Authors note: Yepiee, you made it this far, pat yourself on the back and tuck into you're next mug of rocket fuel coffee.
If the next chapter turn's up late, kindly send all hate mail to my place of work for causing the repetitive strain in my arm that prevents me from doing much in the way of typing at home from time to time.
I'm nicking off with Ms.Rowling's characters for a little while, I don't own them and never will. I promise to return them more or less intact.
And now on with the tale...
Harry Potter and the Trial of Memories-Part 3
It was strange. That sickly buzzing feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was at once unpleasant and oddly familiar, a little like butterflies in your tummy before a school exam.
But this was far more unpleasant. It was a warning, or a reminder, whichever way you look at it; that something was coming, and it wasn't a good thing. He didn't feel sick with it, just very much aware. And he didn't like it.
Harry Potter didn't like it at all.
~o0o~
"Harry?"
"Hunh?"
"Harry?"
"Hunh?"
"Do you understand question six?" Ron asked anxiously.
"Huh, well that can't be good." Harry muttered to himself.
"What can't be?"
"If you're stuck on question six, when I haven't made it passed question four yet."
"I wouldn't worry about that, I skipped two questions already."
Ron jammed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes.
"Oh this is useless!"
Ron leant back on his chair, the wooden legs groaned in protest, Madam Pincer, the school librarian looked over with a glare. Ron didn't notice, and continued swinging on his chair, periodically twirling his wand in his left hand.
"I think that they should call off the exams this year. Call it an act of compassion in a time of stress. Not that I'm complaining about exams, but how are we supposed to concentrate with You-Know-Who on the loose, Deatheaters around every corner; knowing that we might just snuff it at any moment. It'd only be fair really."
Harry sighed, Ron liked exams even less than Harry did.
"Cancel the exams?" A dry voice replied, making it all to obvious that she did not approve of such talk. It was said in a tone that only somebody with an enviable superiority in the intelligence department could manage, and one to which Ron grunted in exasperation.
"Well at least push them back or something. How am I supposed to study twice as hard as I normally do, for twice the amount of time I normally take, train for Quidditch, and that bleedin' trial..."
Harry glared at his russet-haired friend.
"Err, sorry about that Harry, no offence intended."
Harry relaxed his facial muscles into a slight smile.
"None taken."
"Weelll. If you two are finding it hard to cope, even with two more free lessons a week than anybody else, I suggest you drop Quidditch."
Jaws dropped in an expression made from equal parts, confusion, shock and utter inability to understand such a concept. Ron recovered himself first.
"Give up..."
"...Quidditch..."
"...must be mad..."
"...brilliant game..."
"...best players..."
"...can't be serious..."
"...best thing that ever happened..."
"...only three more games..."
"...pounding Slytherin..."
"...training for co-captains..."
"...pounding Malfoy..."
"...need the House Cup, and besides..."
Both boys looked at each other
"QUIDDITCH IS LIFE!"
They announced rather loudly with matching grins. They drew amused expressions from the other students present, and a disapproving and resounding 'shush' from Madam Pincer.
Hermione looked up at the sky and muttered something about 'priorities'.
Ron looked back at the question on his Transfigurations homework, and quite unaccommodatingly, it remained unintelligible. Ron let out a grunt, and hit his head against the table with a 'thud'. Apparently harder than he was meaning too, because this sound was followed by an 'Ouch'.
Harry smirked, Hermione had her best 'Why do I put up with this?' look on her face.
"Will you three please refrain from making anymore noise!"
Hermione shot an apologetic look to the school librarian, before fixing each of the boys with a glare that could melt a cauldron. She bent back to her books, chewed absent-mindedly on the top of her quill, before continuing to write. Harry saw Ron smile slightly, an odd expression on his face; a slight flush appeared in his cheeks, before he too, bent back to attempting to work.
Harry felt something flicker briefly in the pit of his stomach, a strange sort of mixture of sadness and longing. Then he squished it back down, and started to write.
For the next half-an-hour, they worked diligently in complete silence, Harry was rather pleased with his progress, and it occurred to him, as he looked over at Ron's now quite full sheet of parchment, that they were not as bad at studying as they frequently made out, as long as they didn't distract one another.
"Studying hard I see." The soothing timbre of Dumbledore's voice broke through Harry's own musings.
The soft whinnying of Hogwarts school pet came from Ron's side of the desk. Snuffles pulled himself up to the level of the desk, using his paws. The hairy dog seemed to look over Ron's work, and then a soft snort exited his mouth he was laughing. Ron shot the mangy old mutt a dirty look.
"I've come to see how you're doing with your potions homework, as I will be taking over your lessons for a while."
"You'll be teaching potions? Why, where is Professor Snape?" Ron asked, unable to keep some of the excitement out of his voice.
Dumbledore lowered is head, Harry noticed that the old man's eyes seemed dull, and when he answered Ron's questions his voice was soft and low, it held none of the mischief that was usually present.
"Serverus has ... gone away for a while. A little ... holiday in Siberia. Not sure what possessed him to go there, very inhospitable place. Not very friendly ... and rather hard to reach if we need him, or if he needs us.
Not sure when he's coming back ... just thought you ought to know."
Dumbledore straightened and turned, but not without fixing the group with a knowing gaze.
"Now remember I want only one roll of parchment for your homework, so bullet-pointing your answers is perfectly acceptable. Come along Snuffles."
Snuffles moved to Harry's side of the desk, and Harry tickled the underside of the dog's ear, only to be rewarded by Snuffles licking the palm of his hand, leaving a rather unpleasant trail of saliva glistening wetly upon it.
Snuffles padded out of the library after Dumbledore.
"Did you here that about Snape? It's Great!"
"No it isn't Ron, I mean ... a holiday in Siberia. That won't be pleasant will it?"
"Nothing more than the slimy old git deserves."
Hermione and Ron argued back and forth for a while, weighing up the pro and cons of the Snape issue. But Harry only really thought about one thing, as he wiped his slobber-covered hand on his trousers.
I bet other people don't have to pet their godparents.
~o0o~
A few days later ...
"Aunt Petunia?"
Harry walked nervously towards his Aunt, who for once was not in the presence of her minder, the blond-haired female witch.
Harry was tense all over, half-expecting his Aunt to become cold and distant, or angry and shout at her freak of a nephew to go away. What he was not expecting however was for Petunia Dursley to smile back at him, appearing as nervous as he was.
"Hello Harry."
Almost at once a hundred and one questions flooded his mind, each one crying out for an answer, some concerned, some angry.
Are you going to testify?...
What are you going to say?...
Are you alright?...
Where have you been living?...
Have you seen Dudley?...
How could you let all this happen to me?...
Did you ever care for me, in even the smallest way?...
