out of her own body. They had come very, very close to disaster today.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ginny, finally released from the Headmaster’s grasp, come running towards them, but she shook her head, and motioned for her to stay back. Harry needed to focus right now, to concentrate. Things were by no means completely safe yet.
“Now, Harry, I want you to strengthen the conduits that were ruptured — that should be easier than actually building new ones. I hope we can get you back on track quickly.” She let her hands rest lightly a few centimetres above his, between their bodies, and tried to guide his magic with the help of her outside perspective.
She hoped Dumbledore wasn’t expecting her to cover her classes. The two of them would be here for a while.
The sun was starting its slow decent towards the horizon when Elektra finally opened her eyes, stretched her legs and said, “Okay, Harry, I think we’re safe for now. Do you mind telling me just what in bloody hell happened here?”
Her tone made it quite clear that it wasn’t a request, and that she expected a truthful answer. Harry stretched out in the grass, and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the sun seep through his skin, trying to empty his mind of everything but the present.
“This was a message for me, Professor. All those lives, all those families, and it was all to get my attention,” he whispered, clamping down on his emotions, trying not to drown in the anger.
Beside him, Elektra felt the shift in the magic, and reached out a hand to her student, letting it flow through her. “Harry, concentrate, you can’t let this sort of thing happen. You know better,” she scolded lightly.
“I know, I know!” he answered in a tired voice, covering his eyes with one arm, trying to get back to even a semblance of internal balance.
“Why do you think this night was for your benefit, Harry?” she asked, standing up quietly, stretching, and letting the tension of the last few hours drain away.
“He told me, Professor. He left a message inside every house, with every body. He was talking to me.”
Frowning slightly at the defeated tone in Harry’s voice, she asked, “What message Harry? I don’t really know what happened in any sort of detail.”
“He doesn’t know the prophecy yet. Not the important part, at least. Not that I believe this situation can last,” he added, rolling his eyes. “Any secret kept by more than two people is no secret at all, and it feels like all of Hogwarts and the Order knows about it,” he stated, a hint of the bitterness he felt at being excluded from decisions concerning his own welfare seeping into his voice. “I still can’t believe the Headmaster told all those people but waited so long to tell me.”
“But how does that relate to today?” she asked, frowning slightly. Something wasn’t right about this.
“He left a message in each house that said he was willing to do whatever it took to find out what the prophecy said. Everywhere, the same message, “If this is the cost of information, I am prepared to pay.” That’s what he used to tell me, you know, when he’d make me come up to chat...” He closed his eyes against the rush of memories, refusing to get sucked into a flashback. “He meant that he understood information was a rare commodity, but that he was prepared to pay for it. And he’d taunt me, to see just how far I would go, what was my price.” He let out a humourless laugh, dropping the arm he was using to cover his eyes, and finally looking at his teacher. “He knew, though. He knew that the moment he put Ginny in front of a cruciatus, I’d break. The rest was just for his own sick amusement. Because, you see, Professor, we understand each other, Tom and me. Since I’m no longer under his direct control, and Ginny is out of reach, he’s wondering if maybe what he can’t do with my friends, he can accomplish by sheer mass.”
“What do you mean, Harry?” Elektra asked quietly, half knowing the answer, and half afraid of having her own suspicions confirmed.
“That this is only the beginning. That tomorrow, or next week, or next month, he’ll do it again. In fact, it will probably be worse. And it is all for me.”
He felt it once more, then, speaking what he knew to be truth aloud. The tightness in his muscles, the tingling in his hands that meant he was about to lose control of his emotions. And the strange thing was, he didn’t feel angry, or desperate. The long day of effort had taken its toll, and all he felt was numb. Anger he knew how to deal with, to push back, and force his mind to clear. This nothingness was something knew, and much harder to work with.
He saw Elektra watching him in concern, and realized he needed a distraction, or they’d have to start all over again. Standing up quickly, he groaned aloud and almost fell down again, feeling all his muscles protest the movement, as if he’d just run a marathon holding 60 pound weights in each hand.
“Sore, are we?” Elektra asked him, an entirely too smug smile gracing her lips.
“Uhg,” was all Harry felt like replying, as he stood there, trying to find out if there was a single muscle in his body that didn’t ache.
“Well, Harry, this is your own fault, you know. You should know better by now,” she chided him quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder, and guiding him back to the castle.
Harry sighed, and shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling his muscles tremble at the forceful gesture. He’d have to skip training if he wasn’t better in a few hours. Michael would kill him.
“Come on, Harry, we need to eat,” his professor said gently, but he felt his stomach turn at the simple thought of food. Just what in Merlin’s name was wrong with his body? “I know you don’t feel like it, just now, but trust me, you’ll just have to force it down. Your body needs energy right now, or you’ll feel awful that much longer.”
Harry didn’t think he had the energy to argue the point, so he just nodded, and felt a strange warmth at the obvious affection in his mentor’s eyes. He couldn’t deny the fact that it felt good, having someone care for him when he clearly didn’t feel well.
They were ambushed by House Elves as soon as they stepped into the kitchen, and Harry let Elektra deal with them, only exchanging a few words with an ecstatic Dobby, who was simply too glad to serve them, even in the middle of the rush that were Dinner preparations.
As they sat on a small table out of the way of the Elves waiting to be served, Harry let his body fall back on the chair, trying to empty his mind, and ignore his body.
“Harry,” Elektra said quietly, and he opened his eyes, seeing her concerned glance resting on him.
“I’m okay,” he said quietly in reply to her unasked question. “Just tired.”
“I know. What we did today was a stretch, even for someone who is fully trained. But I needed to put you back on track, and if we waited too long, we’d be back to square one tomorrow,” she explained, a slightly guilty look in her eyes, Harry noticed.
“It’s okay, Professor. I brought it on myself. I know better by now.” He really didn’t blame her in the least, and actually felt grateful that she’d been able to stop him before something unforgivable happened. He was simply too tired to make his case with any more conviction right now. He felt drained, in every possible aspect of the word — emotionally, physically and even magically. Everything felt stretched, ready to snap at the slightest pressure.
He heard her sigh quietly on the other side of the table, and reach out a hand to rest on his arm. “It’s perfectly understandable, Harry. I’m just surprised it took you this long to snap. And I am sorry I had to push you this hard. You’re already stretched too thin as it is — I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“Talk to me about what?” he looked at her confusedly.
“I saw how your friends reacted to what was happening today, Harry. The only one who knew what was going on was Ginny. You need to start trusting people and delegating tasks. Or you’ll burn out before the end of the month. Trust me, Harry, I know the signs.” Her voice was caring, but also absolutely inflexible.
“But there’s nothing I can do — there’s just too much I need to be doing right now,” Harry answered tiredly, watching her reaction through bleary eyes.
“There are tasks you must do, it is true, but there are others you can delegate. The Quidditch team, for example —”
“No,” he cut her off brusquely. “That’s one of the last good, normal things in my life. I’ve earned at least that much,” he continued, a note of pleading entering his voice.
He saw his professor’s eyes soften, before she spoke, “What about the D.A. then? I’m not telling you to stop teaching it,” she said, before he could interrupt her, “only pointing out that you have friends that are perfectly capable of assuming a more important role, so that you can focus on other things. If you talk to Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna, explain what is going on, what you and Ginny are doing... They can take over, prepare the classes, and you’ll just need to show up to help if needed. You know the material either way, and they can come to you for advice.”
Harry frowned slightly, running a hand tiredly through his hair. “They’d need to know everything... It’s the only way to explain why I need them to do this... I’m not sure I want to do that.”
“What are you afraid of? They’ll learn the truth soon enough. I think it’s time you started trusting people again, Harry. I understand, believe me, I understand, just how hard it can be, after what happened to you during the summer, but you have to work on it. And Harry, you need the help,” she finished earnestly, tightening the hold she had on his arm.
Harry looked at her, not exactly sure of what was happening, simply feeling the tension rise in him, adding to his exhaustion, and suddenly, the very smell of food was turning his stomach, and he hurried to the nearest trashcan to be sick.
He felt a warm hand on his back, and Elektra by his side, repeating “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Harry...”
“S’okay,” he mumbled feebly, wondering why he felt this awful, and grateful once more to have someone by his side.
“But it’s not! I shouldn’t have pushed so hard, I’m so sorry,” Elektra continued, obviously pained. She helped him to his seat, and put a huge cup of strong tea in front of him, motioning that he should drink. “Go on, it should make you feel better.”
Harry took a tentative seep, wondering if he’d have to rush to get up again, and instead felt the comforting warmth of the tea settling in his stomach and spreading through his body. He closed his eyes in relief, and took another sip, burning his tongue, but not feeling the hurt. “Maybe you’re right, professor,” he whispered, breaking the silence, “maybe I do need help.”
Elektra had left him as they exited the kitchen, with the suggestion that he take a long hot bath, and a promise to show up to his training session to keep Michael in check. Harry was feeling slightly woozy, even if the light dinner Dobby had forced on him had helped with the nausea somehow. He had to remember never to lose control like that again - the feeling was not pleasant. At all.
Just as he turned a dark corner, with images of hot tubs and scalding water the only thought in his head, he felt another body hit him from behind, forcing him rather forcefully against a wall, a strong arm against the back of his neck holding him in place. He struggled against his mysterious attacker, but stopped as all his muscles ached in protest. He couldn’t overpower whoever was holding him in place physically in his present condition, but he was by no means powerless. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he started gathering his power, and was about to blast the person behind him into the opposite wall, when his attacker spoke.
“Potter, just stand still, I don’t want to hurt you.” The sentence, spoken urgently, and in a voice he immediately recognized, made Harry pause.
“Malfoy?” he asked in surprise, holding back on his attack.
“Just... Stand still, I need to talk to you,” the other boy said hurriedly, in a voice tinged with nervousness.
“You have a funny way of showing your peaceful intentions, Malfoy,” Harry snapped back.
“I’m sorry for that, I had to make sure you would listen.”
Harry expelled an exasperated breath, thinking to himself that he really didn’t need this today of all days. Forcing himself to stay calm and collected — after all, Malfoy wouldn’t stop by for a chat to ask about the weather — he said, “Okay, since you can imagine this wall is not exactly comfortable, Malfoy, how about you get to the point of this little intervention?”
Malfoy relieved some of the pressure on his back as he realized Harry wouldn’t struggle, and, in a low, intense voice, said, “Potter, there is something you need to know... But I can’t be the one to tell you.”
Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation and ground out, “So can you let me go then? Because this is starting to sound like a futile experience.”
“No, you idiot,” Malfoy hissed in his ear, “You need to know. But I trust you’ll forget where you came across this information, if you know what’s good for you.”
Tired of talking to a wall, Harry shoved back against the Slytherin holding him in place and managed to turn around. “Why exactly are you doing this, Malfoy?” Harry asked.
As the question came out of his mouth, the strangest expression crossed Draco’s face, something like regret, anger and despair mixed together, and kept tightly in check.
“That is none of your concern, Potter,” he snapped.
“On the contrary, Malfoy, it is very much my concern, especially if you want me to do something I probably won’t like.”
“I don’t want you to do anything, Potter, I merely expect you to absorb what I have been trying to tell you, and forget where you heard it,” Draco spat, the first hint of his usual arrogance surfacing.
“And how can you expect me to accept anything you say at face value, Malfoy?” Harry asked reasonably, without raising to the bait.
Dracon hesitated, his hold on Harry’s cloak loosening even more, before spitting out, “Everyone’s heard the rumours, Potter. And I know where you spent a good portion of your summer — he wouldn’t have bothered with you if you were just anyone. You have a big role to play in what’s coming; anyone with half a brain can see that. And-” he paused, hesitating, before whispering in a furious voice, “and the reality of the Dark Lord is not as glamorous as the fables. I am a Malfoy! I do not grovel!”
Harry snorted contemptuously, and said, “Now I understand. Not so keen to follow in Daddy’s footsteps anymore, are we? So, what happened, did you do something to warrant a round of cruciatus, Draco? Or just too proud to kiss the hem of a madman?”
Harry saw the other boy’s teeth clench in annoyance, but he answered calmly enough, “He needs to be stopped. I won’t make a habit of this, Potter, so don’t get your hopes up. But you need to know. Will you listen?”
Harry nodded, curious in spite of his exhaustion, and of his annoyance at the boy in front of him, and motioned for Malfoy to continue.
“Everything he is doing — the attacks, the cracks at Gringotts, his recruiting abroad — everything is a ruse. A smokescreen. What he really wants is to conjure Avatars. You can’t let him do it, do you understand? He has plans in place once he has mastered them that will destroy our society,” he tightened his hold on Harry’s collar, shaking him slightly to emphasize his point. “I might not approve of all of this,” his motioned with his head, somehow designating Hogwarts but also the whole of magical society, “but the alternative is worse. So do something, Potter.”
Malfoy let him go, then turned his back and walked away at a brisk pace.
“Of course,” Harry mumbled, “I’m just supposed to make everything better.” He gave a light kick at the wall and ground out in frustration, “Why does this keep happening to me?”
Ginny raised her eyes for the thousandth time as she heard the portrait whole open, and jumped to her feet when a wave of nervous energy coursed through her body as she finally recognized the person crossing the threshold. Harry seemed exhausted. She had seen him tired and in pain, but his face, his whole countenance at that exact moment brought back painful recollections of the summer.
She quickly made her way to him, and felt a warm glow as his eyes lighted up at her approach. Without waiting for an invitation, she threw her arms around him, and simply enjoyed the warmth of his body against hers. It made everything, all the anxious waiting and frustrating lack of information unimportant. What mattered was that he was here, and he was safe.
“Ginny,” he whispered in her ear, dropping a light kiss in the curve of her neck, making her shiver. No matter how many times she felt Harry’s arms around her, his lips on her skin, she never seemed to get over that first trill of pleasure.
“Merlin, Harry,” she whispered relishing the warmth of his body against hers, “don’t ever worry me like that again.”
She felt his smile against her cheek, and the tight knot of tension in her stomach loosened some. He was fine, after all.
“I’d think you’d grown used to it by now, Gin,” he whispered cheekily close to her ear. But she felt his arms tighten around her in silent apology.
With a long-suffering sigh, she replied in kind, “Seems to be my lot in life.”
Her lightness was rewarded with a quick smile, and she felt the last of her uneasiness evaporate. Taking Harry’s hand in hers, she towed him to one of the comfortable overstuffed armchairs by the fire, and sat down beside him, wanting a quiet moment of privacy to take stock of the day.
“Are you really fine, Harry? You look exhausted,” she asked quietly, watching his eyes for any sign of falsehood.
“I am, Gin. But it was my fault — I totally lost control when I saw that article. You saw what he left behind on the scenes of the attacks?” He lifted his eyes, and met her concerned gaze.
“Yes. I wondered if he was talking to you. It would be just like Tom to drop in a little psychological warfare into the mix. And he knows you. He knew how you could have reacted.” Ginny tightened her hold on his hand. “I’m glad you didn’t do anything stupid, Harry.” He raised an incredulous eyebrow, and she amended her statement, “Or anything more stupid.”
“Thanks, I guess,” he chuckled. “I know what he was doing, I know he was just playing with me, messing with my head. But at the time all I wanted was to have him right in front of me so that I could give him a taste of his own medicine,” he continued, his voice sombre.
“You know you’ll have your chance, Harry. But the time isn’t right yet. If our training with Michael has taught us anything it’s our own incompetence.”
Harry smiled slightly at that, and, changing the subject, said, “I have a question for you, Gin, since you’ve been around our world for longer than me — do you have any idea what an Avatar is?”
“Nope, no idea,” she replied, “Why the sudden interest?”
She noticed his frown, and straitened a little in their sofa to pay better attention.
“I had a run in with Malfoy on my way back here...” He paused for a second, as if assessing the seriousness of what he had to say. “He said that Voldemort is using those attacks, and his pokes at Gringotts, his recruiting abroad — everything we’ve noticed of his operations, really, as a smokescreen. To hide the fact that his real plan is to conjure those things, or whatever. I’m not even sure if conjure is the right word, actually, since I have no idea what he was talking about.”
