Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

The title of this chapter is taken from the title of a story by ksomm18.

Chapter 4: Burden of a Destiny

Tonks slid down the wall that she had just crashed into, slumping at the base, unconscious. Harry stood looking on in horror, his wand still extended, his body frozen. A tingling feeling remained in what he suspected was his magical core, in about the center of his chest.

Daphne gasped and ran over to the young woman, turning her over. Harry watched in sickened fascination as blood slowly ran down the wall, pooling near where his ‘big sister’ lay, a bloody head wound showing through her pink hair. Daphne turned to him, and began shouting something, but he was not listening. I just killed Tonks. I just killed her…

“HARRY!” Daphne screamed at him. He jolted back into awareness. “She’s alive, but I think her skull might be fractured. I’m taking her to St. Mungo’s. Stay here, and don’t perform any magic,” she instructed him. Daphne performed a quick healing charm on the bloody lump at the back of Tonks’ head, but Harry feared his guardian was right about the injury.

Harry nodded dumbly. Daphne gave him an anxious, pitying look. “It’s not your fault, Harry. It really isn’t. I don’t know what happened, but we’ll find out. Don’t blame yourself, she’ll be fine.”

Daphne left, levitating Tonks’ unconscious form in front of her. Harry was left alone with his thoughts. Feelings of guilt, shock, anger (at himself,) shame, fear and disbelief cycled through his mind. Some were whispered softly, other screamed at top volume. Cradling his head in his hands, he sat down on one of the armchairs and practically willed himself to sleep.

“…Harry…”

Th e aforesaid Boy-Who-Lived cracked open an eye, and was met by the hazy sight of his guardian leaning over him. She was looking at him, a bit concerned. Suddenly, Harry remembered what had happened to Tonks. He was awake in an instant. “Daphne!” he breathed. “What about Tonks?”

Daphne smiled slightly. “She’s fine, Harry. Cracked skull, unfortunately, but no brain damage…” she paused, smirking, “…not that you’d be able to tell,” she said jokingly. Harry snorted despite himself.

“Andromeda probably dropped her on her head when she was younger,” Harry replied. His mood turned somber. “Can I visit her at some point…just to see how she’s doing?”

“The Healers say she might be out for a day or so, but I’m sure that that will be fine,” Daphne replied. She began pacing, and Harry watched her patiently. What does she want now? An angry voice demanded. Is ripping her adopted son’s mind up not enough for the Grey Maiden? Bloody sadistic wench…

Harry was a bit shocked by those thoughts and frantically tried to bury them. He should have gotten used to it by now, but the thoughts were so alien, so out of character. What made it more disturbing was that he knew that they were his own. He really did resent Daphne a great deal, and took his time to criticize her every mistake or action that irritated him in some way.

“…Great,” Harry replied finally. “I mean…yeah, that’s great…”

Daphne closed her eyes. “We need to find out what happened.”

Harry nodded, but said, “I honestly think I’m just rusty.”

Daphne shook her head. “That’s not it at all, Harry.” She paced around the room again. “What I felt was one of the most powerful bursts of magic I’ve ever encountered. It was up there along with Voldemort, with Dumbledore.”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“Harry, I don’t understand how, but your magic has increased at least threefold, possibly more. You’ve always been very skilled for your age, but in terms of raw power, you were just above-average, nothing exceptional or unusual,” she explained. She ran a hand through her hair. “What I just felt was incredible. O’Connor’s can sense powerful magic, as you know. They tend to sense it in the form of a song or melody, and sometimes a scent. I’ve only been in Voldemort’s presence twice,” she said, scowling in disgust. “His magic is immense, extraordinarily powerful, but it’s filthy, dirty, dark. It’s full of blackness and disease…really; it smells to me like burning flesh.”

Daphne’s face darkened considerably. “There is no fouler odor on this earth than the stench of burning human flesh,” she said coldly. Harry realized that she’d probably first encounter it when he McCourns had tortured her parents and burned her father alive. I suppose that would be enough to classify it as the worst smell in existence.

“Dumbledore’s magic, as you might imagine, is far more pleasant,” she continued. Harry listened intently. Daphne’s ability was not all that rare among purebloods, and it was possible that Harry might possess it as well. However, the extent to which Daphne’s family could detect and measure magic was unique. “It’s like beautiful music. It’s uplifting, it’s Light. It’s everything that Voldemort’s magic is not. It actually sounds a great deal like phoenix song.”

