harry_26

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 51 – The Truth Revealed
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With the help of Gabriella, Harry wore a two-piece black pinstripe suit and polished black shoes. Unfortunately his hair, which started out the morning better than normal, was now as disheveled as ever. The manager at Marley’s Men’s Shop had told him that a black handkerchief was a poor idea, but Harry thinking it appropriate for a funeral didn’t listen. Now, he understood why it was a poor idea. It was strange being fitted for a Muggle suit Harry hoped he’d only wear once. It reminded him of his fitting with Madame Malkin and, when he was being pinned, his mind turned to Malfoy. There was Harry, dealing with the results of Voldemort’s Death Eaters, and somewhere Draco was with his father living among them. His thoughts contorted, wondering why he hadn’t let Lucius die. Now, taking back his tear stained black handkerchief from Gabriella as they returned home from Emma’s funeral, he felt he’d made the wrong decision. Lucius Malfoy alive was much worse than Lucius Malfoy dead, and Harry was beginning to strongly reconsider if Draco had betrayed him.

“Harry,” Gabriella sniffed, “are you alright?” Her eyes were red and swollen from her endless tears over the last few days, and yet she was asking how he was. His heart warmed and he held her hand.

“Me?” he whispered, as he started to turn down Privet Drive, the setting sun glaring in his eyes. Grigor’s car was gone, so he pulled into the driveway. He had not said anything to Gabriella about his conversation with her father. Still, it had been haunting him ever since. More than once she had asked him why he was rubbing his right forearm, and more than once he simply shrugged his shoulders pulling his left hand away. He had wanted to wait until Emma’s funeral. And now it was over.

They had paid tribute to a memory, a photograph. There was no Emma to say goodbye to. Her body had been incinerated in the fire and all that remained were the collective thoughts of the many friends she left behind. It was the first time that Harry had met Emma’s parents. They were, understandably, walking zombies throughout the ceremony. Still, they were kind, older than he had imagined, and a bit overwhelmed by the number in attendance. Half of Little Whinging turned out to pay tribute to Emma’s memory, some just because they’d read about her death in the local paper. Her parents shied away from all the attention, but her father delivered an eloquent eulogy, and Duncan mustered up the courage to say a few words. Although, the way Mr. Slate went on about his shy and reserved daughter, Harry wondered if they were talking about the same girl. When Duncan placed his engagement ring on the table in front of her photograph, there wasn’t a dry eye in the church, except for Harry. He was numb, unable to feel much of anything.

Tonight, Todd was staying with Duncan, as he had for the last few nights. Harry was surprised when Grigor contacted one of his colleagues at the university to tell him of Duncan’s suicide attempt. Dr. Phellman, a psychiatrist, came to Duncan’s house and set up a series of counseling sessions with him. Todd had sworn to Gabriella that he would ensure Duncan made every appointment. After having watched Duncan nearly kill himself, Harry was sure that Duncan needed more help than any of his friends could give on their own. He was struggling to come to grips with Grigor’s act of kindness, and the lurching feeling in his stomach that made Harry think his neighbor was a Death Eater.

Harry turned the ignition off and flashed Gabriella a smile. “I’m fine,” he answered, impassively. He began to open the door when she grabbed his arm.

“No, you’re not, Harry,” she said firmly. He didn’t want to look at her, he couldn’t. He knew his eyes would expose his soul, and there were too many things he was holding back. “Look at me!” Against his better judgment, he turned to look into her black eyes.

“I’m… fine,” he muttered weakly.

“I know you cared for Emma, Harry, and I know your heart; and yet… not a tear? Not this whole time? One of your dearest friends lost his fiancé, your girlfriend lost her closest friend, and you, the most sensitive boy I’ve ever met…” She stopped, tears beginning to well in her eyes, pain flashing that was deeper than Harry could fathom. He handed her his handkerchief and again she wiped her face and blew her nose, handing the worn black cloth back to Harry. “I’m sorry; I’m being stupid.”

“No!” Harry instantly shot back. “Don’t ever say that. Don’t ever think that.” He held her left hand in both of his. “In life, you were her truest friend, and now that she’s gone you continue to watch after all those she’s touched. I wish I had half your strength.” He kissed her hand, and lost himself in the pools of black, glistening back at him. It was time she knew. “I… I killed her, Gabriella. As sure as you’re sitting next to me right now, Harry Potter is responsible for Emma Slate’s death.”

“Now you’re sounding like Duncan,” she said dismissively. But Harry held her gaze with his own green eyes. Her disbelief gave way to doubt… gave way to the possibility… and the blood began to drain from her face. Harry wanted to tell her everything. He needed to tell her everything, but not here, not like this.

“Come on,” he breathed, “it’s time you knew.” They both stepped out of the car and started for the Dursleys’. Then Harry remembered the living room, and knew Gabriella would be mad about it. “Er, how about your place?” She nodded, and when they entered the Darbinyan entry, they found Soseh asleep on the couch in the living room. Gabriella quietly beckoned Harry up to her room.

It was the first time he’d ever climbed the stairs and his heart quickened a bit in anticipation. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but when she opened the door, he knew it was perfect. Through the window behind an impressive telescope, Harry could see his own room across the street. He realized that the Dursleys could see this way too, and he wondered how often during the summer his uncle spied on the Darbinyans’ from his own bedroom. Her bed was a large four-poster that reminded him of the beds at Hogwarts, but the colors were a soft pink and a royal purple. There was a desk with a computer, quills next to standard paper, and candles everywhere. About the walls were shelves and shelves of books, and in the corner a large kick-bag hung from the ceiling for punching and kicking. Harry walked over to it and half-heartedly gave it a punch. He hurt his hand and tried not to show it, but Gabriella noticed and snickered. She lit three candles, and they sat arm in arm on the side of her bed.

“When I start,” he whispered, “please, let me finish. If you stop me, I don’t know if I’ll be able to start again.” Gabriella nodded.

Harry took in a large breath and began. He told the story of the Boy Who Lived, at least as best as he knew it; a story she’d heard pieces of in her own country. He spoke of the challenges at Hogwarts and what had happened over the years. He spoke of his dearest friends and deadliest enemies. He explained how Cedric and Sirius had died, and how Neville and Luna had been taken. He even explained his new pact with Draco, and how he’d let him leave the caverns beneath the Forbidden Forest. He told her, not of her father, but of the mark on his arm, and of what powers it seemed to give him. His mouth was dry and hands were shaky. He watched as her face turned from concern to horror, but now it had settled on something more inscrutable. He realized his thumb had been nervously rubbing the back of her hand while he spoke, and stopped. He had told so much to so many, but not what was to follow. The prophecy stuck in his throat like a fur ball. He swallowed hard and told her why anyone who would stand with him was at risk, why her life was most certainly in danger, why either he or Voldemort must die. They sat together in silence for quite some time. He was considering what he should say about her father, when she took advantage of the pause and spoke.

“He’s alive?” she asked with a wavering voice. He was surprised to find that someone so far removed from life in England would be so troubled by the Dark Lord’s name.

“Yes,” Harry answered. “He’s alive. I’ve seen him.” He paused. “I’ve been him.” Gabriella narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t understand.”

“When he tried to kill me, he left a link.” Harry pulled back the hair from about his scar. “We have access into each other’s minds. Every night I fight it, and every day it grows stronger.”

Instantly, she pulled her hand away as if in her eyes he was a criminal all over again. Harry slid off the bed and slumped onto the floor, looking down at his own hands. Her cat sat up, stretched and purred, circling about Harry and begging for affection. He stroked the cat’s soft fur and then he spoke out loud the words that had been repeating in his mind all week.

“Voldemort had them attack Paris and the Ministry in London to pull attention away from Hogwarts. He then attacked Hogwarts to find me… to kill me.” His voice was hollow… empty. “I’ve known. I’ve always known. If I had come when first he called, Neville and Luna would be safe, Fred would have been laughing with his family over Christmas… and Mr. Fudge, and… and Emma would still be alive.” He turned and looked up at Gabriella and she saw for the first time tears pooling in Harry’s eyes. “He calls me every night, but I won’t listen anymore. I won’t watch what he’s doing to my friends, what he’d do to you if he knew. And Gabriella… he knows. He knows.” His body gave a giant shudder, and he dropped his face into his hands and began to cry. But an instant later he stopped, and wiped his face.

“I didn’t want this,” he scowled, looking out her window at the darkening sky. “I didn’t ask for this.” He stood keeping his back to her. “I’m no hero.” He walked toward the door and turned to look at her one final time. “I’m no monster either.” He stepped into the hall only to run headlong into a very tired Soseh, nearly knocking her over. Her eyes grew wide.

“Harry Potter!” she smiled broadly. “Praise Asha for your goodness!” She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. “Stand straight! The weight of the world lies on the precipice of your shoulders.” Soseh pulled back to look him in the eyes, her own glowing brightly. “She has spoken to me of the one with green eyes who would risk his own life to save the life of an enemy. The tools of victory have been revealed to him, if only he would see.” Soseh reached up and held his face with her hands and pulled him close kissing both his eyes. She let him go, and took a step back.

Before Harry could think, Soseh arched her arm and slapped him across the face. “If I ever find you in my daughter’s room again with the door closed, I will skin you like a rabbit! Do you understand young man?” she said coolly. His mind was swirling, but if there’s one natural instinct every sixteen-year-old boy has, it’s to say ‘yes’ to your girlfriend’s mother.

“Y-yes ma’am,” Harry stumbled, rubbing his cheek.

“Good,” said Soseh. “Let us now eat dinner.”

Harry started to explain why he had to leave when Gabriella grabbed him from behind wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Have I told you I love him, Mama?” she asked brightly.

“Yes, darling,” said Soseh descending the stairs. “But that’s no excuse.” She held a finger in the air waving it in admonition.

“Has he told you he loves me?” At this question, Soseh stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned around. For a moment, Harry saw the same Soseh he had known from summer. A warm glow seemed to radiate from her expression.

“I have painted it so, have I not?” Soseh’s grin had a hint of mischief, and she turned back into the kitchen. Harry spun and squeezed Gabriella hard. He began to shake, and soon the tears that he had stopped earlier began to flow freely and quietly. The sound of pots and pans clanked from the kitchen below as Gabriella held Harry in her arms at the top of the stairs. Finally, Harry let go and looked at his love.

“He’ll take you from me,” he breathed.

“He’ll try,” Gabriella agreed. “And he might succeed.” She wiped his cheek with her hand. “Harry, I come from where there are never any guarantees. Bombs rained down from the heavens, and belched up from the streets. They exploded in churches, in the markets, or on the playgrounds. And the people that sent them cared less about who they killed than the bombs. I was the one who asked to leave, and it was Papa who thought it might be safer here. In many ways, we were both wrong. Sometimes you have to stand firm to make a difference… to stop the death. You know, even if you were to leave me tonight never to return, the Phantom of Death would still strike at my heels. At least I now know the risks. They’re mine to take, not yours, and I take them freely.”

“But—”

“Thank you for being brave enough to tell me the truth. Cho told me that Gryffindors were known for being brash fools, but after meeting a few of your friends, I think perhaps she left a thing or two out.”

“Brash fools?” Harry flared slightly, and Gabriella smiled.

“Come here,” she said leading him by the hand down the stairs. Soseh already had the home smelling warm and inviting. Harry and Gabriella went over to the tree, and they both knelt down among the still unopened gifts. “We said we’d wait and we have. It’s time to move on.” She reached down and picked up a fairly large present. “Here.”

Opening the box he noticed that the large fir tree was standing nailed to wooden boards on the floor. It had been up for weeks without water, and yet it was as fresh and green as ever.

“Gabriella… your tree. Don’t you water it?” Harry asked, slipping off the bow.

“Well, Mama takes care of the tree. Why?” she asked. Harry slipped off the wrapping paper from the box.

“No reason,” he answered, glancing over at Soseh, still busy in the kitchen. He lifted the lid off the box to find a soft grained, leather coat similar to Grigor’s overcoat but not quite as long. Harry stood and slipped it on. Grinning, Gabriella rubbed her hands down his shoulders. “Brilliant. Thank you,” he said kissing her gently on the lips.

“It’s soft,” she said stroking his chest.

“I don’t think I’ll ever take it off,” he said with a smile.

“And it has some… special features.” Her eyes twinkled for the first time since they’d first heard of the bombing in Paris. She reached low around behind him with both hands.

“Nope, it’s never coming off.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, grabbing his wand from his pants pocket and slipping it out. “Here.” She slid the wand in a small compartment in the left sleeve of the jacket. “Now you can tuck your shirt in.”

“Nice,” he said, turning his back to the kitchen and sliding the wand from the compartment much like a quick-draw expert pulling his six-shooter.

“And this,” added Gabriella. She grabbed a blanket hanging over the back of the couch and started to push it into the front pocket of the jacket. The blanket kept going, and going until it fully disappeared into the coat, without the least sign of a bulge.

“I can’t even tell it’s in there,” Harry whispered, realizing that not only had the blanket disappeared into his coat, it was also weightless.

“Dinner!” Soseh called.

Harry pulled the blanket out of his coat, and Gabriella kissed him. “There are some other surprises… you’ll see.”

“I thought you said—”

“Let’s eat. There’ll be time for more later.”

“How much more?” Harry whispered in Gabriella’s ear with a smile.

“Coming, Mama,” Gabriella called back to the kitchen. “Should I open mine now?” she asked Harry reaching down and picking up the modest package that he had placed there earlier in the week.

“You can open it at the table. I’m sure your mum will want to see.” He paused. “I’m sure your dad will want to see too, but we can figure that out later.” They walked over and sat down with Soseh, and Gabriella began to open the gift.

“Great things come in small packages,” Soseh beamed, rubbing her hands together. “I’ve always been fond of jewelry.” She flashed a look at Harry, who looked nervously away. “But some things are more important, aren’t they my child?” He looked up and felt her look right through him again. He hadn’t noticed that Gabriella had already opened the package.

“Tickets? And more tickets? And what’s this… a booklet? Harry, it looks as if—”

“Only if you want to,” he interrupted. “I kinda got everything before I knew… you know. Anyway, it’s this summer. I thought, maybe, we might get out of here. The Mediterranean: Greece, Turkey, Lebanon, Israel. You’ve seen my roots, for what they’re worth; I wanted to learn more about yours. Four weeks we cruise as part of a youth enrichment program to understand the issues facing the Middle East, and then another four weeks volunteering time in Armenia.”

“Armenia?”

“I know… it’s crazy. After what we talked about upstairs, I’d understand if you said no. It’s not the safest part of the world anyway, but I thought maybe I could learn something.

“It’s not crazy,” said Gabriella warmly at Harry. “It’s brilliant.”

“Supervised?” Soseh asked pointedly.

“Actually, it’s organized as part of a collaboration between the various religious groups out of South Benton. So, yes ma’am, very supervised.”

“Let me speak with your father… after Harry leaves for school. I think it may take all spring to convince him, but we will. You’ll see, we will. You’ll have a chance to visit your grandmother again. She’ll like that, and she’ll especially want to be meeting you, Harry.” Smiling brightly, she reached over and squeezed his arm.

“Thank you, Harry,” said Gabriella, hugging him close.

After dinner, the two went for a walk along Privet Drive, Harry wearing his new coat. For being so light, it was spectacularly warm.

“You know,” Harry said softly, “your dad might say no, and then you’d walk away from Christmas with nothing.”

“I’d still have you,” she said. The air was still as she pulled his arm close. They were returning home and Harry was steering her to the Dursley side of the street.

“Well, I thought maybe you’d like something else.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small box. She opened it to reveal a pair of earrings. “I’ve pretty much worn the one I’m wearing through and I thought something in gold might make a nice change.” About an inch long, there was a winged staff made of white gold entwined with two serpents of yellow gold — the caduceus. “It was the name of my new broom, but now knowing you’re a healer I like them even more.” Harry expected an ooh, or an ahh, but instead the response was something quite different.

