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Chapter 6 - Too Close an Encounter

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When Harry shut the door to his room and descended the stairs he was, perhaps, the happiest he had ever been in all his life. The sun sent golden rays streaking through the coloured windows above and cast a golden image on the floor below, tinged with enough red to make Harry think fleetingly of Fawkes. His hair a tangled mess, he was wearing a T-shirt, boxers and socks, one with a rather large hole through which the large toe on his right foot protruded. He scratched his stomach as his nose took in the scent of something that resembled the smell of burning ham. He took one step down and turned to look back at his room. His room? His house? No, not really. Not anymore. And he was grateful for that and smiled all the more as the aroma of fresh coffee filled the air, perhaps the only thing Sirius could prepare properly.

When he pushed open the doors to the kitchen of Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, he found Sirius working feverishly in front of the stove. His wand was casting spell after spell, not so much at the food preparation, but in an effort to clear the smoke that was billowing throughout. Harry walked over and turned down the flame with a wave of his hand.

“Here,” he said gently, “let me help.” His godfather looked wounded.

“No, really, I wanted to make you breakfast. You know, first day of school and all.” He cracked an egg and put both liquid and shell in the same bowl and started mixing it with his wand. Harry chuckled kindly and shook his head in disbelief. It was great being free of Privet Drive, to be here with his godfather, to feel wanted and appreciated. It was probably the first time he had ever opened a package of bacon for breakfast without a sour taste in his mouth. He gave Sirius a look that said, “Get real,” and then positioned himself squarely in front of the stove.

“I’m not bad at this,” offered Harry, cracking four eggs at once into a bowl and discarding the shells with a flick of his wand. Sirius shrugged and started to sit, but Harry stopped him. “Oh no you don’t. You need to see how this is done, and when I come back for Christmas it’ll be your turn.” Sirius seemed to like the challenge, and the idea that he would be spending Christmas with Harry.

“You know,” said Sirius pouring two cups of coffee, “I hear New York is spectacular at Christmas time. Have you ever been to the States?” Harry shook his head. “Maybe we could go for a quick visit.”

“I promised Gabri—”

“Visit,” Sirius cut in. “That’s all. Maybe Gab can come along.”

“If we’re not at war,” said Harry glumly.

“Or if the war’s over by then,” suggested Sirius with more optimism. Harry nodded plating the food and levitating the plates to the table.

Sirius ate like a dog and finished in about three minutes. Harry was more pensive, and while he did finish, it took him much longer. The nicest thing about being of age was that he didn’t have to walk or take a car to go to King’s Cross Station. For that matter, he didn’t need to go to King’s Cross at all; he could Apparate to Hogsmeade and walk in from there. Only the Head Boy and Head Girl had to take the train with their housemates, and this year the Head Girl was none other than Hermione Granger. Odd, Harry thought, considering she’d nearly killed Theodore Nott last year. He smiled and took another sip of coffee. Hermione didn’t know who the Head Boy was, but it wasn’t Ron. Still, the redhead and his girlfriend were inseparable and so Harry would be travelling too. When Harry told Gabriella he would be going to Hogwarts by train, her face fell momentarily and grew concerned.

“Then I go as well,” she declared, and she began to shiver slightly. The thought sent a cold chill down Harry’s spine as the warm coffee slipped down his throat.

“Any more bacon?” asked Sirius rummaging through the crusted pans about the stove.

“That black stuff you fried up over there on the side is bacon; at least it used to be.”

Sirius poked at it a few times, and then finally took a bite. His face took on a slight bitter tone as it scrunched ever so slightly, then he took another bite, shrugging his shoulders. His teeth and tongue covered in charcoal he said, “You’d better get ready. Is your trunk packed?” He glanced at the hourglass on the counter.

“Er… yeah,” Harry lied. “Just a few more things.” He levitated his plate to the sink which was piled high with pots and pans from the last few days. “Do you want me to take care of these before I—”

“I’ll take care of it,” Sirius lied. “Go get yourself ready.” Harry shrugged and nodded his head, and started up the stairs, once again scratching his stomach and knowing full well it would be days, perhaps weeks, before the sink was cleared.

It was strange really, getting ready for his last year at Hogwarts. So often he was rushed in the hustle and bustle of the Weasley family. This year, however, Harry wanted to be with his own family — Sirius Black. And it was the best decision he’d ever made. It had only been a few days, but in that short time Sirius and Harry did absolutely… nothing. There were opportunities to talk about the old days when Sirius palled around with James; there were chances to practice advanced spells or learn the operation of some of the golden instruments that still lined the walls in the Black family study; there were times when they could have discussed how Harry brought Sirius back from behind the curtain; and at every turn, at every open door, Harry and Sirius simply took the time to enjoy each other in the here and now. They played chess; the played cards; they raced Caduceuses across the London sky at night; they drank, probably too much; and they laughed more than they had laughed in a long, long time. Sirius’ eyes had never been brighter, and Harry’s heart had never been lighter.

This time when Harry readied himself at the front door to leave, there was no dark cloud hanging over their heads, but rather an eager excitement about the year to come and what it would bring. They drew strength from each other knowing that whatever war was around the corner, whatever darkness rose on the horizon, they would face it together. For a moment they just stared at each other and around the room.

“Er… Right then,” began Sirius. “Off you go.” He nervously patted the sides of his hips with his hands.

“I’ll… I’ll owl you when I get in,” replied Harry. Sirius nodded. Silence. “Right, then.” There was another long pause. “Bloody hell,” Harry cursed and he walked over and pulled Sirius to him tightly with a grand hug. Sirius responded in kind.

They held each other for more than a moment and then Sirius whispered in a somewhat raspy voice, “Be careful.” Harry pulled away wearing an enormous smile.

“I’ve never been anything but!” He winked, there was a crack, and he was gone.

He Apparated to an out of the way location just down the street from King’s Cross Station and began walking. The late morning was clear, and he was surprised to find the air so cold. He’d been spending so much time inside with Sirius he hadn’t thought much about the weather. His coat was in his trunk, and he didn’t feel much like opening that in the middle of a street filled with Muggles. He shivered, rubbed his arms, and continued on his way. He was coming to the first steps of the station when a beggar boldly stepped in front of him demanding a donation. Wearing a good three days’ stubble, his clothes were filthy, and his breath smelled strongly of alcohol.

“Come on, mate,” he wheezed. “Just a pound fer me condition. I ain’t eatin’ in days.”

“Sorry,” said Harry earnestly, “I don’t have a pound.”

“Surely a schilling?”

