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Chapter 41 - A Reason to Be
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Harry set his quill down on the desk next to the parchment. His hand was cramped, his back ached, and he was so tired he considered laying his head down and going to sleep. Still, it was as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders. The sky was blue and the sun bright as it streamed into the classroom. An odd contradiction to the subject matter he’d just finished describing--astronomy. He had completed his last end of term exam and was sure that he’d passed. A smile creased his lips as Professor Sinistra summoned the papers to her desk. As everyone started to leave she raised her hand and asked for silence. Harry glanced over at Dean who deliberately ignored him as he put his things into his pack. The smile left Harry’s face.

“I know this has been a tremendously difficult term for you all this year,” Professor Sinistra began. Her voice was steady, but sad. “Particularly for you sixth years. You have lost two dear friends to the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Know this, however, as you begin your winter vacation. They are, at this very moment, reaching out for you. Keep them in your hearts and think of them at every turn. As are the heavens, so too are we all bound together, no matter the distance. Your thoughts may provide them the sustenance they need to survive.” She straightened the papers on her desk for a second time, sighed, and mustered a smile. “Dismissed… and Merry Christmas.”

Harry gathered his things and made his way back to Gryffindor tower. A day, an hour, hadn’t gone by that he didn’t think of Neville and Luna. They were suffering under Voldemort’s hand because of Harry, and the Dark Lord’s words, “We’re all waiting for you… coward,” echoed in Harry’s mind day and night. But the Order was handling it, Tonks was still chasing them down and there was little to nothing Harry could do. Still, despite Remus’ warnings, Harry continued to work with Ron and Hermione to try and determine how students were being captured and where they were being hidden. Hermione was convinced that a professor had something to do with the disappearances, and Ron was certain that, somehow, Draco Malfoy was to blame.

Above the din of thoughts of Dark Lords and Dementors, a tiny ray of light shone through. Tomorrow he would travel the Hogwarts Express, newly repaired, back to London, and from there catch the bus home. Thoughts of Gabriella swirled in his mind as he passed through the portrait of the Fat Lady. When he climbed the staircase to his dorm room, he found Ron and Goyle packing for the holiday. Goyle, however, was packing everything. In January he would return to Slytherin; there was a true sadness in his demeanor that Harry had not seen before.

“You know, Greg,” Ron said, chewing gum and packing his bags for tomorrow’s departure, “you’ve got top marks in Dark Arts. I’ll bet Flitwick would let you have another go of it for the Charms N.E.W.T.” Goyle shook his head.

“Nah,” he replied dismissively, “I already told you, Ron. My ticket outta hear is Quidditch, not this.” He tapped his head with his wand.

“Er, Ron,” Harry interrupted. “I think they’re about ready downstairs.” Ron looked at Harry and nodded. Goyle looked confused.

“Ready for what?” he asked looking at Ron. The redhead sat down next to Goyle and slapped his ham-like leg.

“When you go back to your old chums, you’ll have quite a few choices to make,” Ron answered. “Do you want to be a Slytherin leader in Dumbledore’s Army, or Malfoy’s lap hound again? You’ve learned a lot of Gryffindor secrets and some of us around here don’t think you should take them with you. It’ll take true courage to hold tight to what you’ve learned here. Some don’t think you have what it takes, but there’s a couple that do. Come on, let’s go.” Behind Goyle’s back Ron winked at Harry, who smiled back. The three made their way down to the common room and found it packed with every Gryffindor student at Hogwarts. The faces staring at Goyle were dark and sour. The scene was reminiscent of his first night as a Gryffindor, and a look of apprehension began to spread across his face as he looked at those he had come to call friends.

Lloyd Wade and Barbara McNulty, the Gryffindor Head Boy and Head Girl, stepped forward. Barbara carried a small mahogany box in front of her and the gathering of Gryffindors parted as they approached Goyle who was now standing at the fireplace.

“When you came to Gryffindor,” Lloyd began, his voice deep and stoic, “we asked you remove the Slytherin signet ring from your finger. Now that you return from whence you came, it is yours to wear again.” Ron dropped the ring in Lloyd’s hand and he in turn handed it to Goyle. Goyle looked at the silver snake and emerald eyes glaring back at him and hesitated. “There’s no denying that the Sorting Hat placed you in Slytherin. Place it on your finger.” Slowly, Goyle slipped the ring on. Barbara stepped forward, the mahogany box still in her hands.

“You have shown us a side of Slytherin,” she began, “we would never have thought possible: the use of cunning, the application of strength and power, and a love for magic. In Gryffindor we prize, of course, bravery, but perhaps most of all loyalty.” As she opened the box, the lid blocked Goyle’s view of what was inside. “We would never presume that you wear the signet ring of Gryffindor, though many here called for it.” Smiles began to seep into the faces across the room. “Instead, we offer you this.” She pulled from the box a golden chain and as she lifted further she revealed a ruby encrusted pendent, the signet of Gryffindor. “We ask that you wear this where it matters most, close to your heart. For that is where you will remain for all of us here. If ever you are in need, know that a Gryffindor will answer your call.” The room exploded in cheers and applause. Goyle took the pendent and placed it about his neck. For a moment he couldn’t catch his breath, but as the room quieted he began to speak.

“Three months,” he breathed, and then gathering strength to his voice, “the greatest time of my life. I will wear this where it matters.” And he slipped the pendant inside his shirt, patting it against his heart. “I’ll never forget this time. I know I’m going back to Slytherin, but I hope we can maintain our friendships.” He cast a glance at Parvati who blushed ever so slightly. “Know too, that if ever a Gryffindor calls for help, Gregory Goyle will come to their aid.” He smiled broadly. “Even Harry!” The room broke out in laughter and slowly everyone came to shake Goyle’s hand and then start back on their packing. When the room finally cleared, Ron and Goyle began to make their way back up to the boys’ dormitory.

“What do you say we go for one last spin out on the pitch?” Harry asked. At first, Ron’s eager face looked like it would say yes, but then his face fell, or at least he looked uncomfortable.

“Well, erm…” the redhead began in a lurch. “Hermione and I were going to, er…”

“I’ll go Harry,” Goyle said, smiling.

“Great!” Harry grinned back. “We’ll catch you at dinner Ron!”

Before you could say Snitch, Goyle and Harry were out on the pitch tossing the Quaffle back and forth, making occasional shots at the rings.

“You know I’ll take your head off when Slytherin plays Gryffindor this spring!” Goyle shouted out.

