harry_31

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High above the entrance hall of Hogwarts, the flickering light of candles floating over head shone down on the battle-weary wizards below. The familiar, golden glow made Harry feel safe at once. Hogwarts had always been home and he felt its arms wrap around him the moment he entered.

The entrance hall, however, was anything but inviting. It wasn’t so much what one could see, but rather feel. Harry took a step forward and, sensing the danger, stepped backward. Enchantments? He’d never really had that sort of sensation before. Not like this. He held out his hand. There was definitely an energy here, waiting to be released.

Hundreds had already passed through the front doors, making their way to positions throughout the castle and into the caverns below. There were a few remaining – the leaders of the various covens, each waiting for their final orders from the Headmaster, Sirius Black. Among them were a number of professors, including McGonagall and Flitwick. An apparent whirlwind was weaving its way through the crowd and it took a moment before Harry realized it was Madame Pomfrey, trying to treat the injured as best she could. She was having trouble with a witch suffering from a particularly bad burn to the side of her face and neck. Harry stepped over, drew power from the stone and healed her. Madame Pomfrey looked up in astonishment.

“Harry… Harry Potter? Is that you?” she asked.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied with a nod.

“My goodness,” she said with a mixture of gratitude and concern. “You… you’re covered in soot. That’ll create a rash if you don’t let me ”

“That will have to wait, Poppy,” a voice called from behind Harry. He turned to see Sirius entering the hall from outside, shutting the doors behind him. “Harry has other things to attend to right now. Please, let’s get the remaining injured to the caverns below as quickly as possible. Mr. Zabini could use some help.” With the assistance of another wizard, Madame Pomfrey escorted Blaise, now able to walk on his own, and a handful of other wizards down to the caverns. He cast one look back at Harry before disappearing behind the crowd.

“Sirius!” snapped Professor McGonagall. “Retreat is madness. They’ll overrun the school in less than an hour. We have to go out and—”

“If Harry is right about the dragons,” interrupted Sirius, “then going out would not be something that I would recommend. Not yet, at least.”

“The enchantments will hold, Minerva,” added Professor Flitwick. “Voldemort’s minions will be lucky to reach the front door.”

“But—”

“Professor!” called Harry, moving quickly toward his godfather until he could hold him by the front of his robes. “Sirius… Neville and Hermione… they’re still out there. Neville might be hurt. We have to—”

“Harry,” said George softly, stepping to his friend’s side, “Neville was right in the centre of the explosion. We felt the blast from here. There’s no way anyone on the ground could have survived. And, even if he did, by now Voldemort’s men have regrouped and have him.”

Harry couldn’t process the possibility. He’d watched as Patrick died and now… now Neville and… and maybe Hermione. Why hadn’t she come to the castle? She and Grawp were first over the outer wall. He clenched his hand, feeling anger ebbing just below the surface – anger he’d not felt since last year.

“We can’t lock the doors!” snapped Harry. “Her… Hermione might still try to get in.”

“The doors are not locked, Harry,” said Sirius calmly. “At least, not locked for those who remain friends of Hogwarts. Hogwarts will always welcome those who come to its aid. Others will find a much different reception.”

Sirius raised his hands and called out interrupting the general murmur of activity. “Attack Covens! Make your way to your respective towers. Healers and assistants, tend to the injured in the caverns. If they do break our defences, we make our stand in the castle tonight! This I promise you – Hogwarts will not fall!”

There was a general cheer and Harry was surprised to see so many smiles. “The air”, he thought. “There’s an energy here that was absent from Hogsmeade. They’re drinking it in like mead.”
Even Harry was feeling the rush of power permeate his being. It was beating back the anger and sorrow he felt about Neville and the fear he felt for Hermione. Sirius was commanding the troops; it was a side of Sirius he’d never seen, but maybe had always known was there. For a moment he could see what had attracted his father to Sirius, why they were best friends.”

“Light the floo,” Sirius said to George, one hand upon his shoulder. “Send word to the Ministry, to your father, that the wall has been breached. Tell him,” he paused, contemplating his next words, casting a glance toward Harry before continuing. “Tell him that the dragons are not our allies. They intend to attack all wizards tonight.”

The groups began to disperse, each going to their appointed locations about the castle. Harry, however, couldn’t pull himself from the front doors. Sirius stood at his side, answering the occasional question as the entrance hall thinned. When it had quieted, Harry placed his hands upon the front doors and turned to Sirius.

“I can’t stay here,” he said. “I have to go to the forest, to Terntalag. I have to find Jamie.”

“Outside, you’ll have no protection against the dragons, assuming they’ll attack.”

“They’ll attack,” Harry quickly responded. “But they’ll be looking for large numbers of wizards.” He turned the black ring upon his finger. “And I won’t be defenceless. I could make my way through the caverns and—”

“Those ways will be watched, Harry.”

“I could—”

“You could fly,” said Sirius. Harry’s eyes widened. Why hadn’t he thought of it? “Sorry, no P2s, but there’s an old Firebolt in my office. Take off from the window there.”

“Will you watch for Neville?” Harry asked, resigned to his friend’s fate. “Maybe George was wrong,” he added, knowing that George was never wrong. He sighed. “The explosion was tremendous.”

“Perhaps too tremendous,” said Sirius stroking his beard. “I don’t see how the Death Eaters could muster the magic. Perhaps the dragons have already started.”

Harry reached down and tried to hold his mind open, listening for Singehorn, or some other sign that might lend insight to what was happening, but all was darkness. The dragon had cut off all communication. “Perhaps… if I can find Dakhil…” Harry muttered to himself. He sighed again. His mind was addled and he couldn’t seem to hold everything together.

“Harry, don’t worry about the school. We’ll be fine. You find your boy; help Cho and Jamie. That’s all you need to worry about. Not the ghosts, not the dragons, not the Centaurs, not Voldemort. Cho and Jamie. Do you understand?” Harry nodded and started to walk toward the Headmaster’s office.

“You’ll be safe?” he asked.

This time Sirius nodded with a smile, albeit grim. “Yes Harry we’ll be—”

There was a tremendous pounding on the front doors to the castle. It startled both Harry and Sirius who simultaneously drew their wands. Again – another pounding, the doors creaking from the force, but holding steady.

“I thought you said it’d be an hour before they got to the doors!” hissed Harry under his breath.

“It could be Hagrid.”

“If it’s Hagrid, why doesn’t he just come in?”

Sirius looked at Harry. “Like I said, it could be Hagrid.” He stepped closer to the door motioning Harry to do the same. “Go ahead. Open it. It’s not the wood protecting us.”

“I’m glad you’re so confident,” said Harry sarcastically, tipping his head toward Sirius’ wand. “And why am I the one that has to open the door? You’re the headmaster!”

There was another sharp bang at the door, followed by what could only be described as the scratching of a claw against the wood. This was followed by a long, low, angry screech that pierced both their ears.

“Sounds like a friend of yours,” said Sirius slyly.

“Riiiiight,” Harry said with a smirk. “I’m not the only one here that has a furry friend with claws, you know.”

Sirius nodded in agreement, but still motioned Harry to the door. Harry shrugged, wrapped his hand about the door’s handle and, wand at the ready, swung it open.

If it had not been for the crumple of dark blue robes dangling from the creature’s enormous mouth, Harry would have struck him down, or at least tried. Standing upon the stone steps of Hogwarts was a massive vampire. It was half again as tall as Harry with shoulders twice as wide. Its hands and feet were clawed and its bat-like wings rose up and over its pointed head with a single talon at the pinnacle of each. His body was covered in bluish-green scales that shimmered in the moonlight. As Harry stepped out, the creature’s eyes narrowed and it growled, its mouth full of blue cloth.

The vampire spit the bundle out of from between its teeth and tossed it like a soiled rag into Harry’s arms. The weight pushed Harry backward into the entrance hall. It was a man… a wizard. Neville?
His face was charred, his body limp, but he was breathing.

“Sirius?” gasped Harry. “It… I think it’s…” He held out his hand to heal his friend, but realized at once that there was very little wrong. He was unconscious, burned slightly, but nothing more. “He’s… fine. Unconscious, but fine.”

“Let me have him, Harry,” said Sirius, taking Neville from his arms. “That…” he pointed at the creature, “one of ours?… A friend of yours and Dakhil’s?”

“Yeah,” answered Harry, not really sure.

“Well, thank him and be on your way. We haven’t much time.” Levitating Neville, Sirius started toward the entrance to the caverns beneath the school. “And… Harry… be careful.”

“Just as careful as you will be; I promise.” Harry watched until his friend and godfather disappeared into Firenze’s classroom, the secret entrance to the caverns, and then turned back to the vampire. The creature growled again, this time bearing two pearly white fangs. He lumbered toward Harry, placing his arms against the doorframe. It looked as if he was flexing his pecs. If he was trying to intimidate Harry, Harry wasn’t having anything to do with it. He rubbed his onyx ring with his thumb and was about to say something when he looked more closely into the vampire’s eyes. They were cold, grey and full of anger… and mischief.

“Draco? Draco, where’s Dakhil?”

“I risk my neck saving that twit of a friend of yours from a half-dozen Chinese Fireballs and that’s the thanks I get? That’s all you can say? Where’s Dakhil?” He growled and slammed his fist against the door frame. The whole wall shuddered. “I should crush you right now and fly you back to Voldemort.”

“You could,” answered Harry, “but he doesn’t want me anymore. Well, I’m not as valuable to his plan as I once was.”

“Are you sure?” snapped Draco, wrapping a massive, clawed hand about Harry’s throat. Harry just glared, taking Draco by the wrist, his own hand barely able to take hold. At the touch, Draco released his grasp and pulled away. Again he growled.

“Dakhil has gone to find the dragons. He thinks you’re wrong.”

“I wish I was, but I’m not.”

“Smug as ever. Would it be so terrible for the famous Harry Potter to make a mistake?”

“I’ve made too many to count. Are you one? Why are you here? Sewing fear into the hearts of all those who would face your true master?”

“Watching, Harry. Just watching. I watched the Inferi plunge through Hogsmeade, killing more to raise their number. I watched them be incinerated by the best wizards the Ministry has to offer, only to see the same wizards smashed by giants and sucked dry by Dementors. I watched you take down that giant and saw those house elves turn him to powder… stupid beast. And then I watched those… those things take Nott under the ground. I should have let Neville die for that. If he hadn’t helped Blaise…”

“Draco,” said Harry, awkwardly placing a hand on Draco’s wing, “Neville wasn’t in his right mind… he… well… war… it’s turned him ugly… cruel. All the stories of gallantry and heroism, how war brings out the best in people…. They don’t tell you the other half. Even if they did, I wonder if it would make a difference.” Harry sighed, patting Draco’s wing. “Thank you for saving him; and you’re right – I am an idiot. I should have thanked you straight away. It was brave of you to risk your neck like that.”

“Merlin, you babble on,” drawled Draco. “I should have snuffed you out when I first saw it was you that opened the door.”

“Good to see you still care, but I told you. It’s not about me anymore, Draco.”

The vampire scowled. It had always been about Harry. He was standing here now, a horrifically powerful vampire, all because of Harry Potter. Nott was being eaten alive because of Harry Potter. Voldemort was about to control the world because of—

“The cloak… where’s the cloak?” demanded Draco suddenly. Here, in the end, was how it all started.

“Destroyed,” answered Harry calmly. “It’s nothing but ashes.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.”

“You smug son-of-a-bitch. The dragons… now this? You don’t think that he could sense its absence?” Draco spun and faced the forest. “He’d know if it wasn’t here. Why do you think he’s moving his army here?” He spun back on Harry. “Where’s the cloak?”

For a moment, Harry hesitated, unsure of the true motives behind the vampire mask.

“I told you, Draco,” said Harry coolly, “It’s destroyed. Voldemort… he doesn’t want the cloak, he wants my son.”

“Don’t you get it, Harry? The air of Hogsmeade is lifeless, yet here… here near the forest there’s power. If you’d open that empty shell of a brain of yours, you’d see; you’d sense… the cloak is near. We had a deal! Now tell me where it is!”

Draco’s words were unsettling. The cloak was destroyed on Singehorn’s mountain. Gabriella said that Talisan had incinerated it. He paused. No. Gabriella said that Talisan had done her best. A cold shiver weaved its way about Harry’s spine. She was oh so much a Slytherin. Believing in his heart she wouldn’t lie to him, he tried to recall her exact words.

“I’ve never seen Talisan’s breath burn brighter.”

“Damn,” Harry cursed. “Damn it to Hades!” He turned toward the vampire. “Tell me, Draco,” he said. “If you’ve been watching, have you seen her? Have you seen Gabriella?” The vampire roared and at the same moment the sky over Hogsmeade burst into a ball of fire. The dragons were attacking the town. Screams filled the air. Refusing to answer Harry’s question, Draco turned to leave. Harry understood why, but had to know something more.

“Draco!” Harry called. “You say we had a deal. That goes both ways! For whom do you fight?”

Without turning Draco looked down at the ground and answered without hesitation. “Tonight? Tonight I fight for Dakhil and, though they still deny me, I fight for the Votary.”

“Then you fight for me,” Harry asserted. Draco turned, his eyes keen, but sad.

“Potter, you’re as dense as Luna Lovegood. I’ve always fought for you.”

Draco unfurled his wings. “Find the cloak, Harry, and destroy it before it’s too late,” he growled. “And keep an eye on Blaise. Make sure he stays safe.” With a tremendous woosh, he leapt into the air and disappeared in the night sky.

Harry watched as Draco disappeared into the stars overhead and then his attention turned toward the castle grounds. So far, they were secure. The fires of Hogsmeade were dying down. Perhaps there was nothing left to burn. If so, then why weren’t the Fireballs attacking the school? He closed the door and headed to the Headmaster’s office. Harry had some flying of his own to do.

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Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 44 – Flight to the Falls

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Riding high upon Grawp’s left shoulder, Hermione looked up to see a large, green dragon swooping down toward her. Common Welsh, she thought. She and Grawp had just leapt over the wall surrounding Hogwarts and were bounding, much to Hermione’s irritation, toward the Forbidden Forest. She had told Grawp to head home, but what she had meant was Hogwarts Castle. Grawp instead took that to mean Forbidden Forest. She was trying to convince him to turn around when the dragon flew past the full moon, casting a sudden shadow that turned her head upward. Its bat-like wings seemed to fill the sky, its eyes were on fire and its teeth flickered white, curling upward in something that resembled a smile. It had seen them and its sudden arc in the sky suggested that it was here to greet them warmly, very warmly.