Harry kept walking trying to ignore the intruder. “Really,” he said over his shoulder, “I don’t have any money.” The man grabbed Harry by the arm.

“I can hear the jingle in yer pants, boy!” It was true that Harry had a few galleons in his pocket, but no Muggle money of any sort. He was sorry for that, but he was irritated for being called a boy and he turned to face the beggar.

“Call me a boy again, and you—”

“You’ll what!” spat the drunk, stepping toe-to-toe with Harry. The sight was a bit comical since Harry was not the small child he once was. Indeed he was a strapping young man, and he stood a good four inches taller than his adversary. Curling the fingers on his right hand, he was about to say just what he’d do when a familiar tingling ran up his spine. He grabbed for his wand, but too late. Or at least it would have been if he had been the target. The drunk stood motionless, eyes glazed, body frozen in position. Harry looked up just as a hand gently took him by the arm.

“Sorry about that, sir,” said a young man not much older than Harry. “I… er… I wasn’t paying attention. Won’t happen again, I promise.”

The man, still in his teens, wore a dark gray suit with thin blue piping, a burgundy tie and white shirt. The dark glasses reminded Harry of old James Bond movies, but the white tennis shoes with red laces told Harry at once he was dealing with a wizard. Then he noticed the shape of the jaw, the voice, but the hair—

“Finnius?” Harry asked, wondering if he was talking to the former Head Boy of Hufflepuff who at graduation had a start at a beard and hair that hung down to his waist. “I thought you were going to start a band? The… er, The Grindly Gutters?”

“Erm,” said Finnius, looking around nervously, “can we keep going?”

“Why? What’s the matter?”

“Well… see, I’m supposed to—”

“Not you?” Harry exclaimed in disbelief. “Surely the Ministry—”

Finnius pulled Harry by the arm just as the drunk began to come to his senses. Quickly, they climbed the steps and found themselves in a sea of people heading to their platforms at King’s Cross. Perspiration was popping out on Finnius’ forehead and Harry wondered if he hadn’t wet himself he looked so nervous. “It’s just… well, I promised Tonks and already I’ve made a mess of things.”

“You work with Tonks?” Harry asked with a bit more excitement and interest. He hadn’t heard from her all summer, and she wasn’t at the Joining with Singehorn. “Is she okay? Where is she?” Finnius continued to usher Harry toward platform nine and three-quarters holding Harry with his right hand and wiping his brow with his left.

“Yeah, well, she’s the one that convinced me I could be an Auror. Said she’d train me, see… herself. But since that business at the Ministry last year, she’s been in and out of hospital and… well, now she’s in and… well, she made me promise. See?”

Harry didn’t see, and he was getting a bit irritated. He yanked his arm out of Finnius’ grip. “What do you mean she’s in hospital? What’s wrong?” Finnius looked away from Harry’s intense gaze.

“Ah, here we are.” They were at the platform. “Just in time too!” Before Harry could say another word, Finnius gave him a bit of a shove and he plunged through the wall and found himself on the other side standing just in front of the Hogwarts Express. Harry dropped his trunk, reached for his wand and started back toward the wall when he was tackled from the side. The flash of raven black hair in his face told him at once it was Gabriella.

“You made it!” she cried. “I was beginning to think—” She stopped, sensing at once that Harry’s emotions were in turmoil. “What’s wrong?” And then she too looked at the wall to the outside world. “Who’s out there?”

The frustration on Harry’s face was clear; he was about to charge back out when his eyes caught something he had never before seen: Neville Longbottom was hugging his parents, Frank and Alice, good-bye. Alice held his face in her hands and planted a big wet kiss on his cheek. They were all smiles as Neville wiped it with his sleeve. Then Frank Longbottom handed his son something and, as Neville wrapped his fingers about the object, a more serious look came into his eyes. His dad slapped him on the shoulder and a thin smile appeared again as Neville boarded the train.

“He’s Head Boy,” Gabriella said warmly.

Harry looked at Gabriella, then at the wall behind, and back to the train, then back to the wall. “Come on, let’s—”

“ALL ABOARD!” the conductor called.

“Dean said he’d save us a spot,” said Gabriella, taking hold of Harry’s hand. Harry took one last look at the wall behind them, and then the two boarded the train. The corridor was crowded with students, particularly first years who were completely confused. What was noticeable, however, was that the normal demarcation of house zones seemed to be somewhat blurred. There were Slytherins purposefully mixing in with Ravenclaws near the front of the train, and a group of third year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in another carriage playing snap. A few cars down Harry just caught a glimpse of someone in Gryffindor robes disappearing into a carriage and so he and Gabriella followed. He pushed open the carriage door only to walk in on Neville and Helen kissing; a sweet fragrance filling the air.

“Oh,” said Harry. “Sorry.” Neville had Helen up against the wall and there was some sort of vine with delicate pink flowers wrapping itself around her arm and abdomen. She was wearing a smile and blushing slightly. “Er… seen Dean?” Neville who seemed about three inches taller than when Harry last saw him which was only a few weeks ago spoke through a beaming smile.

“Yeah, he’s up forward.” Then, with a confident flick of his wand Neville shut the door in Harry’s face, following that with a charm that sealed it tight. Gabriella just raised her eyebrows and smiled.

“See what happens when you’re late.” She smacked Harry’s stomach. “That could have been us!”

They continued moving forward past various carriages when the flash of red hair caught Harry’s eye. It was Ron, and he was bickering with Hermione. The floor of the carriage they were in was littered with clothes, books and various things Harry knew to be Ron’s, most notably by the overabundance of socks.

“Honestly, Ronald,” said Hermione in a scolding voice as if talking to a four year old. “If you don’t find it soon you’ll have to tell Professor Flitwick, and if you won’t I will.”

“Is that a threat?” shot back Ron, holding both hands on his hips and kicking at the pile of clothes on the floor. Gabriella walked in first.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked gently, Harry only a step behind her.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” snapped Ron immediately. “Er… hey, mate!” he said with a wave at Harry.

“He’s lost his wand,” exclaimed Hermione.

“I haven’t lost anything,” retorted Ron in defiance. “I’ve just… er…”

“Have you tried summoning it?” asked Harry, starting to rummage through the clothes on the carriage floor. The steeled look of fire in Ron’s eyes said that they had certainly tried that and many other things and would Harry just not make any other suggestions because Hermione has already made every possible suggestion known in the Wizarding world and none of them have worked.