But then he felt his throat close up, fear of his Aunts reaction to any one of these questions had placed a clamp about his neck, and was now threatening to squeeze. His gaze fell to the floor instead. Completely unsure as to how to start the conversation, an awkward silence ensued. Until, most unexpectedly, Aunt Petunia broke it.
"How are your studies going Harry?"
Harry looked up, and saw a genuine interest in his Aunts eyes, where before they had always seemingly held contempt.
"Well... Mrs ...Ms Figg... she mentioned that you have exams of some kind this year. The B.U.D.G.I.E's or something I think she said..."
"The B.U.D.G.I.E's!" Harry let out a small snort of laughter, startling his Aunt, who only relaxed as she saw the grin pass over her nephews face, a small smile gracing her own, the smile softened her normally harsh features, making her appear years younger, and for anyone who was looking, a family connection between the two was finally visible, after fifteen years of denying it.
"You mean the O.W.L's, Ordinary Wizarding Level's."
"Oh yes that's it. I'm sorry, I have such a hard time trying to remember all of these strange terms for things. Ms Figg does her best, but I'm rather afraid it is like my trying to figure out how to use one of Dudleys' games machines."
"You know about Mrs... um Ms Figg then?"
"Oh yes lovely woman, very kind, talks about you a lot, and somebody called Remus. I've been living with her. She's been trying her best to teach me about all of this ... well your world I suppose."
"You ... you want to know about it?"
Petunia looked down to her hands, fiddling with the straps on her handbag.
"Yes I ... err ... I..."
His Aunt looked back up to him, and sighed as she looked into his expectant face.
"It's as though I've woken up from a dream, one in which I was playing a role that wasn't me. Only I've woken up to a world that seems far stranger than the dream world, and all of the nightmarish things have followed me. Do you understand?"
"I ... not really."
Harry replied frustrated that he didn't understand what his Aunt was trying to tell him.
"It's just that I... I've been angry, very angry for a long time, so long that I didn't even see it anymore. I took out old arguments, old feelings on you, when I shouldn't have." She sighed again.
And for the first time in his life that he could remember, his Aunt took his own hand in hers with tenderness.
"Harry it took me a long time to wake up to that, to what I was doing, and what I was allowing to happen. I'm not sure if I even have any right to ask for your forgiveness."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. His Aunt dropped his hand, but raised her own to cup his left cheek.
"You have Lily's eyes. There's so much of her in you, at times it's almost like having her back, almost as if she's standing right ..." Petunia broke off in a stifled sob, followed by another, and her hand slid from his face.
Harry pulled the slightly rumpled handkerchief with the Hogwarts emblem on it from his robes and handed it to her, unsure of what to say.
"Thank you Harry." She said with a slight sniffle.
"I'm sorry about that."
"It's alright." He replied somewhat awkwardly
"TIME PLEASE." A loud male voice called out.
"Mr Potter your presence is required in court."
Petunia sniffled a few more times against the handkerchief.
"You'd better go Harry." She looked down at the handkerchief, and muttered something like an apology as she made to hand it back. Harry pushed it back into his Aunt's hands.
"No no, keep it. It's alright."
"Mr Potter?" the voice called out again.
"Please it's time."
Hesitantly, Harry stepped away from his Aunt.
"Will you be alright?" he surprised himself with the tone of genuine concern in his question, his Aunt looked slightly pleased, if a little surprised her self.
"Don't worry about me. Ms Figg can take care of me." She said looking up in the direction of where the blond-haired witch stood unobtrusively about ten feet away. Ms Figgs' arms were folded gracefully against her chest. Her pale hair fell in a few strands against her mature but surprisingly beautiful face, and a genuinely warm smile graced her mouth, as if she had recognised what had just passed between Harry and his Aunt. Ms Figgs' eyes focused their gaze on Harry, and her smile grew broader, he knew who she really was now, and the thought obviously pleased her. Harry smiled in return, gave his Aunt's hand a light squeeze, and then turned around wordlessly and walked back into the courtroom.
~o0o~
"Madam Pomfrey, can you tell us exactly the extent of Mr Potters injuries when you saw him on the day he was brought to the Weasley household?"
Harry's attention began wondering almost the minute Fletcher had asked the question. He really wished that the entire courtroom didn't have to know rather personal things about the state of his body. It was bad enough that reporters were soon going to be allowed into the trial, as a matter of public interest. It seemed as though Harry's personal life was no longer to be his own. The past few weeks Remus had all but forbidden Harry from reading the Daily Prophet. The Defence against the Dark Arts teacher had told him he shouldn't be reading such trash, but Harry thought it might be better to know why it was exactly that some of the student's of Hogwarts felt the need to read it in front of him, looking at him from time to time, then whisper or snigger.
"Well Mr Fletcher, he was in the worst state I have ever seen him in, and I have seen him in a fair few states. Five of his ribs were fractured, two of them broken, there were hairline fractures all along his right arm, and his left shoulder was dislocated. He was bleeding internally. Hardly any part of him didn't have a bruise or cut on it. There were ... there were what I believe to be belt marks all over his back and a few on his lower abdomen..." Poppy Pomfrey paused for a moment, looking over to Harry, who for his part sunk a little lower into his seat, a slight red flush to his cheeks, embarrassment and shame contrived to make him want to be as small and invisible as possible. Poppy's voice took on a quieter tone, almost as if she didn't want Harry to have to hear what she was saying, but of course he did.
"On top of all of this he was severely malnourished and underweight. It's sickening what he went through, we almost lost him."
"But you didn't?"
"No we didn't. Fortunately we were able to stabilise him. It's taken a long time, many months of potions and the medi-craft to heal him. He's finally a good weight, though he's still too skinny for my liking. And though I know he doesn't say anything, I know that he still feels pain from time to time."
Harry flushed further, sinking down a little more into his seat. He raised his hand to his head, as though he might hide behind it.
"How would you describe his health, mentally and physically now?"
"Well I'm not a psychiatrist, but I know it's had a permanent effect on his mind..."
Madam Pomfrey took another moment to look over her young patient, she could see the heat rising in his face, as they described his body on an uncomfortably intimate level.
"What sort of effect, Madam Pomfrey?"
"Well he has developed the sorts of reflexes one generally only sees in very well-trained Aurors."
Harry afforded a quick glance at Lupin, to see the slight but understandable grimace that lined his face. Not all of the reflexes Harry had developed were the direct result of living with Vernon Dursley- though that had unmistakably been a considerable factor. The others were almost five of playing seeker on the best Quidditch team at Hogwarts, and classes in Auror training that were not exactly common knowledge.
"Such as?"
"Well the ability to move quickly to avoid harm."
"Might not this come from his Quidditch training Madam Pomfrey?"
