Dream Chasing
Title: Dream Chasing (12)
Author name: Romulus Lupin
Author email: galigad@yahoo.com
Category: Romance
Sub Category:
Keywords: Harry Hermione Fantasy Island
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers:SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
Summary: Chapter 12 up (finally!) What did Vernon and Dudley do to Harry and Hermione six years
before? Why don't they remember what happened then? Did Dumbledore and Sarah have something to do with it? Why?
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: My deepest apologies to everyone for not having updated sooner! It wasn't just a case of RL taking its revenge on me; I had to go through a major writer's block that was the size of the Grand Canyon (and maybe a little bit more).
For [b]anne[/b], and all the other wonderful writers whose stories kept me company all through the weeks of major writers block, but most especially for [b]vicarious leigh[/b] whose wonderful stories, "[i]The Power He Knows Not[/i]" and "[i]The Triumvirate of Resolve[/i]" gave me both the key and inspiration to break out of the rut.
And as always, for [b]Augurey[/b] who came up with the original idea for this story, for [b]Victor (mudgutts)[/b] whose challenge became a key ingredient in this story, and my dear friends [b]sarah (bingblot), erin, nicole and lils[/b] for being always there.
Chapter 12. Revelation …
"What the hell do you think you're doin' you ungrateful wretch?" Harry's nine-year old body shivered at the roaring voice of his Uncle and he turned, wide-eyed and fearful, as an enormous Vernon Dursley, with Dudley in tow, plowed through the crowd like a pair of rampaging rhinoceros. "I told you to stay at the friggin' bench, boy! Not go gallivanting around and making a stupid ass of yourself …"
Harry dropped the microphone, and felt himself shriveling into a small lump of inanimate flesh, the happy events of the day falling into some dark and dreary hole in his mind, unable to say a word, shamed into embarrassment at again being made a spectacle of in front of Hermione and her parents by his unthinking, unfeeling relatives …
An enormous hand gripped his shirt, and he felt himself collapsing, allowing himself to be dragged off - and looked up in shock at Hermione's shrill, "No! Stop that!" mingling with Mr. Granger's shocked, "I say what…" - saw Hermione jumping on the meaty arm and ham-like fist that was clutching him …
He felt himself screaming "NO!" as Vernon dropped him and swung the arm that Hermione was holding onto in an arc, throwing the young girl into the arms of Dudley, who threw the young girl aside like a piece of putrid garbage flung on his chest … felt a surge of energy coming from deep within his body -
And gaped as Vernon was hurled almost ten feet from him, landing on his back as enormous boils and pustules erupted on his face … heard the crowd screaming in fright, and turned to see a wide-eyed Hermione on the grass, staring at a squealing Dudley who was on all fours changing into a pig …
Harry caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and saw Professor Dumbledore standing tall, hand raised and holding some sort of stick … realized that Sarah was beside him, also holding a stick … heard them chanting something just before a huge bolt of blinding light erupted from the upraised wands and the world turned blank-
* * *
Harry's eyes were screwed tightly closed, his ears ringing again with the painful, hurtful voice of his uncle berating him, felt the world closing around him as it had a thousand times before when the smallest infraction meant a sentence to the dark cupboard under the stairs, where his only companions were the spiders and the dust … where his world became vague dreams of escape, of riding a motorcycle while feeling warm and protected …
He felt something wet on his constricted chest - and realized that Hermione was embracing him … that it was her tears soaking through his shirt, and there was nothing he could do but wrap his arms around his weeping friend even as he buried his tear-streaked face in her hair.
He heard a vague scuffling and looked up to see his father's enraged face as he tried to break away from his mother's hold, cursing loudly and profanely as he laid plans to come back and haunt the Dursleys into an early grave; heard Lily's shocked voice asking, "But why should Vernon be so mad? He can be petty and vicious, but to do that to Harry?"
"He thought Harry was making fun of him and his Elvis impersonation … or perhaps Harry was doing it better than he ever could." Heads turned as Mr. Roarke, with his diminutive assistant beside him, stepped calmly onto the veranda with a serious smile on his face. "He's been trying to get on the island for some time to live out his fantasy of doing his Elvis impersonation in front of an appreciative audience …"
"Trying to, Mr. Roarke?" Their host turned to Cindy with a smile like a tiger baring its fangs (which caused the young girl to take a step back) as he replied, "Trying, Miss Galloway … but, alas! The idea of the island being populated by a horde of people impersonating Elvis is a bit too …"
"Disturbing," Tattoo cut in with a smirk. "Too many people in white suits, to say nothing of the competition -"
"Tattoo!" Mr. Roarke said in a reproachful voice, but his smile froze as Carolyn asked in an innocent voice, "Are you also an Elvis fan, Mr. Roarke?"
"Not really, Miss Wright," he replied with a stiff smile and a glare as he heard Cindy mutter, "Yeah, right," followed by giggles or snickers from the others on the veranda. He pulled his dignity around him and smiled at the others, saying, "I'm sorry for the interruption, but it is getting late."
He glanced at Dumbledore and said, "I'm afraid a certain school nurse is in a bit of a tizzy right about now and also," (giving a broad smile at the Terrible Two) "some people may miss out on their dinner."