Ginny frowned slightly, disturbed for some reason by this account. She wondered what could possibly be so bad as to preoccupy Draco Malfoy and force him to contact one of them. “Are you sure this isn’t some kind of trick, Harry? I have a hard time believing Malfoy could give us any useful information.”
“I know, I know... But he has been acting strangely lately, and he seemed genuinely concerned... I don’t know, Gin,” he sighed tiredly, “I just can’t see how he could gain anything out of telling me this. If it’s misdirection, it isn’t done very smartly — no one with an ounce of sense would use Malfoy to pass on information to me. And if it’s the truth, he’s taking a big risk. Voldemort would kill him in a heartbeat, and never think twice about it.”
“We’ll have to do some research, then, see what this is all about,” Ginny said.
At this, Harry shook his head. “No, not us. I’ve had a talk with Professor Tedakis, and she... convinced me that I need to learn to delegate. So we’ll have to talk to our little gang, and divide the work. We’re already swamped with training and Quidditch, and research is Hermione’s department.”
Ginny looked at him, surprised by this sudden change of behaviour, but secretly grateful that Harry was finally ready to trust other people again. “Okay. But if this is going to work, Harry, you’ll have to bring them up to speed. And I mean really up to speed, about everything we can talk about. Training with Michael is off, but they have to know about all the rest.”
She noticed his shoulders tense, and, speaking softly, continued “Why is this so difficult, Harry?”
He was silent for so long, she stopped hoping for an answer, but finally said quietly, “I don’t know, Gin. I know they need to be told. But... It’s just hard these days, to believe that people are dependable. Even people like Ron and Hermione, that I can remember, a few months ago, trusting with my life.”
“Then trust me, when I tell you that this will work out, and that we need the help.” He nodded, and she decided they’d had enough serious talk for the evening. “Will you be up for training tonight?” she asked excitedly.
Harry smiled, and rolled his eyes. She smiled sweetly back at him, not the least bit embarrassed that she had taken to the rough training Michael put them through every night like a fish to water. She loved the physical activity, the knowledge that her body was little by little learning how to react to any given situation, and the challenge that working magic in the middle of a battle was. Harry looked at her obvious passion with a touch of indulgence, something that ticked her off, if she was honest with herself. However, it did make her work harder, if only for the desire to, one day, rip the smile off his way too handsome and way too smug face.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to serve as your personal punching bag tonight, Gin, professor Tedakis did say something about taking it easy. We’ll see if I can be of service later, if you want, though.”
It was her turn to roll her eyes, since Harry was still quite a bit more talented than she and beat her regularly when they sparred. “Maybe this will force Michael to give us the night off.”
Harry snorted at that, “I sincerely doubt that, Gin. He’ll just come up with something that isn’t as physically challenging as usual, but will still leave us completely knackered. You’ll see.”
Ginny smiled, conceding the point. She leaned down, planning on giving Harry a quick kiss before sending him up to change and putting the finishing touches on her latest Transfiguration essay. But her plans were curt short when, as soon as her lips touched his, his hold on her waist tightened, and she felt his other hand caressing her face, bringing their bodies tighter together. She didn’t fight him, and joyfully gave herself up.
“Harry, are you sure you are up for this?” Ginny asked him again. He didn’t look fit for any sort of physical activity, she thought worriedly. His clean black t-shirt only emphasised how pale he was, and his usually graceful movements were stilted, as if he was in pain.
Harry rolled his eyes at her concern, and replied, “I’m fine, Ginny. Just tired. Professor Tedakis said she’d stop by to make sure Michael doesn’t go overboard.”
She nodded, still not completely convinced that his place wasn’t in the Hospital Wing, but pushed the door to the Room of Requirement open anyway, and stepped through to their usual training room.
“Hello, Professor,” she said, seeing Michael standing by one of the windows. He flashed her an annoyed glance.
“Michael, Ginny, when we’re alone. How many times do I have to tell you that?” He turned towards Harry, then, and, in a tone Ginny couldn’t quite read, a mix of amusement, affection and annoyance, continued, “So, Harry, did you get it all out of your system this morning? You do realize we’re only allowed one meltdown a year, and that this constitutes yours?”
Harry smiled back sheepishly, “Understood. No more meltdowns for me.”
At the same time, the door opened once more, and Elektra stepped through. “Well, well, Ella — come to make sure I behave, have you?” asked Michael, watching her make her way into the room, and take in the large table covered in maps, floor plans, charts and other assorted papers, the board in one wall, and the lack of space for duelling.
“That was the idea, but I see you’ve decided to behave,” she replied, smiling. “I can leave if you want.”
“No, no, stay. I’ll just put these two to work.” He turned once more towards Harry and Ginny who had been stealing curious glances at the papers spread out on the table, and wondering what they’d have to do tonight. “Since Harry here never does things by halves, even his little temper tantrum this morning has unforeseen consequences, and any sort of physical training would be useless. We’ll be working on planning instead. Before you is all the information you may need to plan a raid on a given location. The objective is to reach the room marked in red, steal what is kept within, and get out. Stealth is preferable, but not imperative. Everything else is up to the two of you. You have an hour, then I’ll come check up on your progress.”
Leaving his two students examining documents on the desk, he requested a pair of comfortable armchairs in a corner of the room and motioned for Elektra to join him. He might have teased Harry, but he could see the kid wasn’t at his best, and he needed to know just how much that morning had hurt him. Plus an evening of quiet study would do them good — Ginny needed to learn to think more before she acted, and Harry had shown some real aptitude for analysis and planning.
Falling down on his chair, and waving his wand to put up a silencing charm around their little corner, he asked Elektra, “How bad is it? Harry looks half dead, Ella. You didn’t have to come, I’d never have made him train after taking a look at him.”
“That’s mostly my fault. I pushed him a lot today… Perhaps more than I should. I’m surprised he’s even up, and more or less functional. I half expected him to be unconscious by now.”
Michael frowned at her, “Why did you push so hard? And just what happened with his powers? I saw what was going on — everyone saw, really, even if very few, I imagine, really understood. Did he almost cause a backlash?”
“He was halfway there, I think. I got there in plenty of time, and he might have come back on his own either way… I don’t know, Michael. But he did destroy weeks worth of hard work in just a few minutes. That’s why he’s exhausted — I forced him to keep going until I got all of his conduits stabled, and got him to secure the bonds in his core. I imagine he’ll be hurting for a few days, but you can start him up on physical training again tomorrow. Some light exercise will help loosen his muscles.” She grinned at him, and added. “If you can bear the whining, of course.”
“Heh, he wouldn’t try that with me, Ella, I don’t mollycoddle anyone.” At her raised eyebrow, he continued, “The first time one of them complained, I doubled their morning run. I assure you, there was no repetition.”
Laughing quietly, she said, “As I’ve said a number of times, Michael, you are a sadist.”
“Am not,” he said, a petulant frown crossing his brow. “I’m an excellent teacher.”
With a strangled laugh, Elektra said, “You are aware one doesn’t preclude the other, right?”
Michael grunted noncommittally, but didn’t have any smart-mouthed rejoinder. He didn’t want to get too sidetracked, and his conversations with Elektra could quickly degenerate into wicked repartee if he wasn’t careful.
“I’m worried about him, Ella. I understand he had a strong reaction to the attacks, and that is somewhat understandable, but it was just one instance where he lost control. He’s angry all the time, even if his training has taught him to control his temper.”
He could feel Elektra beside him, and see the small frown in her brow at his statement. He couldn’t deny that he had come to feel protective of the boy. Harry had a forceful personality and a quick mind that appealed to Michael, and most of all, he was a survivor. He would have respected him for that alone, but the kid had hidden depths, and was learning to trust in himself more, and in his magic. That he could help him with — he knew without a doubt he could turn Harry into a fearsome warrior, given a little time. One of the very best. But he couldn’t help him face himself.
“I thought he was getting better, until this morning.” She sighed. “We can’t expect him to be completely unaffected by his imprisonment, Michael. He might have healed physically, but this sort of thing leaves invisible scars that are just as real. And some injuries never truly heal — you simply learn to live with them.”
“I know, Ella. But anger is not a reliable emotion. It can power your magic, but it makes you loose perspective. It can kill as surely as any curse.”
“Speaking from experience?”
His eyes flashed as her retort reached his ears, and he glared at her until she looked away. “You know very well I am. He doesn’t need to repeat my mistakes.”
“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” she whispered.
“Yes, it was,” he snapped.
He let the silence stretch, not in the mood anymore to discuss serious matters. He glanced at his two students, glad to see they were organising the material he had given them, using the board behind the table to pin up maps and plans, marking defences and wards in them in different colours. They were progressing nicely, even in the two weeks he had been training them. Natural talent was a thing of beauty, in his own humble opinion. They acted as if they had been born to do this. Which wasn’t surprising, really, since they had. He sure as hell didn’t believe in any of that blood purity nonsense — but magical bloodlines as strong as the ones in front of him left indelible traces in its heirs.
“What about Ginny?” Elektra finally broke the silence. “I don’t know her as well as I know Harry. How is she responding to the training?”
“With an overabundance of enthusiasm. Which is a very good thing — she’s teaching Harry not to take life too seriously, to roll with the punches and laugh at the universe. They are very good together, and their magic is incredibly compatible. The two of them will make an exceptionally powerful pair.”
“I’m glad. Maybe she’ll help him heal. If he can still laugh, then he might get through this.”
“Maybe.” He had been keeping track of Harry’s and Ginny’s work, and suddenly waving his wand to drop the privacy charms, called out to them. “Strike one! You’re dead!” Before grinning wickedly at their startled expressions and putting the charms back in place.
He felt, more than saw, Elektra roll her eyes, and quipped, “What? They would be! It’s obvious they have to bypass that corridor. And they have to learn to think three-dimensionally.”
“Of course, Michael. And the shouting is just a bonus.”
“Of course not,” he replied, his tone suddenly offended. “You know as well as I that pain is the best teacher, followed closely by humiliation. They might be doing the training in a very unorthodox way, but I don’t want them to miss too much of the experience.” He grinned at her, taking the sting out of his words. “Plus, it builds character, and they don’t seem to mind too much.”
“I don’t know if it’s possible to have any more character than those two have,” Elektra groused.
“Maybe. But they have some serious work ahead of them. We can’t fail with those two, Ella. It’s simply not an option.”
Elektra trained her eyes on him, her beautiful, shifting eyes, and suddenly a small smile graced her lips. “I don’t think we will, Michael.” And the only thing he could think was that he never grew tired of watching her.
Ginny watched as all the members of their own little inner circle sat down in the fluffy couches the Room of Requirement had provided for them. Hermione sat next to Ron, her intelligent eyes carefully roaming the room, watching her friends carefully. Ginny knew it must be grating on her nerves not to know why her presence had been required for this gathering. Her brother was quiet, an improvement to what she had experienced over the last months, and obviously expecting to be overlooked.
Luna’s appearance surprised her — her long blond hair was held up in a bun, and she seemed much more composed, much more present, than she was used to seeing her friend. She wondered for a moment if maybe she wasn’t the only one who had had a difficult summer, and what could have caused such a drastic change. The girl in front of her, watching Harry with thoughtful eyes, hands resting on her knees, reminded her painfully of the childhood friend she had known, the bright, serious child that had been her playmate for most of a decade. Neville sat in the armchair next to Luna’s, nervously fiddling with his wand, his jaw clenched and his eyes restless. She could understand his nervousness — their group hadn’t been exactly friendly since school started, and he was perceptive enough to realize that circumstances must have changed to force a meeting.
And Harry… Harry was watching them all intently, with a quiet intensity that had nothing to do with insecurity. There was an easy confidence to his posture that she was seeing more and more often and a very slight smile in his face and eyes. When everyone had taken a sit, he glanced at her, and she sealed the room with a triple layer of imperturbables, locking and silencing charms. This was one conversation none of them wanted overheard. Harry and her had spent the last few days scrounging the Restricted Section in order to prepare for this meeting, and be as certain as was possible that what was said inside this room stayed there.
Harry sat up in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, and meeting the eyes of every person in the room. “Ladies, gents, thank you all for coming,” he said. “I know things have been strained between us, and that if we didn’t have the D.A. to run we might not say ten words to each other every day. But things are changing, events are speeding up outside of our little protection bubble here at Hogwarts, and it is time we started acting instead of reacting.” He paused to take a steadying breath, and Ginny saw his efforts to keep his emotions in check, his expression and body language calm. She was sure, as well, that she was the only one who noticed the struggle — Harry was developing quite the poker face, she thought. Before her mind could digress to other pleasant thoughts centred mainly on a few other skills he was developing, she forced herself to concentrate. This was an important meeting. Harry continued, “I want your help. We have faced much together, the six of us, and we each have skills and strengths that could be of infinite use in this fight against Voldemort. But for us to work together, we have to share information. More precisely, I need to divulge dangerous secrets to all of you. And when I say dangerous, I don’t simply mean hazardous for your health and continued existence. I mean this is information that can put hundreds, thousands of peoples lives at stake.”
Dead silence settled in the room.
Finally, Luna whispered, “Yes… trust is always the first to be eaten.”
“Eaten?” Neville asked.
“By the dark.”
Harry nodded slightly, and forged ahead, his voice filled with authority and strength. “I’ve discovered that trust is a rare commodity indeed. And while I might be willing to trust my life to the word of everyone in this room, I’m no longer willing to trust the lives of the thousands of people I mentioned before. I won’t be repeating my parent’s mistake.” He clasped his hands together in front of him, and leaned forward, concentrating on his small audience. “So this is what will happen: Ginny has come up with an unbreakable oath of allegiance. The wording of this oath is very precise, it won’t in any way impede your freedom, but it will stop you from betraying our cause, divulging my secrets, and all in all, turning over to the dark side. The oath is non-negotiable: anyone who wants to stay in this room will take it.” He leaned back once more in his chair, before seeming to remember something else. “Oh, I think I should also mention that I am the only one who can release you from it. Any questions?”
“Harry,” Hermione said hesitantly. “Magical oaths are dangerous! They can kill!”
Harry turned towards her, his eyes cold. “Yes, Hermione, they can. That is the idea. I’m tired of being betrayed, and having people die on me because of broken promises. This isn’t a difficult oath to keep — if you are truly fighting Voldemort, you’ll be fine. In fact, short of actually practicing Dark Magic and blurting out secret information, you should be fine. We took into account the imperious curse, so only voluntary betrayal carries consequences. Now it’s up to you to choose. The door is over there, and I’m not forcing anyone to do this.”
Ginny saw Hermione’s eyes widen slightly at that, and her face turn pale. She seemed to have finally grasped that the stakes had changed.
Neville was the first to move, and shifting his wand to his right hand, said, “Okay, give me the exact words of the oath.”
Ginny saw Harry’s eyebrows rise slightly, as he said, “Really?”
“Yes,” Neville declared. “You’re my friend, Harry. If you need help, if I can be useful, expect me to be there. It’s easier that way.”
Ginny handed her fellow Gryffindor the page where the specific words of the oath were spelled out, and he read them once, silently, obviously making sure he was comfortable with all the terms. Then grabbing his wand, he recited the words aloud, a soft luminescence covering his whole body before he finished, and the light dimmed and then disappeared.
Harry chewed his lip, then smiled and whispered, “Thanks, mate. That means a lot.”
The other boy simply nodded, before handing the sheet to Luna, whose eyes had lost their focus somehow, but who read the oath in a clear voice. “It is good to be a part of something important, Harry. Thank you for including me.”
“Of course, Luna.”
“Won’t Ginny have to do this, too?” Ron asked suddenly, talking for the first time in the meeting.
“Actually, Ron, she was the first to swear it, to make sure it worked,” Harry answered coldly. “There are no double standards here, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Of course, that’s not…” Ginny felt a small vindictive sort of satisfaction watching her dear brother’s ears turn crimson. “Give that then!” he grumbled.