“I’ll be lucky to still have my head this spring!” Harry yelled back, firing a shot through the center ring. Goyle dove down to retrieve it, but Harry tilted on the Caduceus and grabbed it first. “Think you can keep up?” challenged Harry, and in a flash he was heading down to the far end of the pitch, Goyle in hot pursuit. Harry quickly swerved to the right and was headed straight for the stands, Goyle in tow. At the last instant, Harry pulled up, but Goyle’s broom, coupled with his mass, could not negotiate the turn and he rammed straight into the wooden banister on the side of the stands. Harry was quickly at Goyle’s side and as he regrouped and gathered his balance they both noticed a good sized gash on Goyle’s right shoulder.

“You’re hurt!” Harry called out.

“Not as hurt as you’re gonna be when I catch you!” Goyle yelled, a devilish smile across his face. Quickly he shot toward Harry, who responded instantly. Happily zooming through the air, they were leaving the pitch as Harry tried, only half-heartedly, to lose Goyle. Without paying too much attention, they found themselves over the Forbidden Forest, Harry skimming the treetops and occasionally diving into open spaces. Still, Goyle was undaunted and followed Harry as if he were on a string. Suddenly, the forest opened up into a large clearing. The waterfall that Harry had seen with Cho was below, plummeting from between a crevice into a crystal blue pool of water.

“It’s here!” Harry yelled out, stopping. “I knew it!” An instant later Goyle popped him on the back nearly launching him off his broom.

“Gotcha!” he called, spinning to face Harry. His sleeve was red with blood, but his face was all smiles. “Have you ever seen so many trees, Harry? Do they ever end?”

“What do you make of that?” Harry said pointing to the pools below.

“What?” Goyle asked turning to look. Suddenly a creature shot past Harry’s shoulder heading straight for Goyle. It was a large Threstral.

“Look out!” Harry yelled, but too late. The creature careened into Goyle knocking him from his broom. Harry instantly dove to stop Goyle’s fall. He was wrapping himself around Harry’s broom when another Threstral appeared from the forest. Harry summoned Goyle’s broom and handed it back to him.

“Merlin!” Goyle cried out. “What are they?” The fall had made his wound open and blood began to flow more freely.

“It’s your cut,” Harry answered hurriedly. “We need to get out of here. They think you’re dinner!” Quickly the two shot back toward the castle some eight or ten Threstrals following behind. When they crossed onto Hogwarts grounds, however, the pursuit stopped, and the Threstrals climbed and turned back toward the forest. At the steps to the castle, breathing heavily they both dismounted their brooms.

“Let me see that,” Harry said a bit heatedly. He held out his wand and blue light quickly healed the wound on Goyle’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen them attack a human before. I don’t suppose they’d eat you, but you do look sort of like a side of beef.”

“What were those things?” Goyle asked.

“Well, if you hadn’t been such a prig in Hagrid’s class last year, you’d know.” Then Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t you see them on the coaches at the start of term? One ran you down, as I recall.”

“One of those?” Goyle exclaimed. “Never seen one ‘till now.”

“But you only see them if you’ve seen death,” Harry said, almost asking the question with his words. At this, Goyle turned pale and took a deep breath.

“I saw you die, Harry,” he whispered. “We all saw it; only I was the one that killed you.” Harry silently nodded, and without saying another word the two returned to the castle.

The hallways were filled with students laughing, popping off crackers, and generally releasing the tension of the last few weeks. It was almost time for dinner and students were making their way down to the Great Hall. Harry and Goyle began to climb the steps to Gryffindor tower when an oily voice called from behind.

“Well, well, don’t you two make the perfect couple.” Malfoy’s steel eyes were glaring at them both as he leaned against a pillar obviously, at least to Harry, waiting for them to return. “I thought,” Malfoy drawled, “you would be dashing back to Slytherin tonight, Goyle. But instead you’re out playing tag on a broomstick… with a madman no less.” The words raised the hair on the back of Harry’s neck, but it was Goyle that stepped in front of Harry and toward Malfoy.

After his attack of Seamus, ‘Madman’ was the phrase Harry was labeled with as he walked the halls on his way to meals, or class, or anywhere. While the words were more painful than most knew, things might have been much worse if Seamus hadn’t come down to the Great Hall the morning after. In front of the whole school, he started laughing with Harry, patting him on the back. It was deliberate and loud on Seamus’ part, for which Harry was extremely grateful. Still, there were a few, particularly in Slytherin, who hissed Harry’s new moniker whenever they had the chance.

“The only madman I see,” Goyle said, glaring menacingly, “is you, Draco.” Unphased, Draco, simply smiled and began to clap in a slow rhythmic beat.

“Very good, very good,” Malfoy sneered. “Potter, I’m impressed. You’ve trained him well.” Goyle began to lunge toward Malfoy, but Harry grabbed his shirt.

“Hang on, Greg,” Harry said calmly. “Look, let me take care of this. Go on back and clean up. I’ll meet you and the guys later in the Great Hall for dinner.” Goyle stood frozen, fire pouring from his eyes. “Really, Greg, go on.” After a moment, Goyle finally began to walk away, and then looked back over his shoulder.

“If you’re not there in twenty minutes, Harry…”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry answered, pulling his wand. At that, Goyle seemed satisfied and strode off toward Gryffindor tower. Then Harry turned to Malfoy. “Why must you be such an ass? Is it genetic or something?”

“This won’t work, Harry,” Malfoy sneered quietly, if people think we’re…”

Harry held up his hand stopping Malfoy in mid-sentence. He shook his head and looked around, then motioned to Malfoy to follow him toward a classroom. Cracking the door he shoved Malfoy through then slipped in himself and then locked the door.

“Can house elves go through walls?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Malfoy answered, a bit befuddled.

“Damn,” Harry hissed, his eyes darting around the room. Malfoy began to understand and pulled his wand.

“Tego,” he whispered. A white light burst from his wand in an ever-expanding ball. When the light hit the walls, it lingered and for a moment the walls glowed. When the light faded, Malfoy spoke again. “Father would send Dobby to my room to spy on me, and report back. The spell lasts only a few minutes, but it was long enough for Dobby to decide it was more important to start cleaning. You’re being followed for attacking Seamus, aren’t you?” he asked. Harry searched the room once again looking for the slightest movement. On a desk was a text -- Runes of the East. On its cover were three runes, one that looked identical to the crossed lightning bolts on Harry’s forearm.

“Come on, Harry,” Malfoy called out. “We only have a few more minutes.”

“Viswa Vajra,” Harry whispered, touching the picture on the book’s cover.

“What?”

“Draco, you said you were being protected somehow. Do you think it’s the mark on your face?”

“Hardly a mark, Potter,” Malfoy replied rubbing the red scar that ran from the corner of his eye. “But yes, twice, maybe three times I’ve avoided spells or enchanted items I didn’t know were coming. If it’s not this bloody scar, I don’t know what it is. Now get on with it!” Harry turned to look at Malfoy.