"I imagine that some of it does. But I think that as Quidditch players are generally picked for their teams due to their reflexes, it raises the question of how long this... abuse has been going on. As Mr Potter was picked for his house team in his first year, I dread to think that this might have been happening before he even got to Hogwarts."
"Ah, Madam Pomfrey, you do raise an interesting point, one which I'm sure Mr Potter will be willing to be questioned on later, but for now, if we can simply concentrate on what you know to be happening at the current moment?"
Madam Pomfrey sighed and shot a glare in the general direction of Vernon Dursley, who for the most part would sit quietly staring into his lap for most of the day, as though he were just deadly bored.
"Well Harry is easily startled, although it is not as extreme as it was. Sudden movements or unexpected physical contacts he is still sensitive too, he cannot help but flinch, even at times with those he trusts most. Most of the males in his company have learned not to touch him at all, they don't want to frighten him."
"hmm... well what about..."
Much of the day's proceedings droned on in this manner, eventually he shut his ears and let his mind wander over Quidditch tactics that he and Ron had been dreaming up whenever they were supposed to be studying. Harry's mind turned to his red-haired friend, and he wondered how he was fairing. Ron was a noticeable absence in the courtroom today. A mock exam had taken Harry's friend, albeit grudgingly, away from the trial. Ron had been more miffed that Hermione had been allowed to go to court, rather than doing the exam, though as Harry reminded him, it wasn't a situation that Hermione was happy with. She'd rather be at the dentists having her teeth wrenched out then miss an exam. But for some reason, Dumbledore had decided it would be a good idea not to separate Hermione and Harry by more than a few miles at the moment. The idea was that they should always be within a distance that was easily reachable. Just in case of an as-yet-unknown emergency.
He looked over at the curly-haired muggle-born witch, and felt a slight smile flutter over his face, something that seemed to be almost always present whenever he looked at her now. Their friendship hadn't become as strained as he had worried it might be, the one lesson they had spent exploring the strange connection that had grown between them, had worried him somewhat. If he dwelled on it too long, his thoughts would turn to the... he supposed they could be called apparitions, and how Hermione had reacted to them.
It was as if she had been acting entirely on instinct, something so engrained by memory, that her reactions were automatic. She had been both ready and willing to fight, and what was scarier, was that she seemed to know exactly how to do it.
The more Harry thought over the image, the more his minds eye altered it. The scene of dark creatures, of fighting that had been present through the pink mist in Harry's mindscape, had surrounded Hermione, she had aged slightly, her Hogwarts robes had morphed into a mossy green and chocolate brown outfit, that seemed to be a cross between a cloak and a long muggle coat, the sleeves were very wide, and dark, rich brown sleeves edged in golden thread work from the dress she wore underneath, poked out. But Harry's mind's eye also painted in swords. Two twin blades, made of thin and light metal, balanced and made perfectly to compliment the strength of a woman. She held them aloft, her stance perfect, a certain grim pleasure radiated from her eyes, as she moved towards the terrifying shadowed creatures before her. She was a warrior.
Harry shook his head briefly, trying to dispel the image that had taken up residence there. Since it did not entirely correlate with the young woman sat in the courtroom, she had just noticed him looking, and then smiled at him.
Ah that smile, she could ask him to do anything now and he would do it. Last year some girls had made derogatory remarks about Hermione using love potions, but as Harry had come to conclude, Hermione wove her own spell, one that didn't require potions or enchantments, just Hermione being herself, that was all the enchantment she needed.
Harry sighed.
Bloody hell I'm bored. What I wouldn't give for a good game of Quidditch against Slytherin right now. I feel like beating somebody at something.
Harry's mind continued to wander over unimportant things, only noting a change in witnesses a few times, the presence of a warm and comforting sunlight on his face, and eventually Mundungus Fletcher taking his seat beside him, his old body creaking almost as much as the chair he sat upon.
"It shouldn't be much longer Harry, I think that ol' Ravencast is getting sick of Hayes pulling out bleedin' 'expert witnesses anyway'." Fletcher muttered softly.
"Madam Pomfrey's testimony was good, and Ron's yesterday corroborated the rest of the Weasleys. Some of the jury are feeling a bit more sympathetic, with any luck this should all be wrapped up within the week."
Harry smiled glumly, but didn't look up. So he was slightly surprised to hear the softly spoken words that exited Fletchers mouth next.
"Or not. Aww shit."
Harry looked up.
"Defence calls Rita Skeeter to the stand."
Harry saw the strutting reporter approach the witness section, donned as usual in a violent clash of colours. Bright lime green cloak, that was cut more like a muggle coat falling to mid-calf, a dark blue skirt and a hideous orange shirt that was overly ruffled at the front were visible underneath the cloak. Bright red heels clicked loudly on the wooden floor, their shade perfectly matched to the slash of colour on her thin lips, dark green and black were the colours on her eyelids, the makeup was overdone, and from a distance she would appear to have two very bruised eyes. The librarian-like glasses she wore only further served to give her face a vulture-like appearance. Her gaze was fixed alternatively between Harry and his supporters in the audience section of the court, the gaze was so intense, Harry could have sworn that the reporter would have sent laser beams out of her eyes if she could.
Mundungus shook his head.
"Hmm, didn't see that one coming."
"What do we do now?" Harry asked.
He didn't know how she'd gotten away from Hermione. Though he was shocked to realise that he hadn't known that Hermione obviously hadn't done anything about setting the reporter free yet, judging by the look on the young witches face. He could tell by the determined pace of the reporter and previously mentioned death-laser glare that Skeeter wasn't there to wave a banner in support of him.
If Harry had not begun to develop some measure of self-restraint some time ago, he would have groaned. As it was a grimace appeared on his face, lines appearing on his otherwise youthful features, showing the beginnings of hardships taking their toll.
Oh buggering hell.
He was somewhat amused to see Hermione whisper out these exact sentiments to herself, as the lurid reporter passed.
Well it can't get any worse ... though I don't see how it could get any better either.
"Don't worry Harry, with any luck this won't be as bad as it seems, and we'll still make it back to Hogwarts in time for bread and butter pudding."
He nodded at the old man's attempts to cheer him up. Though he loathed bread and butter pudding.
As Rita Skeeter took to the witness stand, the magical symbol beneath the chair shifted to a dark green. But as usual, Harry and the rest of the courtroom were left clueless as to what the colours meant. But Markus Ravencast Senior, the Grand Judge of the court, seemed to take note of something, a slight look of distaste past over his face, then he motioned to Mr Hayes, Vernon Dursley's overpaid, over-tanned, over-bleached young lawyer, to begin his questioning.
"Please state in full your birth name, birth date, and the year in which you received your license to practice the magical arts."
Rita looked momentarily sheepish.