As her brother read the oath, and glowed just as brightly as the other two before him, Ginny felt a small glimmer of hope take root in her heart. Sharing a long look with Harry, she knew he felt it too. They would get back together, and they would find a way out of the mess the world was turning into.
As Ron finished his oath, Ginny realized he had finally relaxed in their presence. He was even smiling, something she hadn’t seen her brother do in months. Maybe, she realized, he had been feeling the stress on their relationship as much as them, but didn’t know how to bridge the gap. But the oath was undeniable proof he was on their side, and willing to work with them. He raised his eyes to Harry’s, and they locked gazes for an infinite moment, and she knew the two boys had fit a whole conversation into that look. Finally, Ron nodded slightly, and handed the parchment to Hermione. But the other girl made no move to take it.
“Hermione?” he asked. She looked at Ron, her eyes wide and unblinking, and he slowly lost his smile. “Won’t you- “ He stopped, and Ginny felt that, for Ron, this situation was so completely unexpected that he wasn’t even sure what question to ask of Hermione.
“I—I…”
“Hermione, what are you waiting for?” Ron asked, quietly.
“It’s dangerous! People have died by accident with magical oaths! One wrong word, one thoughtless action and you’re dead, or your magic is gone and you’re suddenly alone in the middle of the North Pole, or any number of horrible things!” Her voice had a slight panicky quality to it.
“Well, then you have nothing to worry about, Hermione, I have yet to see you do anything without thinking about it first,” Neville told her quietly.
Ginny turned her eyes to Harry, wondering why he didn’t comment on the conversation, but he simply shook his head slightly. And she understood that this was something each of them had to choose for themselves: the danger, the commitment, it had to be a choice. And Harry would not be the person he was if he budged in on it.
But apparently, Hermione wanted his advice, because she turned her eyes, slowly filling with tears, and called softly, “Harry?”
He sighed and said, watching her carefully, “Look, Hermione. We have been friends for years, and I would like nothing more than to have you by my side again. But this must be your choice. You will do what you think best. I won’t change my mind about this — I won’t divulge sensitive information without an Oath.”
She shook her head slightly, obviously distressed.
Ron was frowning looking at her, and finally asked, “I don’t understand why this is such an issue, Hermione. It’s not as if any of us is planning on betraying Harry — the oath is just a safety measure, like your charmed parchment for the D.A.”
“That’s different! I know the penalties a true oath of allegiance carries! This — this thing you just swore without blinking an eye can kill you as surely as any Killing Curse, Ronald!”
He frowned at her, clearly incensed. “That isn’t it at all! This can kill me if for some god forsaken reason I decide to give up everything good in this world, to turn my back on everything I believe, and become my enemy. Honestly, Hermione? I’d rather be dead, then. So if Harry needs an Oath before he can trust us again, well, I don’t care! I’m just as glad to know I won’t be betraying myself either!” By the end of his little tirade, he was standing up, and his face was red, and Ginny, seeing this, felt a smile stretching her lips. She knew, at that moment, that she had her brother back.
Hermione was blinking quickly, clearly stunned. “I — I need to think, I’m sorry.” And with those parting words she fairly ran from the room.
Harry let out a deep breath, running his hand through his hair in a gesture of clear frustration. “Why can’t we all seem to get along for more than a couple of minutes at a time?”
“And we needed her help, as well,” Ginny added, frowning at the door. Harry had told her he thought Hermione would be the most difficult of their friends to convince, but she hadn’t believed him, thinking that rational Hermione would see the logic of their demand. Clearly he knew the other girl better.
“She’ll come back,” Ron said, sitting back down, his eyes dark.
“Yes, eventually,” Harry said.
“No, soon. She just needs a little time to think in peace,” the other boy countered.
Neville sighed, slouching back on his seat. “So, Harry, why are we here?”
“Right. Ginny put the charms back up, and a proximity alert, please. I guess we’ll have to do this without Hermione.” Once she was done, Ginny took a seat next to Harry, and he started talking. “So, here is the deal, guys. There is a prophecy, a true one, and it states that I am the one that has to deal with our little scaly problem. I won’t give you the precise wording, since it’s already a poorly kept secret, and Voldemort wants it badly — I spent two weeks this summer trying to keep him out of my head, and those latest attacks are his way of putting pressure on me to reveal it to him. That phrase he left on the walls — the price of information — that’s what he used to tell me, that he would find a way to make me talk, no matter the price.” Ginny noticed the way Harry clenched his fists, his eyes darkening. She felt the slight tendrils of magic escaping his control; much fainter than previously, but still evidence that he was struggling with his magic and his temper. She reached over and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. He covered her hand with one of his, a silent thanks.
“Are you sure of this, Harry?” asked Neville. “Not that it is a great shock or anything, anyone with an ounce of sense can see you have a big role to play in this war, if for no other reason than Voldemort hates your guts.”
“Yes, the Prophecy is clear, I’m the one that has the power to defeat him. And even if my healthy scepticism regarding Divination hasn’t changed, the fact that Voldemort believes it kind of leaves me stuck with the bloody thing,” Harry answered.
“So, even if you wanted to ignore it, he wouldn’t let you,” Ron said.
“Exactly. So when I found out it existed — I was told when we came back from the Ministry last term — and just what it said, I realized I couldn’t just go on like before.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “But there are other factors in play, that have an impact on the way we’re going to act. Stuff you guys have a right to know now. When Sirius died, last year, he left precise instructions regarding my guardianship. Mainly, that I no longer have one, and be emancipated. This means that I should be legally an adult in the wizarding world right now.”
“So you aren’t restricted by the underage wizarding laws anymore? That’s wicked!” Ron exclaimed.
Harry sighed. “It hasn’t worked out like that, since some people blocked the claim in the Wizengamot — but I’m working on that.”
“Who blocked the will, Harry?” Neville asked. “It could be a Voldemort sympathizer, wanting to make sure you aren’t free to use magic outside of school… Do you know the name of the person?”
Harry’s eyes flashed dangerously, and he fairly growled, “It was the Headmaster, Neville. For reasons I absolutely do not agree with. But in this matter, I’ll very soon have the upper hand, my lawyer is very good.” A wolfish grin lit his face, making his eyes flash.
Ron’s eyebrows rose to nearly his hairline, “You’re taking on the Headmaster on top of Voldemort?” He seemed to hesitate a moment. “Is that altogether wise?”
Ginny rolled her eyes, mumbling, “Why start now?”
Harry cleared his throat loudly, drawing attention back to the matter at hand. “Anyway, all of this does mean that I’ve come into my full inheritance early, since Gringotts recognised Sirius’ will, and I’ve been using the influence that comes with all that money to try to shake things up a bit and have a more pro-active attitude in this war. My attorney has been helping with this, basically receiving information, and serving as a go-between for Ragnok, the leader of the Goblin High Council, and me. We’re aware of a number of things happening: first, Voldemort has been recruiting in the continent, and turning magical governments there.” He chewed on his lip a moment, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Truth be told, that’s too far away to really concern us at the moment. The second thing we have noticed is political pressure against the Goblin High Council — he wants them to turn against the ministry, causing panic and economical chaos. And finally, he has his Death Eaters busy with the waves of attacks here at home. I’m dealing with the Goblins — we have some plans that should come into effect if there is any other incident with the ministry, and their bloody prejudiced laws. We can’t do anything about attacks while we’re stuck at Hogwarts, except hope that the Aurors and the Order do their jobs…” He paused.
“So what do you need us for, Harry?” asked Neville.
“Well… It’s like this: I have a source — not a very reliable one, I admit, but one that seemed genuine this once — that has said that all of this activity in the other camp is a smokescreen, that Voldemort is using it as a stalking horse to hide his true plans, which are to conjure Avatars.” He ran a hand through his hair, getting up to pace the room. “Ginny and I, we have our plates very full with training and school, and in the free time we have available, we haven’t been able to find any reference to these things here in the library. We need you guys to help.” He took a pile of blank parchments and stacked them in front of Ron. “Here are the latest reports of Death Eater activity, plus quite a few alternative sources of Intel. Everything my attorney, John Hellington, was able to get his hands on.”
“Uhh, Harry, these are blank,” Ron said.
“Yes, they are secure communication sheets, they need a blood identification to let you read them. Here, I’ll authorise you.” He reached inside his robes and drew out a small pocket-knife, with which he opened a small cut in his left index, then he handed Ron the knife, motioning for him to do the same. He then smeared his blood along the side of the stack, and waved his wand, making the blood disappear. Then, grabbing Ron’s finger, he repeated the procedure. “There, now all you need to do is prick your finger and touch the page and you’ll be able to read everything.”
“Prick my finger? But there are like… Two hundred pages here!”
“Don’t be an idiot, Ron, no more than a hundred, I’ll wager, and some of it is probably repetitions of the same things from different sources. Now, don’t be a baby. I need you to read all of this and see if you find any patterns we might have missed, anything that might indicate that my source was right. We can’t afford to be surprised. You understand?” Harry asked, his voice loosing the lightness of his teasing.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll do my best, Harry,” Ron answered, meeting his friend’s eyes.
Harry nodded, and turned towards Neville. “Nev, Luna, I’m giving you control of the D.A. we need to step up the pace, maybe separate the group into levels according to skill, meet more times a week… I don’t know, I’m open to suggestions. I’ll try to be present as often as possible, but I need you to pick up the slack in organising the lessons, meeting with Professor Tedakis, and really getting everyone up to speed. We can’t play around anymore, and the more people able to fight when they leave this school the better.”
Neville nodded, a serious look on his face.
“And you, Harry? What will you be doing?” asked Ron.
“I’ll be training. I guess it’s time I told all of you what’s been happening to me.”
“Does it have something to do with the little display of pyrotechnics the other morning?” Neville asked.
Harry smiled sheepishly. “Yes, actually. When I was captured by the Death Eaters, something happened with my magic. During my escape, I forced myself a bit too much, and ruptured my core.”
“You unlocked your talent without a ritual?” Neville asked, an amazed light in his eyes.
“Yes. How did you know that?”
Neville lifted his left hand, showing off the signet ring in his finger. “My family is part of the Old Council, Harry. My bloodline has a talent as well, but I’d never even think about trying to unlock it without a ritual. I’m still not sure I want to do it even with a ritual.”
“I didn’t know that, Neville. You’ll have to tell me more about it sometime, this is all pretty new to me.”
“Sure, Harry.” Neville smiled slightly, “I can teach you all about being a member of one of the Noble Houses and looking down your nose at all the other mere mortals of the world.”
Harry laughed, and cracked a smile, “You do that!”
Ron cleared his throat noisily, and asked testily, “Can someone explain to us mere mortals just what you two are talking about?”
Neville laughed, and said, “I can explain, Ron, but I think I should point out that you are no mere mortal, my dear friend — is your mother not a Prewitt?”
“Yes, Mom is a Prewitt. But what has that got to do with anything?” Ron exclaimed.
“Well… The Prewitt family are the descendants of one of the Houses, Ron, and since your mother is the last Prewitt, the title should pass on to the Weasleys,” Neville said. “At least, that is how it works with my family, maybe yours has different rules.”
“But, I never knew! No one ever told us!” Ron whispered, his face white.
“Yeah, Mom doesn’t like to talk about it, especially since her brothers were killed because they were Heirs, and her father had more or less cast her out when she married Dad. She lost her whole family while she was estranged from them, never had a chance to make peace. She never got over it, and she forbade Dad from telling us, Ron. I found out quite by accident this summer, doing research with Harry, and forced Dad to tell me the truth.”
“But, what happened to everything? The money, the titles?” He paused, then whispered, “The family Vault?”
“I don’t know, Ron,” Ginny answered, “Dad didn’t want to talk about it, he refused to answer questions, and only confirmed what I already knew. I think maybe Mom was officially disowned, so she can’t inherit, or maybe she doesn’t want to use the money, I don’t know, I’m only guessing at this point.”
“But… But… She’s been lying to us! Our whole life! How could they keep something like this a secret? It’s not right!” Ginny could see that Ron was working himself into a full fledged temper tantrum, and they didn’t have the time for it, so she decided that an interruption was in order.
“You’re right, Ron,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the increasingly loud volume of his voice. “But now is not the time. I’m all for confronting Mom about this, but we need to finish here, okay?”
He nodded, obviously still angry but making an effort to control his temper, and sat back down.
“If you want, Harry, I can try to explain a little,” Neville said, and at Harry’s nod, picked up the narrative. “As I imagine you know, the Old Council was composed by the heads of thirteen Wizarding families, that are known today as the High Houses. Some of the Houses have disappeared, some have merged, almost all have changed names a few times over the millennium, but one thing remains constant, and that is the presence on the Heirs of the bloodlines of latent magical talents. In my family, for example, we have a small measure of Elemental Magic, that is the ability to control one, sometimes two elements. Me, for example, if I decide to go through with the rituals, I’ll probably end up a woodcrafter or maybe an earthcrafter. At least, that’s what Gran says, since I’m so good with plants. She’s a watercrafter, by the way.”
“So, each House has a special power?” Ron asked.
“Yes. Those talents were what allowed them to be selected for the Council in the first place. I don’t know all the latent powers, many Houses chose to keep them a secret… There was a family, the Thornthons, that had some sort of control over spirits and other non-corporeal entities, for example. I think they still have a couple of descendents around. I know there were families with farsight, and prescience… Well, you get the picture, right?”
“Do you know what the latent talent of the Prewitts was?” Ginny asked. “I wonder if some of us have it.”
“Sorry, I don’t. I don’t even know what the Potter one was,” he added, turning towards Harry.
“We can unseal our core, as I said before. It gives us sorcerous powers,” Harry said quietly.
“Wow, that’s really cool, Harry,” Neville said, smiling. “Wandless magic, then? And probably the ability to control ambient magic as well…”
“Yeah, but since I did it with no ritual, the result was somewhat messy, and I need to learn to control my magic properly again. I’ve been working with Professor Tedakis, and she’s helped me a lot, but it takes time, and meanwhile, there are other things that need to be done. So I need your help.”
“Of course — “ Neville’s answer was cut shore by the sudden blaring of an alarm, and a quiet knock on the door. Ginny waved her wand, dispelling the protection charms, and Hermione came in, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“I’ve decided to do it. It didn’t feel right, to be away from you at a time like this. I still don’t think it’s right, but if that’s what it takes to be here, then I’ll do it.”
Ginny saw Harry smile, and then say quietly, “Thank you, Mione. I’m glad you’re here.”
A/N: Thanks to everyone still reading: next chapter is about ¾ done, so it shouldn’t take as long as this one. I hope you enjoyed!
Chapter 27: Of Family
Author's Notes: Hey guys, sorry this took a while. The chapter was supposed to have one more scene (the meeting with John and planning for the Wizengamot) but I'm a bit stuck with it (I have to choose between two configurations for that institution, and can't make up my mind) so I decided to post this as is, even if there isn't much in the way of plot development. I hope you envoy anyway! Cheers, Cathy
Arthur Schopenhauer,
Chapter 24: Of Family
“Harry, is there a reason you’ve decided to set this absolutely ridiculous pace?” Ginny puffed, trying to force her shorter legs to move faster, compensating for Harry’s advantages in height and, apparently, motivation.
He turned around, shortening his steps, and waited for her to catch up. “I’m sorry, Gin, I’m just frustrated, is all.”
“At anything in particular, or just in general?” she asked, trying to slow her heartbeat, knowing that she’d never make it to the end of their circuit if she exhausted herself now.
“I feel like we’re in the middle of this insane battle where the six of us are all alone and we’re fighting thousands of years of prejudices and programming. We can’t win, and I’m beginning to think that to even try, to spend political capital, time and effort on this thing might be a stupid endeavour.”
Ginny heard what he said, and felt that this wasn’t a conversation she could have while running. The secondary activity required too much of her concentration between keeping a regular stride, controlling her breathing and heartbeat, and simply putting one foot in front of the other.
“Harry, wait,” she said, stopping. “I don’t understand. We’re talking about the Goblins, here, right?”