Daphne stopped pacing and stared hard into his eyes. “I feel the same from you…not the stench of Voldemort or the beauty of Dumbledore, but the same power, the same deep attraction to your magic.” Daphne paused, swallowing hard. “There is Darkness is your magic, quite a bit of it, actually…which makes me think I know where it came from…”

“Riddle…” Harry breathed. He looked up at her. “When Dumbledore destroyed him, his magic remained. It sought out the closest grounding point, like lightning in a thunderstorm.” He took a deep breath. “The mind link, the one he established in my consciousness.”

Daphne nodded gravely. She closed her eyes. “Harry,” she said, her eyes clouded with emotion, “you should be either dead or incapable of speech or thought. You shouldn’t have healed at all, much less heal as fast as you did. That magic saved you, rebuilt your mind.”

“The ultimate irony,” Harry remarked. “So what do we do now?”

Daphne seemed to make a decision about something. “I spoke to Dumbledore about this. He agrees with me…that your power needs to be controlled.”

Harry got to his feet angrily, eyes burning with fury. “WHAT?”

For a moment, Daphne looked absolutely terrified. Then Harry relaxed a bit, and her face became an emotional mask. “Harry, listen to me. This is for-”

“This is for my safety, isn’t it?” Harry snarled sarcastically. “You want to control me, to use me as your bloody weapon!”

Daphne was completely pale, and staring at him in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about...” he hissed back. He didn’t know it, but his green eyes had darkened so much that they were nearly black. His anger, his rage had taken over. He had been controlled by Riddle. He would never allow it to happen again.

Daphne drew her wand. “Harry, sit down,” she ordered, using a tone she rarely used with him. It was a testament to her desperation. “We haven’t done anything, and won’t unless you approve it.”

“Why?” he demanded, remaining standing.

“I’m not going to lie, Harry,” Daphne said, her eyes hard and cold. “You are dangerous. To you, to others, to me,” she said, stressing the word. It was manipulative of her, but Harry’s unstable mind was close to being pushed over the edge. With the power he had at his disposal, Daphne didn’t know if he’d be able to stop him. She was already shocked by the rage and hatred that he possessed, a great deal of which was directed at her. You’ve got to do this, Daphne. You’ve got to make him understand…

“How?” he cried angrily. “How is my power a danger to me?” Under normal circumstances, Daphne would have found the fact that he was thinking of his well being first both intriguing and disturbing. She didn’t allow any of her emotions to show. If she displayed any sign of weakness, it might be her last mistake. Dumbledore’s warning echoed in her mind, the warning she had so completely ignored.

Be careful, Daphne. Do not betray his trust. You must make him understand and accept the truth or the consequences will be dire. At the very least, you will perish. I’ve never encountered a boy of such power. His mental state merely makes the situation even more hazardous.

“Your body is not used to using such great amounts of magic,” she explained, miraculously keeping her composure. “You will die if we do not bind it, and then reintroduce it, gradually. Eventually, you will be able to harness it safely.”

Harry seemed to consider this, and his black eyes became a few shades lighter. “How do I know that you are telling me the truth?” he demanded. “How do I know that this isn’t a ploy? You hurt me, Daphne. I have no reason to trust you.”

The impact of his words was like a dagger through her heart, but she persevered. “I swear in the name of Merlin that we will not bind you against your will,” she said. “I will die if I break that oath.”

His eyes were now a jade green. “Very well,” he said. The malice and hatred was fading from his voice, slowly. “What do you want to do?”

“First, I want you to sit down and relax. You aren’t well, Harry,” Daphne told him firmly, with a hint of pity. Too much pity and Harry might get violent again. Albus was right. This has come at the worst possible time. He’s far too unstable.

Harry looked like he was going to retort, than sat down. Daphne slid her wand back into her holster, and sat down across from him. “I want to put a block on your magic. A block that only I can release…that’s just to prevent you from getting so angry or upset that you do it yourself,” she quickly added. “I also want to teach you Occlumency.”

Harry nodded. His face was a mask of regret and sorrow. “I’m sorry…” he murmured quietly. “I don’t know what came over me…I just lost control.” He looked up at her, and Daphne could see the fear in his eyes. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with me…” He sat back in the chair, eyes wide.

Daphne got up and walked over to him. “Will you agree to it? I can do it right now. I can’t promise that it will solve all of your problems, but it will help.”

Harry nodded. “Can you at least leave a little extra power out?” he looked up at her. “It can’t hurt, can it?”

Daphne shrugged. “It shouldn’t. Hang on; I might have to knock you out to make this work.”

Harry blanched a bit, but recovered his composure and nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Stupefy,” Daphne whispered. A small jet of red light hit Harry in the chest and he slumped into his chair. Daphne called upon her magic, extending towards her ward. She slipped through the large holes in Harry’s mental defenses, began feeling for his magical core. She found it, and began to erect the barriers.