“You fly?” she said excitedly, holding the gift in one hand close to her chest.

“Yeah,” said Harry smiling back, “a little.”

“We really must—” She stopped herself. Her face fell slightly and she opened her hand and looked at the earrings. “They’re beautiful, Harry. Thank you.” They continued to walk as Gabriella split the pair, and they each put one on. “Tell me about your broom… a Caduceus? I last had my heart set on a Firebolt.”

Before long they were at the Dursley front door. It was still relatively early and as they held each other’s hands the twinkle flashed in Gabriella’s eyes.

“Will you come in?” Harry asked absentmindedly. Gabriella nodded, glancing across the street.

“Tonight, she seems better somehow. Don’t you think?” she asked.

“She knew more than just my name tonight. That’s a good sign.” Harry opened the door, walked into the living room and cringed. He still hadn’t cleaned the front room, and when Gabriella entered she gasped.

“Harry Potter, you mean to tell me you haven’t picked up one stick this whole time! You swore to me that—”

“I’ve picked up more than one!” he shot back in defense. “At least three, maybe four.” There were dozens of wood splinters scattered all over the room.

“I can’t believe you’ve just left this here all this time!”

“Well you could help, you know. I can’t use magic, but you could just—”

“You know I can’t either,” she said a bit heatedly.

“Oh, you can use it to vanish my scar, and to keep a tree alive,” accused Harry, “but you can’t help me clean up a bit.”

“I’m a healer, not a housekeeper!”

“Fine… fine,” said Harry, trying to calm things down. This was not going like he had imagined. “Look I’ll do it tomorrow, I swear.” He was about to suggest they sit, but the room was too much a mess. Suggesting they go upstairs seemed too forward, especially after just having had a spat. His eyes looked around the room. “What do you say we go to visit the Weasleys? Just for a few minutes. I promised I’d visit and I’ve been ignoring them all vacation.”

“I… I really shouldn’t.”

“It’s not like real magic or anything. It’s just floo powder. Come on, just a few minutes… I swear.”

“Where have I heard that before?” said Gabriella, rolling her eyes. She crossed her arms and looked at the fireplace. “Well, you’d have to pick up at least some of this mess to get the fire started. That’s something.” She paused. “Okay. But just a few minutes!”

Harry beamed as he gathered wood for the fire. Just as it started to roar, he turned to Gabriella. “I need to show you the address. This is a safe-house for the Weasleys and I need your word that you won’t reveal its location to anyone, nor ever say it out loud.” He waited deliberately until after she nodded. “Not even your father.”

“I swear,” she said melodramatically. Harry held her hands and looked deeply into her eyes.

“Gabriella, I know it sounds cloak and dagger, but there are those who would torture you to death to uncover this information. And once they knew, countless lives would be lost. You mustn’t let anyone know that you know.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, standing somewhat taller. “I won’t tell a soul, not even Mama.” He handed her the note with the address on it.

“Think of the location when you enter the fire. Don’t say it. Do you understand?” She handed the paper back to him nodding.

A few minutes later they both emerged from the fireplace at number twelve Grimmauld Place. There was yelling emanating from the kitchen. The two quietly peaked in the door to find Ron and Charlie playing a game of chess at the dinner table. Floating in the air above the sink, the dishes were being scrubbed and put away. Mrs. Weasley stood behind Ron, as did George, Hermione, Ginny and Dean. Behind Charlie stood only Fred who, to Harry’s relief, looked just like Fred always did. Still, Harry wondered why he stood alone behind Charlie. Was he deliberately being isolated? A moment later, Ron said, “Checkmate!” Everyone behind him cheered. George came round the table to his twin brother, holding out his hand, palm open.

“Pay up, Fred,” he said, now holding out both hands.

“Er, double or nothing, next time they play?” Fred asked, as if he’d swallowed a lemon.

“Well, let me see,” said George pensively stroking his chin. “They’ve played every Christmas since Ron was old enough to know how to find the toilet. We’ve been betting on the game since he was old enough to know to pull his pants down first. You’ve always bet on Charlie, you’ve always lost, and you’ve always asked for double-or-nothing.”

“And you’ve always said yes,” encouraged Fred.

“Ah, but tonight we crossed a million galleons, and I’m starting to seriously doubt Charlie’s chess playing abilities. I think you should cut your losses.”

“But—”

“Harry!” Ginny squealed, seeing him at the door. She ran over and gave him a grand hug. “Gabriella! You made it!” She was beaming, but then the smile slipped off her face as she turned to Gabriella. “How are you doing?” she asked solemnly. “Harry told us about your friend. I’m so sorry.”

“We’re all sorry, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley kindly, giving Gabriella a hug. “Harry, it’s good to see you.” There was a coolness in her words that Harry had rarely heard from Mrs. Weasley, and never directed toward him. “Have you two eaten?”

“Yes, but thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Gabriella responded graciously. She looked around the enormous kitchen. It was immaculate. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley. “But we’re just guests. The home belongs to Harry.” Behind Gabriella’s back, Harry was trying to make a hand gesture to stop Mrs. Weasley from saying what she said, but it was too late.

“Harry’s?” Gabriella asked.

“Yes. He inherited it as a small part of his godfather’s estate.”

“Small part? Estate?”

“It… it’s not that much,” Harry jumped in. “Just some old beat up place in London.” But over the last few months, Mrs. Weasley had transformed the household into an elegant home.

“When we met,” said Gabriella, poking Harry in the chest, “you said you didn’t have two pounds to rub together.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Harry shrugged innocently. “Just galleons.”

“Oh!” she puffed, pushing his shoulders. “Well, what if you take me on a tour.” Harry’s face darkened slightly. To Gabriella, it may look like an elegant house, but for Harry it still pulled bitter memories to the surface.

“I’ll show you,” Hermione interjected brightly. “It’s really quite unique in many ways. The Black family goes back for centuries. This house is magically located…” her voice trailed off as she and Ginny took Gabriella by each arm and left the kitchen. Harry was wondering if it might have been better for him to show the house when he turned around to find the rest of the Weasleys looking at him, all but Fred who was eating a slice of cake with Dean, and drinking a hot mug of coffee. It was an awkward moment.

“So, Ron here,” George jumped off, “says you let Lucius Malfoy and his boy slip through your fingers.” Harry’s ears reddened.

“Nobody knows who was with Malfoy,” answered Harry, coolly looking at Ron.

“Yeah,” Fred muttered with a mouthful of cake, “that’s what Hermione told us.”

“And as for letting him slip through my fingers, I was pretty much unconscious when the whole thing happened.”

“Yeah,” Fred added, taking another bite. “Hermione told us that as well.”

“And how are you, aside from hungry?” Harry asked, trying to turn the stares that were fixed on him.

“I don’t know,” Fred’s eyes grew wide. “Since I’ve been bitten, seems I want to wolf everything down.” His brothers and Dean laughed, but his mother did not take the comment well at all.

“Stop it!” Mrs. Weasley spat. “It’s not funny!” The laughter stopped, and she turned on Harry. “And you! How you could let it happen! If I had a galleon for every one of my children that landed in hospital after traipsing along after you on one of your fool adventures…. They would follow you into the abyss if you asked, Harry. All my children adore you.”

“Except Percy,” George corrected.

“And Bill doesn’t much care one way or the other for you, Harry,” Fred added.

“I like you Harry,” chimed in Charlie, “but I’m not sure about the abyss thing. Now if you have a problem with dragons—”

“Do you see?” Mrs. Weasley said exasperated, looking at Harry. “Ron and Ginny, Fred and George, I won’t have you leading them to their deaths! I won’t have you kill my children.” Her voice was shaky and tears were welling in her eyes. Charlie took her by the arm and sat her down.

“It’s war, Mum,” he said softly, sitting at her side. “And, other than Albus Dumbledore, there’s nobody I’d rather have leading the charge than Harry Potter.”

“Face it, Harry,” said George wryly, “he adores you too.”

Seeing her sitting there, Harry’s heart began to ache and huge emotions of guilt began to heave up from inside.

“Mrs. Weasley… Fred… I swear—” The door to the kitchen flung open. Harry expected to see Gabriella and Hermione, but instead it was Mr. Weasley, flanked by Percy and Alastor Moody. Mad-Eye was simply beaming; at least his face looked like it was beaming… sort of.

“We did it!” Mad-Eye yelled out. “Pass out the ale, boys! It’s time for a celebration.”

“What?” Ron asked. “What happened?”

“Dad’s the new Minister of Magic,” Percy said smugly.

“Acting Minister,” Mr. Weasley corrected modestly. “Until we can hold a proper popular election, the council has given me the task.” Mrs. Weasley stood, holding both hands over her mouth.

“I don’t believe it,” she gasped in disbelief. She, along with everyone else, stood and congratulated Mr. Weasley. She hugged him close. “Arthur, that’s wonderful.” But he could tell instantly what she was thinking.

“Yes Molly, the next Death Eater bull’s-eye… as if things weren’t already bad enough.” He kissed her cheek and held her close. “We’ll see it through. I promise.” The door swung open again and in walked Hermione with Ginny.

“Where’s—” Harry began, but Gabriella was next through, holding the arm of Tonks whose hair was a strawberry blonde. Tonks was smiling, but Gabriella was laughing.

“Really?” Gabriella chuckled. “That’s what Hermione said. His first year?” Tonks smiled and nodded her head.

“Wotcher, Harry!” said Tonks. “I’ve finally had the chance to talk with your friend Gabriella. She’s sweet. I can see why you’ve flittered most of the school year away talking about her and ignoring your studies.” Harry could feel the room’s eyes turn on him again, only this time he was blushing. “I’ve tried to convince her she should join us at Hogwarts, but her mind is set against it. Quite stalwart, she is.” Hearing Tonks’ words, Harry smiled with pride. Gabriella was all that and more.

Soon, food was spread about, and even those not yet of age were afforded the opportunity to cheer Mr. Weasley’s new appointment with a glass of mead. Tapping Dean on the shoulder to follow suit, Ron reached to fill his glass again, but Mrs. Weasley slapped his hand. Much to Mad-Eye’s disappointment, the conversation turned to lighter topics like Quidditch and musical groups. Ginny was holding Dean’s hand and Hermione Ron’s. The coolness that Harry felt on his arrival had ebbed away. Gabriella was telling the story about how she first heard Harry was a criminal, when Tonks stood and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Harry,” she said with a soft voice, “might I have a word?”

“Excuse me,” said Hermione standing as well. “I need to use the bathroom.” The three left the kitchen, Hermione turning left to the bathroom, Harry and Tonks turning right towards the Black Family study. Tonks watched as Hermione disappeared from sight and then closed the study door and locked it.

She seemed suddenly tired and shivered a little just before she flicked her wand, starting the flames in the small fireplace in the corner of the room. It filled with a golden glow and the room became instantly more inviting. Of all the rooms at Grimmauld Place, this was the least touched by Mrs. Weasley. It contained almost everything that Harry thought Sirius would want to keep, but as he scanned the room Harry considered getting rid of the lot. It was time to move on.

“So, Harry,” Tonks began as she sat back in one of the leather chairs, “do you have your gift?” Harry nodded. He’d been carrying it with him in his pocket since the day he opened the present. “And the riddle?”

“I’m really not good at riddles, Tonks,” Harry moaned.

“Yes you are,” she said keenly. She leaned forward looking intently at Harry. “I was certain that it would take us longer. I figured maybe we could work on it this summer together, but I underestimated you.” She leaned back in her chair. “Justifiably so, I believe. There was no reason to raise your hopes, only to have them dashed again. Do you have it with you?” Harry pulled the golden rod from his pocket. He wasn’t sure why he carried it with him as if it were something precious. Perhaps because it was from Tonks, but more likely because it was from Tonks and it was not the kind of gift that Tonks would normally give. “Excellent,” said the witch with a smile as she took to her feet. She wandered over to the large mahogany case in which rested the collection of golden instruments, a collection of nefarious objects in the Black house that Harry had elected to keep. Immediately, Harry realized the rod had something to do with one of them, but which one and what it would do he didn’t know. His mind tried putting the riddle in context with what he was now seeing. Tonks stood staring at the golden objects, her back to Harry.

“Why did you save Lucius’ life?” she asked. The question jarred Harry in an unexpected way.

“I-I didn’t. He… he just—”

Tonks turned. “Did you let escape the one student, I thought you despised above all?”

Harry began to perspire, his face reddening, and the small fire feeling suddenly very warm. It required no Legilimens to know he was hiding something. Was Tonks thinking he had switched alliance?

“It’s not what you think, Tonks,” Harry pleaded, taking to his feet. “I swear, I didn’t—”

“Did you save Lucius Malfoy’s life?” she demanded. Her voice was stern, almost accusatory, but her eyes told a different story. What that story was, Harry couldn’t decipher, but he also couldn’t help but answer her honestly.

“Yes,” he replied, looking to the floor. “I-I saved him.”

“They say it almost killed you.”

“I know,” Harry nodded, still looking at his shoes. And then he looked up into her face, feeling as if he were speaking words of betrayal. “I couldn’t let him die. Not like that. Not in front of…”

“Draco?”

Harry couldn’t bring himself to saying yes. He simply nodded his head. Who was it, he wondered, that he was betraying? If Dumbledore were here now, would he see disappointment or pride? Instead he was looking back at Tonks whose eyes were, for a moment, unsure, but then glinted with the slightest of twinkles. She put her arms about Harry and hugged him, chuckling to herself.

“I think we can do it, Harry!” She patted him on the shoulders, and turned back to the mahogany cabinet. “But no one must know.” Carefully she reached in and retrieved one of the larger golden objects. Bowl shaped, it was about the size of a washbasin. Around its thick edge was a moveable ring engraved with about a dozen runes that Harry did not recognize, at least not at first. One did, finally, catch his eye. He had seen it in the classroom at Hogwarts, on the cover of a textbook, two crossed lightning bolts–the Viswa Vajra. The image made him rub his forearm. Gently, Tonks set the heavy instrument on the desk. “I wonder how Lucius will feel if we succeed?” she asked herself.

“Feel?” Harry asked blankly.

“You saved his life, Harry, and now, although he doesn’t know it, he’s going to return the favor, at least we now have hope.” Tonks held out her hand, and Harry placed the golden rod in her palm.

“Hope for what, Tonks?”

“Your compassion, Harry… Lucius Malfoy’s blood… and a little luck,” she slid the rod in an opening on the collar of the bowl and the ring began to rotate, “have given us a chance.” It was like watching a roulette wheel spin. “A chance for my cousin… for your godfather… a chance to bring back Sirius Black.”