She was certain that in few moments both she and Grawp would be consumed in a giant fireball, so she pulled her wand preparing to cast a shield charm and wondering if it would withstand the dragon’s breath. In contrast to Hogsmeade, the air here was charged. Rolling her wand in her fingers, she could sense its power. So much power in fact that she began to dismiss the idea of a shield charm in favour of attack. Yes… she would defeat the beast! But a voice inside said, “Are you crazy! It’d take three wizards at least to take on an adult dragon out in the open!” She shook her head, pulling in a deep breath and coming to her senses.

“Hurry Grawp!” she yelled, not really caring which direction he was headed. Anywhere was better and the forest, at least, would offer some sort of cover. “Run!”

Grawp responded, but so too did the Welsh Green. Closer… closer… she could hear the beating of its wings heavy in the air. The dragon’s mouth began to open. He was about to blow! Hermione focused her attention upward, raising her wand high above her head.

“Proteg—”

She was struck broadside in the chest, her lungs collapsing as the air burst through her lips. The force had ripped her from Grawp’s shoulder and the giant cried out. She was airborne, her legs dangling freely as the ground and dragon fell away, as if she were being pulled by a giant tether high up into the sky. She was surprised; Grawp was surprised; the dragon was surprised. He was about to follow, when he noticed another wizard dressed in blue over by the front gate – easier prey. Hermione tried to call out Neville’s name to warn him, but the air had been knocked out of her and she was far too far away to be heard.

“Hold on!” a voice yelled and she was suddenly turning about in a large arc, unable to see what was becoming of Neville.

“Ron?” she squeaked. “Ron. Neville.” She pointed back over her left shoulder almost in the direction they were now headed.

“Swing your leg over,” Ron yelled again, trying to pull Hermione high enough to climb onto his broom. She was swinging wildly and missing.

With each swing and miss she would say, “We have to… get Neville,” not noticing that they were moving farther into the forest, not toward the gate. Finally, she hooked a heel and swung up onto the broom, grabbing tightly to Ron’s waist; the broom’s gripping charms took hold. Ron shook his freed arm, trying to regain some sensation. Hermione, instinctively, held one hand to her belly and tried to regain her breath.

“For a bit there, I thought I was going to drop you,” he said, nosing down on the broom and forcing it to pick up speed.

“Ron,” Hermione called, “Neville’s at the gate; we have to—” A giant flash filled the night sky followed by an enormous boom. Hermione looked back to see a huge fireball rising upward from where Neville was. “Neville!” she cried. It was clear that the dragon had struck. Nothing could have survived.

“Ron! Why didn’t you go back?” She slapped him on the back.

“The broom wouldn’t hold the three of us,” he said grimly, holding steadfast to his present course.

“We could have fought!”

Ron did not reply, but she felt his shoulders slump. No… no they couldn’t have, not that near the front gate. The magic there was too thin. They would have all been incinerated. She began to cry. “What was he doing there, anyway? He should have been with Harry, headed to the castle.” She paused. “You don’t think… Harry too?”

“That explosion… that was more than dragonfire,” said Ron. “And it wasn’t one of Sirius’ traps.”

“We need to tell the others. We need to see if Harry’s okay. We need to go to the castle and—”

“We need to follow orders,” Ron interrupted. The broom veered slightly to the right, heading deeper toward the heart of the forest. “Our coven is meeting at Terntalag. We need to…” He paused, twisting the shaft of the broom in his hands. “We need to regroup there.”

Somehow, to Hermione, Ron’s words were out of place. Follow orders? It didn’t sound like Ron. Sure, they were with Professor Firenze’s coven, but Harry… hopefully, Harry was with Sirius at the castle.

“But the castle… Harry…” she offered.

“It’s not about Harry!” he snapped. “It’s about… Aahg! Just this once, would you just trust me. I… I know what I’m doing.” His voice trailed off with these final words. They did not instil confidence, leaving Hermione to wonder. Still, she didn’t object. The thought that there might be more dragons back at the castle… she was getting tired of fighting.

They flew for about five minutes before Hermione began to notice the sparkling beneath them on the forest floor. As the canopy would break, shimmers of white and silver shown through. It was as if the ground was covered with twinkling fallen stars. She was trying to figure out just what they were when the broom stopped abruptly, smashing Hermione’s face between Ron’s broad shoulder blades. In the clearing below, Hermione could now see that the flashes of light were ghosts, hundreds of ghosts. She pulled on his sleeve, but Ron’s attention wasn’t focused on the floor beneath. He was looking intently straight ahead into the darkness.

“Do you see anything,” he whispered.

“The ghosts,” answered Hermione.

“Not there. There!” Ron pointed directly in front of them. Hermione squinted, only able to see the moonlit top of the forest canopy and the dark outline of the mountains behind. “I don’t like it,” Ron whispered again. “I can hear them talking.” He pulled out his wand. “Whatever happens,” he said, “don’t let go.” Hermione’s grip tightened.

She knew that Ron’s telepathy was growing stronger again. This time there’d been no outward signs that anything was physically wrong, but as he had reached farther out trying to make it easier to learn such things as enemy plans, particularly near the Slytherin table, it had also been more difficult to shut out the voices. He’d grown jumpy, rash, irritable, and often sought any refuge to keep away from people. It was why, even though the two of them had grown close again, it was difficult to discuss her situation. Now that she thought about it, his need to escape the voices would explain their journey to Terntalag instead of the castle. Now, in the midst of nowhere, she was glad he had such a phenomenal internal radar.

After an eternity of silence, he hissed through his teeth one word, “Vampires.” Hermione drew in a noticeable breath, trying hard not to shudder. Ron closed his eyes and cast his focus forward. “They don’t know we’re here. They’re hiding in the tops of the trees, waiting for something, or someone.”

“The coven?”

“Maybe… maybe, the coven. Yeah, that makes sense. It’s an ambush.”

“How many?” Hermione asked.

“Three,” answered Ron. “Maybe more.” He shifted on his broom. He tried to wet his lips with his tongue, but his mouth was too dry. “We could send a message back and go around.”

“We could,” agreed Hermione, knowing full well they wouldn’t.

“Three…” Ron muttered out loud. “We could take… no. We need to get to Terntalag.” There was a long pause. Hermione was stunned at the words of her fellow Gryffindor. Ron’s excuse made it that much worse. “It’ll be too hard to fly. If you knew how to shift your weight in the air… Maybe next time you’ll take me up on my offer to teach you how to—”

“So now it’s my fault? Don’t blame me for being ambushed and hauled away into the air!” said Hermione. “I was perfectly fine with Grawp! It wasn’t my idea to—”

Suddenly to their left, a Threstral broke above the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. It was only five meters away when it reared back and let out a wild screech. Hermione cried out for only a heartbeat before she realized what it was. The creature beat its wings rhythmically, hovering above the forest, its skeletal black body shimmering in the moonlight. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it dipped back beneath the canopy.

“Well, that’s bad luck,” whispered Ron calmly.

“Oh, Ron,” chided Hermione. “That’s just superstition.”

“Oh, really?” he replied sarcastically. “That’s funny, because here they come. Get out word, just in case.” He pulled in a deep breath and squeezed the broom handle.

Hermione turned and sent a patronus back toward Firenze and the wizards and witches he was leading through the forest to Terntalag. All she had time for was Ambush. The bright white light from the otter erupting from her wand blinded her temporarily as she turned back around and peered over Ron’s shoulder into the darkness. She couldn’t make out the approaching vampires until they were about twenty yards away and closing fast. What appeared out of the darkness was a human face as white as the shining moon and something else with two glowing eyes that looked more bat than human. Almost simultaneously, Ron and Hermione cast stunners at the creatures. The bat-like vampire swerved in midair avoiding the beams of light, but Hermione’s spell struck the other square on. He yelped like a kicked dog and fell from the sky. Ron leaned forward and followed the crumpled mass downward.

“Keep casting!” he called to Hermione. “I’ll do the driving.”

“Why does that not comfort me?” she called. “Reducto!” she cast, but again missed the bat vampire. “Sly devil, that one.”

It was difficult twisting backward and casting spells, but she was beginning to see a pattern in the vampire’s flight. She was about to cast a spell when another creature appeared on their left, so grotesque in appearance, Hermione froze for but a moment. His face was green and skeletal as if someone had poured candle wax over a rotted corpse and the wax had not yet set. His red eyes were piercing, but the look gave Hermione an idea. She held her wand out at the newcomer.

“Incendio!” It wasn’t a true hit, but the tatters of robes the vampire had draped over it caught fire, forcing him to stop in mid-air to attend to the flames.

“Duck!” yelled Ron. Hermione complied, almost sensing the guidance before Ron said it. A tree branch flew past. It struck the bat-like vampire, plunging a broken fork of wood some six inches into its chest. Blood spattered from his mouth and he crumpled to the ground below. She cursed herself for letting him get that close.

Ron flew like a madman, moving fearlessly through the forest trees. Branch after branch whizzed by their heads and more than a few scraped at their robes. She was beginning to think that maybe they had lost their pursuers. Ron may have too, because the sharp turns and zigzags were diminishing. It was then that the vampire with the green head appeared directly in front of them and with him was another bat-like vampire, its fur a golden beige. Ron stopped suddenly, causing Hermione, who was turned backward, to nearly flip off the broom despite its gripping charms.

“I thought you said there were only three!” she cried.

“I said maybe three!” snapped Ron, pulling the broom hard left as Hermione cast another fire spell.

“Well there were more! Oh, Merlin! The new one… it’s a wizard!”

The beige one held a wand in the fingers of his clawed hand, growled, and cast a beam of green light.

“Turn!” Hermione cried, but Ron already was. It was as if he was anticipating their every move. He deftly avoided three more spells without once looking back over his shoulder.

“Hold tight.” Ron pulled up on the broom, breaking through an opening in the forest canopy. All of them shot up in the night sky, the moonlight glistening off the vampires, giving Hermione an easier shot, but also making their position more vulnerable. Ron shot forward in a straight line over the treetops, the vampires in direct pursuit, their huge wings brushing the tops of the trees.

“Incarcerous!” Braids of rope spewed from the tip of Hermione’s wand and, with a little flick of her wrist, a large net flew backwards. It engulfed the skeletal vampire, pulling his wings in and turning him into a large flying rock. She could hear the bones breaking as he crashed into forest canopy.

In return, the wizard vampire cast a stunner that struck the bristles of Ron’s broom, singing Hermione’s robes and burning her left leg. The broom lurched briefly to the right before he got it back under control.

“That was too close,” said Hermione, trying to heal the injury.

“Yep.”

“I like the trees better,” she said, almost immediately regretting the words.

“Me too,” Ron agreed and he nosed down on the broom descending back into the darkness.

Once again, the branches tore at their robes until they finally plunged through the canopy. They were moving as fast as Ron dared, flashes of white streaming by on either side. Ghosts continued to fill the forest.

“He’s still on us!” called Hermione, forced to cast a shield charm in defence of the vampire’s last stunner. “We better do something soon; this isn’t working!”

“I know!”

There was an enormous tree in the distance and Ron willed his broom faster. He would have to time this right and with two it would be difficult. Faster. All thought was on the impending tree when he saw her. In a clearing, just to the right of Ron’s path to mutual assured destruction, was a brilliant white Centaur. Golden hair draped loosely down her shoulders. She was nude from the waist up with only a quiver of arrows hung over her back connected to a leather thong that passed between her two ample breasts.

Faster… Thought of the tree flickered as Ron’s attentions suddenly swung toward the Centaur. He was so enthralled he didn’t even notice her notch the arrow.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, now looking back at her and totally disregarding the tree.

“Ron! Turn!”

He spun around just in time to pull hard left, but it wasn’t enough. The trunk of the tree clipped their already tattered broom bristles sending a shock that shattered the entire broom into a thousand splinters. The pair went tumbling in the air, crashing through bracken to the ground below. Ron bounced like a basketball upon the forest floor till he came to rest under a clump of ferns. His ears ringing, he lifted his head off the ground just in time to see the vampire land on Hermione.

He screamed her name, reaching for his wand, but it had been lost in the fall. Wandless, he jumped to his feet and ran at the creature. “Get off, you fucking—” He threw himself on the vampire’s enormous back, wrapping both arms around its neck and heaving as hard as he could to pull it off her. “I’ll rip your—” Surprisingly, the vampire didn’t resist and he flung it over on its back only to see an arrow plunged deep into its throat.

Breathing hard, a small gash dripping blood down her forehead, Hermione stood unsteadily and took Ron by the arm.

“Are you okay?” he asked. But Hermione stepped past Ron toward the creature on the ground. Together they looked down as it gasped for air like a fish out of water. Its eyes were no longer red, but blue.

“He needs our help,” she said, reaching for the arrow.

“Hermione—”

“That will not be necessary,” said a voice to their side. There was a fzzz-thwup and another arrow pierced the vampire’s chest. Instantly, its laboured breathing stopped. There was a long, slow exhale. The bat-like features faded, replaced by those of a wizard… a wizard Hermione recognized from a shop in Diagon Alley.

With one last effort he reached up and grasped Hermione by the robes. “The boy,” he breathed and then went silent, closing his eyes.

“Harry?” questioned Ron.

“Jamie,” Hermione whispered, looking up into Ron’s eyes.

“The boy of Harry Potter,” said the white Centaur in agreement with Hermione, stepping closer to them.

“You… you…” Ron muttered and then looked away. “You know Harry?”

“I trained with him,” she replied. “I am Felspar.” She slipped her bow back over her shoulder.

“I am Hermione. This is Ron. We’re Harry’s friends.”

Felspar looked closely at Hermione. She reached down and held her bushy hair in her fingers and then looked back to the sky. Hermione couldn’t make out the expression on her face, but it was not a welcoming one.

“We have met, Hermione Granger. Two years ago my uncle nearly killed you for entering these woods. If it had not been for Albus Dumbledore, we would have certainly slayed the witch protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” said Hermione incredulously.

“Umbridge,” whispered Ron.

“You would be wise not to speak such a name in these woods, Ron Weasley.”

“Felspar, Professor Umb… er, that woman was not protecting me. She was wicked and vile.”

“On this we can agree, Hermione Granger.” Felspar stepped over and placed a hoof on the dead wizard’s chest. She reached down and retrieved her arrows, the blood vanishing from them as soon as they were exposed to the air. His corpse sunk into the earth below. “These creatures are rare in our woods,” she said, slipping the arrows in her quiver. “Ronan said the night would be… interesting. He is never wrong.”