He turned around again, walking back to where she was standing in the middle of the path, her creamy skin flushed by the exercise, her hands resting on her waist. Instead of answering, Harry reached out to her, pushing her against the trunk of one of the trees around them with a certain amount of careless strength, then pinned her there with his body and kissed her. Ginny felt her breath speed up once more, felt her body melting against his, her hands reach up in a slow, sinuous caress. His warm hands burned a trail on her waist and back, holding her against him, and she arched her back into the caress. A small part of her mind, probably the smart, analytical part, let her know this was a diversionary tactic. It was ignored among the delicious heat she always felt when Harry was feeling passionate. It wasn’t something that happened as often as she would like. When his eyes would darken, and focus on her absolutely, making her feel beautiful and strong and desirable. He was the only one who had ever been able to do that to her, to make her quiver with a look, a touch, a smile. If she didn’t see that answering fire in his gaze, she might have been annoyed with his power over her, but as it was, all she felt was intense joy that they were finally together. Even if it was here, in the edge of the forest. During their morning workout. Her eyes snapped open as she heard a throat clearing sharply.
She blushed to the roots of her hair seeing Michael leaning against another three, looking bored. “I hope you two realize that you have a limited amount of time to finish this circuit. I’m not absolutely against interruptions, per se, but you will have to make up for lost time. Just thought you should know. A simple friendly reminder.”
In front of her, Harry had closed his eyes and taken a step away from her. He swallowed, taking a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes, looking at her, she realized he wasn’t embarrassed, as she had thought, but rather trying to stop himself from laughing. The idiot was enjoying himself.
Her eyes flashed, and a small smile appeared on Harry’s lips, before he said, rolling his eyes at Michael, “Come on, Gin, apparently we need to hurry.”
“Yes, I think you should. You do have to finish this trail in the next fifteen minutes,” Michael, the second idiot, was also enjoying himself. He didn’t even bother to try to hide his amusement. With a long-suffering sigh, she took the lead, suddenly motivated to finish this thing as quickly as possible.
Harry, behind her, was laughing softly, obviously trying not to irritate her, and she smiled slightly at the sound. After all, she wasn’t absolutely against alternative activities either.
Turning her head slightly to keep Harry on her peripheral vision, she asked, “Will you tell me what that was all about?”
“I’ve been reading the books I took out of my Family Vault,” he answered. “And everything is so wrong!” he exclaimed, his pace picking up as his earlier aggravation made itself known. “The Council, the Accords, everything was meant to build trust, and unity. And what do we do with that foundation? We abuse the trust of our allies, we enslave our fellow magical creatures, the very creatures,” he spat the word as if it was a curse, “that helped us build our society.”
“What did you find in them, Harry?” Ginny asked, breathless from the exertion.
“They’re family history books. Stuff I should have learned growing up. But since Dumbledore, in his infinite wisdom, placed me in the care of Muggles - and ignorant Muggles at that - I’m having to play catch up,” there was so much irritation in his voice that she knew there was deeper meaning in his words, but for once she couldn’t figure out just what the problem was.
“So what have you learned?”
His feet hit the ground, his speed increasing, and she was really struggling to keep up now. But then he stopped, hands resting on his knees, his breath coming in short gasps. She waited him out, holding her side where a sharp pain was making itself known.
“What have I learned,” he whispered. And now there was anger as well in his voice. “I’ve learned that I have responsibilities, and people who depend on me, and the estate, that I have never met, and who don’t even know who I am. That I have family traditions I should have been aware of. That being the Heir to a House isn’t just a question of money and magical power.”
Ginny frowned, and asked quietly, “But what is the problem, Harry?”
He turned away from her, and in an angry gesture kicked at a pebble on the ground, sending it sailing into the forest. “The problem is that I never knew! I’ve been talking to Nev: he’s been prepared for this job since he was old enough to understand what his Gran was talking about. Even Malfoy is better prepared for this than me. We might not exactly agree on politics, but you can’t deny he’s much better equipped to navigate this world than I am.”
“You and Malfoy don’t agree on much more than just politics, Harry, but I understand what you’re saying,” Ginny said quietly.
“How could he, Ginny? How could he leave me with those people?” Harry ground out in frustration. “It was hard to understand even when I was just the Boy-Who-Lived, but this… This is negligence on the grossest scale. I could have been an active Heir for years — at least since I came to Hogwarts — if I’d been even a little prepared. But he never said a word, and I was so completely ignorant of everything I didn’t even think to ask or to look.” He ran an impatient hand through his slightly damp hair, pacing in front of her in agitation. “When I discovered, it made me wonder, you know, if maybe Dumbledore didn’t want me to know, because what with my reputation, and my status, I could cause a lot of problems if I disagreed with him.”
The way he talked about the Dursleys made Ginny’s heart clench. She knew there was so much more he was leaving out, but felt this was not the time to bring up the past. So she stayed of track, and added her two cents. “And then he went and blocked Sirius’ will…”
“Yes, you get it… It’s like he’s purposefully keeping me shut off from this part of my life.”
Ginny thought about it for a second, a feeling of outrage on his behalf rising in her. “And you’re the very last Potter. It has to be you.”
“Yes! What if something had happened to me? I’ve been nearly killed so many times! There are things I can do, steps I can take to make sure that things run smoothly in case something happens.” Ginny felt a chill run through her at the thought, but it was accompanied by something like pride as she realized that Harry might be new at this, but he was certainly thinking about it carefully and responsibly. “And the way I’ve acted when I discovered the magical world, and Hogwarts? Like a complete idiot… I’ve been neglecting so much without even knowing! It’s embarrassing… To think that Malfoy was right some of the times he threw out insults!”
“Harry-” she tried to interrupt.
“But he was! Do you know that somewhere out there is my family ring? A signet ring, like the one Malfoy and Nev wear. Do you know what it means, when a rightful Heir doesn’t wear it?”
She shook her head mutely - curious, and proud, and afraid all at the same time. She could see the emotions rolling out of him, and feel the magic shifting around her as he released the power his emotions conjured. It was becoming a common feeling around Harry, something she had come to associate solely with him.
“It’s a message to the world that the Heir is renouncing his line! Rejecting his bloodline! To everyone with the slightest knowledge of History I’ve been acting as if I— As if I don’t consider myself to be my parents’ son.”
Ginny felt the blood drain from her face. Harry had always been sensitive where family was concerned. Growing up in an abusive environment, only to then learn that his real family had loved him enough to die so he could live, it was an understandable feeling. To then learn that he had, unknowingly, been disrespecting their memory must be extremely painful.
It explained why Harry had been snapping at everyone lately. She had thought it was simply a consequence of his exhaustion after his near backlash, but he had seemed fine, otherwise. Learning all this was more than enough to explain his mood. But he seemed worse today, as if things had come to a head.
“What else, Harry?” she asked softly, taking his hand and squeezing softly.
“It isn’t at Gringotts,” he whispered dejectedly, leaning back against a tree. “I asked my accounts manager, then I asked John to go look himself. It isn’t there. They checked all the jewellery. They sent me the Black ring, but mine wasn’t there.”
“Oh, that’s right, Sirius made you his Heir as well,” Ginny said thoughtfully.
Harry snorted, “It was either me or Malfoy, so I think it wasn’t a difficult choice. And apparently we were distant cousins through my paternal grandmother.”
“Yes, well, every pureblood family is related somewhere, if you go far enough away. What about Tonks?” Ginny asked curiously.
“He couldn’t make her his Heir, I asked. Her mother was officially disowned and it’s magically binding. I asked John to look into it, see if it’s really not possible to reverse the decision. It should go to her, really.”
Harry moved back to the trail, obviously intent on starting their run again, when Ginny said suddenly. “Harry.” He turned back towards her, raising a curious eyebrow. “It wouldn’t have been in the Vault. You said it yourself! Your father would have had it on!”
“Yes. He would have had it on,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. Then the sudden light of realisation appeared in his eyes, followed closely by a burning rage. “Oh,” he growled. “Oh no he didn’t!” And without stopping for an explanation, Harry took off towards the castle, abandoning their circuit, cutting through forest paths to arrive at the castle as fast as possible.
Ginny followed at a more sedate pace, afraid of spraining an ankle or worse on the uneven terrain, wondering just what Harry had figured out, and wishing he had taken the time to let her know. She found Michael waiting for her in front of the doors, his eyebrows raised in enquiry. “I take it something happened?” he asked. “Harry just flew past here without even a by your leave, and he didn’t look to be in a good mood.” He paused. “I trust you aren’t the problem?” he continued, in a more serious voice.
“What?” she asked indignantly, her eyes flashing. “I didn’t do anything! We were talking and he figured something out!”
Michael raised his hands defensively, taking a cautious step back. “Okay, I’m sorry. But I needed to know, your relationship is somewhat central to what we are trying to do here, if you haven’t realized yet, Ginny.”
“I do know that, Michael,” she replied, more calmly, knowing this was not a laughing matter. Their partnership demanded they have a certain openness to the other, a willingness to share emotions and magic, or nothing would work as well. The more Harry and her trained together, the more conscious they became of each other, so much so that sometimes she felt she knew where Harry was, or what he was feeling, even when they weren’t in the middle of the Curator Tractus. “But we’re fine.”
She raised one booted feet to the railing of the stairs, and leaned, stretching out her leg. She fought down the blush threatening to rise, as she thought about just how fine things were. When she realised it was a loosing battle, she leaned in further, and hid her face between her arms as she counted silently.
“It certainly seemed that way when I caught the two of you this morning,” Michael sniggered.
“Shut up! Not another word, Michael!” Ginny mumbled, switching legs.
He sighed, looking back at the castle. “I wonder what the emergency is now. I thought we were past all the emotional stuff. You know it’s not my strong suit.”
Ginny stifled a giggle, and said reassuringly, “I don’t think you have to worry. Harry wasn’t about to have a breakdown or anything. I suppose he might ask for help hiding the body, however.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Michael responded. “Did he tell you anything before running off?” he asked more seriously.
“We were discussing his family. He’s been discovering a lot of information that was kept from him, and it hasn’t made him happy.” She frowned slightly. “I think he just figured out where his signet ring is, and that’s why he ran off.”
“Ohhh.” Michael said, and a gleeful smile lit his face. “Dumbledore is about to get a very nasty wake up call then!” He chortled, and then gave up trying to hide his mirth, “Merlin, Elektra warned him this would happen!” he added between laughs. “But the old man is just too stubborn and set in his ways! Oh, how I wish I could see this!”
Ginny frowned at her professor, and asked, “Are you telling me the Headmaster has it?” Michael nodded, drying his tears of mirth on his sleeve. “No wonder Harry was so angry then. He already blames the Headmaster for keeping him from his bloodright, and letting him enter the wizarding world completely ignorant of who and what he is.”
That statement wiped the smile off Michael’s face. “That’s understandable. The first time I saw Harry, I wondered why he wasn’t wearing his ring, why he acted like he did…” He paused a second, deep in thought. “It’s more than just the ring, really,” he continued, thoughtfully. “It’s even more than his clothes or his bearing… Being an Heir is almost more a state of mind than just money or status.” He gave a bark of laughter. “After all, many of the Houses have lost everything over the years, only keeping the magic and the traditions. And the important things remain, when the family is committed, and have a string leader. The things that go beyond property and wealth. Harry didn’t have that, I realise, and it showed in everything he did. But he’s changed since then — he’s coming into his own. Maybe he’ll be able to pull it off, after all.”
Ginny nodded, and asked quietly, “How do you know so much about it?”
Michael sighed. “There aren’t only Noble Houses, Ginny. There are quite a few Lesser ones as well. I grew up in that society, but I have avoided getting mixed up in politics since I joined the Cursors.” He paused, as if questioning the wisdom of continuing with his tale. “I’m the second born, so technically my older sister is the Heir. She had to take over the family when she was barely nineteen, after our parents where murdered near the end of the first war, and she had a hard time holding on to her claim — suddenly there were uncles and cousins who thought they were better suited for the job, never mind that she had the legal right to it, and they wanted nothing more than to see her fail. Seeing her fight all that while having to take care of younger brothers… Well, it made me question a lot of things. Made my decision to join easier as well, when it was offered…” He sighed, seeming lost in memories, an old pain flashing in his eyes. Ginny felt that what she had been told was really only the tip of the iceberg, but didn’t feel comfortable asking questions. She was surprised to have been told this much — Michael was by no means shy, and he talked constantly, but never about personal things.
Ginny put her feet back down on the floor, leaning down once to touch the floor, before giving a quick nod, indicating she was ready to go inside. Michael opened the doors, holding them for Ginny to pass, and asked cheerfully, “So, are you up for a little sparring with yours truly, since your usual partner has abandoned us?”
Harry stomped through the Hogwarts corridors with a single destination in mind. He knew, rationally, that he was doing something stupid, and that confronting the Headmaster when he was this angry was not the smartest thing he would ever do. However, reason had taken a backseat to emotion in his brain just then, and he couldn’t bring himself to care that he would probably damage his already rocky relationship with the man, perhaps irreparably. He simply could not believe Dumbledore had done what he suspected he had. When he had heard Ginny’s comment, everything had suddenly snapped into focus, all the pieces of the puzzle snapping into place. Of course his father would never take off his ring. And who had had access to his parents’ personal possessions? Who had given him his father’s Invisibility Cloak? Who had deliberately kept him in the dark, and refused to answer questions regarding his family? At that thought, he felt his anger start slipping out of control, and he slowed down slightly, breathing deeply to try to get a hang on his temper. Not that he really wanted to let go of it — for once, he was angry about something he could react to, and that was more than he could say about his usual concerns.
Arriving in front of the Headmaster’s Gargoyle, he put his hand on its head and, drawing energy from the castle around him, forced his way through the enchantments that formed the guardian until he found the switch that opened the door, and threw it open with an effort of will. He knew he had just made the ugly stone statue an enemy for life, but couldn’t bring himself to care; he just wanted to get to the Headmaster.
He took the stairs two at a time, not bothering to be quiet. The door wasn’t locked, and after a second’s hesitation and a reminder to himself that this was not a normal visit, he opened it without knocking, barging in. The headmaster was standing near the window, eyes turned towards the door — he had obviously heard him on the stairs. Fawkes was snoozing on his perch, but seemed to feel the wave of emotions entering the room, because he blinked sleepily, and sang a few warbled notes, obviously trying to relieve the tension. For once, Harry resisted the comfort of Phoenix Song, and chose instead to glare at the Headmaster.
The older wizard seemed to deflate slightly, and motioned towards the desk, as if asking if they should bother sitting down. Harry didn’t move, warily watching the man who had had such a profound impact in his life. The leader of the light, the Defeater of Grindelwald. The man had so many titles, so much responsibility, and yet he obviously had lost sight of the trees in the middle of the forest. Harry was so heartily sick of feeling like a chess piece.
People had been lying to him since before he could stand up, all in the interest of his safety, but no one had bothered to see if survival where he was placed was even worth it. There had been quite a few times, with the Dursleys, he had wondered if death or abandonment wasn’t a better alternative. He had realised very early that in that household, nothing he did would ever be worthwhile. If he hadn’t been witness to a few acts of kindness — from teachers, mostly, sometimes from complete strangers — he wondered just what his perception of the world would be. If maybe he’d think that the Dursleys’ behaviour was normal and acceptable.
And then he had discovered a new world, and the truth about his parents. He stifled a bitter laugh at that. What he had thought was the truth, but was actually nothing more than little dribbles of information to keep him interested. But he’d discovered proof of what before he had only felt vaguely. That he had been loved, once, and that his being left to the Dursleys made no sense. And all of it came back to the man in front of him. Harry knew Dumbledore was not a bad person, and that he had mostly worked towards the greater good. He just wanted the Headmaster to stop treating him like one of his hidden weapons.
In front of him, the twinkle disappeared from the old man’s eyes as he perceived the emotions rolling off his student, and he asked tiredly, “What has happened now, Harry?”