“Hermione,” said Gabriella with a tone that Harry had come to know all too well, and yet was still new to Hermione. “Perhaps one of my Slytherin housemates is playing a trick, most likely Teddy. Would you join me and perhaps together we can solve this little problem.” Knowing Hermione’s disposition toward Nott, Harry wondered if it was a wise idea to put the two in close proximity, but Gabriella may have been on to something. Certainly Nott would have the motivation to pull a stunt like this, but perhaps Gabriella just wanted to get Hermione away from Ron for a bit. He smiled to himself realizing that it was probably both.

“Sure,” said Hermione. She cast one more look at Ron before she left and said, “And don’t you stop looking!” The moment the girls departed, Ron flopped down on the carriage bench and blew the hair out of his eyes.

“Bloody hell.”

“Well, Fred or George can certainly get you a new wand,” offered Harry, sitting down across from Ron. “Or maybe we can sneak out this weekend and Apparate to Ollivanders.” Unfortunately, Ron’s face did not brighten at the suggestion.

“Look at us, Harry,” said Ron with a whimsical look on his face, tinged with a bit of sourness. “We were here six years ago, you and me. Do you remember?”

There was a moment of silence as Harry watched the countryside slip by. It wasn’t the same train as six years ago, but it might as well have been.

“Yeah,” said Harry, almost in a whisper as he nodded his head, “I remember.”

“Things haven’t changed much.”

“They’ve changed loads.” Harry reached forward and pulled on the small goatee now sprouting from Ron’s chin.

“Really?” asked Ron with a snicker. “Back then you were Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, and I was Ron Weasley with a smudge of dirt on my nose.”

“That’s not—”

“Now we’re both of age and you’re Harry Potter, Protector, Guardian and Emissary, the wizard that destroyed Voldemort and brought peace with the giants, and I’m Ron Weasley the kid that can’t find his BLOODY WAND!” At the last words he stood up, kicked at the wall, and put his boot all the way through.

Harry was trying to muster something to say when the door began to open. Angry, Ron instinctively reached for his wand to slam the door shut, but it wasn’t there. He growled like a lion and was about to physically slam the door shut when Patrick O’Riley, now in his second year, poked his head through.

“Was that you, Ron?” asked Patrick brightly, nodding his head toward the hole that now protruded into the corridor. Then he noticed Harry. “Hey, Harry! Dean said you were going to be up in his carriage.”

“Later,” answered Harry. “Right now I’m just—”

“Patrick,” cut in Ron, doing his best to remain calm, “we don’t have time to—”

“Prob’ly mad ‘bout losin’ this,” interrupted Patrick, and he held up Ron’s wand. For a moment Ron sputtered, unable to speak. Finally, he grabbed the wand and pulled it close, cradling it like a baby as a wave of relief passed over his body.

“Where’d you find it?” asked Harry.

“Oh, I didn’t,” said Patrick, “James did. When he showed it teh me, I knew at once whose it was. He was on his way teh take it teh Flitwick, but I told him I’d get it teh yeh.”

“Er… thanks,” answered Ron. “You’re okay, kid.” At last Ron smiled as he slipped his wand away.

“Why don’t you and James stay in here,” offered Harry. “I haven’t heard from the Changs all summer and was wondering how Cho was doing.” At these words, Patrick became noticeably uncomfortable.

“Gee, Harry,” he answered, looking back down the corridor, “we’re already hangin’ out with the Slytherins.”

“Slytherins?” asked Harry. “I thought James was going to start Gryffindor this year. He knows he can pick whatever house he wants doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, well, he changed his mind o’er the summer, I guess.” Again he glanced nervously down the hallway. “Well… see yeh!” He smiled and disappeared down the corridor to the back of the train.

“That was a bit odd,” said Ron, sweeping away a few pairs of socks with his hand and sitting down on the bench.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Why on earth would anybody choose Slytherin over Gryffindor? Everyone knows they’re nothing but a bunch of—”

“Yes?” Gabriella stood at the open door, her fingers drumming against the frame.

“Er….”

“…Sweethearts!” chimed Hermione gaily as she stepped into the carriage with Gabriella. “Except maybe… Teddy.” She flopped down next to Ron.

“He didn’t take it too well when we asked if he’d stolen Ron’s wand,” continued Gabriella as she sat next to Harry. Hermione took Ron’s hand and pulled him close to her.

“No, but he didn’t dare use a cross word or raise his voice,” said Hermione. “Quite the gentleman for a change.”

“Being nearly killed can do that to some people,” said Ron.

“I could sense right away he was telling the truth,” said Gabriella, “so we decided to come back. Patrick told us he found your wand.”

“No, James Chang found it,” said Harry. “Patrick only returned it. Did he tell you that James has decided to go with Slytherin this year?”

“There, you see!” said Gabriella, “Another fine example. James was one of the better first year students as I recall.” Ron pulled out his wand and looked at it closely.

“I should probably have it examined,” he said. “Maybe Nott put him up to it.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” said Hermione, slapping his hand. Then she turned to Harry, trying hard to ignore the mess on the floor. “So how’s Sirius doing at Grimmauld Place?”

The hours passed quickly as lunch came and the late afternoon brought drooping eyelids to everyone. Dean never made his way back to the carriage, and they never endeavoured to move further up the train. They were all nodding off to sleep when the train began to slow.

“Hogsmeade?” asked Ron groggily. The midday sun seemed suddenly to fade to darkness as if someone had just pulled down the curtain.

“No,” said Hermione with a bit of concern. “It’s too early.” They all noticed the last word leave her lips in a puff of smoke -- the air was growing colder by the second. They knew at once what was happening and each had their wand at the ready. The darkness outside the train filled with flashes of light. Ministry guards had moved out to meet the onslaught which was centred toward the front of the train. Incantations filled the air as Patronus after Patronus was being sent out against the attacking Dementors. There were screams all up and down the corridors, mostly from the youngest students.

“Ron,” said Hermione with a commanding voice. “Help me gather the first years.” Ron was up in a flash, and a moment later his voice was barking orders down the corridor for everyone to remain calm, calling for the first years to muster at the galley. Students began to move toward the rear of the train, away from the fighting.

“They’re looking for you, Harry,” said Gabriella, holding her wand at the window. She cast a spell at the glass, protecting it from attack, just as other windows began to shatter about the train.

“Well they’re about to find me!” shot Harry as he started for the door. Gabriella grabbed his arm.

