Chapter Thirty-Eight
THE GOOD FIGHT
Author's Note 7/21/05: Part one of two, and I know that it's taken me long enough. Although I expect you've tired of waiting for the next installment by now, I'm taken with this fan fiction and plan to finish it. I'm doing a rewrite of a scene in part two, but it should be up tomorrow if I can just work late into the night tonight. Last chapter, but sequels will follow. Thanks for everyone that did stick with this-gold stars to all of you!
As always, feel free to comment/question/criticize here or in an e-mail.
Elle
* * *
Warning: For this chapter, just the fact that it's supposed to be somewhat emotional. There are mentions of rape (as in the rest of the story) and also abortion.
* * *
"It feels different now," said Harry, by way of explanation, as the curtains about his bed in the hospital wing swung madly on their rods. His third attempt at a Guiding Charm that evening had gone awry, though not perhaps as much as the first, which had lit the curtains on fire, and the second, which had stripped them clear from the ceiling. He gave Hermione what he hoped was a charming smile. "I've never had trouble with Guiding Charms."
Hermione looked at him skeptically as she stunned the fabric still. "Really, Harry-if you never mastered them, you can tell-"
Harry glared at her. He was sitting in a wheelchair along the hospital wing's far wall. "If you'd been talking to Ron and me, in early February when we learnt them, you'd know Flitwick told me I was more proficient at them than everybody-" he shifted suddenly "-well, all right, he might have said everybody but you, but that's still-"
"I'm sorry," said Hermione, cutting him off. She gave him a sincere smile as she headed towards him. Smoothing her skirt before sitting, she took a seat on the edge of one bed. Harry returned her smile as he rolled closer to her, watching her fold her hands in her lap. The wand borrowed from the school lie at her side. "So..."
"I'm... not sure how to explain it," said Harry, leaning forward. "When I try to do magic now, it doesn't feel the same as it did last week. All the easy spells, all the charms that had become second nature to me-I can't get them right any longer. Everything is too much. I levitate a pillow, it rockets out of the room. I cast a heating charm on my bed, the whole thing incinerates. But... it's not every charm or every spell. I..."
"You've performed the most difficult magic without hesitation," Hermione supplied.
Harry nodded, absently clasping taking her hands in his. "When Professor Lupin worked with me yesterday afternoon, I produced a corporeal Patronus on my first attempt. I've never done that, Hermione, never. It always takes me about ten tries and more dementors than I'd like to think about."
Hermione hesitated. "Your quill enchantments were always shaky at best, but you charmed the one this morning to start duplicating Hogwarts, A History without any trouble. You also managed to enchant all those chairs when I've never done anything larger than a teakettle."
"I did that Crystalline cleaning charm Friday."
"Earlier you put privacy charms on all those journals."
"I managed an alternating incantation for... well, the second time ever, but-"
"The Reverse-Chronology Counter-Hex..."
"...disillusionment charms..."
"...Sanchura's Second Switching Spell..."
"...that bed," said Harry grimly before realizing how it sounded. "I mean, I conjured another after incinerating the... wait. Why am I upset that I managed a permanent establishment charm on something that large?"
"I'm proud of you," Hermione declared. Her nose crinkled somewhat. "And... perhaps... maybe a bit jealous."
Harry grinned at her admission. "Hey," he said, "so long as I keep blowing up things when I try to levitate them, I don't know if you really have anything to worry about."
"At least my regaining my powers didn't cause you to lose yours," Hermione reasoned.
"Just control of `em." Watching her face fall, Harry said quickly, "Nooo. I mean... well, not that."
"But what if that's what happened? What if restoring my abilities somehow limited yours?"
Harry shrugged. "Then you'll have to levitate all the furniture into our place, but I'll be able to keep it all really clean."
The implications of his statement not lost on Hermione, she carefully extracted her hands from his. She leaned back on them. "Harry..."
"Look, two days ago we thought that maybe all my powers had transferred to you. Now we know I can still do magic. Maybe in a few days I'll be able to focus again."
"But what if it was a transfer? The ability to harness your energy? What if-" Hermione stopped at the look he gave her. "Well, at least you're talking to Dumbledore tonight, right?"
Harry nodded. "Yes," he said, and added under his breath, "it was good of him to work me into his busy schedule."
"Harry... he has had a lot to think about," Hermione reminded gently. "Dealing with what happened in the chamber and keeping it quiet all at once? Not a task I envy."
"Hermione, it's Sunday evening. He's had all week-since Monday."
"Tuesday morning," Hermione corrected quietly, glancing away at once. "Sorry."
Harry sighed. She wasn't the one he was mad at. "No, I'm sorry," he said. "I just want answers. I need them. I have to know that Dumbledore's doing something, Hermione. I have to know he's not ignoring this like he's ignored everything else. That's why this happened, isn't it? We got involved because Dumbledore didn't. Don't we deserve some sort of explanation?"
"We'll get one, yours will probably come tonight. It's just taking Dumbledore time to sort everything out, I'm sure. In time he'll-"
"Now, he needs to," Harry interrupted. "He needs to take time out now."
"He's dealing with the mess we-" Hermione started.
Harry snorted. "Voldemort right under Dumbledore's nose all this time? Somehow I don't remember inviting him here," he said sarcastically.
"Harry..."
"No. I'm sorry, Hermione, but no. I reckon my death is what put things into perspective. There's not time." Both teenagers fell silent.
"What time are you meeting him?" Hermione finally asked.
Harry glanced at his watch, which had finally begun to work after the wards around Hogwarts had been reset. "Nine. Not for another hour." Sighing, he maneuvered his wheelchair around so he could stand long enough on his good leg to sit down beside her on the bed.
"How is your leg?" Hermione wanted to know.
"I thought you were the one studying under Madam Pomfrey," Harry shot back, though he grinned so she would know he didn't mean anything by it. "Shouldn't you be telling me?"
Hermione, who would otherwise have been content not to lift a wand until her O.W.L. retests beginning Monday morning, had been thrown by the mediwitch back into the world of magic. Considering how the nurse usually fussed about those under her watch, they had all been surprised when right away she had Hermione brewing, bandaging, even performing basic healing charms, especially Saturday, when numerous Slytherins and Hufflepuffs had gotten into fights over the last Quidditch match of the season. However, after those first few hours Friday, Madam Pomfrey steered Hermione away from Harry's care.
"You know she's worried about how I'll react to your injuries," Hermione replied.
"Which I don't understand. Not that I can actually recall anything that happened in the chamber myself, but Ron said you were rather close to the nice, gaping hole in my gut," said Harry absently, slightly frustrated at not being able to remember. Still, based on what he had learned about the ordeal over the weekend, he secretly agreed with the school nurse not allowing Hermione to assist in his care. He didn't like how nervous she got when it came to his injuries, nor did he feel comfortable with her having to care for him. Part of his frustration about not knowing what happened in the chamber came from not knowing how he could comfort her.
"It scares me still," said Hermione quietly, "to think that I lost you."
And it scares me twice as much to know there were times in that chamber during which Krum could have done anything to you, Harry thought, though he said nothing to the effect. Instead, he laced his fingers through hers. "Madam Pomfrey still hasn't come up with anything for my leg. She even tried Skele-Gro, but nothing. Something about... I don't know. She's brought in dusty books now."
"It's the spell's properties. Voldemort had the intent to do damage that could not be repaired," Hermione explained. She smiled sadly.