Harry took a deep breath, and made a conscious effort not to snap, as he said, “Did you know I read my parents’ Will, Professor?” He lifted his eyes, and met the Headmaster’s gaze. “What I want to know, Professor, is if you ever bothered doing that. I want to know if you wilfully disregarded their wishes, or if you simply believed your opinion was so much more important than theirs, your understanding so infallible you didn’t bother checking what they wished done with me.” He took a step further into the room, once more trying to control his temper, feeling his magic churn, but being careful to let it flow through him and into the castle where it had as little effect as a pebble falling into a pond.
The Headmaster’s eyes turned sad, and he moved towards his desk, sitting down heavily. “Is that what you want to talk about, Harry?” he asked softly.
“No,” Harry snapped back angrily. “That was just something I am curious about. What I want, Professor, is my father’s ring.” His eyes flashed and for a second he lost control of the magic coursing through him, but he let out a breath and with an effort of will let the power flow through him.
“What makes you think I have it?” the Headmaster asked quietly, his expression a veiled mask of calm.
“Please,” Harry answered with a contemptuous glare, “it might have taken me a while to discover all this, but don’t insult my intelligence by playing dumb. You had the Cloak; it’s obvious you have the signet ring as well. Did you think handing me a trinket, an amusing toy would excuse you from hiding my inheritance from me, Professor?”
The older man sighed, and leaned back in his chair, and his age was suddenly very apparent. “I wished for you to have as normal a childhood as possible, Harry. I feared you had too much responsibility already, and did not wish to overwhelm you.”
Harry took a long moment to consider these words, finally whispering quietly, “I wonder if you really believe that, Headmaster. It sounds to me like an awfully weak excuse, and frankly, quite beneath you. I’d respect you more if you simply admitted what you’ve done.” In front of him, the Headmaster seemed to flinch at the accusation, but he didn’t speak. “Maybe I could excuse you for dumping me with my relatives, even though I doubt you could be really so very ignorant of what went on there. In the rush of the moment, with Death Eaters on the loose, Sirius getting arrested, there are acceptable excuses. But knowing what I do now, I can’t excuse you for sending me back, once I returned to the wizarding world, and I made it clear I didn’t want to go back, and for very good reasons. I know you’ve been using Legilimency on me since I arrived at this school. You knew what my life was like.” He grabbed the back of one of the chairs in front of the desk, his knuckles white with strain, his eyes flashing. “You deprived me of my heritage, Professor! And not in exchange for a loving family or some such. Not even for survival, really — Voldemort was gone, I’m sure something could have been arranged.” Harry stopped talking, realizing he was babbling. But when he had read the list of names that followed Sirius’ in his parents’ Will as potential guardians - a list, because they had known there was a war going on, and no one’s survival was assured - he had nearly snapped.
Taking a deep breath, he came back to the matter at hand. “Just because I didn’t grow up in the Wizarding World doesn’t mean I can’t understand its symbols. I know what it means that I have never been seen in public wearing my family’s ring.” Harry glanced pointedly at his Professors’ hand, and added, “I see that you do too. And for that I can’t excuse you. You had no right. So where is it, Professor?”
The Headmaster seemed to gather himself at that, and looking at his angry student, seemed to realize there was nothing to be said. He stood up and walked to the shelves behind his desk, reaching for a small jewellery box he then handed to Harry.
“For what it is worth, Harry, I was trying to make sure you survived. I wanted you to have as normal a childhood as possibly, since I knew it couldn’t last long,” he said in a soft voice, watching him open the box and look at the family heirloom.
“And you did a bang-up job, didn’t you?” Harry mumbled, his eyes fixed in the signet ring resting in the soft velvet. Looking at it he realized it wasn’t actually a signet ring, as he had been told: while he could see his family seal carved in the back through the stone, the face of the ring was actually a ruby, in a simple, elegant setting. Now that it was in his hands, he was almost afraid to touch it. He could feel the magic in the ring, and it felt incomplete, as if it was dormant, but Harry knew that would change the moment he put it on his finger. Deciding it was time to get on with it, especially after he had raised such hell in order to get his hands on the bloody thing, he pulled the ring out and slipped it on.
The first thing he felt was the gentle warmth of the magic activating, checking his identity and adjusting the size of the ring to his finger. Then came the sudden rush of information, magical sensations and connections he had been blind to before. He was suddenly acutely aware of the castle around him, of the slow, heavy magic permeating the structure. He could feel the wards surrounding the property, and instinctively knew its strengths and weaknesses accumulated over the centuries, knowing he could separate each layer, and tell who had put it up. It took him a long moment to gather himself out of the rush of sensations and information tumbling painfully inside his brain, but after a moment and a conscious effort of will, the waterfall started to dwindle. After some time, he managed to relegate the new awareness to the back of his mind, where it became more of a possible recourse, there if he needed, but not occupying all of his thoughts and perceptions.
He opened his eyes slowly, wondering how long that had taken, and suddenly realized he had a splinting headache, but that didn’t stop his brain from making connections. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be able to feel the wards. That was usually something reserved for the Headmaster. Abruptly a number of his questions were answered, but more cropped up, his thoughts running a mile a minute. Frowning slightly, he whispered, “So it is true, Eleanor Gryffindor married Alaric Potter. And only a true Gryffindor…” He let out a startled laugh, his eyes moving towards the gleaming sword still on display in one of the shelves. “You knew all along.” Shaking his head, he closed his eyes for a second, feeling overwhelmed by events. “And now I know how The Marauders found all those secret passages.” He narrowed his eyes, and glanced once more at the Headmaster, rubbing his temples.
“Is this why you never told me? But why? My father was here for seven years and you obviously didn’t have a problem with that.”
The headmaster sighed, resting his head on one hand as he sat behind his desk. “Maybe I was wrong, Harry-”
Harry interrupted brusquely, “You were wrong, Professor. There is no excuse for what you did.”
“Maybe, Harry. But will you at least promise not to interfere with the wards? There is a delicate balance-”
“Professor, I’m not a complete moron,” Harry interrupted again, feeling some of his earlier aggravation returning. “There’s no earthly reason I’d touch them, especially since I know next to nothing about ward construction.” He didn’t want to continue this conversation. He was still reeling from this latest piece of family history, his anger at the Headmaster had not abated, and the light from the window was only worsening the headache he had developed from the information overload his brain had received.
He lifted his eyes, and then moved towards the Sword of Gryffindor, “I do believe this is mine, Professor,” he said. And shook his head once more. “Talk about a missed opportunity to tell me about my heritage, huh, Professor?” he added, with dark humour. “But no… You chose to have a little fun at my expense, and drop cryptic remarks as usual.” He sighed, holding the sword in his hand. It fit much better than it had when he was twelve, the weight no longer uncomfortable, and the hilt snug in his palm. “It’s disappointing but not a surprise.”
Harry sighed, examining the blade, then waved his wand and cast a shrinking charm on it, so that it fit in his pocket. “I’ll be taking this. I think I know where its scabbard is, and I do so wonder what will happen when I join the two.”
“Harry,” Dumbledore exclaimed, standing up, but once more Harry cut him off.
“Enough, Professor. It’s not yours. If you have a problem with this, take it up with the Wizengamot, but you should keep in mind that I won’t simply sit back and let it happen. I have a very good barrister whose specialty is Council Law. Things you would prefer to be kept hidden just might suddenly come to light, and now is not the time for any of us to be spending political capital on internal battles.” His eyes went cold, and he continued, “Unless you plan on taking it from me now, maybe sealing up the room until I bow to your will? I wonder if Hogwarts will let you do that now that it knows I’m here?”
“Of course not, Harry. You are free to go. I only hope we might someday move past this,” the Headmaster said softly.
“Maybe, Professor. But I feel it’s always one step forward, three steps back with you, sir.” And with a small nod, he turned around and left, not absolutely certain what he felt about the whole thing, not even sure he had actually won the argument, but glad that he had, finally, found that missing link to his family.
Elektra was waiting for her wayward student in front of the Room of Requirement, wondering how much longer she should wait, when he appeared on the seventh floor corridor, rubbing his temples, and with bleary eyes.
“Hey, Harry,” she greeted him. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Harry mumbled, “I have a headache.”
“This early in the morning?” she asked, eyebrows rising.
“Yes, well, the Headmaster can have that effect on people,” Harry snapped. “Are we going in?”
Elektra frowned, not used to such behaviour from her usually good-natured student. “I think we’ll stay a minute longer, Harry, and you can tell me what’s wrong with you,” she replied, frowning at the young man in front of her in fond annoyance.
“It’s nothing, really, I just had a long overdue conversation with the Headmaster about my family, and now I have a very bad headache.”
As he said that, she finally noticed the ring on his finger, and her eyes widened slightly. No wonder the boy had a headache; family rings were notoriously magical artefacts. “I see you finally found your family ring. It’s good to see it on someone’s finger again.”
“Yes,” Harry mumbled. “It’s very nice, except for the pounding in my head, so can we please go in, at least so I can sit down. Then I’ll answer all the questions you may have.”
“Of course. Come in. It’s unfortunate you found out as you did, Harry. I told the headmaster he was making a mistake.”
“You knew where my ring was?” Harry asked incredulously, rounding on her. “You never said anything!”
“I would have had you ever brought up the subject, Harry. And I would have told you shortly either way, I was simply waiting… I don’t know what I was waiting for, honestly. Probably for the Headmaster to do the right thing, since I felt it wasn’t my place, and I’d already threatened to tell you myself, so…” She paused. “Well, I thought he would, since you’ve gone to the Vault, and it was only a matter of time before you started asking questions and finding things out.”
Harry frowned, obviously unhappy with her answer, but chose not to respond, instead requesting a lounger from the Room and laying down. At the same time, the lights dimmed to a diffuse glow, enough to see by but obviously more comfortable for Harry, who finally opened his eyes completely.
She took a chair opposite his, and said softly, “I was going to tell you, Harry. One of the first arguments I had with the Headmaster was precisely about this, and I sincerely hoped he would come around. I thought he had a right to explain why he did what he did, and maybe start fixing things. I didn’t want to take his place.”
Harry snorted, obviously thinking back on his conversation with Dumbledore. “Yes, he explained all right. As with all the other abysmally stupid decisions he made in regards to my life, it was apparently done for my own good.” He groaned, and Elektra wondered if it was more angry or disappointed. “I would really like it if people stopped using that as an excuse to hide things, or make choices for me. When I was a toddler I could understand it, but I’m not one anymore, and I’d really appreciate being treated as someone with a functioning brain. I’m not even shooting for adult anymore, you know? Just a reasonably sensible person would do.”
Elektra laughed at that, the tinkling sound reverberating through the small room they had requested, and she asked, “I take it things didn’t go well then?”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose, when I’m dealing with the Headmaster. But this time even he had to admit he had gone too far. You don’t see him walking around without his family ring, do you?”
“And do you have any plans, now that you have that ring?” she asked more seriously.
“Well, for starters I want to be present during the next session of the Wizengamot, and I’m planning on taking Neville along. I needed the ring to have access to my seat and to cast a vote, but that is no longer an issue. I want to be there when that whole Will thing gets resolved, and I’ll try to get Sirius’ name cleared as well.” He closed his eyes tightly, and Elektra knew he had to be battling some strong emotions, if the surge of energy in the room was any indication. But he got control of himself quickly enough, and she couldn’t help the surge of pride that accompanied the feeling. They had spent hours and hours together, working on his magic, but the results were undeniable. Her charge didn’t even seem to notice what he had done, even if a couple of weeks before he might have lost control, or required her help to let go of the magic: he just continued presenting his plans. “Merlin knows it’s too little, too late, but I had no idea before I could make a difference, that I had a place of recourse. One more thing I can blame on Dumbledore’s little games.” Harry snorted, but it was an anguished sound, and she felt her heart clench at the sound. She had known Sirius as a passing acquaintance, and she respected him if only for the impact he left on those that loved him. James had thought of him as a brother, and it was clear Harry had relied on him. “If I’d known, I’d have done something earlier, and maybe Sirius would have been fine, and maybe I would have had a home by now.”
“That’s a lot of maybes, Harry,” Elektra said softly. “I think it’s best to move forward, don’t you? There will be more time to grieve once this war is over…”
The boy sighed softly, but nodded. “I know. Well, I think I’ll have to clear Sirius’ name somehow to be able to validate his Will. I’ve had my attorney working on things, and we have a few ideas on how to go about doing that. And he says once it’s done, the rest will simply fall in place. After all, in Council Law emancipation can be granted for an Heir as young as twelve, if he is the last of his line. It is considered better to have someone young as the Head of a Family than an empty seat. Since my guardian actually spelled it out in his Will, there is absolutely no grounds for dismissal, and I have ample proof that I am the last Potter, and that I have the right to follow Council Law.”
“Indeed, no one can deny that the Potters are one of the Noble Houses, and you have already manifested your talent, that alone should count for something.” She paused to consider everything he had said, and suddenly asked, “Are you also the Black Heir?” He nodded. “You should put on the other ring then. They will merge, since the Houses are now united under one head.”
Harry frowned slightly, then said, “But I’m trying to get someone else to take over the Black House.”
Elektra shook her head lightly, once more cursing Dumbledore for the complete lack of education he had provided for the Heir of one of the most important wizarding families still in existence. “That doesn’t matter, Harry. They don’t actually become one ring, if the Heir changes, the ring will know, and they will separate again. For example, if you have more than one child and you want each one to take over a house, the rings will split up. Those things are actually common knowledge,” she sighed, “so common, I wonder if people actually bothered to write any of it down…”
“Yeah, there’s a lot of that in the books I’m reading — they talk of things that should be evident for someone who was brought up in the family, so most don’t bother to spell the basics out. Neville is helping me get up to speed.”
“That’s good. When will the Winzengamot be meeting, Harry? You’ll have to know how to act, and how to dress… Have you thought about those things?”
Harry sat up slowly, but nodded slightly, resting his head on his hands. “As I said, Neville is helping me, and John, that’s my attorney, has promised to meet with me beforehand to go over the details. By the way, the next gathering should take place during the winter holidays. Not as soon as I’d hoped, but at least it gives us time to prepare. There’s so much to do…”
“You mean, more than what you told me?”
He raised his eyes, and the mischievous light in them made her smile. “You have no idea! And the old coots won’t know what hit them, you’ll see. I can’t even say I’ll be modernizing the institution, it’s more like putting it back the way it was always supposed to be.”
Elektra smiled slightly, and rolled her eyes. “I really don’t want to know, Harry.” She stood up then, and said, “I see you are in no shape to train today. I thought we might start the next phase, but I think we should wait till tomorrow.”
He jumped up at that announcement, his eyes bright with curiosity and eagerness. “Really? You think I can start gathering outside magic? Does that mean I’ve finally stabilised my conduits?”
She laughed at Harry’s newfound enthusiasm, and changed the room to their usual training ground. “Sit down, let’s check you out, and then we’ll see.”
Harry reread the last paragraph of the latest letter he had received, and felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. It was nice to know at least a small part of his plans were working as they should. He was slowly coming to the conclusion that Goblin politics were better left alone, and trying to reason with the Headmaster about the Ministry was the equivalent of slamming his head against a brick wall. But with John and the Wizengamot, he could be present, and he could actually make a difference. He wasn’t about to abandon Ragnok, and he was determined to make sure the Goblin Nation remained their ally, but there was a very strong opposition in the goblin government, and the majority necessary to make any sort of decision in the Council forced everything to move slowly. Harry thought, with an internal snort, that he was starting to see the uses of a dictatorship, or at least some sort of emergency state that allowed decisions to actually be made and enforced.
He needed to find Neville, and make sure he was still on board with everything. His dorm-mate had become his unofficial tutor on everything family related. Harry thought ruefully that Neville’s quiet, hesitant attitude hid probably one of the most capable Heirs hiding in the school. He doubted even Malfoy had had quite as complete an education. Neville knew everyone at the Wizengamot, and was capable of enumerating character, likes, dislikes, pet-peeves, dirty secrets and past indiscretions of all the movers and shakers of that hallowed institution. Add to that the fact that he held the procuration for his father’s vote, and he had suddenly become an integral part of all of Harry’s plans.