Ron, his ears still ringing from the collision with the tree, shook his head, trying to focus on his original plan. “Are you going to Terntalag?” he asked.

“I patrol this portion of the forest,” replied Felspar. “I believe Ronan thought it would be safer here, farther away from the forest edge. So, perhaps, he is not always right… but I wonder.” She looked up to the sky not fully answering the question and frustrating Ron despite her beauty.

“Can you take her? I mean, can you take Hermione to Terntalag?”

“What?” asked Hermione. “You mean take us, right?”

“You can’t be out here, Hermione,” said Ron, holding her by the hands. “Terntalag is safer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked irritably, wiping the drips of blood out of the corner of her eye. “I can fight just as easily as—”

“Your mate is right,” inserted Felspar. “While it is noble to offer, your condition warrants that you not fight.”

“My con—”

“Hermione,” said Ron, grabbing her by the arm, “you nearly died today!”

“Humph!” Hermione exclaimed dismissively. “I’m not the one without a wand!” With a flick of her own wand she summoned Ron’s and handed it to him. “Here,” she said snidely.

“Not here, not up on my broom,” said Ron, bringing her closer. “In the caves, after the explosion with Patrick, I… I thought I’d lost you. You don’t even see it, but you were gone. They said you were going to die. Harry brought you back and nearly died trying and you think you just had a nap.”

“I don’t think—”

“I won’t let that happen again… not again. I can’t.” He caressed her face with his hand. “Please… just go with Felspar.”

Hermione took Ron’s hand in her own and brought it down, holding it over her heart. “Ron, do you think I could live with myself, if something happened to you?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. You need to—”

“We need to,” said Hermione. “Don’t you remember? Forever… together—”

“—till the end.” Ron moved in closer. “Yeah, I remember,” he muttered, looking down at his feet, not wishing to acknowledge his pledge when they were engaged. But at the same time he was suddenly glowing inside. It was the first time since Voldemort had taken control of Ron’s body that she had even acknowledged they were still engaged. She had stopped wearing the ring long ago.

It was also the first time that Ron felt Hermione press in closer. Before, as they would hold hands, or come nearer, he could sense an underlying repulsion as if he wore some hideous mask that disgusted her no matter how hard she tried to see past it. For the first time, she overlooked the scars of his soul and held its true warmth.

“I love you,” he whispered and they kissed. When she pulled back she was glowing, a warm smile spread broadly across her face lighting up the world. Then, for an instant, it faltered, her mind remembering something that she quickly pushed away.

“I love you t—”

Something crashed through the forest on their left. They looked up just in time to see a flash of black pass by. Neither Ron nor Hermione could make out what it was, but Felspar knew at once.

“Shahan,” she muttered. “He was to watch the southern quarter.” Her hoof clawed at the ground.

“Shahan?” asked Hermione. “I’ve heard that name. Harry mentioned it. He trained with you too? He’s a Centaur.”

“My cousin,” answered Felspar. “His foolish ways will kill us all. He was supposed to watch the southern quarter.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” said Ron coolly.

“He can not go to the north. The falls…” Her hoof clawed at the ground again. It was clear she was agitated. She looked to the sky as if searching for answers. Both Ron and Hermione turned their gaze upward as well. It was then they saw them – about two dozen dragons, a mix of Welsh Green and Chinese Fireballs, heading from the north. The beating of their wings in the air was rhythmic and pulsating. Every now and then one of them would breathe fire and the others would cry out in an awful roar.

“Laughter,” muttered Felspar.

“Where are they headed?” asked Hermione.

“Hogwarts,” suggested Ron.

“No,” corrected Felspar. “The creatures fly toward Terntalag. They are drawn to the wizards being guided by Firenze.” She said these last words with contempt. Her gaze then returned to earth, looking north in the direction that Shahan was running. Which way to go? Then her mind began to focus as she recalled one of her lessons.

“In this forest, all living things are connected. When one feels joy, all feel joy, and when one feels pain…” She spun about and, before Ron or Hermione blinked, she launched three arrows at a distant tree. From the darkness, Hermione heard the faint thwump, thwump-thwump as they struck their target.

“The message has been sent,” said Felspar. “I must now go retrieve my cousin before he is lost forever. Good-bye Hermione Granger. Good-bye Ron Weasley.” Felspar bowed respectfully. “It is good to see love such as yours in these times.”

“Wait,” cried Hermione. “Please, take us with you!”

“It’s not safe here,” added Ron. “The falls… you mentioned the falls. Others are retreating there.” Felspar looked curiously at the red head, tilting her head slightly to one side.

“Who in their right mind would suggest such a thing?” she asked. “None save the Chosen could survive their touch.”

“I have,” said Ron quietly.

Felspar reared backward and then, slowly, moved closer, looking intently into Ron’s eyes, trying to discern truth from lie. With a graceful, yet strikingly swift motion, she grabbed a knife hidden along the edge of the leather thong she was wearing. “There are those, even among the Centaur, who blame you for the death Albus Dumbledore.”

“I know,” said Ron, sadly, still holding her gaze. “They would be right; it was my fault.”

“That’s not true!” said Hermione, coming to his side, almost using herself as a shield. “It was Voldemort; he’d taken control. Ron had no way to withstand the power that had overtaken him.”

“Can you be so sure?” asked Felspar. “Even a mouse will take on the Manticore when cornered.”

“But the mouse becomes the meal nonetheless,” countered Hermione.

“Yes,” pressed Felspar, still holding the knife in Ron’s face, “but did this mouse fight? Did this mouse, who claims to have survived the Cleansing, fight still knowing he could not win?”

“Yes,” answered Hermione.

“Can you be so sure he fought, not just for himself, but for the others he loved?” Felspar’s eyes moved from Ron and narrowed on Hermione.

“Yes,” said Hermione instantly as Ron turned to look at her. “Yes, I’m sure.”

As quickly as it had appeared, the knife vanished. Felspar smiled slyly and placed her hands on the top of their heads, patting them as if they were pets. “I see now why your love is so strong.” She looked back up toward the stars and whispered, “An interesting night, Ronan.” She looked back at the couple.

“I think Shahan would say you lie like wizards. I guess we’ll find out.” Felspar then turned north. “Climb on you two. If my dam hears I had a wizard on my back, let alone two… No matter. If the signs hold true, we head to our deaths anyway.”

Ron helped Hermione climb up and then she lent him a hand as he climbed on as well. In a flash they were racing through the forest at amazing speed, Ron clutching on to Hermione’s waist and Hermione clutching onto Felspar.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered.

“What is it?” asked Hermione.