“You’re being followed, Draco, not me. I’ve been hexed with a protection charm meant for Muggles, not wizards. They believe I’ve passed the same hex on to you.”

“So what?” Draco asked flatly. “You’re protected and I am too. How can that be bad?”

“Because this Muggle hex, or whatever it is I’ve passed on to you, drives wizards mad. They come to believe that they’re being attacked at the slightest provocation. The protection kicks in and they kill all who threaten them.”

“That’s why you attacked Finnigan?” asked Malfoy, a hint of concern flushing his face.

“Yes… maybe. He’s not the first I’ve wanted to… to hurt. They say I’m going crazy, Draco. They say I’ve become, or am becoming a madman because of the mark. At least they think I am, and they believe… they hope… you’ll be one too.”

“Hope? What are you talking about? Who’s they? Why would—”

“Let’s say you are, Draco, infected that is. Let’s say that in, oh, I don’t know, a day or two you decide to attack someone that taps you on the shoulder. Tell me, what happens if little Mr. Malfoy goes home for Christmas and gets in an argument with daddy? What happens if Auntie Bellatrix tells you to leave the room and you don’t want to? Boom! That’s what happens.”

“That’s madness! Dumbledore would never—”

“Dumbledore’s dying!” Harry shot back. “What was it you said, Malfoy? The Ministry’s growing concerned about that tottering old fool of a Headmaster. Dumbledore’s not running Hogwarts and Lupin has his own plans filled with hate for those that killed Sirius.” Harry clenched his fists and kicked over a chair; he could feel the anger roiling inside him again. “Me, they put a hex on so that if I get angry, I whistle. The house elf follows you and makes sure the madness doesn’t consume you here at Hogwarts, but when you go home, they don’t care! Worse, we can’t discuss our plans with a house elf running about, waiting for an opportunity to chatter back to Lupin.”

“You are insane, Potter!” Draco cried out with a bit of a tremor in his voice. The oh-so-smug veneer was stripping away. “We leave tomorrow! And you’re telling me I’m a freaking, walking, time-bomb! If it’s true, you won’t see me again. They’ll see to that.” Malfoy began to tremble, breathing heavily and leaning against the wall. “You’ve… you’ve seen them! You know what they’ll do. They’ll kill me if I so much as look like I’ll raise my wand the wrong way, Potter.”

Harry had seen Malfoy scared before, running in the Forbidden Forest, or hiding behind Crabbe and Goyle. But he’d never seen him like this. The last time they met in a classroom, Malfoy revealed there was humanity buried beneath the surface and now… vulnerability. Harry walked over and put his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder.

“Nobody’s going to die, Draco,” Harry said calmly. “They’re wrong. He’s wrong… I hope. I… er, have a theory.” Harry glanced over at the book on the desk.

“A theory?” Malfoy cried. “A theory?”

Harry turned Malfoy’s shoulders and sat him in a chair. Then lowering himself on one knee, he pulled back his right hand and punched Malfoy square in the face knocking both the blonde and the chair backwards onto the floor. Harry winced as a shot of pain exploded from where he had been skewered by Goyle’s broom. The injury had still not completely healed. Still, his blow landed true. Malfoy crumpled off the chair, shook his head to clear it, and instantly pulled his wand pointing it at Harry.

“Relash…” Malfoy tried to call out, but before the spell could leave his lips, his face burst into pain. “Argh!” he cried, holding his hands to his left cheek and dropping his wand. At the same time, Harry’s arm flared and he doubled over to the floor.

“You felt that,” Harry spat through clenched teeth. “Don’t you see? We’re linked, you and me, but what was placed on me is not the same as what was placed on you. Look!” Harry pulled up his sleeve revealing the scar blazing on his forearm. “Do you see?” Malfoy stumbled over to Harry’s side and sat on the floor. He grabbed Harry’s arm and held it, staring at the scar. His finger traced the blade down to the wrist where it stopped. There Malfoy tapped twice on the two lightning bolts that crossed at the tip of the sword. “Exactly,” Harry said.

“Viswa Vajra,” Malfoy muttered.

“Geese!” Harry cried with exasperation. “How is it everyone knows what the symbol is but me?” Sitting back, Malfoy smiled.

“Elementary school, Harry,” chided Malfoy. “Elementary school.” Harry simply rolled his eyes, and shook his head. Malfoy’s smile had contorted the scar on his face, which was now a deep scarlet. Harry held his hand to it.

“I’m sorry for this, Draco. If I had to do it over…”

“I know… you would have blasted me out the window,” said Malfoy smugly. Harry shoved him on the shoulder.

“The point is it’s not the same protection. I meant it for you, a wizard, and somehow it protects you against magical attacks, not Muggle ones. You won’t threaten your Death Eater friends. You won’t go mad… just me.” Harry pulled down his sleeve and stood, but Malfoy’s eyes clearly doubted his words. “Hermione checked!” Harry lied.

At this, Malfoy seemed satisfied and Harry took his hand and helped him stand. There was a rustling at the door and the two students knew they were now no longer alone. Malfoy looked at Harry.

“My father always taught me to turn disadvantages to advantages, Potter. Deficits to attributes. I will deal with this,” he shot a glance to the door, “in the same way.”

“You’d better have that face of yours looked at, Malfoy.” Harry sneered, trying to act angry. “Although most people are used to you having a swollen head.”

Harry started for the door with Malfoy close behind. For an instant, as they passed into the corridor, their knuckles touched in a silent, secret handshake and then they split apart, each heading in opposite directions.

When Harry arrived at the Great Hall for dinner, it was bursting with energy and laughter. Students were eating, and talking, and every now and then a cracker or sparkler would light off. Seamus was having his last dinner with the Ravenclaws and at the Gryffindor table Goyle sat next to Ron, Hermione, and to his surprise Parvati.

“I didn’t see that,” Harry whispered to himself with a smile. Hermione waved him over.

He passed by the Ravenclaw table when someone grabbed his arm. He almost pulled his wand, before he realized it was Cho.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

Looking down at her eyes, Harry’s heart skipped. “Hi,” he said, smiling back.

“I wanted to thank you for watching over James. He idolizes you, you know.” She ran her hand through her black hair and smiled broader. “Are you going home for Christmas?”

“Erm, yeah,” Harry muttered, “to see the family and all.”

“No,” Cho’s eyes narrowed, “to see her.” Harry blushed, and said nothing. “There are things witches can do, Harry, that a Muggle girl could never even dream of, let alone a wizard boy. You do know that don’t you?” Harry suddenly became aware that Marietta was listening intently, as were three other girls sitting around Cho at the Ravenclaw table.

“Things?” Harry's voice cracked, and they all broke out in laughter.