"Hmm," Harry shrugged. "But do you like it? The mediwitch thing?"
"It's nice to help with something other than research," Hermione said, biting her lip in the cute way she did. Noticing this, Harry took a second take her in, and he decided that in her denim skirt and worn pink jacket, hair in two braids, she had never looked lovelier. "And healing is a good skill to have, anytime, though I have this feeling even more so in the coming months."
Harry nodded. "So..."
"So," Hermione echoed. She pulled her hands from his again, tucking them under he legs as she began to swing her feet. When she tilted her head in his direction, Harry decided he couldn't take it any longer. They had agreed Friday to hold off on the issue of them until they knew more about what had happened in the chamber. Suspecting she might know more than she was letting on, Harry really did want to talk to Dumbledore, but when he kissed her, he decided he'd put off talking forever to do that instead. The Headmaster didn't matter anymore, neither did the Dark Lord, not anyone or anything.
But the moment didn't-couldn't-last. Without realizing it, Harry's hands had slid from Hermione's waist to her hips and grazed the strip of skin just where her jacket and shirt had ridden up. She yelped.
Harry took to apologizing at once. "Sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't-I didn't mean-"
"It's fine," said Hermione quickly, and though she scooted closer to him then to prove her point, she did it with a grim expression that told him very clearly that she was no longer comfortable. Harry tried not to let it hurt his feelings. "Really."
"No," Harry found himself saying. He had intended to ask her to talk then, but he had lost his nerve. "We agreed to... well, we agreed. Later." He forced a smile on his face. "Would you like me to help you review some for your O.W.L.s?"
Hermione nodded, scooting off the bed at once to get her books. And though he could tell she was trying to be discreet, Harry watched her hastily wipe tears from her eyes. It broke his heart in such a way and caused pain in him beyond any curse Voldemort had ever thrown.
* * *
Rolling up to the ugly stone gargoyle that protected the entrance of Dumbledore's quarters, it suddenly occurred to Harry that he hadn't a clue how to proceed. He had a password-"fizzing whizbees"-but also the sinking suspicion that the spiral staircase beyond the gargoyle would not accommodate a wheelchair. The boy wizard gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to get down just yet, though in all actuality, he was more worried about keeping his anger in check than being depressed. His responses earlier to Hermione had been an indicator, if anything.
Harry came to an awkward stop, still unfamiliar with navigating a wheelchair, especially one so obviously antique. He exhaled slowly, hoping for the best. "Fizzing whizbees," he said.
The gargoyle turned more slowly than usual, and it shifted to reveal a platform instead of stairs. Harry took it as a good sign when he was able to roll onto the platform and have it slowly lift him up. Dumbledore had obviously put some thought into their meeting if he had modified his quarters to allow for Harry's injuries.
Dumbledore's office, Harry saw as the platform came to a gentle stop and he rolled off, was as unchanging as ever-same portraits, same paintings, same array of magical gadgets. Fawkes sat on his perch, and the Sorting Hat snored ever-so-softly. There was one noticeable difference, however. The figure that sat behind the headmaster's desk, shuffling through papers, was not Dumbledore, but rather Professor Lupin.
"Professor," said Harry, smiling at the defense instructor, as usual glad to see him. Having classes to teach had prevented Lupin from spending much time in the hospital wing. ("Not that I wouldn't like to!" he had assured.)
Lupin stopped scratching his quill against his parchment for just long enough to glance up at Harry and return the smile. "Hello, Harry," he said, "give me just one moment?"
"Oh, yes, sure," said Harry, resting his hands on his lap. Although he thought it odd that Lupin offered no further explanation to his presence, Harry didn't mind waiting for the headmaster all that much. At least he was there, and in no time Dumbledore was sure to come in, or Lupin to excuse himself to get the headmaster.
But several minutes passed, and Harry looked up to see Lupin staring across at him, Dumbledore's desk tidy now in front of him. He didn't look like he was going anywhere.
"So Harry," said Lupin, "where would you like to begin?"
Harry's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Lupin chuckled. "Surely you realize that what delayed this meeting was the sheer volume of things to cover, and the headmaster wanting enough time to have them explained properly-"
"Have them explained?" Harry cut in. "He won't be doing the explaining?"
Lupin shook his head. "I'm afraid not."
Harry leaned forward with a start. "But he'll be coming, eventually, so I can ask him some questions?"
The Defense professor's hesitance was unmistakable. "No, Harry. He's busy, but trust that-"
"That what?" Harry said scathingly. "That I would settle for-" the boy wizard stopped short, the anger catching in his throat as he tried to determine whether or not he had offended his favorite professor. He did not seem to have. Swallowing hard, Harry struggled to regain composure. "Professor, not that I don't trust you to give me a complete and honest recount of the events of the last several months, but for my own sake, I think the explaining ought to come from the headmaster. Where is Professor Dumbledore?"
Lupin, who had folded his hands together on the desk, did not meet Harry gaze. "Before Voldemort rose the first time, he..."
Harry's heart sank, and all he heard was noise as Lupin started to talk. "Professor, did he put you up to this?"
Lupin stopped short, and sighed. "I tried to tell him you wouldn't listen to me or McGonagall or even Sirius. I'll try again, Harry, I will. I can't promise you anything, but I will tell-"
"Professor," said Harry calmly, "if you will, just let the headmaster know that I have no intention of leaving his office until he personally offers an explanation as to why Voldemort has wanted to kill me, and that while he's at it, an explanation of why he allowed things to spiral so out of control would also be greatly appreciated."
Much to Harry's surprise, Lupin nodded. "It is apparent," he said, "how much time you have spent with Hermione... you've begun to sound rather like her. Albus?"
Harry didn't have time to protest his involvement with Hermione before a bookcase behind the desk swung forward and the headmaster appeared in the opening. He wore plain robes, for the first time that Harry could recall, and a solemn expression. He quietly made a few remarks to Lupin before shaking the Defense professor's hand and allowing him to exit. Settling behind his desk, Dumbledore cleared his throat, removed his half-moon glasses, and leaned forward.
"I was told you would settle for nothing less than the truth as I told it," said Dumbledore. "I think I knew your professors and godfather were correct, yet my way still seemed so much more logical..."
"No sir," said Harry, as politely as he could muster. "In all honesty, I see little logic in your thoughts and feelings expressed to one person by another."
"Yes, yes," said the headmaster absently, leaning back in his chair again as he tapped his fingertips together. "Tell me, Harry, what is it that you wish to take away from our meeting?"
Harry's answer was automatic. "Answers, Professor."
"But you haven't asked me any questions," said Dumbledore, a response Harry probably could have lived with if not for the twinkle in the headmaster's eye. What was this to him, a game? To Harry it rather felt like his life. Still, he tried to remain calm, hoping he wasn't out of line removing a dragon-shaped paper weight from the edge of Dumbledore's desk so he would have something to fidget with.
"I came here hoping to gain understanding, then," said Harry, hoping his voice sounded steadier to the headmaster than it did to him, less irritated, less worried, less nervous. Six days ago, right now, I was waiting for midnight. Anna had said she would break Hermione's memory charm then. I don't know why there was a memory charm to break in the first place. I don't know why my best friend had memories so violent and awful that my stomach turned. And-" Harry nervously combed his fingers through his hair "-I don't know why I ended up having to confront the darkest wizard of all time at Hogwarts, a place I always believed to be safe and secure." His heart was beating so fast in his chest that he had to wonder if the headmaster could hear. "I'm asking why, I suppose. Why, Professor, why did all those things happen?"