He found the other boy in their common room, reviewing plans for the next D.A. meeting with Ginny. Harry threw a strong privacy charm and a proximity alarm around their table, before joining them. He sat down in the chair next to Ginny’s, and gave her a quick kiss in welcome, savouring the way her breath caught and she pressed a little closer to him.
“Gin, Nev, how are things going?” he asked, checking their progress.
“We’re about done with next weeks’ meeting, Harry,” Ginny answered, passing him a piece of parchment listing their plans and exercises.
“This seems good, I’ll run it past Professor Tedakis tomorrow, and we should be good to go.” He rolled the parchment, and stuck it in his school bag, before turning back to his friends. “This isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about. Nev. Are you done with your homework for today? I must go over our plans for the Wizengamot with you — I need to write to John, and be sure everything is in place for our meeting next weekend. You’ll be there, right? Lunch at the Three Broomsticks? I’ll make sure we have a private room to chat.” He handed his notes and the letter to the other boy, and waited for him to read everything over.
Nodding, Neville handed them back, smiling slightly, “Those seem fine, Harry. And I’ll be sure to be there for the meeting to smooth over any last minute details. I think we just might be able to pull it off.” His smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “With any luck, this will make our duties easier to bear.”
Harry sighed, his expression darkening. “There’s so much, Nev… I wonder how you’ve been doing it this long.”
Neville’s face stilled, his eyes remote, but his voice was calm and serious as he said, “It isn’t a burden, Harry. People say a lot of crap about duty, as if it’s inherently bad, or disagreeable. As if any sort of moral obligation is necessarily unpleasant. But this — this gives us purpose. It gives our lives meaning.” He shook his head, meeting Harry’s eyes with a solemn gaze. “There is a lot, but you mustn’t think of it as an imposition. You’ll make yourself miserable. It is an honour, and a duty, but it can also be gratifying beyond anything you’ve ever known, I’d wager.”
Harry looked at him, slightly taken aback by such a serious answer to his casual comment, but didn’t dismiss the advice. He had learned the hard way that wisdom often came in such unasked for and unforeseen moments.
Ginny interrupted the slightly strained silence. “I agree completely, Nev. Where would we be without duty, right? To ourselves, to our families…” She sighed slightly. “There were times when that was all that kept me going — the knowledge that there were people who needed me, and who relied on me to be there for them.”
Harry squeezed her hand slightly, understanding implicitly that she was talking about those dark years after the Diary debacle, and felt a stirring of guilt for his own blindness and thoughtlessness. She had been there when it had been his time to despair.
But Neville had turned his eyes to her as she spoke, and they didn’t notice the pained look that crossed his face, even as he listened to them talking.
“Yes,” Neville said earnestly, “exactly! No matter what horrible thing might happen in my life, how completely fed up with my life I get, I know there are more important things out there, people depending on me. I don’t know where I’d be without responsibility, you know?” He gave a short, bittersweet laugh. “Maybe it’s because it’s been drummed into me since I was a baby, so I don’t have much perspective on it, but it’s become as much a part of me as anything else.”
Ginny smiled mischievously, and said, “Not going to turn lord of the manor on us, are you Nev?”
He grinned back in reply, and answered, “I’ll save that for when you come visit me at Ashwood.” He turned serious again, and turned to Harry, seeming more tentative now, since his friend was still silent. “I hope you don’t take what I said the wrong way, Harry. I know how much you have on your plate right now, but I learned long ago that it’s better not to resent our responsibilities, or life becomes horrible.”
Harry smiled tiredly, “Don’t worry, Nev. I understand. I think I even agree. I just felt overwhelmed for a second, you know? We’re living these double lives — the respectable Heir, but also the leader of this covert resistance we’re forming — and sometimes I wonder how I can keep it separate.”
“But why should you, Harry? Members of the Council have always been leaders, not just politicians. It’s only during the last few terms that we’ve seen such a complete reversal of its original goals. Some of the people I’ve contacted for you had even stopped attending the sessions because of it, you know? If we manage to turn it back into it’s original form, and then create an united front to fight this war, we won’t have to hide anymore and everything will be much simpler.”
“So what you’re saying is that all of this is temporary and that I should simply suck it up?” Harry asked with a more genuine smile.
Neville grinned back, “Exactly.”
Chapter 28: Unexpected Circumstances
Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay - I didn't want to post until I had at least started the next chapter (you'll understand why at the end), so I waited... Anyway, hope you enjoy!
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Alfred Noyes — The Highwayman
Chapter 25: Unexpected circumstances
As he looked at the old, brightly painted and clearly welcoming building in front of him, Harry tried not to wince. He had nothing but shady, half-formed memories of the last time he had been inside, but it was definitely something he didn’t want to remember, or even think about. It was a pity Madam Puddyfoot’s had no private rooms — he would have been happy never to put his feet inside the Three Broomsticks again.
He let out a breath, trying to steady his nerves, and shoved his hands inside his pockets. No point in making a spectacle of his stress, after all. He took a quick glance at his two companions, and frowned slightly when he saw Ginny watching him worriedly. She knew he hadn’t slept well that night, since she had caught him in the common room studying at tree in the morning and he hadn’t been able to come up with any sort of plausible excuse. It was humiliating enough that he was having trouble with this so many months after the fact, he didn’t want her to worry — she had problems enough of her own to handle, and her reason for being there wasn’t exactly stress-free, either. When she had shown him the letter from her mother, addressed to both herself and Ron, he couldn’t quite believe it came from bubbly, mild-mannered Mrs Weasley. Obviously, family history was a very sore subject. But Ginny didn’t want to give up, and said she would rather face her mother’s wrath than be ignorant of her origins — particularly when said origins could become a huge asset in the war effort. So here she was, ready to take the first steps towards claiming her blood rights.
She took his arm as they crossed the threshold, and he felt an absurd wave of gratitude for the simple warmth of her touch. They made their way into the Tree Broomsticks, Neville following behind. He waved to Madam Rosemetra, and went up the stairs to one of the private rooms on the second floor, focussing on what he was doing, counting the number of steps, making a concentrated effort to ignore his surroundings. He was glad to get to the second floor corridor, and tried to shake off the waves of unease he had felt since coming in.
He’d made sure they would have privacy for this meeting, and soon found the room he had booked. He glanced at Ginny standing beside him, and gave her a small smile. Behind him, Neville was struggling out of his outer robes, and seemed slightly flushed by the exertion. They were the only ones there, having decided that since this meeting would deal only with the next Wizengamot session, there was no point in making a big deal out of it, and forcing people who wouldn’t be present to lose an afternoon of freedom with matters of protocol and strategy. Hermione had protested, since everything was an opportunity for further learning in her mind, but the others had prevailed, and she was even at this moment strolling through the village with Ron and Luna.
He knocked lightly on the door, announcing their presence, and walked in. The man sitting in the small sitting room was every inch the severe and imposing figure he remembered. Still grey eyes, sharp features — he was the sort of person who could command the attention of a room with no effort. John Hellington stood up as they entered the room, and smiled slightly at Harry as he extended his hand.
“Hello John, I hope we haven’t kept you waiting long,” Harry said pleasantly, exchanging handshakes. Then motioning towards his companions continued, “Allow me to make the introductions. This is Ginevra Weasley, and Neville Longbottom. Neville, Ginny, John Hellington. I hope that between the four of us we can manage to prepare for the winter session of the Wizengamot with some hope of success.”
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” John said quietly. “I know both of you by reputation, of course, and through Harry’s correspondence.”
“Reputation?” Neville asked in surprise.
Raising an eyebrow inquisitively, John answered, “Of course, Mister Longbottom. You are the Heir to a powerful family, as I’m sure you are acutely aware. Among the right circles, this is the sort of thing that is well known. There aren’t that many attorneys who have knowledge of Council Law and we are a tight knit group.”
Neville blushed slightly, but seemed to gather his composure quickly, and with a small nod, said quietly, “Of course.”
Harry made his way towards the window, leaning against the sill, but turned towards the others as they took seats around a simple wooden table that dominated the centre of the room.
Ginny leaned back on her chair, and angled an inquiring glance at their barrister. “That does not account for my reputation,” she said archly. “I do so hope you haven’t heard anything too bad.”
Harry hid a small smile at the momentary silence that greeted this statement, before John could gather his composure. “Of course not, Miss Weasley. The Prewett seat is vacant for the time being, but if any of the Weasleys manifest a talent, a claim could be made quite easily - and probably be accepted - regardless of the state of affairs between your parents and grandparents. As I said, people who deal with the Wizengamot tend to keep abreast of such things.”
This was obviously news to Ginny, who had come precisely to ask for more information regarding her family history - particularly the legal aspects surrounding the inheritance and the transmission of the title to the House.
“Is it that simple, then? But we don’t even know what our talent is supposed to be — my mother has refused to speak about it, and I have no idea where the family library is, or even if we could gain access to it,” she asked in a much more serious voice, leaning forward to rest her arms on the table.
“I’m sorry, Miss Weasley, I don’t have such precise information, but I could look into it, if you give me leave. I would need your power of attorney to have access to Family records, but once I have those, it should be fairly simple to find the information you are after.” With a quick glance at Harry and Neville, he added, “One more vote in the Council wouldn’t hurt us, either.”
“Well, I’m the youngest, so it probably won’t be my vote, but I agree, one more vote would be useful,” Ginny said. She drummed her fingers on the table, and exchanged a sideways glance with Harry. He knew this was something she wasn’t absolutely comfortable doing — openly defying her mother’s wishes was a difficult thing to do, and even Ron’s curiosity had curbed when faced with her displeasure. But Ginny wasn’t so easily cowed, and with a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and asked, “What do I need to do?”
John produced a suitcase from under the table, and opened it to reveal neatly stacked piles of parchment. He extracted a form and slid in towards Ginny, along with a self-inking quill. “Just sign the form, Miss Weasley, and I can start working on that for you. I should have some answers fairly quickly — Wills and such are usually public records, and you certainly have the right to access the family records, since you are a concerned party. Afterwards we’ll see if you have the right to claim a part of the inheritance, and just who is the Heir Presumptive.”
Ginny nodded slightly, taking care to read the whole parchment before signing at the bottom. She was well aware of the seriousness of contracts in the magical words, and that a willing signature could bring unpleasant consequences.
John took back the form, and put it back inside his case, where it disappeared into one of the compartments.
With a slight smirk and a glance towards Harry that the latter didn’t appreciate, John said, in a deceptively mild voice “Maybe we could go over wardrobe and protocol so we can get it over with?”
Harry glared at Neville as the other boy started sniggering, and moved towards the table, leaning his forearms against the back of a chair.
Rolling his eyes, he asked caustically, “Could someone tell me just what the problem is?”
At this, Neville couldn’t hold back his amusement and exploded into peals of laughter, so much so that there were tears streaming down his face.
John, obviously used to controlling his reactions in worst situations, had suspiciously bright eyes. He took out a package from his suitcase, but didn’t open it, choosing instead to explain matters a little before delivering the blow.
“So, Harry,” he said, “I explained that the Wizengamot, particularly when in full session, is a very hierarchical institution — “
“What he means, Harry,” Neville interrupted, between fits of giggles, “is that they are a bunch of old coots frozen in time, and that protocol hasn’t changed since the Middle Ages. That means that the clothing requirements haven’t either.”
At this, Ginny started laughing as well, and Harry blanched slightly, eyes opening wide. “What?”
“Oh, don’t worry Harry, it’s not as if you have to wear tights of anything!” Neville exclaimed.
John unfolded the package in front of him, and Harry stared transfixed at the object that made its appearance, before frowning in distaste. “I am not wearing that!”
“Oh, come on, Harry, it will match your eyes!” Ginny got out.
“I am sorry to say it is required, Mister Potter. There are certain matters where the Wizengamot doesn’t compromise, and wardrobe is one of them,” John said, more seriously. “I promise I chose the least objectionable one from among your family’s collection.”
“I find it rather beautiful, Harry,” Ginny said, not hiding her smile, even if she had managed to control her laughter.
Harry shot her a glare, and took the item to examine it more closely. It was a thin, delicate coronet, no wider than one of his fingers, made of silver with a beautiful, flowing filigree running around it. There were tiny emeralds and rubies details spaced around it, and Harry realised with a start that the whole thing matched his family ring. The reality of his position hit him all at once, and he moved once more to the window, his fingers caressing the jewel in his hands almost absently. It was all becoming so real — up to that moment, all his plans, his responsibilities, had been more an intellectual problem than reality. But holding a piece of family history in his hands, preparing to make his presence and his intentions known to the world, the tangible aspects of it all pressed down on him. He looked out, watching the usual bustle of Hogsmeade on a Hogwarts weekend, students running wild, shops flurrying with activity and felt disconnected from that simple, mundane world, as if his life had taken a turn somewhere, or somewhen, he thought whimsically, and he had left it behind. Giving himself an internal shake, he realised now was not the time to indulge in so much contemplation.
Returning to the table, he asked quietly, “Anything else I need to know?”
John pushed the rest of the packet to him, saying, “Formal dress robes in your colours. Also a requirement, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t worry, Harry, you won’t be the only one in the ridiculous to-do,” Neville said encouragingly.
With a mischievous smile, Ginny added, “And misery loved company.”
Harry put the coronet back inside de folds of the rich dark crimson fabric, and put the whole package away, before taking a seat at the table, and turning his mind back to business. “Okay then, lets go over our strategy then.”
John took over at this point. “We have a tentative majority in the Council right now, with four sure votes. It gives us an edge since there are vacancies among the thirteen seats and Heirs we know won’t be present, but it is not a true majority.”
At this, Neville interfered. “We might have five, I’ve been corresponding with the Abbotsford Heir, trying to convince him to go to this meeting, or at least send someone with his proxy. Considering what I know about him, I’m nearly certain he would vote with us.”
John had taken out quill and parchment as the conversation became more serious and said, “We have the Longbottom seat, the Potter seat and the Black seat in this room. We know Thornthon will vote with us, and maybe Abbotsford. Dumbledore has one, and McGonagall always follows his lead — “
“McGonagall?” Harry asked abruptly. “Our professor?”
“Oh, no,” John answered absently, “An uncle. She’s from a cadet branch of the family.”
“That’s a relief,” Ginny whispered, and Harry flashed her a quick smile of unrestrained amusement. He could hardly deny her point — it would be much more difficult to do what they had to if they were faced with someone to whom deference was such an ingrained response.
“Malfoy will be voting against us, obviously,” John continued.
“Will Lucius be there, do you think?” Neville asked.
“Probably his son. Lucius has escaped Azkaban on account of his lineage, but he’s not in the Ministry’s good graces. He might not want to risk arrest.”
“Then he might not vote against us in the important things,” Harry said quietly. “I’ll have a talk with Draco. He really isn’t his father, and many of the things we are trying to do can be justified as forwarding his Family’s power.”
“I agree with Harry on this — returning the High Council to its rightful place is something Malfoy would probably perceive as a good thing — and since this will be a surprise vote, his father won’t have given him clear instructions. It will have to be Draco’s vote,” Neville added.
There was a thoughtful frown on John’s face, and he answered carefully, “You obviously know the boy better than me, but we would be foolish to take it for granted.”
“Of course.”
“Lestrange will not be present, for obvious reasons.” Harry gave a quiet snort at that - the whole family was completely insane. “The Gaunt seat has been empty for generations, and I can’t imagine the actual Heir showing his face.”
Neville shuddered at the thought, and said earnestly, “I should hope not!”
“Yaxley votes with Malfoy,”
“Horrible little man,” whispered Neville.
“And that leaves us with Arbuthnot, who does as she pleases, when she is even there.”
Neville gave a small nod that indicated he was in complete agreement with the summary of the council, and then asked. “So, what will be our strategy?”
“I think our first and most important object will be to validate Sirius Black’s will, and therefore give you, Harry, your votes, your emancipation and your inheritance. Your parents left you more than money. There is a family Seat that has been empty for more than a decade. I believe it’s high time a Potter lived there again,” John said, a fierce light appearing in his light grey eyes.