"Jane Ellen Smith. 15th July 1954. I passed with merit in magical arts in 1973."
Smith? That doesn't sound like wizard family name, I wonder if she's a muggle-born?
"Thank you Ms Skeeter, I apologise for any inconvenience caused by revealing your given name."
'Ms Skeeter' nodded sharply once. Mr Hayes continued.
"Ms Skeeter, I would like for you to share with the court, your whereabouts for the last seven months."
Rita looked sharply in Harry's direction, and he knew a sudden feeling of guilt. He hadn't even remembered to ask Hermione what she'd done with the reporter after the holidays; of course he was somewhat preoccupied (or unconscious) at the time.
"I've been held a prisoner within my own body by Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."
It took several moments to calm the courtroom back down. Judge Ravencast was banging an old-fashioned muggle gravel, and calling for order. Harry cast a glance at the Jury, as steadily as Fletcher had gained their sympathies, and begun to convince them of truth of what Harry had suffered, the one sentence Skeeter had just uttered had changed all that. Two of the muggles in front of him, out of twelve were the only ones that did not now look at him without suspicion or outright hate.
"Held a prisoner? But why? Why would Miss Granger, and Mr Potter hold anyone prisoner?"
"I wrote several articles about them for my column in the Daily Prophet. They did not correlate with those carefully set up ideas about 'The Harry Potter'. They were very honest, and I believe that they were much closer to the truth than they wanted."
A snort came from somewhere in the audience gallery, though Harry couldn't see who. He quietly fumed, everything that woman had ever set to print had been an outright lie, she'd probably even embellished on Draco Malfoy's quotes for her article.
"Well can you tell us something about what you believe those ideas are, and how your work may have tarnished them?"
"The ideas ... hmph ...Mr Potter is by most accounts of wizard history, a sort of hero, and poor victim, an orphan who should be pitied and praised at the same time."
"And you have found out differently?"
"That young man is anything but a victim!" she raged, spittle flew from her mouth, and Mr Hayes took an almost unnoticeable step back, as a few silvery flecks landed on his dark suit.
"Can you Ms Skeeter, tell us what gives you reason to believe that?"
"I believe, that something did happen that night at the Potters, but it has been so twisted by certain people, that this legend built up around him, it has made him egotistical and selfish. He's a very accomplished actor, as you may see when you read some of my earlier articles on him. But the closer I got to him and his little group of friends, the more irritable they became. After the printing of my last article, I thought that it was important to continue investigating, and then ... then they took me, I got to close to the truth."
"Can you tell us, Ms Skeeter, how they were able to hold prisoner for so long, and how you finally escaped?"
Fletcher shifted beside Harry, an irritated look on his face, he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'clever little sod' under his breath.
Rita, or rather Jane as Harry now preferred to think of her, made a great show of looking somewhat ashamed at what she was about to say next. Harry noticed with some interest that Judge Ravencast was not looking at Skeeter, but at the shifting green symbol under her chair. The Triquatra's previously dark green shade, had become more faded, it was becoming more transparent, and shimmered slightly with movement, when it had previously been solid. Harry leaned over to Fletcher and whispered.
"Why does Judge Ravencast keep looking at the Triquatra?"
"Because he's one of the few who knows how to read it." Fletcher whispered back.
"He knows?"
"It's a skill passed from father to son, unfortunately most of the families who knew the secrets of this magic, were highly targeted by Voldemort and his Deatheaters. There are only a handful of them left. And, as you might remember, Judges Ravencast's only son died eight months ago."
Harry half-heartedly listened to Rita's sob story. As she apologised 'wholeheartedly' for 'letting the magical community down', by keeping her ability as an animagus a secret, of how afraid she had been by her ability to change. But how in time she had found that her ability might become useful in finding out the truth- Harry swore if she had said 'For All Mankind' he would have thrown up then and there. And how finding out the truth had become her over-riding desire in life.
Oh please...Harry thought...the truth is the last thing she wanted to tell.
And so it was in finding out the truth, that she had been caught and imprisoned in a small glass jam jar. Skeeter reached her sobbing conclusion.
"I only escaped when Miss Grangers mother forgot to put the lid back on after feeding me. It took me a month to remember how to return to human form. It was only two weeks ago that I truly became myself again, I ... I'm so sorry."
Rita trailed off into small racking cries, bent over her lap. Mr Hayes made a great show of removing his handkerchief form his top pocket and handing it to the sobbing witch, whilst patting her shoulder in a sympathetic gesture.
Members of the jury that Harry had thought previously looked on him with sympathy, now looked on him as though he was the lobster in the tank that they had just chosen to dine on.
~o0o~
"What do you mean she's back? How the bloody hell did she get out? I'm gonna kill Hermione when I see her."
Listening to Ron's little rant did little to make Harry feel better. Fletcher was a good man, and a very good lawyer, but surprisingly he couldn't lie very well. Harry had seen it in the old man's eyes; Mundungus thought that they might lose.
He grunted slightly letting Ron know that he heard him, so his red-haired friend continued his tirade, and Harry mounted his firebolt, kicking off, soaring into the air. Ron continued muttering beside him, and then peeled off towards the goalposts. The wind picked up, blowing his already messy hair this way and that, his red and yellow cape was flickering and snapping out behind him, caught like a flag in the wind.
His concerns seemed to start falling away one by one, muscles he didn't need for flying un-tensed, his breathing became deeper and more relaxed. For some people it was yoga, for Harry it was flying.
He cast his eyes about for the snitch, in no real hurry to find it, since this was only a practice. He decided that his eyesight (with glasses) was sharp enough, and to concentrate on practising moves instead. A red-haired broomstick rider shot past him at high speed, and Harry had no time to distinguish which Weasley it was before they were gone again.
A small crowd of Gryffindor's, mostly third years and up, had gathered below, all looking upwards, most observing in the hopes of picking up a few extra ideas before they tried out for the team at the end of the year. Given the mass exodus of Gryffindor players before next year, leaving only Harry and Ron as established house players, they had decided gaining new players before next year would be advantageous. At least this way they could get the nod of approval from their old team-mates, and save themselves the headache of finding new players next year.
Amongst the faces, Harry could quite clearly pick out Hermione standing near Lavendar Brown and the Patel twins. She was staring up at him intently. Harry knew she was waiting for him; Harry hadn't given her the chance to explain about Rita Skeeter, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Mostly he was hoping that she'd had just... well forgotten about Skeeter like he had. But if she hadn't, if she had known all along that Skeeter was still in a glass jar on her bedside table with no hope for release... the image of the warrior-like Hermione was still in his mind, could anyone be that cruel?
A small whoop was let out from the crowd as some move was played out between his team-mates that Harry hadn't been observing as sharply as he should have.