“Nothing,” said Ron ruefully, wondering why he hadn’t climbed on first.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 45 – To See Again

~~~***~~~

The halls of Hogwarts were deserted as Harry made his way up to the Headmaster’s office. He’d been down this corridor many times before, after curfew, in the dark, alone, with only the stoic suits of armour and sleeping patrons of the portraits for company. Tonight, however, many of the portraits hung empty. The few who remained in their frames were frightened, huddled behind whatever scenery they could, some consoling the charred victims of portraits from Hogsmeade. The muffled sobs and hushed condolences accompanied Harry as he walked, filling the air with fear and sorrow. So much so, in fact, that even the armour seemed to shiver in anticipation of what was to come. He was halfway down the long corridor when he noticed that they had noticed. A few had recognized him and they, in turn, were telling others.

“It’s him.” “He’s back.” “Who?” “The Potter boy.”

There was a rustling among the portraits as fear began battling with confidence, and sorrow was challenged by hope.

“The Professor’s have retreated.”

“They haven’t retreated; they’re taking up positions about the castle!”

“Ohhh, our doom is at hand.”

“You heard what Dumbledore said. The end is near and it’s not ours; it’s Voldemort’s!”

Then there was a loud, commanding voice that called from the left, “Harry!”
He turned to find Sir Cadogan in a nearby portrait of fruit. He was dressed in sterling armour, a lance, with a skewered pear at its tip, in his right hand. “My boy, are you here to defend the castle? My informants tell me that the enemy has breached the gate. Glory is at hand! Where’s your armour boy?”

“Erm… Sir Cadogan… er… I’ve been sent by the Headmaster to deliver a top secret message. I have to leave for a bit, but…” Harry moved closer to the portrait and lowered his voice. “I need your help.”

“Anything… anything at all!”

“We can’t have people huddled in the corners of their pictures, hiding. All eyes must be open wide and all information must be passed to the Headmaster. This is not a time for fear, sir; it’s a time to show the true colours of Hogwarts!”

“Well, said!” cried Sir Cadogan. “I’ll muster our troops immediately!” And at once he started racing from one portrait to the other, gathering the residents and telling all to remain vigilant in this their hour of need.

Harry smiled as he continued to the Headmaster’s office, sensing the panic being pushed back and wondering if, out of the corner of his eye, he didn’t see the suits of armour stand that much more erect, holding out their chests and gripping their weapons that much more tightly.

He arrived at the circular staircase in surprisingly good spirits and was about to say the password when the whispering began again. “Your love, Harry.” It was like a fly buzzing in his ear and he tried to swat it away. “Tonight, she dies.”
“Stop it!” he cried to the empty air. “Leave me alone!” He muttered the password, flea-collar, and began the ride upward even as his spirit began to sink. He was about to step off when a ghost rose up out of the floor. Hoping it was Peeves, he pulled his wand, but instead saw it was Sir Nicholas wearing an expression of fatherly concern.

“Hello, Harry,” he said solemnly. “Terrible night, eh?”

Harry nodded, tried to muster a smile and said, “It’s good to see you, again.”

“Ever the brave one, aren’t you, Harry?” said Sir Nicholas proudly. “Gryffindor through and through.”

Together they stepped to the Headmaster’s door. “I’ve never really been brave,” said Sir Nicholas pensively. “I was a blubbering cry-baby when they chopped my head off.”

“Nearly, chopped your head off,” corrected Harry.

“Yes. Nearly,” answered Sir Nicholas, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t stop crying until the twentieth chop and I probably would have continued if my windpipe had remained connected.” He sighed. “I never understood why Headmaster Fortescue allowed me to be resident ghost of Gryffindor. For hundreds of years I’ve haunted these halls, wondering why Gryffindor. Tonight I finally understand. It’s because of you, Harry.”

“Me?” asked Harry. “Why me?”

“I’ve spoken with Helena. The path to the other side is at hand and you will be our guide. Some are confused… others are frightful, doubting your true intentions with their souls.”

“Intentions? What—”

“But I know you,” interrupted Sir Nicholas. “I’ve known you for seven years, but more importantly I was there when you first crossed over.” He placed his hand upon Harry’s shoulder. “I watched, tonight, as you brought back Hermione.” Harry could feel the weight and the pressure of Nicholas’ fingers gently squeezing. “It’ll be up to me to lead the others who wouldn’t otherwise take the journey. For the first time I see my true destiny.”

Harry was about to say something when the whispering began again. “Hurry, Harry. Hurry.”
“Hmmph,” grumbled Sir Nicholas as he narrowed his eyes.

“Did you hear that?” asked Harry eagerly. Sir Nicholas scowled.

“Shoo!” he said waiving his hand in the air as if he were coaxing a dog off the front porch. “Go on! Get out of here!” He waved a few more times and then seemingly satisfied wiped his hands on the front of his clothes. “Ghastly things.”

“What… what are they? What did you see?”

“Reapers, Harry.” Sir Nicholas clucked his tongue. “They should know better, talking to the living.”

“Reapers?”

“Harvesters of souls, Harry, and the ghosts wandering the forest are proof enough that they don’t do a very good job!” He raised his voice at the end, as if hoping there might be a reaper or two within earshot. “That one…” Nicholas pointed somewhere behind Harry’s left ear. “That one was supposed to collect you after your run in with Greg Goyle’s broom, only he was flirting with a ghost in Hogsmeade, as if he could ever…” Sir Nicholas crossed his arms and Harry sensed a bit of jealousy. “They’re supposed to watch silently until the moment arrives, but are all too often distracted. If you fail enough times, you get assigned to cat patrol.

“You’re the first botched job that I can recall that’s come back still alive. Tonight makes two. There was reaper waiting for Hermione. If they botch a job and let one slip through their fingers, they tend to hang around… try again. Usually, they follow the spirits of the dead who haven’t chosen to be ghosts. If a soul doesn’t outright turn down an offer to cross over, they always have another opportunity, so reapers try to convince them to get their soul count up. Young spirits are usually the easiest to persuade. You see, if no one tells you you’re dead when you die, sometimes you just keep on going and, when a reaper comes later, you just don’t believe them. Professor Bins’ reaper was assigned to cat patrol in London a century ago.”

“What are young spirits?” asked Harry.

“Young spirits, newly dead. They often have difficulty revealing themselves.” Sir Nicholas looked down and to the side of Harry as if gazing at another student. “Like your friend here. If he’s been following you about, that might explain things. I always liked you, Patrick, but you really must leave Harry alone. The reapers are annoying and he has things to—”

“Patrick!” exclaimed Harry. “Patrick’s here?” A subtle tug on Harry’s arm from an invisible force answered his question. “Are you okay?” Harry asked, holding out his hand to the empty air.

“Of course he’s not okay,” chided Sir Nicholas. “He’s dead and, I might add, he’s made a terrible choice to ignore the reapers.” Nicholas turned to the invisible Patrick. “You need to listen to their offer, boy! If you had any sense at all, you would— No need to get angry!”

The floor began to tremble and, for a moment, Patrick appeared at Harry’s side. He was a shadow of his former self, constructed of nothing more than a faint cloud of white mist. The expression on his face, however, was one of pure exacerbation. He grabbed Harry by the front of his jacket.

“Ron!” he yelled, but it came out in a whisper. “You need Ron. Hurry!”

All at once, Patrick faded and the pressure on the front of Harry’s jacket released. Harry called his name, but there was no answer.

“A bit too much for him, I’m afraid,” said Sir Nicholas. “He’ll need to gather his energy before he can do that again. If you’re smart, Patrick, you’ll muster with the rest of the ghosts when the time comes and leave Harry here alone.”

Harry wasn’t listening. His mind was swirling. Before Patrick had died, one of the last things he said to Ron was that he could defeat Voldemort. But how? Where to start? He didn’t have a clue where Ron might be. And what of Jamie and Cho? Gabriella, at least, was safe in the caverns below. But then Harry’s stomach began to twist into a knot, recalling the reapers words. Perhaps she wasn’t so safe after all.

“Terntalag,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve got to get to Terntalag.” He turned and opened the door to the Headmaster’s office only half acknowledging Sir Nicholas with a distracted wave of the hand and saying, “Thank you, Patrick,” to the ether. No sooner had he closed the door than his arm began to burn. He put his left hand over the sensation, knowing what it was, but unwilling to look.

“That took you awhile.”

Sirius was standing at a table with the same magical instrument Dumbledore had used to track his friends and foes. Stars of multi-coloured lights swam about in a great sphere.

“I got distracted,” answered Harry, quickly moving toward the window. There was a broom leaning there and the window was open. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“There’s a lot to be done.” Sirius shrugged and then pointed at Harry’s arm. “Are you injured?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” said Harry, but the sensation was getting worse. He tried to rub it, hoping it would stop, but the burning only intensified.

“They’re calling you, aren’t they?” Sirius said knowingly. “Your friends… the dragons.”

“Friends? They nearly killed Neville,” spat Harry. “They can rot for all I care.”

“And yet they call.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Singehorn can’t really think I would join them in the fight against the castle.”

“He already challenged you to join them,” said Sirius, still examining the sphere. “You should answer it. Let him know your answer.”

“He knows my answer. Besides, it may be a trap to keep me held in the other plane.”

“I doubt it. Time has no meaning there, Harry. They can’t hold you forever.”

Harry recalled Singehorn’s sudden surprise when he was attacked while still in the other plane, saying that the sands of time don’t stay perfectly still. He pulled his sleeve back and looked at his right forearm. The dragon was writhing wildly on his arm and the Viswa Vajra was pulsating. If Harry understood correctly, the dragons were in battle against evil and needed his help. Well, what they believed was evil anyway.

“I won’t help you destroy the Wizarding world,” he muttered to his wrist as if Singehorn was somehow listening on the other side. The dragon on his arm seemed to look up at him and smile in response. Harry yanked his sleeve down and reached for the broom.

“Is Blaise, okay?” he asked.

“He’s walking about, watching the wireless with the others. Whatever Neville gave him has him back on his feet again.”

Satisfied that he had fulfilled Draco’s request Harry nodded and, before he left, he looked back at his godfather to ask one last question, a question he already knew the answer to.

“Sirius, Gabriella is supposed to be in the caverns below the castle too. Is she?”

“No Harry. She’s somewhere in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Do you know where?”

“No. The gathering of so many ghosts makes it difficult to see, but for now at least she’s fine.”

“Damn it! I told her…” Harry sighed with resignation. “What about—”

“From what I can see, all the others are fine, and they’re all in the forest, which is where they’re supposed to be. Still, their centres are not quite right. Something tells me that they’re not exactly where they’re supposed to be.”

“I understand,” Harry said with a nod.

“This too. There’s a darkness moving in from the north. It might be Voldemort; it might be something else. Whatever you had hoped the dragons would protect is no longer secure.”

“Terntalag?”

“I’d start there, Harry, but it might be the falls. There are wizards heading to both, but Terntalag is the most vulnerable. First, see if Firenze needs help, then try the falls. In about two hours we should know how the night will end.”

“What do you mean? What happens in two hours?”

“Just be at the falls by then, Harry. I’ll see you there.”

“How—”

“Play it smart, Harry. I’ll see you there.”

Harry was about to press the question, when his arm bit at him again, sending a sharp pain all the way up to his shoulder. His mind turned to the dragons of the northern mountains and then to Terntalag. The urge to fly there was overwhelming. When he looked up, Sirius was gone. Harry climbed onto the broom, took one last look at the office he’d come to love, and flew out the window.

He slipped past the south tower and noticed witches and wizards taking up positions at all the open windows and along the ramparts. Out behind the Quidditch pitch, four giants sat with trees in their hands. Hagrid was talking to one, his arms swung out wide to emphasize whatever point he was making. As Harry swooped around Gryffindor, he looked south. There, marching up from the front gate, was an enormous host. Half a dozen giants led the way with a swarm of Dementors swirling about them. There were a number of Death Eaters dressed in black, marching behind the giants and in the air, yet further back, vampires hovered. Flashes of light filled the night sky as the protections about the castle came to life. One giant was blasted off his feet. Landing backward, he crushed a number of wizards on the ground. Harry pumped his fist, admiring his godfather’s handiwork.

Knowing in his heart that there were none near, Harry still scanned the sky for dragons. Finding only the moon and the comet Ebyrth plummeting toward Mars, he had a strong desire to stay and fight. He wanted deeply to protect Hogwarts his home, but again his arm burned and, almost reflexively, he tilted the nose of the broom, arcing in the sky and heading towards Terntalag. He had a duty to help the Centaurs if he could and his arm was urging him forward. He was refusing to answer the call of the dragon, but knew he was being pulled uncontrollably toward them.

It was exhilarating to be flying again. Harry skimmed close to the forest canopy and could sense the strengthening of the forest’s energy as he drew closer to the source of its power – the falls. It was a healing sensation, strengthening him from within and vanquishing whatever depletion he suffered from healing Hermione. As he flew he cast his patronus randomly about the forest, calling for his friends and hoping they might respond. It wasn’t long before he saw, in the distance, the glint of scales in the moonlight and the flashing of flames above the treetops. Terntalag was on fire; he was too late. Without thinking, Harry tucked and accelerated. In a matter of seconds he found himself in the midst of a dozen dragons; most were Chinese Fireballs. None were faces he recognized, but with the ring he could hear their laughter.

“What are you doing!” he cried out. “Stop!”

“Ahh, look,” growled a greenish Fireball, “The Hungarian lapdog!” The dragon was battle weary, Harry could sense that. Fresh gashes dripped blood from its long neck. They were not the marks made by Wizarding spells.

“Arrows?” he thought to himself.

The dragon stopped its dive on the village below and turned in a large arc toward Harry. Its fellow dragons moved higher into the air as if they were taking seats for a Quidditch match. Harry looked down, searching with his mind for life within the fire, but the flames were too bright.

“Primate,” hissed the dragon as smoke billowed from his nose. He was about to strike. “I’ll show Singehorn what I think of his Votary.”

Harry wasn’t sure that it would work, but something inside told him that it might. For an instant, he thought it too cruel, but hearing the name Singehorn infused Harry with a greater aggression and with the dragon ready to erupt the moment of compassion passed. Harry held out his hand bearing the ring of Pravus in something of a fist, the black stone facing the dragon, and cried, “Stop!” centring his mind on that of the beast before him.

The great head of the beast seemed to stop in mid-air as it cried out in pain unable to resist. With a loud crack, its body swung forward below its neck, sending it into a great cartwheel through the sky until it began to plummet to the earth. When the dragon struck the ground it erupted in a great fireball, razing the nearby trees.

“That went better than I had hoped,” muttered Harry to himself. Suddenly the dragons that had been watching shook the stun of defeat from their minds and attacked in unison. Flame rained down upon him, but it was not concentrated and had no effect. Swinging his broom out from under the onslaught, he again used the ring. He picked the two closest dragons and commanded, “Protect!”

It was as if he was using the Imperious Curse, only now he meant it and he didn’t care what others thought. Harry smiled, feeling the pain and turmoil of the beasts as they unwillingly turned on their own. They threw themselves into the paths of the others, breathing fire and slashing with their claws. Two of their friends were gutted in mid-air, completely unprepared for the attack. The others realized what was happening and killed the two under Harry’s control, but not before one lost a hand to his ally.

“He has the ring,” growled the dragon as he cauterized his bloody stump with his breath. “Swirl!” he called. “Quickly! Dragon’s breath!”

Harry thought they might retreat, but instead they started spinning about the sky, faster and faster. It was a giant tornado of flame, hovering above the treetops. He couldn’t see where they were in the giant fireball and, if they all exploded forth at once, he’d have no chance of simultaneously focusing on their thoughts. For a second, his courage faltered. He was alone, his village in ruins, and a flight of dragons was about to destroy him. It was suicide. But then, the burning in his arm began to radiate strength to his shoulder. It was not pain he now felt, but a warmth that spread across his chest and then throughout his body. “Singehorn would not back down,” thought Harry. He pulled his wand and began to fly toward the fireball.

The air filled with the faint aroma of cigar smoke. A vampire appeared on Harry’s right side, his fangs glistening in the moonlight. Harry could hear his thoughts.

“Perhaps this is what Soseh meant when she said I should be by your side.”

“Dakhil?” asked Harry, wondering where he’d come from and whose side, exactly he was on. “What do you want?”

“The question, Primate, is what do you want?”

Harry didn’t have time to argue. “What are they doing?” he called, the two flying straight toward the fire-red tornado. As they grew near, the wind became stronger.

“It is a dragonstorm, Harry. They used it on the Centaur village below earlier tonight. Invented in the east by our friends here, it is an incendiary nightmare, but it cannot harm you – I think. Fly toward the tip of the funnel. That will be the point from which the fire erupts. When they break formation, they’ll move outward from the fireball, not down. We’ll be underneath. Aim for their bellies; we’ll only get one shot.”

“Oh sure,” muttered Harry to himself. “Fly into the heart of an incendiary nightmare and, maybe, I’ll survive.” Twisting his hand tightly about his broom, Harry nodded and moved his broom toward the centre of the funnel. Dakhil, flying with extremely powerful wings and holding his own in the ever increasing wind, was at his side. “Not so bad for such an old man,” thought Harry.

They were about fifty yards away from the bottom of the funnel, which was now glowing white, when a dark cloud passed in front of Ebyrth – more dragons. There were four, five, maybe more. “Dakhil!” Harry pointed.

“Damn it!” cursed Dakhil in anger and without a hint of fear.

Harry was impressed at the old man’s bravery. Their situation had been tenuous at best, but with more dragons coming to fight, it was hopeless. There was no way Harry could control enough with his mind before the others took him down, no matter the tricks Dakhil had up his sleeve. Still, the vampire seemed to smile, not focussing on the new attackers, but on their original prey.

“Prepare yourself, boy,” he yelled over the roar of the dragons, which explained the deafening wind. “You’ve never been through this sort of fire. Pray you never will again.” Dakhil held out his wand and tapped Harry’s broom, bathing it in a blue glow – a protection charm.

In that instant, all hell exploded and the entire sky lit up in a blinding white flash. Harry was forced to shield his eyes, but he knew that when he opened them it would take too long to recover his sight, so he reached out his mind, searching for the dragons through the power of their flame. Even then, there was too much energy to see through. He would have to wait, but that presented yet another problem. The heat was growing more intense with each passing moment. At first he sensed a burning sensation, nothing more than placing one’s hand over a flame. But that quickly increased to pain as if he was stepping barefoot on hot coals, before he had learned how to allow the heat to pass around him.

This was different. The heat came from everywhere. There was so much energy that he could not detect Dakhil who he knew was at his side. The pain grew more intense, which was acceptable as long as he remained focused on protecting his body from physical harm. He could hear the perspiration sizzle off his forehead and the first sense of doubt crept into his mind. What if it was a trap? What if Dakhil had been baiting him all along? He was feeling the need to cast a shield charm, which was the absolute wrong thing to do. A shield charm would be worthless; his wand would be vaporized. Unfortunately, the thought of such a charm broke his concentration. He could smell smoke – something was burning and it wasn’t his broom.

“Use the stone.”
It wasn’t a voice; it was a thought. No. It was a voice, the voice of the kindest dragon Harry had met – Tanwen. There were few on earth, man or beast, that Harry had greater respect for.

“Use the stone,” she repeated and at once Harry knew what she meant. Instead of letting the energy flow around him, he needed to let it flow into him, into the vivificus stone laying along side his liver. If he was wrong, however, his insides would be vaporized. He swallowed hard. It was time to stop doubting. He exhaled and let the fire pass into him. The Heart of Asha was thirsty for energy and it pulled the fire of the dragonstorm into it greedily, remaining cool to the touch. The pain Harry had felt was quenched, the heat vanished and at once his mind could see the targets in front of him and Dakhil, still flying at his side.

Without hesitation, he let fly three stunners and each struck true to the underbellies of the dragons he aimed for. The first spell was so amplified that it shot straight through the unsuspecting dragon and erupted out its back. He fell out of the sky like a rock while the other two were sent into unconscious spins toward the ground. Likewise, Dakhil cast two spells that dropped his dragons from the sky. There was a roar of approval from Tanwen, who was closing in. The new dragons, sensed Harry, were Hungarians and, instead of attacking him and Dakhil, they attacked their remaining dragon foes.

Harry opened his eyes and adjusted to the dim light. The moon shimmered off of Tanwen, who was not in the battle directly, but flying down to the ground as the Chinese Fireballs fell, dispatching them before they could regain flight. He could tell she was hurt by the way she flew.

“Your injured,” he called to her with his mind.

“I’m fine,” she growled. “Finish your job before… too late.”

There was a great roar high in the sky above them. For a moment, the moon vanished casting the earth below into darkness, yet before that Harry knew who it was – Singehorn. When the great dragon arrived there was only one Chinese Fireball still fighting. When it heard the roar, it arced in the sky and began to fly south. Singehorn, with only one good wing and a bad arm, chased the Fireball down and bit through his neck with a loud crunch. He shook the dead creature wildly and then flung downward, roaring viciously once more.

Singehorn then turned toward Harry and flapped his one good wing.

“To the ground,” called Dakhil with a sharp sense of urgency in his voice. “Make him follow us to land.” Harry obliged, not sure if Dakhil was warning him that an attack was imminent or not.

The two landed, followed by the Hungarians, just outside the burning ruins of Terntalag. Harry was anxious to search for survivors, but the six wounded dragons towering over him suggested that he remain where he was for now, focusing all his attention on their needs. They all waited as Singehorn circled, wondering if he would land, if he could land at all. But, at last, he descended, destroying a Quidditch pitch of trees in the process and shaking the ground. Tanwen went to his side and put her wing around him. It looked as if she was guiding him over and Harry didn’t understand why until they came closer. She was speaking to him in a way that Harry could not hear. Singehorn nodded at her words as he lumbered forward, dragging his right wing and bearing little weight on his right leg. He was severely injured.

As the two approached, Harry looked more closely at the others. Each one of them had been slashed and scorched in some way. Some had boils, or blisters that suggested the work of wandfire. Even Dakhil was missing a portion of his left ear and had a faint red line that came down across his neck – a gash that had already begun to heal.

He whispered in Harry’s ear, “Choose your next words wisely, Primate… if you are afforded any to choose.” Then, Dakhil stepped away, leaving Harry to stand alone in the middle of the ring of dragons.

Tanwen spoke first. “Three days ago, Singehorn was taken captive by Ti-Lung, leader of the Dragon Lair of the East – Anagas. A friend of all dragons, he was taken against his will, chained and bound.”

Harry recalled his last meeting with Singehorn in the other plane. There, Singehorn held a large chain which he pulled behind him. Harry had thought it was a whip. Realizing the mistake, Harry looked at Singehorn.

“I was a fool. Why didn’t you tell me?” cried Harry. “Summon me? I would have—”

Singehorn smiled. “Yes. I believe you would have,” he said with a raspy voice that was far weaker than Harry was accustomed to. “You would have tried and you might have succeeded, but that was not your fate. Your services were needed more urgently elsewhere with your own kind. Still, I called Dakhil and, when you told me the Hungarians were gathering, I held hope that they were coming to my rescue and they were. As you see, it was a hard fought battle, but—”

“Let me help you,” said Harry moving to Singehorn’s aid, but the dragon raised and lowered his leg, creating a small earthquake that nearly knocked Harry off his feet.

“LISTEN!” the dragon cried. “While I was in the east, the plan to destroy the Wizarding world was created.”

“Then it’s true,” whispered Harry. “There was a —”

“We argued,” continued Singehorn, ignoring Harry’s ramblings, “about how to take advantage of this war of yours and turn it in our favour. I tried to persuade Ti-Lung and the others of a less violent way, but centuries of mistrust and mistreatment are not easily swept away. A great number of dragons came to see the situation as did Ti-Lung. But others agreed with me – the Romanian Longhorns and the Ukrainian Ironbellies. I believe that Soseh may have had a hand in uniting the dragons of the mountains. Unfortunately, our count was too few and the plan of Ti-Lung was chosen.”

“But—”

“Duty bound, I swore allegiance. Though I knew another way, a better way to end the dominion of wizards over dragons, I followed the will of my kind.”

“The will of some of our kind,” interjected a spectacularly green Hungarian that stood taller than the rest and was covered in more blood. Harry had never met him before, but, even injured, the dragon was formidable.

“True enough, Drahmir,” agreed Singehorn. “True enough. I ignored the great strength and kindness of the Votary. I was so blinded by my hatred of all the ills done to dragons at the hands of wizards, that I was easily swayed. We all were. It was not until coming to Britain and speaking with Callum, a Hebridean Black, that my eyes were opened. Years ago, I had met Dumbledore; the stories of his ways are legend, but it was the Hebridean that convinced me of their truth. And then, flying over these lands, I saw them with my own eyes. That he would reach out to the Centaur and other living creatures of the forest. That he would show such kindness on Hagrid who is known well by the dragons… Callum then pointed to your works, Harry, inspired, he said, by the hand of Dumbledore.” Harry nodded in agreement. “No, I could not murder on this ground. The way to winning this war is to win the hearts of wizards, not to destroy them; to expand the Votary, not deny it. We will win by turning more minds, not by severing more lives.

“When I protested, declaring that, with the addition of the Hebridean Lair, the number in favour of my position was greater, Ti-Lung took me captive so that it would appear I remained his ally. There was no honour on that day and that arrogant action has cost many lives. Still, I have returned and with your help we shall turn the tide in our favour. But it has come at a cost; the northern border has been breached. The darkness flows through unabated. The dragons are in disarray and it will take some time before I can restore order.”

“Restore order!” growled Tanwen. “My lord, you can barely fly. You need to be healed. And then, you must rest.”

“There is no time for rest, Tanwen,” the old dragon grumbled. “I must pay for letting the darkness cloud my vision.” Then he turned once more to Harry. “Forgive me, Primate. I was blind, but now I see.”

There was a glint of white that appeared briefly at Harry’s side, but quickly vanished.

“Patrick?” asked Harry to the air. “Patrick, was that you?”

The air was silent and the others looked at him as if, perhaps, he’d lost his mind. Harry tried to think what it might have been that caused Patrick, if it was him, to try to regain shape. Was it a warning? A signal? Harry searched and scoured his mind, trying to replay Singehorn’s last words over in his mind and then from somewhere, deep in the woods behind them, he heard once again the chant that the ghosts had been saying since first he heard it in Greece. And that’s when the words hung in the air

…We wait the day the dragon comes,
one blind who regains sight…

Harry’s heart skipped. The ghosts had it all wrong. It wasn’t Harry that represented the blind dragon, the one who would see them safely to the other side. It was Singehorn.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 46 – Girl’s Night Out
~~~***~~~