Dumbledore did not meet Harry's gaze. "Last week, you, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Clemens made a rash and foolish decision to harness magicks you could not possibly understand or appreciate. Risking Miss Granger's very life, you brought forth memories not meant to be remembered. You acted on impulse, and you should be so glad your hot-headed behavior cost you little more than it did. Mr. Potter-good evening."
Nothing had ever hit the boy wizard so hard-not Uncle Vernon or Ron that one time in the Quidditch locker room, not when he had thought Sirius had murdered his parents or when he had seen Voldemort rise in that cemetary. Dumbledore's choice of words at that moment would be something Harry never forgot, never let go of, never completely forgave him for, not even years later and then some. He rose from his wheelchair, and he chucked the dragon paperweight so hard that when it hit the wall, the neck snapped and the wings bent and it even sparked a little.
"I died," snapped Harry. Furiously, he continued, "I'm standing here on one shaky leg because the other I may never be able to walk on again. My best friend will live the rest of his life with a weak heart, and the girl I love..." He trailed off, having to grip the arms of the wheelchair behind him and lower himself back into it. It wasn't like he would have been able to vocalize Hermione's suffering anyway. "Don't tell me we haven't paid."
"Ha-"
But the headmaster could not even get out his student's name.
"You can get angry with me, I don't care," said Harry furiously. "Kick me out of Hogwarts, see how it sits. But don't ignore what happened. Don't ignore us. Because for a long time, you were the only person I could count on to do the right thing, that's what I was trying to do down in that chamber. What was right-right by you, even. Hermione and Ron? Anna? It doesn't matter what they said or did to get down there. They followed me. I'm the one with this stupid scar-" he jabbed at his forehead, where the lightening bolt was less of a scar than a healing wound "-and stupid connection to Voldemort. And you know what?"
The headmaster's response was barely audible. "What?"
"I'm done," said Harry. Now his voice was eerily calm. It was in such contrast to the anger that had just consumed him that he surprised even himself. Words were just coming to him. He had no idea what direction he was heading until after he heard himself speak. "I reckon you could say I've been fighting evil on and off since I was one, so going on fifteen years now. That's most of my life. I don't feel bad throwing the towel in. That's most of my life. I'm going to try life as an average wizard. You know, play Quidditch with Ron this summer and take Hermione on a date in Diagon Alley. Just-settle things up with Voldemort for me, all right? Tell him I'm out of this. No use fighting when you have no idea why you're throwing curses."
Harry leaned back in his wheelchair. His breathing was heavy and irregular, and his heart was racing even more than before. The headmaster, to his surprise, gave him a moment, then nodded.
"Fair enough. You may go, or-"
But Dumbledore left that statement so open for so long that Harry actually turned his chair and started towards the platform.
"-or you can give an old man a moment to gather his thoughts, and he will try his hardest to make things right." The headmaster sighed. "if they can be made right, if they were ever right at all."
* * *
December 1979
"I'm what?" Lily Evans said in disbelief, sitting up with a start in her bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing. Her fiancé, James Potter, dropped her hand, his mouth slightly agape.
"She's what?" he echoed.
Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts mediwitch (never mind that neither James nor Lily was a Hogwarts student) just clucked her tongue impatiently. "You're pregnant," she said briskly, "and the headmaster will come by later to speak with you."
"No!" said James, startled by his own ferocity. "I mean, Madam Pomfrey, the charms-we... we... we always use the charms. Should you... I don't know, check your wand work?"
The hospital matron was taken aback. "I say check yours, Mr. Potter-about two months ago! Harrumph!" She stalked off in the direction of her office.
"Jaaaames!"
James felt his friend Sirius Black's hand on his back in no time at all. No sooner had Sirius given James's shoulder a hearty clap, he was kissing Lily's cheek. He backed off, looking at his two friends expectantly.
"What?" Sirius wanted to know. "Come on, you two! Show some enthusiasm! This is good! You both want a big family, and you're getting married in four days! So you have to put a disillusionment charm on everything so the guests remember an October wedding instead of a December one so they don't ask questions when the baby comes in July! Let me-let me just fire-call Remus and Peter, all right? Don't worry, the Marauders will take care of you. We'll get-"
Lily had started to cry.
"Merlin, what? What's wrong? Sure, things are the best now, but a little baby? That would be a bright spot. Months off-the Order might have Voldemort in the bag by then and in the mean time, it looks like Dumbledore will work with you, Lily, don't cry baby, sounds like he's already considering how to handle it and when to take you off-"
"Sirius?" James interrupted, exhausted. "Shut up."
The wizard with the dark, wild hair opened his mouth to protest, but James nudged him in time to direct his attention to Lily, whose sobs were now shaking her entire body.
"What's..." Sirius wanted to know. James shook his head, signaling he needed a moment with his soon-to-be-wife, during which he smoothed her hair and whispered a few things that seemed to calm her just enough to allow him time for a few words with Sirius.
"Don't say a word to Remus," said James abruptly when they reached the opposite side of the hospital wing from Lily's bed. "Not to Remus, not to Peter, not to anybody. I mean it, Padfoot. Keep your mouth fucking shut for once. If anybody asks for a couple days about Lil's condition, you just say it was a rough fight-"
"Which it was," Sirius broke in thoughtfully, as he had a shiny burn on his arm and several broken ribs to prove it, thought then hadn't been the time to interrupt James.
"It was a rough fight and she got hit but she's recovering!" James's voice rose until he was shouting.
"What is going on?" Sirius demanded. Having always had a shorter fuse than James, it was remarkable that he hadn't shouted completely back.
"Lily and I can't have kids."
Sirius snorted. "How's that work when you're having one?"
James turned away from his friend to press his palms to the wall above his head. "Dumbledore," he said, an eerie calmness suddenly to his tone, "is-I'm certain of this-coming down to discuss mine and Lily's options for aborting the child. We should have been more careful, shouldn't have let this happen. It won't be easy, but to bring a child into the world right now would be irresponsible."
Sirius only continued to stare at James in disbelief. "What?"
James shook his head. "Lily and I," he said through gritted teeth, "we aren't allowed to have children."
"But why?"
"Too risky. We're both in the Order. It would be like wishing death on our child. Best take... care of things... now."
"Ridiculous. Alice Longbottom just announced she was pregnant-everyone was excited for her! And that red-headed woman with loads of kids already? She's pregnant, too! Other people in the Order have kids, Prongs! What really makes you and Lily so different?"
"The fact that any child of ours will have the fate of the wizarding world resting on his shoulders!" James burst out. "So Voldemort wants the rest of the Order dead? Fine. He has to have me dead. He wants power, but only the kind he'll have to spill my blood to get. My blood because I'm a Potter, now my son's-because odds are it's a boy even if I'll never get to see him-for that same, stupid reason."
Sirius blinked. "What?"
And it all clicked into place for Sirius. "So it's true then," he said slowly. "The basis for the pureblood argument of supremacy. There really was a war between Magicians and Muggles, one purebloods reckon they won because they can still cast-bloody hell, James, are there really gates? Some kind of barrier that protects magic, forces that disperse-"
"I'm the barrier," said James. "And apparently there are forces-they're ruining my life, I'll have you know!"