Harry felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He sat down on the bed next to his big sister. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, just like a few trolls were hitting Bludgers around in my head,” Tonks remarked off-handedly. “How are you doing on this fine day?”

They were in one of the short-term wards at St. Mungo’s. Daphne had gone over to inform Andromeda, and assure her that she didn’t need to worry. Harry didn’t think it would be that difficult. Andromeda certainly cared for Nymphadora a great deal, but she didn’t seem overly concerned when her daughter hurt herself; at least, she didn’t drop everything she was doing to come to her daughter’s aid. Harry supposed that she might have gotten used to it. Tonks could be exceedingly clumsy at times. She’d mastered the art of tripping over nothing but her own feet, and normally destroying something expensive in the process. A number of broken vases and picture frames that Daphne had needed to repair stood testament to that.

And despite all of that, she’s as graceful as a swan when she’s dueling. She’s quick on her feet, agile, and nimble. Go figure…

It can’t come from her mother; she’s a regal Black pureblood who is in full control of her body at all times. Must come from her father. Personally, I prefer the unruly black hair to the ‘gift’ of being a royal klutz.

Can’t exactly argue with that…

“Oi…Hey Harry, you still awake in there?” Tonks asked, breaking through his thoughts. She rapped his knuckles on his head. Harry cursed under his breath and tried to get away.

“Ow!” he cried, massaging his sore head. It seemed like Tonks had been at it for a while. These little mental conversations are really getting annoying. “Damn you, woman!”

“Oh, stop whining,” Tonks replied. “Your head doesn’t hurt as much as mine.” Harry’s face fell, and the young woman realized that probably wasn’t the best thing to say. “Oh hell, sorry, Harry. Don’t worry about me, I’m feeling good enough to perform my big sisterly duties.”

“And would that involve abusing me verbally and physically at every opportunity?” Harry asked.

Tonks nodded emphatically. “You’re too serious sometimes Harry. You need to relax once in a while.”

“Good thing I have you then,” Harry remarked.

“I don’t know what you’d do without me,” Tonks replied, stretching and yawning. “Bloody hell, I’m exhausted. Must be the Healing Potions, things taste like troll dung and put you out like a candle.” She sat up and yanked, more than pulled, Harry into a fierce embrace. “Stay out of trouble, will ya?”

“Anything for you, Tonks,” Harry replied cheekily. She slapped his arm. “OW!”

“Quit whining you wuss,” Tonks said sleepily. “Visit me, will ya? I know I’ll be out of here in a day or two, but still...” she yawned, lying back on the bed. “See ya tomorrow Ickle Harrikins,” she said softly.

Harry glared at her. “Bloody wench,” he muttered darkly. But Tonks was gone, off to whatever served as her dreamland. Harry imagined that things didn’t make much sense and were both confusing and amusing to the outsider. God she’s a strange one, but I love her all the same.

Harry patted her arm, and then left the ward, searching for a fireplace to floo home. Daphne had said she’d have the house-elves make something special for dinner. Harry loved marinated lamb. He could only hope.

He turned a corner, and bumped into a very downcast looking Neville Longbottom. The boy looked confused, then slightly frightened by the sight of him. Well, he is friends with Weasley, Harry reminded himself. Still, the boy had never really seemed to buy into the garbage that spewed from Ronald Weasley’s mouth on a regular basis.

Harry, when did you start judging people this quickly? a voice that sounded strangely like Hermione asked him.

“Hello Neville,” Harry said in greeting.

The slight-pudgy, downcast-looking Gryffindor jumped in surprise, eyes scanning frantically for whoever had recognized him. His brown eyes, wide with what Harry thought was either fear or anxiousness, finally came to rest on where Harry stood. He was surprised by Neville’s reaction; the boy with a notoriously bad memory would be unlikely to remember his voice…then he recalled what Neville had said first year about not wanting people to know what had happened to his parents. He must be visiting them.

“Hullo Harry,” the brown-haired boy replied nervously. He looked him up and down, as if searching for a hospital gown that would indicate that he was a patient. “What are you doing here?” The question was asked in such a hesitant tone of voice that it made Harry think that Neville was afraid of offending him. Of course, a voice reminded him, he’s always skittish and nervous. Maybe he’s so lacking in self-confidence that he’s scared of getting into any kind of fight. Harry had to pity the boy after that thought, realizing that he was probably right.

“I’m visiting a friend,” Harry explained vaguely. He had no intentions of sharing the reasons that his friend was here, or who his friend was.

“Oh…” Neville replied. “How are you feeling?” he asked, once again using the quiet and nervous tone. He must be scared; it’s not like the entire wizarding world doesn’t know that I was in a coma.

