harry_24

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 21 – Protecting the Snake
~~~***~~~

Outside, the rain continued to pour down as Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen this much rain. The conditions were miserable, and Harry had to sneer, thinking of Malfoy and what he’d have to do to return to the castle. By now, the Slytherin would be up and about in Hogsmeade. What would he try to do? Harry stopped to look down through a window to the Hogwarts grounds below. Through the glass he could see large puddles forming everywhere, and the lake burgeoning. He leaned his head against the cold glass and thought back to Dumbledore’s words of forgiveness, but then quickly shoved them aside. “If they can’t help her, Malfoy,” he whispered, his words fogging the pane before him, “you’ll join her there. I promise you that.” A hand touched his shoulder.

“Hey, Harry,” he whispered. “Got a minute?” Harry spun ready to fight, and found that it was only Anthony Goldstein, the Ravenclaw’s eyes darting up and down the corridor. “We’ve made a plan if you want in.” A smile broke out on his face, and for a moment Harry thought he was looking at the smirk of Lucius Malfoy.

“Plan?” Harry asked. “Really, Anthony you’ve got to…”

“Great!” Goldstein jumped in not listening to a word. He held Harry’s arm and walked over by one of the pillars lining the corridor. “Franklin tells me that every night there’s a group of Slytherins that sneak out to one of the classrooms on the second floor for a bit of dueling practice. One of them is Malfoy. But, he seems to have disappeared… somehow,” he winked at Harry. “That conveniently drops their best duelist out of the group.” Again his eyes shot back and forth scanning the corridor. “I’ve got six, maybe seven Ravenclaws. We’ll be waiting for them tonight at ten. Once they’re down, we’re taking them into the forest and leaving them there.”

“The forest!” Harry exclaimed. “You can’t go in there. Do you have any idea…”

“You’ve been in there loads of times, Harry, and you’re fine. We’re just going to scare ‘em a bit. A night’s sleep under the trees will do ‘em some good.” Goldstein’s face was sinister and full of malice. “They’ll pay for what they did to Cho. They’ll all pay!”

“Anthony, listen,” Harry was searching for the words, “it wasn’t all of Slytherin. It was Malfoy. You can’t just assume…”

“They’re all the same, Potter!” he choked. “Luna told us how you fought them off last year. I didn’t believe it, not until today in class. And we know their dad’s are Death Eaters. We need to get them out… eliminate every… last… ONE!” Harry saw a picture of Vernon flash before him as a bit of foam formed on the corner of Anthony’s mouth. “It was a Slytherin that killed your parents, Harry. It was a Slytherin that killed your godfather. Are you in with us, or out?” Harry suddenly found his compass spinning again. The need for revenge was deep and dropping Malfoy in Hogsmeade for a walk home in the rain had not quenched his thirst. “Well?” Goldstein pressed.

“In,” Harry breathed. A broad smile broke out on Goldstein’s face. It was not a smile Harry shared. Then, quite suddenly, Harry’s forehead split open in a searing pain. His hand shot up to his scar. It was on fire. It was the first time he’d felt like this since… since…”

“Harry? Are you okay?” Goldstein asked as Harry bent over in agony.

“What? Are you daft?” Harry yelled. “No, I’m not okay!” He was rubbing his forehead, and as quickly as it had come, the pain receded. He straightened and took a deep breath. Then looking at Goldstein with a scowl he snapped, “Well?”

“Okay… nine-thirty then,” he whispered to Harry, “outside the Ravenclaw common room. If you don’t show, Harry, we won’t wait for you.” He slapped Harry on the shoulder. “Tonight we begin to take back Hogwarts.”

His head pounding, Harry made it back to common room and he began a feeble attempt at working on what homework he could. Throughout, he was wondering what might have caused the pain in his scar again. Throughout, he knew that, somewhere, something bad was about to happen, if it hadn’t already. He went to put his things away as students were making their way in from the last class of the day. When he entered his room, he found Neville lying in bed, his pillow over his head. “Hey, Neville, everything okay?” he asked. Neville pulled the pillow down to reveal a smile on his face.

“Perfect,” he said with an uncharacteristic grin. It was an unusual look for Neville, and an even more unusual response. Harry started to change for dinner and noticed the dragonhead in his trunk. He pulled it out and set it by his bed. “Whoa!” Neville exclaimed. “Cool! Where’d you get it?”

“A friend,” Harry said simply. “For my birthday.” He handed the dragonhead to Neville.

“It’s a Hungarian Horntail, isn’t it?” asked Neville. Harry nodded. “Look at the teeth! Does it move?”

“Nope, just a statue.” He paused. “A Muggle made it.” He was wondering what Neville’s response would be.

“Fantastic!” he exclaimed. The acceptance seemed to warm Harry’s heart which had been so cold of late. “But… a horntail? How?”

“She saw the statuette I had from the Tri-Wizard tournament.” The explanation satisfied Neville, as it had Harry before, but this time the words coming from Harry’s own mouth were troubling; something wasn’t quite right. Still, not everything slipped passed Neville.

“She?” he asked, handing the dragonhead back. The tone in his voice was obvious and the flush of Harry’s skin, and grin on his face gave Neville the answer before Harry said a word. “That makes us two for two, Harry! After Professor Sprout’s N.E.W.T. today, Helen Hedera from Hufflepuff pulled me aside. She wondered if I’d like to help her pot some plants tonight.”

“She’s pretty, Neville,” Harry winked, noticing for the first time that Neville seemed to be growing more handsome himself. “Always wears a flower in her hair, right?”

“Yeah,” Neville sighed, flopping back on his bed and smiling at the ceiling. Ron and Goyle walked in. Goyle was laughing about something as he entered, but stopped abruptly when he saw Harry.

Harry set the dragonhead down next to his bed, but when he pulled his hand away his finger caught on one of the creature’s sharp teeth. “Ow!” he yelped. A small red bead of blood began to prickle to the surface. Harry sucked his finger. When he looked back at its tip, the wound was gone. When he stood up, he saw that Ron had noticed, but no one else.

“Hey, Neville,” Harry called. “How ‘bout dinner.”

“Sure!” Neville said. “I want to hear more about this girl of yours.” Harry watched Ron’s eyes widen a bit, but he ignored him. “See you guys at dinner,” Neville said brightly.

When he and Harry sat to eat, the sky above was still dark and foreboding. The sound of rain filled the Great Hall. His heart growing lighter with the telling, Harry actually opened up about Gabriella in the broadest of terms. It was nice to share with someone else, in a small way at least. Neville seemed to be perfectly accepting.

“You know,” Neville said, munching on a dinner roll, “Seamus’ dad’s a Muggle. You ought to ask him how his folks met.” Harry nodded looking over at the Ravenclaw table. Seamus was sitting with a group of Ravenclaws, one of which was Anthony Goldstein. They were huddling together.

“How obvious can you get,” thought Harry. He looked up to the head table. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention. Dumbledore was gone, and Professor Snape was actually discussing something with Hagrid. Harry walked over to the group of Ravenclaws.

“Why don’t you tell the whole bloody school you’re planning something,” he hissed. “Break it up.” Then, in a louder voice to give a reason for his visit he asked, “Seamus, can I have a word?”

“Sure, Harry!” Seamus stood up and walked over with Harry against a side wall.

“You’re not in on this are you?” Harry whispered.

“Why not?” Seamus snapped back under his breath. “Goldstein says you’re in. Are you?” Harry looked around the hall. He really wanted to be having the conversation Neville suggested.

“It’s not safe Seamus,” Harry pleaded. “Just stay out of it.”

“They figure the one thing I got bein’ from Gryffindor is guts, an’ you wan’ me teh chicken out?” It was Seamus who was turning scarlet. “I don’ back down from a battle, Harry, never. Besides… she’s yer girlfriend, ain’t she?”

“Yes… I mean, no. It’s just that….”

“Yeh better figure it out, Harry, ‘cuz we’re doin’ it tonight, with or witho’ yeh.” Seamus patted Harry on the chest and walked back to the Ravenclaw table. Harry took off his glasses with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other. He was suddenly very tired, and still had Astronomy. The cluster of Ravenclaws broke up and began to leave the hall in twos.

There was a clap of thunder that shuddered through the Great Hall, and Harry walked over and said his goodbyes to Neville. He was on his way to the tower when two students burst through the front doors soaked to the bone. Through the opening he saw Dean and Ginny on the steps. He walked over for a closer look.

“Really, Ginny,” said Dean smiling, water dripping down his face, “I’ve got to go. Astronomy will start any minute.” The two kissed. The rain was splashing down on them.

“Stay,” Ginny teased. “You can’t see any stars tonight.” Dean caught a glimpse of Harry in the doorway.

“Look,” he pointed, “Harry’s headed there now. If Professor Sinistra cancels, I’ll be right back. I swear.” They kissed again, and he pulled himself away. Together, Dean and Harry made their way to the astronomy tower, Dean’s shoes squeaking at every step.

As the pair entered the tower a bit late, Professor Sinistra directed them each take a seat. “I’m afraid viewing the stars will be quite out of the question,” she said. “I thought we…” and as if someone had turned off the spout, the rain stopped. Suddenly, silence filled the air, and the class gave out a small round of applause. Professor Sinistra walked out onto the parapet and looked up to the sky. “Hmm.” She stroked her chin.

For the first half of class, they reviewed planetary information from last year. This year, they were to examine the major gaseous clusters and galaxies. Professor Sinistra kept walking out onto the parapet to check the sky. Finally, she said, “Yes, I think we can have a go.” Each student conjured up a telescope and began to examine the stars. For quite some time they compared their charts with their observations. Dean and Harry were working side by side comparing notes and helping each other out with their charts.

“So, Dean,” Harry asked, “any more trouble from Ron?” He tried to keep his voice as light as possible.

“Tell you what, Harry,” Dean replied, “when Ron stops being an ass, that will be news. Believe me, I’ll let you know when it happens.” He took his quill and scribbled a note on his star chart. “I’ve been thinking about what you said though, and you’re right.” He looked up from his telescope to Harry. “I’ve got his parents on my side, right?” Harry nodded. “Ginny told Fred and George last year when we were first going out and they’ve been cool about it.” He shook his head. “What am I doing looking for Ron’s approval? I don’t need it, and neither does she.” His voice had been resolute throughout, but wavered at the end.

“What?” Harry asked. “Ginny said that…”

“Oh, I know what she says,” Dean interrupted. “I also know what she feels, and it really hurts her that Ron’s being so… so… hell I don’t know.” Harry could feel his blood begin to heat. If Ron was really hurting Ginny in all this, he’d do something about it, and fast.

“Well,” Harry said, trying to keep it light, “I’ll bet he’ll turn around. You’ll see.”

“I hope so,” Dean sighed looking back into his telescope. Harry glanced back into his own eyepiece. A bright swirling galaxy was flanked by countless stars.

“They are beautiful, aren’t they?” he admired.

“Yeah, I think I’d rather draw the galaxies than study them,” Dean whispered. They were almost through when the sound of a cart coming down the flagstone path to the castle broke the silence. The night was dark except for the torches burning outside the castle, and the flashes of lightning that could be seen on the horizon toward Hogsmeade. It was hard to see. A wizard stepped out with a student dressed in class robes. Harry’s heart skipped; was it Malfoy?

“Ladies and gentlemen, that should be enough for tonight,” Professor Sinistra called. “Put your things away. Next time bring with you a description of the ten largest galaxies in the known universe. Three scrolls should suffice.” Harry conjured away his telescope and dashed down the stairs ahead of the rest. He had to see if they’d dragged the Slytherin back to the castle.

When he came around the corner into the castle entranceway, all he could see was the back of Professor Dumbledore. He was speaking to the wizard that had just arrived.

“He didn’t want to come back,” the wizard said. “He’s a bit frightened after what happened to him.” Harry’s heart began to race… it was Malfoy. “But, when he woke up all he could talk about was missing classes.”

“I’m sure,” said Professor Dumbledore, “he can easily make up the material from the classes he’s missed.”

“No!” Harry yelled stepping out into the entranceway. “You can’t let him back in! You can’t.” Dumbledore turned to face him, and when he did so Harry instantly realized his mistake. There stood James Chang, and obviously the wizard next to him was his father.

“Excuse me, Mr. Potter?” Dumbledore inquired, glancing over his spectacles. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Harry was caught. He’d just given it away, all away. Dumbledore would put the pieces together in an instant.

“Potter?” Mr. Chang asked, walking over to Harry.

“Yes, father,” said James. Mr. Chang walked quickly toward Harry, his arms lifted in the air, and then he wrapped them around Harry in a large embrace. Without saying a word he began to sob uncontrollably. Harry put his arms around him in return.

“Thank you my child, thank you,” he heaved. “James has told us about your bravery. My daughter owes you her life.” He let go of Harry and then put both hands firmly on his shoulders. “You’ve saved her, Harry.”

“No,” Harry backed, “no, I didn’t. It… it was Hermione. She went and got the healer.” He was starting to feel cold. To feel death. It didn’t make sense.

“Not on the train, Harry,” Mr. Chang continued, “in the hospital. They say she was holding on to something, not wanting to let go. When she finally came around and started asking about you, we knew. You, or the thought of you, brought her back from the dead, Harry.” Mr. Chang took a deep breath and wiped his face. Then he addressed Dumbledore again. Harry was growing more nauseous by the minute. “I would like to meet this Malfoy, Professor Dumbledore. I need to know why.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment, Mr. Chang,” Professor Dumbledore said calmly. “Mr. Malfoy has been missing since this morning. He was involved in another altercation,” Dumbledore’s eyes flashed at Harry showing a mark of concern, “and was last seen on his way to my office.”

“He has… run away?” James called out.

“Perhaps, young Mr. Chang,” Professor Dumbledore said with a slight twinkle in his eyes, “but I think not.” The wise wizard looked at Harry who was now starting to turn a bit pale. Harry knew the feeling washing over his body, but it couldn’t be. “Harry, the Sorting Hat and I have decided to place Mr. Chang in Gryffindor for this term. He will rotate as the year progresses. Would you help him with his things and escort him to the common room. Find Mr. Weasley, and have him set up a bed for him.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Harry said weakly, as a cold shiver ran down his spine. He walked over by the door and pulled out his wand to levitate James’ trunk when the door flew open and a body smashed against his arm flinging his wand across the flagstone entranceway.

The intruder was breathing hard and was covered in mud. His clothes were in tatters and the muck was dripping from his robes onto the floor. The thing crawled on all fours toward Professor Dumbledore. Harry couldn’t tell really what it was, much less who. A cold wind blew through the door.

“S-s-ss-sir,” it shivered reaching for the hem of Dumbledore’s robe. “D-d-Demen-Dementors!” Immediately, Dumbledore crouched down holding the person close him.

“Dementors? Where Draco?” he yelled, his voice anxious. Malfoy pulled away from Dumbledore, crawled toward Harry by the door, and pointed. He was shaking violently.

“H-Hogsmeade” he croaked. James had caught the name ‘Draco’ instantly. Standing behind Dumbledore now walking toward the door, the first year was pulling his wand. Mr. Chang was on the far side of the hall. Harry saw it all begin to play out, and reached for his own wand, but it was gone. He could feel the surge in his right arm again.

“Draco!” James screeched. “You’ve killed her!” Malfoy was either unaware he was under attack, or unable to defend himself. In an instant, Harry crouched down close to him holding Malfoy with his left arm and raising his right. “Incendio!” James screamed. A huge blast of flame erupted from his wand. Harry opened his right hand.

“Protego!” Harry called. The flame hit his hand and spread out over him and Malfoy. It was as if they were surrounded in a glass cocoon. The spreading fire was warm, but it didn’t burn. A moment later the flames were out. Mr. Chang had taken his son’s wand and was holding him around the chest. Dumbledore strode to the door and looked back at Malfoy.

“How many Draco?” But Malfoy just sat shivering, unable to speak. Dumbledore strode to a painting of a wizard in the hallway. “Everard,” he said, “sound the alarm. Get as many as you can to Hogsmeade, but make sure the rearguard remains in place.” By this time a group of students had begun to gather around; Hermione was among them. Dumbledore’s voice took command of the situation.

“Ms. Granger, see that James is escorted into the Gryffindor common room. Mr. Potter, find some others and carry Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing. Don’t use magic, not in his state. Mr. Chang, I believe we have some work to do?” Mr. Chang who was staring at what he’d just seen, handed his son’s wand to Hermione and drew his own, a moment later both he and Professor Dumbledore were flying the carriage toward Hogsmeade.

Hermione walked up to Harry. “What happened?” she asked.

“Look out!” Harry called. James, free of his father, shoved Hermione, and started pounding on Malfoy. “Get him out of here!” Then Harry called to those gathered. “Dementors are attacking Hogsmeade. Alert your Heads of House! Everyone to their rooms!” When he caught sight of Dean in the hall, he called, “Dean! Do you have any more chocolate?”

“Sure, Harry.” Dean walked over and gave Harry a bar. Harry ripped it open and handed it to Malfoy.

“Eat it Malfoy,” he said, but Malfoy glared defiantly at him shivering. “Eat the damn chocolate!” Grudgingly, he took a bite, and the shivering began to calm. He took another. “Dean, can you give me a hand? I can’t carry him myself.” Earlier, there had been three or four Slytherins in the entranceway, but when they’d heard Dementors they had vanished. “There’s loyalty for you,” Harry thought. “Accio wand!” he called, and his wand flew back in his hand. Dean shot him a glance.

The two Gryffindors lifted Malfoy onto his feet. He was barely able to walk and was still shaking. How he made it from Hogsmeade was a miracle. They were about halfway to the hospital when Dean noticed. The left side of Malfoy’s face was exposed, covered in mud, but the scar was clearly visible.

“Oh, my,” Dean gasped. Malfoy either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. For a while, Dean just stood examining it as they continued down the corridor. And then, in a voice of pure admiration, he said, “Harry, Ginny said this was your handiwork. Did you do it?” Harry took a second to figure out what Dean was talking about. He wasn’t feeling well, and it was hard trudging Malfoy down the hall. Harry was starting to think Malfoy wasn’t walking on purpose.

“Yeah, I did it,” he huffed stopping to look at the staircase they needed to climb.

“It’s bloody exquisite!” Dean breathed. Suddenly, as if broken from a trance, Malfoy realized they were talking about the scar on his face. He pushed Dean away.

“Get away from me you filthy mudblood!” he croaked. But the second he tossed Dean off, he lost complete support and crumpled down to the floor. He tried crawling on all fours up the stairs. “I…” he gasped, “… can get there… myself.” They watched him climb about six steps and then collapse. Harry knew what it was to feel the Dementors drain you of your happiness. Malfoy had laughed at Harry’s vulnerability during their third year. He wondered what had changed to make Malfoy so overcome.

“Your father?” breathed Harry.

“Stay away from me!” Malfoy screamed, but the voice was week and shaky. Harry wondered what it would be like to have first known, then lost his own father, even to prison. Had the Dementors found this new weakness in Malfoy? Harry bent low to one knee.

“Draco let us help. We’ll just take you to the hospital wing and be out of your hair.” Malfoy looked ready to spit in Harry’s face. “You have my word.” Malfoy looked into Harry’s eyes. The blonde’s gray eyes were bright against the dark brown mud caking his face. For a second, he knit his eyebrows, the fire still burning with hatred. Then, the fire left, and an expression Harry had never seen cross Malfoy’s face appeared. Malfoy nodded his head, and fell back on the steps.

Harry reached down and took one arm and Dean took the other. The going was slow, and Harry wondered why Professor Dumbledore told them not to use magic. Dean broke the silence of the journey just before they were at the doors to the hospital wing.

“Malfoy, I know you hate it, but it’s… well fantastic! I’d swear it was Tibetan. And how Potter put it on your face when he draws like a monkey is beyond me.” Malfoy remained silent. They were at the doors and about to go in when Harry held Malfoy against the wall. All three of them were now covered in mud and stained with blood. He held his face close to Malfoy’s.

“I need to know. How many?” he asked. Malfoy’s eyes began to float into space. He began to tremble again.

“Hundreds,” he breathed. His eyes were wide. “They were like flies. I tried to outrun them, but…” He looked down at his hands. They were bleeding and raw. “Someone from the town saved my life,” he whispered as tears began to fill his eyes. “He summoned a patronus, but it was too weak.” The shivering was growing. “I just wanted to die… they were over me… and reached down, and…” He felt the left side of his face. “They dropped me… they… they took him.” Malfoy was now shaking violently. Harry took his own sleeve and wiped the mud from Malfoy’s face the best he could. The ache in his arm was gone.

“I… I’m sorry Draco,” he whispered. “It’s my fault.” His words were heavy, but sincere. He took a deep breath and pulled Malfoy’s arm around his neck. “Get the doors Dean,” he said. And walking through the archway Harry Potter carried for the first time the full weight of Draco Malfoy–body and spirit.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 22 – Salazar’s Pride
~~~***~~~