Harry straitened in his chair at this pronouncement, realizing the truth of it. He wasn’t just any orphan, homeless and penniless. His parents had looked out for him, and tried to make sure he had a comfortable life. It was so absurdly ironic that everything had gone so badly wrong.
“My concern is that since this is a full session of the Wizengatmot, the Ministry might ask for a full vote,” said Neville seriously, the quiet authority that appeared in his voice when he was talking about a subject he grasped perfectly apparent in his voice.
“I agree, Mr. Longbottom —“
“Neville,” the other boy interrupted.
John nodded gracefully. “Neville. A full vote could throw us. Between the heads of all the Lesser Houses and the Heads of Department, there are too many votes we cannot control.”
Harry interjected at this point, “Let me see if I grasp this correctly — the only solid position to try to invalidate Sirius’ will is the fact that he was considered a criminal when he died, and therefore all that was his would devolve to the ministry if the Goblins weren’t so serious about their reputation, am I right?”
“As far as I know,” said John. “He was the rightful Heir, and your legal guardian. Both those things remain true.”
“So we argue that he was not a criminal. And we challenge the Ministry to show us the results of his trial,” Harry said with a careless shrug. “He was an Heir, he had the right under Council Law to be tried by his peers — that is the whole assembled Council, not just a three judge panel from the Wizengamot. He didn’t even have that. Therefore, under the law, he was not a criminal and no one can say otherwise.” He leaned forward, and continued earnestly. “I’m actually awfully curious about just how that happened, it suggests Ministry corruption at the highest levels, and an awful amount of power over the Council they really shouldn’t have. But anyway, the fact is, without a trial, Sirius is not legally a criminal.”
“That’s a technicality, Harry. It might have worked if it was only a strict Council meeting, but with the full Wizengamot- “ Neville paused, thinking. “There are too many votes from people who know nothing of Council Law, and the public perception is that Sirius was the worst kind of Death Eater. People on our side who don’t know the truth won’t want to follow the wishes of such a man, and those against us who do know the truth might vote against us simply out of spite. It’s not a favourable position all around.”
“If this whole thing will play on emotion,” Ginny stepped into the discussion, “then we need to tell them the true story, and find a way to make them believe us. I’d suggest giving Harry veritasserum if I wasn’t so afraid of people abusing it.”
Harry was already shaking his head, “Wouldn’t work, I can resist it.”
A predatory gleam appeared in John’s eyes. “You’re immune? To the three drops dose?”
Harry nodded, “Anymore and it’s toxic.”
“That is such a rare feat that no one would suspect, maybe we could do that…”
“Well,” Harry drawled sarcastically, “the Death Eaters in the room would know, but I suppose they wouldn’t want to explain why they know.”
Ginny rolled her eyes at him, and Neville strangled a bark of laughter. John continued to frown thoughtfully, but finally shook his head. “You’d have to be a tremendous actor to pull it off, so we really should only try if all other avenues are exhausted.”
Neville had been frowning thoughtfully, and proposed quietly, “I think we need two plans. The first, following the law, that will give Harry his votes and his inheritance. The second a trial that proves Sirius’ innocence.”
“One sort of depends on the other, Neville,” John answered.
“Not necessarily. The question of validation of an Heir is strictly a Council matter. If we can force the Wizengamot to resolve it that way, we are almost sure of success. The evidence of Sirius’ innocence won’t need to be paraded to the whole Wizengamot, and everything should be resolved quickly and lawfully. It is only if they manage to make it a general concern that we might be in trouble.”
“Just what happens if none of this works?” Ginny asked in concern.
“We have to wait till I’m 17 before I can get control of my inheritance. The Black seat will stay empty because under no circumstance will I allow anything to be done to it before I can have a say in the matter. That means that there will be two more empty seats in the Council and Nev here won’t have any sort of majority.” A dark shadow crossed his eyes. “I’m not sure what it means for me personally, since I won’t be considered an adult any longer…”
“Lets hope it doesn’t come to that,” John said forcefully. “I think Longbottoms’ suggestion has merit. We must not start by asking for validation of the will, but for validation of the seats. In that context, the Will will be questioned, but with no legal foundation to make it a general concern.”
Neville nodded, seeming slightly surprised that his suggestion had received so much support. “However, we still don’t have a solid plan B. The Council’s power has been declining these last few decades, we can’t rule out the Minister managing to have its way, especially if Professor Dumbledore is backing him. So we need to have an idea about how to deal with the issue of Sirius’ innocence.”
Ginny frowned thoughtfully, and said, “The problem is that we have no solid proof.”
Harry got up then, and moved to the window. He didn’t have an answer to the problem, and this whole discussion was bringing back horribly painful memories. Every time he heard the story, and thought about what had been done to Sirius after his parents were murdered, he felt like screaming at the sky and cursing the whole Ministry. It seemed that incompetence and small-mindedness was a prerequisite for any bureaucrat in the magical world.
That blazing, barely contained anger he felt for the Headmaster seemed to flare at the mere thought of what he had allowed to happen. For all his talk about justice and greater good, he had done very little real good to the world, in Harry own meagre opinion. Hogwarts is a mess, the wizarding world is a never ending well of prejudice and petty cruelty, and the ministry doesn’t even bear thinking about. All in all, the Headmaster, in his self-proclaimed capacity of leader of the light, had allowed much evil to go unpunished, had allowed actual criminal behaviour to go unstopped, for very little result in the opposite direction.
Suddenly coming to a decision, he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and marched back to the table. “It’s very simple, people. If they want to fight, we fight. If the ministry raises the least objection — and I do mean the least — “ he said fiercely, “we put them on trial. There is a reason we allow Azkaban to exist, and that is because wizarding justice is supposed to be infallible.” His eyes flashed angrily. “Well, it’s not, and it’s high time people became aware of that fact, don’t you think? I believe that Rufus Scrimgeour was in charge of Magical Law Enforcement at the time Sirius was arrested. I propose that we start with him, treat him like a hostile witness, and ask for veritaserum all around. The truth is bound to appear!”
Neville raised an amused eyebrow, and said, “Well, Harry, I see you are not one for Slytherin deviousness. You go strait for the jugular.”
“I believe that there is a time for everything, Neville, and now is not the time for subtlety.”
John frowned, not seeming convinced. “We might be able to prove that the Ministry acted unlawfully — I believe that will be very easy, all things considered. But I’m not sure it will be the same as proving innocence.”
“Then we call Remus, Ron, Hermione, even Snape — they all saw Pettigrew confess to all of Sirius’ crimes. Not only the switch in secret keepers, but also the explosion that killed all the muggles.” Harry smiled, a slow, dangerous thing that showed just how eager he was for the fight. “And I will be testifying, too, if it comes to that. I assure you, no one, will believe Sirius is guilty when I am done.”
They made their way down the stairs after the meeting together. John had decided to apparate directly to his office to start filling paperwork on his new assignments, and the three teenagers determined it was time they started enjoying their free weekend in Hogsmead. They had a few hours left of daylight before they had to return to the castle for the Halloween feast.
As they made their way towards the doors, Harry stopped abruptly as they were crossing the main room, his eyes roaming the bar, a thoughtful frown in his brow.
“What is it, Harry?” Ginny asked softly.
“Go on ahead, Gin. I’ll meet you outside. There’s something I must do,” he answered softly, turning towards her.
She had noticed him tense as they came downstairs, and could see he was keeping a tight hold on his emotions, but there was also that crazy determined look in his eyes that meant he would finish whatever he had decided to do, no matter who stood in his way.
She bit her lip, an unconscious gesture of unease, but nodded slightly.
She noticed the moment he became aware of her worry. He turned towards her more fully, and brought one hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her lips until she let go.
He gave her a small smile, and said softly, “It’s nothing bad, Gin, I just want to thank Madam Rosemetra…” He paused, his earlier tension coming back, the light in his eyes dimming ever so slightly as he remembered something painful.
Her eyes opened wide in sudden comprehension. He wanted to thank the person who had made sure he was able to get to safety in those final moments after his escape, when he had felt as if he couldn’t possibly go one step further, but had to anyway.
“Of course, Harry. Do you want me to come with you?” she asked softly, grabbing his free hand and stepping just a little closer, in an unconscious desire to bring him some comfort.
“No, I have to do this… Go on, I’ll only be a minute.”
She nodded, with more confidence this time, and made her way to the door Neville was holding open for her. She smiled in thanks, and they stepped outside, waiting.
“Is everything all right?” Neville asked worriedly when Harry failed to follow them.
She smiled reassuringly, warmed by his concern, and said, “Yes, Harry just needed a few words with Madam Rosemetra. He’ll be outside in a minute.”
“He seems a little scattered today, is all,” Neville mumbled.
“It’s Halloween, “ Ginny stated sombrely. “He hates Halloween.”
Neville snorted, and said emphatically, “With good reason.”
Ginny grinned at his tone and nodded, keeping a concerned eye on the door. She hoped fervently that this day would prove the exception to the rule, and end with them having a pleasant dinner at Hogwarts after an afternoon window-shopping in the village. She could use the break.
Harry came out as they were talking, putting on his light overcoat and giving her a small smile, communicating that everything had gone fine. Obviously, Madam Rosemetra had been gracious, he seemed much more relaxed than even a few moments ago.
They walked down Main Street leisurely until Neville spied Luna through a shop window and ditched his two companions. Left by themselves Ginny felt Harry’s gaze on her, and that comfortable warmth that seemed to fill her whole being when they were together. She stepped closer to him, and he seemed to understand her sudden need for comfort, because he dropped one of his arms around her shoulder, and held her close.
“Could we go to the Shack, Gin?” Harry asked her tentatively, “I wanted to see it again, and it’s a good place to talk.”
“Yes, sure,” she answered, grateful he seemed to be as little in the mood for a crowd as she.
The old building was looming in front of them in no time, and once again she noticed Harry’s tension, but also a certain wistful longing she had never seen in him before.
“You know, Gin, this is where I met Sirius for the first time. He was fresh out of Azkaban, half out of his mind with anger and thirst for revenge, but still he thought about me. He offered me a family, he offered me a home… It’s so bloody unfair we never got to have that.”
She gave him a light squeeze, and dragged them both towards the door, checking to make sure they weren’t followed. There was dust and cobwebs covering every surface, and the house was dreadfully cold in the late autumn chill, but she found an old couch in a room with a fireplace. A quick reparo and scourgify later, and they had a place to cuddle. Harry took care of the fireplace, and soon a cheery magical fire was burning bright blue, even if they had no wood.
She grinned at his choice of colour, and sat down, patting the space beside her. Instead of sitting down, as she half expected him to, he grinned mischievously and stretched out with his head on her lap, letting out a contented sigh. She laughed at his unrepentant look, and dropped a hand to play with his hair, happy to lose herself in the warmth and affection of the moment, not thinking about everything that was going on outside their little room.
At length, she felt the need to break the silence, her soft, tentative voice still sounding somehow harsh in the silence, “Do you think I did the right thing?”
Harry turned on his back, looking up at her face, and answered seriously, “I think it was the right thing for you, Ginny. It might not be the right thing for your mom, but I think it was something you needed to do. I might have a biased opinion, but for me, there was no choice to be made — you had to discover where you came from.”
She sighed, the tight knot that had appeared in the pit of her stomach since she had received her mother’s letter not abating in the least.
“I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me, Harry. She ordered us to leave it alone!”
“I wonder why she’s so adamant on the subject. It has to be more than just pain at her brothers’ murder. I know how important family is to your mom, she couldn’t have just abandoned hers.”
“But that’s the thing. She didn’t abandon anyone; they abandoned her. Maybe that is why she clings to us so much — she couldn’t bear to lose us too.” She sighed deeply, thinking about the awkward reunion that would certainly take place during Christmas break, but not quite regretting the steps she had taken to learn her family’s history. “I can’t even imagine, Harry. Growing up with wealth and privilege…”
Harry gave a strangled sort of laugh, and brought a hand up to rub at his eyes. “You and me both, Gin. You and me both.”
There was a long moment of silence, where Harry seemed to loose himself in the brightly dancing flames and the soft movements of her hand on his hair. She knew what those small touches meant to him, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. The more time they spent together, the more Harry seemed to appreciate the importance of a caress, and how a hug could bring comfort and show affection.
“Did you ever imagine anything else when you were growing up, Harry?” she asked softly.
“Constantly. I always had a vivid imagination, and I loved to read. It was one of the things the Dursleys tried to make me dislike. If they found novels or comic books - even creative writing exercises from school where I would fantasise too much - it would mean worlds of trouble for me. But I couldn’t give it up, and pretty soon I learned to hide stuff that made them mad,” he gave her a quick look, and she saw that proud — a less kind person might even call it arrogant — light in his eyes that meant he was sure of what he was doing, and no force on heaven or earth would turn him from his course, and the reason why became apparent as he continued his, “and anyway, they had no right to tell me what to think.” There was a hint of long buried anger in his voice, and she reached down to squeeze his hand, feeling a twinge of regret for having ruined the moment with bad memories, but also glad that Harry wasn’t prevaricating or turning the conversation as he had done in the past when his childhood had come up.
He continued softy, “It’s one of the things that has helped me with magic, you know? So much of it is about being able to visualise objects, results and processes, and having the will to make it happen. Once I realized that, most of what we do in school became so much easier.” He gave a rueful laugh. “It’s really the only useful thing I brought back with me from Privet Drive, a healthy imagination.”
“I can’t pretend to understand what you went through, Harry. The Burrow was always a loving home, and if I didn’t have so many brothers I might have risked becoming a pampered brat. But even if we never wanted for food or affection, we realized pretty soon that money would always be a problem. It’s a bit of a sore spot for us, so I can’t understand how mom could turn away an inheritance if she could have had one.”
“That’s something you’ll have to ask her, I think. Maybe now she’ll start taking you and Ron more seriously, and might be open to an honest conversation on the subject. I think you all deserve some answers.”
Ginny sighed, and let the silence stretch out. Harry was right, in some aspects. They did deserve answers. But his upbringing and everything he had been forced to go through alone had also hardened him, and he was very unyielding with people he felt had disappointed him. None of the headmaster’s nonsense about endless second chances with Harry — he expected people’s best, or nothing at all. There was no middle ground, and his respect, once lost, was difficult to win back — as Ron and Hermione had learned during all those months. And he had a very solid basis of affection with Ron and Hermione that had made him wish for reconciliation and friendship. There was nothing of the kind with most people…
“Why did you want to come here, Harry?” she asked, trying to stop her thoughts running in circles.
He didn’t answer for a long moment, but finally said, “I wanted to see… All that talk about the Wizengamot and Sirius… I guess I wanted to feel closer to him, and to my parents. This was the scene of many of their good moments in school.” He paused for a long moment, just watching the fire crackle in the grate, wiggling his fingers now and then to make shapes and creatures appear in the flames. “And it’s Halloween, I didn’t feel up to the crowds of Hogsmead today. I hope you don’t mind too much, Gin?” He gazed up at her, an endearing little flutter of uncertainty and fear flashing in his eyes. She was the only one that could do that to him, she realized. The only one that could hurt him with a word or a look.
“I think this was just what we needed, Harry,” she said softly, leaning down to kiss his brow. “You don’t have to worry about me, if I don’t like something, you’ll be made aware of the fact.”
He smiled up at her, his eyes glowing, but only muttered softly, “Good.”
They were silent for a long moment more. One of the things she liked about Harry’s company was his ability to stay quiet, to appreciate the silence and not let it become uncomfortable. Growing up in such a noisy, overcrowded environment, Ginny had learned to appreciate peace and privacy very early in her life. She could be as boisterous as the next person, but she needed someone who could appreciate silence as well.
Harry broke it this time, shifting in his slouch so he could have a better view of her face, and asking, “Are you curious?”
“About what?” she asked distractedly.
“Your talent,” he said, a definite note of excitement in his voice. “I’ve been talking to Nev about that, and I think I almost have him convinced to try the ritual. I wonder what you could do?”
“Why wouldn’t Neville want to try for his talent?” she asked, deflecting the main question.
