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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m… fine,” he muttered weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope, it’s never coming off.”

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

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

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

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

“Dinner!” Soseh called.

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

“I thought you said—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Armenia?”

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

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

“Supervised?” Soseh asked pointedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m a healer, not a housekeeper!”

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

“I… I really shouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

“Harry’s?” Gabriella asked.

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

“Small part? Estate?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Except Percy,” George corrected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Ron asked. “What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I didn’t. He… he just—”

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

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

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

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

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

“They say it almost killed you.”

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

“Draco?”

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

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

“Feel?” Harry asked blankly.

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

“Hope for what, Tonks?”

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

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 52 - Rescue
~~~***~~~


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

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

“She’s got you there, Ron.”

“Yeah, at least with the idiot part.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry,

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

Hermione

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!” he cried.

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

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

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

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

“You… you linked again?”

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

“NO!” she yelled sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fools,” Gabriella corrected, nervously.

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

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

“No. It’s too…” he hesitated.

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

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

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

“Where is everyone?” Harry cried in disappointment.

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

“Neville, and Luna.”

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

“They’re at the—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it, Harry!” It was Gabriella.

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

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

“Yes, but—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s sick?” Ron asked.

“Voldemort!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hermione was still steeped in thought. “I’