“You’ll see… sooner than you think, Harry Potter,” Cho answered slyly. “I promise.” Marietta and the other girls howled, but Cho’s eyes were frozen with confidence. “Merry Christmas, Harry,” she said, standing on her own two feet and kissing Harry gently on the cheek. A blast of tingling frost seemed to spread across his face. “Have I got a surprise for you,” she breathed into his ear and a cold shiver ran down the back of his neck, although he was sure his face was flaming.

“M-Merry Christmas,” Harry stammered, and then turned and continued to the Gryffindor table. Sitting between Ron and Parvati he just looked into space for a moment rubbing his face.

“What was that about?” Ron asked. When Harry told them, Ron shook his head in agreement. “Well, she’s right on that point, Harry. Why, just the other day… ouch!” Ron reached down to his shin and looked across the table at Hermione whose eyes were flaming sparks in his direction. “Yeah, er, well… want some turkey?”

The group ate and shared plans for their vacation. Ron was returning to Grimmauld place, where Charlie and even Percy were going to be home for Christmas dinner. Hermione was going home with her parents, but planned to spend time at Grimmauld for the New Year. It also appeared that Goyle and Parvati were trying to figure out a way they could meet over the holiday. Everyone was coupling off and for no reason, Ron’s face fell. He looked down at Ginny who was sitting next to Dean. She’d been crying earlier in the morning just thinking about how she’d be away from him for two weeks. But Dean had insisted he was not going to the Weasley home without everyone’s approval, and everyone meant Ron.

“Dean!” Ron called out. “Can you rip yourself away from my sister for a sec?” Dean just glared back. “Come on,” Ron beckoned. Ginny tilted her head for Dean to see what it was about, and Dean walked over and sat between Harry and Ron.

“Potter,” Dean said shortly toward Harry, and then he turned to look at Ron. “What is it Weasley?” Ron shifted his weight and took a deep breath.

“I think you should know that I’ve been an arse, and I’m sorry. I think you… no, I… I insist that you come to our house over the holidays.” There was an awkward silence. “Maybe a day or two. It’s a big place and I think we can place enough protection charms to keep you from accidentally sleepwalking into Ginny’s room at night.” At this Dean smiled and slowly began to nod his head in agreement.

“Okay,” Dean said, shaking Ron’s hand. “I, er, well… thank you, Ron.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Harry,” said Ron. “It’s his place. I’d never invite you to stay at the Burrow. It’s too small. You and Ginny would be cramped up next to each other all day.” Dean looked at Harry who was looking kindly back.

“Thanks, Harry.” Then he turned back to Ron. “How do I get there?”

“Ah, yes,” Ron stammered. “Well, that’s a bit tricky really. We need to ask Professor Lupin, but I’m sure he’ll say it’s okay.” Hearing these words, a rolling thunderhead loomed dark across Harry’s eyes.

“What!” he exclaimed. “You’ll have to ask who?” Ron lowered his head shooting glances up and down the table. “It’s my bloody house!”

“It’s normally Dumbledore’s job,” Ron whispered. “You remember, Harry?” The words spun Harry back in time to when he first met the Order of the Phoenix… a simple piece of paper with narrow handwriting, stating where the Order might be found -- number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Sirius offered up his home to help fight Voldemort, a home now left to Harry, and with Dumbledore ill, or worse, Harry felt a deepening sense of remorse and anger welling up inside him, and it was all targeted at Remus Lupin.

“What do you mean? Who put Remus in charge?” With each passing moment, the anger and guilt swirled with his already unsteady emotions, growing more intense, almost beyond his control. It was all he could do to keep his voice low when he grabbed Ron by the robes and pulled him close behind Dean’s back. “Is he… is Lupin also in charge of the Order?” Harry snapped. Ron reluctantly nodded.

“Until Dumbledore gets better, Harry.”

“But why didn’t he say?” Harry shot back. “Why didn’t he tell me? It’s… it’s my house, right? And… and why is it you know, and I don’t?” Dean, sitting between the two, was caught in a ping-pong match of words that was more ping than pong. “Is it my bloody house, or isn’t it?” Now everyone around was looking at Harry and a few were looking concerned. Ron sheepishly nodded.

“Dean,” Harry spat, standing from the bench, “you’re coming for the holiday! I don’t give a damn what Remus Lupin says.” Harry stormed up to the head table where Remus was eating and leaned in to the Professor’s ear.

“You want him to die, don’t you?” Harry hissed. “You’re waiting for the old buzzard to croak, so you can have it all! Is that it Remus?” cried Harry, feeling the rage swell within him. “Kill ‘em all, eh, werewolf?” Professor Lupin furled his eyebrows in either anger or concern. “Don’t play dumb with me!” Harry shouted at the top of his lungs pulling his wand and all heads turned in the Great Hall to the front table in a great gasp. “I know what…” suddenly Harry’s stomach lurched and an insatiable urge to whistle took over. In the next instant he was whistling to all of Hogwarts a tune he’d heard over the summer. A few bars in to the song, the room broke out in laughter and applause. Harry, unable to stop, felt the anger fade to embarrassment and returned to the Gryffindor table, where Hermione took him gently by the arm.

“Breathe, Harry,” she said calmly, “deep breaths.” Harry sat back on the bench and a moment later regained control. Seeing Harry a bit disoriented, Hermione smiled nervously. “Well, I guess we know that works.”

“I won’t w-wet him do w-it…” Harry sputtered in a half-whistle. Dean shook his head in confusion and walked over to Ginny telling her the news that he’d be seeing her over the holiday and she grabbed Dean and squeezed him tight.

“Really, Ron?” she yelled out. When Ron nodded, she rushed over and kissed him on the cheek, causing his face to match his hair. “You’re the greatest, you know that don’t you?” She kissed his other cheek and ran back to Dean racing on about all that they would do in London.

“I’m tired,” Harry said flatly, finally gathering his composure. “I’m going to bed.”

“But they’re having a dance after dinner, Harry,” Hermione said, trying to encourage him to stay. “It might lift your spirits.” Harry spread a false toothy smile across his face.

“Yeah, right, so everyone can stare at the madman, Harry Potter.” He took one last look at the head table, and while his eyes blazed at Remus, his heart felt nothing but contempt. “You’re not Dumbledore,” he breathed.

When Harry passed through the portrait of the Fat Lady into the common room, he found it nearly deserted. Most everyone had decided to stay at the dance and only a few first years were scattered about chatting. One, a boy with blonde hair Harry had seen but didn’t know, stood staring out the window. Not really knowing why, Harry walked over and looked out with him. It was snowing again and the castle grounds were lit by the waxing moon. Icicles fell off the eves and plummeted to the ground shattering in a spectacular flash of coloured light.