Mr. Roarke's smile grew even wider as he regarded Cindy and Carolyn's horrified looks (and this time he did look like a tiger licking its chops), "Missing out on lunch is one thing, especially if it was in a good cause … but dinner is another thing all together."
"Of course, Mr. Roarke," Dumbledore said as he stood up and shook himself of the memories. "And you're right … Poppy would be in a bit of a tizzy by now-"
"Is that why I don't remember anything of that day, Professor?"
It was as if a guillotine had dropped in the room at the pained voice, and heads turned to watch a stony-faced and tense Harry Potter glaring at his mentor.
"I'm sorry, Harry," a stricken Sarah stepped in, forcing Harry to break his heated gaze from Dumbledore, who was looking out on the beach. "There was nothing else that we could do … surely you know that?"
"Why?" It wasn't so much a question as an anguished whisper, and everyone in the bungalow turned away, none of them willing to look at a shaken Harry Potter. "I can understand that you had to do it to the Muggles … even to Uncle Vernon and Dudley … but did you have to do it to me? Did you have to do it to us?"
"Harry," Hermione whispered as she tried to calm Harry down, but winced as she felt his hand squeezing her so tightly that her fingers felt as if they were caught in an unrelenting vise. She said his name again, trying to break through the pain of the memory but twisted around in surprise at Dumbledore's soft voice and calm response:
"I thought it was for the best."
The very calmness of the response from the old man was a spark to the seething, tightly-held emotions of Harry Potter. If the first 'Why?' was a whisper of anguish, this time it was a scream of rage - Cindy and Carolyn gaped in shock at a Harry Potter they had never seen before: angry, disgusted, his normally warm and friendly voice now a cold and deadly whisper, "The best? The best for who? That was the only wonderful memory that I ever had … that was the only time I felt loved … did you have to take it away? Was that the best you could do for me?"
But the angry words were like a storm breaking its teeth on an impenetrable wall - while a look of compassion and pain could be seen in Dumbledore's eyes, his very stance and demeanor proclaimed that he did not believe he had made a mistake … that he had, as he said, done what he thought was best for all concerned.
It was Lily's quiet voice - a quiver in its tone the only indication of an anger held rigorously - that provided a momentary break in the extremely tense atmosphere of the bungalow: "Why, Albus? You must have a reason."
For a long moment, the blue eyes of their Headmaster locked with the sparkling green eyes of a student long gone … and he blinked and turned away, his strong, straight stance buckling. He felt Sarah placing an arm around him as if to support him and he looked at her with a pained smile before turning to face the angry eyes of Harry Potter … shifted his gaze to the confused, teary eyes of Hermione Granger … saw the same anger, pain and bewilderment mirrored in the faces of Lily and James … and turned away to look out on the sun-drenched beach and the sparkling blue waters of the sea ….
"Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry … safe and whole, as I had planned and intended," he sighed even as his shoulders slumped down even lower. "Well -- not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years."
He paused, his mind recalling McGonagall's protests at his decision to leave the baby Harry with what she called 'the worst sort of Muggles they could find.' Harry said nothing, and Dumbledore continued without looking at him - or perhaps, even seeing him: "You might ask -- and with good reason -- why it had to be so. Why could some wizarding family not have taken you in? Many would have done so more than gladly, would have been honoured and delighted to raise you as a son."
He turned to lock his eyes with Harry, shoulders suddenly straight and firm, every inch the Headmaster of the premier wizarding school in Britain, as well as a man honed and tempered by numerous battles with the Dark Side: "My answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. You were in more danger than perhaps anyone but I realised. Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters -- and many of them are almost as terrible as he -- were still at large: angry, desperate, violent. And I had to make my decision too, with regard to the years ahead. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone forever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure, too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed you.
"I knew that Voldemort's knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive. I knew that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power."
He broke off to glance at Lily, and they saw a flash of pain pass through his face before he continued: "But I knew, too, where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated -- to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative."
"She doesn't love me," said Harry at once, glancing at his mother in apology. "Aunt Petunia doesn't give a damn -"
"But she took you," Dumbledore cut across him, eyes locking with his. "She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you."
"I still don't -"
"While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, whilst you are there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years."
The old man closed his eyes as he sighed and shook his head. "What do you think would have happened, Harry? If I had let those memories stay, what would you have done when you realized that there was someone like you … someone with the same powers and abilities as you … someone who showed that she could care for you even though you were a virtual stranger, and can care for you in a way that your relatives did not, even in the short span of time that you were with her?"
Harry felt fingers entwining with his own; he knew that it was Hermione, and he squeezed her hand briefly, feeling a small warmth spreading from her fingers into his aching chest, and knew there was only one response he could give: "I would have gone looking for her. I would have let nothing stand in my way to keep in touch with her …"
Dumbledore nodded, sadly. "And in so doing, you would have broken the protection I placed around you. You would have run away … tried to find a way not only to keep in touch with Miss Granger, but perhaps even tried to go with her - and in doing so, you would have placed yourself in danger.
"I couldn't take the risk, and so I made my decision. I Memory-Charmed both of you so that the incident would be forgotten, knowing that I would be condemning you to another two years of darkness …" He turned away to look out again on a beach slowly turning red from the rays of a setting sun, but not swiftly enough to keep from their view a hint of tears in his eyes.