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 52 – Rescue
~~~***~~~


“I don’t know how you can think that!”

“I don’t know how you can think at all! I’m telling you it’s the Patonga Proudsticks! And if you don’t believe it, you’re an idiot!”

“She’s got you there, Ron.”

“Yeah, at least with the idiot part.”

“I am not an idiot! The Cannons are coming back strong next year. With Wegley in as their newest Chaser, they’ll have a shot at—”

“Wegley!? She’s a has-been from the Harpies. Sure she was great in the 80’s, but she hasn’t been able to fly straight since she took that Bludger to the head at the European Championships in Greece.” Gabriella glanced up at the kitchen door, as she had every few minutes since Harry’s departure, to find him standing there not moving. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

She had wondered what was taking him so long. Some twenty minutes after he left with Tonks, all the adults had left to go spread the good news. Gabriella sat at the kitchen table, and before long started talking Quidditch with the Weasley family. Dean was content to sketch with one hand, while he held Ginny’s with the other. All of the Weasleys were agreeing with Gabriella’s keen insight about the game. All, that is, except Ron who, in defending the Cannons, didn’t notice that Hermione had never returned from the bathroom. He was distracted, probably because he was losing his debate and taking it firmly on the chin. Similarly, Harry looked as if he’d been punched in the gut a few times. His eyes were somewhat blank, his complexion extremely pale, and when Gabriella asked him once again how he was, he still didn’t answer.

“Harry?” Gabriella repeated. Just as the question left her mouth, a hand reached up from behind, and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me.” It was Hermione, trying to enter the kitchen as he stood in the doorway. “Excuse me, Harry.” Slowly, Harry seemed to come back to reality as if waking from a trance. “Looks like there’s some pie left. Do you want some?”

“Er… yeah,” Harry muttered, trying to clear the thoughts filling his brain. “Pie’s good.”

“You’re not looking well,” Gabriella said taking to her feet. “You were in there quite some time.”

“Merlin, Harry,” said Dean. “You look like you’ve walked through a ghost, maybe two.”

“Let me cut you a slice,” suggested Ginny.

“We probably should think about getting back,” Gabriella said. “I really don’t like leaving Mama alone too long.” Without looking at her, Harry nodded into space.

“Right,” he said blankly. “Home.” Gabriella walked over and took his arm.

“It’s been wonderful to see you all again. Please thank your mother for the dessert.”

“No problem,” replied Ginny. “You’re more than welcome anytime. And don’t think you need Harry at your side to stop by.”

Gabriella offered a pleasant smile. “You’re cold,” she whispered in Harry’s ear. Then she looked over to the twins sitting at the far end of the kitchen table. “Fred, remember what I told you. If you can’t find it, let me know. Mama grows some in the backyard.” And then she sighed. “At least she did.”

Hermione gave Gabriella a hug. “I hope we can talk more later,” she said warmly. Then she turned to Harry and hugged him too, leaning close to his ear. “We need to talk… alone,” she whispered, “and soon.” Gabriella overheard this, and had the sudden realization that Tonks was missing. She looked about the entryway hoping to catch sight of her as they walked to the fireplace, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Ron was the last to say goodbye before the two entered the fireplace. “You really need to set her straight about the Cannons, Harry.” Ron’s face was seriously concerned. “Clearly, she’s been out of touch for far too long.”

“Out of touch?” she exclaimed. “The only person I see who’s out of touch is—” Harry grabbed her by the mouth, and a few moments later they emerged into number four, Privet Drive. It was a bit ironic to think that coming from Grimmauld Place to here, there would be a greater sense of disgust, but the living room was such a disaster. What’s worse, there was a definite odor beginning to build. Harry expected to see a scowl on Gabriella’s face, but instead her eyes bore concern.

“I should get you to bed,” she said sternly, taking Harry by the hand. Harry looked conflicted.

“Well… actually, Gabriella, I’m a bit tired.”

“Of course you’re tired. You’re white as a sheet. What’s wrong, your stomach?” She moved to put her hand to his chest, but Harry pulled away.

“Just very tired. It’s been… well, a full day. I really need to rest.” He scanned the room. “A good night’s sleep and I can clean this place up tomorrow. I swear.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to bite her tongue about the room. She was also trying to divine what Harry was holding back. It was true, he didn’t look well, but she could sense more.”

“Okay.” She kissed him briskly on the cheek. “But the Dursleys return in five days. And it’s getting harder to clean by the minute.” She pointed at a film of mold now growing on the coffee table.

From the Dursley front door, Harry watched Gabriella cross Privet Drive. She didn’t see his hands begin to tremble as he slowly shut the door; she didn’t see him collapse to his knees on the floor. He had a chance to bring back Sirius, but nobody must know — nobody, or they’d stop them for sure. His heart began to pound again, his palms began to sweat and his breath grew shallow. Just thinking about the possibility was overwhelming. Slowly, he got to his feet and ascended the stairs. He took off his shirt, tossing it to the floor as he gazed at the dragonhead with the ball of cinnabar in its mouth that now sat on his dresser. Then, turning to his bed, he found a scroll of parchment. Harry had left Hedwig at Hogwarts, and the window was closed. He reached down to pick up the note when Mad-Eye’s voice echoed in his head and he stopped, slipping out his wand. First, he walked to the closet, but it was empty. Then he searched the entire upper floor. Exhausted, he returned to his room, and used the tip of his wand to open the note. It was from Hermione. How it got there, he had no idea — perhaps the twins. He picked it up and read it under the light of the lamp on his dresser.

Harry,

Please, please, don’t do anything until we can talk alone.

Hermione

He squeezed the parchment in his hands. She knew. She’d been eavesdropping. Anger began to roil up inside. He tore the paper into shreds, the pieces scattering across his bed. She’d ruin everything. He reached out and grabbed the red stone, accidentally slitting his finger on a tooth, and only serving to anger him more. “Damn her,” he hissed, slamming the now glowing ball back and forth between his hands not noticing the blood coating his palms. He wouldn’t let that happen. Still holding the stone, he sat on his bed.

It had been a long day… the funeral… revelations with Gabriella… news from Tonks. His body and his mind were exhausted, and he put head to pillow. If he were lucky, Hermione would be too late. He closed his eyes, his thoughts fixed on a large golden ring, the rune of the Viswa Vajra looking back at him. Perhaps, they had all they needed. Tonks would try soon. He had given her all she asked for, and would have given more if he could. His mind drifted to the film of Sirius falling into the veil, only this time Harry pushed his hand through and pulled him out. “I’ll bring you back, Sirius. I swear.” Soon, his mind still spinning with the day’s events, he was asleep.


He was angry. Furious. The brightest wizards and witches in the world, pure of blood, loyal with fear, and they had achieved nothing. Ten wizards and three witches captured, countless allies dead, and they were no closer to achieving their objectives. “I must have more at my side, and soon I will.” His hand clawed in the shredded upholstery as it had countless times before. He was sick of this place, tired of waiting. But they weren’t ready for the boy, not yet, but soon. “We have time,” he thought to himself, trying unsuccessfully to control his nerves. He noticed silence in the corner.

“Did I tell you to stop, Longbottom?” he slithered in a high, cold voice. “Crucio!” Neville cried out in agony, but his throat had grown hoarse and raw. There were no screams left. In his hand was a paintbrush, in the other a paint can. He was now covered in blue, painting over a red wall. Slowly, Neville reached up and put bristles to board marking another blue swath of paint. “Very good. Tomorrow, I think green again.”

He stood surveying the hellhole he was in. This wasn’t like him. He had always been patient, silently moving among the shadows. His initial downfall was impatience, and he would not let that emotion creep back again. After all, time was on his side. Or was it? From what Lucius said the boy was growing stronger, but Bellatrix refuted the boy’s strengths as simple tricks. “Exploding gum,” he hissed, thinking of the dozen Death Eaters fooled by the childish trick. There was a quiet knock at the door.

“Enter,” he spat. A robed and hooded Death Eater entered the room bowing low, only the robes this Death Eater was wearing were different — not black, but purple and red. Ignoring the visitor, Neville continued to paint. “Where is the new minister?” he asked coolly.

“The clock shows him at the Ministry, my Lord.”

“A minor inconvenience,” he said silkily. “Soon, there will be a proper minister. I’ll see to that. Already our friends are on their way from the mountains.” He stepped closer, and the Death Eater bowed low to the floor. “You left with purpose and you, for your part, have succeeded. Send this message: ‘With you now at my side the tide will change.’ You know now what to do?”

“Yes, my lord.” The voice was not of a man, but of a woman’s: familiar and comfortable.

“Excellent,” he slowly hissed between his teeth. He watched as the Death Eater walked to the door, but Harry was not interested in this conversation, or the Death Eater. Where was Luna? How was Neville? He wanted to turn to see, and when he tried, Voldemort recognized his presence. “You!” he called without uttering a word, just as the door closed behind the departing cloaked figure. “You think you can visit uninvited?!” Rage began to fill his every thought.

The scene changed. All was dark. Harry felt as if a giant snake was swallowing him head first. He couldn’t see, but he heard Voldemort’s voice.

“Your ability to hide grows stronger. I shall not let it happen again.” Harry felt himself being pulled further into the snake. “I learned many things when I was your age, Harry. I learned about myself and who I was to become… what I was meant to be.” The tone changed to a soft hiss. “Join me, Harry. Let me show you your immortality,” Voldemort beckoned.

“Go to hell!” Harry yelled back with his mind.

“Oh, I’ve been there my boy. I’ve been there,” the voice echoed in his mind. “If I can’t destroy your body, I suppose your mind will do. Your future is finished.”

Harry was being squeezed tighter, digested by the giant snake. He couldn’t breathe and the pain about his chest was unbearable. At that moment, a warmth began to build in his fingertips that quickly spread up into his arms and filled his chest.

“Not-this-time-Tom,” his mind forced back. He focused on the surrounding darkness and reached his mind out to find its strength… its energy. And there it was, flaming bright before him like an inferno raging against the darkness. Harry reached out and held it in his hand, but instead of infusing it with energy, he drew the energy away. It was coursing into his body, his mind, and then… agony. A blinding flash of light, and his forehead split open in tortured pain. He pulled his hands away, and found himself falling from the darkness, falling from the light.

“You have the Heart!” hissed in horror across his mind, as he woke with a thump on the floor of his bedroom. Harry screamed. He screamed from the pain pounding in his head. He screamed from the filth coursing through his body. He gasped for air, and then realized an ultimate truth. Not filth… power! He could rule the world. An evil grin twisted Harry’s face thinking of all those he’d make pay. All the years he’d suffered, all the years of torture and mockery, they would all pay… a fierce retribution! Again, he gasped for air.

“No!” he cried.

Some poison was gripping his mind, consuming his very being. He had to get it out. His body shuddered, heaved, and the power vomited forth. His insides flashed bright, as if the light of a thousand suns burst open from his soul. Still screaming, the energy poured out of his body shattering through the window of his room and sending a beacon into the night sky. The wallpaper of his room peeled, and the paint on his furniture charred. Writhing in agony, the carpet beneath him smoldered, filling the room with an acrid smoke that plumed out his shattered window. It lasted only a few seconds, but the torture felt like hours. Then, suddenly, the power collapsed inward driving back from the sky, back into the window, and plummeting into the ball of cinnabar clutched tightly in his hands. He watched as it glowed red, then white. The muscle spasms in his arms stopped, his hands let go of the stone, and it fell to the floor rolling next to the bottom of his dresser. When it was over, he fell unconscious, eyes open, on the smoking floor. But it was not a dreamless sleep. He was locked in silent battle, staring at two red eyes that looked back, unblinking. But, they were not the eyes of Voldemort; they were his own.

He woke to Gabriella yelling his name. It was distant at first, a soft beckoning from across the horizon, almost imperceptible as the red eyes flamed back at him. But it grew stronger, louder, until finally the red eyes blinked and disappeared. With the sound of her voice, and the withdrawal of his opponent, Harry finally shut his eyes. They burned. Tears began to stream down the sides of his face, and he squinted up to see the darkened ceiling of his bedroom, and Gabriella kneeling over him. He made to sit up, but she stopped him.

“Don’t move,” she said sternly, and then she firmly placed her hands over his face. It was as if his eyes were being washed in a refreshing bath of cool water. She let go, and he opened his eyes, now clearly able to see the devastation. It was fortunate that Hedwig was gone. The papers that had lined her cage were nothing more than ash. Harry sat up, peeling himself away from the melted carpet beneath him. The clouds seemed to open up as the morning sun beamed in through the window. “I thought I’d let you sleep, but when I came out for the paper I saw your window. What happened?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“I’m a lousy Occlumens,” he whispered, rubbing his temples.

“You… you linked again?”

“He was killing me. So I… I don’t know. I guess the opposite of what I did for Professor Dumbledore. Instead of giving him the energy, I—”

“NO!” she yelled sharply.

“He was killing me,” was all Harry could find to say. She grabbed his face and gazed intently into his eyes.

“Give me your hands!” she commanded, now straddling his legs on the floor. He obliged and she examined them as if inspecting pieces of fruit for ripeness. She was whispering something under her breath, and he felt his hands grow cold, and then warm again. Finally, she let go. “Nothing,” she breathed in amazement. “You kept none of it.”

“None of what?” Harry asked, reaching back to hold her hands. The room was a disaster, but his head was clearing, and he kind of liked her on his lap.

“Whoever, or whatever you connected to, you’ve drained it of its life force,” she answered with a voice that now seemed somewhat older. “How much I cannot say.” She placed her hand gently on his face. “But it should have become part of you. Such is the power of the stone.” Still sitting over Harry, she reached over and grabbed the stone from next to the dresser, and looked at it closely. “The temptation to hold such power has destroyed many. It has driven countless men mad with the voices they consume.” She shook her head, but then a smile opened across her face. “But you… you rejected the temptation.” She held her hand over his heart, and smiled. But then she sensed something else. She pressed her hand more firmly against Harry’s chest, but he took her by the wrist and sat up.

“I-I didn’t know that I had any choice,” answered Harry. But inside, he knew he did have the choice, and it was his choice that made him wretch out such power. In that moment of realization, he felt for the first time in some small way he had on his own terms defeated Voldemort. It was not luck, or happenstance, a gift passed down. It was instead his choice, his to take, his to reject. There on the floor, with Gabriella on his lap, Harry Potter took one grand step toward becoming who he was meant to be. He pulled her close, and she wrapped him in her arms.

Holding her there, the cold wind blowing through the broken window of his room, he began to replay the dream. For the first time, he saw in Voldemort’s eyes a look other than arrogance, or cruelty. He saw something akin to fear. Harry also felt that the Dark Lord now lay somewhere, injured. “The clock,” he whispered in Gabriella’s ear. Suddenly flashes of all his dreams came careening into his mind like flashing photos lit by a strobe: the gnomes, the garden, the clock, the upstairs room.

“The Burrow,” he said, looking into Gabriella’s eyes. “He’s taken them to the Burrow.”

In the few minutes it took for Harry to put on fresh clothes, grab his pack, and run downstairs to the fireplace, he had quickly explained all he knew, all he thought he knew to Gabriella. It was the clock, the Weasley family clock that always indicated their location that tied the fragments in his mind together. Luna and Neville were there, they must be. And now… now they had a chance to strike. Voldemort was weak.

“You can’t go there by yourself, Harry!” Gabriella exclaimed, concerned about his sudden zealousness to rescue his friends. “If you’re right, it will be crawling with his… his Death Eaters.” Harry looked at her.

“What did Cho say? Brash idiots?” Harry smiled.

“Fools,” Gabriella corrected, nervously.

“Fools.” Harry nodded. “Not this time. I’m just going to tell Mr. Weasley and I’ll be back.”

“Then let me come with you,” she said.

“No. It’s too…” he hesitated.

“Yes?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. Harry rolled his.

“Alright, but it’ll only be a minute. You’ll see.”