At breakfast the next morning, everyone looked exhausted. No one had slept the night before. Harry, Dean, Neville, Ron and even Goyle were huddled around their window looking for some sign of what was going on. It was early in the morning when wizards and witches began to appear on the grounds. The night sky glowed with a hint of the sunrise to come. At one point, Ron and Hermione had been called out by Professor McGonagall, only to return saying no one was to leave their dormitories. There was no more news to give other than all was safe. When the sun finally peeked over the horizon, the students were released to head for breakfast.

In the Great Hall, there was a frenetic thirst for information. In such an environment rumors grow exponentially. One common thread was that somehow Malfoy was linked to the Dementors. “Why else would he be in Hogsmeade,” called Parvati, “if he wasn’t in on it?” Many echoed her opinions; even the Slytherins were thinking that Malfoy had summoned the Dementors to town.

Then there was the talk about how Harry, having heard of the evil that Malfoy summoned to Hogsmeade, brought the Slytherin down in the entranceway, dueling him while Dumbledore watched. Their only evidence… the witnesses that had seen Harry crouching over Malfoy like a lion ready to devour its prey. Some spoke of how James Chang had tried to stop it, but that he was sent away by the Head Master. Considering that every Slytherin ran in panic the moment they had heard the word Dementors, Harry was not surprised that they didn’t have a clue as to what really happened.

Assigned initially to Gryffindor, James sat a few tables down from Harry. He was making a halfhearted attempt at eating. He seemed content to listen to Dennis Creevey tell him all the wonderful things there were to learn about Hogwarts. Seated next to Harry were Hermione and Ron. He had tried to leave when Hermione arrived with Ron at her side, but she grabbed Harry’s robes and with surprising force insisted that he sit.

“I’ll sit,” he said, “but don’t think I’m talking. Not with him.”

“I don’t know what you two are having a row about,” Hermione chided, “but I want you to talk about it and get it out in the open right now.” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“I told you to ask him for answers, not me,” Harry retorted. Then looking across the table he added, “Unless, Ron, you’d like to tell us all what you’re upset with me about.” Sitting to the other side of Hermione was Neville and Dean.

“Yeah Ron,” chimed in Neville, “you’ve been in a pretty lousy mood ever since you got here. What’s up?” Dean flicked Neville on the arm and shot him a glance that told him to be quiet. Harry caught it, but Ron had his hands to his forehead, and did not look well.

“Really, Hermione,” Ron said, looking at his uneaten breakfast, “I’m too tired this morning, okay? Maybe tomorrow.” When he looked back up to Hermione, his eyes had a look of fright in them. It wasn’t there when the two had walked in. Harry looked around the room, then back to Ron. It was as if everyone’s emotions were leaving an imprint on Ron’s face.

As they were talking, a murmur fluttered through the Great Hall and it suddenly became quiet. Harry looked from Ron to the Head Table. Dumbledore had just entered and stood beside his chair, waiting for complete silence. When it came, he began to speak.

“Last night,” he said, his voice clear and strong, “some two hundred Dementors rampaged through the town of Hogsmeade.” There was a collective gasp. Many had heard it was Dementors, but the words coming from Dumbledore’s mouth made them real and Hogsmeade made them close. “The Ministry, many local inhabitants, and many witches and wizards of the staff here went to repel the attack. By midnight, nearly one hundred Dementors had been captured; the rest fled. There were many injuries, and much damage, but no fatalities. Such is the way of the Dementor. There was one wizard, Mr. Silverton, who lost his soul saving the life of one of our own students.”

There was a general murmur. The words “Malfoy” and “Draco” bounced off the walls like ping-pong balls. James Chang began scanning the room, looking for his nemesis. Dumbledore pressed on.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy. He is recuperating in the hospital wing. He is well and will be returning to class shortly.” There were more whispers. “No,” Dumbledore boomed emphatically, “he did NOT have anything to do with the attack. He was unfortunate to find himself in Hogsmeade at the wrong time.” Dumbledore’s face did not move, but Harry was sure he saw a flash of blue glance his way. “The school is safe, as are the grounds.” The elderly wizard seemed to age for a moment, and then stepped away from the Head Table and down among the students. It was most unusual, but as he surrounded himself with the students, he gathered strength, and years were wiped from his face. His stature straightened and he spoke as if holding the hands of each individual student. Harry noticed the fear begin to fade from Ron’s face.

“We will not let terror rule our lives. We will defeat this evil on every front. We will push back his advances. We will deny his goals at every turn. The day will come when Voldemort is utterly destroyed.” This time his eyes bore straight on Harry. Hermione noticed and held his hand. Dumbledore turned and took in the Great Hall. “By staying true to the principals this school was founded on, by working together for a greater good, you will lead the charge. Yes, each of you will have your hand in his ultimate defeat.” The room fell silent for a moment as Dumbledore began to walk back to the Head Table. There were a few whispers weaving their way through the air like snakes.

Dumbledore returned to his chair, and spoke one last time wearing a broad smile. “We will continue as we have for centuries. The Hogsmeade weekend will not be canceled. We will fight fear with bravery, destroy hate with love.” There was a loud cheer throughout the room. As the room quieted, Dumbledore smiled. “There is one thing more we have done for centuries… study hard, and do our homework.” There was a collective groan. “You have only fifteen minutes before class. Finish your breakfasts!” He clapped his hands, and the sound of forks and plates clanging together returned to fill the room.

Ron turned back to see Hermione holding Harry’s hand. For a moment his face flushed, then it lost all expression as he closed his eyes. Hermione pulled her hand away, slightly embarrassed, while Harry tried to kick Ron in the leg, but he was too far down the table. It was too late. Ron had read Hermione’s mind, and now knew what she had been thinking — the prophecy of Harry’s fate. When Ron opened his eyes they were as big as silver dollars and focused straight at Harry.

“Why… why didn’t you tell me?” he gasped. Hermione thought he was upset about her holding Harry’s hand. She began to explain how she was just holding Harry’s hand because of last night’s trauma. But she was telling a lie that Harry knew Ron could see through. Ron now knew of Harry’s ultimate confrontation, at least, Hermione’s interpretation of it, and she was dead bang on. Harry didn’t say a word. He stood up from the table and walked away.

“Harry,” she called. But Harry was having nothing to do with Ron… ever. He was nearly out of the Great Hall when the sound of multiple screeches signaled the arrival of the morning post. He waited, but Hedwig was nowhere to be seen. Her absence only plunged his heart lower. He was about to leave when Seamus walked up to him from the Ravenclaw table.

“We’ve moved the timetable, Harry,” he whispered, “for obvious reasons.” He glanced over to the Slytherin table. “Late next week. I’ll let yeh know.” And before Harry had a chance to say a word, Seamus was back laughing at the Ravenclaw table.

“At least he’s happy,” Harry thought, and he left to make his way to Potions.

He was early. There was only one other student waiting for Professor Snape. In the back of the room, considerably cleaner than the night before, sat Malfoy. His blonde shoulder length hair was pristine and his robes pressed. He was certainly not the tatters and blood of just a few hours ago. For a moment Harry hesitated, then stepped back to leave when Malfoy turned his head to see who had entered.

Harry just stared. Malfoy had removed the bandage completely, the scar was revealed. It was the first chance Harry had time to truly examine the design up close. Save for the two lightning-bolts on the base of the sword that burned his forearm, the marks were identical. Malfoy just stared back, his lips turned in a slim smile. The mark was less red than the mark that appeared on Harry’s arm. But against Malfoy’s light skin it was clear to see from a distance.

“Well, Potter,” he snapped, “what do you think? Your mudblood friend thinks it’s ‘exquisite’, or am I simply some sort of freak?” He turned back facing the front of the classroom. “Well, either way, I’m not hiding it anymore. We’ll see what the school thinks of your handy-work.” Harry just looked at the back of Malfoy’s head. Could this statue of ice before him be the same sniveling creature he saved from being torched? Harry simply walked toward the front of the class and sat down.

“I hope, Draco,” Harry said, facing the front of the classroom himself, “you won’t stun me in the back again.” He turned to face Malfoy, a sneer slashing across his own face. “It would be a shame if you found yourself waking up in Voldemort’s basement this time. But then, maybe you’d prefer…”

“You!” Draco yelled. “I knew it! How Potter? Damn you! You almost cost me my life!” He stood drawing his wand, the chair he was sitting in scraping across the stone floor and reverberating in the empty classroom.

“And YOU!” cried Harry. “You killed everything that made her Cho! Not nearly Draco. She’s as good as dead!” And Harry stood, wand in hand.

At the same moment about six students walked through the doors, stopping instantly and gawking at the scene before them. An encore, they thought, to the duel from the night before. Harry pressed on.

“You’ve been a slug, Draco, and a ferret,” he taunted. “What would you like to be this time?” Students were piling up on the outside of the door. It was a commotion that went unheeded by either of the two students inside.

“If it hadn’t been for you Potter, Old Man Silverton would be having breakfast with his wife this morning. They took him because…” Malfoy took a deep breath as a pang of regret welled up inside him. “…because he tried to see me here safely.” Malfoy’s words were a stiletto slicing deep into Harry’s innards. Immediately, the Gryffindor dropped his wand to his side, turned and slumped to his chair. He could hear the crowd outside collectively sigh and make their way into the dungeon classroom.

“Harry, what’s going on?” It was Hermione, her hand on his shoulder as she sat down next to him. He was looking down to his hands, rolling over Hagrid’s words of manhood in his mind. He looked over to Hermione.

“I killed him,” he whispered. There was pain in his green eyes. “I killed her,” he whispered again. “I’m death, Hermione. Death.”

“Harry you’re not…” The dungeon door burst open with a clang. They didn’t need to turn to know it was Professor Snape.

“I’m glad you could find your seat today Mr. Potter,” he sneered as he came to the front of the class. Then he looked to the back. “Mr. Malfoy please face the front of the class, you can…” his sentence broke for just a beat as Malfoy revealed his face, “…take these notes down.” He waved his wand in the air and the class board filled with the morning’s lesson. Throughout the lesson, Harry was an automaton. Mechanically, he read the instructions and mixed the ingredients. When the lesson was over, he’d made the best draught he’d ever attempted in Potions, but he didn’t care. After he handed his flask to Professor Snape, he turned to speak with Malfoy, but the blonde had already left.