Sirius could hardly believe what his friend was saying. Coming from a long line of pureblood wizards, he had grown up in the shadows of dark magicks and wondered if he dare believe the whispers-ancient legends, traditions, and lore-more magic in the world than wizards, and if you could just find the Forgotten Gates, than magic would be yours-oh, you'd have to be willing to kill of the righteous family protecting it, but what's a little blood spilled compared to all that power? And now there was some prophecy about the end of the Light! The oldest, darkest wizards said it was about time, too.
Attitudes like that had been what drove a wedge between Sirius and his family, leading to the current situation-his estrangement. That little amount of blood to spill was suddenly quite a lot-James's blood and his unborn child's. Sirius's own blood began to boil.
"And Dumbledore's told you no kids?" said Sirius angrily. "Why not have `em, James? Why not have an army of `em and see how-"
"Remember my five brothers?" James wanted to know. "My five dead brothers That didn't work, unless you consider their five graves and my parents' a raging success! No, Dumbledore never told Lily and me we couldn't have kids. We bloody well came to that decision ourselves! The only thing we can do is try to get me through this war and to some ripe old age where I can die in my sleep and seal those gates and end this stupid blood rite!"
Sirius, who had known James for the better part of his twenty-one years, could only stare on in disbelief as his friend slammed one more fist against the wall for emphasis before shoving his hands in his pockets and returning to Lily's beside. Lily, her sobs reduced to silent, streaming tears by now, Sirius was sure had listened to most of the exchange. The red-headed girl, who he had always teased and tormented and maybe even had a crush on for about two seconds there that one time, was as much a sister to him as James was a brother. Funny how blood hadn't mattered-until now. Sirius couldn't image how she must be feeling. He watched James slide onto the side of her hospital bed and wrap his arms around her, which did it for Sirius.
Yes, that was it. Without saying a word, Sirius slipped out of the hospital wing and stormed off in the direction of Headmaster Dumbledore's office.
* * *
"That," said Dumbledore quietly, "was the story your godfather came to me with that evening. Of course, he was not yet your godfather, but hearing that two of his closest friends were to have a child was all it took to make him love you. So much, in fact, that over there-" the headmaster pointed over his shoulder to the wall Harry had thrown the dragon paperweight at "-is the wall against which he had me pinned, wand to my throat, so convinced was he that I was directly at fault for James's downtrodden, dejected attitude."
Harry, who was feeling quite downtrodden and dejected himself, couldn't help but suggest, "Perhaps you were."
"Perhaps I was," Dumbledore echoed softly. "Harry-the purpose of that story was not to make you feel useless, or unwanted. Your parents loved and wanted you more than anything, but they didn't want for you want they had had for themselves. Your mother was twenty years old then, Harry, and your father, twenty-one. Lily had seen her parents murdered. James had made the decision to let his younger brother, left mad and child-like by the Cruciatus Curse, die rather than make him an easy target for Voldemort. They had buried too many friends and hardly any enemies. Both had been wounded more times than they could count, especially your father. How could they protect you when they hardly could themselves?
"No-for as much as they loved each other and as much as they loved you already, your parents felt compelled to put the future of the wizarding world first. Those, Harry, are the sort of people you hail from. That attitude is the type that earned the Potter family such a cursed blessing.
"And Harry? For as much as I admire spirit, brotherhood, and bravery, what pained me in that moment was not Sirius's wand against my flesh, but the fact that your parents had already decided to deny themselves the pleasure of children. Since their own childhood, they had been asked to bear too much. I would never once have considered asking them not to have you-yet they expected someone to. James had lived with the knowledge of his blood rite since age thirteen, and your mother with the knowledge of what loving James would mean since age fifteen. That night I Told them to have their child, to have you, Harry, and I promised them I would somehow see you protected and the Forgotten Gates preserved.
"I never will regret that, Harry. Your parents loved you so very much-your father was so proud of his baby son. He would bring you to every Order meeting in a baby carrier, brandishing your bottle much like a wand. Your mother fretted that you would turn out just like your father, and deciding that she could scarcely handle the one, hoped to instill you with slightly more discipline and self-control. She'd read you baby enrichment books every night and take you to her Charms circle.
"Sirius would talk constantly to you about Quidditch, insisting he, not James, would buy you your first broom. He hung a mobile above your bed, and once Remus had finished painting a wall mural of a spirited game, Sirius was right over to enchant the players into actual flight. You really were the bright spot he had anticipated.
"No, Harry, in a little over a year, you gave them so much. I regret you had not more time to spend with them, that I could not keep my promise to them of your happy, healthy childhood. I did not see you for ten years, Harry, and when you returned to the wizarding world, you were the splitting image of your father, only with your mother's eyes-a constant reminder of them. You stood out as a scholar more than you might have realized in your first year of studies, and I had to hope you would be the one that lived the quiet life with no reason to know your destiny.
"But almost at once, you took your first glimpse at Voldemort, and you proved yourself your parents' child-you possessed the same courage, the same determination, and the same spirit. Let that be enough, I said. Let twice be more than the Dark Lord can take, and let him seek power beyond Harry's veins.
"But then you faced Tom Riddle the very next year. I kept telling myself that while Tom Riddle became Voldemort, he was not necessarily Voldemort-whatever that boy at Hogwarts knew about the gates was a distant memory. What I knew about your blood rite would surely keep.
"The next year, you gained a godfather, and he was far from being a murderous fiend. He was the family you so deserved, yet you did not get him. I told myself that the last thing you needed was to hear the implications of Pettigrew's betrayal had you, too, been murdered. It was already too much that you had lost your parents. Then you lost your godfather, so I waited.
"And the year after that, you somehow ended up in the Triwizard Tournament. Too much for a fourteen-year old boy, I said. How could I put such a burden on your shoulders when you had already been forced to witness the execution of your classmate by Voldemort? Never mind that he would certainly continue to try for you now that he had risen. I would wait even longer, and I would vow to put a stop to Voldemort before he could find you."
Harry sat quiet, still as the headmaster paused. In his plain robes, he did not look regal. He looked ragged, a worn out old wizard. And nervously, he chuckled.
"Do you see, Harry? I always wanted to protect you. I could keep you in the dark, and perhaps the problem would go away. I ran myself in circles trying to deny you the truth. In my mind, I actually imagined you safe at the Dursleys' because at least the Muggle world was out of sight, out of mind for the Dark Lord. I buffered the wards on the castle, and I scoffed at the deaths of two students rather than admit Hogwarts was not the stronghold I thought it was. I knew you were asking the questions, but how could I let you find the answers? Especially not then, as you grew closer to my gr-"
Dumbledore stopped short. He closed his mouth and seemed to switch gears.
"Harry, you asked me why you ended up in the chamber that night. I hope you have seen the reason why. It was I who led you to that chamber last week-not the Dark Lord, not one of his followers. Had I not so convinced you my concern for him was non-existent, had I only been forthright about his plans for you, then certainly you would not have fallen in his trap." Dumbledore finally made eye contact with the Boy Who Lived. "Have I given you your answers?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor-you have. Thank you. And-" he searched feebly for a better way to say it but found none "-I'm sorry."
The headmaster shook his head. "No, Harry, I am. I am sure you are, however, still confused, still concerned. I am sure you have gathered by now that the Order of the Phoenix fought against Voldemort the first time and has banded together to try to put him down again. There are... others your age who participate, and should you accept the invitation, you can as well.
Harry nodded. "I accept."