Harry rolled his eyes good naturedly, and said, “Neville doesn’t see himself very clearly. He still feels like the lost first year who couldn’t hold his wand right and never remembered anything. He’s afraid… I’m not even sure what he’s afraid of, but obviously of disappointing his family somehow. I just pointed out to him that he’s been doing what should have been his father’s job very credibly for the last two years, and that anyone who says otherwise obviously doesn’t have his best interests at heart.” He frowned softly. “Neville hasn’t said anything, but I think there might be some internal tension in his family — maybe people who don’t think he’s up to the task of running the Seat. You remember that story about his uncle dangling him from the window?”
She nodded, frowning slightly. “If he hadn’t bounced he might have died. It always shocked me that there were no consequences — it’s practically attempted murder.”
“Exactly. Mind you, this is all speculation, but it’s made me uneasy since I heard it. Even more since I discovered this mess that is wizarding society.”
“And what does his talent have to do with anything?”
He looked at her with that slightly chiding look that seemed to say, use your brain, which she was sure he had learned from Hermione. She rolled her eyes and slapped him in the arm playfully, before threatening to roll him out of the sofa, to see just how comfortable he felt the ground to be.
Harry laughed softly, before saying, “Okay, okay, sorry. It just seems obvious to me, since I’ve been gobbling down all these books on the subject. But a strongly talented Heir is harder to disqualify. And I’m convinced unlocking his talent will make him an all round better wizard — it certainly helped me a lot. I don’t know why, there isn’t much research on the subject, but I think that if we keep our talents locked we block access to part of our magic.”
She felt her eyes widen slightly at the thought. “Since when have you thought this, Harry? It’s not as if you were not powerful before you unlocked your talent.”
“It’s hard to explain, Gin — so much of it is about how magic feels, and how it flows… There are just things I can do now with a thought that required tones of effort before. Transfiguration, for instance — I always had trouble in that class, but now it’s like a light switched inside my brain, and I just get everything McGonagall says in class. It’s quite a heady feeling,” he added with a small smile. “I think my father started working to unlock his talent while he was still in school, and maybe Sirius as well. It might explain why they were such good students. So, you see, I’m nearly certain I’m right.”
“And if you are, and I do indeed have a talent buried, it would mean the same to me.”
He nodded seriously, seating up and taking her hands, meeting her eyes squarely. “This is one of the reasons I brought the subject up. I thought you should know, and maybe you should tell your brothers too, if it comes to that. It’s something you should all know.”
Ginny closed her eyes briefly, laying her head on Harry’s shoulder. She was grateful he had told her, but it was the kind of thing she wanted to push to the back of her mind for the time being, at least until she had more information and could actually do something about it. In the interest of her peace of mind, the less said about it for the time being, the better.
“I’ll think about it, Harry. But for now there’s no point in rehashing the subject, right?”
“Of course,” he said quietly. “I just thought — “
She felt Harry freeze and tense beside her, then quickly stand up.
“Did you feel that?” he asked in an urgent whisper.
Ginny frowned, and opened her senses, only to feel the strong wave of magic that was making its way slowly over the village. She jumped up as well, and asked softly, “What is that?”
“Some sort of ward or shield. I’ve never felt anything of the kind. It will block the village in the next few minutes, if it keeps going,” he said distractedly, his eyes unfocused, obviously keeping track of the advancement of the barrier.
He shook his head a few moments later, and looked at her worriedly, “How could this happen? I didn’t feel anything, Gin!” he exclaimed. “Not a twinge!”
“You’ve become awfully good at Occlumency, Harry. This just proves it’s working,” she said reasonably. She was peering through the dirty window trying to see what was going on in the main square, but other buildings blocked the view.
“But it makes no sense! I was sure he would hit another muggle village, like last time! What does he want here? He must have known security would be tight during a Hogsmeade weekend! The village is full of teachers and Order members!”
“What does he ever want? You, me, the Prophecy,” she grinned at Harry’s worried frown, and continued in the same vein, “I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to a little havoc and panic either.” She walked back towards the centre of the room, and added, “I doubt he’ll come in person, Harry. I’d wager this will be strictly a Death Eater shebang, to try and weaken Hogwarts’ reputation.”
“And just at the right time, too. Right before the Winter Session of the Wizengamot. It will strengthen the opposition to Dumbledore,” Harry added.
“Which just might work in our favour, as horrible as it sounds,” Ginny sighed. “We need to do something, Harry. We need to discover how many Death Eaters are out there, who they are targeting, how to evacuate the kids back to the castle…”
Harry nodded thoughtfully, making his own way towards the window. “The road will be blocked by this shield, we might need to use the secret passages.”
“Only as a last resort, Harry. Can you imagine the stampede in those small tunnels — people will get hurt for sure.”
“Yes, but it’s an option if worse comes to worse.”
“We’d have to herd people into Honeydukes and the Shack — won’t be easy with a running battle in the streets.”
Harry was frowning, obviously trying to work out the logistics of the operation and just as obviously failing.
“It’s no use, we need more information,” he said in frustration. “We need to know if the Floo is working, if this thing only blocks apparition, or Portkeys as well, and if there’s someone here who knows how to make one… We also need to get out there and try to help. Maybe find the D.A. and someplace to hunker down until the Professors or the Ministry get this barrier down.” Under his breath he added, “If they can manage that much.”
Ginny nodded, kneeling to fasten a boot, pulling her hair up in a secure knot, and taking out her wand in quick succession.
“Let’s go.”
Ginny’s eyes were very wide, Harry thought. All their calm, measured, composure had disappeared in the face of the reality they had found in Hogsmead’s main square. They had climbed to the rooftops, and walked, jumped and scaled as required until they reached the square, hoping that their dark clothing and the twilight that had descended on the town with the shield would keep them hidden from prying eyes.
From their vantage point they could see most of the village, and realised that the situation was troubling — to put it mildly. The barrier had obviously been construed to hold everyone prisoner until the massacre — or the hostage situation, Harry was not sure — was over. Death Eaters had approached the village from all sides, and were making their way towards the central, heavily populated areas, wrecking havoc, burning down buildings, herding fleeing witches, wizards and most worrying, students, towards the centre of town.
“Where are the Professors? The Order?” Ginny whispered beside him. “Why is no one fighting them?”
“I think they are trying to fortify their positions — look, McGonagall is in the Three Broomsticks, you see?”
“Yes, she’s warding the whole place. I hope they hold.” There was tightly controlled fear in her voice, but also, Harry noted, a slight excitement. He understood — his magic was singing to him, ready for a fight, and he had no doubt Ginny felt at least a measure of the same thing.
“Okay,” Harry said, crawling back from the edge of the roof. “We need to be rational about this, Gin. We couldn’t in good conscience escape while all these people stayed here, but we’re just two against that horde. We can’t just throw ourselves away into the fight.”
Ginny nodded beside him — indeed, if there was one thing they had learned during their training, it was their own incompetence. No matter how much they had improved, and no matter how much better than their classmates the Tractus made them, against serious and experienced duellists in much larger numbers, they were in trouble.
“I think we need to marshal our resources — attack only to protect people in danger, and then run. Save as many lives as possible, and harass them as best we can,” Harry continued.
“We should grab wands, and do worse than a simple Stupefy — it would be ridiculous to fight one Death Muncher only to have him revived and hexing us in the back,” Ginny jumped in.
Harry smiled a tight, contained smile, and nodded. “I’m all for that — snap them if you must. These people don’t deserve common courtesy.”
Ginny’s eyes had opened a little at his suggestion. It was considered the height of bad form to snap an opponent’s wand — a more clear insult during a duel was hard to find. But he didn’t think anyone wearing a white mask and a Mark, here to terrorize children, deserved any mark of respect from him. And wands were replaceable, even if a wizard always felt its passing. Lives were not. All in all, he still felt the other guys were doing worse.
“Harry,” Ginny said softly, looking up at the slightly visible grey barrier masking the sky. “We’re trapped here — there’s nowhere to go.” Her voice was controlled, but she was obviously worried.
Harry nodded, still observing the black robbed figures advancing towards them, he couldn’t see any logic in their movements, or understand what their purpose was. They were trapped as well, what did they think, that people would be so afraid they would roll over and die? This whole thing had the possibility to turn very ugly, very fast. He glanced up at the barrier trapping everyone inside, and let his eyes relax, opening his senses, sending small tendrils of his magic questing, trying to understand the nature of the construct around them. A few moments later, he blinked, and let out a breath, turning to look at Ginny, waiting patiently beside him.
“It’s worse than that, Ginny. This thing doesn’t stop at the ground; it’s a real sphere. Which means all the tunnels are also closed off. We missed our only chance of getting out.”
Ginny blinked a little at his pronouncement, but then a preternatural calm seemed to settle on her, and she nodded a little. “What did you find out about this big bloody thing over our heads?” she asked.
“It’s pretty complex magic — I think there must be at least half a dozen people working together to keep it going. And they’re all outside the circle, so there’s nothing we can do from in here. But the weird thing is, it seems to be accumulating magic, gathering it inside this area, and I have no idea why.” He looked down at his hands, feeling the slight tension in the air that he had come to associate with highly magical buildings or objects. He glanced up, “Can you feel it?”
Ginny looked down at her own wand hand, and said, “Yep, it’s like the air is vibrating.”
They heard a shout from the alley beneath them, the high-pitched yell of a young and panicked child. Without another word, they jumped down from the roof of the low building, casting cushioning and levitation charms to soften the impact on the ground with practised ease. It was a very useful manoeuvre they had practised extensively while duelling on Hogwarts grounds, where trees were a useful hiding place and a strategic position from which to attack. A few meters in front of them, two masked and burly forms were herding two small children, smaller and younger than any Hogwarts student, towards the main street and the centre of the village. The two heard the impact of their boots on the street, and one of them turned around in alarm, shouting out a warning even as Harry’s stunner hit him in the chest and he fell down like a log, hitting his head on a loose cobblestone. His companion turned around, shooting cutting hexes as he approached, but Ginny got him with an impedimenta followed a second later by a thick set of ropes that tripped the man and made him fall down. They stood up from their deep crouches, and moved carefully to the still conscious Death Eater. Harry squatted down next to his face and lifted his mask, not recognising the young, angry face underneath. Voldemort was recruiting.
“What are you doing here? What is your mission?” he asked quietly, wand pointed at the bound man, in case he tried to scream.
The man only glared and looked away. Harry sighed and stunned him, grabbing the wands and stuffing them in his pocket. Ginny was kneeling in front of two small children, one scarcely larger than a toddler, faces tearstained and terrified.
She stood up as he approached and said quietly, “Their mother told them to hide, and tried to stop the Death Eaters, they don’t know where she is. We have to take them somewhere safe, Harry.”
She was slightly flushed, her eyes flashing angrily, and Harry thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. Shaking off inappropriate thoughts from his mind, he glanced at the two snivelling children, wondering what in Merlin’s name he was supposed to do with them, when a commotion in the street that led to the alley drew his attention. He motioned for the children to hide and approached the crossroads, taking a careful peak that turned to open-mouthed admiration as he looked.
“Sweet Circe,” muttered Ginny beside him, and Harry could do nothing but nod in reply. He had known, in an intellectual level, that Michael was an exceptional duellist, but there had been no chance to ever watch him in action, no opportunity to showcase his skills. Until now.
He stood in the centre of a group of robed opponents, his dark robes grimy, his hair in disarray, and he was cutting down opponents with a frightening and single-minded ruthlessness. His wand was a blur in front of him, and even as they watched, he took a step forward and another two dark robed figures dropped to the ground — unconscious, bleeding, or dead.
A moment later, he twisted out of the way of a curse, snarled something inaudible from where Harry and Ginny were standing, and whirled around, snapping his wand in the direction of the latest threat, dropping the man with calm efficiency. And so it went — he never seemed to slow, always moving with steady, deceptively lazy-looking gestures that dropped opponents and took him out of the path of curses in equal measure. Nothing seemed to touch him; in the space of ten or twenty seconds, half a dozen Death Eaters were completely incapacitated. The others pressed forward to mob him, but they didn’t stand a chance, as he kicked his way out of the group, dropping enemies with contemptuous ease and striding down the street to give himself more space to move.
Soon he was standing alone — some of the Death Eaters had fled, some were incapacitated, groaning, others were completely motionless on the ground.
Michael didn’t spare them a second glance as he quickly and efficiently collected wands and emergency portkeys. As soon as he was done, he made his way towards Harry and Ginny, his eyes flashing angrily, his wand held tightly in one hand.
“I’m glad I found the two of you. What have you found out?” he said brusquely.
“This thing,” Ginny motioned towards the greyish barrier, “is a sphere designed to keep people prisoner and gather magical power. And the Death Eaters are herding everyone they can find towards the town centre.”
Michael nodded, adding, “They’re working some sort of ritual, but not something I’m familiar with. I wish Elektra were here — she would know. Or maybe it’s better she be outside and trying to get this thrice forsaken shield down.” He glared at the offending construct, and Harry thought that if it had been alive, it would have cowered and run off from the heat of that gaze alone. “Minerva and Flitwick are in the Three Broomsticks, and I think some townies are hunkered down in Honeydukes. But no one is actively fighting this bunch of morons. And I’m afraid of just what they are trying to do- “ He seemed to notice their two young charges for the first time, and raised an amused eyebrow, “And just what do the two of you have here?”
“We stopped the two of them,” Ginny pointed at the two Death Eaters behind them, “from taking them away.”
Michael smiled slightly and hunkered down in front of the two children, asking quietly, “What are your names?”
The older of the two, a black haired boy who might be eight of nine, answered, “I’m Augustus — people call me Augie - and this is my brother Jonathan. Mum told us to hide, but the two men found us.” His younger and fairer brother had stuck his thumb in his mouth, and was watching them with huge dark eyes.
Michael nodded, and answered cheerfully, “We’ll make sure the two of you get someplace safe, Augie. You were lucky these two rascals found you.”
The little boy nodded, draped a protective arm around his still quiet brother, and said quietly, “Thank you. We’re ready to go.”
“Good. We’ll be moving soon. Don’t worry too much!” Michael said with a wink, before standing once more and joining Harry and Ginny who had been keeping watch near the mouth of the alley.
“What are we going to do with them?” Harry asked. “Ginny and I were thinking about staying up on the roofs, and helping who we could, but we didn’t factor in children in our plan.”
Michael nodded, “We need to get them to the Three Broomsticks. Harry, you take the lead, boys, you stay in the middle, Ginny, you and I will take the rear. Look sharp and stay together.”
Harry led them up the street towards the centre of town, where the consequences of the attack were even more visible, people screamed and shouted, rushing back and forth, and every now and then some sort of curse or hex would fly from the adjoining roads, downing passers by. He tried not to notice the figures of some of the villagers, sprawled on the ground, and far too still. It was reassuring to have a mission, and people to protect; it kept his mind from wandering.
They arrived at the pub after a few minutes of fast paced walking, without too much trouble. Harry had come across another pair of Death Eaters, but they were obviously not ready to face any kind of resistance and had gone down within seconds from stunning spells and full body binds.
“Where are they, Michael?” Ginny asked. They were pressed against one of the sides of the Three Broomsticks, and still hadn’t found any great concentration of Death Eaters. “I thought they would all be around here.”
“They’re making their way here, and forcing people to run towards this block. But as I said, I don’t know why. The only reason I had so many on my tail is that I made a lot of noise to draw them in and get them away from a few villagers who were trying to hide. Now go on, knock on the door.”
“But they won’t let anyone in!” she exclaimed.
“The professors put up exclusion wards — an enemy would never get this far without having to take down the wards. They’ll open. Get the children inside, and then come out. We have work to do.”
She glanced at Harry, a slow, dangerous smile lighting her face, as she knocked on the side door of the bar. In that one glance, he felt all the fierce delight she felt at finally being able to fight back, to have an objective in this thrice forsaken war they had been forced to fight. He understood the feeling perfectly, and grinned back, twirling his wand through his fingers, and letting his magic curse through him, ready to be used.
As Michael had said, they had work to do.