“My duty is here,” said Macleta calmly. “I must stay and protect my home.”

“Please don’t let this happen!” cried Gabriella. “You must take me to the falls!”

At this Macleta’s demeanour stiffened. “Must?” she queried. “You presume much, child. Such words, spoken among others of my herd, would be your last. I offer you my hospitality because you belong to the Chosen. Don’t think for an instant that your kind are welcomed here.”

Gabriella stepped back as Macleta stepped forward. Anger mixed with fear was beginning to roil up within her and she knew she was sensing something similar from the Centaur. It was rare for a Centaur to reveal such an emotion as fear, but Macleta was a rare Centaur.

Gabriella’s mother had taught her to hold on to the emotions of others and to examine them… use them to reveal the nature of the person in front of you. She couldn’t just come out and say Shahan was a murderer; he hadn’t done anything yet… she hoped. The thought that he might, however, was making her more anxious by the second. Despite her desire to argue, she chose another path… one of diplomacy.

“F-Forgive me, Macleta,” she said softly looking down. “The battle, the night… wizards do not hold their minds on the moment as well as the Centaur.”

The response seemed to satisfy Macleta and she turned, once again, her gaze to the celestial events above them.

“It’s just that,” Gabriella continued, “since I was a very little, I have had a vision.”

Squeezing her fingers tightly together that the rest of her might remain calm, Gabriella waited. It felt like an eternity… the fire crackling, the wind beginning to pick up in the trees overhead… Finally, without moving, Macleta said, “Go on.”

“It used to come to me in my sleep…”

“Of course.”

“And, more recently, the vision has grown stronger, coming to me while I’m still awake. A smell… a sight… anything can trigger it. I think that’s because what I once dreamt as a child is about to come true.”

“Reasonable.”

“It’s a vision of me in white robes… dead… an… an arrow in my back… a Centaur arrow.”

Macleta dropped her upward gaze, but did not look at Gabriella. “It would be wise not to wear white,” she said, “though the robes may carry other meanings.” The words were not so much dismissive as reflective. Macleta was trying hard not to reveal what she was thinking. Gabriella could tell by the way the Centaur suddenly began fiddling with her fingers. “As for death… it hangs heavy in the air for us all.”

“True,” Gabriella agreed. “But recently I’ve been wondering, looking at the vision from a different perspective. What if… what if the person in my dream wasn’t me? What if it was someone else with long, black hair wearing white robes, a tw—”

“—twin,” Macleta completed the sentence.

“What if the Centaur was the angriest Centaur in the forest? A Centaur who hated wizards and all they stood for? A Centaur who would do anything to bring down the Chosen and all he loved?”

“Shahan,” whispered the Centaur.

“Macleta, I believe,” said Gabriella, “that I had interpreted my vision incorrectly. I think now that the arrow is not meant for me, but for Cho. Perhaps the arrow is meant for her child and strikes her instead.”

“A Centaur does not miss,” said Macleta softly.

“Perhaps… unless you were still in training and unable to control your anger, letting emotions cloud your vision and muddle your thoughts. It’s the very thing the Dark Lord searches for to join his legions.” Gabriella stepped closer to the fire. It suddenly seemed quite cold. “This Centaur… I’ve seen his dark coat, Macleta.” She stopped unwilling to say his name, but she didn’t need to; Macleta knew.

“Not even Shahan knows where the two are in hiding. If she stays in place, she’ll be fine.”

“I only know what I’ve seen,” said Gabriella. “Even you have said that visions can be flawed.” Gabriella bent low to the fire, picked up a branch that was half-burnt and set it in the middle of the glowing embers. “You said that Terntalag will fall tonight, so I understand why you don’t want to leave. But the battle for us all is not here, it’s with Jamie, the Chosen’s child. I know this as I know the sun will rise in the morning. If the Dark Lord captures him, more than Terntalag will fall. We mustn’t let the stars determine our fate, let them instead reflect our choice to make a difference. Please help me; I need you.”

Without speaking, Macleta drew an arrow and fired it into the trees. After a moment, there was a loud thunk – it had struck its target.

“I will not leave Terntalag unprotected,” she said, her eyes focused forward on the dimly lit trees.

“But—”

“Nor will I let the darkness converge on our forest unabated.”

A Centaur moved forward out of the trees. “Yes, my lady,” he said holding his fist over his chest with a subtle bow. Macleta just looked at him intently for a moment. Gabriella wanted to scream to hurry, but then she noticed the younger Centaur nod. They were communicating telepathically. Another moment passed and then, without speaking, he suddenly turned and shot four, maybe five arrows so quickly Gabriella couldn’t see his hands. There was silence and then the trees seemed to groan. Macleta nodded as if she understood their meaning.

“The northern border has been breached,” she said. “Ronan knows this and his herd is moving to intercept, but they are being thwarted by dragonfire.”

“Dragonfire?” asked Gabriella.

“Their path, my lady,” said the young Centaur. “It will bring them dangerously close to our village.”

Macleta nodded. “Magorian has made the choice. We must first defeat the darkness.”

Gabriella sighed with relief. But Macleta was not finished.

“The dragons harassing the herd are not our only threat. To the south is a large gathering of wizards and other creatures. They too are moving toward Terntalag. Ronan and his troop will have come and gone when the next wave arrives. If the dragons don’t raze Terntalag, these wizards might. Hagrid has sent word that it is your army in retreat, but many of my kind believe it to be an invasion.”

“They’ll help,” implored Gabriella. “I’m sure they’ll help.”

Macleta pawed the ground restlessly. She was having trouble choosing the path ahead. The sacrifice would be great. Once more she turned to the stars for answers. Finally, she said to the young Centaur, “Gronyn, find Firenze. He knows these wizards better than even Magorian… perhaps too well. Nonetheless, we will defer to his judgement in this matter. Warn him of the dragonfire and ask he proceed with haste.”

Gronyn nodded one last time and disappeared. There was but a gust of wind that rustled the leaves where he once stood. Macleta stepped past the fire and looked down the main street of the village. “From the east,” she said, “Felspar sends word that she carries two of your kind to the falls even as we speak. The three were attacked by vampires. None are injured, but they insist that the falls must be defended.”

“Harry?” asked Gabriella anxiously. “Is he okay?”

“No child, not the Chosen. He has taken refuge at the castle.”

“Refuge?” asked Gabriella in disbelief. “Then who… Macleta, none of this makes sense. Which friends?”

“Hold my hand, child and we will find out.”

Gabriella reached up and took Macleta by the hand. In a flash she was lifted bodily upward and then the world stood still. The flames of the fire hung frozen – suspended in mid air; the breeze stopped and leaves of the trees grew still. In the next second, everything was a blur. Trees and bushes flashed by. Creatures, illuminated by the moon’s light, looked like powdered statues. A minute passed and they were flanked by two white male Centaurs, perhaps the largest Gabriella had ever seen. Their chests were massive and their arms as big as tree trunks. Each carried a spear and they ran with a grace that was unsurpassed. She couldn’t help but think that one, who had hair as white as his coat that ran down and over his shoulders, gave Macleta a sly smile.

Gabriella tried to ask if female Centaurs took more than one mate, but when she tried to speak the words would not leave her mouth. Then, as quickly as they had arrived, the white Centaurs left, pealing off and disappearing into the forest, heading back the way they came.

“The attack on Terntalag has begun,” she heard Macleta say, but they weren’t words. They were thoughts. Still they moved forward, the air growing noticeably moister.

It was then that the onrush of memories struck her. The scent of wet loam filled the air. They were close. As if sensing Gabriella’s reaction, Macleta slowed down. The wind began to blow again and, in the distance, the sound of a roaring river could be heard – the falls. Macleta lowered Gabriella to the ground and she began to run at once, but Macleta held her back.

“From here we must proceed with caution,” the Centaur said.

“I’m not afraid,” declared Gabriella.

“You say your vision was of your death. I would not dismiss lightly that that possibility still exists. Visions of our own death always portend some danger, twin or no twin. We are at the top of the falls and there is no fence to keep you from falling over the edge to your death and the edge never likes to stay in one place for long. So, unless you can fly, I suggest that you proceed with caution.” Gabriella nodded in agreement.

They moved slowly toward the rushing water, following a path of sorts, worn only by a handful of the forest’s creatures. Its tortuous path swung wildly in one direction and then another, sometimes backtracking, but steadily moving toward the falls. As the proceeded, Gabriella noticed the ghosts. There weren’t any. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized that those they saw along the way were heading in the direction from which they’d just come. Something was drawing them toward Terntalag, but what?

“Near the top of the falls,” Macleta whispered, “is an outcropping of rocks. There we will find your twin hidden. There is a secret—” She stopped, her keen eyes focused on something directly ahead. The bracken blocked Gabriella’s view.

“What is it?” she asked Macleta. “What do you see?”

“The witches of your kind are very perplexing,” Macleta sighed. “She and her child sit… exposed on a rock near the river.”

Gabriella began to run, but Macleta grabbed her by the arm. “Wait, child,” she whispered. “The other of my kin told me that there are wizards nearby, moving in from the north.”

“Then we must hurry. We can’t wait! It’s… it’s all my fault.” She ran calling Cho’s name, but Macleta held back and reached for her bow. As Gabriella approached, she could clearly see by the light of the comet and moon above the pair still seated on a low rock near the river’s edge. Jamie was cradled in Cho’s arms, a shock of unruly black hair setting stark contrast to the brilliantly white robes Cho was wearing. So white, in fact, they seemed to glow – iridescent in the moon’s light. You wouldn’t need to be a Centaur to see her marching about the forest. The closer she got, the more familiar everything became and fear began to rise up in Gabriella’s throat. It was Cho, however, who was first startled.

Hearing the rustling approach her, Cho brandished her wand, but before she bellowed out a warning, she realized who was approaching and sat back upon the rock, holding Jamie in her arms. There was no joy in meeting her friend. Instead Cho crumpled upon the stone, he shoulders hunched over in resignation. She was crying; streaks of wet glistened down her cheeks. Dropping down on one knee, Gabriella placed her hand on Cho’s arm.

“You can’t be out like this,” she said softly. “It’s too dangerous.” Gabriella’s eyes cast about searching for any sign of black, but with the light of the moon and Ebyrth overhead, the whole forest was awash in various shadows, most of them threatening. The roar of the falls made it impossible to hear any threat approach.