Silence reigned in the bungalow, all of them trying to find something to say, something to do, something to break the suddenly oppressive atmosphere that permeated the idyllic world they'd found themselves in.
Harry's mind went numb, as it ran from scenario to possibility, trying to find a chink in the armor of Dumbledore's logic. He felt Hermione's arms around him, saw her brown eyes fringed with tears before she buried her face in his chest and he knew that she, like him, had gone through the same mental exercise … and could find no real flaw in the old man's thinking.
And he could do nothing about it except to hug Hermione even tighter, even as she did the same to him.
"Was there no other way, Albus?"
Dumbledore turned to Lily Potter, and slowly shook his head. "There was no other way, Lily … Harry had been deprived of love and affection for so long that he would have sought it out, unheeding of the danger to himself even if I had explained it to him. He has," and he gave a small, ironic smile, "a tendency towards rash action, much like his father before him."
There was no response that anyone could give, and once again, an oppressive silence fell, thoughts now turned inwards at the vagaries of fate. How different would the world have been, wondered Lily, if they hadn't died … if Fate and whatever Divinity existed allowed them to raise Harry in the way he should have been raised: lovingly, attentively, with a whole host of friends including, if that were possible, the children of the Marauders? Harry would have grown up with friends like himself - Alice Longbottom had a son who was born the same day as Harry … she remembered hearing from Bill Weasley that he had another brother while she was carrying Harry … the Browns had a daughter, as had the Bones, who would all be about Harry's age by now …
But even as these thoughts went through her mind, she caught sight of a weeping Hermione in Harry's arms … and wondered if the two would have found each other, if circumstances were different? Would Harry be comforting the muggle-born witch by now or would he, like James, look askance at the brilliant but stuck-up bookworm who should have been in Ravenclaw but was in Gryffindor …
"But why didn't you tell us, Professor?" Lily felt her heart going out to the young girl in Harry's arms as Hermione's question floated in the air. "We've been at Hogwarts for five years and in all that time, not one word … not even one hint …"
"Would it have mattered if I told you, Miss Granger?" The calm voice and kindly eyes cut her off; and Lily couldn't help but smile as she saw her son and his best friend staring at each other, their minds undoubtedly rushing through a flood of memories from the moment a bushy-haired girl burst into a compartment looking for a toad … to the days of wandering the corridors of Hogwarts or taking walks around the lake … to the nights spent practicing Charms and defensive spells …
"Although I must confess," Dumbledore continued in a soft voice that seemed to carry an infinite burden of pain, "that I had hoped the two of you had not come together as you did."
The oppressive silence in the room changed into stunned silence as everyone, including Mr. Roarke and Tattoo, stared in shock at the old man's words. Even Sarah was looking at her grandfather in complete disbelief - unwilling to admit to herself the words that she'd heard him pronounce.
Dumbledore's eyes locked with Harry's, and the room held its collective breath as he continued: "I took away your memories of each other six years ago for your protection … because there was no better way to keep you from harm, except through the protective spell that I cast and which Petunia sealed when she accepted you into her home.
"That protection has been in place since the day you were placed with the Dursleys; that protection is in place every summer when you leave Hogwarts and is in place until you can return." He broke off his gaze and looked around him at the bungalow that Harry and Hermione shared and glanced at Mr. Roarke, who met his eyes and slowly nodded in understanding. "I'm afraid … that the protection I imbued you with has either been weakened, or is gone … because you no longer think of the Dursley's as home."
"They never were my home!" Harry roared, causing the Terrible Two to cower in a corner, whimpering in fear at the explosion of rage that they never saw Harry display before -- "They never treated me like a member of the family … I was always the freak, I was always the odd one out - the one they always tried to pretend was not there …"
"But there was no place else for you, Harry … and for as long as you consider it your home in the absence of anything else, the protection is in place and neither Voldemort or anyone else intending to do you harm can touch you there."
"It is not my home!" Harry gritted out. "Hogwarts is far more of a home to me than that place has ever been!"
"Is it, Harry?" Dumbledore said softly, and their eyes locked for a long moment, until Harry turned his eyes away from the cold logic and steely resolve that made his Headmaster one of the most powerful wizards in the world.
"No," he mumbled, as he shook his head. While there were times when he thought of Hogwarts as home, deep in his heart he knew it wasn't true. Unbidden, his mind ran over the hundreds of incidents that kept Hogwarts as a special - and not so special - place in his heart: his classes in Charms, Transfiguration and Creatures where he'd often watched Hermione performing magic flawlessly, envious of her skills and contrasting these with his Potions classes and the derogatory comments of Snape; the almost daily encounters with Malfoy and his cronies mixed with the laughter of Hermione; Filch and Mrs. Norris on their daily rounds around the castle, and the joys of Quidditch …
But then, neither was the Burrow "home" to him … much as he loved the mothering that Molly gave him, much as he enjoyed the companionship of Ron and the Twins (except for the sometimes uncomfortable moments when Ginny was around) -- the Burrow never really felt like home to him. A place to stay, yes … a break in the constant tension and unhappiness of No. 4 Privet Drive, definitely … but it was merely a house -- a place to look forward to visiting before returning to Hogwarts and …
He felt his neck bones crack as his head spun quickly to look at Hermione, even as he felt her pushing away from him, and he goggled at her as she stared back at him - her eyes wide as saucers, sparkling with new tears overlaying the dried streaks down her cheeks, her bikini-clad body with his shirt as a caftan shivering as if a cold wind had passed through her -
His eyes sought out and locked with the brown eyes of … no, not just his best friend, for Hermione was all that and much, much more … not his lover, for they hadn't yet reached that level in their relationship - interrupted as they were by the sudden visits of people who were close to them -
Partner, confidant, companion, equal … Hermione was all that and more to him. They may not have shared physical intimacy in the real world beyond hugs and kisses on the cheek, or the occasional moments when Hermione's fingers dug into his arm in her moments of fear or elation … but they had shared so much more - and it was in times like those that Harry felt that physical intimacy with Hermione was not needed.