“You can’t be serious. Who knows how many are out there. Your best using the train as a—” The train lurched forward causing collective screams all up and down the corridor. Then it began to move -- chug… choo-choo… chug… choo-choo… She was quickly gathering speed. There was another flurry of bright white flashes of light cast against the darkness, and the afternoon light suddenly reappeared and the warmth returned. Everyone cheered as the veil of darkness became nothing more than a dark cloud on the horizon behind the train.

A look of relief spread across Gabriella’s face, but darkness still remained in Harry’s eyes as he reached and grabbed the wrist of the hand that was holding his arm. Slowly, but firmly he pulled her hand away, and looked at her with a very grim expression. She sensed his emotions before he said the words and she didn’t like what she was feeling. Finally, he spoke in a stern and heated voice.

“Don’t EVER do that again.”

“But—”

There was a scream that Harry knew at once to be Ginny’s. In a flash he was out the door and down the corridor, only a step ahead of Neville Longbottom, and two steps behind Ron. Ginny was on her knees in the carriage, broken glass everywhere and tears streaming down her eyes. She grabbed her brother by his sleeve.

“Do something, Ron!” she cried out. “They’ve taken him. They’ve taken Dean!”

“But… but he’s right here, Gin” answered Ron, looking at Dean who was still seated on his chair, but looking out the window at the rural setting running past. It was Gabriella who noticed first.

“Oh, no,” she whispered, stepping past Harry and turning Dean to face them all. There was a collective gasp. Still breathing, his eyes were blank, his face sunken, and his skin almost pale. He gave them no reaction at all. Ginny stood up and wrapped him in her arms, rocking him back and forth. On her finger was the ring Dean had given her the year before. The firestone with which it was set had lost its brilliant glow, its fire, its love extinguished.

“They’ve taken him,” she cried again. “They’ve taken his soul.”



________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 7 - The Lost Soul

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Harry clenched his fists and spat, “Fucking war.” Other than that, only the rumbling of the train and the wind whistling through the shattered window accompanied Ginny’s sobs. He stepped next to Gabriella and watched helplessly as Ginny, a soul mate if ever he had one, rocked back and forth with Dean in her arms. Dean, breathing but lifeless, made no response. He might as well be a corpse – he’d be better off. Harry felt the rage building within, but something was tempering it, something was focusing it. He gazed into nothingness as smoke streamed by the broken window and a tear tracked down his cheek.

“Ginny,” Gabriella whispered, then louder, “Ginny.” The redhead, her face wet, looked up at Gabriella. “May I see him?” Ginny sniffed, wiped her face and nodded silently. Someone, a girl, screamed at the door and then ran down the corridor yelling for help.

“I’ll get a Healer,” said Neville despondently to Harry. His voice was much older and much sadder than Harry had ever heard before. They both knew it was pointless.

“It won’t do any good,” thought Harry to himself, reaching for his wand and then nervously fiddling it with his fingers. Then, out loud, he whispered, “He’s gone.” The rage roiled in his mind as he watched the green hills roll by – a picture perfect day. Finally, his mind found its clarity. “This was past forgiveness,” he thought to himself and his hand clenched tightly about his wand as he pulled it to the ready. “I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them all!” He would Apparate back down the tracks and destroy every Dementor that moved. He began the wrist movement when Gabriella grabbed his arm. His eyes shot fire into hers. “I told you—” he began.

“You’re not thinking,” interrupted Gabriella, staring at him intently with dark black eyes that demanded he not be so brash.

“I don’t care how many of them there are!” cried Harry.

“I’m with you, Harry!” yelled Ron. “We’ll kill ‘em all!”

“YEAH!” cried others. “LET’S GO!”

Wands began to appear from everyone.

“Harry!” shot Gabriella. “THINK!” She pulled him close. “You know a better way!”

Harry’s mind began to race; there was no time for this. The stone? Was she talking about the stone? Certainly she didn’t mean that he could heal Dean’s soul using the stone. “I don’t have time—”

“Your voices, Harry,” she said softly but with a sharp tone.

Voices? Voices! She couldn’t be serious. She had wanted to work with him on the voices, the gifts of those who had touched him at the Joining, but he chose instead to spend his time with Sirius. All those present at the Joining on Singehorn’s mountain were, in various ways, a part of him now. They had shared of themselves freely, but there were so many he couldn’t sort them out and time was dripping through his fingers.

“I can’t.”

“You must.”

For a moment, as more voices clambered about the corridor for a counterattack on the Dementors, he tried to reach down deep inside, calling to those who had shared of themselves, scanning through countless memories, snippets of pictures that spanned centuries.

“This is impossible,” he said with a sigh.

“Come on, Harry! Let’s kill them!” someone called from behind. It was Anthony Goldstein. Very well said, thought Harry, but Anthony’s Patronus would be lucky to push away a single Dementor let alone dozens. Unfortunately, before Harry could say another word, Anthony gave Harry the most peculiar look and shouted, “For our family, mate!” There was a pop and Goldstein was gone. It was followed by another pop and another snap. Senior students were Disapparating from everywhere.

“Wait! STOP” Harry yelled. “You’re… you’re not ready!”

“Mama’s seen them, Harry,” said Gabriella above the snaps and pops. “She may know. Think of her… be her!”

Harry closed his eyes once again and focused on Soseh. His mind dwelt on the warmth of her hospitality and the aroma of her kitchen, but Gabriella turned his mind.

“Coldness. Emptiness,” she whispered. “The smell of decay, of death.”

Images filled Harry’s mind. Images of what was, what is, what might be. He saw Dakhil, a much younger looking Dakhil, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth; he saw himself hanging from the window on Privet Drive, an odd glow surrounding his half-naked body; he saw Grigor looking cruel and defiant; he saw the cold dead body of Antreas, stab wounds covering every inch of his bare chest; death, and then he saw them.

It was night and the only sound, beyond a lone scream in the darkness, was the raspy breath of the oncoming Dementor. Just a few feet away, a young girl was cowering beneath the cloaked figure. Just to her left was a man, somewhere in his late twenties, a dragon emblazoned on his right forearm. Ignoring the man, the Dementor pulled back his hood revealing its skull-like masque of horror, a large hole where perhaps a mouth should be. The vision seemed so real Harry tried to reach for his wand, but found his arms shackled to a stone wall.

The girl screamed as the Dementor drew in its breath in a great wheeze. Another scream… another wheeze. On the third wheeze, the girl made no sound; her dull eyes opened, staring blankly up at her attacker. It was then, as if empowered with a second vision, Harry saw it: the glow. He watched the faint golden white light being pulled into the hole in the Dementor’s orifice. He expected it to disappear into the darkness, but it didn’t. The Dementor pulled his hood up over his skull, but Harry could still perceive the glow trying to fight its way out. It was as if the Dementor was shining, backlit by a spotlight from above. “I see,” Harry whispered and the darkness rushed away to be replaced by the lights and rumblings of the racing Hogwarts Express.