“Excited about getting back home?” Harry asked. “Chance to tell your parents about your first term at Hogwarts?” There was a moment of silence before the young boy spoke.

“No,” he sighed, “I’m stayin’ at Hogwarts this Christmas.”

“But what about your family?” Harry questioned, turning to face the ten year old.

“Me ma an’ da died in a car crash last year.” There was a long pause as Harry tried to understand, but couldn’t. The young boy was used to the expression hanging on Harry’s face, much as Harry had come to expect the stares at his forehead. “They were Muggles,” the boy replied to Harry’s questioning eyes. “I walked away from it.” The boy held his hand to the glass and then tilted his forehead till it too met the pane, and looked blankly out into the night. “Just, walked away. If I’d a known what I could do then, maybe I could a saved ‘em.” The boy shuddered and Harry heard the splash of tears on the floor.

“What’s your name?” Harry asked quietly.

“Patrick… Patrick O’Riley,” he sniffed, his head still against the glass. Harry nodded and stood there looking out the window at his side.

“I spent the last five years of Christmases here at Hogwarts. It’s great, you’ll see.” There was a long pause. “I… I don’t know if you heard, but I lost my parents too.” Patrick wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked up at Harry.

“When I heard I was teh be in Gryffindor… in the same house as Harry Potter… someone who might know… know what it felt teh…” he burst out crying and put his arms around Harry who held him tight. Holding Patrick, sobbing in his arms, Harry looked out at the beauty of the falling snow and the occasional bursts of colour shattering in the night. Once again, his mind turned to Luna and Neville, lost somewhere out there in the darkness and as the moon rose in the sky, a tear tumbled down his own cheek.

From the day he first walked into the Wizarding world, he had endured the stares at his scar, the gawks, and hushed whispers. How many times had he been praised or jeered as The Famous Harry Potter? He loathed his name; he detested his scar; he despised his history. And yet, here, for the first time in his life, on a chance meeting with a kid he’d never thought of twice… his name meant something... something of value. Harry let go and lifted Patrick’s chin with his hand.

“It gets better,” he said smiling, “you’ll see; friends make all the difference.” Harry held out his hand, opened his palm, and conjured a handkerchief. Patrick’s eyes grew wide. “Here.” Harry grinned and handed the handkerchief to Patrick. “How ‘bout I make you a deal… I’ll watch your back, if you watch mine. What do you say? We orphans… we’ve got to stick together, eh?” Harry held out his hand and Patrick, with the slightest of smiles, shook it. Harry took in a deep breath.

“You know,” Harry said, “there’s no point in sulking around this dull place. I hear there’s a dance tonight in the Great Hall; how about we go check it out?” Wiping his eyes with the handkerchief, Patrick smiled fully.