"Good move George!" somebody shouted.
"That wasn't George, it was Fred!" somebody else shouted.
Harry's interest in the game waned again, and he knew, as soon as it was over, he was going to have to talk to Hermione; she was distracting him from other important things.
Hermione seemed to be getting good at that lately.
~o0o~
"What do you mean, he's changing his plea?"
"I'm afraid that Mr Hayes has advised me that Vernon is changing his plea from Innocent, to Innocent by reason of Temporary Insanity."
"Can they do that?"
"Well I'm afraid so, as since technically your Uncle has never denied that he hurt you, he hasn't even testified yet. Mr Hayes has been careful enough to introduce doubt into the minds of the Jury about you, made people question what they know about you and your honesty, and not Vernon's. By changing now, when they've introduced this doubt into the jury's minds, it makes the new plea much more easy to swallow. It's far more believable, it might even make them feel sympathy for h..."
A loud thud distracted Fletcher from his rambling, and he turned around to see his young client grimace slightly in pain. Fletcher looked from Harry's face, further down to notice that Harry seemed to have lost his right hand. But that was probably because it was still stuck inside the wall he'd just punched through. Fletcher looked at Harry.
"Ah. I think that you might want to put some ice on that."
"hmm, hmmph." Harry mumbled through gritted teeth, as he slowly slid his slightly bloodied hand back out of oak panelling of Fletcher's private office. His fingers were curled in on themselves, shaking.
Harry's breaths were coming in short gasps, not so much from shock or pain, but from anger.
"Hmm. When we're finished here, let's go to Quality Quidditch Supplies, and I'll get you a nice new pair of gaming gloves, that will make you feel better won't it?"
A slight smile shone on Harry's face, even if it didn't quite make it to his eyes. If he'd had been born a girl, Fletcher would have just suggested that they go shoe shopping.
~o0o~
"How do I do this? How do I do something like this? How can you even ask me Remus?"
"It will be alright Harry, just go out there and don't even think about it. Just pretend you're getting changed or something."
"What, in front of sixty people?"
"Alright then, just try not to think about it. If they have any questions, answer as clearly as you can. Everything will be alright after this I promise."
"Right, I just have to humiliate myself first."
~o0o~
Two Days Earlier...
"And how did that make you feel Dudley?"
"Scared I guess, really afraid. I didn't know what was going to happen next."
"What did you think might happen?"
"I thought that I might turn into a pig or something."
"I imagine that was a very frightening thing for an eleven year old."
"Scary at any age sir."
"You didn't turn into a pig though."
"No, but I had a bit of a tail, until Dad could afford to have it removed."
"Surgically?"
"Yes."
"So at great expense to himself, your father, Mr Dursley had to pay to have a tail removed, that was put there by magic. A tail put there by Reubeus Hagrid?"
"Yes Sir."
Later that day...
"And this isn't the first time that you've used magic irresponsibly is it Mr Hagrid?"
"Well it wer' only a bi'o'fun."
"A bi'o'fun? A bi'o'fun? Tell me Mr Hagrid, was it a bi'o'fun that had you expelled from Hogwarts, and have your wand snapped in disgrace?!"
"My name wer' cleared o'that. And you know all that."
"Perhaps. But I think we can certainly see were Harry's disrespect for authority comes from."
Hagrids' bulky frame shot upward with a speed and grace that would put a Leprechaun to shame.
"Don't you dare bad-mouth 'Arry anymore. He ain't done nothing wrong, af'er all that boy's bin through, you oughta be ashamed of yerself for helpin' that child hurtin' scumbag!"
Hagrids' breath slowed, a look in the direction of the jury revealed to him his error, they were terrified of him. His outburst had done more harm than good.
One Day Ago...
"Mr Lupin, court records tell us that shortly after the deaths of Lily and James Potter, and the arrest of Sirius Black, you tried to gain custody of Harry, despite having no legal claim. Will you please tell the court the reason you were denied three times before you withdrew your application?"
Remus appeared somewhat pained by the question.
"Because I am a Werewolf." he replied softly.
Disgust instantly filled the faces of more than half the wizards present.
"So the truth of the matter is, the court judges awarded custody to Harry's blood relations three times in a row, because they thought he would be well looked after with them, as opposed to in your care!"
Mr Hayes voice lowered, and then he raised one eyebrow questioningly on the last word.
"The only reason I did not receive Harry into my care..." Lupin said each word slowly, teeth grinding as he struggled to reign in his anger.
"...was because of the bigotry shown to me by the Judges of those hearings. Had Harry been allowed to stay with me, he would have been very well taken care of. I made a promise to Harry's father that I would take care of his son, I would have loved as though he were my own flesh and blood."
"Really? And what care could a man in your position offer. Oh, don't get me wrong, I have sympathy for the bigotry you endure. But that same bigotry would have prevented you from ever providing a stable home environment. How much care could a man who had only had two jobs in the last seventeen years of his life, have provided?"
Remus started to speak, but Mr Hayes cut him off with a placating wave of his right arm.
"Now I know full well this isn't your fault. I'm told you were a very fair Auror in your time, even if you did drop out after failing the initiation for the Phoenix Order, but then perhaps you can understand that those judges were thinking of Harry. A loving home they might have known you could have provided, but all the other things a growing boy needs? I think that you know in your own heart that you are not capable of giving a stable home environment for Mr Potter, or any other young child for that matter..."
Remus sprang from his chair, unable to control himself any longer.
"My home might not be a wealthy one, but at least it would have been a happy one. How dare you suggest I'm incapable of caring for a child, especially after what that fat bastard did to him! How dare you...!"
"LUPIN SIT DOWN!"
Judge Ravencasts voice boomed out into the courtroom, the walls echoed back, making the judges tone seem harsher than it was.
It was then that Lupin, like Hagrid only a day ago, realised his own error. A slight smile played at Mr Hayes lips. Lupin resisted the surge of anger within him telling him to rip the smug lawyer to shreds. Lupin sank back into his chair, he glanced in Harry's direction. He could only mouth the words 'I'm sorry', before he was dismissed, and the next witness was called.
Later that evening...
"We're going to have to face facts Albus, Dursley will get off with a pat on the hand an' a few months in a muggle prison. Maybe even only anger management classes.
Only by means of temporary insanity... that bleedin' lawyer o'his is a sharp one, ain't no mistaken that."
"Then what do you suggest we do Mundungus? Both Harry and his Uncle need to testify, and soon. Whatever the outcome of this trial, it needs to be over and done with. Harry's a strong boy, but this is wearing him down; he has much more important things to worry about."
Fletcher sighed, and took another puff on his cigar, in his right hand. Then reached up with the same hand to scratch his thumb lightly across his temple.