“I see!” cried Harry. “I…” He paused. “Soseh can see,” he said slowly shaking his head. “Soseh has the gift, I don’t, at least not yet. I haven’t tried. There’s no way I can—” Gabriella’s eyes were fixed on his. He knew she bore her mother’s gift of sight, and her eyes were telling him that she too must go. “No,” he said flatly. “You’re staying here.”

“It’s the only way, Harry,” she said, still holding his arm. “If we find the one in time, then… then you use the stone to draw back Dean’s life force.” Everyone looked at the two as if they’d both gone mad. There were footsteps racing their way down the corridor. Harry glanced back, knowing that once the Aurors found out about the attack and the flight of the students they’d be blasting Dementors right and left. With one wrong spell, Dean’s soul would be lost forever.

“We must go now,” she insisted. Harry held the hand clutching his arm and nodded his assent.

On two, they both Apparated back into the darkness. It was as if they had just landed themselves in the middle of an ominous thunderstorm that had extinguished the sun. All was blackness save for the flashes of lighting – wandlight from the attacking students. Harry felt the heat rushing out of his bones and heard the screams in his ears.

“Can - you - see - the - one?” Harry yelled over the din. His voice held hope, but his heart had none. There were at least a hundred Dementors swarming about, skimming across the hillside, trying to decide if the recently arrived wizards were to be feared or consumed. Harry saw a Patronus, the shape of an enormous owl, plunge into a group of about a half dozen Dementors and sent them flying. About thirty yards away, near a stand of trees, Goldstein’s wand was doing little more than lighting up the small clearing of grass in front of him. A Dementor was closing in on him when three students from Ravenclaw converged, simultaneously casting an Incendio spell and incinerating the creature. Harry’s heart skipped. Could that have been—

“This way!” hailed Gabriella, pulling on Harry’s arm as she held her eyes shut. She was pulling them closer into the pack. Harry conjured a stag that split the sea of Dementors , if only for a moment, the rift closing behind the bright beast as it passed through. But in that moment, Gabriella squeezed Harry’s arm.

“Yes!” she said with more certainty. Her eyes still closed she cried, “Follow me!”

They were plunging right into the heart of the swarm of blackness. Gabriella was moving more swiftly. She let go of Harry’s arm and began to jog ahead. Harry followed sending another Patronus ahead of her and splitting them away. Rather than focus on Harry and Gabriella, the Dementors seemed to prefer the easier prey near the trees and began to move away. He could hear the screams behind him as Gabriella pulled her wand and uttered something in Armenian. A white glow enveloped her as if she held a star at the tip of her wand. She pressed on ever forward, her pace gathering speed, but her wand dimming as each new Dementor tried to penetrate its glowing surface.

“Hurry, Harry!” she called back. The terrain was rockier here and they were moving along the side of a hill and the further they moved along the more steep the incline grew, making it more difficult to traverse. Harry heard a collection of snaps behind him; the Aurors had arrived. He looked back at the great cloud of Dementors unwittingly racing toward the new collection of emotions. Just as he turned back to look at Gabriella his foot slipped on a stone and his ankle twisted under his weight. He fell to the ground and tumbled a good twenty feet down the side of the hill, scraping the side of his leg badly before he came to rest.

He looked up and saw the flickering glow of Gabriella’s wand disappear over the edge of the hill. Three Dementors swarmed over him – it was the last thing they ever did. Black blood sprayed all over the ground as Harry blasted his way through, grimacing from the pain in his ankle as he took each long stride. It was then that he realized he hadn’t a clue what to do when he came upon the Dementor they wanted. Gabriella had said to use the stone, but how? And how would he keep the Dementor from simply fleeing? His ankle throbbing, Harry past another large tree and came up over the side of the hill. The ground opened up beneath him, running down maybe twenty yards and then spreading out into a vast plain that stretched on until it disappeared into the dank mist of darkness. Sunlight was trying to penetrate the misty swarm of blackness casting an eerie red glow over the green landscape before him. It was then when his heart sank.

Just at the end of his vision, Harry could see the flickering glow of Gabriella’s wand. Only now it was more flicker than light. About her were two Dementors, the only two to be seen and they were circling her like vultures. Each would swoop around and then plunge at Gabriella only to bounce from her failing shield charm. It wouldn’t be long before—

The shield failed, and Harry heard her scream. He was too far away to do anything but run, and that’s just what he did. He ran with all his might, pain stabbing at his leg with each strike at the ground as if a snapping snake were ever at his heels. He was perhaps fifty yards away when an enormous red light burst from Gabriella’s wand, filled the air about her, and one of the Dementors burst into flame. Harry could hear its gurgling cries as it tried to fly away, but plunged into the grass starting a small fire, black smoke billowing upward. Harry was now twenty yards away as he watched the second Dementor crouch over Gabriella and he heard her screams.

There was a pop just off to his right. An Auror appeared, wand drawn.

“No!” Harry cried. The Auror looked only briefly at Harry then set to cast a spell at the Dementor hovering over Gabriella.

“Petrificus Totalus!” called Harry. The Auror went erect and fell to the ground. Ten yards. Gabriella screamed again and this time Harry could hear the raspy wheeze of the Dementor as it tried to pull away her soul. With a great leap Harry jumped forward, wrapped his arm around Gabriella and the two of them rolled away from beneath the clutches of the Dementor. When they came to rest, Gabriella was on top of him; the golden necklace he had given her with the Gryffindor signet – a lion baring two ruby red eyes – that came from Professor McGonagall hung round her neck and swung back and forth in front of Harry’s face. He had remembered McGonagall’s words: “For times of darkness.” And then he heard the voice of Dumbledore, as if he were whispering in Harry’s ear, only the whisper was coming from Harry’s lips.

“Really, Nicolas? An enchanted golden chain will trap them? I never heard of such a thing.”

The Dementor’s growing wheeze signalled its approach when Harry grabbed the tiny golden chain off Gabriella’s neck. He rolled her to the side, feeling the cold approaching from behind. With one last great effort he heaved himself upward, tossed the chain in the air and cast a spell he had never uttered before, but one that Dumbledore knew. The tiny golden chain grew snakelike in shape and dimension, but its head was the head of a lion with flaming red eyes. With the flick of his wand Harry levitated the glowing, golden, lion-headed snake toward the coming cold, and it began to coil itself around the Dementor several times. Round and round in less time than it takes to untie a shoelace the Dementor was cinched tight from head to toe. Struggling to escape, the black beast could not move and ultimately fell to the grass.