Gabriella cast one more look out the front window at her house across the street, and stepped into the fireplace. They stepped out at Grimmauld Place, the air filled with the smell of browning sausages. Quickly, they ran to the kitchen, only to find Ron and Hermione alone at the table eating breakfast.

“Where is everyone?” Harry cried in disappointment.

“Good to see you too, mate.” Ron smiled, chomping on a slice of toast. “Gabriella,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked cautiously.

Seeing Hermione there, reminded him of her letter. And that, in-turn, reminded him of the possibility that Sirius might be released today. But that was up to Tonks. His job now was to save Neville and Luna. He felt like saying something nasty, but Gabriella was holding his arm. It had a calming effect.

“I know where they are! I know where he’s keeping them.”

“Who?”

“Neville, and Luna.”

The second the names left Harry’s mouth, Ron and Hermione cast each other a glance then looked away. Harry didn’t understand. Why weren’t they cheering with excitement, or begging to know where? Instead, Hermione simply pushed her plate forward on the table and stood. Harry had to make them understand.

“They’re at the—”

“The Burrow,” Hermione interrupted. Her voice was sad.

Her words hit Harry squarely in the jaw. She knew. They both knew. He staggered backward, and Gabriella held him to keep him from falling over. How could they know and not do anything about it?

Gabriella pulled Harry upright, and faced Hermione. “They… You… are afraid,” she said intuitively.

“Afraid?” Hermione asked with a melancholy tone. “Yes, we’re all afraid. Professor Snape’s known their location for some time, Harry. Since then, Ron’s dad has had everyone brainstorming to find a way in and out of the Burrow that won’t put them in danger.” Her explanation was honest, but Harry was glaring at her, wondering if he really knew the person that was speaking. “Even Professor Dumbledore is afraid that if we go bursting in, he’ll kill Neville and Luna first.”

It took a moment, and then Harry felt as if the floor was turned on its side. Of course, Snape would know, and of course any assault on the Burrow by the Ministry would mean many deaths. The first to die would be Neville and Luna, Voldemort would make sure of that. He was breathing hard, casting glances from Hermione to Ron and back again. Ron just looked down at the kitchen table. It all made sense, but the anger and frustration were welling up again, and he couldn’t stop it. Unable to fix the predicament, he lashed out at his friends.

“YOU KNEW? You knew and you didn’t tell me?” he spat. Then he walked over to Ron, towering over him as he sat. “No more secrets, eh, mate?”

“Stop it, Harry!” It was Gabriella.

“THEY LIED!” he yelled back, begging for indictment. “They had me suffering over how I might find my friends, while they knew all the time!” He kicked over a kitchen chair. Gabriella, however, was unaffected by the outburst. She strode over to him and grabbed his arm.

“Do you have a link with the Phantom or not?” she asked calmly, but with a bit of a bite.

“Yes, but—”

“And if he discovered that you knew about his location, would your friends remain alive?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered, trying to decipher it all. “He’s wanted me to… I think.”

“And if he found out how you uncovered his location… not by his own doing but by this, Professor Snape, would that not undeniably place the Professor’s life in danger, as well as the lives of your friends?” The fire faded from Harry’s eyes.

“Yes,” he said, dropping down to the bench next to Ron, but facing away from the table. He folded his arms and ground his teeth.

“Ron and I only learned about it the other night. We wanted to tell you, Harry,” Hermione said pleadingly. “We were eavesdropping on Ron’s dad, and when he caught us he swore us to secrecy.” Harry still just glared at Hermione. He hated what she had just said, more than she could possibly know. He was being left out of what was clearly his future. For a long while nobody said a word until Gabriella bent down on one knee next to Harry and adjusted the collar on his new coat, pulling the zipper up.

“You must now save them, Harry.” Her words were even and direct. Ron spun on the bench to face her.

“Didn’t you hear what we just said?” he cracked. “There are Death Eaters crawling all over my house. They’ll kill anything that walks through the door.”

“But Harry now knows all the things you’ve kept hidden. And the same reasoning applies, does it not?” she asked. “If the connection is real, the Phantom may ask how you know, and then your Professor and your friends might lose their lives the next time Harry sleeps.”

“Let’s just wait until Mr. Weasley returns tonight,” said Hermione. “He’ll know—”

“There isn’t time!” Harry shot, standing from the bench. “He’s sick now. I don’t know for how long. This will be our only chance.”

“Who’s sick?” Ron asked.

“Voldemort!”

Ron cringed at the name, but he didn’t ask how Harry knew, nor for that matter did Hermione. For once they were taking him at his word. Hermione folded her arms, and pondered the situation carefully.

“If we tell the Ministry, they’ll want to go in full force. Remus could use stealth, and so could Shacklebolt, but they’re on a mission together somewhere. Dumbledore might—”

“Dumbledore will say, ‘no’,” Harry interrupted.

“Flying’s out. I suppose we go in by floo?” she asked.

“You’re not going anywhere,” said Harry, stepping to the kitchen doors. “I’m not going to let what happened last year happen again. If it’s a trap… if he’s not sick or if he’s recovered we’ll all be dead.”

“You’re not going alone,” Ron said empathically.

Hermione was still steeped in thought. “I’d rather we had a Portkey, to get out quickly if we needed to.”

“I said you’re not going!”

“They’ll be watching the floo, I’d imagine,” said Gabriella, walking over to the stove. “Or have someone close by. If the Phantom has fallen ill, however, it may be enough of a distraction. If only there was a way to see without being seen.”

Harry cast Gabriella a look, and then glanced at his pack. He’d brought his invisibility cloak, with that purpose in mind. He was trying to think of what to tell Gabriella, when Hermione slipped out the kitchen door.

“Hermione,” Harry yelled, pushing the door open himself, “you’re not going, and that’s…” She was gone. “Hermione!” he called, looking in the study.

“She’s probably in the bathroom is all,” said Ron, a bit nervously. “Look, mate, even with your cloak on, it might be trapped. You could stick your head in the fire and have it blasted off your shoulders. It’s too…” He stopped and turned to look at Gabriella. Her eyes were fixed on him, as if examining a strange bug crawling up the side of his head. His eyes just held hers for a moment.

Finally he whispered, “Yes.” There was a pause. “I don’t know.” Harry looked at Ron and then to Gabriella. Ron nodded his head. “Why not,” he shrugged. The redhead walked over to the fireplace, and grabbed some floo powder off the mantle. “Gabriella thinks I can reach out with my mind and see if anyone’s there. Never done it, so I don’t know if it’ll work.”

“If someone is there, Ron,” said Gabriella, “you’ll know their presence — perhaps just warmth by the fire.”

“Nothing foolish, okay?” Harry added. “Pull your brain out, or whatever, if something goes wrong.”

Ron sprinkled the powder and called for the Burrow, but instead of stepping into the fire he reached out with his mind. “I can’t see anything,” he whispered. Gabriella touched his shoulder. “Whoa! Colours.” Suddenly, his posture changed. It was as if he was channeling all he saw, experienced, back to Grimmauld Place.

“I can see the front room, and,” Ron turned his head as if actually looking to the side, “the kitchen. I feel like I could just walk on in.” He suddenly jerked back. “There’s one, sitting at the kitchen table.” He turned to look up to the right. “One’s coming down the stairs.” Then Ron’s voice changed, taking on the intonation of those speaking.

“Quit crying, and get up here!” he said in a low voice. “If you don’t help me get him down the stairs now, I’LL kill you myself.” Then Ron said in his own voice, “They’re running up the stairs.” There was a silence, and suddenly Ron began to tremble. “They’re l levitating him… through the kitchen.” Then the low voice of the Death Eater said, “Bellatrix says sunlight. Sounds crazy to me. He hasn’t seen the sun since we got here.” A moment later, Ron pulled his thoughts back, and returned to Grimmauld Place. At the same time, Hermione appeared. From where, Harry didn’t notice.

“They’re out the door,” Ron said weakly. He was looking a bit peaked. “We have to go now!” he said, rubbing his temples. “Follow me.” Before anybody could say a word to stop him. Ron and his body were on their way to the Burrow.

“Damn it!” Harry spewed. “I told him that…” he spotted that Hermione had a leather purse about her shoulder that he’d never seen before, just as she reached for some floo powder from the mantle. “You’re not—” But too late. She called to the Burrow and was gone leaving Harry alone with Gabriella. “This is not how it’s supposed to happen!” he yelled.

“Harry,” Gabriella said with a tremor in her voice, “don’t let the Death Eaters know you’re there, or the next time you link, he’ll ask how.” He could tell she was trying to stay calm, but was having troubles. “F-Fight strength with wile.” She kissed him on the lips. “I love you.”

“We’ll get them out safe,” he said. “I swear.” He hugged her quickly, grabbed some floo powder and threw it into the fire. “The Burrow!” There was a flash and immediately he found himself in Ron’s living room. The redhead, wand drawn, was already ascending the stairs. Hermione only a few steps behind. When they looked back at Harry, he pointed up, and mouthed the word ‘attic’.

There were voices outside. Someone was yelling; it was Bellatrix. He heard a wand blast something, and then screaming. Harry felt his innards begin to twist with hatred. He pulled his wand and turned away from the stairs and toward the kitchen.

“Harry,” Hermione breathed. He stopped to look. “We — need — you,” she said, under her breath, waiving him over. He looked to the kitchen, hesitated, then went back to help his friends.

The boards on the stairs squeaked and cracked with every step. Harry was sure they’d be overheard, but no one came. More likely, the Death Eaters were all hovering about their leader trying to figure out what might have happened. When he arrived he expected to see the house torn apart, but it wasn’t. In fact, with everyone outside, one would hardly be able to tell it was a Death Eater stronghold. The only clue was a set of dark robes thrown over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. They wanted it to look untouched, he thought, the better to hide. As they climbed to the first level, Hermione suggested that they should check the bedrooms. Harry pointed upstairs, but Ron was already headed down the hallway to his room. Grinding his teeth, Harry followed in silence.

All the doors were opened, the rooms were empty. Here too, everything appeared untouched. The three friends shrugged their shoulders, shook their heads and again Harry pointed upwards. Ron led the way. Just as Harry was leaving Ron’s room he noticed it. On the floor, partially covered by the bedcover was a red hood. Hermione started down the hall after Ron, but Harry walked in and picked up the hood. It was a deep scarlet, and made of silk. Gossamer, there were no holes for eyes. Harry held it in his hand for a moment, then slipped it on. He could see clearly, as if the hood wasn’t even there. He slipped it off ready to join the ascent to the attic, when he noticed a few long strands of blonde hair. He held them in his hand, and rubbed them between thumb and finger. Draco was here. Was that a good thing? There was a crack, and quickly he turned expecting to see Draco in the corner, but found no one; it was Ron’s weight on the stairs above.

Harry wasn’t sure what to think. In some ways he felt he’d led Draco back into his father’s arms… or arm. His emotions began to twist for letting Lucius escape. Where was the Death Eater? Where was Draco? He could feel his heart begin to race, for all the wrong reasons. He took a deep breath trying to regain his composure. Tossing the hood back on the floor he went out into the hall. Ron and Hermione had already disappeared from sight. From upstairs, there was a large squeak as a door opened. From the bottom landing, Harry was immediately hit with the strong smell of paint. And then a familiar voice, faint, but clear.

“I knew you’d be the first,” she said quietly. “I told you Neville, didn’t I? Dad says the Ministry can’t do anything right.” She coughed. “Where’s Harry?”

“I’m right here.” Harry entered the attic. Chained to the wall, her feet not touching the ground, was Luna. It looked as if she’d not eaten in days, but her eyes were clear, and when she saw Harry, a thin smile creased her gaunt face. Hermione was at her side, releasing her from the bonds. There was a lone chair in the middle of the room. Seeing it, a shiver ran down Harry’s back. Huddled in the far corner clutching a blue paintbrush was Neville. His eyes were staring blankly at the wall. Ron had made to walk over to him, but stopped. Turning from Luna to Neville, Harry wondered why Ron wasn’t moving, and then he saw why. Coiled between Neville and Ron was Nagini, her head some four feet off the ground glaring into Ron’s eyes. Her tongue flicked at his nose as she rose higher.

“Fressssh meat,” Harry heard her hiss.

Harry jumped in front of Ron. “Hasheth!” he slithered in parseltongue. “Move aside!” The snake did not strike, but neither did it move. It now glared into Harry’s eyes. Harry glared back, allowing his eyes to transform, to change into the eyes she had always obeyed. “Hasheth!” She lowered her head in something of a bow, and coiled herself about the chair in the middle of the room.

“I wasss worried massster.” She curled and closed her eyes.

Ron ran over to Neville’s side, but when the boy in blue saw him coming, he recoiled in fear.

“No!” he rasped, holding his paintbrush up for protection.

“It’s me Neville. Ron… Ron Weasley.” The redhead held out his hand, but still Neville shook with fear.

“Leave me alone!”

Hermione had Luna down from the wall, but she was unable to stand. “He won’t touch you,” she said. Her voice was weak, but her wits were clear. “His mind is gone. I guess he’ll join his parents at St. Mungo’s.”

“No!” Harry yelled. “It can’t be! He’s… he’s fine.” Hermione shushed him. He walked over to Ron’s side, but his approach only aggravated Neville more. He started to try and strike Harry and Ron with his paintbrush, only his arm was so weak he couldn’t raise it above his shoulders.

“We need to get him to hold the portkey with the rest of us,” Hermione said, reaching into her bag. Harry turned his head.

“Portkey? Where did you—”

“Ron can you just hold his hand?” she interrupted. Ron held out his hand and tried to grab Neville’s arm, but Neville kicked him hard in the stomach. Ron flew back and landed firmly on the floor, knocking over the bucket of paint. The rattling noise was loud, far louder than Harry’s yell, and for a moment nobody moved. Then they heard it, a squeak from below. Someone was climbing the stairs. Neville rose to his feet, and started for the door. Hermione had Luna in her arms, Ron was on the floor, and Harry pulled his wand out ready to attack the ascending Death Eater. Hermione pulled her own wand to paralyze Neville, when he stopped on his own.

“Ron?” Neville rasped. From the floor, Ron was focusing on Neville. Reaching out to his mind with his own. Somehow he pierced the clouds of thought. “Harry?” Neville breathed again.

“Quickly,” Hermione hissed. “Over here!” Ron stood up, and put his arm about Neville. Together they walked over and sat next to Hermione and Luna. “Harry!”

But it was too late. Whoever was climbing the stairs was upon them. In that instant, Harry recalled Gabriella’s advice, and put his hands over his face, and stepped into the doorway, closing the door behind. Just then, not one, but two cloaked and hooded figures appeared before him.

“Master Malfoy?” the Death Eater in front asked. “What’s going on? You know you’re not allowed up here.” They were both advancing toward him, though only the figure in front spoke, the other some four steps behind. “Leave at once, or your father will hear about this.”

“I-I’m sorry,” said Harry, in his best Draco drawl. “I heard screams.” The Death Eater began to laugh. “I heard screams, I swear,” Harry repeated.

“As if that were ever an excuse. Come with me, boy. Now!” The lead Death Eater pulled his wand.

And then something odd happened. The figure following from behind lifted his hand and stroked down hard with a chop onto the lead Death Eater’s neck, and he fell, out cold, at Harry’s feet. The figure stepped over the heap on the stairs and stood before Harry as he held his wand high.

“I like the new coat, but I much prefer green eyes,” she said lightly, but out of breath.

“Gabriella?”

She pulled the hood off her head. Her face was beaming, infused with energy from the fight. “I’ve been watching,” she breathed. “When I saw him climb the stairs, I thought I’d follow.” She held up the hood in her hand. “I picked this up off the table downstairs,” she said, throwing off the cloak onto the floor. “Where are they?”

“In-Inside,” he stammered, looking at her handiwork on the floor, and then he smiled. “You’re brilliant,” he said, kissing Gabriella’s cheek.

“Can I have Harry back?” she asked, not taking the kiss very well.

“Oh, sorry.” Again, the sound of people climbing the stairs echoed through the house. Quickly, Harry transformed back. “Hermione has a Portkey,” he said, opening the door.

“How convenient,” Gabriella answered in a curious tone as she stepped into the attic. She jumped seeing the snake, but Harry put his arm around her and together they stooped down onto the floor with the rest of their friends. Ron and Hermione were both surprised to see Gabriella, but there was no time for questions.

“On three,” said Harry briskly.

He felt his navel being pulled from behind, and when the spinning stopped they had arrived on a black granite floor — St Mungo’s. They were all still seated on the floor, much as they were in the attic at the Burrow. Neville in Ron’s arms, Luna in Hermione’s. Harry looked up. It was a large empty ward, except for three healers standing over them and one graying wizard… Professor Dumbledore.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 53 – Awakenings
~~~***~~