During Care of Magical Creatures he was silent, standing to the back away from Ron, away from everybody. When Hagrid tried to engage him with questions he would respond with a simple yes, no, or just shrug his shoulders. At lunch, Hermione and Ron were talking to Goyle and laughing about something. Harry deliberately sat with Colin so that he wouldn’t have to say more than a word or two. Once again he had found his internal compass spinning. How could he possibly save the world when everything he touched turned to death?

When it came time for his Transfiguration lesson, Harry found himself arriving early. For some time he sat alone drawing his own doodles around the edges of his notebook. They weren’t pictures of brooms, but of sunsets. Without invitation, Malfoy sat down next to him just before class was to start. He sat on Harry’s right ensuring his partner would have a good long look at the mark on Malfoy’s face. But Harry didn’t need to look; he knew what was there. The two sat silently before the start of class as Professor McGonagall chatted with Hermione in the front.

Harry took his wand out and set it on the table in front of him. Without looking at Malfoy he said, “Draco, I’m sorry.” Except for the soft murmurs of students in the class, there was silence. Then Malfoy pulled out his wand and began to twiddle with it in his hands.

“It’s just that…” Malfoy started. With a finger he slowly stroked the grain along his wand’s shaft, and then he shook his head. He set his wand down next to Harry’s and brought his left hand to his face. Before he could say more, Professor McGonagall called the room to begin.

While she had most the class working on the previous lesson, a few students were moving on to more advanced efforts. Hermione along with Anthony Goldstein, and Harry with Malfoy were given a box turtle again, but this time they were asked to change it directly into another animal, a snake. It was the first time in class they’d attempted an animal-to-animal transfiguration. McGonagall showed the new spell and wand movement to both pairs. Harry wondered if it would be more difficult than when he was angry and turned Goyle into a toad.

After the professor left Harry and Malfoy, they grabbed their wands and began, neither wanting to be second best. It was as if the two were dueling. With each flash of the wand their transfigurations became better and better. At one point, Harry had turned the turtle into a rather squat snake with stubby legs.

“Pitiful Potter,” Malfoy drawled. He untransfigured the creature back into the turtle and attempted the spell himself. “Quadrena Serpses!” The turtle stretched and lost its legs. The head became snakelike, but the shell remained.

“Not QUAD-re-na, quad-RE-na,” Harry corrected. It goaded Malfoy, but Harry was right, and Malfoy nodded. Toward the end of class, it was Malfoy who succeeded first.

“Looks like a snake to me,” the Slytherin snickered.

“You should know,” Potter griped back. Two more attempts later, Harry succeed in the transfiguration. A glance to the front revealed that Hermione still hadn’t mastered the spell. When he looked back to his desk, the snake was attempting to slither over the edge. Malfoy re-centered it with his wand. Then, an idea flashed across the blonde’s face.

“Can you talk to it?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “It was a turtle, after all.” There was a mischievous glint in Malfoy’s eyes.

“Well, give it a go,” Malfoy coaxed. “Ask it something.” Harry glanced up to find McGonagall correcting Anthony Goldstein’s wand movement. He wasn’t sure why, but the tone in Malfoy’s voice was compelling. He leaned down next to the snake.

“Hassa hayaheth?” he whispered. The snake raised its head and looked at Harry. “Hassa shessa rahess,” Harry continued. The snake clearly looked at Malfoy, flicking its tongue then back at Harry. Malfoy leaned in close, transfixed.

“Well?” he asked Harry. The scene looked very conspiratorial: Harry and Malfoy shoulder-to-shoulder, forehead-to-forehead leaning down over the snake.

“She says,” Harry replied, “you’re better at this than I am.” Malfoy leaned up grinning and punched Harry on the shoulder.

“Hah!” he shot. The smile curved the dagger that plunged down from his eye. Harry forced himself not to look.

“She also says,” continued Harry, “the whole thing is making her dizzy, and could she be a turtle again? It feels safer.”

“Simple enough,” Malfoy smiled and flicked his wand, “Quadrena!” and she was back to being a turtle. He stared at her for a moment, and then looked back at Harry. He squinted his cold gray eyes. “Father says you learned it from him,” he whispered looking slightly nervous, “when he gave you that.” Malfoy’s eyes shot to Harry’s scar then dropped meeting Harry’s. For a moment, eye-to-eye, the two were frozen in time, then Harry leaned back.

What was this about? Had he forgotten who he was sitting next to? Every word he said, every deed he accomplished would certainly be recorded and reported back to Voldemort as surely as he was speaking to a Death Eater’s son.

“I don’t know, Draco,” Harry said at a distance but squinting his eyes to match Malfoy’s. “I’ve left you with a mark; can you speak with snakes?” For a second Malfoy considered the possibility, but Harry didn’t let the thought stay for long.

“Oops! I take that back,” Harry smirked. “You talk with them every day… don’t you?” He turned and watched Professor McGonagall as she began to clear the desks with her wand. Without looking at Malfoy he said, “I won’t be your personal spy back to daddy, Draco.”

“Spy?” Malfoy hissed. “I’m not a spy, Potter.” For a beat Harry resisted the temptation, but he couldn’t resist; he needed to be cruel.

“No?” he spat a bit too loudly; a few students looked their direction. “Then tell me Draco, whose side are you on? Are you with your father, in league with Voldemort or not?” Malfoy looked up to see far too many eyes on him.

“You’re insane Potter!” he called out certain that those near would hear. “Simply insane.” By now Professor McGonagall was at the back of the class clearing the desks there.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy,” she called from a few rows away looking over the top of her spectacles, “I’ve been watching you this afternoon. You both performed exceptionally. Ten points to Slytherin.” The other Slytherins in the room cheered.

“What?” Harry called out. “You said BOTH of us!” He stood up out of his chair, half leaning on the desk in front of him.

“It was Mr. Malfoy who transfigured the turtle first, Mr. Potter.” It was almost as if she were enjoying the words. Harry couldn’t believe it. His own Head of House! “Perhaps next time, Mr. Potter,” she said. Harry sat back down and shoved his wand back inside his robes. Malfoy slipped his in grinning all the while.

As class broke out into the corridor Harry deliberately stayed behind to ensure he was one of the last to leave, and giving Hermione a long head start. When he finally left the class and entered the corridor he was stunned to see Malfoy leaning against the far wall.

“Here to gloat are you Malfoy?” he said without stopping. “I noticed you didn’t answer my question.” Malfoy paced at his heel.

“Too many ears, Potter,” he whispered. “Something you would have learned if you’d have been in Slytherin.” The only students in sight were those well in front and heading to the second floor.

“You know, Potter,” said Malfoy, “you should have been in Slytherin.” The words, so close to a path that Harry often wondered about, prickled the hair on the back of the Gryffindor’s neck.

“Never,” he spat through gritted teeth still striding down the corridor.

“How did you do it? How did you get me to Hogsmeade?” questioned Malfoy.

“Playing spy again, Malfoy?” Harry turned to the stairs for the second floor.

“Somehow,” Malfoy drawled, “I doubt you were playing by the rules. Were you?” Harry was silent and the smile of Malfoy’s face widened. “You never play by the rules, do you, Potter?” And then he hissed at the back of Harry’s ear, “Salazar would have been proud.”

Harry could feel Malfoy’s warm breath, but it sent a cold shiver shooting down Harry’s spine. Harry remained silent until they reached Basic Apparation. Malfoy’s words, however, kept bouncing off the walls in his mind, and kept resurfacing all through the day. There was a part of Harry, deep inside, that smiled at their retelling.

At dinner that night, Harry found himself sitting with Katie, trying to discuss Quidditch strategies. Once again, he had shunned Ron and Hermione. Sitting, talking Quidditch with Katie, surrounded by dozens of people Harry would have called friends, a sense of loneliness began to come over him.

“Where’s your head, Harry,” she snapped. “If I wanted to talk to the wall, I would.”

“What? Oh, sorry,” Harry said. “Can’t seem to get my mind clear tonight.”

“Well you better get it clear soon. We’ll be playing before you know it. I don’t know the playbook like Angelina did. I always flew the way I was told, and I’m going to need your help putting something new together this year. If we give the same look again, we’ll be destroyed.” She dropped her fork into her mashed potatoes splattering gravy on her robes.

“Here,” Harry said sliding out his wand, “let me get that.” He pointed at the gravy dripping down the front of Katie’s dark blue blouse. “Scourgify!” he called. The gravy vanished, but then the blue began to turn white, and suddenly the threads on the front of Katie’s skirt began to tatter and disintegrate. Katie quickly held one hand over her front while grabbing her wand with the other. Un-phased, she pointed the wand at her napkin.

“Vestio!” she called, and the napkin transfigured into a gray smock. She held it over her front. “Potter,” she said, rolling her eyes, “you’re a genius on a broom, but how you ever got in to six N.E.W.T.s is beyond me.” She stood up and walked to the entrance of the Great Hall to the sound of claps. Fenton Clint of Hufflepuff let out a whistle and said something derogatory Harry couldn’t make out just as she was at the doors. Katie flashed her wand his way, and a bowl of soup flipped over and landed in his lap. “Potter!” she yelled. “Clint needs some help!” And she turned and left the room. Harry held up his wand as if to offer Clint a hand, and Clint quickly covered up, which brought laughter to everyone watching.

“I told you to be careful.” Harry turned to see Hermione. “Your wand’s amplifying.” Harry held his wand up and looked at it.

“Looks the same to me,” he said and slumped down on the bench, his back to the table.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“What did you and Ron talk about at lunch?”

“I’m not going there, Harry,” she said emphatically. “If you have a question for Ron, ask Ron yourself. I’m not playing envoy.”

“Sorry,” he said, and then he grunted a laugh. “Hmm… I’ve been saying that word a lot today; what a waste.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands to his face. His long black hair hung down hiding his expression. “I can’t do this, Hermione.” She reached her hand and slipped the hanging hair over his left shoulder. The silver lightning-bolt dangled down. She remained silent. Harry began to wonder if things would be better if he had parents he could talk to.

“Last year,” Harry said, staring at the floor, “did you write your parents about Umbridge?”

“Well, sure,” Hermione replied, “as best I could. She was reading the post, you know that.”

“When you write, what do you write about?” Hermione turned a little on the bench.

“Well,” she searched, “all kinds of stuff. I tell them about what’s been happening, and what I’ve been learning.”

“Did you tell them about Victor?”

“Victor?” she looked bewildered.

“Yeah, Krum, and the dance.” He sat upright and looked at her. “Did you tell them how you felt, or ask them what they thought about you going to a dance with someone from a foreign school?”

“I guess you could say,” she paused, “I asked for some advice about the dance.” Harry could see she was sidestepping. Why couldn’t she just tell the truth? What was she hiding? He stood up.

“Lies,” he sighed. There was no energy left in him to be angry. “All lies.” He wanted, no, he needed to talk to someone… to get it all straight in his head. For a second, part of him thought he could use Hermione, or maybe her parents. He suddenly felt that it was a stupid thought, and only made his sense of isolation build.

The Great Hall was emptying. At the teacher’s table, locked in conversation, only Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore remained. Stars were breaking out on the ceiling above, a large, red glow shown bright in the center of the sky, almost mocking him.

“Harry,” Hermione said, “I would never…”

“Stop it!” Harry snapped. His words echoed off the walls in the emptying room. He held his hand up, palm outward, and backed toward the wall. “Just… just stay away.” When his back hit stone, he began to slide down coming to rest on the flagstone floor. “Just stay away,” he repeated in a weak whisper.

Hermione was helpless. She looked around. Save for the two Professors, seemingly oblivious, there was no one in the room. Slowly, she made her way to the entrance of the Great Hall. She glanced back one more time to see Harry, in a heap, motionless against the wall, and then she left.

Harry sat on the ground with his head slumped against his folded arms. “Why am I here?” he said to himself out loud. “It isn’t fair. It isn’t right.”

“No. No it isn’t,” a deep voice echoed off the walls. “But you won’t find answers sitting on your bum, Harry.” He looked up to see Dumbledore standing over him. “Get up son.” His blue eyes were kind and he was smiling, but his face still bore a deep sadness. “I’m thinking desert is in order. Would you care to join me?” Dumbledore held out his hand and Harry took it, standing by his side.

They walked toward the chamber behind the teacher’s table off the Great Hall. “I’ve had them fix up something my mother used to make.” For the first time since he’d arrived at Hogwarts, Dumbledore put his arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Far too much chocolate for an old man, but with your help, I think we might just finish it.”