“Harry?” Gabriella’s voice whispered weakly from behind. “Harry?”

He knelt down by her side at once. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“The stone. Use the stone before the others come.”

The vivificus stone had not been used since it was charged at the Joining. Singehorn had told Harry that fire was good but love was something far more endurable. And the stone, snuggled close to Harry’s liver, was already covered in Harry’s blood. All that remained was the incantation: “Bravery, Wisdom, Love.”

In an instant, Harry found himself in what he had, in his own mind, decided was an antechamber of sorts. All was white waiting for his request. For a moment his mind hovered on Gabriella, but he knew he was forbidden on using it to the advantage of another in the Votary. Instead, he called to the open nothingness, “Show me Dean’s soul!”

He expected to see a swirl of colour, but instead he saw a swirl of black. His heart skipped for fear that he had done something wrong, but his own spirit held tight to the need to save his friend if at all possible. The darkness spread before him and in this emptiness a stench filled Harry’s nostrils. It was then when he realized where he was, what he was entering – the life force of the Dementor.

Blackness and rot filled his vision. Strands of oily fibre hung from above and when Harry looked to see their origin, all that was visible was utter darkness. He was reminded of the crevasse into which he and Sirius had fallen and a very real part of him wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible. He was cold and growing colder as he forced is mind’s eye to press onward into the depth of the Dementor’s essence, an insatiable need to feed.

At first, the sounds were distant echoes coming from down a long tunnel, voices perhaps, or animals screaming. Harry moved toward the sound and found the darkness pressing in all around him. Though in here he really had no corporeal form, something wet and sticky splattered against his face; the desire to wretch was strong. Then he heard the sounds again.

Yes, they were screams, but human screams, calling just ahead. Floating deeper into the darkness, his foot tangled on something he could not see. He pulled and freed himself and then realized his teeth were chattering. “This is not possible,” he thought to himself and now an even greater part of him wanted to return. “I can’t do this.” He glanced back to see a tiny patch of white no bigger than a postage stamp miles away. He could be there and back to safety in the flash of a thought.

Then he heard a voice, clear and strong above the others, telling them to quiet down, to listen. It was familiar, but it wasn’t Dean’s. There was something nurturing about this voice, something that made one feel safe. Harry pressed forward. It felt like hours, although it was probably little more than the time it takes a star to twinkle, when he saw the faint golden glow ahead. He ached and felt that at any moment he would collapse and be trapped in this darkness forever. The voice called out again and his pulse quickened as he hurried forward. Against his body he felt the sensation of ice-cold hands pulling at his sprit, trying to stop him, but still he moved ahead. The cold was unbearable, the sense of fear was overwhelming, and that’s when he saw him, towering tall above the others huddled in the black muck: Mr. Silverton. It was the same wizard from Hogsmeade that had tried to save Draco’s life the year before, but had failed in the attempt. Harry had always seen him as a rather meek yet friendly man when he visited Hogsmeade, but here he stood taller than life, translucent in a golden splendour.

“Hurry, save the children!” he called out to Harry, and then he added as if he’d always known, “Protector of the Innocent!”

Harry looked down to see those huddled at Silverton’s feet. They were there, nearly a dozen souls, children mostly. Each was translucent, each glowed bright, though some more than others. The brightest of these was the young black wizard, who seemed utterly lost. Dean looked straight at Harry, but did not recognize him.

“Help,” he pleaded in a weak, raspy voice. “Where am I?”

“No one stays behind,” Harry said to Silverton. “I’m taking you all.” And without another word he reached out his hands and with his mind summoned the souls toward him. Silverton stood firm as if guarding the procession, guiding them toward Harry’s summons. First, and most willing, came Dean, then a young girl with black hair… a boy with bright blue eyes… and on… and on…. Each soul came to… came into Harry as if he were an enormous vacuum pulling them in. When the last left the mire at Silverton’s feet the older wizard smiled.

“You have done well,” he said warmly. “Release us now, and I will lead them home.”

The cold was pressing in on Harry once again, fighting one last desperate attack to keep its precious treasure as Silverton floated toward Harry.

“H-Home?” Harry asked through chattering teeth. “H-Heaven? D-Dean needs t-to—”

“Release us, Harry,” breathed Silverton as he became one with Harry.

“Home.”

The blackness began to rush away with a great tearing sound. Harry felt as if his legs were being pulled backward by a tether that held him tight to the world behind. Flashes of varying shades of gray screamed past, and then with a tremendous wooosh Harry found himself back in his body on the grassy field looking upward at the milky-blue sky.

“Harry!” Gabriella cried as his eyes blinked against the sudden brightness.

He felt dizzy, then strong, more powerful than he had ever felt. But then he realized why; he still held their life force. He could use this energy, this power in the war to come. They could be victorious! Then, a slow sigh slipped past his lips, and before he lifted his head off the grass he closed his eyes and whispered, “Hhhhome.” It was a long, slow, breathless word that sent chills down Gabriella’s spine. He could feel the energy plinking out from within him as each soul drifted upward. Perhaps it was a hallucination, for Gabriella said later she saw no such vision, but before Harry the translucent bodies of all the children hovered for a moment just above him. They looked down, smiling when at last Mr. Silverton emerged. He took the small girl’s hand and in the next moment they all rose above the treetops and disappeared from sight, Dean travelling with them ever upward.

Harry was certain he heard Dean’s voice utter, “Goodbye.”

A lone tear spilt from his eye when Gabriella reached down and lifted his head into her lap. Harry raised his hand and summoned the golden chain that surrounded the Dementor. “This is yours I think,” he said softly.

“But—”

“It’s dead,” Harry answered before she could ask. And indeed the Dementor lay lifeless on the ground, deflated somewhat, as if it had been decaying there for months.

The air blasted with the report of two loud pops as a pair of Aurors appeared clad in red Ministerial robes. One noticed the Auror some yards away on the ground still stiffened by Harry’s spell. The other reached down to help Harry and Gabriella to their feet.

“You can’t stay here,” the Auror said, then he noticed who he was speaking with and turned to his companion. “It’s Potter!” He held Harry more firmly as if his life might depend on it. “You’ve got to return to the train. Miss, will you help—”

“Hey! He fired on—” the Auror that had been petrified began, but in that instant both Harry and Gabriella had Apparated back to the train.