"It's no good Albus. Half. More than half the jury believe Hayes work of fiction so far. But what we need to do, well I don't think Harry is going to be happy about."
"What are you suggesting?"
"The jury, they, they need to see his scars. The ones Poppy couldn't heal, the ones that were too old. We need to prove that this... abuse." Fletcher spat out the last word.
"We need to prove that this abuse was ongoing, not a single incident as Hayes is claiming."
"Hmm. I think you're right Mundungus. Harry isn't going to like this one bit."
"Hmph. Especially now we've got a dozen reporters in the courtroom waiting to tell everyone about it in the next days papers."
"Especially that Mundungus."
~o0o~
"How do I do this? How can I do this? How can you even ask me Remus?"
"It will be alright Harry, just go out there and don't even think about it. Just pretend that you're getting changed or something."
"What, in front of sixty people?"
"Alright then, just try not to think about it. If they have any questions, answer as clearly as you can. Everything will be alright after this I promise."
"Right, I just have to humiliate myself first."
~o0o~
Harry's face flushed a deep red in humiliation as he left the courtroom. He hadn't needed that. He pushed back the desire to throw-up as he replaced his Hogwarts robes over his bared torso. The loud whisperings of the courtroom could still be heard even as the thick wooden doors closed behind him, and Lupin as he followed Harry out.
They walked through the wall into Judge Ravencasts private chambers.
Harry promptly sat down on the leather couch before his legs lost all their strength. Another few steps and he might have just fallen over, such was the intensity of emotion that coursed through his body.
He took a deep breath, and wrapped his arms about his stomach, in a protective gesture as he tried to calm down. His heart beat wildly inside of his chest. The erratic thumping threatening to smash itself against the inside of his ribs, as it was they already played out a heavy tune against overly burdened bones.
"Harry, I'm sorry you had to do that."
Harry said nothing. He bent his head downwards and took another deep breath.
"Harry … please say something …"
Harry raised his head slightly; sad brown eyes met his. Harry couldn't speak, he moved his lips as though to form the words, but a burning dryness caught in the back of his throat, and the desire to be sick was at the forefront of his mind again. He lowered his head back down. There had been reporters there. They had seen … they had seen everything. And now they would be doing their job and telling everyone else. Telling everyone that either poor orphaned Harry Potter had been terribly abused by his muggle Uncle, or that mad, delusional Harry Potter had been harming himself. Even the true version of events would keep him in public favour; he hadn't wanted it to get out. It wasn't the right of the world to know every private suffering he had endured.
"Harry?"
Harry steadied his breathing, using the method Moody had taught him for the Staff lessons. Then he looked up slowly, turning the full weight of his gaze on Remus. The older man appeared momentarily startled by the power, that was usually hidden safely away appear in them. In a surprisingly steady voice Harry said.
"I will never do that again. If they ever want to see my scars again, they'll either have to take photos or strip me naked after pinning me down first."
To Harry's surprise, Lupin laughed. A gentle hand patted his left shoulder.
"That's the spirit."
~o0o~
"Ssseveruss. How do you like the accommodations?"
Severus Snape shifted within the small cold stone room. His confinement had been … unpleasant, to say the least. Heavy old rope wrapped around his wrists bit into the tender flesh there. His body was wracked with periodic tremors, both from the pain, and from the cold and damp conditions in which he was being held.
"I thought that you might like to know that our Mr Pettigrew has finally done hisss job."
A terrified scream assaulted the air near Snape's ears.
"You will no longer be alone in this part of the house. And I thought that you might rather enjoy it, I do know how you so enjoy a good bit of sport."
"You don't know me at all, Thomas."
Snape paid quite dearly for that, soon his own screams joined with the others, those sounds echoed throughout the stone cellars, up through the iron grate that led to the outside, and muffled through the large grounds surrounding the dilapidated castle, ending only a soft whisper on the cold night's breeze.
~o0o~
"Duck!"
Harry flipped his head down quickly.
"Holy crap that was close!"
It was the third bludger to get that close to him in the space of ten minutes.
"Thanks." He shouted to Angela.
"Don't thank me, get your head back in the game Potter. Find the goddamn snitch already!"
"Yes Ma'am!" Harry shot back with a shadow of his usual grin. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs from his mind, and focused his frequently wandering attention back to the Quidditch pitch. Slytherin scored again.
Draco and his teammates cronies flew into a premature victory pattern, and took a turn around the pitch. Great, not only was Harry off his game, but the rest of the school knew it too. Draco pulled up quite close to Harry, well close enough to shout at him anyway.
"What's the matter Potter, lost your nerve?" his Slytherin teammates laughed.
"I don't see you catching the snitch any quicker ferret-boy."
Okay, so it was a lame comeback, but Draco glared, and flew off anyway.
Behind him in the Slytherin stands, some of the younger students were chanting
"Potter doesn't do the flyin'
he just does the cryin'."
Okay I was wrong, that's lame.
But the more they sang, the more his concentration suffered, his vision seemed to blur, and his mind grew tired, too full of too many things to focus on a single task.
A wave of pain shot through his right leg as a bludger skimmed past it, taking trouser leg and a layer of skin with it.
"Merlin's beard Harry! Are you alright?" One of the twins shouted.
Harry gritted his teeth and nodded.
Don't think about the trial, don't think about the trial, just look for the goddamn snitch already!
Harry began his own chant. But was soon distracted by a flock of small birds flying past him. He found himself envying the simplicity of their lives, their freedom, of flight with only wings. His mind dozed off into a world of daydreams, until.
"Potter behind you!"
Harry threw himself parallel to his firebolt just in time to feel the air currents from a bludger flying over his head. Only a moment ago the centre of his back would have felt the impact, and he would likely have been thrown from his broomstick. It took him a few moment to realise the voice of his would-be-saviour was none other than Draco Malfoy. But the blond Slytherin ruined any old thoughts of gratitude Harry may have felt by shouting a few choice questions about Harry's parentage and then.
"If you want the game to stop, why don't you just show Madam Hooch your scars, it seems to work on everybody else!"
Draco flew off to continue his search for the snitch. His eyesight when it came to finding the small golden ball might be a bit dodgy, but Harry would admit to himself that the Slytherin did have almost perfect form in the air. Then the more pressing thought of
Jesus Christ on a broomstick! Draco Malfoy just saved my life!
Harry looked in the Slytherin's direction.
Merlin I really am slipping up. What were those calming exercises Moody taught me. Oh yeah, breath in, breath out, wake the hell up!
Of course Mad-Eye usually followed this quite helpfully with ice-cold water, but in the absence of this, Harry settled for shaking his head.