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 23 – Chosen Paths
~~~***~~~

The anti-chamber seemed somewhat smaller than Harry had remembered. It was cool, and the only light flickered from a dozen candles floating above a small round table to one side of the room. There, were placed two small purple plates and in the center an enormous desert that looked like a mixture of whipped chocolate pudding and fudge cake, topped with cherries.

Dumbledore walked over to the fireplace. “Incendio!” he called and the logs burst into flame. Warmth and light filled the room. “A simple spell, with so much impact,” he said whimsically walking toward the small table. “It’s one of the first spells Wizard children learn, often camping with their parents in the woods. And yet, even you have not realized its full potential. Please, Harry, have a seat.” He held out his hand for Harry to join him at the table. Harry sat down and Dumbledore began to slice into the desert with a large knife. “I find desert tastes better if you use your hands, don’t you?” he said with a sparkling smile and a twinkle in his eye. Harry couldn’t help but smile back. Dumbledore gave Harry a very large portion, and then he served himself spilling it over his plate. With a finger he wiped the table and licked the chocolate.

“Did Cho ever tell you her brother was a Wizard scout?” Dumbledore asked, stabbing a cherry on his plate. Harry, his mouth full, shook his head. “He’s very impressive for his age. Holds more badges than any other youth in Britain. There was never any doubt he’d make it into Gryffindor,” Dumbledore winked taking another bite. Suddenly he grimaced.

“Ouch!” He reached to his mouth and pulled out a cherry pit. He held it up like a diamond examining every detail. “Fascinating, don’t you think Harry?”

“How so, sir?” Harry asked wiping his mouth with his napkin and wondering what in the Wizarding world would be fascinating about a cherry pit. Dumbledore looked longingly at the pea-sized seed.

“Cherries are, I’m afraid to say, one of my greatest weaknesses. They are, in my opinion, the most perfect fruit on the face of the earth.” Dumbledore’s face was filled with rapture. “And yet, every now and then… they bite back.” He placed the pit on his plate, and stabbed another cherry holding it out on the tip of his fork. “Tell me Harry, should I stop eating cherries because a few challenge my chewing?”

“Of course not sir,” said Harry smiling.

“I agree!” Dumbledore smiled back and popped the cherry in his mouth following it up with a large scoop of chocolate whipping. Harry took another bite from his own plate and then put his fork back down.

“Sir, I…” he stopped unable to find the words. Where would he begin, or should he bother saying anything? It was Dumbledore who spoke again.

“Have you been writing to Gabriella?” he asked. Harry reddened.

“Yes,” Harry answered, “I’m waiting for a letter from her now.” Dumbledore grinned almost mischievously.

“I hope you don’t mind Harry, but the other day I had to take a look. She is quite beautiful.”

“You… you’ve seen her?” Harry shot out. “How is she? Is she okay?” Dumbledore held his hand up.

“Easy, easy,” he laughed. “I stopped in to see her the day before classes began. I understand how you might be taken with her.” Dumbledore sat upright in his chair then leaned in toward Harry. “I’ve taken the precaution to place a few protections around her, Harry. Just in case.” His face darkened somewhat. “I was busy there the night the train arrived.” Harry looked down to his plate, and then up to meet Dumbledore’s eyes.

“It’s my fault, sir.” His voice was raspy. “You wanted me to bring them together, and all I did was start a war among the houses…”

“Really? Dumbledore asked wiping some dripping cream from off his beard. “Last night I thought I saw a Gryffindor save a Slytherin’s life, or at least save him from untold weeks in the hospital wing. Was I mistaken?” He looked at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. “And the way you accomplished that was most interesting.” Harry subconsciously began to rub his right forearm.

“And what about Mr. Silverton?” Harry countered. “If Draco hadn’t been in Hogsmeade, if I hadn’t…”

“There are untold paths to every action, Harry,” Dumbledore cut in. “It is impossible to predict the outcome of every one. Even the greatest seers of our time have been wrong. The difficulty always lies in staying true to our hearts. I believe this,” and he tapped his finger to the side of his head, “far too often gets in the way.” Dumbledore wiped his mouth, set his napkin on the table and walked over to the fireplace.

“And even when we remain true I’m afraid, the path can twist.” He held his hands up warming them against the flames. “You sat with Cho, because you like her. Draco entered your carriage because he hates you. But Draco hates so much,” Dumbledore shook his head, “he hates everything he doesn’t understand… a poisoned mind. Cho decided to stand against him… another choice. And today… today Ravenclaws conspire to attack Slytherins in secret.” Dumbledore turned to find Harry’s eyes were wide and his mouth a bit slack. Dumbledore continued.

“And still, last night you chose to reveal one of the gifts you hold secret to save your very enemy. A powerful gift, I must say, I have only seen one other use in my many, many years. And a choice… a choice that promises very interesting consequences.” Harry walked to the fire and stood next to Dumbledore.

“Professor,” Harry whispered, “am I… am I some kind of freak?”

“You are growing up, Harry,” said Dumbledore warmly. “Nothing more, nothing less. You are becoming a man, and a very fine one too if I might add.” Again, Dumbledore put his arm around Harry. “As old as I am, I still learn new things. I fear the day when the morning sunrise doesn’t promise a new discovery. Why, just last night I discovered a very curious thing happens when a patronus traps a Dementor against a wall.” Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to flash a small glint of revenge, and his mouth formed a silent “Pop!”

Harry simply stood there, and watched the flames flicker. His mind was racing through time and space trying to gather the courage to ask the one thing he most wanted. But his bravery faltered.

“Sir, can people change?” he asked, “I mean, really change, deep in their hearts?”

“You already know the answer to that Harry,” answered Dumbledore. “And Dudley sleeps under your very roof.”

“The remember-ball,” Harry chuckled, nodding in agreement.

“As for Draco,” Dumbledore shook his head, almost reading Harry’s mind. “If he has any hopes of changing, it is with his father behind bars, with himself at Hogwarts, and…,” he hesitated, “with you as his guide.” He walked over to the table and waved his wand. The plates of desert vanished, and almost instantly the lines on his face grew deeper. “Harry, I tell you this in deepest confidence, do you understand?” Harry nodded. “If Cho does not recover, I’m afraid he’ll have to join his father.” Again he flicked his wand and two chintz chairs appeared. Dumbledore sat with a slight groan.

“You asked what you were doing here, Harry. Do you know the answer?” At these words Harry threw himself back into the other chair and sank deep into the cushion.

“To save humanity?” he quipped.

“No,” Dumbledore said immediately. “You are here to learn. Our founders established this school so that knowledge, and even some wisdom, might be handed down from generation to generation. This is a time to discover and sharpen your skills, to deepen your understanding of Wizardry. Tools you will need in the war to come. But it is also a time to discover who you are, who you will become, and decide what difference you are willing to make in this world.” Harry couldn’t help but think of Soseh’s words on his birthday.

The log popped throwing a red ember out on to the floor. Dumbledore swished his wand and tossed it back to the fire. “The mark on Mr. Malfoy’s face,” Dumbledore began. “Was it Ms. Granger who gave you the idea for the design?” Harry repositioned himself in the chair.

“No,” he said. “I just… I just wanted him to know what it was like to be different, to be stared at all the time.” He started to squeeze the cushion of his chair. “If I had known…”

“Yes?”

“If I had known, I’d have thrown him out the window!” Harry spat.

“And it would be you who would face the unhappy prospect of joining Lucius Malfoy at Azkaban,” Dumbledore replied. “Instead, Draco is alive, and there is hope. Given the choice, it is always wisest to choose hope. Indeed, I had hoped you’d be Quidditch Captain this year.” Harry’s ears perked. “But, alas, Professor McGonagall said you were too prone to adventures.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Harry sang out.

“Exactly what I said!” Dumbledore chimed in. “You’re the best flyer hands down in all of Hogwarts I said. Certainly, you have one of the best heads for the game.” And without knowing what had happened, Harry plunged into an exchange of Quidditch with Professor Dumbledore that lasted twenty minutes. All thought of Dementors or Death Eaters had evaporated. The pressures of playing the hero disappeared. The conversation ended with Professor Dumbledore telling Harry that next year, he’d have the All-England Team out to see him fly. “A noble profession, Quidditch,” he finished.

“That would be excellent, Professor,” said Harry, grinning. “We’ve tryouts this weekend. I think I might want to put a few plays together for Katie, just to put the rookies through their paces.”

“Wonderful, but I think you need to finish your homework first, and I’ve kept you far too long.” Dumbledore stood and Harry followed. He waved his wand and the chairs were gone. “I understand that you want to become an Auror,” he said. “Something to fall back on should Quidditch fail.” They laughed together as they walked to the Great Hall.

“Harry, I was a fool last year for not telling you how I felt. This year will be different. My door is always open, do you understand?” Harry nodded smiling, and Dumbledore patted him on the back.

They left the darkened Great Hall and walked out to the front corridor. As Harry took his leave and started for the Gryffindor common room, he turned to Dumbledore.

“Professor!” he called down the corridor. Dumbledore, about to turn the corner, stopped and looked back. “The other… who could do magic without a wand… who was it?” For a moment Dumbledore hesitated turning something in his mind. Then a simple smile graced his face.

“In good time, Harry. In good time,” he said, and disappeared around the corner.

That night, Harry slept in peace, and over the next few days, he studied hard, but thought more about Quidditch than his lessons. Harry ignored the fact that Goyle had somehow replaced him as Ron’s best friend. He paid no attention that Neville was clearly falling in love with Helen Hedera, and she with him. Harry had stumbled on the two kissing in the botanical section of the library. And, he was quite happy when at breakfast he told Seamus and Anthony in no uncertain terms that he was ‘out’. Instead, his mind was, and would stay, focused on flying.

When the day of Quidditch tryouts had arrived, the air was warm and clear, and the grass green as they walked out onto the pitch. Besides the starting four, Harry, Katie, Ron and Ginny, there were over a dozen Gryffindors ready to try their skill–and one Slytherin. There were various types of brooms. Harry noted that Geoffrey Hooper had a new Nimbus 2001, and wasn’t whining too much, at least not at the moment. Jack Sloper was also there looking to make Beater again. His size had definitely improved since last year, and Harry hoped his coordination had as well.

The night before, the four starters had discussed what they were looking for in Chaser and Beater positions. Harry and Ginny had put together the strategies for the various plays they’d have the prospects work through. On the field, however, Katie took command.

After a few moments explaining the drill to everyone, she started with the first group, released the Bludgers, tossed the Quaffle, and let the Snitch free. Harry kicked off from the ground and in an instant found himself high above the stands. The sudden acceleration took him by surprise, but the flight up was as smooth as silk. He gently glided down to the end of the pitch near Ron, and even though he was still mad at him, Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t let ‘em score on you King!” he called with a grin. Slowly, he leaned on the nose of the Caduceus and he shot like a bullet to the far end of the pitch weaving his way past a Bludger and over the head of Geoffrey Hooper. His eyes were wide, the acceleration exhilarating. He tried a few more moves bringing the broom high and then dropping it into a dive. “The Potter Pounder,” he thought, because anybody foolish enough to stay with him would be pounded into the ground. Inches from the turf, he nosed the Caduceus up, his feet brushing the tips on each blade of grass.

“Potter!” Katie yelled. “Your broom is lovely. Now find the Snitch! I want the next group out on the pitch.” Harry saluted, beaming, and brought the broom back up high over the field. It was as if he was flying without a broom. It reacted almost to his thoughts. Suddenly there was a glint down low behind Ron’s head. Three seconds later the Snitch was in his hand, as Ron nearly fell off his broom in Harry’s wake. Katie called the next set to the field.

“So, your hindness,” Harry said to Ron, “did they score?” Ron straightened himself.

“Strangely, no.” Ron smiled back. “It seems I anticipated their every move.” Harry’s eyebrows furled, but he remained silent.

The next group included Goyle. Compared to the rest of the Gryffindors he was massive. Harry pulled down close. “Remember, you’re supposed to keep the Bludgers away from me, right?” Goyle just smirked.

Again Harry took the first few minutes to exercise his broom. He tried a few sudden stops and swerves. The Caduceus was incredible! Jack Sloper, trying to keep a Bludger from hitting Harry, misjudged the broom’s speed and nearly dismounted Harry as he knocked the Bludger just in front of him. Harry simply smiled and looked to the blue sky. “I wish it were raining.” Indeed Harry found his heart light and his mood the best it had been since being at the pool with Gabriella. When the thought of her seeped into his mind he turned his broom toward Little Whinging. He’d been expecting an owl for days, and still Hedwig had not returned.

“Potter!” Katie yelled again. “Look out!” But Harry didn’t need to hear her words; some internal instinct had him already responding. He turned just in time to see a Bludger whizzing toward his head. He pulled hard and the Caduceus reacted instantly. If he’d been on his Firebolt, he’d be falling to the ground now. He looked down. The grass was at least two-hundred feet below. What was a Bludger doing this high? He looked to see Goyle below turning his broom away as if nothing had happened. Harry was at his side in an instant.

“Playing tricks are we Goyle?” Harry spat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Potter,” Goyle said dismissively. He charged his broom at a Bludger that was headed toward Katie and knocked it across the pitch. For a moment, Harry watched as Katie carried the Quaffle toward Ron. She passed it to Ginny who swooped to her left, slowed and shot it over to Katie at the other ring. It was a tremendous feint and even Harry expected Ginny to try the score. Instead Katie caught the Quaffle and tossed to the ring on the left, but Ron was in position and stopped the score. Katie cursed.

“Bloody hell, Weasley!” she cried out. “That was brilliant.” Harry knew why, of course, and something about it was starting to bother him.

The afternoon was waning when the final group had finished. Still, Harry was in no mood to stop. He’d had no problem catching the Snitch the first time he saw it. Six in a row with no escapes was a personal best. He’d spent much of his time looking at the moves of the candidates. Not one had been able to score on Ron. In fact, Ron was starting to gloat about it. Harry swooped over to him before he lit on solid ground.

“Ron, a word,” he said and headed his broom to the other side of the pitch. Ron followed him and they hovered near the stands.

“What’s up, Harry?” Ron smirked, running his fingers through his hair. “Not a bad practice, eh? ‘Course you’d think someone would score.” He looked down at the cluster of candidates below. Katie was saying something in a very animated way.

“Ron, you can’t just use your mind to look into people’s heads!” Harry snapped.

“Why not?” Ron snapped back.

“You’ve got to use your eyes and your understanding of the field.”

“I’m doing just fine!”

“Sure, today, when the stands are empty!” Harry’s voice was loud and started to echo off the other side of the pitch. The group below turned their way. “What happens when this place is filled, and every mind thinks the score’s coming from a different direction? What then?”

“What? Are you worried you’re going to lose your position as our savior? Don’t tell me you’re jealous!” Ron retorted.

“Jealous! Are you crazy!” Below, Goyle mounted his broom and was heading their way. “Have you done anything to get this under control?” Ron was silent, his face reddening. “I didn’t think so. I won’t have you ruin Gryffindor’s chances!”

“I’m not ruining anyone’s chances!” Ron spat, nosing up close to Harry.

“Everything okay, Ron?” Goyle said coming up to join the pair. Harry shot him a glance of pure fire.

“Goyle, I’ll give you three seconds to get back down, or you’ll be headed there the hard way!” Harry warned through gritted teeth. Goyle glanced down to the ground and pulled out his wand. Harry raised his right hand.

“Expelliarmus,” Harry hissed. The wand flew out of Goyle’s hand falling fifty feet below. “Move it Goyle… NOW!” Goyle’s eyes were wide. He glanced to the ground, then to Harry. Finally, he turned and sped downward to gather his wand. Harry looked back at Ron.

“What? Now that thug’s coming to your aid?” he said, not waiting for a reply. “You two have become pretty chummy in only a couple days. You might as well send an owl straight to Voldemort!” Harry turned, fired his broom downward, and landed by the group of Gryffindors. Ten minutes ago he was as happy as he could be, and now he was ready to spit venom.

Katie was explaining that they’d take a few days to decide who would take what position. She thanked them all for putting their best effort in at a hard tryout.

“Hard?” Harry called out, still steaming with anger. “Who here thinks what they just went through was hard?” A few raised their hands. “Then get out now, because what you’ll have to go through to be on this team will be ten times worse! We practice in the cold, and the rain, and the wind. We’ll work hours into the night debating tactics and strategy. When game time comes this winter, you’ll be lucky to see the sun shine. The crowds will be screaming, and the other team will want to rip your heads off. Some of you saw it up close last year. Kirke knows.” As Ron and Goyle landed, Harry pointed to Andrew Kirke who had replaced one of the Weasley twins at Beater. “He had a good long time with Madame Pomfrey after the game with Hufflepuff, didn’t you Kirke?” Kirke’s face reddened. “The point is, if you’re not in this for the long run, if you’re not committed to making Quidditch your life, get out now!”

Nearly half began to leave the field. Katie cringed sliding over next to Harry. “Great job, Potter,” she whispered, “that’s two of the best in the lot gone.”

“They’re no good to us if they’re not going to put in the effort,” Ginny said crossing her arms. Harry turned to Goyle.

“What are you still doing here?” he sneered.

“None of your damn business, Potter!” Goyle erupted. “I’m here, and I ain’t leavin’.” Goyle stood tall, defiant, his eyes fixed on Harry and unblinking. Harry looked at him hard, and realized, for the first time, that this mattered to Goyle. He really cared. Then Harry looked over at Ron, whose eyes bore a look of sincerity. The redhead nodded.

“We don’t need a few days, Katie,” Harry turned to his teammates. “We can do this right now.”

“But…” she started.

“Goyle and Hooper at Beater, Creevey at Chaser,” Harry said flatly.

“Dennis?” Katie questioned. “He’ll be blown out of the pitch with the first good wind!”

“And Goyle’s gone after Christmas,” Ginny joined in. “What do we do then?”

“Listen,” Harry replied. “Creevey’s got his own Firebolt, and as small as he is, he’s faster than the two of you. He’s also crazy out there. It’ll either score us points or get him killed. We’ve got to have an edge they won’t expect. As long as Goyle’s in the air keeping him safe,” Harry glanced Goyle’s way, their eyes meeting, “I think it’ll be scores.” Dennis was grinning so wide Harry thought he might explode.

“As far as Goyle leaving at Christmas,” Ron jumped in, “we can have Kirke and Sloper keep practicing with the team through the fall. When Goyle’s out, one of them will be able to take his place.”

“Wait a minute!” Kirke interrupted. “I’m not going to practice all fall just to have a fifty-fifty chance that I might play winter term. That’s crazy.”

“No it’s not,” Sloper said. “You’ll have the chance to play with some of the best players Hogwarts has ever seen. The practice will be great even if you don’t play next term.” Katie surveyed her prospects.

“Harry,” said Katie, “you’re right. We need commitment.” She took a deep breath, and then called out clear and strong. “Goyle, Hooper, Creevey–First String. Kirke, you’re out, Sloper’s the only backup we’ll need. First practice is next Saturday after lunch.” Then she turned to Goyle. “I expect you to work as hard as anyone else, and that includes giving Jack a few pointers on the fine art of being a Beater. I want him pounding Malfoy off his broom this spring.”

Goyle actually smiled back nodding his head. As they were walking back to the castle Goyle slapped Jack Sloper on the shoulder. “Jack, you remember when Katie was cutting behind…” and in an instant, Greg Goyle was a full-fledged member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Ginny came over to Harry and said, “What was that all about?”

“He’s giving Jack a few pointers.” Harry shook his head. “We’re insane.”

“No,” she corrected, “you and Ron. What were you two going on about?” she asked. Harry shook his head. He stopped, letting Ron and Katie pass by, and waited until they were well ahead.

“Ron and I have come to a fork in the road, Ginny,” Harry said coolly. “I’ve decided to choose one path, and he’s decided to choose another. It happens, that’s all.” They started walking back to the castle. “It’s… well, I don’t think we can be friends anymore.” The sun was low, and their shadows stretched out before them toward the castle. What warmth the day had was slipping away.

“You can’t mean that Harry,” Ginny said, taking him by the arm. “There are only three things he ever talks about–Hermione, Quidditch, and Harry.” Both of them laughed, but Harry’s smile fell as he stopped and took Ginny by the hand.

“Your family’s been wonderful. They’ve kept my soul alive for the last six years. But it’s time for me to move on. Friends grow apart, Ginny. Ron will be talking about someone else before you know it.” Harry immediately thought of Goyle.

“Oh Harry,” Ginny cried, and she put her arms around him, giving him a great hug.

“Hey you two! What’s up?” It was Dean standing at the castle entrance. He had a smile on his face, but his eyes were darting from Ginny to Harry and back again. “Ginny, we were going to meet for dinner, right?”

“Oh, I’m sorry Dean, it’s just that…”

“Yeah, I know… more Quidditch lessons from Harry.” He shot an eye at Harry, and brusquely put his arm around her. “McGonagall’s looking for you, Potter,” he said coldly.

Harry watched Ginny put her arm around Dean, pulling him close as they walked to dinner. He looked back to see the sun begin to dip beneath the horizon. There was no cloud to bring color to the dusk, just a dying yellow… fading to night. He walked to Professor McGonagall’s office. When he entered, he found her at her desk reviewing papers.

“Ah! There you are Mr. Potter,” she forced a weak smile, but lost it immediately. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet Professor,” Harry replied. “We’ve just set the Gryffindor team. We started with Ginny, Ron, Katie, and me. Today we added Dennis at Chaser,” her eyes widened, “Geoffrey at Beater…”

“Bit of a whiner isn’t he?” she asked.

“A whiner with a new Nimbus 2001,” said Harry with a grin, he paused, “and Greg as Beater.” He sighed.

“Greg?” Professor McGonagall queried in confusion.

“Goyle, ma’am,” said Harry, and then he added quickly, “with Jack as backup for when he leaves next term.” Her eyes peered over the top of her spectacles. She slipped them off and set them on her desk.

“Albus was right,” she said to herself, straightening her robes as she stood. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

“Right about what, Professor?”

“There’s no time for that now, Harry.” She walked over to her shelf and pulled down a small box. Harry knew instantly what it was.

“What’s happened?” His heartbeat quickened. “Where am I going?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mr. Chang has sent word,” she began then stopped, trying to find the words. Harry’s heart crumpled. “Things are not well for Cho, I’m afraid. He would like you to… to come say goodbye… before the end.” Harry was white as she opened the box revealing the small golden portkey. Harry stepped back.

“No. I…” He stepped backward into a chair. “I can’t… she can’t… she can’t die!” A torrent of emotions spewed up from within. He kicked the chair at his side, sending it across the room. He threw the papers on a nearby desk at Professor McGonagall. “She can’t die!” He began to tremble, and bent over the desk with his hands to his face. Professor McGonagall set the box down on her desk, walked over to Harry, and put her arms around him, and let him sob on her shoulder. Finally, she pulled back and held his face in her hand.

“She needs you, Mr. Potter. The healers say she’s gone, but for one thread. She won’t let go until she can see that you are okay.” She wiped his face with her hands and straightened his hair. With a quake in her voice she said, “It’s time to be brave, Harry.”

He walked over to her desk, and starred at the small box.

“St Mungo’s?” he asked, looking into her wet eyes.

Professor McGonagall nodded. Slowly, he reached down to the golden sphere, took a deep breath, and snatched it like a Snitch.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 24 – A Dark Mark
~~~***~~~