“Much better, thank you,” Harry said. “Are you visiting your parents?”

As he had expected, the question made Neville jump almost a foot in the air, and he paled considerably. Then he seemed to remember that Harry had known about them since before he came to Hogwarts. The boy simply nodded quickly. “Yeah…” he said, obviously depressed. “Gran’s talking to one of their Healers right now,” he explained.

Harry nodded, remembering that Neville lived with the rather well known Augusta Longbottom, the fierce and proud matriarch of an old Light family. The woman had been in politics in her younger days, and had been one of the first women to hold a major post in the Ministry of Magic. Harry could not remember at the moment which position she had held. Her career had been very brief, as well as groundbreaking.

He smiled at him, something that made Neville cringe, and Harry frown. “How has your summer been?” Harry asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. He really did not like it when people that he did not want to fear him did. That wasn’t to say that he was not pleased when Ronald Weasley paled at the sight of him. I’d rather that he runs away in terror, but he’s too bloody thick to do that.

“…Oh, well, it’s been okay. I visited Seamus up in Ireland, and, um…saw Ron,” he said quickly, obviously remembering the animosity between the black-haired Slytherin and the redheaded Gryffindor. “Oh, and Gran’s been tutoring me in Potions…well…um, I’m really good at Herbology, remember?” Harry nodded, the boy was of considerable skill in that field, and perhaps the only class that Harry could say that about. “…well, she thought my confidence was shot, and she says since Mum was good at Potions, that I couldn’t be completely useless.”

Harry frowned. Sometimes he wondered if Augusta knew just how damaging comparing Neville’s exploits and abilities to his parents’ could be. Neville was a different person. He’d come to Hogwarts expecting to fail, and indeed, Neville joked that his family thought he might be a Squib until his Great-Uncle had accidentally dropped him out a window. Accidental magic manifests itself from fear, anger, or frustration, Harry remembered. Neville’s as gentle-hearted as they come, so I suppose they really did have to ‘scare the magic out of him.’

“You just need to focus, Neville, and ignore the presence of Snape,” Harry reassured him. “Your knowledge of Herbology is excellent, and quite a few potions are made from plants. Also, because you understand the properties of them, you’ll be able to fix mistakes by knowing which ingredients neutralize others. You just need to believe in yourself…and find another partner. Weasley’s so focused on his hatred of Snape that he doesn’t put any effort into brewing.”

Neville had turned bright red, though he frowned a bit when Harry criticized Ron. Then he shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. Snape just scares me.”

Harry disguised a snort with a cough, which made Neville look at him strangely. “The man rules by fear. It’s pointless to do what Weasley does, which is stand up to him; so don’t feel that you should. He has the power, and he’s always in a foul mood, so he’s not afraid to punish you. Either ignore his presence or try to prove him wrong…not by words, mind, but by the quality of your potion.”

Neville was staring at him intently, and Harry imagined that he was reassessing his original opinion of Harry’s character. Good for him; unlike Weasley, he’s capable of seeing sense. “Thanks, Harry…really, thanks.” The words were spoken softly and anxiously, but Harry could hear the true gratitude and earnestness behind them. Satisfying warmth filled him at helping the boy.

“Neville, dear?” an old woman’s voice inquired. Harry turned to see a tall woman with an aristocratic bearing and wearing fine robes of green. She carried a weathered red handbag. Her gray hair was pulled back into a neat bun. Her face was weathered and wrinkled, and in her blue eyes Harry saw the years of experience that she possessed. She wore a pair of ruby earrings and an antique gold bracelet decorated with the same stones. A Gryffindor if I’ve ever seen one, Harry remarked to himself.

Perhaps the strangest thing she wore was an red hat that had a top it a stuffed vulture. And if there was an animal that better suited this woman, I don’t know what it is.

The woman gazed at him with calculating eyes, flicking only briefly the scar on his forehead. “You do look just like James, Mr. Potter,” she remarked. “Except for your eyes, of course; Lily’s.” She paused, and Harry began to feel slightly nervous as she examined him like a piece of rare art. He could understand why Neville was almost frightened of her. Her gaze was piercing and intense. “Though, if I am correct, you have lost your innocence long before they did.”

Harry didn’t react visibly, but he was internally awed by the woman. No wonder she was so feared. If she can make me wither with a look, and she’s just being observant, I can’t imagine what it must have been like to face her down on the floor of the Wizengamot. I wonder why she left politics…

“You would be correct, Ma’am,” Harry replied politely. “I’ve seen a number of things that children my age should not.”