They appeared in the corridor of the train, near the rear, and Harry stumbled to the floor when he landed. He hated Apparation, and this was his first attempt at hitting a moving target. If Gabriella hadn’t been holding his hand… He didn’t want to think about it.

He was a bit dizzy and disoriented, but he grabbed a carriage door handle and pulled himself up to his feet, taking a shaky step forward. “Dean,” he muttered. “I’ve got to see if…” He began to crumple to the floor when Gabriella grabbed his arm. He looked at her clenched hand and then at her eyes and smiled. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Did I ever tell you that I thought you were brilliant?” Her face did not smile back. Her nerves were too wracked with concern as her eyes darted up the corridor.

“Yes, yes,” said Harry. “Let’s go.”

Two cars down there was a throng of students that only parted when they realized who it was. When Harry made it to Dean’s car he stepped in to look straight in on Ron’s back. His clothes were a mess of mud and pine needles, and the side of his shirt was torn, blotches of blood seeping through, red mixing with splattered black. His red hair draped down over an arm that was hugging him tight. It was Ginny’s and she was crying. Harry’s heart plummeted and he dropped his head; they had failed. Dean had died.

It was then that he heard Gabriella give a sharp gasp as she gripped his forearm. He looked up to see her pointing at Ginny’s hand. On her ring finger was the golden band Dean had given her, only now the firestone was glowing as bright as ever, shining through the strands of Ron’s red hair.

“He’s fine Gin; Madame Pomfrey will have him patched up in no time.”

It was Dean’s voice, talking about Ron. It was shaky but clear and Harry watched as two arms of deep chocolate wrapped around the redheaded brother and sister in a large hug.

“Dean?” choked Harry, his heart skipping out of his chest and the tips of his fingers and pads of his feet starting to tingle.

“Harry?” asked Dean from behind the Weasley’s. Ron spun round and, as he did so, Ginny saw Harry. She immediately let out a squeal of joy. A second later her arms were around Harry, tears streaming down here cheeks and cheers rising up all around the train. Soon, they were all hugging. Word spread that the counterattack had been a success, at least with the help of the Aurors that had been guarding the train. If it hadn’t been for—

“Where’s Anthony?” shot Harry, realizing that the last he saw was what could only be called a herd of Dementors stampeding away from Harry and toward the Ravenclaw.

“Right here, Potter; no thanks to you.”

Harry turned to see a very bruised and a very battered Anthony Goldstein. There was dried grass in his hair and a bit of blood at the corner of his mouth, and he still clutched his wand as if ready to cast another spell at whomever or whatever might cross him.

“Merlin’s beard,” said Harry, stunned. “You’re alive.”

“Cho said you weren’t that smart,” sneered Anthony with somewhat of a chip on his shoulder, “but I don’t think she realized just how daft you really are.” He was itching for a fight, but Harry simply smiled.

“You were brilliant out there today, Goldstein,” said Harry loud enough so everyone could hear. “If it hadn’t been for you—”

“That’s the one!”

Everyone turned to see two Aurors in their embattled Ministerial robes making their way through the throng of students. One, the one pointing his finger at Harry, was promptly recognized. It was the Auror Harry had dropped in the field. He was holding the other Auror by the sleeve and pulling her almost against her will.

“That’s the one, right there – with the glasses. I’d recognize the face anywhere. Greasy little git.” The pair parted the crowd and were now right in front of Harry. “Thought you could get away with it, did yeh? Little prat. You could have had us all killed.” Then he turned to the other Auror, a very tall woman with deep blue eyes and an expression somewhere between exasperation and exhaustion. She was about to say something when Anthony Goldstein stepped in front of Harry.

“Do you have any clue who you’re talking to?” he asked with a smug air of superiority that almost sounded Ministerial. Certainly, Anthony was destined for great things in government. It was then that the woman recognized Harry, but the other Auror was having none of it.

“Get out of my way, you!” he shoved Anthony to the side, and almost at once there was a rush of students like a wave breaking against the shore filling the gap and forcing the two Aurors backwards.

“What’s this?” the Auror yelled, and he pulled his wand. In response, over two dozen wands suddenly appeared pointed directly at him, inches from his face. The woman reached up to pull her companion’s hand down just when there was another voice from the far end of the carriage.

“Strickman! PUT THAT DOWN!” If Anthony’s voice was Ministerial, the new voice was all that and more. Strickman’s eyes widened in shock. He’d heard this voice before, last year when he graduated from the Auror Academy . Everyone turned and saw the shock of red hair and knew at once who it was.

“Dad!” cried Ron, whose height gave him the better view over all his peers. Wands quickly found their way back to their proper positions as all the students tried to act as normally as possible, considering they had just been through a Dementor attack.

“Ronny. Ginny.” He was trying not to show that he was there to learn the status of his own children, but the tremble in his voice and the look of relief on his face were obvious for all to hear and see. “I came as soon as I heard.” Then his eyes met Harry’s as he moved past the two Aurors and a look of wonderment filled them. “Harry?” he breathed in disbelief. “I had heard you were taken. That your soul—”

“That was Dean, sir,” answered Harry.

“Dean? Beasts of Bulgaria , not—” His eyes saw Dean standing next to Ginny. “I… I don’t understand.”

“Harry brought him back, Dad,” Ginny answered her father’s questioning eyes. “He brought his soul back.” Arthur Weasley looked at his daughter and saw that she was sincere. Then he looked back at Harry.

“That… that’s not possible,” he whispered. “Not even Dumbledore—”

“That’s right, Minister,” spat Strickman. “It’s not possible! This little prat—”

“SHUT UP!” yelled Minister Weasley. “If you say another word, I’ll have him do the same to you as he did to Voldemort!” The word stung many ears and there was a collective groan, but not as universally as there might have been the year before. Only then did Strickman finally realize who he had been calling a prat.

“P-P-Potter?” He began to apologize, not to Minister Weasley, but to Harry; he never had a chance.

“You’re dismissed,” shot the Minister, “both of you.” It was the female Auror who was now doing the grabbing and dragging as she pulled Strickman by the back of his cloak and tossed him into the forward carriage.

“Here’s your hero, sir,” said Harry, pulling the grimy Goldstein forward. “He led the counterattack. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d have never reached the Dementor that had Dean’s soul.”

Arthur was still struggling, trying to comprehend what it was that Harry was saying. Nonetheless, he patted Anthony about the shoulders and said, “Well done, young man. Goldstein is it? Yes, I know your mother. Runs a coven in Colchester .” He gave Anthony, who was now beaming, another pat. “Well done.” Arthur then turned and hugged his two children and then he said in a loud voice, “I’m glad everyone’s safe and I assure you the rest of your trip will be uninterrupted, if not completely boring.”