For a brief moment, his mind bolted in that direction - wondering whether it was the deep emotional and mental connection that he had with Hermione which was the reason why he always seemed to overlook her physical attributes. That she was pretty, he'd never had any doubts - seeing her in Krum's arms during the Yule Ball had simply driven that point home to him. That she was a girl, he'd never ever questioned … until her scathing retort to Ron in the days preceding the Yule Ball had driven a painful stake through his heart - because he realized that he had been taking her for granted for too long.
That she was more than a pretty girl to him was never ever in doubt, not since the moment when he realized that she was not at their table and didn't know of the troll loose in the castle … or even, he reflected now, from the moment she had Apparated behind him to share a sandwich with a lonely boy in a park in summer England …
He turned to look at Dumbledore as his mouth tried to work up a protest, an objection to the words that the old man said - knowing at the same time that Hermione was trying to frame the same response, but both fell silent as Mr. Roarke spoke up in a soft, commanding tone that could not be denied: "Home is where your heart is, Harry, Hermione. It may sound like a cliché … no, it is a cliché, but it holds more than a grain of truth."
The words washed over him and he couldn't respond, couldn't even make a protest as the truth of those words crashed into his benumbed mind …
If home were comfort, anywhere would be a comfortable place for him - for as long as Hermione was with him; if a home denoted safety, any place would mean safety for him, as long as he knew that Hermione was there … and if home was somewhere that he would always anticipate returning to … it was to Hermione's welcoming smile that he always looked forward to.
Without a thought, without even a sensation of his body moving, he felt his arms enfolding her, half-listening to her sobs and shaky voice as she said, "I'm sorry, Harry … I didn't know … if I had known that you would lose your protection because of me …"
And he heard himself whispering fiercely to her, repeating the words he'd said to her soon after arriving in this place: "Hermione … I need you … can't you see that? But I need you more than the books or cleverness that you already have. I need your friendship … I need your courage … there are times when I can't be what I am unless you're there beside me."
He felt his hands moving up and down her back as he comforted her, trying to shush her even as he whispered fiercely in her ear, "I don't care, Hermione … I'm home now … I'm with you here, and I'm home."
Neither one noticed the others acting as if dust specks had lodged in their eyes; everyone had turned away from everyone else, surreptitiously wiping or rubbing at the tears in their eyes … even the Terrible Two, young as they were, couldn't help but look away from each other at this most intimate of moments between their mentors.
Albus Dumbledore looked out at the night sky now dotted with stars and a pale, silvery moon, wondering what the stars held for his charges. He'd done what he thought was right … he did what he thought was the best for all concerned - not just for Harry but for the whole wizarding world - and now, he could only look up at the stars and the mysteries they held … wondering why his best-laid and long-thought out plans had failed.
Unbidden, Sarah's words to him earlier coursed through his mind, "…your mistakes are never because of selfishness. If there is any mistake you ever made, it has always been because you have loved too deeply … letting your heart rule over logic."
He'd let logic rule him that day in the park, six years before, when he'd memory-charmed Harry and Hermione to remove any possibility of Harry running away from home and breaking the protection that he'd cast over him. But he'd let his heart rule him in the years that Harry was at Hogwarts … and for some unfathomable reason, had found his way to the girl with whom he'd shared that singularly happy day in the past.
Or rather, he thought with a wry smile, perhaps it was Hermione who'd found her way to the lonely boy on the swing - but then again, why had Harry gone after her that Halloween night …?
He glanced at his former students and saw them looking back at him with pained compassion in their eyes, and he could do nothing now but apologize for the mess that he'd created. "I'm sorry, Lily … James. I have tried to protect Harry … done what I thought was best for him … but it seems I have failed."
He closed his eyes briefly before continuing, "I had hoped that Harry would have found in Hogwarts the friendship and affection that he'd so missed growing up. I was happy when he came into the Great Hall for the first time in the company of Ron Weasley; at least, I thought, he had found a friend …"
And he stopped as the memory of the Sorting Ceremony came to mind - and the moment he realized that, even through Harry's fear and nervousness at this new and strange world that he'd walked into unprepared, even though he was in the company of what he'd thought was his first ever friend in the wizarding world (aside from Hagrid) … that Harry's eyes were following the actions of the small, enthusiastic girl who had literally been hopping towards the Gryffindor table after the Hat delivered its verdict - the girl that Dumbledore had met that summer two years before …
"Professor." He shook his head at the little girl's voice, and looked up to see Carolyn's worried face looking earnestly at him. "Why does this have to happen to Sir Harry and Miss Hermione? Uncle Remus never told me why -"
"Uncle Remus?" The explosive shout from a bug-eyed James Potter shattered the silence of the room - and all eyes were turned on the suddenly-uncomfortable girl. "But, but you said-"
"Your mother's a Muggle," Lily continued, as she stared wide-eyed at the young girl. "You can't be Erin's daughter …"
"Nicole," James's whispered voice suddenly cut in, as he continued staring at the suddenly flustered young girl. "Remus' youngest sister is a Squib."