“I have to do this,” muttered Cho incoherently. “I have to, but I can’t.”

“Cho, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I love him so much.” She began to sob again, pulling Jamie close. The young boy was awake, his dark eyes enthralled with the running water, flashing sparkles of the celestial lights above.

“M-mai!” he babbled, pointing at the water.

Cho began to shake, holding him out in front of her. “The water… it cleansed Harry. Voldemort doesn’t want him anymore. Why wouldn’t it cleanse Jamie? Then he wouldn’t take my boy.” She stood and stepped toward the water’s edge.

“Cho….” Gabriella cautioned. Her friend stopped.

“Just a dip,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “I’ll hold on to him.”

“Cho, when Ron touched the water’s surface, it pulled him in. You can’t trust it! It might kill you both.”

“Not Jamie,” Cho argued, her eyes blank. She’d been thinking about this for days, turning the possibilities around in her mind. “He’s pure… I know he is.” But then she hesitated as the doubt rushed in. “But what if… what if he was born bad? What if the stain runs so deep it can’t be polished away without taking his life? I couldn’t bear to lose him.” She began to cry again. “Not my Jamie.”

Gabriella stepped over and put her arm around her friend, but not without thoughts that she should just rip the cloak off her at this very moment. She couldn’t risk conflict. Not so near the water. “There’s nothing bad about Jamie. Look at him!” She tickled his chin and he giggled, smiling back at them both. “He was born out of love, Cho.”

“But the spell…” begain Cho, “…your father’s spell over Harry. He didn’t know what he was—”

“Harry?” Gabriella laughed under her breath. “He knew exactly what he was doing. His emotions weren’t altered, only amplified. Cho, we were in very different places last year, you and I. He may have been interested in me, but he loved you. I know this with all my heart. He always has… and a first love never dies.”

The words made Cho shudder. Her thoughts flashed on Cedric, whose memory still haunted her. “No,” she said quietly. “No it doesn’t. It’s eternal. It’s pure.” Resolved to put Jamie in the water she moved closer and bent low.

“Cho,” said Gabriella suddenly. “You know… I’m not sure what kind of effect the magic on that cloak will have near the water. Maybe you should let me hold it for you. And let’s move further from the edge of the falls. I’ve heard the rocks here shift. We don’t want to go tumbling over.”

“I thought you said it would protect me?” asked Cho. “Why would the water not—”

“I’m just not sure it’s safe… that’s all. I don’t want anything to happen to either of you.”

To Gabriella’s relief, Cho nodded. She was stepping over to Gabriella to have her hold Jamie when a Centaur appeared from nowhere. It was about fifty yards away opposite the direction of Macleta. Gabriella’s wand was out in an instant and she cast a shield charm. Then she noticed through the glimmer of the shield that the Centaur was white with three torsos.

“What in Merlin’s name?”

Then it was clear. There were riders. Down dropped a flash of red hair in dark robes and then a young woman with bushy hair in scarlet.

“Is that Ron?” Gabriella asked incredulously. “Ron Weasley?”

“It’s Ron and Hermione,” said Cho with surprise. “What are they doing here?”

Gabriella maintained the shield, unsure what to think. In the distance she could see Felspar was cautioning Ron and Hermione, probably in the same way Macleta cautioned her.

“I think you can drop the shield,” said Cho softly as Jamie tried to touch its shiny surface. Gabriella obliged and stood. “That certainly lit up the night.”

Gabriella laughed. “Well,” she said, “if we were hidden before, we aren’t now. The only thing brighter is that cloak of yours. Maybe you should fold it away for now.”

“I think—”

There was a tremendous roar overhead. A number of dragons, Hungarian Horntails, were moving southward. Gabriella tried to reach out to them, but all she could sense was anger and despair. “They want blood,” she whispered in disbelief. Last in the line was the largest of them all. Her heart fell when she saw it was Singehorn, silhouetted against the moon’s light. He appeared to be struggling to stay aloft, but he too, perhaps more than the others, was filled with rage. “Macleta was right,” she said with a sigh. Still, her heart held on to hope that somehow they were mistaken. When she looked down she was surprised to find Ron and Hermione only a few yards away, while Felspar had disappeared.

“They’re following the Fireballs,” said Ron pointing to the southern sky. Felspar says they’re going to attack Terntalag. They’ve already started on Hogwarts.”

“That’s a lie!” snapped Gabriella.

“A lie?” snapped back Ron. “We were there! A dragon almost barbequed Hermione!”
Hermione grimly nodded in agreement. There was no joy in being right on this account.

“It’s not possible,” said Gabriella quietly.

“Well, at least you made it here safely,” said Ron, searching for the other witches and wizards who were retreating toward the falls. “Where are the other—” He stopped when he heard Hermione squeal. They both suddenly realized that the other witch was Cho Chang and in her arms was a baby. Well, not so much a baby anymore. Hermione began to swoon immediately.

“Cho!” she cried with a grand smile. “And this… this is… Jamie?”

“Hermione,” answered Cho with a soft smile. “Why am I not surprised? It’s good to see you and Ron… I had heard… well, I’m glad you still have each other.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione, looking back at Ron who seemed to have started a minor quarrel with Gabriella. “It’s been hard. I’m sorry we weren’t there to meet you and Tonks in Hogsmeade. I heard it was awful. Draco… a vampire…” She shook her head in disgust.

“You have nothing to apologize for. In Merlin’s name, Professor Dumbledore, murdered. I only hope I can be as noble as you, when the time comes.”

“I don’t know how noble I was,” whispered Hermione, her skin starting to itch at the thought of what had happened. “Dumbledore’s death… it changed things. Ron and I… we’re just only now setting things right again. He’s a good— What?”

Cho looked up at Hermione with a sparkle in her eyes and a wry smile upon her face. Even little Jamie was smiling brightly. Cho glanced over at Ron and then winked knowingly at Hermione who distractedly began straightening her robes. “Harry said you were engaged. Where’s your ring?”

Hermione waved her right hand over her left and there upon her finger appeared the engagement ring Ron had given her. “It’s never left my finger,” she said.

“Beautiful,” exclaimed Cho. “Absolutely beautiful. Why hide it?”

Again Hermione looked back at Ron and Gabriella. This time they were looking back right at her. She swallowed and then smiled at Ron as she answered Cho’s question. “It’s just a shield to keep it from being snagged on the bracken. Now that we’re out of the darkness… I can show it off.”

“We’re not out of the darkness yet,” said Gabriella grimly. “And it’s not just Voldemort we need to worry about. He has spies all through the forest and, Cho, you’re their number one target and wearing white only advertises that fact. We have to get that cloak off you and find cover.”

“I can’t hide,” said Cho. “Not before I take care of Jamie.” She lifted him into her arms and stood.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

“She wants to put him in the water.”

“The water!” cried Ron. “Are you barmy?”

“No,” said Hermione. “That glow… over there. See?” She pointed her finger over the falls and past the lake beneath to the south. All of them, even Cho with Jamie in her arms, turned to see. It didn’t take long to realize there was a contingent of over three hundred wizards marching toward them. In their number was a handful of giants and leading them through the forest were about twenty Centaurs. They were a good three miles away down the mountain and moving toward the lake.

“You got to be kidding me,” breathed Ron. “I knew they’d be close, but I didn’t think they were going to go for a swim. If they get near the lake… Bloody hell.”

“Sirius sent them this way,” said Hermione. “He thought the water could protect them if the dragons attacked.” Gabriella’s jaw clenched and she grabbed Hermione by the shoulder.

“Listen to me. The dragons won’t—”

The forest swirled about them. They were standing in the same place, only everything was somehow different. The night was not so bright and the energy that had been swirling about them only a moment ago had vanished. There was a splash and they both turned to see Harry stepping out of the water, holding a child in his arms – Jamie? He and the child were naked and Harry’s expression was one of intense pain. The scene changed. The energy had returned. Hermione stood motionless. Gabriella still held her shoulder, but then suddenly dropped her hand to her side, fear filling her eyes. Ron and Cho, unaware of the mental connection that had just taken place, were still looking at the approaching army below.

“It’s here,” gasped Hermione. “Isn’t it? This is the spot. This is the vision.” She looked around and tried to take in a deep breath, recalling the sights and scents she had seen earlier in the year when both she and Harry had a glimpse of Gabriella’s vision. Gabriella’s eyes were terrified.

“We need to get the cloak off of her,” she whispered. “We don’t have much time!”

Hermione looked at Cho and back at Gabriella, trying to understand and then it became clear. From the back, Cho and Gabriella were the same height. They had the same build and the same black hair that swirled down to the same spot on their back. From behind, they could be twins.

Hermione gasped. “Cho? Cho!” she called. “Come away from the edge. Felspar said something about a stronghold. Is it nearby?”

“We can’t go underground!” argued Ron. “Someone’s got to go down there and tell them to keep away from the water’s edge. Some wizard will go in for a drink and never come out again.”

“Ron,” said Hermione firmly, “the Centaurs won’t let that happen. This is—”

“First, I take care of Jamie,” said Cho. Once again she turned toward the river of magical water feeding the falls.

Ron moved to stop her, but he never had a chance. A blast of red light erupted from the trees behind them. A stunner knocked him to the ground; he was out. Another beam of red shot straight at Cho, but the robe deflected the spell like a mirror. She pulled Jamie in beneath the folds of the cloak and knelt low as Gabriella and Hermione pulled their wands and returned fire at the tree line.

“I can’t see anything or anyone,” whispered Gabriella as they crouched near the rocks.

“Neither can I,” said Hermione. “Cho, stay down.”

Four more spells were cast directly at Cho. Two struck true and both bounced away harmlessly.

“Is that it?” Cho cried looking at Gabriella with mistrust, not sure exactly where her wand should be pointed. “Is that why you wanted the cloak? Was it to protect yourself, or to make me more vulnerable? Who are the spies you spoke of, Gabriella?”

Gabriella’s eyes narrowed and she stood. “You don’t understand,” she spat. Pointing her wand at the unseen attackers, she cried out something in Armenian and her wand erupted in a glistening blue light. When the light hit the trees, they burst into flame. Screams could be heard from behind the wall of fire and three Death Eaters ran forward, their bodies engulfed in flames. No one came to their aid as the screams quieted and they finally fell silent, smoke billowing up from their charred bodies.

“You need to get into the stronghold, Cho,” insisted Hermione. “Where is it?”

Cho suddenly doubted who she should trust. “Where’s Harry?” she asked nervously.

“At the castle,” answered Hermione. “He’s protecting the castle.”

“No,” breathed Cho. “That’s a lie. He would never leave us alone.”

“She’s right,” Gabriella agreed with Cho. “He’s not at the castle.” She rubbed the ring on her finger. The firestones began to glow brightly. “He’s speaking with—”

More spells were cast from behind the burnt trees. All of them were stunners; none were meant to kill. Suddenly the air grew cold. Cho kept glancing nervously toward the water, trying to decide if she should make a run for it.

“Filth!” spat Gabriella. Above the trees a darkening cloud hovered toward them. Dozens of Dementors were moving closer. Ron was still unconscious on the ground and little Jamie, sensing the approaching evil, began to cry.

“Expecto Patronum!” cried Hermione. An otter pushed back at the centre of the black cloud, but was swallowed by the sheer number of Dementors. Gabriella followed in kind with similar results.

“There are too many,” exclaimed Hermione. “We have to move back.” But there was no going back. They were pinned against the falls. Their only choice would be to go over, and that was no choice at all. She began to shiver, losing her ability to think of happy thoughts. Gabriella gasped. To their left a dozen Centaurs appeared. They drew arrows and fired into the sky. The arrows whizzed upward and struck the cloud, exploding into an enormous fireball. Dementors began to scream falling lifeless from the sky.

Another volley of arrows shot up from their right followed by a similar explosion. The Dementors tried to push forward, but the volleys came faster and faster. Soon the sky was on fire, streamers of burning light falling to the ground. The cold was filled with a tremendous heat.

It looked like, with the Centaurs help, they might be able to make a stand, though they still didn’t know the number of enemy forces they were facing. Hermione moved to revive Ron, but before she could the ground beneath their feet began to rumble. The earth was shifting. What little space between them and the edge of the falls began to crumble away. Gabriella ran over and, together, they pulled Ron from the approaching cliff. A large rift to their right sent the herd of Centaurs that had been protecting them tumbling down the mountainside. The others began to back away and, in their confusion, they were trapped by a series of Incarcerous spells. The Dementors were gone, but the Death Eaters were alive and well behind the trees.

As if satisfied it had eaten enough, the rift to their right closed again and, in its place, the water feeding the falls began to pool into a small lake some fifty yards across. Hermione and Gabriella pulled Ron over to an outcropping of rocks that looked relatively stable and started toward Cho when she gasped, holding her hand over her mouth.

“Expelliarmus!” cried a familiar voice, cold and high. Both Hermione and Gabriella’s wands flew from their hands. Only Cho held on to hers, the spell seemingly had no effect. On the other side of the newly formed lake a figure approached in dark robes surrounded by a number of wizards wearing Death Eater masks. The wizard looked irritated that the water was thwarting his way, but there was a contingent of his allies moving toward the witches from the near side of the lake; they were the Death Eaters that had just incarcerated the Centaurs.

As he moved closer, it was clear to see by the moon’s light the pasty white face of Severus Snape. He held out his wand and without saying a word flicked it down. Hermione and Gabriella fell to the earth reaching for their throats, gasping for air.

“Hello, Miss Chang,” he said with a greasy voice. “I’m sorry we have to meet like this, but I know you’re a… bright girl. I’m not here to harm anybody. Your boy has something that I want and, when I’m done, you can have him back. No harm done, I swear.”

“Liar!” Cho cried out across the waters. They seemed to ebb and burble at the words. “You’ll kill him!”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Snape said calmly. “I’m no… monster.” He moved closer, being careful to avoid the water’s edge. “I can promise you this, however…” again he twirled his wand and tightened the stranglehold on Gabriella and Hermione. “If you don’t hand me the boy right now, your friends will die.”