“Three… Two… One… Happy New Year!”

Champagne glasses clinked and kisses shared with hugs more plentiful than the chocolate frogs under Harry’s floorboards. The kitchen in Grimmauld Place was packed to overflowing with wizards and witches from the Order. Many, Harry had never seen before. There was another pat on Ron’s back. Everyone was grinning from ear to ear, and even Mad-Eye seemed giddy with happiness. Again, another pat on Ron’s back. Though the morning looked destined for disaster, the day had gone spectacularly well. Another pat, and this time Ron winced. Harry knew Ron’s scars were already swollen, and he wondered how much worse they were getting from everyone congratulating him.

It was odd not being the center of attention; a small part of him was jealous. After all, it was his idea. If it weren’t for him, Neville and Luna would still be locked away. But in a day of miracles, the rescue of his classmates was already overcome by events. Mrs. Weasley quickly gathered up the champagne glasses from the youths in the room. When she took the glass out of Harry’s hand, her eyes were quite cool. Once again, Harry had led her son into danger, although he wondered how she could think that, since the story had been told a dozen times of how Ron was the first to enter the Burrow, and how he was first to enter Voldemort’s lair, although he still couldn’t say the name himself.

The room was buzzing with the name Ron. Ron this… Ron that… interspersed with the occasional ‘Frank’ or ‘Alice’, and the redhead seated in the center of the room, still pale from the day’s events, was soaking it up. He had spent the last six years in Harry’s shadow and before that his own brothers’. Now the limelight was brightly shining in his face and Harry hoped he wouldn’t get too sunburned.

“It is a blessing, when we turn our curses into gifts,” whispered Gabriella in Harry’s ear. The room was noisy and it was hard to hear. Harry nodded, but weighed the gift against the curse and wondered which would win in the end.

They had arrived at St Mungo’s, and Neville began screaming madly, but Ron was able to calm him with his mind. Over the course of the morning, Ron could communicate with Neville in a way that no one else was able. By lunch, with Ron’s help Harry was talking to Neville, and soon his mind seemed completely free of the agony placed on it by Voldemort’s Cruciatus curse. It was mid afternoon when a healer in red robes came down and called Ron out into the hallway. A look of fear came across Ron’s face, and at first he said he couldn’t do it.

“Do what?” Harry asked.

“My head’s already pounding, Harry,” he whispered. “I really had to concentrate on Neville. I tell you… my head’s pounding.” Harry looked at the back of his neck, and saw that the scars were raised and red.

“What do they want you to do?”

“The Longbottoms,” Ron swallowed.

“You can’t be serious?”

“Try at least,” Ron shrugged.

“You know what happened when…”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron interrupted. He pulled his fingers through his red hair and sighed. “Will you come? Maybe stop me if I go too far?”

“How ‘bout I stop you right now?” Harry scolded, but Ron looked back with solid eyes. He was going with or without Harry, and so Harry climbed the stairs with his friend and the healer.

It was agony watching Ron contort in pain. The room was silent, as Ron sat holding Alice Longbottom’s hand. Her gray hair hung down about her shoulders, and the lines of her face showed a pain that dared not speak its name. At first, she was frightened when Ron reached to her with his mind, but then she calmed. Then, although Ron seemed to wince every so often, Alice was quiet, occasionally nodding her head and smiling. Her husband Frank was oblivious to what was happening. He was speaking to an imaginary someone or something in a landscape portrait on the wall.

The scars on the nape of Ron’s neck began to stretch about his ears like Morning Glory spreading toward the sun. Again, Ron winced in a silent burst of pain and this time Harry decided enough was enough. He stood and walked over to stop the mind meld… when it happened. Alice opened her eyes and held her hand to the side of Ron’s face.

“Well of course you’re a Weasley, dear,” she said quietly. “Look at that hair. Your father’s was much longer at your age. Where is Arthur anyway?” They were the first cogent sentences she had put together in fifteen years.

The healer gasped. Ron, eyes closed, was still trying to link, his face contorted in distress.

“Ron?” Harry called. There was no answer. “Ron!” he yelled again, shaking his best friend. Finally, he blinked and looked up, not at Harry, but at the Healer.

“You know, I hate the chicken dumplings here, and would you tell Millicent to brush her teeth?” he complained in an affected voice. He let go of Alice’s hand, and fell backwards into Harry’s arms. He was pale, weak, and trembled slightly.

“My god, Vincent!” said Alice Longbottom, looking straight at the healer in red. “You’re a healer, aren’t you? Help the poor lad!”

Flabbergasted, Vincent quickly gave Ron a potion that helped with the pain, and calmed his nerves. Then, he treated his back, bathing it in a blue light. The swelling lessened slightly, but Harry could see that the scars that had taken weeks to reduce were now back worse than ever. Everyone, including Mrs. Longbottom, wanted Ron to wait at least a day before trying to reach into Frank Longbottom’s mind, but he was insistent.

“I can do this,” he said determinedly.

Two hours later, Frank and Alice were holding each other tightly. Their minds weren’t all together clear, but with each passing minute another layer of fog seemed to lift from their memories. It was as if they had been released from a fifteen-year immobulus hex. They remembered all the attempts at treatment, all the visits, all the stories that Gran had told them of the events in the world, all the times Neville—

“Neville…” Alice Longbottom said in a soft voice. “Where’s Neville? He… He’s about your age I believe.” No sooner had she asked, than the door swung open and their son walked in followed by his grandmother and another healer in red.

“Mum?” he asked in disbelief. For the first time that he could remember, he looked up to find blue eyes that looked back with recognition. Her graying hair seemed somewhat darker and healthier, and the lines about her eyes weren’t lines of pain, but of joy. “Mum?” he asked again, stepping cautiously into the room. She smiled broadly, and opened her arms wide, and in an instant Neville was holding her tight.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to her son. “I… I…” she broke down in tears, holding the son she had watched grow into a man, unable to tell him how much she loved him, only able to give him a simple token of how proud she was of the man he was becoming.

Frank Longbottom looked for the longest time at his own mother standing by the door. She was stunned, unable to take in what she was seeing. Frank flashed her the smile that had charmed many a witch and wizard in his youth, and then stepped over to his son. “S-So you’re a G-Gryffindor, eh?” His words were shaky, but his thoughts clear. “I used to s-sneak your mum into the Gryffindor c-common room after hours. C-cost me a month of detentions when I was caught. Did your Gran ever tell you?” Neville looked at his dad and shook his head smiling.

“Of course, I didn’t!” Gran Longbottom puffed. “Why would I fill the boy’s head with such a terrible example of behavior?”

One of the healers tapped Harry on the shoulder. Looking to his side, Ron had fallen asleep. Together, Harry and the healer took Ron out of the room for treatment, as the Longbottoms began a reunion of a lifetime.

They were halfway down the hall when the door burst open and Neville ran down the corridor to meet them.

“Is he okay?” Neville asked with concern.

“Yes, he’s okay,” said Ron smugly, trying to stand taller, tipping, and then holding tightly to Harry’s arm.

“I owe you Ron,” said Neville solemnly. “You too, Harry. On my honor, as long as I live—”

“Get back in there, Neville,” said Harry determinedly.

“That’s right,” Ron added. “You don’t owe us anything.” Then Ron smiled. “Except maybe a nice plant for Mum. She was a bit chafed no one gave her flowers for Christmas.” Neville grinned, and ran back to join his family. Ron slumped the moment Neville left, and for the next few hours the healer became the patient.

Now, he sat in the middle of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, and whatever fatigue or pain he was experiencing, Harry couldn’t tell. Ron was all smiles, surrounded by the Order of the Phoenix. When word got out about the rescue, nearly all of them, knowing the students were safe, had Apparated en masse to the Burrow to attack. They found the Weasley home empty. Then word came that the Longbottoms, though still at St. Mungo’s for observation, had miraculously recovered. Nearly everyone now in the kitchen had gone by to visit them. Between the clinking of glasses and mugs, all were sharing stories of times past when the Longbottoms and the Potters carried the day for the Order. They were stories Harry had never heard before, stories of defiance and victory over Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

“Three times I tell you!” It was Mad-Eye who turned toward Harry and raised his glass. “To James and Lily Potter!”

“Here-Here!” the room called out, and then drank to his parents’ memory.

Harry tried to smile, but found himself clenching his teeth, and squeezing Gabriella’s hand far too tightly.

“Come on,” she said, pulling him to the door, as the group once again placed their attention upon Ron. The two emerged into the entryway where a handful of members were quietly chatting. It was cooler out here, and Harry took in a deep breath. “You hate that, don’t you?” Gabriella asked. Harry nodded.

“I never knew my parents. I never will.”

“No?” questioned Gabriella. “Mama says when we pass on we leave behind an imprint of ourselves in all those whose lives we’ve touched. I think that, tonight, I’ve met your parents. They were brave, and kind, and most of all, they loved their son very, very much.” Harry said nothing, but nodded ever so slightly. Again, he took a deep breath.

“Neville got his parents back today,” he said. “Mine are gone forever.” Then he took Gabriella by the arm and led her in toward the study. “But, there’s someone I can bring back,” he whispered, excitedly. “I thought I’d hear by now.”

“Bring back?” Gabriella asked, confused.

“Yes,” he said, with a smile that reminded Gabriella of his expression before crashing the motorcycle late last summer. “That’s probably why she’s not here right now.”

“Who?”

“I gave her my blood. I would have thought—”

“Your blood?” she exclaimed.

“She needed it for—”

“Hi, guys.” Hermione walked in through the study doors. “Terribly hot in the kitchen, don’t you think?”

“Hi, Hermione,” Gabriella answered kindly. “It’s a shame we can’t open the front door, and keep it open, don’t you think?”

“That would be nice,” Hermione said, fanning herself, and flopping down in one of the chairs. Harry just glowered, ready to explode, but Gabriella squeezed his arm.

“Do you think any of the Order might be able to find a way to cool the house off? Certainly, one of them would be capable,” Gabriella suggested.

“I don’t think we need the Order,” Hermione replied, a bit put off. “Properly placed, a simple cooling charm would work.”

“Really?” Gabriella replied with interest. “I’ve never seen such a charm.” Hermione rose and pulled her wand.

“Right outside the kitchen will do the trick, you’ll see… just a moment.” The moment Hermione stepped out the doorway, Gabriella unzipped Harry’s sleeve and pulled out his invisibility cloak. When Hermione returned they were gone. “Harry? Gabriella?” She looked about for a bit then turned back toward the door. “Damn,” she hissed, and stepped out.

Gabriella was holding Harry from behind when she pulled him backwards against the wall, and together they quietly slid down to the floor. One hand was against his waist the other against his chest.

“That was brilliant,” he chuckled.

“I thought… last night,” Gabriella began. “I knew something was wrong, but you pulled your hand away.” Her fingers were pressing into his chest and the feeling was not comfortable.

“Hey, that kinda—”

“Tell me who drained your blood,” she said with a fierce edge in her voice. “Hermione?”

“No! Are you kidding? And she didn’t drain me. It’s not like she’s a vampire or something.”

“WHO?” She pressed her fingers further into his skin. There was a nerve there, and a sudden burning sensation spread across his chest.

“Tonks, okay? Tonks.” Gabriella softened the pressure. “She found a way to bring my godfather, her cousin, back from behind the curtain. She said… she said today it would be done, but no one’s seen her. Something must have gone wrong.” Harry relaxed, leaning back against Gabriella.

“There are very few arts that ask for blood, and nearly all of them are dark. Are you sure she can be trusted?” Harry didn’t answer the question. Instead he asked his own.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” he exclaimed. “She’s going to bring back Sirius.”

There was a distant, but familiar creak, as the front door to Grimmauld Place swung open. A draft of cold air swirled in the study. A voice called, “Harry!” There was banter out in the entranceway.

“Nymphradora, how grand to see you! My you’ve grown.”

“Fine to see you too, sir. Have you seen Harry?”

“I believe he’s in the kitchen.”

Harry pulled to get up, but Gabriella held him fast. He couldn’t move. “Harry, there’s something not right about this.”

“That’s crazy,” he hissed.

“Do you trust me?” she asked quietly. There was no response. “Wait until she comes into the study. She’s looking for you, so she will. When you show yourself, see how she reacts.” Gabriella released her grip, but Harry stayed seated with her on the floor. They listened as Tonks tried the kitchen, called upstairs, then finally walked into the study. Finding it empty, she slammed the door and cursed, turning her back to the two beneath the invisibility cloak and pounding her forehead against the wood of the door.

“No, oh no, oh no,” she muttered to herself over and over. Gabriella poked Harry in the side of the ribs, and he slipped out from under the cloak. Tonks heard the sound and spun wildly, her wand pointed directly at Harry’s eyes.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed holding up his hands. “Bit fast on the draw there, aren’t you Tonks?”

“HARRY!” she breathed. Then she narrowed her eyes looking behind him. “But I’ve been calling.”

“Yeah, people have been hounding me all day. I just curled up under the cloak and took a nap. Sorry,” he said, feigning a yawn, lifting his glasses with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. “So, have you tried yet?”

Tonks was clearly agitated. She had a look of panic in her eyes that Harry had never seen before. It took her some time before she finally lowered her wand. “No. Yes. I… I tried. It didn’t work,” she said completely frustrated. The revelation struck Harry hard, and he fell into the moment.

“It didn’t work? But I thought—”

“I know!” Tonks yelled. She fell into one of the chairs, covering her face with her hands. “I know.”

“I should have been there to help you. I should have—”

“No,” Tonks snapped, standing again. The movement was unnatural. “No. That… that would be too risky.”

“Did you set the right code? I mean, maybe if you—”

“Yes, damn it! Everything was the way it was supposed to be.” She began to pace the room, and at one point Harry thought for sure she would trip over Gabriella hidden in the corner. “Your blood, Malfoy’s blood, the basin, the code… it was perfect. It should have worked, but nothing. Now… now I’m in trouble.”

“Trouble?” Harry asked. “What do you mean? No one knows but me, right? They didn’t see you, did they?”

“What?” Tonks muttered distracted. “No, they didn’t see me.” She took a long deep breath trying to steady her nerves. “Don’t listen to me, Harry. I’m just a bit nervous is all. I thought we would have them… er… him tonight. I thought Sirius would return.” The room was cooling, but still a bit too warm for Harry. Even so, Tonks walked over to the fire. The flames flickered high, and the embers burned hot, but even as she stood next to it to warm herself, she trembled. Harry came over and put his arm about her shoulder.

“We just have to try again, that’s all. I’ll look once more at the riddle. Maybe we missed something.”

“Maybe,” she whispered, staring into the flames. Harry holding her, she gazed into the fire for quite some time. Eventually, the trembling stopped, and the fear holding her eyes captive vanished. She turned placing her hand to his face. “Harry… I-I need… I—” There was a rap at the door, and the two turned. A charm was cast and the door unlocked. Tonks began to reach for her wand just as Hermione entered.

“Harry. Tonks,” she said, smiling. “I thought the room was empty. Where’s Gabriella, is she cooler now?” Tonks suddenly became nervous once more and began scanning the room.

“I think she’s upstairs,” Harry said, clenching his teeth again and looking directly at Hermione with eyes that would burn. “Perhaps you should go check.” Hermione didn’t reply. Instead she nodded and turned to leave, but then stopped.

“Oh, Tonks,” she said. “Hestia was looking for you… something about having to cover your watch at the Ministry. She didn’t seem too happy.” Hermione shrugged, and walked out the door. Stepping to the door herself, Tonks watched her leave then swung around to Harry. Again, Harry thought the movement odd.

“We’ll talk about this again… back at school. We must. Maybe we just rushed things. I-I think we might have time… I hope,” she whispered. “Just… just don’t tell anybody, okay? Especially Hermione, she’ll stop us for sure.”

Harry nodded. “You’re right. We’ll take our time. If there’s any chance at all, we need to do it right.”

Tonks started walking toward the door then stopped looking about the room one last time. “Yes… at school,” she said, heading out the door and toward the kitchen.

With the door open, Harry felt another cool breeze rush past him toward the fire. He turned expecting to see something or someone, but no one was there. A shiver ran down his spine, and he wasn’t sure why. A moment later, Gabriella was out from under the cloak and at his side.