The Longbottom matriarch nodded slowly. Harry remained still. She smiled sadly. “I saw your parents often, Harry,” she said, using Harry’s name for the first time, something which indicated both trust and familiarity. “Alice was among Lily’s best friends, and Frank spoke often of your father. He was a year behind them, of course.”

Harry didn’t actually know that, but nodded anyway. “I’ve heard Daphne talk about Alice before,” he admitted. Neville stiffened, looking at him strangely. You never asked, he answered the younger Gryffindor silently.

Augusta frowned slightly. “Where is your guardian, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “I was planning to Floo home right now. I was just visiting a friend.” The true reason was that Daphne was talking to Dumbledore about how to proceed with Harry’s power, mental health, and other issues. Daphne assured him that she’d give him all the basics, but that he probably would prefer to hear it in a setting where they weren’t referring to him as if he wasn’t there. Harry wanted to visit Tonks, anyway.

“Ah, I see,” Augusta replied. She straightened, resuming her regal, upright posture and imperious gaze. “Well, we must be going as well. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Potter. Come on, Neville, the Yukas Trees need watering.” Neville submissively followed her, waving weakly to Harry on the way out.

Harry headed for the lobby, hiding his scar to avoid a hassle. Some people still recognized him, but he ignored the whispers and stares. He paid for a pinch of Floo powder, and threw it into one of the fireplaces. A “Dressler Manor” later and he was hurtling through countless fireplaces.

Harry had never been very graceful during Floo travel. He’d gotten better ever since crashing into two solid objects in one day two years ago, but he still was uneasy and tended to have, well…rough landings.

He reached the grate, and, unsurprisingly, was hurled out of the fireplace at an unsafe velocity and completely unbalanced. What was surprising was that he hit something, or rather, that he hit someone. That someone collapsed to the ground with a yell of surprise. When he opened his eyes, he looked down upon a pair of surprised-looking brown eyes, belonging to a small face surrounded by a halo of red hair. She was groaning. “Harry?”her muffled voice asked. “Owwww…can you please move?”

“Um…Hi Ginny,” Harry said, propping himself up on his elbows, trying to pick himself up off the ground.

“GINERVA MOLLY WEASLEY!” a loud, shrill, ear-splitting voice screeched. Harry also heard laughter. He turned his head as best he could and saw a red-faced, short, plump red-haired woman who looked absolutely livid. In the door leading to the living room, Daphne was pounding her fists against the wall, shaking with mirth. Oh, I’m sure you think this is funny…

“Um…Harry,” Ginny squeaked from beneath him, her face red as a tomato. “Moving? Remember?”

Harry managed to extricate himself from his best friend, and from the burning on his cheeks, knew that he was about as embarrassed as she was. He stuck out a hand and helped her to her feet. Daphne was still shaking, but no sound was coming out. Mrs. Weasley still looked furious.

“It’s my fault, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry explained. “I’m rather, well…awful at Floo travel, and Ginny was standing in the way…”

Ginny was still red-faced and was desperately trying to hide it. Harry was on his own. “Well, I’m sorry about…what that looked like,” Harry said lamely. Ginny squeaked. Her mother’s expression softened, then she smiled.

“I shouldn’t have made that assumption, Harry,” she said. She chuckled. “You have to imagine what I saw…” Harry felt his cheeks warm, though he wasn’t as revolted by the thought as he’d thought he’d be…

“MUM!” Ginny cried, blushing, (if it was possible,) even worse.

“Oh hush, Ginny, I wasn’t saying anything of the sort,” Molly said. Daphne still did not appear to have recovered the art of coherent speech. She too was red-faced, but for a different reason. Harry found himself resenting her for that, and for once, didn’t find it strange in the least. She might help me, but no, she’d rather laugh her arse off.

It probably did look pretty funny, you know.

Shut up.

“Harry?” Ginny asked, waving a hand in front of his face. Daphne’s grin disappeared in an instant.

Harry blinked. “Yes?”

“Happy Birthday!” she cried, throwing her arms around his waist. Harry returned the warm, friendly embrace. After all they’d been through, neither one of them were embarrassed by the display. That didn’t mean that Mrs. Weasley wasn’t surprised, or even slightly alarmed.

Neither one of them wanted to let go, but they did anyway. Harry smiled encouragingly at her, and she smiled back shyly. “I missed you,” she whispered.

“Me too,” he replied. “I missed you and Hermione badly. How was the rest of your Egypt trip, anyway?”

“Oh, I wrote about it in my last letter…you didn’t get it?” Ginny asked, confused.