He looked at Lily's surprised face and explained, "It was Remus who said he could find the pictures and music of Tom Jones for your … umm, bet. He told us that he knew someone in the Muggle world who could help us … he finally admitted when we were drinking in Hogsmeade that his youngest sister was a Squib …"
"She is, Aunt Lily," Carolyn said to her. "Which is why she never went to Hogwarts and, with Uncle Remus the way he is … and Aunt Erin leaving for America soon after I was born …"
Her voice trailed off for a moment as she bowed her head. "Mum never told me about the magical world … neither did Uncle Remus when he visited us occasionally … not until I got my Hogwarts letter and went with Mum to Diagon Alley where I met Cindy - and Miss Hermione, Sir Harry and Ron and the Weasleys …"
She looked up with a tremulous smile as Cindy placed an arm around her shoulder and suddenly giggled. "Uncle Remus was at home the day before I went to Hogwarts. They were laughing their heads off at that story … Mum said that she was surprised when Uncle Remus sent her an owl asking for Tom Jones' records. She had one album of Tom Jones, but had mixed up the record jackets … what she'd sent was a Tom Jones record in an Elvis Presley album …"
James Potter stared at the young girl, his face slowly reddening as the memories of that humiliating night coursed through his body, Lily's giggles at her own memories not helping his countenance one bit. With a roar, James leaped at the shocked Carolyn and enfolded the girl in a bear hug so tight that she literally squeaked in terror - and gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek.
"So that's why you knew what song to play, you little minx! I should have known you looked like someone I knew … I should paddle you for what Remus did to me!" He suddenly lifted the struggling young girl on his shoulder, waving his hand as if actually planning to spank her for the misdeeds of her Uncle some twenty years before -
"Dad." The quiet voice of his son shut off the building hilarity in the room as if someone had taken a wrench to a running faucet, and he turned to face the set, stone-hard face of Harry. "Carolyn's right, Dad … why is all this happening to me? Why me, Dad? Why me?"
Slowly, James Potter placed Carolyn on her feet - doing so deliberately, as if avoiding Harry's pained eyes. James glanced at Lily, who was looking down at the floor - and turned to look at his former Headmaster, who also seemed to be avoiding his gaze.
He started rubbing the bridge of his nose as he kept trying to catch the eye of Dumbledore and his wife, until finally, with a prolonged sigh - "Albus?"
The old man finally looked at him and they locked eyes for a long moment; the old man turned to stare at Lily for a moment and lowered his eyes, knowing that there could only be one answer to Harry's question.
"On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head inn …" Dumbledore paused for a moment and sighed, shaking his head. "I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave."
Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly and pulled his wand from within the folds of his robe. The others looked on in surprise, but he merely raised an eyebrow at Mr. Roarke, who gave him a small nod which he returned with a small bow. A cone of shimmering light came out of the wand's end and a small, three-dimensional image materialized on the table; for a moment, Hermione thought of R2D2 casting a holographic projection of Princess Leia in Obi Wan Kenobi's cave - and tried to shake the thought from her mind.
A figure draped in shawls stood before them, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she stood straight, arms at her side - much like Princess Leia as she made her appeal to the old Jedi Knight. But when Sybill Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice - or the controlled voice of the Star Wars heroine -- but in harsh, hoarse tones she had never heard, but which Harry had heard her use once before:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."
A flick of his wand, and the image disappeared … replaced by an absolute silence within the veranda. For a long moment, it seemed as if the sea itself had fallen silent for no one could remember even hearing the crashing of waves on the shore.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said very quietly, for Dumbledore, still staring at the table where the image of Trelawney had dissipated, seemed completely lost in thought. "It … did that mean ... what did that mean?"
"It meant," said Dumbledore in a soft voice, "that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."
Harry felt as though something was closing in on him. His breathing seemed difficult, and his eyes - wide, desperate, sought out his parents, who were looking at the floor, pain etching their faces as their hands gripped each others' tightly.
"It means - me?"
Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses, glanced at James and Lily for a second before turning back to him.
"The odd thing, Harry," he said softly, "is that it may not have meant you at all. Sybill's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."
"Then - it might not be me?" said Harry
"I am afraid," said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, "that there is no doubt that it is you."
"But you said," Hermione's voice squeaked in protest as she joined the discussion, "- Neville was born at the end of July, too - and his mum and dad - "
"You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort." Once again, the old man's eyes locked with Harry's: "Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal. And so he did. He chose you, Harry - not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse."
"But he might have chosen wrong!" said Harry. "He might have marked the wrong person!"
"He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him," Dumbledore replied. "And notice this, Harry: he chose, not the pureblood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing) but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far - something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved."
"Why did he do it, then?" said Harry, who felt numb and cold. "Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then -"
"That might, indeed, have been the more practical course," said Dumbledore, "except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head inn, which Sybill chose for its cheapness, has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele than the Three Broomsticks. As I found to my cost, it is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sybill Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My - our - one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building."