With the bickering and fighting over, most the students returned to their carriages, muttering about the battle as they went, and the crowd in the corridor thinned. Arthur Weasley put his arm around Harry just as Hermione entered the train car.

“Harry, you’re safe!” she cried. “They’re saying you captured a—”

“Hermione,” interrupted Mr. Weasley, “might I have a word with Harry… alone?”

“Oh, certainly, sir,” she answered. And as Harry and the Minister started down the corridor he could see Hermione grab Gabriella’s hand and heard her ask what had happened as they disappeared into the carriage with Dean, Ginny and Ron.

“Harry,” began Mr. Weasley, “I need to speak with you about something very important. I was hoping to take you back to the Ministry with me right now, but under the circumstances it’s perhaps best that you stay put. Once you’re settled at the school, I’ll call for you.”

“What is it, sir?”

“Not here, not now, Harry. The walls…” Mr. Weasley smiled, but it was not a happy smile. “…the walls have ears.”

“I don’t hold much faith that the walls at the Ministry are any better, sir.”

“No. No, I know you don’t,” answered the Minister as he stopped to look at Harry. “But this is something too important to discuss anywhere else, even at Hogwarts. I’ll send for you in a week or so, okay?” Harry nodded. “And don’t worry, Harry. Where we’re going no one knows about. Not even I knew about it until just last week. But if what you say is true about Malfoy and the Dementors, and certainly this attack points to that, we must act soon and we must act decisively. It’s time to take the offensive.”

“You know I’ll do whatever it takes,” answered Harry.

“I know you will, son,” answered Arthur. “I know you will. That’s what frightens me.”

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 8 - Engaged

~~~***~~~

The Snitch flitted upward time and time again only to be snatched into his hand after every escape. He was actually getting quite good at it really. Nearly twenty minutes without a—

“Damn!”

The Snitch slipped through Dean’s fingers and began to zip about the boys’ dormitory, bouncing off the wall above Harry’s head. With a flash, few but Ginny Weasley could appreciate, Harry had his hand around the winged orb.

“That was great, Dean!” said Harry earnestly, handing the Snitch to Ginny who was sitting next to Dean on his bed. While Dean was practicing, Harry had been reading a story headlined Miracle at St. Mungo’s which described how nearly a dozen patients, all victims of Dementor attacks, had suddenly and inexplicably awakened – their souls intact. He turned the page with a smile as Dean continued to practice.

Madame Pomfrey had prescribed the exercise of Snitch snatching as a sort of therapy to help Dean regain control of his neuro-synapses. Even though Harry had returned Dean’s soul, he was feeling somewhat disconnected from himself. It was hard to explain just exactly how he was disconnected. Sometimes he would reach for something, like a shaker of salt, and it would fumble through his fingers for no reason. Sometimes his love for Ginny was strong, while at other times it seemed as if he had no feelings for her at all. In Magical Arts, Dean would paint portraits of birds, animals, or even people but the images wouldn’t move; they remained lifeless on the canvass. It was all very strange, and no one, not even Madam Pomfrey, knew exactly what to do.

“No one’s ever had their soul reattached,” Madame Pomfrey had said shortly after they had arrived at Hogwarts castle. Her solution was to try to re-stitch Dean’s soul by having him exercise both his body and spirit.

Ginny held steadfast at Dean’s side; a lesser woman would have left at once. Watching the two of them these last few days, Harry wondered if his love for Gabriella would be able to withstand such a test of faith. Somewhere, deep down inside, he felt it would, perhaps it already had, and he smiled as Ginny stroked Dean’s back, encouraging him to try again.

“Nah, Gin,” answered Dean, truly exhausted. “I’m… a bit tired.”

“You’re right, babe,” Ginny replied. “Rest a bit and we can go to dinner later.”

“Thanks,” said Dean with a weak smile. They kissed and Ginny turned toward the staircase down to the Common room.

They had been at Hogwarts for three days and even though the familiar rhythm of classes and course work pulsed on at Hogwarts, something was distinctly different. Maybe it was the attack on the train, the anticipation of what was to come, or simply that they were in their final year. Whatever it was, there existed, most certainly, a palpable sense of anticipation as if it any moment something spectacularly wonderful, or devastatingly dreadful was about to happen.

As Ginny stepped from their room, Harry turned to Dean and said warmly, “She’s wonderful, isn’t she?”

“She’s my world, Harry.” He lay down on his pillow, folding his arms behind his head. “I wish I knew why… sometimes…” Dean let out a large sigh and turned over on his side, his back toward Harry. Over the last year, Dean had grown confident in his relationship with Ginny and Harry no longer shook the foundation on which their relationship was anchored. Dean continued, “I think… maybe this year at Christmas—”

There was a sudden scream from down in the Gryffindor Common room. It was Hermione’s scream; Harry was sure. Not an instant later, Ginny cried out, followed by a cacophony of screeches that rivalled the arriving owls during the morning post.In an instant, both Harry and Dean had their wands at the ready, and started cautiously for the landing. Just as Harry was about to look down on the Common room below, Patrick appeared from the Second years’ dormitory; his wand also drawn and his face concerned. There was a third year passing Patrick and running the other direction, trying to escape whatever danger was causing the commotion. Harry didn’t recognize the boy from behind, but the thought of a coward in his house bristled the back of his neck. “A Gryffindor?” Harry cried out.

The moment’s distraction was enough to cause Dean to bump him slightly from behind. Harry tried to adjust his footing by stepping forward, only there was nothing on the circular staircase to step out on. Instead, he completely lost his balance and began tumbling, down and around, head over heals until he landed prostrate onto the floor. Dazed, he looked up to see Ron on the ground also. Well, almost… he was down to one knee, a look of pure terror in his eyes. Harry grabbed his best friend by the shirtsleeve and pulled himself up aligning back to back with Ron.

“Where are they?” he cried to Ron over his shoulder, wand at the ready. Quickly, he spun around and saw Hermione looking down at him. “What’s going on?” Harry asked excitedly. “Why did you scream?” Then, looking to the side, Harry noticed the large number of Gryffindors looking down at him, all with rather cross expressions on their faces. It was Parvati who stepped over and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, pulling him away from Ron.

“You idiot!” she hissed under her breath.

Her cheeks a brighter colour of red than Ron’s hair, Hermione had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. It was