“Sounds great,” he said with a much lighter voice. “James told me there might be a live band.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” said Harry, putting his arm around Patrick and heading to the door. “Let’s go see.” Together, the two orphans passed through the portrait of the Fat Lady, leaving their troubles for tomorrow.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 42 - Out of Love, True Power
~~~***~~~


The sound of merriment filled the Gryffindor common room as Harry and his friends made their way back from the dance. Harry had just told them the story of how he’d somehow made a chocolate-mint ice-cream cone attack Malcolm Smelt at the pool last summer and Dean couldn’t help but double over with laughter.

Harry had spent much of the dance talking to people who were, instead of calling him a madman, encouraging him to fight on. Just days earlier, Harry nearly left Hogwarts ignorant of the depth of support he had from both his friends and the students, like Patrick, who he barely knew at all. But more importantly, the past two hours spent talking and laughing at the dance had cleared the air between Harry and his dorm mates. Discovering that Harry had a girlfriend in Little Whinging, Dean let go of his jealously of Harry, and Ron apologized to Dean for being an arse all school year. It wasn’t long before Dean, Harry and Ron began discussing their plans for Dean’s Christmas visit to Grimmauld Place. The plans were getting so complex and time consuming that Ginny was wondering if Dean would have any time for her.

“I think I liked it better when you three weren’t talking to each other,” she whispered in Harry’s ear at the dance. “I’m not sure I want to share Dean when he visits.”

Harry smiled as he looked across the sea of students. He began to see glimmers of Dumbledore’s dream for Hogwarts. Students from different houses who had come to know each other during DA meetings were mixing and mingling. He was most surprised seeing students from Ravenclaw and Slytherin dancing with each other. Patrick found James Chang by the snack buffet and the two spent most of their time with two first year girls from Hufflepuff. “Interesting,” thought Harry. “If it hadn’t been for Patrick….”

Back in the common room, the fifth years seemed to cluster about the fireplace. Even though they were all exhausted, nobody wanted to go to sleep. Finally, Goyle announced he was heading upstairs. He had taken a couple steps up to the boys’ dorm when Parvati ran over and whispered something in his ear. They then hugged and she kissed his cheek. Nobody said a word when she returned to stand at the mantelpiece.

“He’s quite nice you know,” she said, trying to justify her attraction and the slight scarlet tinge in her cheeks. “I mean… for a Slytherin.”

“Slytherin has nothing to do with it, Parvati,” Harry said. “He’s just plain Greg Goyle and you’d be hard pressed to find a better bloke in Hogwarts.” A grand smile spread across Parvati’s face as those gathered around the fireplace nodded their assent. Harry yawned, blinking blankly at the fire. Finally, shaking the cobwebs from his mind, he announced, “I’m off to bed too. Goodnight.”

When Harry got upstairs he found Goyle already in bed and, to Harry’s surprise, reading. Harry undressed and sat at the side of his own bed. “I thought you were tired,” he said, his mind cluttered and groggy.

“I saw Flitwick this evening, and Ron was right,” Goyle answered over his book. “I can retest for Charms after the holiday.”

“That’s excellent, Greg!”

“Don’t tell anybody. Okay, Harry? I don’t need the pressure if this falls through. And anybody includes Ron.”

“No problem,” said Harry smiling back. He looked up to see Goyle looking, not at him, but past him over his shoulder. “What?” he asked, turning to see what Goyle was looking at. He had tossed his shirt on his desk where the dragonhead sat next to a burning candle. Goyle looked down at his text and then back up at the desk. “What is it Goyle?” Harry asked again.

“The ball… it’s cinnabar, right?” he asked looking back at his text.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. “You’re the one that told me it might be a baby Bludger, or something.”

“What about the stone of life?” Goyle asked. Harry just looked at him blankly. He was far too tired for textbook conversations. He sighed, shook his head and put his head to pillow.

“Goodnight, Greg,” he answered blearily, exhausted. But Goyle was undaunted, and he began to read out loud, albeit slowly.

“Extremely rare, only a few have been found east of the Caucassus Mountains. Always small and highly polished, they are made of cinnabar or serpentine. The largest known vivificus stone was The Heart of Asha. Last seen in the Great Purge, it was used by Pravus to restore himself. Its theft from the Iscadian vault is deemed, by some, to be the turning point of the war.” Goyle looked up from his book and looked into the skeptical eyes of his dorm mate. “Harry, there’s a painting,” he said tapping the pages. Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling and exhaling a large huff, Harry reluctantly slid out of bed to look at the picture. The painting was of a spherical red stone supported by three sharp silver spikes thrusting upward from an ornate gold stand.

“What? That thing?” Harry sneered. “For all I can tell, that could be a tiny marble or a bowling ball.” Just then, a hand reached down and grabbed the object putting its size into perspective. A black onyx ring on one finger, the hand was sickeningly translucent. “Pravus,” Harry thought. A spike skewered one of the sickly fingers and light flashed from the ball between the finger’s companions until the scene went dazzling white and then returned to what Harry first saw. He walked over to his desk and picked up the stone from the dragonhead. Holding it next to the page as Goyle held open the text, the two watched the scene repeat.

“It’s the same,” Goyle whispered.

“No it’s not,” Harry said dismissively. “That… that stone there… it’s… it’s too red. That’s what it is… too red.” Goyle shut the text and levitated it over to his desk.

“Uh huh. Sure,” he said with a tinge of sarcasm, extinguishing the candles above his bed leaving only the candle on Harry’s desk flickering. “Goodnight.”

“I mean,” Harry said pacing the floor with the stone in his hands. “My cousin gave me this stone. That’s all it is… a polished chunk of rock!” But the book’s painting was as vivid as any in Hogwarts and it clearly showed the same polished surface, the same dark grain and glint of ember. And perhaps more importantly, the two stones were identical in size. “Rubbish!” Harry hissed at himself. “Damn Ron for trying to get you into Charms and damn you for listening! You’ve got me all worked up over nothing. It’s just a rock!” He dropped it into the teeth of the dragonhead and threw himself onto his bed. “I’m going to sleep.”

“I said goodnight already,” answered Goyle grinning. Except for Harry tossing from one side of the bed to the other, there was a long period of silence in their dorm. From downstairs, there was an occasional burst of laughter, faint and distant. The wind was picking up outside and it began to whistle against the windows. Finally, Harry could bear it no more.

“What’s a vivificus stone?” he asked sheepishly. Goyle tried not to laugh.

“You’re the one in the N.E.W.T. not me,” Goyle chided. Harry sat upright and scowled. Menacingly he pointed his right hand at Goyle, narrowed his eyes, and presented the best evil grin he could muster. “Okay, okay,” Goyle said holding his hands in the air. “No need to get all uppity. It’s the ‘life stone’, Harry. They say you can bring people back from death, near death, anyway. In History, Professor Binns has been talking about how Pravus used it to stave off the many killing curses he endured.”

“But how do they work?” Harry asked, looking back at the stone on his desk.

“That’s probably why you don’t remember studying about them. It’s one of the great mysteries, Harry. Nobody knows.” Goyle shrugged his shoulders. “I guess you’re right, eh? If you don’t know how it works, it is just a rock.” Harry looked hard at the stone considering the possibilities and then the pieces of the puzzle that had been floating in his mind began to come together.

“Such a simple spell,” he whispered, echoing Dumbledore’s words. “But I’ve yet to realize its full potential.” He cast a glance at the staircase leading down to the common room. They were still chatting and laughing.

“Watch the door,” he whispered to Goyle as he stood back up and walked over to his desk. Goyle got out of bed and guarded the door as Harry slid the dragonhead and stone to the edge of his desk. He pulled his wand and pointed it at the ball of cinnabar, but then lowered his hand. “This is stupid. Gabriella will kill me if I tell her I melted…” Harry paused, then under his breath he whispered, “Out of bravery, fire.” He raised his wand back to the stone, touching it with the wand’s holly tip. “And, no, Hermione,” he whispered to the air, his lips pressed tight against his teeth, “I haven’t thought this through.” Harry focused all his being to the center of the cinnabar.