The first thing Harry noticed was the smell. Memories of his stay at St. Mungo’s during the summer came flooding back, and he began to rub his arm. Looking around, he found himself near the inquiries desk at the hospital. Behind it stood the great picture of Dilys Derwent. There was a great look of sorrow on her face as she looked down at Harry. The witch behind the desk was talking to a woman that had a snake going in one ear and out the other.

“Spell Damage–Fourth floor,” she directed. Harry approached the desk apprehensively.

“Erm, Cho Chang,” he breathed unable to quite get the words out.

“Excuse me, dear?” she asked.

“Cho… Chang,” he said somewhat stronger.

“And you are?” she asked again looking down at her registry.

“Harry… Harry Potter.” The receptionist’s eyes shot straight forward, caught his, and drifted upward. Harry simply sighed, and she let out a slight gasp.

“I heard you were with us earlier this year,” she said intently staring at his scar. It was always a bit unnerving to have conversations with people who talked to your forehead. Harry turned away and looked at the people around him. To Harry’s left there was a disturbance. A group of healers were racing a woman down the corridor yelling at people to get out of the way. The corridor was crowded, and they were having trouble getting people to move. Finally, at the far end, they pushed through two double doors that swung open. For the briefest instant, a tall, slender girl with black hair that had been chasing behind turned and Harry’s heart skipped.

“Oh, yes,” the receptionist said pulling Harry’s attention away, “they’re expecting you. Just head down the hall to your right, and then take a left.” He glanced back down the corridor, but all was quiet again. “You look tired dear,” she said kindly. Harry rubbed his eyes and nodded. As he turned to leave the receptionist said, “I’m sorry for your loss, dear.”

When he reached the corridor outside Cho’s room, he found James sitting with an elderly woman. She had wisps of gray hair against the black, and wore glasses. With her wand in hand, she watched two knitting needles weave their way back and forth in front of her with gold and crimson thread. James was reading a magazine, Outdoor Wizard, when he saw Harry. At first he looked back down as if he hadn’t seen him. Then he started to shake, closed the magazine, and put his hands to his face. The needles stopped and the woman put her hand around him, and looking up she noticed Harry.

“It’s okay Jimmy,” she whispered. “It’s okay.” James shuddered, and then took a long deep breath. He stood and walked over to Harry. His eyes were red and filled with tears.

“They said you’d come tonight,” he choked. Harry couldn’t tell what the expression was on James’ face. They stood, looking at each other, as a woman in a white gown with blank eyes floated past locomoted by a healer. “Go away,” he whispered, tears starting to fall down his cheeks. “Go away!” Harry was speechless. He had no idea what to say, or what to do. The elderly woman came behind James and put her arms around him. “Make him leave Gran!” he yelled. “Not tonight, please! Not tonight!” And he broke down again in deep heaving sobs.

The door to Cho’s room opened; it was her father. His mood was dark, and his face tired and gaunt. Behind him was a tall witch dressed in green, a healer. James let go of his grandmother and repeated his plea to his father. Mr. Cho simply held his son close, as the healer stepped over to Harry.

“Hello Mr. Potter, I’m Healer Altus,” she said with a quiet voice, holding out her hand. Harry shook it. “Can we walk for a moment?” And she started to stroll down the long corridor with Harry at her side. “It is, I’m afraid, a very sad case. I doubt you’d remember, but I was your healer over the summer. Your injuries were very similar. Frankly, I’m amazed you survived. And I’m amazed Ms. Cho has lasted this long.” Her voice was grim. She stopped walking and stood at a banister surrounding an atrium. There were small bushes and flowers around a bubbling waterfall. A small child had snuck through and was splashing at the water’s edge.

“Harry,” she continued. “There is nothing left of her brain. She’s lost the will to eat and is losing her ability to breathe. It’s hard to say what kind of pain she might be in. The one thing we know is that she wants to see you.” She reached out and held his shoulder. “We believe she’s holding on until she knows you’re safe. With supplements and a bronchial-breathing spell we could keep her in this state for months, but not forever. Her parents have decided to let her go.”

“Can’t you…” Harry started.

“No,” Altus interrupted. “We’ve done everything. I understand your apprehension, Harry. I’m sorry to say, her brother sees you as the Grim Reaper, here to take his sister away. Nothing could be further than the truth. You need to know that. She’s trapped, Harry, and she needs you to release her.” They began to walk back to the room. When they returned, James was again sitting next to his grandmother. This time he was held in her arms. Mr. Chang was standing by the door.

“Harry,” Healer Altus warned in a whisper, “you should realize she’s not the same girl you knew before. Just prepare yourself for that.” She opened the door and Harry followed her into the room. Mr. Chang was a step behind. The room was fairly large. Flowers were everywhere, some suspended in midair. And a few balloons with GET WELL emblazoned on them floated in the corner. There was a woman behind a curtain standing at Cho’s bedside holding her hand.

“Sun-Yung,” Mr. Chang whispered. “He’s here.” Mrs. Chang stroked Cho’s hand and gently kissed it, and laid it back on the bed. She walked over to Harry her shoulders slumped. When she met his face she smiled, a tear falling from the corner of her eye.

“I see now why she wrote so much about you last year.” She held her hand to his face. “You are sad, no?” Her eyes were tender and her smile sincere. “We are all sad, Harry. We ask you here to answer her call one last time. It is a great request, and you honor us by answering our daughter.” Harry began to tremble. She took him by the shoulder and walked him to Cho’s bedside.

“Cho,” she said, her voiced raised, “you have a visitor. Harry… Harry Potter has come to see you.” Cho was motionless. Mrs. Chang looked back up to his face. “Take your time, my son. We will be right outside the door.” Her voice wavered. “If there is… a change, you will call?” Unable to speak, Harry nodded, his eyes wet. As the door shut behind him, he took in the scene more fully.

Cho’s face was sunken and sallow. Purple veins streaked down her arms, clearly visible through her translucent skin. Her brown eyes were open, almost fearful, but fixed at the ceiling. She thrust her tongue forward as if trying to speak, but fell silent, drool oozing from the side of her mouth. Harry grabbed a towel at her bedside table. His hand was shaking as he wiped he mouth. He sat at the side of her bed and began to stroke her black hair. It felt thin and lifeless. He looked at the flowers around the bed and then he noticed, there were no portraits of wizards or witches in this room. “Death is private,” he thought.

“Hello, Cho,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “We’ve missed you at school.” Her eyes twitched, but nothing more. He slid closer to look into her eyes bringing one knee onto the bed. “Gryffindor’s picked its team. They’ve flipped the usual schedule; this year we play Ravenclaw first. I… I don’t know what they’re going to do without you at Seeker.” He stroked her cheek. “I don’t know what any of us are going to do without you.” Her head moved slightly to the side, and her eyes seemed to focus on his face.

“Hi,” he said softly, trying to smile. The fear in her eyes faded.

“Harry?” she breathed faintly. “Have you seen Harry? Is he okay?” Her breaths became labored, almost rhythmic.

“I’m here, Cho,” he said, tears falling from his eyes. “Right here in front of you. I’m safe.” Slowly, she moved her hand, and he took it in his own. It was cold. “Harry is safe, Cho.” A small smile creased her thin face.

“Safe?” she breathed, the rhythm was heavier and slowing. Her eyes looked through Harry to another place. “Safe,” she whispered in satisfaction. Harry climbed fully onto the bed and held her face in his hands. His eyes so full of tears he couldn’t see.

“Don’t go, Cho,” he cried. “Stay with me. Just for awhile, please.” But her breaths continued to grow more labored, and the rhythm continued to slow. Harry leaned down and kissed her cheek. He looked down into her eyes. His heart ached and he held her tight. “Please, just a little longer,” he whispered. As he pulled back, through his tears he thought he saw a green light grow in her eyes, but then her breathing stopped and all was dark. “No! Please no!” he cried out loud, and he reached down once again and held her close. Cheek to cheek, he began to sob as he rocked her in his arms. The door opened behind him. He could hear Mrs. Chang break down and cry. A hand patted Harry on the back.

“It’s okay Harry, she’s gone now,” said Mr. Chang, but Harry wouldn’t let go. He was feeling weak, and dizzy, but he held her tight still sobbing. In his arms was his first love, lifeless, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was responsible. And then, inexplicably, a burst of warmth hit his ear… a breath. He froze. Another.

He pulled himself up wiping the tears from his eyes, and looked down. Her eyes were closed, but some hint of color had returned to her face. There she lay, thin and gaunt, but she was breathing. He began to shake, holding his hand to her face. It was warm. Harry heard Mrs. Chang let out a gasp. She grabbed her daughter’s hand and felt her forehead. And then she turned to Harry.

“What happened?” she asked. Harry shook his head, still shaking.

“I… I don’t know,” he stammered as he slid his feet off the bed and onto the floor. The room seemed to spin, and his legs were weak. “She was… she…”

Mrs. Chang stroked her daughter’s face. “She hasn’t closed her eyes since she arrived.” Harry suddenly realized that the whole family was in the room. Healer Altus stepped closer to look. “What does it mean, Healer?” Mrs. Chang asked.

Healer Altus held her wand over Cho’s head. It emitted a faint orange light. When the light went off, Altus’ hand began to tremble ever so slightly. She looked to Mrs. Chang. “She… she’s sleeping,” the healer said with bewilderment.

“I don’t understand, Healer,” Mr. Chang said, stepping forward. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied looking at Cho and then to Harry. “The trauma is gone.” But these words did not register with either of Cho’s parents.

It was James who stood at the back of the room with his grandmother and whispered, “Harry.”

Mrs. Chang looked down at her daughter. “I don’t understand either. Is she…” But her words were cut short by her daughter’s own.

“M-Mom?” Cho said in a very faint and weak voice. There was a collective gasp in the room. Everyone suddenly gathered around her bed, everyone but Harry, who took a step backward. A moment passed, and slowly Cho opened her eyes. “Mom?” her voice was stronger, but still weak. “Where am I?” There was a jubilant explosion as everyone tried to speak at once. Harry backed unsteadily toward the door, walked out into the corridor and sat down. He suddenly felt ill, trembling and cold, and he didn’t know why.

How long he sat, he wasn’t sure. He found himself staring at the cover of Outdoor Wizard, which bore the picture of a Unicorn, its head tossing up and down. He opened the magazine and tried to read an article on camping Muggle style in the high country with only a wand and a portkey. His vision seemed blurred, and he was just trying to read how Muggles pitch tents when the door to Cho’s room opened and Healer Altus stepped out. Harry dropped the magazine and straightened in his chair. The healer was shaking her head, but wore a broad smile.

“She’s talking,” said Altus, “and hungry.” She came over and sat down next to Harry. “What happened in there, child?” Harry looked at the closed door.

“I… I said I was fine,” he said, and then looking at his shoes, “I told her she could go,” he lied. “I thought, I thought she had.”