“That’s my fault,” Daphne explained. “You mentioned your visit, and I felt it would be a nice surprise. It only came this morning, so you two can catch up.” She turned to Ginny’s mother. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” Harry could see from the look in her eyes that Daphne was absolutely determined to let Harry and Ginny have some time together.

Molly sighed. “Well, I suppose we could. Arthur took Charlie and Ronald to see one of those…what do the Muggles call them…carnivals?” Daphne nodded. “Yes, well, I forbid Fred and George to go, of course. And Percy is at home, but he’ll be busy…so I suppose I could stay…”

Ginny beamed. “Come on, Harry, I want to tell you about the Pyramids!” she grabbed Harry’s wrist and hauled him into the next room. Harry wasn’t completely sure that her childlike enthusiasm was entirely genuine.

Regardless, when they were in the next room, one of several sitting rooms, Ginny shut the door behind them, and her smile vanished. Harry realized that he’d indeed been correct in believing that she was appearing less mature than she was for the benefit of her mother. How could they ever doubt that she was a Slytherin?

They’re idiots? At least Ron is.

Oh, right.

“You’re talking to yourself, aren’t you?” Ginny asked, sitting down on the couch. She patted the cushion next to her, and Harry sat down. “Hermione told me about that.”

Harry, his head in his hands, nodded through them. He looked over at her. “Yeah, it happens sometimes. They can be quite…interesting,” he admitted. “They’re my thoughts, for whatever that’s worth. I’m not hearing voices from other people.”

“That’s why Hermione said that you were sane, rather than back to normal,” Ginny said, obviously as concerned as Harry’s other best friend. “I really don’t think you are taking this seriously enough. We really worry about you, Harry. You mean a lot to both of us.”

“I know that,” Harry groaned. “But if I allow myself to be as concerned as you two are, I’ll drive myself nuts. It’s hard to prevent yourself from thinking…”

Ginny sighed. “I don’t know, Harry…has anything else happened with this Occlumency thing? The way Hermione described it, I don’t understand how it will help.”

“It might, it might not,” Harry admitted. “If I’m good at it, it will give me practice at both clearing my mind of emotions and random thoughts. Of course, they way my mind is now, it might be impossible to do either of those things. But honestly Ginny, would you and Hermione prefer that I was bonkers?”

Ginny froze, then grabbed Harry’s arm so tightly that it cut off blood circulation. Harry was almost frightened by the look in her eyes. “Don’t say that…For the Love of Merlin, don’t say that,” she said between clenched teeth.

Harry stared at her. “I was just joking…”

Ginny spluttered. “Joking? JOKING? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW SCARED WE WERE THAT WE’D NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN, THAT YOU MIGHT BE DEAD OR A VEGETABLE IN THE PERMANENT WARD AT ST. MUNGO’S? DO YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA?”

Harry just stared in shock at her. She took a deep breath. “I have six brothers,” she reminded him, as if trying to explain her choice of language. “I picked up a few things.” She sniffled loudly, and Harry saw the angry tears in her eyes. “Damn it, Harry…can’t you try to understand...?”

Harry felt ashamed and angry for not understanding why Hermione and Ginny were so resentful of his behavior. “You really do sound like your mother,” he said instead. Ginny nodded, but seemed to be expecting something else. “…and I’m sorry,” Harry said after a brief pause.

“Don’t be,” Ginny said softly. “I think we need to think about how you feel about this.”

“Can we just admit all three of us were being somewhat inconsiderate, and leave it at that?” Harry asked.

“Only if you agree to take this more seriously,” she said firmly. “Just try, please?”

Harry raised his hands helplessly. “I’m not sure how to do that,” he admitted. “I can’t do anything!”

Ginny, tears in her eyes, pulled him into another fierce hug, crying into his shoulder. Harry patted his friend on the back. “It’s just…not f-f-fair,” she cried, “y-y-you’re j-j-just a k-k-kid…y-y-you s-s-shouldn’t have to g-g-go through this.”

Harry gently pried her arms off of him so that he could look her in the eyes. “No, it isn’t,” he said. “But life isn’t…fair, I mean,” he clarified.

Ginny closed her eyes, and chuckled weakly. “You must think I’m just a stupid little girl…” her eyes were downcast, and Harry could tell that she meant it. “I’m not Hermione, I’ll never be,” she said miserably.

“Ginny?” She looked up at him. “Shut up.”

“I suppose this is where you tell me that I’m completely wrong,” she said, sighing. “I’m sorry Harry, I just…I feel like a tag-a-long sometimes.” She turned away from him for a moment. “I’ve always been like that. I’m only friends with you and Hermione because you were nice enough to help out the crying girl…” She laughed, though it came out as more of a sniffle. “And it’s not like you had much of a choice in the matter…I basically threw myself at you.”