“What do you say we go home and you tell me what this is all about?” she suggested. “In case you didn’t already notice, Hermione is clearly on to you.”

Harry silently nodded, rolling his fingers into a fist.

“She’s your friend, right?” she asked softly. “She’s probably only worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” Harry asked sharply. “She’s up to something, and it’s not just snogging Ron behind the statues in Gryffindor tower.” He shook his head. “If she’s worried, she’s worried I’m breaking the rules, and I don’t think I’m playing by the rules right now. But then, it’s not her godfather, is it?” This time Harry paused a moment and looked about the room. “Yeah, I’m ready to get out of here. If Ron wants to blow a gasket in his noggin, let him; and if Hermione sticks her nose in any further, I’ll just have to nip it off, won’t I?” He pushed the cloak into the sleeve of his jacket, took her by the hand, and quickly walked out of the study to use the floo. They skipped the kitchen, avoiding any pleasantries, but just as Harry reached for some powder, the front door opened. Remus Lupin stepped in wearing a toothy grin, followed by the same scowling and sullen Professor Snape.

“It’s a miracle, I tell you Severus,” Remus said, brushing a dusting of snow off his cloak. He looked for a hook to hang his cloak by, but finding them all full, opted to toss it onto the floor with the many others. “I’ve got to see Ron.”

“Ah, yes,” Professor Snape drawled. “Hogwarts has now replaced Saint Potter with Saint Weasley. Pathetic… truly pathetic.” He too pulled off his cloak. Only, instead of dropping it to the floor he pulled his wand, cast a spell at the wall, and hung the garment there.

“You know that’ll leave a mark, Severus,” scolded Remus.

“I highly doubt that Sirius much cares at this point.”

“It’s Harry’s home now, and you know that Molly will mind.”

Professor Snape rolled his eyes, ignoring the correction in etiquette, and slipping his wand away. As Snape turned more fully into the light, Gabriella let out an almost imperceptible gasp.

“I know him,” she whispered from behind. “Severus Snape. He came to visit Papa, about a month ago.” She took a step backward behind Harry shielding her face behind his hair now hanging wildly about his neck. The move was not like her, and it was as if a switch had been flipped inside Harry. He suddenly disliked Professor Snape much less than normal, and that was saying a lot. Harry’s right arm began to burn, and the powder in his hand slipped through his fingers, scattering to the floor. The two moved away from the fireplace and next to the column by the staircase.

“I don’t understand,” Harry whispered back, as Lupin and Snape continued to argue near entrance. “I thought you severed all ties with—”

“I thought so too,” she said. “And look at me, here with all of you. If Severus sees me, Papa will know that—”

“He won’t see you.” Harry reached in to grab his cloak, but as he did so his elbow hit a candle stand and both Lupin and Snape looked over toward the noise. Swift as a cat, Gabriella swung behind the column. Seeing only Harry but maybe more, Professor Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“Potter,” Snape sneered. “What a shame to find you here. But then, I should have expected such. You have no real home, do you?” Holding Snape’s eyes with contempt in his own, Harry moved away from the staircase and toward the front door. As hoped, the professor kept eye contact and turned with his back to Gabriella. “Still playing the orphaned, unloved, foster child to the Weasleys.” More flame began to pour into Harry’s veins.

“Severus, really,” Remus scolded. “Leave the boy—”

“What’s it like not being the center of attention, Potter?” pressed Professor Snape, turning his lips up in something of a smile as he stepped closer to Harry. “Are you finally fading into the shadows where you’ve always belonged?” Harry’s eyes were raging, and Professor Snape enjoyed the sight he’d missed for so long. He didn’t know why, but he was getting to Harry at last. “No. I think not. You’ll try some new fool stunt and get someone else killed again.”

“Severus!” Remus yelled.

Harry was going to reach for his wand when the choking started in his throat, like a fur-ball needing to be dislodged. When he spat it out, all that emerged was a quavering whistle. Snape began to cackle. Harry had never heard him laugh before, and the sound was revolting. Still whistling, Harry reached for his wand, pointing it at Snape’s two beady eyes, and in an instant the cackle stopped. Snape, still smirking, slowly pointed his own wand back. Harry continued to whistle, his eyes filled with hatred toward the Professor.

“Please, Potter,” he spat. “Make this easy. Or, has the cat got your tongue?”

Angered, Gabriella stepped out, tall and defiant, from behind the column. When Snape saw her, his face contorted with a look of bewilderment and shock. She charged, and Snape cast the first spell at her. Harry didn’t say it, he couldn’t, but his thoughts were focused and even while he whistled, a shield charm burst from his wand and deflected the spell meant for Gabriella. It hit the wall under the staircase, and sprayed wood shards everywhere. Snape gaped in astonishment.

Remus pulled his own wand unsure where to point, but it didn’t matter. On instinct, Snape spun and expelled it. Harry wanted to fire at Snape, but Gabriella was too close, and closing in. Snape’s reflex to expel Remus’ wand, though quick was not quick enough. The distraction gave her but a split second. She needed only half that time. Her foot struck Snape’s forearm, and a loud crack reverberated about the entryway. His wand fell, clattering to the floor. With a sweep of her other leg, Snape lost his footing and was splayed out on his back. In a flash, she was on top of him holding his neck with her left hand, her right ready to strike.

“How do you know my father?” she commanded. She leaned her knee into his broken arm twisted on the floor. Snape winced in pain.

The kitchen was emptying and all stopped, stunned by the sight. Wands were quickly drawn just as Harry stepped between the members of the Order, and Gabriella towering above her prey. His arm ached, the pain beading perspiration on his forehead.

“Put the wand down and step aside, Potter!” Mad-Eye yelled.

“Don’t make another move, Professor,” Harry said stiffly. “This is my home, and some of the guests have been behaving badly.”

Mad-Eye ignored his words and stepped forward reaching for his wand. Harry responded instantly. A tremendous flash of light erupted, not at the group in front of him, but at the ceiling above. The second floor came crashing down sending the members of the Order running for cover, and burying some under the rubble.

“You know my father,” Gabriella yelled at Snape. “How is that?” Again she leaned on Snape’s broken arm, only this time her hand twisted the side of his neck making his legs shake violently. Clenching his teeth, almost smiling, he remained defiantly silent.

“Immobulus!”

Harry spun to find Remus holding his wand. On the floor lay Professor Snape, stiff as a board.

“Murus!” Remus yelled. A shimmering wall appeared between the members of the Order and the four now in the entryway. Remus walked over to Professor Snape as Gabriella stood and slowly backed away. He looked down at the victim on the floor. “You’d kill her if you had the chance, wouldn’t you Severus?” He reached down and pulled a small dagger out of Snape’s good hand. He held it up to his face, examining the silver blade. “Not very sporting of you.” Remus turned toward Harry and Gabriella. Harry half-heartedly held his wand up at Remus, just as Gabriella took his side. Remus simply sighed. He wanted to say something. Harry could see it in his eyes… something important… something wise. “Go home you two,” was all he could muster.

“But…” Harry halted, to the ceiling.

“I don’t know, Harry. Just go home, and stay there. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

“But this man…” said Gabriella fiercely, “he’s been in my home. He knows my father! And now he pulls his wand on Harry. Who is he?”

“This man is Professor Severus Snape, and one of the finest wizards at Hogwarts,” Remus said quite sincerely. “Your father is a Professor as well, is he not?” Gabriella reticently nodded, still having difficulty placing Snape in both worlds. “It does not seem so strange to me. But… if he should come to visit your father again, and I were you, I might stay locked in my room until he leaves. Now go!” Remus flicked his wand and it popped with a loud snap, making them jump. He didn’t need to ask again.

When they emerged into number four, Privet Drive, Gabriella was both confused and furious. Harry, however, was laughing. Not from joy or mirth, but in a sort of nervous release of unspent energy that found no other way to express itself. He felt like rolling on the floor, but it was too disgusting.

“What are you laughing about?” Gabriella yelled.

“That’s it,” said Harry slapping his hands together. “I’m out. Not only did I use magic out of school, I used it to attack the Order.” He laughed again, and pulled her close. “I’m practically a Muggle already. I can feel it!” He kissed her briskly on the lips and walked into the kitchen. “That is, if they don’t send me to Azkaban.” He opened a cupboard and pulled down two glasses. “I wonder if Duncan will give me my old job back. The kid he’s got working at the shop now is a right git.” He filled the glasses with ice then grabbed a chair and slid it next to the icebox. Stepping up and reaching into the back corner of the cupboard above the icebox, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey. “Vernon’s private stash.” He smirked, raising his eyebrows up and down. “Join me?”

“Harry, put that away,” she scolded, but he didn’t listen, and filled both glasses.

He held one up examining the golden liquid. The reflection in the glass seemed to glint two dots of red, and whatever smile Harry was trying to push forward faded away. He wished it could all be over, but wishing didn’t make it so. Was the Dark Lord dead? Had Harry killed him at last? No. He was alive. Weak, but alive. Somehow, inside, Harry knew. He also knew one thing more–Gabriella’s father was a dark wizard. There was no other explanation for Snape’s meeting with him, but he could never tell her that. He could feel the walls closing in around him.

“They’ll take my wand away,” he whispered, and then tossed the contents of the glass down his throat. “Maybe worse,” he rasped. He began to pour again, but Gabriella took his hand.

“Don’t be silly.” She smiled sadly. “Like Atlas, you’ve been dealt a cruel trick and the weight of the world now rests on your shoulders. If something happens to you, we would all fall into oblivion.” She put her arms about him. “Tell me, Harry, how is it that Asha should bring us together? My Titan. My love.” She pulled him close.

There was cheering and the popping of crackers outside in the street, as revelers made their way back to their homes. Where was Harry’s home? Since the moment he first saw the castle, he had always thought Hogwarts, save for the one glimmering moment when he held hope his home would be with Sirius. But now both possibilities would soon be taken away. No, home would be here. Holding her in his arms, he looked at the disastrous living room, and then considered the burnt out shell of a room upstairs. He would definitely have to start cleaning tomorrow. But tonight… tonight he was sure that Dudley wouldn’t mind lending Harry his room. It was a new year, after all, what could possibly happen?