“Well, the brain is the most mysterious thing of all,” Altus replied. “Whatever you said, it has brought her back from the brink. She still has some nerve damage, but she’s alive and as soon as we get some weight on her she should be ready to go home.” Altus stood and ruffled Harry’s hair. “You’ve worked magic today, Mr. Potter,” she said grinning and walked down the corridor. No sooner had she left than Mrs. Chang came half way out of the door.

“Healer Altus says she needs to rest, but Cho wants to see you before you go.”

“I… I don’t think…”

“Come. Come,” she insisted, waving Harry to the door. When he entered Cho’s room, James immediately wrapped his arms around Harry.

“Thank you, Harry,” he said. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done today.” Harry looked down at the young wizard and smiled. He walked over to Cho’s bed as the rest of the family left the room. Slowly, he seemed to be regaining his bearings. Cho had her head higher up on the pillow and was sipping from a cup in her left hand through a straw. She grimaced.

“Yuk,” she puckered, “this is awful.” She slowly handed Harry the cup as he continued to smile.

“Wait till you try the green gravy. I hear it puts hair on your chest,” he laughed putting the cup down and stepping closer. It was as if he were looking at a different person. She bore a bright smile and warm eyes. He took her right hand, but noticed it did not take his in return; its life had not yet returned. “I thought we had lost you, Cho. We all did.” She looked down.

“I was lost Harry.” She pulled a flower from one of the vases by her bed and breathed in its aroma. “It was as if I was floating around these flowers watching myself wither away.” She looked back up to him. “And then you entered the room, and a flash of spring seemed to warm my heart again. You called me back, Harry. Thank you.” He stroked a wisp of hair from off her face.

“You brought yourself back, Cho.” He offered her another sip, but she declined. “Will they let you come back to school?” Cho nodded.

“I think so.” He squeezed Cho’s right hand, but it still lay limp. “Soon, I hope. James tells me Gryffindor plays Ravenclaw in the first match this year. I can’t wait to…” Her mouth opened wide as she let out a long yawn. Harry bent low and kissed her forehead.

“Sleep,” he said. “Everything else will come soon enough.” He took the flower from her hand and pulled her covers up to her chin. “Goodnight,” he whispered and left the room.

Together, Harry and James took a portkey back to Hogwarts. They found themselves at the front entrance to the castle. It was well past curfew, and Professor McGonagall stood waiting to greet them. James immediately ran into her arms, hugging her tight and Professor McGonagall held him close starting to sob.

“What are you doing here, James,” she cried. “You should be with your family.” But when James pulled away he held her hands wide in his. He wasn’t crying, he was laughing, spinning her around in a half dance. Professor McGonagall was at a loss. She looked to Harry who wore a broad grin.

“I didn’t know you could dance so well, Professor!” he called. Professor McGonagall was flummoxed.

“What happened, Mr. Potter?” she called, on one particularly wild spin. But it was James who answered.

“She’s alive! She’s alive!” he sang. “Harry brought her back! She’s alive and well Professor!” He stopped a bit winded, and Professor McGonagall tried to regain her composure.

“Harry?” she whispered.

“He’s just happy Professor,” Harry said walking close to her. “Cho has regained consciousness.” He laughed, watching James dance up and down the steps. “They say she might return to school soon, right James?”

“Yep!” he called out hopping down three steps at a time, and then racing back up. Professor McGonagall looked to the front door of the castle apprehensively.

“Oh dear,” she muttered with a look of concern across her face that then gave way to a smile. “Oh dear!” She grabbed James by the back of the collar as he whizzed by. “Come on, the two of you, it is time to head in.” They walked to the front doors and she stopped just short. “Gentlemen, the people inside believe that Cho has died, please be sensitive to that fact.”

They walked through the front doors into a crowded entranceway. Assembled from each house were the Prefects, the Head Boy and Head Girl. Professors Flitwick, Snape and Sprout flanked Professor Dumbledore who was sitting on a chair next to the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. At the side of the room next to a fine grain leather trunk, stood Draco Malfoy; behind the blonde was his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. The room was grim and silent. Marietta, a Ravenclaw Prefect this year, was staring blankly at the floor. Hermione and Pansy Parkinson were both crying, but for different reasons.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Fudge spoke up. “Well,” he said, “It’s time, Narcissa, I’m sorry.”

“No!’ she screamed, her shrill voice piercing the silence of the sullen scene. “You can’t Cornelius! I’ve told you, it was an accident!” If it was possible, Malfoy’s face was even more pale than usual, but his eyes showed no fear. Instead, his expression was one of resignation. When he caught Harry’s eyes from across the room, there was no malice, and perhaps, Harry thought, a sense of regret. Professor McGonagall strode across the entranceway to where Professor Dumbledore was seated and began to whisper in his ear. James, however, could stand it no longer. He was trying to stay composed when a giggle and then a guffaw of laughter exploded from his belly. He ran straight to Marietta, jumped up, wrapped his arms around her, and the two fell over onto the ground.

“She’s back!” he yelled. “Marietta, she’s back!” Most everyone in the room bore the same look Professor McGonagall had moments earlier. Marietta, on the ground with James on top of her grinning from ear-to-ear, grabbed him by the shoulders. She began to understand.

“All the way?” she asked. James nodded wildly. Marietta gripped him close, smiling. Professor Dumbledore stood from his chair.

“It appears, Cornelius,” he said, “that Ms. Chang has recovered. Your services are no longer required, unless, of course, you would care to join us for the celebration.” And with that, Dumbledore waved his wand and conjured a long table covered with sweets near the front doors that reminded Harry of his birthday celebration. “Perhaps a slice of cake?” he asked with a smile. Dumbledore walked over to Mrs. Malfoy who, at his words, locked her son in an embrace. She was weeping violently, but her tears were tears of joy.

Most everyone had surrounded James and Marietta exchanging hugs and smiles trying to get details from James. Hermione was the first to walk to Harry whose mind was fusing the scene of his birthday party with the vision now before him. “We were told she was to die tonight,” she sniffed, wiping her reddened face. “Professor Flitwick said that they would let her pass after she said goodbye to you.” She reached out and took Harry’s hand. “What happened?”

Harry scanned the room. People were starting to get food from the table, exchanging Cho stories with smiling faces, hypothesizing when she might return. Harry’s glance returned to Hermione. “I went to say goodbye,” he said, and his hands began to tremble. “But, I couldn’t. I asked her to come back to me, and… and she did.” He looked at her as if, perhaps, he’d done something wrong.

“Oh, Harry,” she cried, and held him close. Harry saw Ron looking at them, but when their eyes met, Ron turned away toward the table of food. Still, Harry let go of Hermione.

“Let’s get a bite,” he suggested. “I missed dinner.” He was following her to the line that had formed when he noticed Malfoy standing at the back of the entryway. He was making his way toward James, tapped him on the shoulder and motioned for him to walk away from the others. Alone, the two started talking. After some time, Malfoy took James by the shoulder and held out his right hand. James hesitated, but then took the offer. As the two shook hands, James said something to Malfoy and the two simultaneously looked at Harry. James continued talking as Malfoy’s and Harry’s eyes locked together. Harry decided he would not look away first. Finally, Malfoy nodded and let go of James’ hand just as Pansy came up to him grinning and giving him a hug.

Harry was exhausted by the time he started up the stairs to Gryffindor. Ron had left an hour earlier, and Hermione not much after that. Harry was caught retelling the story of Cho’s recovery over and over. Everyone found it fascinating, even Mrs. Malfoy who thanked Harry for saving her son, as if that were Harry’s only motivation. She never mentioned that Harry had horribly scarred her son’s face. Evidently keeping him out of Azkaban was of prime importance.

Only Dumbledore seemed unsatisfied with the telling of Harry’s story, as if some critical aspect of her return had been overlooked. Passing through the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry found the common room empty. The fire was dying down and the room dark. The portraits on the walls were silent as the witches and wizards slept in their frames. He looked at the stairs to the boys’ dormitories, but then decided to sit in front of the fire.

He had not told anybody about Cho’s lifeless arm. “She’ll recover,” he said to himself. He looked at the smooth skin of his own right arm in the glow of the embers. What had happened tonight? He tried to replay the scene in his mind, but he was too tired. He needed to get to bed. At least tomorrow he could sleep in. The fire cracked, and Harry thought he heard a rustling sound. He leaned his head back against the cushion; his lids were heavy. Maybe he’d just rest here a moment and then head up to bed.

The fire was bright and warming. Maybe a bit too warm, Harry thought. It seemed to be growing brighter and brighter. It started to crackle loudly and Harry pulled his feet in as embers the size of golf balls began to fly out toward him. There was a rhythmic swoosh-swoosh-swoosh as he realized he was sitting in the middle of a grassy field, a group of gnomes was running away from him. He pulled his knees in close. The sound was closer, swoosh-swoosh-swoosh. Suddenly black and red embers began to rain down on his head. He held his hand high but it was no use. The embers began to burn through his robes. He screamed in pain. A gnome was running straight at him and jumped on his chest. “Harry Potter!” it yelled.

“Harry Potter, wake-up, wake-up!” Harry threw the voice off his chest and jumped up brushing the embers off his robes… but there were no embers. He was in the common room. On the floor, next to the fire now almost extinguished, was Dobby the house elf rubbing his head.

Harry looked around trying to place himself. The pain in his arm had returned. He blinked at the fire. “Dobby?” he whispered, rubbing his eyes and face. “What are you doing?” His words were sharper than they should have been, but Harry was agitated and the sight of a house elf didn’t help.

“Dobby is cleaning sir,” the house elf said rising to his feet and bending in a low bow. “But then Dobby hears the great Harry Potter screaming, so Dobby wakes him.” Dobby looked sincerely concerned, but then Dobby always looked concerned. Harry’s arm was throbbing, he was tired, and he’d just had a very unpleasant dream. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

“Great, Dobby,” Harry snipped, “I’m off to bed.” Harry headed toward the stairs.

“You have a mark upon you sir,” Dobby whispered. Harry stopped. His sleeve was down. Had Dobby seen it while he was sleeping? He turned to find Dobby facing him, but bowing low.

“What have you seen, Dobby?” Harry stepped toward him.

“Nothing, Harry Potter, sir, nothing.” The words irritated Harry. If he hadn’t seen his arm, then how would he know?

“Liar!” Harry yelled. “You’re ALL liars!” He was angry, and he had no right to be. His face was hot, his eyes on fire. “WHAT HAVE YOU SEEN?” He was towering over Dobby. The house elf was frightened; Harry had misunderstood.

“You have a mark upon you sir,” he repeated. “A new mark. Someone has…” Harry bent low putting one knee to the ground, his face inch’s from Dobby’s. For some reason he had an overwhelming urge to throttle the house elf, but resisted the temptation.

“You’ll tell no one,” he sneered through gritted teeth. “Do you understand? NO ONE!” They were nearly nose-to-nose. Glowing red by the fire, Harry could see the reflection of his face off the large orbs of Dobby’s eyes. It was contorted and cruel.

“But sir,” Dobby whispered with a questioning voice, “surely no one has seen it?” He reached his hand to Harry’s face but did not touch. “It is everywhere, and nowhere,” he said, moving his hand as if stroking an invisible cloud around Harry’s face. “No wizard could see it.”

“SEE WHAT?” yelled Harry grabbing Dobby’s hand before him. The sleeve on his robe slipped down his right arm revealing the mark by the glow of the fire’s dying embers. Dobby saw it immediately and gasped. Clearly this mark was a revelation. Harry let go, pulling his sleeve down and standing away.

“Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby said walking toward Harry as if to help. “Harry Potter has been touched by a Dark Wizard.” There was a commotion from the stairs leading to the boys’ dormitory.

A voice said, “Lumos!” and a bright light filled the stairway. Whoever cast the spell was walking down. Harry turned to the house elf, thirsty for an explanation.

“Dobby, what do you…” but Dobby was gone. When Harry looked back to the stairs, he saw Goyle groggily stepping down in green pajamas. At first he hadn’t noticed Harry was there, he didn’t see the Harry that was now shaking with rage.

“Ron, you better be right,” he said to himself walking toward one of the cupboards above the common room counter. He opened it to find a piece of cake from the evening’s celebration. A grin flashed across his face. Taking the plate he began to head back upstairs when he noticed Harry holding his wand.

“Potter,” he spat, “what are you doing here? So help me, if you…”