"Very well," said Dumbledore. "You will join some of the finest wizards in the fight-your godfather, Professor Lupin, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape, Mr. Weasley and Ron's eldest brothers, to name a few. I will send word of the next meeting just before-sometime tomorrow, certainly."
It was all Harry could do to keep nodding, listening as carefully as he could to what the headmaster went on to say. Most of it he had heard already, from Sirius, Ron, or Hermione. Krum had been unusually honest with them, given that Dumbledore did not even go so in-depth about Death Eater activity and Order response. As a result, Harry found it hard not to let his mind wander.
Had he meant it? Was he really sorry about what he had done in light of Dumbledore assuming responsibility for the behavior that Harry had merely responded to? A little voice in the back of his mind kept asking whether he felt violated in having his own fate kept from him. As it turned out, to some extent, he did.
"...and since then, the Order has been trying to keep the Daily Prophet and the Ministry off the fact that Hogwarts was so near attack," Dumbledore finished. He gave the boy wizard a long look. "Harry?"
"Hmm?" said Harry, caught off guard. "Oh yes, Barker would have been all over that..."
"Would he not?" said Dumbledore, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile. "Now, Harry-I will ask you to deliver a parchment to Ron so he might be extended similar explanations tomorrow-" the headmaster, indeed, produced this document and handing it across his desk to Harry "-and thought I suppose it will be up to your discretion what to tell Hermione, I would appreciate... caution."
For a moment, Harry waited, expecting the headmaster to elaborate. He did not. "Professor, as much as Hermione's been through, she was still at my side in the chamber, just like Ron. Doesn't she have as much of a right as either of us to know the truth? I can tell you she hates more than anything when people treat her like she's going to break at any moment."
"Harry..." the headmaster offered reluctantly, "...perhaps you remember the conversation we had many months ago, on your first evening back at Hogwarts?"
"That..." Harry said slowly. He frowned. "That you were Muggleborn, and to tell Hermione, and... you lied to me! Once before you told me your brother had gotten caught performing illegal turkey charms or something, and your parents were disappointed!"
"Goat," Dumbledore corrected, which only made Harry angrier. Not only had the headmaster lied to him, he had made Harry feel stupid for falling for it. "But Harry, though that story was a fabrication, it was the only thing I could think of to relate to Hermione with."
Harry didn't care. "What do you think you're playing at?" he demanded.
"Have you ever heard of Grindelwald?" Dumbledore wanted to know. Harry just shrugged. He had, sort of. "About fifty years ago, as Muggles claimed victory over Hitler, Grindelwald took advantage of the fact that so many Muggleborns were displaced, or coming out of service, or longing for their families. He took their hurt and anger and channeled it into the Dark Arts, and the Ministry feared how it would look to come down hard on such an already downtrodden group. A group of us decided we had to act anyway. Defeating Grindelwald cost me my post at Hogwarts, and sent me into hiding for several years.
"Up until that point, I had been working aside Nicholas Flamel, so I retained the look of a young man even though I had since celebrated my one-hundredth birthday. I fell in love with Muggle war widow, married her, and had a child. Soon my natural age started to catch up with my appearance, leaving me with no choice but to tell my wife the truth.
"She was a God-fearing woman, and I was an abnormality she wasn't prepared to deal with. At her request, though it pained me, I cast a curse on my newborn son so that he might never know magic. I drew up a death certificate for myself, and she moved back in with her widower father and began to use her maiden name.
"But there is a problem with anti-magic spells, Harry-they affect your ability to perform magic, but not the fact that you are magical. So, as it would be, five years ago my granddaughter came to Hogwarts. And Harry, though there is little I can do about the fact you and Hermione are fated to be together, it is only my instinct to want to protect-"
That was it for Harry. "Protect?" he interrupted, half-shouting. "Protecting her would have been telling me at eleven why Voldemort wanted me. Better yet, `protecting her' would have been telling me before that-save me from the Dursleys and her from me!"
Harry was now rolling to the lift. "You know what, Professor?" he concluded cooly. "You were right. I reckon it just was too much."
* * *
"Harry?"
The boy wizard neglected to turn around when he heard his name being called. Part of it was his wanting to be left alone. Another part of it was him having forgone his wheelchair to tromp down to the lakeshore. The pain in his leg had been so intense coming down that he had ceased to feel it, and it was his guess that any sudden movement would send him into the lake when it gave out on him. He skipped another stone across the lake. One, two, three, four, five. Maybe he'd enchanted some of them to feel better about himself.
"I think I would have rather it from you, Professor," said Harry. "I doubt you would have made me so angry."
"Maybe," said Lupin vaguely, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, "...maybe not."
"I don't think I have it all straight," said Harry at last. "Or maybe I do. It's hard to tell anymore. So there's some ancient magic source that only remains protected so long as I'm not dead because all of my relatives are?"
Lupin picked up a stone, tapped it with his wand, and skipped it as well. "No, I reckon you have it. There's more history to it than that, but it's mostly a matter of your standing in the way of what Voldemort wants-power."
"Maybe my parents were being selfish," said Harry. "After all, they died trying to protect me. Unnecessary complication, then and now. The way Dumbledore tells it, the three of us created quite a mess."
"Harry... this isn't going to work unless you keep in mind that we're all only human," said Lupin. "You, me, your parents, Dumbledore. I'm not going to lie to you, Harry. Too many people have done that. Like your father before you, you bear more weight on your shoulders than any other man I know. The fact that one family should protect the entire wizarding population from perversion is an idea I find as archaic as the notion of pureblood supremacy. But-I was not alive thousands of years ago to be consulted."
"Why not let it die out?" Harry wanted to know, too impatient to wait for Lupin to get there. "If that artisan in Hogsmeade was so self-sacrificing, why did he go on to have kids and grandkids and get to me eventually? Doesn't it all end if the last Potter dies naturally, all alone? Why didn't anyone try it? How could everyone else related to me be dead?"
"Each and every one of us, Harry-we're only human," repeated Lupin. "That artisan already had kids, and grandkids, and honestly no one understood the extent of the burden placed upon the Potter family. People forgot all about the gates, or forgot enough to question whether the war between the Magicians and Muggles ever happened. Members of the Potter family themselves let go. Sure, head turned at the runes found at Hogwarts, but what were those but guesswork? After all, Ravenclaw translated them, and her later years she is said to have gone quite mad."
Harry did his best to manage a small smile. "Then how did Voldemort come to know about the gates? And really-thousands of years of Potters? Am I really the only one?"
Lupin smiled. "I should give you house points for being so quick to ask the right questions. Voldemort leaned about the gates the way anyone does-a whisper in the pureblood circles, an awesome legend that couldn't possibly be true. He researched, and researched, and called on the most ancient texts and forbidden methods of scrying until he had what he was looking for.
"And you see, it just so happened that in the late 1950s, a young mystic had made a name for herself by predicting the next Dark wizard to rise would actually be able to destroy the Light side forever, if only he could unlock the Forgotten Gates. The only chance the decent wizarding folk would have would be in a triumvirate of a young couple and their best friend. The mystic's name was Millicent Trill, although you might know her better as Sibyl Trelawney-"
"That old bat?" Harry burst. "Sorry," he said, realizing Lupin wasn't through. But the Defense professor only chuckled.