"So he only heard -?"
"He heard only the beginning, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you, and marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait, to learn more. He did not know that you would have power the Dark Lord knows not -"
"But I don't!" said Harry, in a strangled voice. "I haven't any powers he hasn't got, I'm not even that good at magic … Hermione is better at all this than I am - "
"'He will have a power the Dark Lord knows not'," Lily Potter quoted softly, and Harry turned his tear-filled eyes to her. "Haven't you been listening, Harry? Voldemort may be the most powerful or learned wizard in this century, but there is one thing that he despises, one thing that he always underestimates … one thing that he knows nothing about."
She glanced at Hermione, who was looking as shell-shocked and clueless as Harry, and smiled wistfully. "It was that which made you go after a little girl whom you didn't even think of as a friend when she was in danger … even if the only memory of your friendship with her had been wiped from your memory."
"It is the same power that helped you find this place, Harry," Mr. Roarke's quiet voice cut in. A corner of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile at Harry's shocked expression. "You've said it before … this is not your fantasy - it's Hermione's. But you found your way here, not by accident or even by design … but you're here because you wanted the assurance that Hermione was safe and unharmed."
The crooked smile turned into a warm smile as he continued, "You could have left when you knew she was safe, but you decided to stay on. You wanted to stay here so that you could know her better, so that you could have some time with her by yourself without the pressures of life or school or other people" - he broke off for a moment - "although it would seem that the last hasn't really happened."
"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities," Sarah added. "I would think that your being here, with Hermione, shows what you truly feel and are … more than anything that you could say."
Harry didn't answer, his mind now totally numb from the revelation of the prophecy that had guided his life. He didn't know how he was able to remain standing; it felt as if his blood and the warmth of his body were slowly draining away … after a while, he could feel his feet growing heavier as if everything that was in him was slowly pooling into his lower limbs. Unwillingly, he could feel his knees suddenly buckling … groping blindly, he felt a chair behind him and slowly sank into it, elbows on his knees, hands covering his face.
A pall of gloom hung over the veranda and the oppressive silence wrapped itself once again around everyone there. Dumbledore and Sarah stood to one side, the old man once again looking up at the stars as if trying to divine their meaning; his granddaughter beside him, staring blindly at the now-darkened beach. James and Lily had also sunk into chairs away from Harry, Lily's face buried in James' chest as they sought comfort from each other and the cruel fate that Destiny had rolled their way.
Hermione stood alone, staring at her more than best friend in wonder, feeling a fugitive fear flitting through her veins, the weight of the prophecy bearing down on her as she watched Harry's face as he fought with the knowledge that, she was sure, he would have much rather done without. She fought down the urge to approach him and hug him, knowing that, for the moment, Harry would want to struggle with this on his own … but steeling herself to do what she must for the moment she knew would soon arrive …
"This is another fine mess you brought us into, Cindy." Heads snapped around to look at the young girl's sad and worried face - and soft smiles broke out on the faces of everyone there (except Harry) at Carolyn's weak attempt at flippancy - and Lily smiled at the young girl and her friend, silently thanking the stars that a seemingly uncaring Divinity had seen fit to place the two young girls in Harry and Hermione's path. They needed the two young girls, she thought … someone to remind them of what was important, someone to remind them that there was a far larger world and people out there who mattered …
"…either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives." The words, spoken softly, made them turn their eyes back to Harry, still sitting on the chair with his head in his hands. "Does that mean what I think it means … that I must either kill him or be killed by him?"
He lifted his face from his hands and glared at Dumbledore. "Is that why you rescued me from the house … is that why you brought me to Aunt Petunia and sentenced me to that horrible place? Is that why you felt it was so important to protect me … not because I was a baby who'd lost his parents … but because I am the tool you needed to destroy Voldemort?"
The last words were a scream and everyone in the place felt as if white-hot knives were tearing into their souls as the indictment lingered in the air. Dumbledore flushed at the accusation and opened his mouth to reply, but Harry's angry words overrode him: "That was all I ever was to you! You told me just enough to help me beat him in first year … you gave me my Dad's Invisibility Cloak so I could get around the castle and find the Mirror of Erised … you wiped my memory of Hermione because you didn't want anything to happen to the weapon you needed …"
Dumbledore's eyes were staring at him in shock, and his mouth opened and closed soundlessly … for there was no real answer that the old man could give at that moment. In truth, and he had to admit it to himself … there was more than a grain of truth to Harry's words.
And yet, he asked himself as Harry's words washed over him, what is truth?
That he'd protected Harry in his infancy, even if it meant that he'd had to condemn him to a decade's worth of abuse because he'd needed to keep Harry safe and protected against a day that he'd hoped would never come was true. That he'd interfered and wiped the boy's memory of a special friend and a special day in his past to ensure that the protection wouldn't break was also true …
But against that he had to weigh everything that Harry had done during his years at Hogwarts - and all the moments when Harry had triumphed without his help or guidance ... that, also, was the truth. That he hadn't done anything to encourage or discourage Harry's friendship and deepening relationship with Hermione - even if it would have wrecked his plans and hopes - that was also the truth.