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 47 – Twins
~~~***~~~

Three years ago, Harry flew for his life – chased by a Hungarian Horntail fiercely protecting its clutch of eggs, a singular golden orb hidden among them. Her scales were black and her eyes were yellow and, at the time, Harry thought them evil. Now, instead of staring up at hundreds and hundreds of faces from the crowd, he stood surrounded by seven such dragons, an emissary to the magical link the Wizarding world had with these great creatures. Their eyes were also yellow, each with a distinctive hue, and they bore no ill-will. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed the same bravery, the same wisdom, the same kindness before. Conceivably, it was Harry that was growing wiser.

The Votary stood as the servants of the dragons and he was their unworthy leader. Others of that Order had worked decades with Singehorn and his kin. Some like Dakhil had served for centuries. Harry, to the contrary, had joined the Votary only a few months ago, and yet, the dragon leader saw something in him that was commendable. What it was, Harry had yet to learn, but this much at least he knew – the magnificent dragon wounded before him had a great role to play in the events that were about to unfurl. Already, ghosts were swirling about their position as if something might happen at any moment. The young dragon, Tûzkár, swatted at them with his tail, but to no effect.

Overhead, the comet Ebyrth burned as brightly as ever. So much so, in fact, that Mars was nowhere to be seen. The moon, unwilling to be outdone, seemed to puff out a bit and appeared unnaturally large in the sky above, blanketing the night with a sea of light. It was enough to reveal that Singehorn’s chest had been slashed badly. Claw marks crisscrossed and blood seeped freely from the wounds, dripping to the charred forest floor.

Harry wanted to talk about the ghosts. He wanted to do what he could to stop the Centaur village behind him from burning. He wanted to defend Hogwarts against the onslaught of darkness descending upon it. He wanted to run to the falls to protect his family and friends. There was so much to explain, so much to do and so little time, but first Harry had to heal the dragon that had risked his life to save them all. He stepped forward.

“Let me—”

“You’ll do know such thing, Harry,” Singehorn growled; Harry’s ring helped him understand perfectly. “I already know what you did this evening for the girl. Your strength, even with the stone, needs replenishment.”

“True,” Harry agreed, rubbing his hand over the chest wound that still had not fully healed. A vision of Draco Malfoy spilt into his thoughts and Harry quickly tossed them aside, unwilling to face the contempt he was feeling. “Or, at least, it was true. Tanwen told me to use the stone to catch the dragonfire of the Chinese Fireballs. I did and I don’t need to check to know that its energy pulsates, waiting to be released. I won’t need to use much of my own to help heal your wounds, Singehorn. You are not of the Votary; hence, it is not forbidden.”

The great dragon growled and, without asking permission, Harry summoned the stone into his hand and whispered the incantation, “Bravery… Wisdom… Love.”

The dragon’s injuries were extensive, but the stone’s energy helped weave the wounds together without much direction on Harry’s part; all that is except for a small stain of green near the dragon’s heart. Try as he might, Harry couldn’t remove it. Finally, unwilling to risk more of his own energy, Harry retreated. The circle of dragons spun about as he fell to his knees.

“You weren’t supposed to use your own power!” chided Tanwen.

“Only a little,” offered Harry weakly. Singehorn stood, raised his neck toward the sky and roared. Harry could see he was both pleased and perturbed at the same time. As the young wizard elevated to one knee he sensed that Dakhil was gone; turning he confirmed it was true. The vampire was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Dakhil,” he asked to no one in particular. “I couldn’t have been gone more than a moment. Where did he go?”

“I assumed you knew,” Singehorn said with significantly greater strength in his voice now. “The moment you used the stone, he vanished.”

Harry was curious why Dakhil had left, but thought he might know the reason why. The old vampire was still holding a grudge. Certainly Dakhil thought that he should have been the Primate of the Votary, not Harry. He probably didn’t care to watch as Harry used both the Ring of Onyx and the Heart of Asha to help care for their leader. It was understandable, if a bit petty. No matter… Harry had other concerns.

“Singehorn,” he began with a grave tone. “About your heart… There’s a—”

“I know, Harry. I know,” Singehorn interrupted. “It is no injury. It is simply the clock of my fate. There is nothing you can do to set me apart from my destiny with the stars.”

“The stars?” Harry asked.

“Great dragons…,” began Tanwen.

“Truly great dragons,” corrected Drahmir.

“Yes. Truly great dragons,” continued Tanwen, slightly irritated at the interruption, “when they die, are raised to the heavens.”

“Wizards believe in something similar,” said Harry. “They believe—”

“No, you misunderstand,” interrupted Tanwen. “The gr— truly great dragons are raised to the heavens for all the universe to see. Not their bodies of course, but their fire, the essence of all dragons. It is not another plane of existence, or an alternate reality. Their fires are set anew in the heavens above us. They become a star.”

“A star?” Harry asked in disbelief. “Like… a star – star?”

“True enough,” said a cold, stern voice suddenly at Harry’s side. A hairy arm was raised above Harry’s head. It held a bow with an arrow notched and aimed directly at Tanwen’s heart. It was Firenze, and his eyes burned with anger. His coat was lathered with sweat and he smelled of fury. “The Centaurs have known of your blessing since the early times. We once thought you noble creatures; tonight has changed all that. At this range, I’m certain to send three, or four of your kind to see if they are truly great dragons. Somehow I doubt we’ll see the birth of any new stars sprouting forth from your demon blood.”

“Firenze,” said Harry with a hushed voice.

“Tell me, dragon,” said Firenze, still starring at Tanwen, his jaw clenched. “Did you enjoy burning my home to the ground? Were you laughing as you breathed fire to incinerate the homes of my kin? Are you disappointed that our mares and our young escaped and you spilt no blood? Or were you unaware, you stupid beast, that the herd knew of your devilry long ago.”

Tanwen shifted and Firenze made to let the arrow go, but Harry stayed his hand. Firenze looked down upon him fiercely. “I’ve killed three of their kind tonight already. They are swift in the air, but on the ground, from this distance… one arrow each will do. They’re not much more than overgrown chickens after all.”

“These aren’t the ones that attacked Terntalag, Firenze,” said Harry quickly. “They’ve come to help. I swear. Look to the east and you’ll find the guilty.” Harry pointed toward the dead Chinese Fireballs. “It is unlikely that any new stars were born this evening on their account.”

Uncertain and still aiming the notched arrow directly at Tanwen, Firenze looked down at Harry and then toward the direction the wizard was pointing. Slowly he said, “I was told specifically by Magorian not to question you tonight, Harry Potter.” He ground his teeth without saying a word more and disappeared. Before Tanwen could ask where he’d left to, he had returned, a shimmering green scale in his hand. This time, his bow was strapped to his back.

Firenze looked up at the black dragons before him and then back at the green scale. They were clearly different. He nodded his head in approval and then turned to Harry.

“This one…” He held up the green scale. “…has been gutted by another great beast.” He looked keenly at Tanwen, noting the blood that still trickled down her neck. “It is a strange war indeed. You speak to them?” Firenze asked. “They understand you?” Harry nodded. Fearless, Firenze stepped toward Tanwen and held the green scale up.

“Is this then my enemy? Is this the dragon that attacked Terntalag?”

Harry translated and Tanwen nodded, bowing her head slightly, a puff of smoke issuing from her nostrils.

“The enemy of my enemy is my ally,” said Firenze with far less passion in his voice. “I am in your debt and, if there is ever a way I can repay it, I will honour that alliance.” He paused, unsure how he might continue. Finally, he found the words.

“Now, however, I must ask yet another favour of you. I have led many wizards to this place and they will be here shortly. As you may know, Wizards are not as level headed as Centaurs. On our way, we have been attacked by many dragons bearing this same scale. We have defeated those who would challenge us, but another foe is close behind – Dementors. There are too many to keep pressing through the forest with our injured, and our bows are too few. I would need but two of your fire breathers to send them to their doom. Would you help us?”

The other dragons looked at Singehorn. It was not their nature to meddle in the affairs of wizards. The pleadings of a Centaur held little more importance. The Hungarian’s willingness to stop the attack on Terntalag was more coincidence than desire. The Horntails were out for blood and the Fireballs happened to be above the village. Even so, their leader shifted his weight and the ground rumbled.

“What says the Primate?” asked Singehorn, looking intently at Harry. But Harry didn’t hesitate.

“I would ask you send two – Drahmir and Talisan,” Harry said. “Two will suffice and not frighten the wizards more than they already have been.” Then he turned to the Centaur. “Firenze, you’ll need to send word that the battle has changed. It is not what I was led to believe. The Horntails are joining us and, at the castle, perhaps the Hebredean Blacks. The wizards need to know the difference and, if they don’t, they should keep their wands sheathed. That goes for the Centaur herd as well.”

“The Covens are but a mile away, Harry Potter,” said Firenze coolly. “Before the next shooting star, the entire forest will know.” Firenze turned the scale about in his hand, the moon’s light shimmering from its surface, squeezed it once as if imbuing it with the anger he would not show, and slipped it away into the leather pouch that hung at his side. Before Harry could thank him, the Centaur disappeared toward the south.

“Tanwen,” said Harry, looking up to his enormous friend, “thank you for your patience. Your wisdom in not striking will go a long way towards Singehorn’s plan.”

The dragon bowed her head slightly, but said naught else. She, more than the others, could see the hatred in Firenze’s eyes. Harry wondered if she were convinced that the Centaur would keep his word. With over a hundred wizards marching toward them, they were extremely exposed squatting on the ground and surrounded by trees.

“We should all take to the air,” she offered Singehorn.

“As the Primate has spoken, Drahmir and Talisan will attack the Dementors chasing the wizards our way,” said the dragon leader. “If we destroy that which drives them forward, we will have more time to heal our wounded. Igneus and Rakesh are weak and need rest, if only for a moment.” Harry looked at the two great brothers and, scratches aside, could not discern anything of significance wrong with either of them. Rakesh began to protest and Singehorn growled, cutting him short.

“Erm… yes, Singehorn,” Rakesh rumbled. “I’m not sure I have any fire left in me and… em… my tail aches.”

“Then it is decided,” said Singehorn. “Make haste!” Drahmir and Talisan nodded and, unfolding their massive leathery wings, took to the sky, swirling the ash that hung in the air from the burning village. Harry also noticed that the nearby ghosts seemed to move in the gust of wind, almost as if they had substance.

“Fire will fill the sky!” roared Drahmir as he flew south.

Harry looked at Singehorn. “By making the problem your own,” he suggested, “you had justification to act… to choose sides.”

“Sides? Life, Harry,” said the great dragon, “has many sides – not one, not two, but a number of facets which, depending on how the light strikes, reveal a spectrum of colours that spans the rainbow. All too often, wizards seek the absolute, because they like the cleanliness of ‘choosing sides’ – left or right, good or evil, black or white. They’re unwilling to shade the lights and brighten the darks, unable to add the colours that make life’s choices so difficult. And while, sometimes, the choice before us is clear, when life and death hang in the balance, it should never be easy. My failure is proof enough of that.”

There was another rustling in the bracken as someone approached, but even before she appeared, Harry knew who it was. Somehow he was linked to the members of the Votary. Just as he knew that, at this moment, Dakhil Barghouti was filled with anticipation, so too did he know that Katana was overcome with relief at the sight of the flight of dragons before her.

“You’re safe!” she cried out breathlessly, stepping out of the trees. The flames of the village flickered off the sweat of her brow. “I thought… perhaps the Centaur…”

“Katana!” called Singehorn. “It is good to see you well! But should you not be in the East, searching the world as is the rest of the Order?”

“You sent the Order away on some ruse of a treasure hunt!” exclaimed Harry in disbelief. “That’s why I have only sensed Dakhil. Why did you scatter them across the globe?”

“It was not safe here. I was only trying to protect them, Harry. The Votary may be able to withstand dragonfire, but your flesh may still be slashed with a well placed talon.”

“Dakhil gave us the orders,” gasped Katana, a thin smile upon her face. “He is not a good liar.” She was panting, and her left side was covered in blood, gluing together the rings of her chain-link mail. Still, she walked in among them proud and, as she drew near, her tremendous white smile erupted, glowing in the night. There was a large gash on her shoulder that had been hastily healed and looked like it might open again at any moment. Harry was about to treat her when Tanwen bent low and blew flame upon the wound. For a dragon, it was a whisper of a flame and it reminded Harry of a mother that might kiss a boo-boo… not that Aunt Petunia ever paid him the same kindness. When it was over, the wound was healed and Katana placed her hand on Tanwen’s snout in gratitude.

“I understand why you did not want the others here,” she said solemnly. “I would not have believed it myself, if not for my own eyes.” She took in a deep breath, regaining her strength. She had run hard to be so close behind Firenze. “The Fireballs attacked us… attacked me though I reached out and signalled our intentions of peace.”

“Madness has consumed our friends,” said Singehorn. “It consumed me as well, though I see more clearly now. It will take many years to repair the trust that has been destroyed here today.”

“You would go back to the old alliance?” asked Harry, incredulously. “Even after all they—”

“They, Harry,” interrupted Singehorn, “is not all Fireballs. Ti-Lung was hungry for vengeance and thirsty for power, not unlike your Dark Lord. We are all ready to be free of the shackles of wizards. Giants do not fare much better at the hands of your kind. Would you condemn all giants because a few battle against you this evening in service to a madman?” Harry shook his head. “No, I thought not,” said Singehorn pleased with Harry’s response, though he expected no other. “Anymore than I would condemn all wizards because of the pain a few have caused the dragons.”

“Quite a few,” added Tanwen. Singehorn looked at her and nodded.

“True enough.” He let go a forlorn breath and glanced toward the south. “And while I have faith that those of your kind approaching do so in friendship…

“Tanwen, your words, as always, are wise. You and the others take to the air. Stay vigilant; you are not the only creatures of power flying on this night. Rakesh, I hope your fire has returned.” Without speaking Rakesh raised up and roared at the stars. An enormous burst of flame issued forth. Harry could sense the creatures about him recoil in fear.

Following the flame to its tip, Singehorn looked up at the lights burning bright overhead, not unlike a Centaur. “Harry and I have some things we must attend to.” Tanwen nodded. As she and the others began to lift off, swirling a hoard of ghosts out of their way, Harry could sense Singehorn calling him and Katana to the other plane.

When they arrived, the great stone steps that Harry had climbed when first he met Singehorn and been destroyed. Great crags of rock were strewn about the desert landscape, being reclaimed by the wind and sand. Katana was dressed in a white gown, but Harry wore red, a symbol that he was Primate of their Order. It felt awkward. There was clearly a formalism that Harry had not yet embraced. For his part, Singehorn the man wore robes of cobalt blue that shimmered like the sea. He towered above them both, but his eyes were smiling.

“What has happened here?” asked Harry.