"Isn't she, though?" said Lupin. "But it wasn't what she said. It was how she said it. They started to compare it to a series of tarot readings during the American Civil War, to the crystal gazing of a French mystic during the Enlightenment, to a prophecy from China and one out of ancient Egypt. They all went back to the runes at Hogwarts. And the more prophecies and predictions that emerged, the more Trelawney's prophecy was given credit. She predicted the end of the world, Harry: the destruction of the Light by a dark power who finally managed to solve the puzzle of the Forgotten Gates.
"Harry... there are Potters in Spain, in Peru, in Canada... Japan, the Bahamas, Australia, even a few in the States. But the prophecy cites that only Potters who have always stayed near Hogsmeade still carry the blood burden. And the prophecy calls for the very last of those Potters, his love, and their considered brother. You, Ron, and Hermione. Or maybe James, Lily, and Sirius. Perhaps this prophecy has already served, and James was meant to save us all but didn't, and now we have no hope." Lupin looked closely at Harry. "I don't think so."
"Why?" Harry wanted to know. He hoped it was not product such a response as the last time he had essentially asked the question.
"There... is a line in the prophecy. It begins, `Be it destroyed her innocence...'" Lupin recited quietly.
Harry threw the stone he was holding as hard as he could to the lake, his leg collapsing on him as he was overcome with anger, and he just sank to the ground straightaway.
"I'd never ask her to confirm or deny," said Harry, "but he did it again down there, Professor. Three times, it makes. Three. I was unconscious, and I couldn't protect her." He wiped angrily at his eyes with the back of his hand. "And a part of me is glad I was because I reckon he would have done it anyway, and a part of me dies every time I think about it, and I think it would have really killed me to have had to see it."
Harry could hear the lake behind him, but he concentrated on the distant sounds of the forest instead. The howls and wails sent shivers down his spine.
"I don't know what lies ahead for you and Hermione," said Lupin softly. "I reckon that soon you're going to tell her that it's just too much of a risk being with you. But if you do, you'll miss the point of what saved you all in that chamber. You're already in the situation your father and mother found themselves in-carefree and in love, though at the expense of her safety and security, for when their souls bonded he shared his burden with her. However inadvertent, you and Hermione are in it together now."
"I won't love her," Harry said stubbornly, "and I can make her hate me."
Lupin just looked out over the lake. "Your magic is hers now, and I reckon you now access the powers stolen from her by the dementors. You'll each have to hate yourself as well."
"I'll do it, make it happen-whatever it takes to keep her safe," Harry insisted.
"Let's go inside," Lupin suggested, helping Harry up. At his wheelchair, left at the door he came out of, Harry nodded.
"Thanks Professor," he said quietly.
Lupin looked thoughtful. "Call me Remus," he said finally. "You'll have a new Defense professor next year."
Harry's mouth dropped open. "What? Why? You're such an amazing teacher!"
"But quite the fantastic beast," said Lupin sadly. "Though thank you."
"But people knew this year!" Harry protested.
"Part of the wards that went up around the castle made students who had problems with my animal side or who had parents with such problems forget about the wolf. But trying to undo what Voldemort had done, Dumbledore had to take down those wards. More owls than ever this time, enough to keep us from having a third go of it," explained Lupin.
"That was us," said Harry bitterly.
Lupin shrugged. "I'd rather have the school safe... and the three of you."
Harry was somewhat astonished by how unfazed his professor seemed. "How do somewhat astonished by how unfazed his professor seemed. "How do you not sound at all bitter?"
"My life has known greater disappointment and hurt than this. I stopped worrying so much about these small things after I lost Clara," said Lupin carefully.
Harry nodded, wondering if his professor could even see him in the dark. "I'm-I'm sorry, by the way. Her journals... she sounded like an amazing person, Professor."
"Remus," corrected Lupin. "And don't be sorry, Harry. Clara made me happy, happier than most ever get to be. I'll always be grateful for the time we had together. Sometimes... that has to be enough."
"Wow," Harry heard himself say. "How do you do it?"
"I didn't," said Lupin, exhaling slowly as he leaned against one of the stone archways. "After she died, I shut down. Do you remember what Sirius said that night in the Shrieking Shack two years ago? That he believed it was I who was the spy?"
"I do," said Harry quietly. Lupin smiled at him, resting his hand on Harry's shoulder.
"When I came to Hogwarts your third year, it meant more to me than you could ever know that you came to me to learn the Patronus Charm. It made sense, of course, I was the Defense professor, but getting to spend time with you meant the world to me. You see, by the time you were born, I was so deep in my own despair that I rarely came around. Half-mad, half-drunk, I was not a suitable character to have around a child. Your mother asked me politely to go-and I did. I stayed in the Order but kept my distance. I'm sure your father knew, but Sirius never did. I'm sure it wasn't hard to imagine me going to Voldemort, not in the least."
"But wasn't it because of Voldemort that Clara died?"
"You do strange, incomprehensible things, sometimes mad or amazing things, when you lose your love," said Lupin. He raised an eyebrow. "Hermione certainly did when she believed she lost you. At least for awhile vanquished the Dark Lord, she did."
Harry thought about this. "You really just don't want to talk about Clara, do you?"
Lupin chuckled. "No more right now than you do Hermione." He looked every bit as thoughtful as Harry as he gazed out into the darkness. Finally, he spoke. "I hate to even ask, Harry, but... would you... go... no, I can't."
"Can't what?" Harry wanted to know, confused.
"Can't ask you to go back to the Dursleys," said Lupin. "Sirius is dead against it, and I happen to be as well. But Dumbledore needs time to strengthen the wards around the Burrow and the Granger home."
Harry felt his heart thud against his chest. He was sure of it. "The Dursleys moved," he said desperately. "Over the winter holiday!"
Lupin nodded. "I know. But because they are Muggles and your blood relatives, there are certain bonds that will protect you where even magic could fail."
"They don't love me," said Harry grumpily, but he knew that it was just resignation in disguise. Lupin would handle the situation, he was sure. It wouldn't be more than a few weeks there, he was sure. He could get through this one last summer, he was sure.
The Defense professor sighed, releasing the hold he had taken on Harry's shoulder. "Good boy."
"Sure," said Harry.
"Well."
"Quite."
"Word will be sent tomorrow about the Order meeting. Good night, Harry."
And Lupin gave Harry one last pat on the back before he disappeared into the darkness, leaving the boy wizard with no choice but to return to the hospital wing.
* * *
In the coming months, the argument being waged between Ron and Mrs. Weasley would become increasingly familiar to Harry, but when it began for the first time on Monday night, he did not know that, and he found himself listening intently through the curtains. It wasn't really eavesdropping, he reckoned, because his best friend was having a go at it so loud with his mother that Harry was certain that, on the other side of the castle and down in the dungeons, some Slytherins were picking up the exchange.
"Your father and I-" started Mrs. Weasley. She was interrupted by the funny sound Ron made.
"Bullocks," Ron broke in, which had Harry wondering for at least the fifth time if perhaps his redheaded friend was braver than he, as he hadn't known his mother but thought he knew enough about them in general to avoid the use of some words. "You know as well as I do that Dad's in favor of my joining. He's just too afraid of what you think to say one word!"
If Mrs. Weasley had heard what came after Ron's cursing, Harry wouldn't have known it. "Ronald! Language!" she exclaimed.