But at this moment he knew there was nothing he could say which would make Harry understand what, to him, was the singular truth: beyond everything that Harry was, and could be, to the wizarding world and the fight with Voldemort … there was simply Harry himself - the boy that he'd come to know and understand as he grew into his abilities … the boy who'd often reminded him of James and Lily during their years under him at Hogwarts … the boy who embodied all that was good and true …
"You should have left me there with my mum and dad …" Dumbledore flinched at the savage words and painful accusations from the young man, his whole body now shaking in fury at the revelations of the day. "You should have let me die with them!"
"No."
The single word was spoken softly but with a clear undercurrent of steel in its tone, and Harry looked up to see Hermione standing in front of him - eyes glinting with their own inherent pain and determination. He opened his mouth to answer her, but she quickly cut him off: "If you had died … if something had happened to you before you came to Hogwarts … or if, God forbid, you never made it to Hogwarts … then I would have been dead, too."
"Hermione …"
"Shut it, Harry." It was the face and tone of an angry Hermione … one that he had seen only once before - and Malfoy had been at the receiving end of that anger - and Harry fell silent, her eyes boring into his.
"Don't you see that, Harry? If you weren't around in first year … I would have been killed by the troll that Quirrell brought into the castle. If it weren't for you, Ginny Weasley or some other witch or wizard would still be in the Chamber of Secrets, buried, forgotten … perhaps even Hogwarts itself would be closed because no one but Tom Riddle could get in or out of the Chamber. If you weren't there, then Sirius would still be in Azkaban, dying a little each day - Animagus or not. He broke out of Azkaban only because he knew you were alive …"
"But if it weren't for me, then Wormtail wouldn't have escaped, Hermione! Aren't you forgetting that? If it weren't for me and my oh-so-holy attitude, then Cedric Diggory would still be alive - and Voldemort would still be in Albania, living among the rats and snakes, unable to come back."
"But you don't know that, Harry … who could really know? Who could really say what could have been with Wormtail … with Cedric? Voldemort might have found another way … someone else might have found him and brought him back …" Hermione stopped and knelt in front of Harry, her hands grabbing his and holding him tightly as her eyes remained locked with his. "Who can really say what could have been with them, Harry? But there's one thing that I do know … if you weren't there, then I wouldn't be here with you now … Ginny would still be buried in the Chamber of Secrets while Hagrid would be accompanying Sirius in Azkaban."
She placed a soft and gentle hand over his mouth before he could say anything, and continued with utter conviction, trying to reach through his bothered mind and soul: "Don't measure your life by your losses, Harry … measure them by your victories … measure them by the people you've touched, and helped … the people you've saved."
"I wasn't able to save Cedric, Hermione …"
"There was nothing you could do, Harry! Can't you see that? You were both caught unaware … who would have expected that the Cup was a portkey and that Voldemort and Wormtail were waiting at the other end? But that isn't important … you were able to beat Voldemort, bring Cedric's body back … warn the world about Voldemort's return - that must count for something!"
The two teens were so engrossed in each other that Harry nearly jumped when he felt a soft hand resting on his shoulder - and he looked up to see Lily's green eyes on his.
"She's right, you know," Lily said softly to her son. "Don't count your life by your losses, Harry … measure them by your victories and the people you've helped. You may have been unable to save Cedric but who knows? It may well have been his time to go…" a tear fell from her eyes as she looked at her son and glanced at James, "as it was my time - our time."
For a moment, she paused as she stared into her son's eyes before continuing, "I didn't want this to happen, Harry … none of us did. But it happened … don't count me or your father among your losses because we did what we had to do. We died to protect you … not because of what you were to be, but because you are our son. I would have done the same thing to protect you, even if it were Neville or someone else who was prophesied to defeat Voldemort.
"Because you're my son … and we love you."
With a heart-wrenching wail, Harry suddenly stood up and hugged his mother … finally allowing all his pain, all his frustration and disappointments pour out of him in a tidal wave of release that he'd denied himself for too long. Lily Potter held her son tightly, his head on her shoulder, her eyes closed as tears leaked out and she could feel her heart wrenching in her shared pain with her son.
After a moment, she opened her eyes - and saw the teary-eyed Hermione smiling tremulously at her. Without a word, she held out a hand to the person who owned her son's heart … and enfolded the young girl and her son in her arms, allowing her shoulders to become wet with their tears … felt someone behind her and knew it was James and she allowed herself to lean back into his warm embrace … felt Harry and Hermione stepping aside to allow James to join them …
None of them noticed Mr. Roarke and Tattoo quietly ushering the others out of the veranda … that Sarah, Cindy and Ca were walking away with heads bowed to hide the tears in their eyes, but all three unsuccessful in doing so as their tears fell on the sand … or that Dumbledore had paused for a moment to look at the family hugging each other before turning away with a sigh …
***
"He's just sleeping, Carolyn."
"Well, he looks like he's in a Vulcan healing trance …"
"Huh?"
"It's a Muggle thing, Cindy … I'll explain later. But you heard Madam Pomfrey - she's not sure what's happened to Professor Dumbledore."
"Neither do we, Ca." There was a moment's pause and he heard Cindy whispering, "Is the potion supposed to last this long? It's almost dinner time …"
"Fred and George did say that they weren't sure how long the effects would last."