Harry started looking around for the snitch, tactically searching one area, and then moving onto the next. But as easy as this was, one complete turn of the pitch had still yielded nothing. And the fogginess in his mind, though clearing seemed to have a more definite edge to it, darkness. One that came from a part of his mind that Harry usually had little choice in visiting. The wind in the air suddenly seemed more bitter, Harry began to feel himself becoming more and more alert, his eyes darted all over the pitch. To coin a well-known comic-book phrase, his spidey-sense was tingling. Something was going to happen and it was going to happen soon.
Below Harry, back in the game, Angelina Johnson shot passed two slytherins and scored a goal against a sluggish keeper. A few moments later, thanks in large to excellent passing between the three Gryffindor Chasers, they scored again. But the battle moved back up to the other end of the pitch, and even Ron's perfect Hanging Starfish position could not prevent Slytherin from scoring. The game was one again dead even.
It was clear to all watching that the players were beginning to tire. All began looking towards their supported teams Seekers. Willing them to find the snitch and end the game. But Harry was preoccupied. And Draco just wasn't that good.
But then, there it was. A tiny speck of gold moving at high speed, twenty feet above the pitch in the direction of the Ravenclaw stands. Despite Harry's distraction, he saw it almost immediately, as surprisingly so did Draco.
Tingling spidey-sense or not, Harry shot off like he had Aunt Marge's bull terriers hot on his heels. As their team-mates noticed what the Seekers had, the game almost stopped. They had been playing for almost an hour, who could blame them for taking a rest?
Harry and Draco jostled against each other; neither gained any advantage in speed, neither gaining more distance on the other.
Every muscle strained to their limits, both players were so intent on the golden snitch, which neither should have had time to register the very dark, very large black crow that swooped down in their direction. Warning bells sounded loud in Harry's mind, giving him the precious few moments for him to take action. With all of his brute strength, Harry rammed into a shocked Draco, throwing both of them off course, avoiding the extended talons of the huge bird, and the almost certain pain of losing an eye each. Draco held onto his broomstick, just barely. Somehow managing to slow down and come out of the spin he'd been knocked into, and was about to call for a foul, when a loud piercing cry ripped through his eardrums. How close they came to bursting, he wouldn't have even wanted to think about, but the constant ringing that had been left within them was testament to the power of that startling birds cry. The birds beak opened again as another piercing squawk issued forth, a sound that no living animal or man could ever have made. It sent chills, and a sense of foreboding into the hearts of all those present.
Those with more sensitive hearing clasped both hands about ears that threatened them with the first trickles of blood. And then another bird appeared. Followed its equally large friend. They were so dark. Their feather reflected no light, as though they had flown out of the very blackness of a starless night. Their wingspan stretched for an impressive, if terrifying four feet. All three great birds possessed steely-coloured claws, thick with razor-sharp edges, two inches long. And all screamed as though the world might end, and they were the heralds.
Flashes of colour shot through the air, the visible signs of spells that were ineffective against the birds. If anything they looked contemptuously at the teachers casting them, before flicking the magic away with a flap of a wing, or a screech of unearthly terror. Draco drew his broom up alongside Harry.
"Merlin Potter! Somebody really has it in for you!"
And with that he turned and moved downwards so that he could land on the pitch.
The birds flew so close that Harry could smell them. Damp earth and a definite metallic tang, a distinctive odour of blood that Harry knew all too well. The closest bird let out another cry, one that should have deafened him, if he were anybody else.
Thanks for that Voldemort. A dry voice at the back of his mind said. An explosion of light almost threw Harry from his broom, though he knew it wasn't deliberate. The spells coming from the teacher's stands were increasing in power. But still they had no effect.
Oddly enough, throughout all of this, Harry kept his ground (or air) and didn't so much as flinch. The danger at the back of his mind was only a soft hum, like an echo of true danger long past. His conscious mind (at least he thought it was his mind) screamed at him to leave with all possible haste. But something else, something from which all his power flowed, it was trying to tell him something else.
In the moment in which one of the great beasts began an effortless dive towards him, the moment in which it extended those claws, in which powerful muscles tensed and relaxed in perfect harmony, a moment of singular purpose to destroy the life in front of it; time for Harry almost stopped.
For Harry he perceived the almost infinitesimally slow downward movement of a single feather, he perceived the soft wave of sound before it reached the drum of his ear which it would sound out its pattern upon. He saw a moment spread into many. And that was when he saw the truth. Time had stopped completely, the danger, which a moment ago was so evident, no longer existed. But as the image of the bird flickered back into being, Harry held out his right hand in front of him, palm away from the body. His meaning was clear, stop.
The great shrieking bird didn't stop, when time began again, it sped up, pain receptors all over Harry's body tingled in momentary anticipation of pain, and then … nothing.
The crow passed through him. It was an illusion, albeit a powerful one. But one with a fatal flaw, if you knew it was not real, it's power was gone. Its cries would go unheard, the pain it could inflict would be no more than a tickle of evil intent. And the feeling of terror it evoked became amusement, as the projection showed the terrible disappointment of the one controlling it not to have achieved his murderous aim.
The birds turned, eyes flashing red, and the attack was seemingly over.
The Harry heard the sounds of cheering. His heart swelled, as his ego received a much-needed boost. Then he realised that the cheering came from one section of the Quidditch stands; the Slytherin section.
What the hell?
Harry looked down.
Goddamn it!
Draco Malfoy had caught the snitch! The sneaky little Slytherin had gone and caught it. Harry let out a barrage of curses that would have made McGonnagoll blush, and grown men whimper.
But it was the terrified yell from the Gryffindor goalposts that ended his torrent of insults. Harry was startled by what he saw; Ron was bleeding. One of the birds had dug its great claws into the Ron's shoulder, and ripped upwards, tearing through cloth and flesh, up to his jaw-line. The wounds were deep. Somehow, Ron didn't know that the birds were not real, they still had power over him, and the malevolent force that drove the illusions had seen the fear in his friend's eyes, and was using it to strike at him.
"Ron!" Harry called out, shifting his firebolt into gear towards the redhead. And just as Harry was about to call out to Ron, to tell him about the crow's true nature, the unthinkable happened. One of the great crows threw all of its weight at Ron's injured side, and with a yell of pain, he fell.
He was falling from almost one hundred feet above the ground.
His scream would have been audible all the way to Hogwarts School. But the screams of emphatic terror that emanated from the crowd soon joined his. No spell could save him; none could slow him sufficiently so that only serious injury would be caused. There was simply nothing, nothing that anyone could do. Except for Harry.
A knot of raw energy swelled inside of him, his ribs ached as though the very power within was straining to get out. The hammering of his heart became a dull thud that sounded like a distant war drum. The beat of this drum began to awaken something near primal within him, something which heated the blood within his veins, until he almost couldn't stand it. The rushing sound of air within his ears clouded out all other sounds, he was surrounded by it. The air was bitterly cold, but the heat within his blood prevented him from feeling it.