"Sorry, Mum-"
"Oh, don't you sorry me, young man," said Mrs. Weasley threateningly, and Harry could only imagine that she was wagging her finger at her youngest son. "You know as well as I do-oh, never mind! Let's say your father is in favor of your joining-which, I might add, I highly doubt-then the fact that he hasn't said a word to me just shows he's questioning himself! It's just too dangerous, Ronald. You're just not old enough!"
"Next March I will be," Ron shot back. "So put your foot down, Mum. Like you did with Fred and George. You didn't want them to join either, did you? You know they told me they were in the second they knew I was."
"And they weren't even in until well after their seventeenth birthdays!" said Mrs. Weasley. She seemed less angry now-more fretful. Harry shifted uncomfortably from where he stood on the outside of the privacy curtains. He wanted to clear his throat or something, but he wasn't sure if it was the best idea.
Almost a full twenty-four hours had passed since his meeting with Dumbledore. Done seething, Harry had been impatiently waiting for the nine o'clock hour so that he could attend his first Order meeting. Hermione hadn't helped him at all when she returned from her first round of make-up O.W.L.s only to run off to study for those she still had to complete, and neither had Madam Pomfrey when she had applied a charm to his injured leg from one of the dusty old books she'd been scouring for days. Now, so long as he didn't push too hard, he could walk on his own for short periods of time, which had him pacing from one side of the hospital wing to the other, trying to ignore the sharp pains that still plagued his leg.
Ron had come through before dinner and dragged Harry to the Great Hall, which had actually provided a great distraction from his fretting. Ron's motives, however, had been twofold, and as a result, they had taken the "long" way back to the hospital wing. With a great deal of enthusiasm, Ron described how his own meeting with Dumbledore had gone that afternoon. Harry, for the most part, could only nod and smile. He had known everything that Ron told him already, as well as a great deal more, but had also known that it meant a lot to Ron to have had interest taken in him as well. One thing, or rather two, that Ron had revealed surprised him: he too, had been invited to join the Order, and provided he could get his parents to agree to Dumbledore's conditions, he would be joining not just his father and two eldest brothers, but Fred and George as well.
The boys' quiet chatter had ceased almost immediately when they reached the hospital wing. They had been careful in the halls when discussing the sensitive issue, but Harry at least had figured that Mrs. Weasley's anger upon their return had something to do with not being careful enough. No, quite the contrary-almost immediately, she had hauled Ron off to the far corner of the ward and drawn the curtains around them. Harry almost wondered if the usually kindly witch had meant to cast a silencing charm as well but had just forgotten in her haste.
"When Fred and George turned seventeen, there wasn't an Order to be joined!" Ron was saying, or rather shouting. Something clattered beyond the curtain, causing Harry to cringe.
"What's to say there will be one when you do!" said Mrs. Weasley. There was no hint of questioning in her voice.
"That's right, Mum, what's to say?" Ron said coolly. "For all I know, things could be so bad by then that most of the Order will have been killed, which probably means I'll be dead too. It's just a matter of whether I get killed fighting against the Dark Lord or killed because I don't know how to fi-"
"Don't say that," said Mrs. Weasley softly.
"Why not?" Ron wanted to know, his voice rising ever so slightly. "Dumbledore's telling me how involved with the Order you are-group mum, really, but you don't seem to understand what we're up against. If it's as Dumbledore tells it, then it's bad. Mum, Voldemort-"
"Ronald!" hissed Mrs. Weasley. "Don't say his-"
"VOLDEMORT!" Ron bellowed, and for a few seconds neither mother nor son spoke. Then Harry heard his friend sigh. "Mum, I'm sorry. But look how scared you are when I just say his name! You're right about what you said earlier. I can't remember what it was like last time. That's what I'm just not old enough for. But you do remember... and you're terrified of what's to come. And that's okay-I am too. It's why I want to fight. Don't you see? I'm already right in the thick of it, been destined to be since I sat with Harry that day on the train. I'm going to have to fight no matter what, and don't you think it'd be better if I at least knew how?"
Mrs. Weasley still didn't say anything. Harry could hear her shuffling around for something, presumably in the large bag she had carried in. "For the record, I do not approve, Ronald!"
The curtains parted quite dramatically as Mrs. Weasley made her exit. Harry knew at once that they'd be flung open by magic, but he also could tell that it had been involuntary on her part. She had left Ron, open-mouthed and quite red, holding a parchment in one hand and standing among various magical surgery tools-obviously, what had clattered to the floor earlier. However, instead of striding purposely to the door like he figured she would, Mrs. Weasley paused in front of Harry. She drew something else from her bag, shoving another parchment, identical to the one Ron held, into Harry's hand.
"Here," said Mrs. Weasley, obviously quite exasperated. "From Dumbledore." Harry hesitantly reached out to take the paper from her. He gave it a slight yank, but she kept a firm grip on her end. He gave her a helpless look, which only caused her to sigh impatiently as she released it. She drew in very close and wagged her finger in his face just as he imagined she had done to Ron earlier. "For the record, I don't think it's a good idea that you join either!"
Harry, oblivious to the rustling of parchment not far over, watched the matron of the Weasley family depart. He glanced in Ron's direction, but the redhead only waved a hand. "She'll come around," said Ron dismissively. He looked up at Harry and shrugged. "Or else she won't, and then we'll have this argument again tomorrow, and again the next day, and again the next..."
"Right, you can stop now," Harry said, grinning even as he took a cautious step forward. Just because he was walking again did not mean it came as easily as it once had. Every step required a certain concentration he didn't usually associate with such an ordinary task, and he often found he could only just tolerate the searing pain that came with each footfall.
Pity wasn't something he was used to seeing on the stern mediwitch's face, but since applying the charm, Madam Pomfrey had fretted over him so. Personally, Harry thought that walking now was a little like stepping on daggers, but he wasn't about to say anything negative about his new freedom that would get it taken away-not that he ever thought he'd consider walking a freedom.
Shoving all astonishment aside, Harry gritted his teeth as he shuffled towards the nearest hospital bed. He gripped the end of the metal frame for support as he began to unfold the parchment. At about that moment, Ron said something, but for whatever reason, Harry couldn't make out the words.
"What?" Harry asked, glancing up. This time, he saw Ron's mouth moving, but all he heard was garbled noise. He frowned. "What?" he asked again.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Read that already," the redhead prompted, lifting his injured arm, still in a sling, in the direction of the parchment Harry held as he drew his wand from his pocket. A quick incantation lit the paper on fire, leaving Ron to quickly rub his fingers together as flames licked at the last of it. Startled, Harry quickly focused his attention on his own parchment:
All meetings of the Order of the Phoenix in the month of June will be held on Monday evenings at 9:00 p.m in the Hogsmeade Shrieking Shack.
Stamped in the lower corner of the parchment was the outline of a phoenix, and small print beneath it read, "Please protect this phoenix-put this parchment to place promptly!" Harry didn't hesitate to draw his own wand as Ron had, quickly igniting the message. Still not entirely comfortable with his new magic, however, he cringed as the last of the flames left the tips of his fingers feeling quite crispy. He was about to give Ron a sheepish smile as he wiped his hand on his pants when he realized his friend had already moved.
"Shrieking Shack, eh?" This time, Ron's words did not sound garbled to Harry's ears. "Dumbledore must be Secret Keeper for the Order," he said, much spring in his step as he passed Harry on his way to the door. "Or-something else that would explain why you couldn't understand what I was saying before you read your note. Come on, we better get going."