Harry couldn’t exactly argue with that. Still, he needed to help her. “It doesn’t matter, Ginny. You’re a special person, a very good witch…”

“Only because I’ve got you and Hermione,” she said miserably. “You’ve got to understand…Mum was ecstatic when she saw my marks…Professor McGonagall commented on how hard I worked, and even Professor Snape mentioned me…well, as a positive comparison to how badly behaved the Twins were in his class, but you helped me with that too…”

“Would you rather that we didn’t help you as much? That you be allowed to learn more on your own?” Harry asked.

Ginny shook her head. “No…yes…I don’t know. I enjoy the tutoring, and I learn things that I don’t learn in class, but still…I just don’t know if I could still do it on my own…I’m not that smart…”

Harry grabbed her by the shoulder, and she looked up at him in surprise. “Yes, you are, Ginny. Trust me, you managed a few things in training last year that amazed me. Your Striking Curse is just vicious.”

Ginny giggled. “I still remember the look on Ron’s face…”

Harry grinned. “He really thought you were going to hit him…down there.”

“Too bad Hermione had to stop me,” Ginny said. Then her smile vanished again. “I just…I don’t…”

“Ginny, trust me, you are a very fast learner,” Harry reassured her. “If you want us to, we’ll let you try to do more of it on your own. We’ll be there to help you if you need it. But don’t put yourself down like that.”

“How can you be this mature?” Ginny asked in a serious tone. “You sound like an adult, or like my Mum.”

Harry shrugged. “I can’t say I always practice what I preach. I know a lot of things, and I’ve had to grow up very fast…am I at least helping any?”

Ginny nodded. “Thanks…”

Harry patted her on the shoulder. “C’mon, why don’t you clean up, and we’ll get back to Daphne and your Mum before they think the worst.” He said the last with a sly grin. Ginny turned bright red. Works every time…it really isn’t that nice, though…

“HARRY!”

Harry put down the book he’d been reading for the last hour or so, then decided that he needed to speak to Daphne about what exactly they would do about his magic. Daphne had bound it, and explained that she had used a combination of Legilimency and the O’Connor aura detection gift to erect mental wards to seal off access to much of his new power, at least until he was skilled enough to control it.

He had to admit that once Daphne had managed to calm him down, he understood why she and Dumbledore felt that it was so necessary. He was frightened by the thought that he’d nearly killed the young woman he thought of as an older sister by using a simple curse. It scared him to imagine what could have happened if he’d been emotionally unsettled, or worse, in a deep rage. What if he’d used something more dangerous, like a Slicing Curse?

Fairly simple really, Harry. You’d be burying a good friend.

And for that reason, Harry had agreed to the procedure. He didn’t want to hurt other people, but it was also related to the fact that if he used that much magic anytime soon, it could kill him. Daphne had been alarmed, to say the least, when he said that he’d felt an intense burning in his chest. Daphne had explained that while the magical core of a wizard or witch linked with the mind, the actual nexus of magical energy was located in the area that had been in severe pain. Strangely, there were no physiological differences between Muggles and wizards; the magical core simply existed, and could be sensed by very few without the aid of spells.

He still spent hours at a time trying to understand why he’d reacted so…violently to the possibility of his power being controlled. He’d originally believed that it was related to the feeling of helplessness and fear resulting from losing control of his mind to Tom Riddle, but Harry wondered if there might be more than that.

I wanted to kill her. I wanted to maim her, to punish her not only for hurting me, but for, well…enslaving me, I suppose is the way that I perceived it.

You cannot be controlled again. Riddle used you. He gained your trust, became your friend. He gave you the companionship you needed.

Hermione and Ginny are excellent friends.

Be that as it may, you need someone of your own gender. You may understand girls better than most boys your age, mostly from growing up with a very emotional woman like Daphne. But just as you sometimes don’t understand why Ginny and Hermione act the way they do, they don’t understand the way you behave at times.

I must admit, it’s somewhat strange to be having a discussion like this with someone in my head. Maybe Ginny and Hermione were right, and I should worry more about this.

I’m not “someone,” I’m youthe exasperated voice reminded him. I’m Harry James Potter, son of James David Potter and Lilly Rose Evans-”

I get the point. You are me, and my brain is so scrambled that my own thoughts are talking to me.

Something like that. Can you deny that you are thinking more reasonable, acting less impulsively.

I can do that myself. I’m not some stupid Gryffindor.

Careful, Potter, don’t make generalizations.

Shut up.