His voice though it seemed older and wiser than it was, passed through his lips in a commanding 'NO.'
Time slowed, Ron was still falling, but now no faster than a feather falls upon a gentle breeze. Harry's hand once again moved in front of him, palm facing outwards, the energy within him building to an unbearable fiery heat.
The heat, was white hot, the air around him crackled, the beginnings of a storm.
But there was no cloud, no dark sky, and no sense of rainfall yet to come. The storm was around Harry, within him. Then the storm broke, exploding outward like the first bolt of lightening. The noise from this energy burst was an almost deafening roar to all those within the Quidditch pitch. But to Harry, the sound was no more than a pin dropping. His will called the Staff of Gaia to him, and it came. Bursting through the three feet thick old stonewalls of Dumbledore's private study, in an explosion of power. The ancient ton-weight rocks scattered like pebbles, and began falling from the tower to the school grounds. But with time seemingly coming to a standstill, their descent was graceful and slow, as though they were locked into a strange ballet.
The Staff arrived in Harry's out-stretched hand so fast that seemed as though it had apparated into his grasp.
Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
Time sped up again. Ron's scream of terror came in loud and clear, as he sought his friend's direction. His senses heightened and attuned to the world of magic, he felt, rather than saw Ron. His aura as it were, was unique, like all wizards, he possessed certain strengths and weaknesses, that was defined by the types of magic that moved around him. And it seemed that no wizard had any choice about which of these magic's came near them, there was an attraction, almost like a gravitational pull, that drew some magic's towards a wizards and repelled others. Harry was willing to bet that what he would term 'love' magic, was repelled in its utmost by Voldemort. And Ron's magic was distinctive, powerful, though his friend didn't know it. The day that Ron found where his strengths lay, would be the day a new force to be reckoned with entered the world.
Then Harry's mind let go of all such conscious thought, as it moved to that higher place, he reached out with both staff and his will, and the raw power of it came as another audible crack of thunder to all. Then all eyes fell to Ron.
Ron himself hadn't really been thinking about much at all, as he began his descent, to him of course, time hadn't slowed down at all, if anything there was far too little of it. Air currents buffeted him like a rag-doll, and the newly opened wounds on his shoulder and jaw stung agonizingly. And he was screaming like a girl.
That particular stray thought caused him to shut his mouth very quickly. The sense of ego that was still slightly intact within the muddle of thoughts he was having, were not going to allow him to die like a complete wuss. He became quite calm; a sense of finality and endings meant that his earlier panic evaporated. As though he'd accepted that there was no intervention at hand, that the great unknown of death was now inevitable. He knew that his heart was beating rapidly inside of his cheat, pounding in both fear and absolute panic, but also found it difficult to care. He felt giddy almost… as though he'd drunk too much butterbeer.
Ah, must be that adrenaline stuff … it's nice. Someone should bottle it.
A woman screaming his name brought him back out of his blissfully calm state. Hermione was screaming for him, terrified beyond belief.
It was sort of nice to know that she was going to miss him, but for Ron it also brought reality crashing back to him, and hit him with an almighty force. He was going to die.
He wandered exactly how it was that a person became a ghost. There seemed to be no logical pattern to it. Maybe he could go and join Peeves the Poltergeist in raising havoc around the school, he could go home to see the family in the holidays, and to rattle the pipes with the ghoul in the attic.
All these thoughts and more passed by in mere seconds, and all that was left now, was the end.
He was slightly aware of the impact across his shoulders, but it was a distant memory compared to the bright and blinding light that filled his vision. He was mesmerised, by the intense beauty of it. He was enfolded in warmth, the sensation of being wrapped within a cosy old blanket, soft to the touch, a reminder of home, smelling of honey and warm apple pie.
The bright light was not pure white; it danced with a kaleidoscope of colours in hues of pastel pinks, blues, yellows and green.
So this is what it's like to die.
Ron knew only peace and contentment. The light above him began to clear, and Ron wondered what death would reveal to him.
Sky?
He could see the sky. Not only that, but he could see a number of red and yellow blurs moving against it.
Was this the beginning of living his body behind?
But it couldn't be, because he still felt his heart hammering inside his chest, his breath caught in his lungs.
His mind swam with the sudden knowledge that he was not in fact, dying, but very much alive, and floating on a sea of warm light. And the sea was softly sinking toward the ground.
When he was just a few metres above the Quidditch pitch, the mattress beneath him began to shimmer, fading away, taking away its reassuring warmth, even as it tipped him slightly upwards, to come to a standing position when he finally touched the ground.
Ron's shaky legs held him as he looked up. And was almost clouted on the head as the Staff of Gaia fell vertically down to the pitch. And then it stopped two feet above the ground barely three inches from his nose. The crystal faded back to its usual unassuming dull grey colour.
Far above him, Harry slumped forward on his broomstick, his arms and legs wrapping around it to lock him safely there. His exhaustion took hold, and the desire for a long hot shower, a good meal and a long night's sleep was at the foremost in his mind. He rather hoped somebody would be coming to help him get down soon; it was rather chilly up here …
Back in the Gryffindor stands, Hermione lay tiny and protected in Hagrid's huge arms; a smile of blissful contentment graced her mouth, confusing her housemates.
Her every nerve tingled with energy, it was like a sugar-high without the bad side effects. She felt more alive and more capable than she ever had in her entire life.
And she knew why.
Harry hadn't just been siphoning off the unhelpful emotions and memories that would cloud his use of the staff, he was siphoning magical power too, a lot of magical power.
Certain magic's that Hermione had not yet discovered were bolstered, strengthened within her. And others that before, she might have struggle with … yes there were a few things she would have struggled with; but not anymore.
The power he was sending were the remnants of a kind of magic that he no longer needed.
For within this world of magic, there were wizards, and then there were Sorcerers and Mages.
The latter two had been only fictional, a myth until now.
Only Merlin was speculated to have been a Sorcerer. Their will was stronger; they connected to the basest elements of magic. They could see it; or so the fairytales said.
Hermione had once questioned Dumbledore about whether they really had anything of worth to teach Harry, it seemed she had been right. From now on, Harry would be alone in this.
Or at least that was what she thought.
~o0o~
There we go, d'at was the end of that chappie, now onto what should be the last one of year 5- it's sneaking past the twenty pages mark already, oops.
This part was originally written much, much longer, the next chapter was part of it. But at some point it occurred to me it might be a bit inhumane of me to subject you guys to fifty pages at once.
And thank you for reading this story, given how, now that the slightly disappointing Potter 5 is out, this fic now qualifies as AU.
Hope to see y'all again soon!