“Incendio!” he called out. A blast of fire erupted, pushing him a step backward, but the connection had been made. Instead of spreading out across the table, the flames seemed to be sucked into the ball. A great whirlwind of flame plummeted into the tiny red ball. When the flames stopped, the ball glowed bright, casting a fiery orange brilliance across the entire room. Even Goyle had to shield his eyes. Then, Harry reached out his hand to grab it.

“Stop!” Goyle yelled. “You’ll burn yourself!” But Harry’s mind was transfixed on the glowing orb before him and the memory of the textbook painting he’d just seen.

“Out of wisdom, blood,” he whispered. He clutched the ball, his mind trying to adjust to the fact that it felt like grabbing a piece of ice. With the stone still in the dragonhead, he turned it, slicing his fingers on the sharp teeth holding it in place. Blood flowed freely from his hand, but was absorbed by the ball like a thirsty sponge. In that instant, all went white, as Harry found himself being pulled, as if by Portkey, into the ball. He tried to let out a scream, but all was silent. Indeed, there was no sound, no motion, no vision, no sensation of any kind. He was in a vast expanse of whiteness… a blank canvass waiting for his next command.

“Like Pravus, can I cure myself?” Harry’s thoughts seemed to radiate from deep within his mind, and somehow he knew the answer was yes. “I can remove the curse… remove the madness.” For a moment his thoughts bent on the cure and the white began to mix with a swirl of black in his mind.

“Stop!” his mind rang out. “Out of love, true power.” The swirling stopped and the mixing black began to fade to gray and then to whiteness. “Where’s the love in curing oneself?” his thoughts called out to the open nothingness. For a long time, Harry’s mind turned the options that lay before it. Finally, his thoughts struck gold.

“Dumbledore!” he breathed, and in that instant he brought to bear his mind, his body, his soul to the healing of the Headmaster. Colours exploded in the whiteness and coalesced before Harry into a vision of the great wizard prone in his bed. It was a snapshot, frozen in time. The wizard was pale and gaunt, a mere skeleton of himself. The moment stood there before Harry’s eyes and somehow he knew he was being asked to continue. “Yes,” his mind called out. “YES!”

There was an explosion of light ripping from Harry’s very core and the colours of the snapshot before him came to life, swirling with vivid green flames into the chest of Dumbledore. The old wizard’s face awoke with astonishment and in that flash of brilliance his eyes and his mind met with Harry’s, and the look of astonishment became one of knowing gratitude. A smile passed across his face, but then the image began to race away, disappearing down a tunnel of darkness. There was a whoosh, as if a great wind extinguished a fire, and all went black.

“Harry!” Goyle called out. For a moment, Harry didn’t know where he was. He opened his eyes to see Goyle kneeling at his side. Harry found himself on his back, underneath his desk, the red stone still clutched tightly in his hand. A bit dizzy, he sat up and looked down as he opened his hand. There was no blood, no cut, no mark of any kind.

“What happened?” he asked groggily. “How long have I been out?” He once again heard the distant laughter from the common room below.

“Out?” Goyle asked. “You touched the stone and just fell to the floor. What’s that… three seconds?”

“That’s not possible,” Harry answered back, suddenly realizing he was very tired. Goyle helped him back to his bed. “I was in there for at least twenty minutes, maybe an hour.”

“In where?” Goyle asked, perplexed.

“In the… the…” A wave of exhaustion broke over Harry, and he faded to sleep.

Harry woke to a flurry of activity in the dormitory. The sun blazed through the window as bags were zipping and trunks slamming. Everyone was getting ready to leave for the holiday.

“Finally,” Dean said with a smile tossing a large duffle onto his bed. “Hey, Ron, he’s awake!” Harry looked over to Ron who was trying to stuff another pair of socks into his already overfilled bag.

“You know,” said Harry, scratching his head and wondering what Ron was doing, “you are going home and you do have clothes there.” Ron turned around almost trying to use his body to hide the bag behind him.

“Yeah, well, I, er… you never know what you’re going to need to wear, right?” He tossed his jacket over the bag and walked over to Harry, who was now sitting up rubbing his face. “Rough day, yesterday. Good to see you got some sleep.” Harry thought back to the evening before. Was it all a dream? He looked over to Goyle’s bed, but everything had been cleared out. Ron looked over too.

“He’s gone,” Ron said, a bit of sadness tingeing his words. “Told us to look out after you, though. What’d he say Dean?” Dean zipped his bag and set it on his bed.

“Let’s see,” Dean began, flopping down on his own bed. “‘Harry had a bit of a fall last night. Make sure he wakes up himself in the morning.’ It’s a bit mysterious if you ask me, but Goyle always was a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” Ron nodded in agreement as Harry stood.

“Well, I’m me,” Harry said. “And my stomach is telling me it’s time for breakfast. I’ll take a quick shower and be back. Can you two wait?” In unison, both Dean and Ron rolled their eyes with impatience, but then nodded their heads.

“Sure,” they answered reluctantly. “Ten minutes! That’s it!”

When the three finally made it to the Great Hall, they found it buzzing with conversation. Daily Prophets were spread everywhere and everyone was pointing and talking with wild expressions.

“Something’s happened,” Ron whispered as they stepped in. They were making their way over to the Gryffindor table when Hermione looked up from her paper. There was a throng of students looking over her shoulder, but when she saw Harry and Ron, she folded the paper, pushed the crowd aside and walked over to them.

“She caught two,” Hermione said above the din. “Tonks caught two.” She grabbed Harry by the arm, pulling him toward the large entrance doors of the Great Hall. Ron followed as Dean chose instead to sit down next to Ginny to get the news.

“Can’t we eat first?” Ron called out, but Hermione ignored him, briskly walking out of the Great Hall and into the corridor where they could have more privacy. “I’ve read it three times, but something’s bothering me,” she said opening the paper and displaying the front-page news.


Two key Death Eaters were apprehended last night during a midnight raid in a small farmhouse outside of Newcastle. The raid was led by Nymphadora Tonks, a junior Auror at the Ministry of Magic, currently on leave to teach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Several Ministry members descended on the farmhouse shortly after midnight, based on a tip received by Auror Tonks earlier in the week. None were hurt in the skillful attack that captured Andrew Wythe and Terrence Pendleton, active recruiters for the ever-growing numbers of Death Eaters.

“We’ve been tracking these two down for some time now,” Auror Tonks said. “The wizards of Britain can rest easier now that the two are headed to Azkaban.”

When asked about any information concerning the location of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or the missing Hogwarts students, Auror Tonks had no comment.


“It goes on,” Hermione said, but that’s the gist of it. “I don’t know what it is, but—”

“Wythe & Pendleton?” Harry asked, taking the paper from Hermione’s hands. Reading a few lines he spoke under his breath. “He said they’d be punished.” He looked out across the empty corridor. “They tried to serve him, and he’s sent them to Azkaban. If Draco doesn’t…”

“What are you talking about, Harry?” Ron asked.

“Voldemort!” Harry snapped making the redhead cringe. “Don’t you remember?” Harrys asked, recalling the many time the three had examined his connections with the Dark Lord. “These were the two that had Luna.” Harry searched his memory. “They brought her to me… him, I mean. He said they’d pay.”

“I remember,” said Hermione softly. “But why would he give them up willingly?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Hermione,” Harry answered in frustration. “They were afraid of him; I think he takes some sick pleasure in punishing people for no real reason. How… why anyone would follow such a madman…” The word reverberated in Harry’s mind like a peal of thunder. He staggered backward and crumpled against the wall. Hermione knelt down and took his shoulder.

“You’ll be fine, Harry,” she said with a gentle voice. “We’ll find a way to—”

Suddenly the Great Hall erupted into cheers. The sound, even out in the corridor, was deafening. The three friends walked to the entrance to see Tonks striding in to sit at the head table. Dressed in dark purple robes, she was exuberant. There was a radiance that Harry had never really seen before. She stood at an empty chair next to Remus, waved just briefly, and sat down. The clapping quieted and a handful of students went up to the head table to shake her hand.