Harry realized that he’d arrived at Daphne’s bedroom. The door was closed He wasn’t sure if he’d gone to the right place, and wondered if he should look for her in the training room, but then he heard Daphne’s voice from inside. He tried the doorknob, but found it locked. He actually knew it before his hand touched the handle, something told him that she’d placed a locking charm on the door.

He heard another voice, a low, grave sounding voice. Dumbledore. She didn’t put a Silencing Charm on the door…

Normally, Harry wouldn’t even consider eavesdropping on a private conversation between his headmaster and his guardian, but he was so desperate for information, he threw his morals and better judgment to the wayside. If Daphne catches you, you can always make her feel guilty about not telling you anything. It’s manipulative, but you are a Slytherin, aren’t you? She’s just trying to protect you, a noble sentiment, except for the small problem that you’ve nearly died twice in the past two years.

Harry made his decision. I need to know what is going on. He placed his ear against the door.

“…we need to tell him something, Albus,” Daphne argued. “He’s getting nervous, and anxious. And he’s talking to himself often, at least I think he is. It’s dangerous if his reaction time in as slow as it has been. He needs to be able to protect himself.”

“I am fully aware of that, Daphne,” Dumbledore replied. “Rest assured, I have additional reason to care about Harry’s well-being.”

What is he talking about? Harry wondered. What other reason is there? I don’t think he’s talking about my status as the Boy-Who-Lived.

Perhaps he is, you’ll never know if you don’t keep listening, the voice reminded him. He followed its advice.

“…are you proposing that we tell him?” Dumbledore asked incredulously. “Two years ago you were as dead set against it as I was, perhaps more so. You didn’t want to place such pressure on his shoulders.”

“And I still don’t. But what I want is not important. What is important is that he is prepared, that he understands the burden he will have to carry.”

“Daphne, we cannot tell him. Not yet. I have seen no signs of Voldemort’s imminent return, no stirring in the Dark Forest at all. He was badly weakened when Quirrell was destroyed by the Philosopher’s Stone. All the progress he had made was undone.”

“Albus…”

“We cannot tell him the Prophecy, Daphne. He is a mere child.”

“He is NO child, Albus-”

Harry had heard enough. They were talking about him, all right, speaking of some…prophecy that involved him. Something that Daphne was frightened of telling him. She was trying to protect him, to protect his innocence. Can she really be so deluded that she believes I have innocence left to protect?

He considered his options. He could pound on the door and demand to be told the secret, or he could wait, surprise Daphne, and most likely, get more information. It was manipulative…and cruel, to use Daphne’s love for him as leverage to get information. It was very Slytherin, and in this case, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It was the kind of thing he’d expect from Malfoy, or Nott, assuming of course, that the former was skilled enough in deception to pull it off. But if this secret was that dangerous, then they had no right to keep it from him. He deserved to know.

I have earned that right.

He waited.

Dumbledore nodded. “I shall speak to Severus about continuing them once the school term begins. I have no doubt that Harry will work hard enough to overcome any past animosity…between you and me, I daresay that Severus has developed a bit of a soft spot for the boy.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Daphne said firmly. “Still, I’m not surprised that Harry’s success in potions might be making that man see sense. Harry is not his father, and has not been from the moment he was born. He’s a different person. You, me, and the rest of the world knows that, but not Snape.”

“Perhaps that will change,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling madly. “Good day, Daphne.”

“Good day, Albus.”

The fire disappeared. Daphne removing the locking charm on the door, and open it. She froze when she saw Harry standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes hard and searing.

“Hello Harry,” she said, hoping that he wasn’t there for the reason that she feared he was.

“You’ve been hiding something from me,” he said coldly, shattering her illusions. “Something important.”

“I have,” Daphne admitted sheepishly. She looked up at him, matching his intensity. “I would have thought you above eavesdropping, Harry.”

Normally, Harry might have ducked his head in shame, or at least flinched. Harry did neither. “One must resort to desperate measures when they are being kept in the dark,” he said simply. “After all we’ve been through, how could you keep something like this from me? For two years?”

Daphne flinched. His anger was justified, of course. You must deal with the consequences of your actions. Moody had told her. He’d taken her aside, obviously shaken after his star pupil had succumbed to the temptation of the Unforgivables. Moody had been disappointed, but understanding. In rare show of affection, he’d placed an arm around her shoulders and taught her the most important lesson of her life. You will sometimes create monsters. It is your duty to destroy them.

And it was her duty to deal with the consequences of Harry’s discovery.

“Before you were born, a Prophecy was made,” she began. Harry was listening intently. “It involves both you and Voldemort.”

He nodded. She took a deep breath, and then repeated the words that had been seared into her mind ever since she’d heard them from the mouth of Dumbledore during that late-night firecall on October 31st, 1991.