* * *


In bed, Harry once again cleared his mind before finally falling to sleep. On this night, the last thing to leave his thoughts was the result of his last spell… an image of a jar holding a large toad in green pajamas with frosting all over its face.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 25 – Out of Bravery, Fire
~~~***~~~

The red eye stared back at Harry burning with anger, threatening and ominous. “When will we meet again Voldemort?” Harry whispered in the cool darkness. The glowing crimson orb made no reply. “You may find me a bit more mature this year, Dark Lord. But what surprises will you have for me? I know you’ve made your move already; I can feel it. But, what is it I wonder? Dementors? Bombs? I think not. You want me… I’ve heard you calling Tom… but you can’t have me. You’ll never have me.”

Blinking, Harry pulled away from his telescope. For weeks they’d been studying clusters and galaxies, and on every clear night when they observed the stars he couldn’t help but gaze at Mars as it continued to brighten in the night sky.

“Fifteen minutes, students,” Professor Sinistra called out. Another astronomy class was over, and again Dean hadn’t been willing to talk to Harry. He was perfectly polite, but behind the façade were cold waters. Harry knew it was about Ginny, but every time Harry tried to bring the subject up, Dean would change the direction or stop it in its tracks. When Professor Sinistra finally dismissed the class, Harry tried again.

“Hey Dean,” he said with an earnest voice, “do you think you can give me a hand with these charts tonight? I’ll never get this globular cluster drawn right.” Dean continued to slide his perfect renditions of the same images into his case.

“Gee Harry,” he replied not looking up, “I’m kinda busy tonight. Hermione and I were going to work on Arithmancy together. Sorry.” Dean pulled his pack over one shoulder and started down the stairs. Frustrated, Harry shook his head and walked over to the parapet. The night sky was brilliant as the quarter moon gently lit the grounds below. He put both hands on the banister and sighed.

Every day the people he could count as friends seemed to be growing smaller. Ron and Dean were speaking more to each other than to Harry. And if Ron was found laughing in the common room with anybody it was with Hermione or Goyle. Seamus blamed Harry for Ravenclaw’s utter defeat in their ‘secret’ attack against Slytherin. Somebody had been tipped off, and the Slytherins never went into the classroom to duel. Instead they waited for the Ravenclaw’s to leave and ambushed them in the corridor. Seamus’ face was still popping green puss that smelled of boiled cabbage. Even Anthony Goldstein had turned his back on Harry. Anthony was angry, not because he’d been beaten by Slytherin, but because Harry, not Anthony, had saved Cho’s life. As for Dean, he seemed more distant with each passing day, while Neville was spending most of his time with Helen Hedera. Neville hooking up with Helen, however, met Harry’s approval. He noticed that the coupling definitely improved Neville’s confidence in all of his classes.

What bothered Harry the most was that Hedwig had still not returned. At first he was worried, but then his thoughts turned to an irrational fear that Gabriella had decided to let their paths part. After all, he’d told Hedwig to stay with her; maybe she had. Lately, his mind had turned that fear into anger and resentment, deepening his sense of isolation. Only Hermione made any effort to be friendly to Harry, but after Ron had seen her holding his hand, even she became more cautious of seeming too close.

The one loyal friend he thought he’d never lose, Dobby, had disappeared completely. Every minute Harry could spare was spent searching for the house elf. He slept in the common room, visited the kitchens, and left notes that disappeared, but were never answered. With the cool night’s breeze blowing gently at his face, Harry stood on the parapet in the dark and his ears echoed Dobby’s words — touched by a Dark Wizard. But no Dark Wizard had touched him, unless Voldemort had left something behind last year… something hidden.

Below Harry, the front doors to the castle opened and Firenze jumped out onto the front lawn. He walked near the Whomping Willow, but the tree remained still. For a long time as Harry gazed at the centaur, the centaur gazed at the sky, his hoof nervously clawing at the ground. Something was clearly troubling Firenze, but when Harry looked up at the stars he couldn’t tell what it was. “Could centaurs see Dark Marks?” Harry wondered. Just as the thought crossed Harry’s mind, Firenze noticed him on the parapet. The centaur nodded his head in a subtle bow, and Harry waved in return. Then Firenze walked toward Hagrid’s cabin and disappeared behind.

Harry looked out across the lake toward Hogsmeade. The town’s lights gave a faint glow to the horizon. His mind turned to Malfoy and the soul that had been lost because of Harry’s own foolishness. At least he and Malfoy had stopped dueling, directly anyway. Simple insults towards one another had become their language of choice. Much like their magic in transfiguration, their verbal sparing had become a competition of sorts. But there had been no sincere threats since Harry had returned from St. Mungo’s.

For some minutes, Harry stood silently trying to put all the pieces together, but the puzzle was getting too large, too complex. By the time Harry made it back to the common room, he had again found himself with far too much homework, far too little time, and no friends to help him accomplish it. Ron, Ginny, Dean and Hermione were working together by the fire. Goyle was talking to Katie and Sloper about Quidditch. He thought about joining them, but then shrugged his shoulders and headed to the boys’ dormitories.

His room was empty. Harry thought about the very real possibility that Neville might be breaking curfew if he didn’t get back in soon. He grinned to himself. Looking around to make sure he was alone, he walked over to his trunk and pulled out a birthday gift, Soseh’s painting. For quite some time he just looked at her, wishing he could stroke her black hair and dive into her black eyes. His fingers traced her head and back, but did not touch the delicate painting. “Where are you, Gabriella?” he whispered. His words were sorrowful, but then, suddenly, his mind began to bend his sorrow into anger. “You’ve found someone else, haven’t you?”

He examined the portrait’s dying day, the orange sun plunging into the azure ocean. If anything the colours were more brilliant. Looking closely at her face, he sensed somehow sadness in her expression. How could he not have noticed before? He began to peer more closely at her eyes when he heard footsteps climbing the stairs. As he slid the portrait back, he noticed Dudley’s gift and held it in his hand. The thought of clunking the head of whoever was coming up the stairs crossed his mind. When he saw that it was Ron and Goyle, the urge was palpable.

“I’m beat, mate,” Ron said to Goyle, not noticing Harry crouching low between his trunk and bed. “Did you three come up with any new strategies?”

“Well,” Goyle began, “we’re trying to make sure we don’t rely on the Seeker winning the game every time, right? Gryffindor’s got to be able to win the match outright even if Ravenclaw gets the Snitch.” Ron nodded his head in agreement, as he changed into his pajamas. “That means more aggressive play and faster ball handling. How Potter convinced Katie that that shrimp Creevey could play… I don’t know… she won’t budge.”

“Potter pretty much gets his way around here, mate,” Ron replied crawling into bed. “Get used to it.”

“Well, you’d a thought he’d get detention for… well, you know.” Goyle began to shudder rubbing his face. “As if I could really surprise the great Harry Potter! Merlin’s Beard! I was just trying to get a slice of cake! I didn’t even see it coming, I tell you.”

“You don’t get it do you,” Ron sighed putting his hands behind his head on his pillow. “That transfiguration was well past N.E.W.T. level. There are maybe two guys in Ravenclaw, and maybe Hermione who could cast that spell right in all Hogwarts. If I tried, you’d be some sort of blob on the floor, pretty much like you were on the train last year.” Ron began to laugh.

“That’s not funny!” Goyle yelled, and then he brought his voice down low leaning down to Ron at his bedside. “A snake is what he is.”

“Potter’s not…” but Ron’s words were cut short. Harry could take it no longer. He stood up and grabbed his pillow.

“This snake…” he stuck out his tongue and hissed at Goyle who was so frightened he fell over backwards knocking over a lit candlestick into his own book pack and starting a small fire, “…will be sleeping in the common room tonight.” Then he turned to Ron. “So I’m a Potter now; is that right, Weasley?” The look on Ron’s face told Harry he wanted to take the words back, but pride mixed with guilt stood in the way.

“I’ll call you whatever I want to call you, Potter,” he snapped back. “Enjoy the couch!” Somehow the words hurt. Harry didn’t want them to, but they did. He wanted to say something, something spectacularly virulent, but his face withered and his shoulders slumped. Still holding his red, round, rock in one hand, and his pillow in the other he slouched down the stairs.

Behind him he could hear Goyle blurt out in a loud whisper, “That’s tellin’ him!” But there was no reply from Ron. On the way down he passed Dean and Neville.

“Hi, Harry,” said Neville with a warm smile. Dean said nothing. “Going to try and catch a glimpse of Dobby again, eh?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, I guess,” he said grimly.

There was a first year student sitting in the couch by the fire reading a book. Harry didn’t know his name… Patrick something. Not wanting to be rude, he went and got a glass of water and sat at the table rolling the red ball around from hand to hand, left to right to left… “One lone student,” he thought, “and he’s got to sit there.” The ball was heavy, very heavy, right to left… “I should have just cracked him!” he murmured under his breath. “Potter pretty much gets his way around here,” he mocked now throwing the rock from hand to hand, left, right, left… “As IF!” he spat loudly, standing and beginning to pace the room, right, left, right… “If I’m a snake, he’s poison,” he said to himself. “Haseth Hayaheth!” he hissed. “There! How’s that for snake?” He was trying to think of what he should have said. What was the perfect retort to Potter? There were so many, too many really. He squeezed, pressing the red rock with the fingers of his right hand. Ron made an easy mark, and Harry knew anything he’d say would cut to the bone. His fingers loosened. He couldn’t do that to Ron; he wouldn’t do that to Ron.

The anger began to ebb away, and Harry took a deep breath. The stone ball seemed somehow lighter in his hands. He looked down and admired the intricate red and black patterns on its surface. He walked over to the first year to ask if he could use the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but do you mind if I…” He looked at the first year to see a shaking white wisp of a thing staring back at him. The child’s eyes were wide with fear as his eyes darted from Harry to the table. Harry looked back to see that his glass of water was steaming. What water he had was now nearly all boiled away. “Oh, that…uh yeah. It’s probably one of the ghosts playing tricks again. Maybe you’d best be off to bed, eh?”

Trembling, the first year closed his book and headed toward the staircase facing Harry all the while. Harry walked over, grabbed his pillow and tossed it onto the couch. “See ya!” He waved as the first year finally passed up the stairs and out of sight. He flopped himself onto the couch and tried to clear his mind. At first, it was impossible. Angry, self-pitying thoughts kept flashing into his head. As he rolled the ball around in his hand, he began to relax, and finally his thoughts began to drift away. Before long he was asleep.

There was a thud and Harry woke abruptly reaching for his wand. He was still by the fire in the common room. A glance out the window confirmed it was still night. The fire seemed to have more logs on it than he remembered. He sat up for a moment rubbing his face, looked around, and seeing nothing lay back down to sleep. Suddenly, he realized that his stone was no longer in his hands. He looked to the floor–nothing. He was still a bit groggy as he swiveled off the couch and crouched low to see where it might have rolled. Finally, he saw that it was in the fire nestled among the glowing embers. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

“Damn,” he cursed, looking for some way to get it out. “Your wand stupid,” he said to himself. Half asleep, and without really thinking he called out, “Accio stone!” Instantly the stone flew toward him, and instinctively he reached for it like a Snitch. Before the ball hit his palm, his mind realized he’d made a mistake, but it was too late. The fiery stone struck his flesh.

He gave out a small shriek and dropped the stone to the floor. But, something was wrong. His half-sleeping mind was trying to fit the pieces together. He’d felt no pain. He looked at the palm of his left hand, and there was no blister. He bent low and kneeled next to the stone on the floor. He held his hand over its surface. He felt no heat. With one finger he touched the red surface. It wasn’t hot; it wasn’t even warm. If anything, it was cool. He held it in his hand, perplexed.

With his wand, he levitated it into the hottest part of the fire and set it there. He went over and refilled his glass of water taking a drink and waiting. After a few minutes he levitated the stone out of the fire and slowly let it sink into the glass of water. Instantly the water sizzled as it struck the stone’s surface. Steam poured out. Again, Harry repeated the experiment; only this time, without fear, he dropped the ball into his own left hand, fully expecting to hear the same sizzling sound. But none came. The stone felt cool. He shook his head. What was going on?

“Very brave!” a voice rang out breaking the stillness and silence. Harry dropped the stone on the floor again and spun on the sound, wand in hand. “Very brave, indeed Harry Potter, sir!” It was Dobby. There was a smile on Dobby’s face, but the house elf looked ill. He was thinner, if that were possible, and his colour looked… well, off.

“Dobby!” Harry called. Seeing the house elf in front of him looking back with the first smile that had faced him in over ten days, Harry reached down and hugged Dobby. Then, with one knee on the floor, he held his shoulders looking at him closely. “Are you okay? You’re ill!”

“Not ill, Harry Potter, sir… not ill.” Dobby smiled, a bit overwhelmed by Harry’s hug. “Dobby has been busy, very busy.” Harry picked Dobby up in his arms and carried him to the couch by the fire. His eyes were clearly exhausted, and his clothes, which of late had been so new, were tattered. There was the slightest tremble as he held Dobby in his arms, as if the house elf was cold.

“Sit here Dobby, rest,” he said laying the house elf on his pillow and covering him with a quilt.

“You are a great wizard, sir,” Dobby said trying to sit up, “Dobby must stand.” But Harry held him down.

“You’ll stay there Dobby,” Harry insisted. And the house elf, truly unable to push back, gave in and put his head against the pillow. “Why have you been busy Dobby?” Harry asked. Dobby lifted his head slightly off the pillow.

“Is it safe, Harry Potter, sir?” he whispered. Harry looked around the room and nodded. Exhausted, Dobby put his head back down. “Dobby has been traveling sir, looking. But Dobby has failed. Dobby has failed Harry Potter!” Dobby began to bang his head with his hands, and Harry grabbed each with his own.

“Stop it Dobby!” said Harry. “You haven’t failed me. I… I’ve failed you. I had no reason to be so cruel to you. I’m sorry, Dobby, truly sorry.” He held Dobby’s thin hands in his own. “Can you forgive me?” Dobby’s eyes began to fill with tears and he reached down and blew his nose in his tattered shirt.

“Dobby tells them,” the house elf began, “Dobby tells them all, and each year the stories of Harry Potter grow greater. Dobby has friends, sir, many friends. They won’t admit it sir, but Dobby tells them of your greatness, sir. And now it is not just Dobby telling the stories. Your name is known, sir.” He took Harry by the right arm. “And so Dobby searched sir. Dobby traveled to all his friends. And Dobby’s friends asked more friends.” The house elf’s voice grew quiet. “There are many house elves Harry Potter. And many friends work in dark places,” he whispered lower. “Dobby asked who could leave such a mark on the great Harry Potter. But Dobby failed sir. There is no Dark Wizard in all of Britain that could do such a thing, at least not one known to us.”

“Dobby,” Harry said quietly, “what Dark Mark? Please, tell me. What can you see?” Harry rolled up his sleeve to show the smooth skin on his right forearm. “Is it this? Is it the mark you saw here?” To Harry’s surprise, Dobby shook his head, no.

“It is a charm, sir,” Dobby spoke as his eyes cleared. “House elves can see it, but wizards can’t. Dobby can see it all around you.” Again, Dobby held his hand to Harry’s face but did not touch, stroking an invisible layer Harry could not see. “It is Dark magic, Harry Potter, sir.” Dobby shuddered as he pulled his hand away.

“A charm?” Harry asked. “A charm, or a hex? Do I have a curse set upon me Dobby?”

“Dobby can not see its purpose sir,” Dobby said shaking his head, “only its nature. It is old magic, very old. It is a charm, I think, not meant for a wizard.” Dobby tried with all his might to pull his head off his pillow, but he couldn’t. He began to speak again, but Harry stopped him.

“Shhh,” Harry breathed with his finger to his lips. “Later Dobby. You need to eat and rest. Let me carry you downstairs.” Dobby’s eyes began to fill with tears again.

“He cares more for Dobby than… than to know…” Dobby sniffed and blew his nose in his shirt again. “Truly, Dobby’s greatest friend! There may be other places, yes? Other elves Dobby has not spoken to?” Dobby’s eyes began to focus elsewhere. “I will return, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby must discover the cause; I must not fail!”

“Dobby, no!” Harry yelled. “You’ve got to rest… to eat.” But Dobby raised his hands, smiled and disapparated before Harry’s eyes. Harry flopped back onto the pillow that Dobby had just left. He pulled his right sleeve up and looked at his arm.

“What mark is it Dobby?” he spoke to the fire. He had so many questions, but Dobby looked ill, very ill. And now he was gone, not to rest, but to search for more answers. Harry noticed the red orb at the front of the fire again, and levitated it toward his hand. Again it was cool in his palm.

“Where did you get this, Dudley?” he breathed, looking at its bright orange crevices, and its crimson depths of smoke. Harry thought of Mad-Eye’s words. It could be cursed, or some sort of orb to track Harry’s whereabouts. Perhaps it was listening to every conversation he had. Harry sighed. What other kids had to worry about their gifts being bewitched. “It’s just a rock,” he told himself, and holding it with both hands on his chest, he relaxed and watched the flames reflect off its surface. Finally, his mind drifted off to sleep.

He woke, his eyes still closed, to the touch of someone stroking his hair. “It’s long, isn’t it?” Ginny whispered.

“Yeah,” Hermione replied softly. “I don’t know. I think I liked it shorter.”

“Oh, no. I think it gives him a more edgy look. He’ll need that.” There was concern in Ginny’s voice. “When, do you think?” she asked wrapping a finger around a half curl of Harry’s black hair.

“I don’t know, Ginny. I don’t know. But we’ll all have to be ready when it happens.” He could hear Hermione walk around the couch. “Harry,” she whispered rocking his shoulder. “Harry, it’s time to wake up.” Harry opened his eyes, blinking.

“Hello, sleepy head,” said Ginny, grinning over the back of the couch. “You’d best get ready.” The morning bustle of students preparing for class was filling the common room.

“Yes, Harry,” said Hermione grabbing him by the shirt. “Get up, or you’ll miss Potions.”

“Wouldn’t that be awful,” Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. The tremendous number of short people filling the room made him think, for some reason, of Gringotts. “Tell me we weren’t that small,” he said. Hermione just smiled. From behind, Ginny was still fiddling with his hair.

“Hey, Ginny!” Dean called, a hint of irritation in his voice. “Are we going to breakfast or what?” Ginny quickly let go.

“Yes, Dean,” she replied in a kind voice. “Just trying to wake Harry up.”

“Harry’s a big boy now,” said Dean, adding a bit of acidity to the irritation. “He certainly doesn’t need my girl to get him out of bed.”

“YOUR GIRL?” Ginny shot back adding a level of indignation. “Your girl can get whomever she wants out of bed!” Ginny yelled, her voice filling the common room, which suddenly fell silent as everyone stopped and stared. Dean glanced around, embarrassed.

“Fine!” he yelled, stomping off.

“Oh dear,” Ginny said biting her lower lip. “I didn’t mean it like that. Excuse me guys, I… I better apologize.” She left calling Dean’s name down the corridor. Harry stood and looked at Hermione. A grin broke across his face.

“Happy Birthday,” he said giving her a hug.

“You remembered,” she said with a smile and a blush, as she tried patting his hair down in what was sure to be a fruitless battle.

“Of course I remembered. Will there be a party?” Hermione’s ears turned scarlet.

“I don’t think so,” she answered, pulling her hand away. She started looking around, avoiding Harry’s eyes. Harry’s heart drooped a little.

“Well,” he said gently, “I have a gift for you anyway. I’ll get it to you today sometime.” He looked as everyone headed out the portrait of the Fat Lady. “I better get going.” He stroked her face with his hand and darted up the stairs to prepare for the day. When he got to his dormitory, everyone else was already dressed. He met Ron’s eyes for an instant, but they each turned and looked the other way unwilling to say a word. Harry rolled the red stone in his fingers thinking of last night. If Ron hadn’t come when he did, Harry would have slept in bed and, perhaps, Dobby would have gone to eat and rest.

Harry sat on his bed tossing the stone in the air and catching it with the other hand. It was certainly not any bigger than a Snitch, just a bit heavier maybe.

“What’s…” Goyle began but the look Harry shot him instantly told him to be quiet. It wasn’t long before Neville, Ron and Goyle were set to head downstairs. Before they left, Harry spoke up.

“Hey, Goyle,” Harry called. “You’re friends with Malfoy, right?” Everyone stood still. Goyle, one foot on the stairs to the lower level, was a bit confused by the timing of the question

“Yeah,” he replied, “I guess, why?”

“You and Crabbe, right?”

“What’s your point, Potter?” asked Goyle impatiently.

“You… you’re friends with a Weasley now. What does your friend Malfoy think of that?”

“I can be friends with who I want,” Goyle charged.

“Can you?” Harry pushed. “I know Malfoy’s seen you being chummy with Ron. He knows you’re playing Quidditch for Gryffindor. In class, I’m forced to speak with his disfigured face almost every day. But, he hasn’t said one word, Goyle, not one word about his good friend palling it up with, next to me, his least favorite wizard in the world. Why is that do you think?”

“Yeah! Why is that?” Neville repeated. Goyle glowered over the top of Longbottom, and Neville simply started down the stairs.

“The way I figure it,” Harry continued, ignoring Goyle and looking straight at Ron. “He either wants you to be Weasley’s pal, or he doesn’t care. You, Crabbe, and Malfoy… six years at Hogwarts, spending nearly every waking minute together… and he doesn’t care. Unlikely, don’t you think?” The question was aimed fully at Ron. “But why, I wonder, would he want you to be Weasley’s friend?”

“Come on Greg,” said Ron. “Let’s go.” And the two left without another word.

By the time Harry had showered and dressed, it was clear he wasn’t going to have time for breakfast. He was sitting on his bed, lacing his trainers, when the red stone he’d left there rolled over next to his thigh. He picked it up and set it down on the table next to his dragonhead. The table, or the castle floor, being not quite level, the ball began to roll off the edge. Harry grabbed it and searched to put it somewhere. He looked down at the small Snitch-like ball of crimson in his hands, then up to the black dragonhead before him. Its eyes… its eyes were… red. Slowly, side-by-side, Harry compared the stones of the dragon’s eyes and the stone in his hand. They were, by all accounts, identical.

The mouth of the Horntail was open, waiting for something to bite. A blood red moon? Gently, Harry set the stone into the razor sharp teeth of the Hungarian Horntail. The fit was perfect. He waited, but nothing happened. “Well? What were you expecting, Potter,” he said to himself, “fireworks?” Staring at his two birthday gifts, he couldn’t help but think they looked right together. Finally, shaking his head, he grabbed his book pack and headed off to class, leaving his future behind.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 26 – A Girl’s Best Friend
~~~***~~~