“Let’s eat,” Ron said emphatically. “I’m starving.”

“Don’t you want to welcome her back?” Hermione asked. Ron looked at the long line of students and then at the food on the table and chose to sit down at an open space near a large plate of sausages. Hermione sighed. “Well, I guess that answers that.”

Halfway through breakfast, Professor McGonagall stood up from her chair and addressed the students gathered. “I needn’t remind you that the Hogwarts Express departs Hogsmeade at ten o’clock. The carriages will leave the school at nine-thirty. Please have all your belongings with you and be ready to go by then.” She paused looking at the empty chair beside her and bit her lip. “I am sure Professor Dumbledore would wish you all well on your travels. I warn you, however, that you must be exceptionally careful while away from the school.”

“The Headmaster would agree, Professor McGonagall,” a familiar voice resonated from the entrance to the Great Hall. “And be sure to take plenty of socks!” All eyes swung toward the front doors. There was a collective gasp as all saw Professor Dumbledore standing in the archway. Even Professor McGonagall gave out a shudder wondering if, perhaps, she was watching a ghost. With steady steps, and a strong deliberate stride, Professor Dumbledore walked between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables on his way to the front of the Great Hall. He smiled and patted students on the way. As students began to realize that this was no vision, no ghost, but the man himself smiles spread like wildfire across the room. One by one they began to pound the tables in a rhythmic beat. Soon his name was attached to the rhythm.

“Dum-ble-dore! Dum-ble-dore! Dum-ble-dore!”

Professor McGonagall was alabaster white as the Headmaster turned the corner of the head table. As he made the turn, he took his first glance over at the Gryffindor students where Harry now stood cheering his name with the others. There he found a look of joy on Harry’s face that had not been present all year. The old wizard smiled broadly and winked at Harry. When he came to stand before Professor McGonagall she was shaking and, unable to withhold her emotions, wrapped her arms around him in a grand hug. The school exploded with deafening cheers. Only a handful of Slytherins sat with their arms crossed. One of them was Draco Malfoy, but Greg Goyle standing at his left continued to howl. Dumbledore shook hands with a few of the other professors and then raised his hands to try to quiet the school down. It was several minutes before he could gain control and even he was taken aback by the outpouring of emotion.

“It has been over a month since I last joined you for breakfast. Forgive me, today, for being a bit late. The staff tells me that the fried toast is particularly good this morning, but I thought perhaps something a bit more festive.” Dumbledore clapped his hands and instantly the room was transformed into a holiday postcard. Christmas décor spanned the walls and ceiling, while the tables began to fill with candy, lots of candy. “The peppermint sticks are a personal favorite of mine, although I’m not sure how they taste with sausage.”

Without saying another word, Professor Dumbledore sat down next to Professor McGonagall and unwrapped a large peppermint stick. Again, the room cheered. The attention that had minutes earlier been focused on Professor Tonks was now completely transferred to the Headmaster.

“You can quit squeezing my leg now, Hermione,” Ron called out in agony.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ron,” Hermione squealed. “I… I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it! They said he… Oh, it’s a miracle!”

“I thought you said he was getting better, Hermione,” Ron answered back rubbing his leg. “What’s the surprise?” At this, Hermione’s eyes began to find something else to look at, and Harry realized he wasn’t the only one she was hiding something from.

“He was almost dead, wasn’t he?” Harry asked. The words were direct and to Harry’s surprise Hermione gave a direct answer.

“Yes,” she replied, anticipating a rebuke that never came. “Professor McGonagall didn’t think he’d see Christmas.” With this success, Harry considered a follow-up question but remembered that it was he who asked not to be told.

“Well, he’s better now,” said Harry, his heart lighter than it had been since the summer with Gabriella. He wasn’t about to tell anybody about last night. He’d sound like a conceited slob. No, that would be his and Goyle’s secret, at least until he was sure it wasn’t all a dream. Harry looked over at the Slytherin table to find Malfoy talking heatedly with Pansy Parkinson, but Goyle looking over his way. The Slytherin wore a broad smile then turned to scoop up some more eggs.

Harry, Ron and Hermione finished breakfast and began the trek back up the Gryffindor tower. Many were already making their way down the moving staircases to the carriages waiting in front of the castle. The three had just climbed to the top of the second staircase and were waiting for it to slide into place, when a voice called from the landing on the far side.

“Wotcher, Harry!” It was Tonks, the colour of her hair lighter than it had been downstairs. She called to Hermione and Ron, “Do you two mind if I speak with him for a moment? Just a few pointers before I’m off for the holiday.”

“Actually, Professor Tonks,” said Hermione, “we’re running pretty late. Maybe later you could…”

“It’s okay,” interrupted Harry. “I’ve got a couple minutes.” Hermione gave Harry a look that held more irritation than seemed reasonable. “Only a minute,” Harry answered her expression. Hermione hesitated, clearly wanting to say something. She bit her lip, and then she and Ron stepped off the staircase and Harry rode it as it swung around toward the landing where Tonks was waiting. His friends continued to ascend to Gryffindor tower as Harry began to walk down the empty corridor toward Tonks’ classroom.

“How are you?” he asked. “We were starting to worry.” Tonks smiled and put her arm around Harry.

“It’s good to see you too!” she said. “I guess I’m more an Auror than a Professor. I knew we had them on the run and I couldn’t let go -- not when we were so close.” She stopped and turned Harry toward her looking him up and down. “And, how are you? Have you made any more contacts with You-Know-Who?” Surprised by the sudden question, Harry shook his head.

“I’ve tried to concentrate on school. It’s been a bit tough with both you and Snape gone.”

“Professor Snape,” she said with a smile. “He’s fine, Harry. I saw him not two days ago, doing what he does best.” It was odd, Harry thought. Her eyes seemed to look through him rather than at him. An eerie feeling crawled up his spine, as she took a few paces to his left, staring at him all the while. “It’s not truly appropriate for Professors to give their students any gifts of consequence during the school year. But, I’ve reviewed the rules and believe this would be appropriate.” She handed Harry a small red package with a green bow. Harry began to open it, but Tonks stopped him. “No. Not here. At Christmas Harry,” she said quietly. “Wait until Christmas.”

“Er, thanks, Tonks. Sorry, but I didn’t…”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. There was an awkward moment of silence.

“Well, I better get going,” said Harry, turning toward the door. “They’ll be leaving soon.” Tonks grabbed his arm.

“Wait,” she said, still smiling -- a bit too broadly, Harry thought. “I just wanted to know if you’ll be staying here for the holiday. Or are you heading off to Grimmauld Place? Maybe Privet Drive and Gabriella?”

“I know I’ve never been home for the holidays before, but...” He looked back down the empty corridor. It looked, somehow, darker. Something didn’t feel right, but Harry didn’t know why. “Really, Tonks, I need to go.”

“Sure thing, Harry,” she said, continuing to smile broadly. “I’ll check with Hermione. You’ll let her know won’t you?” Harry started back to the staircases leaving Tonks standing in the corridor alone.

“Hermione knows everything, Tonks!” he called back, and started jogging to catch up with his companions.

While they packed, he mentioned his conversation with Tonks to Ron and Hermione. Hermione furled her brow, but then a sly smile crossed her face.

“I’ll give Tonks the information she needs,” said Hermione with satisfaction.

Harry was oblivious to anything she said. The thought of returning to Little Whinging quickened his pulse. What would happen while he was there? Even Harry was unclear. There was a lot to talk about with Gabriella. Zipping his travel case, his innards lurched at the prospect of telling her the truth, wondering what her reaction might be. The feeling stayed with him as the three friends loaded up their gear in one of the Threstral driven carriages. With his hand, Ron stroked the flank of one of the creatures he couldn’t see.

“I can’t believe I rode one of these things to London,” he whispered. “I hope it’s a long time before I can ever see one,” he said grimly. Just then Hagrid called out, instructing all the students to hop in the carriages