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 54 – Pure Water
~~~***~~~


There was a loud crash.

Suddenly awake, Harry instinctively reached for his wand at the bedside table. Only he couldn’t move. He tried again, and still his body refused to respond.

A clatter and another crash.

He could feel the sheets about his body, his hands under the pillow beneath his face, but he couldn’t see. His eyes were closed, and they would not open. “Gabriella!” he tried to cry out, but no sound came. He was immobilized, but he knew the feeling of an immobulus hex, and this was not it. A car passed by on Privet Drive.

“That’s familiar,” he thought. “I’m still in the house.” Breathing in, he detected a hint of Gabriella’s perfume. “Oh, no, please, no.”

More clattering to either side. Something, not quite human, was moving about the bed in the Dursleys’ master bedroom. The bed jerked violently and there was another crash.

“Be careful! But, be swift. We must not tarry. We must meet the rising star.” The voice was deep and stern.

“If the others learn of our actions…” This voice was softer, and anxious.

“They will learn soon enough.” His words were heavy, filled with a familiar sorrow.

More distant steps and the sound of a door swinging open.

“Is it done?” asked the deep voice.

“She is finished,” said a harsh male voice, also filled with sadness.

Harry could feel himself scream. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the perspiration build about his face, but still he could not move.

“He is awake,” said the nervous one.

“Then it is time,” said the leader, as if regretting his words.

More clatter, the sound of glass shattering, and a sudden sense of weightlessness. He felt as if he were floating above his bed. A burning red flash filled his gaze, and then all went black again. It was cold, very cold. He would be shivering if his body were able. The feeling of the sheet and pillow had disappeared. He felt nothing, but cold. The sounds too had changed. There was a stillness in the air. The clattering stopped, replaced with a swooshing sound — footsteps in snow.

“Cover him,” commanded the deep voice. “We don’t need him dying on us before the Cleansing.” A moment later, Harry felt warmth as something was placed around him, and tied about his neck and waist.

“It’s not too late,” pleaded the nervous voice. “When he dies, school’s wizard will—”

“Before you were born, your fate was sealed to this night… this new year… this rebirth.”

“I only wish I could see the stars.”

“They would only reveal the same truths we’ve spoken of…”

They were moving. He felt as if he was floating just in front of the others. Then a scent filled his nostrils: pine, wet, decay. They were in a forest… the Forbidden Forest, he was sure of it. The occasional call of a bird, or scamper of a creature was all he heard.

“… he will die this day, as we have known all along.”

There was a general snort from the other two, and then silence. No one spoke as they continued to make their way into the forest. The smell of death grew stronger, and a sense of foreboding swelled in Harry’s heart. They continued for what seemed like an hour, when finally the youngest broke the silence.

“You have always had the keenest eyes.” There was no response. “And only you have seen its return.” It was clear he was uncomfortable with what they were about to do.

“Tell him to stop!” Harry yelled in his head.

“There is another that has marked its return… at the school. A year hence it will burn as a second sun, and shimmer as a second moon, never dimmed by darkness. Would you have me close my eyes?” The words were scolding.

“But the school’s wizard… surely he will seek retribution.”

“It is not our fate to concern ourselves with the whims of wizards. Tonight, above the clouds, the brightness of Mars dims as Ebyrth returns. Without the Cleansing, their cold emptiness will consume us all. I will not set myself against the heavens.”

Harry began to notice a hint of daylight filtering through his closed lids. The three stopped, and that’s when he noticed it: the sound of birds chirping had disappeared… replaced by the sound of water. It was a small trickling at first. The air was much fresher here, as the odor of decay vanished. He focused his mind, concentrating to move himself, but his bones were held motionless. He had never known an immobulus hex to last this long. Again, he cried out, but there was only silence.

“He grows restless,” said the anxious voice, still tight with anticipation.

“It will be over soon,” answered the dispassionate, deep voice.

“The waters have gone hungry for many years. He will not survive.”

“Yes, I know.”

They continued to move, following the babbling water. As they pressed on, the small stream was met by another, and then another. Eventually, the babble grew into a roar. Harry could feel a gentle breeze against his face that was still cold, but inside, for some reason, he felt warm. Fear, however, was creeping into his heart. He began to imagine Death Eaters, dark goblins, giants. He could hear the crashing of the water move from just ahead to directly beneath him. He knew this sound, and the only place in the Forbidden Forest that could make it. In his mind’s eye, he could see where he was, he had been levitated out over the falls. He’d been here before on his Caduceus, only now he had no broom to support his weight.

“Remove the cloak,” the leader called out over the roar of the falling water. Instantly, the mist and spray blasted Harry’s entire body. He expected cold, but what he felt was pain. A thousand tiny needles plunged inward through his flesh. He tried to cry out, but made no sound.

“Wait! We can’t—”

“Goodbye… Harry Potter — Savior of our world.”

The spell holding him skyward was released, and with it the spell holding him motionless. Flailing his arms, he began to plummet down, spray splashing against his naked body. With each wave of water washing up against his skin, he felt a deeper sensation of pain. As he tumbled, he tried to see who had thrown him to his death, but everything was a blur; his glasses were still on the table by the bed on Privet Drive. Three figures, one reminiscent of a Weasley, pulled back from the brink and disappeared from view. The water, the rocks, all rose up to greet him. Had it been Voldemort? Was this the end? He closed his eyes, and in that instant, just before his death, he remembered. Instead of clenching in fear, his eyes opened fully to freely meet their fate. He splashed into the pool, just missing jagged edges of stone to either side. His body was on fire, and he heard them call as he continued to sink.

The voices, and there were many, came from everywhere. “Love harbors no enemies… be cleansed.” A tremendous flash of light filled his field of vision, blinding him with its brightness. His lungs were screaming for air, but there was none to be had. His flesh felt as if it were being torn from his bones, and his head… his head erupted in pain. The agony was too great; he wanted to die. But then his spirit to survive welled up within. He couldn’t die, not yet, not like this. He needed to help, at least offer hope against the darkness. In the fractured light, he thought he saw them coming to greet him, coming to take him away from this world.

Mother? Father? I’ve failed; forgive me.

He surrendered to his fate as his vision began to flicker, tunneling to a single point of bright white, only to fade to utter darkness.

He gasped for air, and heaved great gulps of it into his lungs. His eyes sprang open, and he sat bolt upright, the sheet falling to his waist. A dream? It couldn’t have been a dream. Wait; this was wrong… he was in his uncle and aunt’s room, the only room in the Dursleys’ house that hadn’t been damaged. There was a large banging sound downstairs and Harry, his head pounding at a migraine magnitude, reflexively reached for his wand at the tableside, but all he found was a book on how to sell drills. He was feeling disoriented, his whole body ached, and the fact that everything was blurred didn’t help. Someone was coming up the stairs, so Harry took to his feet, his long hair falling down about his face. Still confused, he suddenly realized the bruises that ran up and down his naked body. Quickly, he wrapped himself in the sheet, grabbed the largest weapon he could find, the book on drills, and stepped behind the door. The door swung open, hitting Harry hard in shoulder. He reached up to swing down, when the person grabbed his hand.

“Harry?” he asked. “What the… What are you doin’ in dad’s room dressed like a Greek? You have some sort of toga party last night?”

“Dudley?” Harry asked squinting his eyes.

Dudley tossed his father’s suitcase down and slipped the book out of Harry’s hand, flinging it onto the bed.

“Two weeks alone, and you get a bit jumpy, eh?” He looked over at the bed. “I don’t recall them saying you could sleep here.”

“Well… er…” Harry stammered. “In my room, there was a bit of a fire see, and…”

“Fire?” Dudley exclaimed excitedly, quickly dashing across the hall, and bursting into Harry’s room.

“Wait!” yelled Harry, chasing after him. “I—”

He nearly tripped over Dudley standing in the doorway to his room.

“What fire?” challenged Dudley.

The room was, well, perfect. The carpet looked as it always had. Even the stains beneath the unbroken window were the same. Hedwig’s cage had fresh paper. It was as if nothing had happened. The only unusual thing about his room was that it was clean, and his bed made. His glasses were at his bedside, but his wand was nowhere to be found. Quickly, Harry put his glasses on, pulling Vernon’s sheet tighter about him.

“Glass…” Harry whispered, ignoring Dudley’s question. “I know I heard shattered glass.” Harry dashed into Dudley’s room. It too looked untouched. He was certain he’d heard the lamp from the dresser crash to the floor, but there was absolutely nothing wrong. He heard the heavy footsteps of Vernon climbing the stairs. Holding two suitcases, he met Harry at the top, and his face was furious. He dropped them both, and was pointing back down the stairs but was too winded to say anything. And then Harry remembered the disaster downstairs.

“I-I’m sorry,” Harry said, apologizing for what he’d done to the living room. “I just haven’t had a chance—”

“Sorry?” Vernon screamed. “We trusted you with the safekeeping of our home, and this is how you repay us!? Get out of my sight, boy!” He grabbed the suitcases and trudged into his room.

“You forgot to put the liquor bottle back in the cupboard,” Dudley whispered in Harry’s ear. “Mum found it in the icebox.” Dudley patted Harry on the shoulder. “You know, he keeps a case in the garage. I always swap ‘em out and he never notices.”

Harry hurried down the stairs and Dudley followed. Petunia was putting a few bags worth of groceries away. She scowled silently at Harry as he made his way to the living room. The fireplace was gone, covered by the same wall that was there before. The room was spotless, except for the jacket Gabriella had given him, which now hung over the back of one of the chairs.

“I will not have a drunk that is incapable of picking up after himself under my roof!” Aunt Petunia called from the kitchen. “Take your coat to your room!”

“I guess,” smirked Dudley under his breath, “that means you can drink all you want… as long as you’re neat.” He smiled, kicked off his shoes, and flipped on the television. Befuddled, Harry grabbed his jacket and made his way back up the stairs. Was it all a dream? But these bruises? He had to get dressed, and see if Gabriella was okay.

His head still ached as he returned to his room. Unsure of anything, he began to question everything that happened since he left Hogwarts. Had he slept for over a week? Some enchantment perhaps? He was putting on his clothes, trying to remember his dream from the night before, it had seemed so real, when the doorbell rang; it was Gabriella. Harry’s heart leapt as he heard her voice from downstairs. She was in an animated conversation with Dudley when Harry heard her cry out, “What do you mean he’s here?!”

“Wait! You can’t—” Dudley called, but too late. She was charging up the stairs.

Harry met her outside his door and she nearly tackled him full force driving him back into his room. “Harry! You’re okay!” She held him tight, kissing his neck again and again. “Where have you been? I thought they… I thought they… Asha, Harry, it’s been days.”

“Days?” Harry asked confused. “What do you mean? What day is it?”

“Saturday,” she answered, pushing back the wisps of hair hanging in Harry’s face.

“The fourth?” he asked unsteadily. “That’s not possible. I was only…” Seeing her expression he stopped. Her eyes had drifted upward from his. He was used to this look from most people, but not Gabriella. She wasn’t listening, and that irritated him. “Yeah, it’s my scar. Now would you look at me?” he said, pointing at his own eyes with two fingers.

Gabriella slowly shook her head, and then took her own hand rubbing her thumb against his scar. “It… it’s gone,” she whispered.

“What?” Harry asked. He stood and walked over to the dresser, then lifted back his hair to see the scar on his forehead. Where once was what could be described as a single bolt of lightning, was a normal everyday forehead, free of any mark at all. Seeing that the mark had vanished, his eyes drift down to his arm. Though his arm did not ache, the scar was there, but not as he had seen it before. The mark of the sword and the snake was neither red, nor swollen, but a clear white outline traced its structure. He let his hair drop down about his face.

“No,” Harry muttered, slumping his shoulders. All his life he had looked back at the mark of death that taunted him; now it was gone. He placed both hands on his dresser trying to think. “What’s going on? What’s happening to me?”

“You’re safe,” she answered. “That’s the important thing. But, we need to talk. There are—”

Uncle Vernon burst into the room. “Is this what you’ve been doing while we’ve been gone?” he spat, grabbing Gabriella by the arm. She could have easily snapped his, but made no such move. “You know… NO VISITORS!” He began to drag Gabriella out of the room. “You’ll have to leave.”

Harry on the contrary was furious. “Stop it!” Vernon ignored him, roughly escorting Gabriella to the stairs. Knowing he had no wand, Harry held up his hand, “Expelliarmus!” he yelled. Nothing happened. He looked at the palm of his right hand as if trying to see why it had misfired then raised it again. “Stupefy!” he called, and still nothing happened.

Vernon and Gabriella were halfway down the stairs, with Harry only a step behind, when there was a loud pop from below, then a snap. Aunt Petunia let out a small shriek. There was another pop from above. Wizards, dressed in Ministry robes, were Apparating all over the Dursley home. It sounded like a fresh string of firecrackers had just been lit off. In an instant, over a dozen Ministry witches and wizards surrounded them. Uncle Vernon stopped, petrified by the incursion. He let go of Gabriella, but she too remained frozen. Among the dozens of wizards brandishing wands, there were none that Harry recognized, save one, Arthur Weasley. He was nervous, tense, and the lines on his face were deeper than ever. He looked up at Harry and the tension drained.

“Thank God,” Mr. Weasley breathed in a great sigh as he stepped to the bottom of the stairs. “Mr. Dursley,” he nodded politely. “Sorry for the…er… intrusion, but Harry’s been missing, and I just received word he’d arrived.” He looked up at Gabriella nodding his head in greeting, and then turned to Harry. “I’m glad you decided to return. No worse for the wear I hope.” He tried to muster a smile, but Harry could see at once it was forced. Many of those in Ministry robes began to scuttle about searching for something, or someone.

A wizard on the second floor appeared from inside Harry’s room. “Clear, Minister,” he said in a steely voice. Mr. Weasley nodded, and then looked at another wizard at his side.

“Nothing down here, sir,” the wizard said quietly. Again, Mr. Weasley nodded.

“See here,” said Uncle Vernon, mustering a moment of courage. “This is my home! I’ll not have it crawling with the likes of… of you!”

“I completely understand, sir,” answered Mr. Weasley in a kind, albeit controlled, voice. “This,” he held out his arms and pointed at the wizards searching the house, “was simply a precaution.” He gave the signal and the room exploded with a sudden cracking, then fell quiet. All the wizards had Apparated except for the one that spoke on the top of the stairs and the one on the bottom now at Mr. Weasley’s side. “We needed to be sure that Harry hadn’t run off, and gotten himself into trouble, or brought trouble home with him.”

“Oh, the boy’s good for that,” sneered Uncle Vernon, stepping down to the lower floor followed by Gabriella. Harry began to step down himself.

“Mr. Weasley,” Harry said, “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t run off anywhere.”

“Yes… well,” said Mr. Weasley, not looking Harry directly in the eyes. “Be that as it may, I… er… May I have your wand?” He held out his hand, looking somewhere below Harry’s neck.

“My what?” Harry howled, taking a step backward up the stairs. He looked up the staircase at the wizard now blocking his way. “It’s because of what happened at Grimmauld Place, isn’t it?” There was no answer. “My SAFETY?” Harry yelled. “My bloody well being, is that it?” He took another step back. “Tell me, Mr. Weasley. Have you taken over the Ministry, or has the Ministry taken over you?”

“This is nonsense, Harry,” Mr. Weasley pleaded. “I assure you it’s only temporary. Just hand it to me.”

Aunt Petunia stepped from the kitchen into view. She was enjoying this. There was a smirk on her face, and her eyes were narrowed in anticipation of what was to come. Harry despised that look, but he turned his anger on Mr. Weasley.

“How is it that a dozen Hogwarts students can serve Voldemort and his Death Eaters with their wands, and you come after me?”

“Strictly speaking… they were on school grounds, although—”

“That’s absurd!” Harry spat. “You want my wand?” he yelled looking at the three wizards surrounding him. “You want my wand? I’LL GIVE YOU MY WAND!” He reached toward his back pocket, and remembered too late he had no wand. A stunner hit him squarely in the back. His last thought: “Ooops.” And he crumpled to the floor, tumbling down the stairs, falling unconscious.

A few moments later, Harry began to come to his senses on the couch in the Dursley living room. Gabriella had her hands to his head, and when she whispered something, something he didn’t hear, the fog immediately lifted from his mind. He moved to sit up, but she held him down, which was just as well. His back ached. The stunner packed a bit more wallop than the one Draco had hit him with earlier in the year.

Mr. Weasley sat alone on the coffee table holding his hands together and tapping his index fingers. He was nervous, and aside from Gabriella, they were alone. The Dursleys had retreated to the second floor, and the other Ministry wizards had Disapparated.

“He can speak,” Gabriella said softly, “but I’ll need to work on his back later.”

“I understand, Gabriella,” said Mr. Weasley. She stood and walked over to the window as Mr. Weasley leaned in. “Are you bloody daft, boy?” he asked Harry sharply. “Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t have a wand?”

Harry took a deep breath, and slowly released it, but the anger that was with him before he was taken down still ebbed in his veins. “You thought I ran, didn’t you?” he replied. “Harry Potter Caught Fleeing Ministry Justice… I can see the Daily Prophet now. Am I to go to trial again, then? Or is it just off to Azkaban?”

“Harry, you’re being—”

“Have you searched my room? My pockets? The house? What about my mind?” Harry forced himself up, grimacing, and opened his eyes wide in front of Mr. Weasley’s face in a mocking gesture. “Nope, nothing in there.” He deliberately let his hair fall down his face to hide the change in his scar. “I’m sure Ron can confirm that.”

Mr. Weasley simply closed his eyes, and dropped his head. He rubbed his face with his hands trying to bring some bit of life back to his spirit, but none came. He stood and joined Gabriella at the window. “I thought…” he started, but then stopped. He walked over to the wall that once again was hiding the fireplace on the other side. “Nice work,” he said to Gabriella. “You’re sure you won’t reconsider? Certainly after the hearing, it would be possible with the right recommendation. I am Minister, after all.”

“No, sir,” Gabriella answered with a pleasant smile. “At least… not yet. There are still some things I need to discuss with my parents. Perhaps as Mama recovers…” Mr. Weasley broke out in his first smile.

“That’s the closest you’ve come to saying, ‘yes’! I’ll take it, and I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will too.”

“So I’m to have a hearing then?” Harry asked, not fully comprehending the conversation he’d just heard.

“No, Harry,” Mr. Weasley responded somewhat irritated. “It’s been ruled that you cast your spell in protection of another, and, since it was on your own premises, your efforts at… redecorating warranted a three-day wand suspension. I didn’t think you’d take it so badly.”

“But all the wizards… I thought—”

“I’m sorry I frightened you with so many Ministry members, but frankly, I was worried. We lost you for awhile and no one knew where you were. Then suddenly, plop, we could sense you again.” Mr. Weasley found one of the game controls to Dudley’s games, and his eyes lit for a moment, but then fell as he turned to look at Harry. “And, yes, I thought you ran — only because you’ve done so in the past,” he quickly added. He came over and sat back down at Harry’s side. “You should know by now you can’t run from family. You should ask Percy,” he said with the first real smile he’d mustered since he arrived, and this time there was a warmth in Mr. Weasley’s eyes that Harry could not resist.

“I didn’t run. It’s just… well, things happened so suddenly. I was gone, then back, and then there were the Dursleys, and the house was back to normal, and then you and the others. My… my mind’s not on straight,” Harry shrugged, rubbing his temples. “I’m sorry.”

“Gone where, Harry?”

“If I told you ‘hell and back’, would you believe me?”

“Very well.” Mr. Weasley sighed with disappointment in his breath. “Perhaps you’ll explain it to Professor Dumbledore upon your return to Hogwarts.” He stood and positioned himself to Disapparate. “Oh, and considering recent events, you may notice a few new neighbors about the street. They’ll be gathering first thing in the morning to take you to the train. Gabriella, I’ll see you Thursday, and as for you Harry, I’d like you to have this.” He handed Harry a scroll. “Take care, both of you.” With a snap he was gone. An instant later Uncle Vernon was strolling down the stairs.

“What?” he sputtered. “You’re not off to jail?”

Harry had neither the energy, nor the inclination to argue. Something was to happen to Gabriella, and he needed to find out what, but not here. Cringing again, he stood, holding the scroll in his hand, and walked silently with Gabriella to the door.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Vernon howled.

Harry simply looked back at him over his shoulder with a scowl. With one hand he slipped back his hair behind his ear revealing a dangling caduceus and his unblemished forehead. Vernon’s eyes blinked with confusion as Harry opened the door, and stepped out. He was about to cross the street, when he thought of the Heart. “The stone!” Harry cried out. He turned to return to the house, when she grabbed his arm.

“I have it,” she said reassuringly. “Come. I need to have a look at your back, and then we can talk.”

When they entered her home, Grigor was, as always, absent. Soseh, however, was reading a magazine on the couch and greeted him warmly. “We missed you these last few days, Harry,” she said with a gentle smile. “Have you not been feeling well? Gabriella wouldn’t say.”

“I’m going to have a look at him, Mama,” Gabriella answered. “I think something to calm his nerves might be in order.”

“Certainly, dear,” said Soseh, standing and walking toward the kitchen. “Give me ten minutes.”

Harry and Gabriella climbed the stairs and entered Gabriella’s room, this time leaving the door open. Her cat was sleeping in the corner under a beam of sunlight that peeked through the window. When she saw Harry, she took to her feet and began to wind her way back and forth about his ankles.

“She belonged to my brother,” Gabriella said sadly. She had Harry take off his shirt and lay down on her bed, when she pulled a wand from inside her sleeve. It was ash, about nine inches long, and had tiny engravings along its shaft, symbols that Harry didn’t recognize.

“Whoa… what’s that?” asked Harry, surprised.

“They really don’t teach you much at that school of yours, do they?” she answered with a smug tone. Harry began to recoil a bit.

“Well, I mean, I know what it is, but I thought—”

“Lay down,” she chided, pushing him back on his stomach. A blue light bathed his back, and there was instant relief. A touch rivaling Madame Pomfrey’s, Harry thought. Still flat on his stomach, he unrolled his scroll.

“I don’t believe it,” he whispered.

“What is it,” she asked, “papers for my hearing?”

“It’s… it’s a permission slip to leave Hogwarts on weekends, signed Arthur Weasley, Acting Minister of Magic.” A pang of guilt twanged the inside of Harry’s heart. He rolled the scroll and dropped his head on the pillow, letting Gabriella’s wand wash the pain away. For a moment, Harry was lost in comfort. It was Gabriella who broke the silence.

“I’ve been a fool,” she whispered. “Darkness covers the land, and I thought I could hide from it… pretend it didn’t exist. If I would have had this with me, they wouldn’t have taken you,” she said solemnly, as waves of relief splashed against Harry’s back. “They had the advantage of surprise, and I was bound, silenced, and tossed into the living room. It was over in a flash, but if I’d have had my wand, they would have never had the chance.”

“Who? Who bound you?”

“Filthy beasts,” she spat, reliving the memory. “You were right, Harry. It’s too dangerous to be without a wand. I was an idiot for pretending I could be something I’m not.”

Harry rolled over on his back to find Gabriella’s eyes fixed in space. Her hand clenched her wand so tight that her knuckles were turning white. There was a tremor in her hand, and when Harry reached out to touch it Gabriella flinched.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m fine, really.” She looked into his eyes, tears welling in her own, and hugged him tight.

“I thought the Phantom had sent them,” she said breathlessly. “I thought they had taken you to him. I thought… I thought…” She squeezed tighter.

“Who, Gabriella?” he pleaded. “What beasts?” She pulled back, and broadly wiped the tears from her face with her arm. Her eyes turned to steel, filling with a hate Harry had never seen fully before; it scared him. Finally, she let him know with a voice that chilled him to the bone.

“Centaurs.”

“Centaurs?”

“They should have all been destroyed after the last war! Where did they take you? How did you escape?”

“Escape? You have it wrong, Gabriella, at least I think you do. I… I didn’t need to escape; they set me… no… they freed my soul.”

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 55 – The Wizard Next Door
~~~***~~~