When Harry went to dinner, he had no trouble finding a seat at the Gryffindor table. Most all the sixth years were gone. Ginny and a few others were also absent. A scan around the Great Hall for a few of Hermione’s friends from the other houses revealed they were also gone. He knew, of course, what they were doing, having a grand time at Hermione’s birthday party. He just didn’t know where. He sat down and a plate of chicken, green beans, and roasted potatoes appeared. He was taking a sip of milk, thinking of Dobby, when Dennis Creevey sat down next to him.

“Hey Harry!” his voice cracked. “Where is everyone?” A plate appeared in front of Dennis and he began to eat.

“Hermione turns seventeen today.” Harry sighed. “The party’s tonight.” Adjusting his glasses, Harry stabbed a potato with his fork and thrust it into his mouth. Dennis scanned the table up and down, looked at Harry, but didn’t say a word. Instead, he simply took another bite. Harry couldn’t help but think of the difference between Dennis and his brother Colin. There was a wisdom behind Dennis’ eyes that Colin just didn’t have. Knowing when not to speak was a great gift. Happy to be able to guide the conversation, Harry spoke first.

“You were tremendous out on the pitch the other day,” Harry said hoisting what energy he could into his voice. “You flew right at that Bludger almost daring it to hit you.”

“When you’re as small as I am,” Dennis shrugged, “you can change directions faster than a Bludger. Colin showed me that over the summer.”

“Colin?” Harry was surprised.

“Yeah. He took some moving pictures of me practicing and was able to show me some things I was doing wrong.” Dennis smiled. “He’s great with a camera. If you’d like, I can have him get some shots of you.” He took a drink of milk. “But with that Caduceus of yours, they’d probably all be blurry.” Dennis smiled.

“Sure,” Harry found himself saying. “That’d be great.”

They spoke mostly about Quidditch for quite awhile. But they also touched on the summer activities of the Creevey family. Dennis’ father, being a milkman, didn’t make much money. There were no trips to Germany in the Creevey household. Instead, Colin and his brother did yard work around their neighborhood and Colin did some work as a photographer at Muggle weddings.

“I know it’s not much,” Dennis said shyly, “but we get along okay.”

“Are you kidding?” Harry smiled. “It’s brilliant! I worked in a sporting-goods shop this year. It means something, Dennis, when the money in your pocket is earned from your own effort.” Dennis grinned back nodding his head in agreement.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. We made enough to buy the Firebolt.”

“We?” Harry asked.

“Colin gave me his summer savings so I’d have a chance to make the team,” Dennis replied. It hit Harry right between the eyes. Of course, his father could never afford a Firebolt as a milkman, and one summer’s work mowing lawns wouldn’t do it either.

“Everything?” Harry asked.

“Well, he bought some dress robes with the rest, but, yeah, everything.” Dennis spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world for someone to give all they had for their brother. Harry thought back to Remus’ words: It’s never about how much, but how you use it that makes the difference. Harry looked at Dennis a bit embarrassed.

“It was the Firebolt,” Harry said, “that got you on the team.”

“I figured as much,” Dennis answered un-phased. “There were a lot of good players at the tryouts.”

“But that doesn’t take away from the fact that you’ve flown brilliantly,” Harry added. Dennis looked up with a look that needed reassurance and Harry gave it without a second’s thought. “Brilliantly,” he emphasized. “You’re picking up Katie’s plays faster than anyone else on the team and that includes me.”

By the time the two had finished, Harry found himself feeling much better than when he first sat down. Talk of Quidditch strategies and general Muggle life seemed to lighten his heart. They were headed out of the Great Hall when Dennis began to look uncomfortable.

“What is it Dennis?” Harry asked.

“Well,” Dennis wavered. “You know… Professor Tonks is great and all, but… well, there are some of us who had a good time last year when… well, when you were teaching us… you know?” Harry didn’t know what to say. It was an odd turn in the conversation. “I know it was because Umbridge was so awful, but it was fun. Like our own club or something, it was great!” Again Dennis became uneasy. “Well, a few of us were wondering if maybe you could, you know, start it up again this year.” Harry began to shake his head.

“Look,” Harry said politely, “Dennis, I really don’t have the…”

“I know. I know.” Dennis cut in not wanting to put Harry in an uncomfortable position. “You’re busy. I understand. It was just a…”

“No,” Harry interrupted. “No, I’m not busy.” He paused watching students pass down the corridor. Probably heading to the library, he thought. If anything, he was wasting his time thinking. He needed, he wanted to do something. Still, he was a bit apprehensive. “There’s the dueling club you know.”

“I said fun, Harry,” Dennis said rolling his eyes. “Snape runs that club like a boot-camp, except for his own Slytherins who he lets cheat every time they get a chance.” The two stopped at the bottom of the staircase.

“Listen, Dennis. If I’m running Dumbledore’s Army again, we won’t exclude anybody willing to fight Voldemort. That includes Slytherins.” Harry waited for a howling complaint, but Dennis took his words, rolled them in his mind, and then nodded in agreement. Then a huge smile burst across his face.

“Same place you think?” Dennis asked.

“Well we won’t have to hide this year. I think we can use the room to…” Harry stopped. “Of course,” he whispered, his eyes casting a glance upward. “Do you still have your coin?” he said excitedly.

“Sure.” Dennis replied. Harry started running up the staircase.

“Keep it handy,” Harry called back. “I’ll let you know when!” He was jumping the steps three at a time. When he passed through the portrait of the Fat Lady, he found the common room empty of all sixth years except two. There by the fire, Neville and Helen were holding hands.

“Neville!” Harry called out. “She can’t be in here! Does she know the password?”

“If Goyle can know the password, Helen can,” Neville replied with a somewhat dreamlike voice. “I just wanted to show her around Harry, that’s all.” Harry didn’t have time to argue. He shot up to his dormitory and grabbed a small package with a bow. On the way down the stairs he passed Neville and Helen climbing up.

“Neville, just…,” Harry sighed, “…just be careful,” he said, and jumped the rest of the way down the stairs. In minutes, he was at the Room of Requirement, Hermione’s present in hand and sweat beading on his brow. The corridor was silent as he wiped his face. When he pushed the door open he was met with a blast of voices mixed with music. His guess was right. It was Hermione’s party.

“You made it!” called Lavender who was standing next to Parvati. Each had a plastic cup in their hand, and both seemed to be a bit too giggly. Grinning, they both spoke in unison, “They said you were sick.”

“They did, did they?” sneered Harry. “Well, I’m feeling much better now, I assure you.” He stepped deeper into the room. Virtually every Gryffindor sixth year was here. There were party favors and crackers everywhere. Balloons filled the ceiling and confetti littered the floor. What was left of a rather large cake sat on a table beside a barrel that Harry figured to be a keg of beer. There against the wall stood Dean and Ginny, oblivious to everything around them, arm-in-arm, and all smiles. The room was filled, and as each person caught eye of Harry, they seemed to stop their conversation or laughter. He heard a small cheer coming from a side room. As he walked toward its entrance, Ginny caught sight of Harry and a look of surprise spread over her face. He poked his head into the side room, and found it also filled with people. Hermione was sitting on a couch next to Ron. There was a large flash of light. Colin was taking pictures of Hermione opening her presents. By the looks of things, Hermione had received mostly books, and loved every one.

He stepped in and the laughter stopped. Hermione looked up to see what was wrong, and saw Harry walking toward her. He hoisted a grand smile on his face. He was used to silent stares. He set his small present with what appeared to be yet more books on the table before her.

“I told you I had a present for you. Happy Birthday,” he said continuing to smile wide. “It’s a wonderful party. Really wonderful.” Looking down he noticed that Ron was wearing a T-shirt with the logo of a German beer company that matched the emblem on the keg in the outer room. “A present from vacation?” Harry asked. Ron reddened, but remained silent. Harry looked straight into Ron’s eyes. They were bloodshot, drooping, and reminded him of Duncan’s after a night of drinking. “Yes, well… I didn’t think you’d have the guts to answer.” Ron simply scowled.

Hermione took the gift in her hands and removed the paper. It was a small velvet case about eight inches long. When she opened it she gave a small shriek. “Oh Harry! You shouldn’t have!” She stood up and hugged him tight. Then reaching into the box she pulled out a golden necklace studded with diamonds. There was a collective squeal from most of the girls in the room. Parvati, who’d been peaking in, ran over to Hermione.

“Here!” she said, smiling excitedly. “Let me help you put it on!” She stood behind Hermione, held the chain in her hand, her mouth aghast, and clasped the sparkling jewelry around her neck. “It’s gorgeous,” Lavender whispered in Hermione’s ear.

“I thought,” said Harry, still managing a smile, “sixteen deserved something more than books.” Hermione reached out and held him in her arms.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said, and kissed his cheek. Harry looked around the room and suddenly became uncomfortable. For the first time, Harry realized that Hermione was starting to look more like a woman than a girl.

“I really must be going, Hermione,” he excused himself. “Thanks for everything, but I have a busy day tomorrow.” Still smiling he turned and started to weave his way through the people that had poked their heads in to see what he was saying. He had just entered the main room when Ron called him from behind.

“You know you weren’t invited Potter!” he slurred. Harry stopped without looking back. He had not intended to give the gift to Hermione in front of Ron, but somehow knowing it hurt Ron made him feel better. He took a step to the door, there was a small gasp, and the people around Harry pulled away. Harry continued to walk toward the door, and Ron continued to yell at his back. “You shouldn’t have come! Why do you have to ruin everythin’ you touch, Potter?” said Ron, trying to inflict what pain he could. Harry refused to look at him, and continued to the door.

“Ron, please… stop,” Hermione’s voice pleaded. “Put it down.”

The ache began at the tips of Harry’s fingers and wrapped its way around his forearm and struck like a knife into his right shoulder. He tucked at his shirtsleeve ensuring it was down all the way. The smile on his face washed away. The placid nothingness he felt walking in was now growing into full-fledged anger. Dean had backed into a corner, but Ginny looked livid.

“Ron Weasley!” she yelled, “Put your wand down this instant or you’ll have more to worry about than Harry Potter blasting you into smithereens!”

“You don’t think I can beat him!” Ron’s voice pitched higher. “So smug, so perfect. Well he’s not perfect I tell you!” Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to step once more to the door. “You know that mark on Malfoy’s face?” Ron called to the crowd. “It’s not the…” Another collective gasp in the room cut him short. Harry had spun, his wand out, and fire in his eyes.

“Weasley!” he shouted with a voice that commanded the room. “Please demonstrate to the rest of our friends why one shouldn’t drink and cast spells. You’re blathering like a raving lunatic!” Everyone chuckled which, for Ron, made matters worse.

Ron’s face reddened more, if that were possible, and he called out, “Reduc…” But his spell was too slow.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Instantly, Ron froze and fell to the floor. Behind him stood Hermione, a span of diamonds across her neck glittering in the bright candlelight, and a wand in her hand. She had cast the spell at Ron’s back that dropped him like a statue to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said looking at Harry.

“He’s right about one thing, Hermione,” Harry said putting his wand away. “I shouldn’t have come.” He left the room rubbing his arm. He’d only gone a few steps down the corridor when Hermione’s voice called him back.

“Harry, wait!” she said running up to him. “He didn’t mean it. He hasn’t been himself lately.” Her eyes wandered to the party room and then back to Harry. They were mixed with concern and sadness. “I know there’s something wrong, but he won’t…” Harry’s eyes looked to the floor. In that instant, he’d given himself away.

“You know,” she whispered. “You know what’s wrong with him, don’t you?” Harry weakly shook his head.

“No. I can’t say that I…”

“Don’t feed me that trash,” she said, her face flushing.