“This…” Singehorn gestured with a wave of his arm. “This is what I have built. This is what, by my own hand, I have destroyed. I doubt I’ll have the time I need to restore it to its glory. That task will be left to Tanwen.”

“Tanwen?”

“Do you not approve, Harry?” asked Singehorn in return.

“No… er… I mean yes, but—”

“My time is near at hand,” Singehorn interrupted. “I doubted that I would see the dawn, but you…” He patted his chest. “You have given me a while longer. Perhaps, there will be time to set things in motion – to restore peace among our kind. I hope you will guide Tanwen on such a path. If the Centaur had not been at your side this evening, I doubt she would have resisted the temptation to strike first. Tonight… as they fell from the sky… she did not need to utterly destroy our brethren and yet…” He sighed and sat down in the sand, crossing his legs. Harry and Katana did the same. “She is fiercely loyal. Will you help her, Harry?”

“I have sworn my allegiance and my oath is to serve.”

“As is ours to you,” said Singehorn. “I have chosen well, don’t you think, Katana?” She nodded in agreement as Singehorn closed his eyes and bowed his head. Perspiration began to drip from his brow and Harry looked to Katana for some assurance, but she seemed as uncertain as he. Then, to the right of Katana appeared another figure in white robes – Merek – the Healer that had returned Harry’s sight. He was followed by eight other members of the Votary. They all sat, adding to the circle with Harry and Katana. The last to arrive was Antreas Darbinyan, Gabriella’s brother. He looked at Harry with surprise and concern, but Harry was unable to offer reassurance in return. In all, there were eleven members of the Votary present and one noticeably absent – Dakhil Barghouti. The sense of foreboding Harry had experienced earlier began to grow.

Singehorn wiped his brow with his sleeve and drew in a deep breath. Summoning the council had clearly taken a toll on the dragon, though how that manifested itself in the real world, Harry didn’t know. Singehorn slipped his tongue across his sharp teeth and considered the words he was about to say.

“We have precious little time and there is much to accomplish. I am now in the West with Harry and Katana. There has been a fissure between the dragons and, at this time, we are no longer safe among the Chinese Fireballs. Nor would I put faith in the members of their Order. As you know, battles are rising up all over the world, none more dire than the one now upon us here in Great Britain.”

“Singehorn,” began Marek, “are there injured? Do you need aide?” This first question began an avalanche of questions and offers of assistance, none more strident than the pleas of Antreas to return to Britain.

“Enough!” roared Singehorn, silencing all conversation at once. “Your offers of aid are generous, well intentioned, but improperly focussed. I need your help, but not here in the forest behind Hogwarts Castle. All of you are scattered about the globe. It was not my original intent, but it will now pay in our favour. By now you will have discovered the secret rookeries hidden in the countries to which you’ve been sent. I need you to make a difference right where you are. You must try to convince any dragons that will listen of our plight. Where they exist, sway the thoughts of the members of their respective Orders. Word of tonight’s events will have reached most, but not all. Those willing to lend aid are days away, unable to immediately offer tooth, talon and flame, but all know the old ways. Our Primate, Keeper of the Black Ring and Caregiver to the Heart of Asha, goes to battle the darkness, let them share their fire that we might purify this land.

“All must know that we do this, first and foremost, to unshackle ourselves from the yokes of wizards. It cannot be accomplished by flying the clouds to war. Instead, it begins by demonstrating our power and our compassion. Throughout, we will include those wizards that seek light above darkness, truth above deceit, love above hate. It is by these precepts we abide: Bravery… Wisdom… Love. So it was when the Great Alliance was made and so it will be again with all the Wizarding World. Now more than ever we must push back the darkness seeping into all corners of our world.”

Without speaking, the various members nodded in agreement. Harry, as Primate, felt the need to affirm Singehorn’s words. He did so and added, “If it is within my power, I will strike down the evil we now face before it can do more harm. But I will, above all, follow our code. I will not wield the power you have bestowed upon me needlessly, or recklessly. Bravery… Wisdom… and above all – Love. I failed you earlier this year; it will not happen again.”

While he sensed that some members felt he should wield his power, no matter the cost, he saw a thin smile curl up at the corner of Katana’s mouth. “Then it is decided,” she said. Again all nodded, but Antreas looked as if he would burst.

“Singehorn,” said Harry, “I would ask a favour of you. I know the Carpathians are far, but it would be best if Antreas join us in our battle as soon as he can arrive. He was the linchpin to our success protecting your home and, without Dakhil, Katana and I need another member of the Votary to represent the dragon’s interests should it be needed. He is closest. There are three battle sites, hundreds of wizards and other magical beings and soon the Hebredeans will join our cause. I could sure use his wand here, steeped in the magic of Grigor Darbiyan. This war has many fronts and I am but one.”

“So be it,” agreed Singehorn, as relief washed over Antreas. “Though you will find, Harry, that you are not alone. You have made alliances that Dark minds can only dream of, and they will provide you powers that are unimaginable. Tonight, we all will be tested; what remains in the crucible will guide the fate of the next age.”

With that the vision passed and Harry found himself back in the forest, face to face with Singehorn. Little time had passed. The other dragons were still just rising to the sky as the village behind him crackled and popped in the flames. The large Hungarian looked quite pleased with what had just come to pass and Harry could sense the welling of hope. Still, the dragon’s eyes looked weary. Two ghosts swirled by, one a youth riding a skateboard and pushing it along through the air with one foot. It was the strangest… A flash of light caught Harry’s eyes. It looked like wandlight.

“Singehorn,” Harry said urgently. More lights began to flicker through the trees. He could hear voices in the distance. The wizards would soon be upon them. “The ghosts… they think I will lead them to heaven. But I think they have it wrong. I think that you—”

Harry’s left hand suddenly burned; more specifically the ring finger of his left hand. He looked down and the etched band about his finger, the marking on the flesh itself, glowed red.

“Gabriella!” he cried in agony. Pain swept up his arm and into his shoulder, driving itself into his mind. At once he could feel her anguish, he could taste the wet dirt, he could sense the water and he knew she was surrounded by evil. She was in trouble and needed help. “She’s at the falls! Voldemort is there!”

“Then you must run, Harry!” Singehorn said, stretching out his wings without hesitation to join the others in the sky. “You will be faster afoot. We will follow from the air. Go to her, but don’t be brash. Be wise!”

Harry watched as the dragons spun once about and then followed their leader toward the falls. At the same moment wizards, giants and Centaurs burst through the trees, Firenze at the fore. Some paused momentarily to watch the dragons ascend and disappear, but most moved straight toward Terntalag, quenching the flames as quickly as they could. Firenze stopped at Harry’s side.

“Your friends have left you,” he said, pointing to the sky. “It was not necessary. The Dementors were defeated and the forest now knows the kindness they have shown us.”

“They race to the falls,” said Harry quickly. “As will I. Voldemort has come.”

A few of the wizards heard the name and echoed it. Word spread quickly, but everyone held to the task at hand – saving the village. Harry was surprised to see Frank and Alice Longbottom leading them into the flames, their wands spraying water everywhere. For a moment Frank caught Harry’s eye. His lips were tight with determination. He smiled, revealing wrinkles about his eyes that harkened back to happier memories, winked and disappeared into the flames. Harry wondered about Neville and again Draco crept into his mind.

“Go with haste, my friend,” said Firenze. “Know this much at least… Felspar and Macleta are near. They will do whatever is in their power.”

Harry turned to leave and ran head long into Ronan. His fur was wet with sweat and smelled burnt. Splotches of black goo were splattered all over his coat – Dementor blood. Harry wiped it from the side of his face.

“Ronan?”

“Hurry, colt!” he snapped, ignoring pleasantries. “Run with your—”

“—second sight,” finished Harry. “Yes, I know.” And before Ronan finished his bow, Harry plunged into the forest, running toward the falls and contracting space as best he could. His mind was set on where he needed to be and the trees and creatures of the forest swept past him – blurs of another world less perceptible than the wings of a hummingbird.

Harry’s finger throbbed, sending jolts of pain up his arm. Flashes of what Gabriella was seeing, or sensing dashed across his mind. He ran faster, if that were possible, ignoring his disagreeable body. His arm became heavy as if a great vine of Devil’s Snare was trying to pull him down. It worked its way up to his throat and he could feel it squeeze. As he struggled to pull in great gulps of air, it was difficult to remind himself that it wasn’t he that was choking… it was Gabriella.

He shook his head, pushing the vision aside and drew in a deep breath. With his forearm he roughly wiped away the drips of sweat that were now running into his eyes. He tried to concentrate on the images that he was seeing through Gabriella’s eyes, but the ghosts he kept passing through were too distracting. They were thick, like a swarm of mosquitoes thirsty for blood and, just like insects splatting against his goggles as he flew on his broom, Harry would splat into one and for an instant sense their joy, their apprehension, their sense of urgency. These and the images he was receiving from Gabriella collided into a great cacophony of thoughts. For the first time he began to appreciate what Ron felt when he couldn’t shut out the voices he was hearing with his mind.

“Fo-cus!” he yelled at himself.

There was an image of Snape smiling, his yellow teeth cracked and gnarled. Dakhil… yes, Dakhil was there – impassive and stoic. That’s how he looked on the outside, but inside was something quite different. Harry already had known the vampire’s feelings were in tumult. Then he saw it – the cloak. Gabriella was wearing the… no it wasn’t Gabriella… it was Cho. Jamie was in her arms. There was Ron… Hermione… Centaurs and Death Eaters….

As he grew near, the images became more clear, more intense. They were at the falls. Jamie was crying… both Jamies…

Again, Harry shook his head; he was seeing twins. Cho was standing defiantly by the falls. No… Cho was standing by a large outcropping of rocks. Cho and… Cho. There were two Cho Changs, and each held a baby in their arms. Each wore a brilliant white cloak. “The Horcrux,” Harry whispered to himself. “Draco was right.”

Just as the muscles in his legs began to scream in protest, Harry started to smell the forest growing damper… danker. He knew this smell well. He slowed watching the path ahead closely with his second sight. To Harry it seemed like it had taken hours, but he covered the distance in minutes. The falls were only a hundred yards ahead, when a Centaur approached him quickly from the north. Her hand touched his shoulder.

“Harry Potter.”

He blinked and looked up to see Macleta, her eyes more fierce than ever he had seen them before. “Your mates are under attack by the Dark One who has come in from the north with two dozen of his followers. Their friends are no match for his skill with a wand. Some of my kin staved off an attack by Dementors, but the grounds are unsteady and many fell over the cliff to the rocks below. Others have been trapped by the Dark One’s wizards. Felspar leads a contingent that is sweeping around the other side of the lake that has formed near the top of the falls. They will move in from the west and offer aid soon. These grounds continue to shift and all would do well to leave them quickly. Time is short. Below the falls, your kin have arrived. You know these waters are dangerous and many may be thirsty. It is an unfortunate combination. While the greater evil is before us, the greater danger lies below. Dozens could die. I will travel down the falls to your kinsmen for I know your fate with the darkness ahead has already been sealed.”
It was the most Harry had ever heard a Centaur speak in his life, and then he realized she hadn’t said a word. She was speaking telepathically, an honour shared only between Centaurs. He nodded, pulled his wand and began to work his way closer to the clearing of the falls. Again Macleta stopped him.

“One thing more,” she said and now her face bore an expression of confusion. “You have but two mates, is that not true?” she asked.

“Yes,” Harry said.

“There is a third,” said Macleta, “and she too bears a child in her arms; she is a twin to Cho Chang. When first she appeared, it confused me, and now it confuses the Dark One. One of them is a deceiver, Harry, but I now see her purpose. It will not be long before he realizes as well. Move quickly… move cautiously… know that our friends are near and, Harry, use your—”

“—second sight,” he finished. With her bow ready in her left hand, she lowered her head and in a flash vanished to the south. For his part, Harry moved toward the sound of the rushing water. At first he used his second site to discern where the wizards ahead were. It was clear that Voldemort was flanked by about two-dozen Death Eaters, but no more. He was using stealth, deliberately travelling with a small contingent in hopes that all focus would be on his large army to the south that, even now, was attacking the castle walls. If he were successful here at the top of the falls, the wizards below would have no hope of defending against the torrent of dark magic that would rain down upon them.

He could smell the burning carcasses of Dementors, but his heart told him that there were more swirling deep in the trees behind. In his mind the water of the falls radiated like the sun and Harry had to forgo his second site to see anything near the water’s shore. When he did, he saw Cho holding Jamie near the edge of the falls. Ron lay motionless on the ground and near him were Gabriella and Hermione, each holding their throats gasping for air.

He was about to rush in when another witch near his friends, wearing white robes shouted out a spell. Harry didn’t understand it, but it sounded Chinese. The roots of the trees beneath Snape’s feet sprang up and grasped him by the legs. Momentarily, the spell on Hermione and Gabriella was broken and they retrieved their wands. Then Harry’s heart stopped. The witch that had just cast the spell was Cho Chang and in her arms was little Jamie. It was impossible.

She was standing alone on an outcropping of rocks. It was near Cho’s hidden stronghold. The Cho near the falls seemed not to be confused that her identical twin was carrying an identical child and wearing an identical white robe, but Gabriella and Hermione were dumbfounded. Three blasts of red coming from Death Eater wands shot directly toward the Cho at the rocks and she let them strike her. They ricocheted harmlessly off her cloak like ping-pong balls.

“The cloak,” Harry breathed to himself. “The Horcrux.” Then he looked at the Cho near the falls. She too wore a white cloak. But which one? And which Jamie?

Pulling Ron with her, Gabriella knelt behind a large stone for protection. “Who are you?” she yelled at the new arrival.

“Cho!” yelled the one near the rocks. “She’s an impostor!” She pointed at her twin near the fall’s edge.

“Take them both!” cried Snape in exasperation as he slashed away at the tree roots still tangling his legs.

All this time, without realizing it, Harry had been moving closer and closer to the skirmish now before him. Gabriella was placing hands on Ron to help revive him. Hermione was trying to pull the one Cho away from the water’s edge, but she refused to move as she struggled against little Jamie who was wriggling in her arms to be free. When he looked back at the Cho on the rocks… she was starring right back at him. No one else had seen him, but it was as if they were connected somehow. “Cho?” he lipped silently. Slowly, she set Jamie down and the child stood, clinging to his mother’s leg. Her attention snapped to Snape.

“Harry will destroy you, Voldemort!” she cried. “You’re just too blind to see!” She cast another spell and this time the trees behind him split in two, dividing like a single-celled amoeba. The space between trees was now half what it was an instant before. A few Death Eaters found themselves trapped behind, but the ones already near the Cho on the rocks continued to move toward her, albeit slowly.