It wasn’t long before Harry finished telling the tale of his trip into the heart of the Forbidden Forest. The door to Gabriella’s room open, he slipped his shirt on, and leaned back on her bed against the pillows. His spine felt much better and his bruises were gone, but his mind still seemed muddied. How he had missed the last few days was beyond him. Outside, the sun was bright and the afternoon wearing on. He hadn’t eaten, but he wasn’t hungry. He was trying as best he could to remember every detail. The only thing of which he was certain was his being bound and taken to the falls by Centaurs. Although even after Gabriella’s story he still wasn’t convinced that it was only Centaurs. Harry explained how at first he thought his captors might have been in league with Voldemort. He shuddered as he recalled his thoughts that they might have first killed her, and he was stoic when he spoke of how he thought they were going to kill him.

“And then they did,” he said with a quiet voice.

“Did what?” Gabriella asked, confused.

“I don’t think they expected I’d survive, and I’m not sure I did.” Gabriella was puzzled, and even Harry was uncertain. “When Greg skewered me with his broom, I passed into… I don’t know,” said Harry shaking his head, confused himself. He knew what it felt like to die, at least almost. And yet, at the falls his spirit never left his body, but somehow he knew that some part of him had died. Some part of Harry Potter was gone, and he didn’t know what it was.

“Do you remember them doing this?” she asked, pushing away the hair from his forehead, and rubbing it with her thumb. He shook his head no. He paused for a moment and then decided it was time to show her.

“You haven’t seen this,” he said, pulling back the sleeve on his right arm to reveal the mark. Gabriella gave a small gasp, but more of surprise than fear. She did not know the mark of the Death Eaters, as so many wizards in Britain did. Harry’s eyes were fixed on Gabriella’s, hoping beyond hope he could find a way to tell her his thoughts about her father.

“This is what you wrote me about,” she said excitedly, “after the accident.” He felt her touch run up his arm. “But I’ve seen your bare arm, Harry. This is new.”

“No. It used to fade, and disappear. Now, like the scar on Draco’s face it’s just… there, while my forehead has no…”

“And this? You never mentioned this.” She tapped his arm. “I don’t remember you writing about a vine.”

“Vine?” he asked, looking down. Springing forth from his wrist, at the tip of the sword, was the image of a vine that weaved its way halfway up the sword on his arm. It wasn’t there earlier in the morning, he was sure.

“What the…”

“It’s a blessing.”

Gabriella and Harry turned to see Soseh standing at the door. In her hand was a steaming mug, and on her face was a smile. Her eyes seemed clearer than Harry had seen since he arrived, though her hair had a few more flecks of gray. She walked in, and handed the mug to Harry. “Drink this, and you’re aches will fade away as well.” She held the back of her hand to his head as if checking for a fever. “Tell me, Harry. How did you release your burden?”

“My burden?”

Soseh’s smile widened — a deep, knowing smile. “Drink. I’ve started a little something to eat. Healing the soul is always best done on a full stomach. Come.” She held her hand out, and Harry took it in his own and stood. Before moving, she gave him a look that said drink, and he did. They made their way to the kitchen and the familiar smells of food and warmth filled him and for the first time his stomach growled. Even Gabriella heard and smiled.

“Will Mr. Darbinyan be joining us?” he asked cautiously. He hadn’t had the chance to ask if Gabriella had mentioned her encounter with Snape, and wondered if she might be hiding her meeting with the Ministry later in the week. His question only received a slight shrug from both Gabriella and Soseh.

“Papa has taken to speaking in riddles. He certainly won’t answer my questions with straight answers. Who knows where he is or when he’ll be back.”

Seeing that he had spoiled the mood, Harry turned to talking about traveling to Lebanon and Armenia over the summer vacation. Much like the drink in his mug it was the perfect medicine, and before long plans were being made and stories told. They had finished their meal, and Soseh poured him a small cup of coffee, handing it to Gabriella who handed it to Harry without sugar. He sipped, praising Soseh for the meal.

“You two should enjoy your last day!” said Soseh, clapping her hands. “The sun is bright and the sky blue, but I wonder which shines brighter?” Her eyes narrowed on Harry, but her face still bore a mischievous grin. “You have used your birthday gift, no?”

Harry cast Gabriella a glance, and then looked Soseh in the eyes and nodded. She took his hand and unfolded his palm looking at it closely. That’s when she noticed the tip of the sword peeking out from under his sleeve. Without asking she pushed back the sleeve, and Harry didn’t stop her. But in an instant, her smile washed into a look of bewilderment. “Yes… of course,” she muttered, sitting back into her chair. “Oh, no. He’s going to…” The look of clarity that was there only moments earlier faded and lines of concern appeared on her face. “Go… enjoy the day. I must do the dishes.” She stood up and walked over to the sink, and began washing the dishes by hand as if a dark cloud had suddenly appeared directly over her head.

“I thought you had taken back your wands?” Harry whispered to Gabriella. The eyes of his girlfriend were sad, as she once again watched her mother slip away into another place.

“Mama, never had a wand,” she said with a reminiscent melancholy to her words. “She never needed one.” She stood motioning for Harry to follow her. “I don’t think Papa ever put his down. It’s been a great lie, Harry. I think he’s been…”

The front door opened, and in walked Grigor. They both stood and looked at him like two children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Hello princess,” Grigor said with a smile, giving her a hug and kissing her cheek. “Harry.” He tapped Harry on the shoulder, and took in a deep breath. “Ah, it smells wonderful!” Then he saw Soseh doing dishes, and his face fell. “But, I’m too late.” He hung his jacket by the door and began to walk into the kitchen when Gabriella took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say.

“Papa!” she called. “Can I ask you something?” Grigor turned. His eyes were tired, as if he hadn’t seen a bed for days.

“I don’t think I’m up to playing twenty questions again, dear.”

“It’s about Professor Snape.”

Grigor looked at Harry as if he should go somewhere else, and then looked at his daughter with galleons of frustration on his face. “I told you before, I met so many people when we first arrived, I don’t recall who you’re talking about.”

Gabriella took another deep breath. “Professor Snape teaches at Hogwarts, Papa. He is one of Harry’s professors.” She swallowed.

Grigor glanced briefly at Harry, and then back to her. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you… it’s just that… Harry isn’t in reform school, he attends Hogwarts.”

Grigor smiled as if she were joking. “That’s not possible, dear. You know that. And you should watch yourself. The penalties can be severe.” He turned back to the kitchen. “Certainly there must be something to eat in the cupboard.”

“His name is not Harry Dursley, Papa. It’s Harry Potter.”

Grigor froze.

“Harry POTTER, Papa. It was you who told me the stories in school of the boy that lived. Surely you remember the name. So my one question today is: did you know who he was when we moved in? Have you known all along? Is he the reason we’re here, Papa? And if he is, why?” Gabriella’s words grew more biting with each question.

Slowly Grigor turned. He did not believe at first, his eyes darting from Gabriella to Harry, and back again. He stepped closer to the pair, and finally his eyes came to rest on the hair hanging over Harry’s face. Forgetting it had vanished, Harry moved his bangs back to reveal the lightning bolt on his forehead.

Grigor looked at the empty forehead intently. Finally, his upper lip pulled up in a failed attempt to smile. “Is this some kind of joke?” he scoffed. It became immediately clear that Grigor had never known the boy across the street was a wizard, let alone Harry Potter. His face, his eyes, his mind were all trying to process what information he knew of his daughter’s boyfriend. The problem was, he never was home enough to learn about Harry or, for that matter, Gabriella’s feelings for him. He did know the look of his daughter’s eyes, however, and she was not joking. With or without a scar, the young man standing in front of him was indeed Harry Potter. He dropped his hand to his side in resignation.

“Of course,” Grigor whispered. But then a flash of concern came into his eyes. He quickly glanced at Soseh who was finishing in the kitchen. He clasped Harry’s shoulder. “You can’t be near my daughter,” he said sternly. “You’re… you’re too dangerous.”

“Papa!”

“This is not your concern, girl,” Grigor snapped. “There are things involved here that are beyond your comprehension.”

“Like Voldemort?” Harry asked coolly, narrowing his eyes.

Again, Grigor flashed a look to find Soseh drying her hands. “Come with me, boy.” He pulled on Harry’s shoulder, but Harry stood firm. He had no intention of going into a room alone with a Death Eater. “I said…”

“Mr. Darbinyan, would you mind showing me your right forearm?” Harry asked. He expected to see fire in Grigor’s eyes, but instead the Armenian laughed.

“You fear I am in his service?” Grigor asked. He yanked up his sleeve to reveal nothing more than bare skin. “There, Harry. Do you feel safe now?” There was an insincere mirth to the question. Harry looked at the hand on his shoulder, then back to Grigor, who finally let go. “Please, for Gabriella, we must speak.”

Harry held Gabriella’s eyes for a moment, and then followed Grigor into the now familiar study. As Grigor closed the door behind him, his shoulders noticeably slumped. He looked exhausted as he held his hand out for Harry to sit, which Harry cautiously did. Here, now, without his wand and unable to cast a spell without one he felt more exposed than ever.

“A foreign wizard moves in across the street,” Grigor chuckled to himself. “I can see why you would be concerned. I assure you, Harry, your Ministry is well aware of our presence. Although, I wish they would have told me about yours,” said Grigor, sitting behind his desk with a sigh. He leaned forward placing both hands flat on his desk. “I came to this little village to protect my daughter from the darkness collapsing around us, and instead I’ve put her in the hands of the greatest danger in the world, save the Dark Lord himself.”

“I’m no danger,” retorted Harry in defense. “I’m only…” he stopped, and lowered his head. Of course, he was a danger. In just one week, Gabriella had been in more danger than nearly every witch at Hogwarts combined.

Grigor looked keenly at Harry’s green eyes. “How could I have been so stupid?” he asked himself. “Harry Potter.” He shook his head. “You wore a lightning bolt earring, no?”

“Gabriella gave it to me for my birthday.”

“I might have known.” He looked at the earring now on Harry’s left ear. “But this… a caduceus?”

Listening to Grigor finally taking interest, Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d had it all wrong. “The name of my broom,” he answered. Grigor’s eyes widened slightly.

“You’re a flyer?” he asked with a bit of interest. Harry nodded. “Excellent. I had hoped…” he stopped short and leaned back in his chair looking up at the ceiling. The silence stretched, and Harry felt he needed to ask.

“Gabriella says you gave it all up because of what happened to her brother.”

Grigor drew a deep breath. “You complicate things, Harry. Damn you,” he hissed. He took to his feet. “Children are so predictable. I told you to stay away from my daughter, knowing it would bring you closer.” Hearing this, Harry sat higher in his chair. “Tell a teenager the sky is blue, they’ll tell you it’s green. Tell them you agree, they’ll change their mind.” He took one finger and spun a large globe of the world. “But I thought… I thought you were a Muggle.” His voice was empty… hollow. “I’m sorry for this, Harry.” With dazzling speed his wand was out and pointed directly at Harry’s face.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Harry asked, unflinching and slowly standing to his feet. “You placed the protection spell on me.”

Grigor was impressed at Harry’s nerve, but he held his wand fast. “I can’t remove it,” he said weakly. “And I won’t have you go mad around my daughter. I’m surprised that you’re not already…”

“So this is yours?” Harry interrupted, holding out his own arm and revealing the sword and snake. “You did this to me?”

When Grigor saw the mark on Harry’s arm his face pulled up in confusion. His wand, which was ready to kill Harry, now tilted slightly askew. Carefully, Harry took a step closer giving Grigor a better look.

“Soseh,” Grigor whispered, dropping his wand to his side.

“Mrs. Darbinyan?” Harry breathed in, now that Grigor’s wand was lowered.

“She can see what others cannot. You would do well to never argue with my wife, Harry. She’s always right.” Grigor sat on a small wooden stool in the corner of the study. “She knew what I was about to do. She must have charmed you first, and that means our spells have been fighting each other.” He searched Harry’s face. “Your emotions, your magic, I’m sure they must seem out of control,” he said with concern. “Give me your hand.” Grigor held out his own to shake, and when Harry held out his, Grigor again grabbed at Harry’s forearm.

For some time the older wizard looked as if he were reaching into a dark box trying to find something that wasn’t there. His face was perplexed when he finally let go. “There is nothing,” he said, confused. “I almost killed you, for something that isn’t there. I don’t understand… the spell… both our spells are gone — washed away.” There was a great sadness welling up in Grigor’s eyes. The creases in his face seemed to deepen while he sat looking down at his own two hands as if they were strangers. “There was a time when all my work was turned to healing and teaching others Asha’s will. What have I become? All because I thought you were a Muggle.”

“Most of the Muggles around here are fine people, sir. None are worth killing. You’d learn that if you spent the time—”

“Fine people?” Grigor spat. He stood, roughly rubbing his hands together. “If my son had been a wizard…” What started strong collapsed in on itself. “They killed everything that was my family, and even as we speak they go on killing, here and in Lebanon.” He walked to the window to look out on the backyard.

Harry followed Grigor across the room. “The day will come,” Harry said solemnly, “when the killing will stop for Wizard and Muggle alike, even in Lebanon. But it has to start somewhere. Why not with us?” Grigor shook his head, and Harry placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, you need to speak with your daughter. She has something to share with you about Antreas.” Grigor flinched hearing his son’s name out loud. “There’s also something from this morning that—”

“Not now,” a weary Grigor answered, turning. “Now, I need to speak with my wife… if she is able.