Again, silence from the two young girls … and Dumbledore remained silent and still, his nimble mind working behind his closed eyes, recalling what had happened that day, wondering whether he'd just been dreaming or--
"We've got to do something, Cindy!"
A part of his mind had been considering the young girl's words - and suddenly locked on the memories of the summer he'd spent with Sarah - part of the time they'd spent as Muggles as they toured England -- and he remembered what the 'Vulcan Healing Trance' was and how one was supposed to be awakened from it -
He opened his eyes just as Carolyn was raising her hand, and he said in a firm voice that had the two young girls leaping back in shock, "I don't think that's necessary, Miss Wright."
He slowly sat up and glanced around him, realizing that he had been lying down on a bed next to Harry and Hermione's, and raised an eyebrow at the two young Gryffindors, both of whom were holding their hands to chests where hearts were undoubtedly beating away in triple-time.
"May I request that, next time, you allow Madam Pomfrey or a Healer to do their work? They are, after all, trained for it." The young Muggle-born witch looked down at her feet as he said this, mumbling both apology and agreement … and the old Headmaster smiled, remembering an earnest young wizard who he'd appointed as Prefect in the hope of controlling his best friends (an appointment, he sighed to himself, that did not work out as expected!) …
He leveled his eyes on the young witch and said, with a twinkle in his eyes, "Apology accepted, Miss Wright. Now, if you would help me sit up …?"
With the help of the two young witches, he was soon sitting up on the bed and fumbling with his glasses - and saw the pumpkins still scattered around the Hospital Wing, and sighed. For a moment, he thought about retiring and letting Minerva McGonagall run the show … and shook the thought off. He could only hope that he would have the strength to see these two witches graduate … rather than have them bring him to an early grave.
"Professor Dumbledore! You're awake!" He smiled as a flustered Madam Pomfrey bustled up to him, a tray of medications in her hands. He tried to refuse as she continued to bustle around him, half-listening to her train of mumbled charms and spells as she ran a diagnostic check over him - and realized, with some surprise, that the windows of the Hospital Wing was dark - and, from the faint rumbling of his stomach, knew that it was dinner time or close to it.
Soon enough, the nurse was declaring him all right - if rather rested from the imposed nap - and was trying to usher him from the place, along with the two children, when he suddenly stopped to look at Harry and Hermione, still in their joined beds. Madam Pomfrey looked at him at just that moment and wondered whether it was a manifestation of Higher Magic - she could not fathom how Dumbledore could smile so warmly while at the same time projecting the feeling of an infinitely deep chasm of worry, and pain … and, and - heartache - as he stared at the couple on the bed, spooned together in their sleep - Harry's fist in Hermione's hands as she held it to her heart, Harry's head resting on her hair, but lines of worry apparent in their faces.
He looked at her and she turned her eyes away from him, wondering why she should be bothered by that look.
"Why don't you join us for dinner, Poppy? I'm sure that nothing would happen while we're gone … we could have one of the house elves here to inform us if anything changes. You do deserve a break from all the excitement."
Protests died on Madam Pomfrey's as her eyes met those of her superior. With a silent nod, she made a quick check of her patients while the two young girls, with a last look at their sleeping mentors, shouldered their bags and books and started to quietly walk out ahead of them, but they were stopped in their tracks by the Headmaster's voice.
"Miss Galloway! Miss Wright!" He beckoned them closer (including Madam Pomfrey) so that his words did not have to carry over the room. "I would be much obliged if you turn over whatever … ummm, formula the Weasleys may have concocted to Madam Pomfrey, in case the Ravenclaws are not back to normal by tomorrow morning."
His smile went even broader as he saw the two young girls with their mouths open in shock, and felt a warmth in his heart as he realized that they were not about to protest or lie about his statement.
"Please tell Masters Fred and George Weasley that if another such incident happens," and he waved his hand around him, "I will have the pair of them trimming the Quidditch pitch with a pair of scissors."
The two girls mumbled their understanding - and looked at him wide-eyed as he continued, "And as for the two of you … you will spend the next two weeks in detention with Madam Pomfrey. At the very least," and he smiled at Carolyn, "she can teach you the difference between a magical Healing Charm and the Vulcan Healing Trance."
The old man had to struggle to keep a straight face as he watched Cindy mumble, "You and your big mouth!" at her friend, the latter sticking out her tongue at her friend while Madam Pomfrey looked on in puzzlement.
"With power comes responsibility, Carolyn," he said. "As your Uncle Remus well knows."
"Uncle Remus!" was the shocked response from Cindy and Madam Pomfrey, who were both staring at the other girl in surprise.
"Is that why …" Cindy's question abruptly stopped, as a frown formed on her forehead and she stared at Carolyn in some confusion.
"What?" The other girl asked, puzzled.
"Nothing …" Cindy shook her head quickly, and turned away as she mumbled, "Nothing … it was just a dream, I think."
Dumbledore watched the two young girls walk out of the room ahead of him with Madam Pomfrey, and smiled as he saw them quietly pulling out small vials with an orangey-colored powder within, which they handed to the nurse who just as quietly pocketed them before they walked out the door.
With a sigh, he stopped to take a look at Harry and Hermione, still asleep in their joined beds and surrounded by pumpkins … held the image in his mind's eye for a second before quietly closing the door where two young people were still chasing a dream.