Harry's brow furrowed. More used to Ron charging into things than taking charge, he couldn't come up with a thing to say in response to his friend's observation. As the redhead reached the exit, he grabbed the door handle with his good hand and turned back to Harry, jerking his head in the direction of the hall as if to ask whether or not he was coming. Harry could only nod, ignoring the stabbing pain that came in following.
The two boys headed towards the grounds with Ron in the lead and Harry trailing behind by several feet because of his leg. In the coming months, it would just be something else for the Boy Who Lived to become familiar with.
* * *
"Cor blimey! `iam, `s `arry Pott'er!"
Harry's cheeks began to burn almost immediately upon entering the Shrieking Shack. He and Ron, coming up from the passage that opened from under the Whomping Willow, had no sooner entered the main room of the old house than they began to attract attention. Two identical older wizards, with ruddy complexions and dimples in their left cheek, were whispering excitedly to one another from where they sat behind a heavy oak table close to the door of the shack. The second wizard hopped up excited, scooting the table forward as he reached out to shake Harry's hand. The boy wizard took it awkwardly, only to have his shoulder nearly pumped off in the man's enthusiasm.
"Bless my soul! `s him, `s Harry Potter!" the man exclaimed. His Irish brogue wasn't quite so thick as the first wizard's, nor did it sound nearly as drunken. He released Harry's hand only long enough to punch the other wizard's shoulder. "Connor, didn' yo' once say if we ever did meet th' Boy `ho Lived, yo'd give me yo'r best daisies?"
The first wizard, Connor, stopped staring long enough at Harry to give the second an angry look before popping him on the side of the head. "'said no su'sh thing!" he insisted.
"Yo' did!" said the second, Harry obviously forgotten. "At the end o' the firs'! We was pickin' up the las' o' the Det E'ers outsi' o'... o'... it doesn' ma'er where! We'd had some jus' surren'er like that, but we had us some swam' to cross, and yo'r leg was s'ill botherin' yo' from the Dublin raid, and yo' told me if they'd all just surren'er so easy, yo' wouldn' be having trouble with yo'r leg, and I told yo' to thank Harry Potter, and yo' said yo'd give yo'r best daisies to meet him!"
"No' `o yo'!" Connor shot back. "'ons'ly, `iam, yo'r s'ill su'sh pony. N'one o's yo' anyth'n-"
"Connor! Liam! Good to see you again!"
Harry spun around, never more pleased than then to see the Weasley twins making their way towards him. As the two Irishmen fought, a small crowd had gathered behind him and Ron. Fortunately, most of the witches and wizards wore the same amused expressions as Fred and George.
Connor looked up. "Fre' Weas'y! 's been a'ges!"
Fred grinned as he extended his hand to the older wizard. Following close behind his brother, George chose that moment to elbow past Harry and Ron. "Can't fool a fellow twin as to which one I am. Are you two out already?"
"Tw'eeks sooner than they sai'!" boosted Connor, causing Liam to hit his shoulder again. Connor glared at his brother. "What yo'-"
Fred took it as an opportunity to grab a quill from the table and scribble something on one of the many sheets of parchment floating around. When Liam opened his mouth, he hastily passed the quill to George. To Harry and Ron he whispered, "He'll pass the quill to one of you-sign your name beneath ours on the register, don't make eye contact with either Brody twin, and pass the quill right along."
"Yo' don' brag abou' `t!" Liam chided. George slipped the quill to Harry, who wasted no time signing the parchment. He found it curious that the order of the names went George, then Fred, but said nothing as he passed off the quill to Ron. "Yo' don' know when one o' Barker's boys migh'-"
"Well the' we're in trou'le alrea'y for this-" Connor interrupted. Now, Ron was making a hasty retreat from the table, but obviously not hastily enough for George, who had commandeered him around and passed the quill to a laughing witch with shocking purple hair and two nose rings.
"Can't be too careful when it's Barker, isn't that right?" said Fred, but before either Connor or Liam could respond, he had grabbed a handful of Harry's robes and given him a forceful yank in the same direction as his brothers. Once in the opposite corner of the room, the Weasley twins erupted in gales of laughter as Ron and Harry shared confused looks.
"Fred," Harry said, addressing the twin that had steered him away from the Irish wizards, "who are those...?"
The Weasley twin smirked. "George, actually," he said.
"And I'm Fred," said the other, the one Harry had thought was George. "Honest. That's Liam and Connor Brody, the Order's other resident twins. Connor, you have to let him think he's got us down, but he's really only right half the time. Connor's a bit of a-"
"Drunk?" suggested Ron. His brothers laughed.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," said George with a glance at his brother, "but were you going to say... character?"
Fred nodded before clapping Ron on the back. "Not that he isn't fond of the ale, little brother. He and Liam both are. He just talks like he's more so because a number of years ago-"
"-as the s'ory goes-" George broke in, doing an almost perfect imitation of Connor's accent.
"-he and Liam got in fight at an Irish pub in the States right before an intelligence wizard raid. They put him under Veritaserum before he was completely sober, and to make this story much shorter than when he tells it, it made him sound like that all the time," finished Fred.
"Instead of, you know, only half the time," George reasoned. "They got in another bar fight a few weeks ago, and Barker put them in one of his pet correctional facilities. We didn't think we'd see them for another few weeks, but then Alicia's been saying they're out and they picked up something while in..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Nah, Connor and Liam are worth little scenes like that. They're fiercely loyal to Dumbledore and never fail to come through when they're needed most."
"Little tasks, though?" Fred threw out. "Pretty daunting. What they're doing is running registers tonight. Everyone signs in on one of those parchments with that quill, which Dumbledore cast a charm on. Anyone that's not who they say they are, anyone that's not supposed to be here..."
George made a gagging noise for his brother. "It's how you can tell I'm George and he's Fred. You saw how we signed in." He shrugged. "But you'll learn fast enough. I suppose we could actually help you-"
"-not that we're the ones actually showing you around," said Fred. He sniggered. "No one here's that stupid."
"Unfortunately for the Dark Lord."
Harry and Ron both turned. Alicia Spinnet had approached, grinning. She threw her arms around Harry, nearly knocking him off his feet, before grabbing his hands and kissing both his cheeks. "It's good to see you, Harry," she said breathlessly. "Everyone at Gryffindor's been so worried, we knew what had happened, of course, but not everyone does-just that something had, something bad." She gave him one last hug before stepping back and giving the twins a small wave and grinning at Ron. She told him, "You I'd make a fuss over seeing too if I hadn't already when you came back to the dorms yesterday."
"You're in the Order, too?" questioned Harry. He felt stupid immediately upon asking, knowing full well that her presence there meant she was. Still, Alicia nodded.
"I've actually been in longer than these two," said Alicia with a grin. "My dad was a member during the first war with the Dark Lord, and since it's just him and me-" Harry remembered now George mentioning once that Alicia's mother had died when she was very younger "-he thought it was a good idea I understood what he was fighting for. They had me trained before these two even got their mum to cave."
"So does that mean Angelina's in too?" Ron wanted to know.
Fred shook his head furiously. (Harry swore George and Alicia shared a smirk behind him.) "You think I'd let her put herself in danger like that?" he said crossly.
George covered one side of his mouth with his hand as if he were going to tell Ron and Harry a secret. "They go back and forth about it," he stage-whispered. "And you thought Mum could put her foot down about things-at least we know where Fred got it, I suppose."
"Shut it," said Fred, elbowing his brother. "Don't think Angie didn't get recruited, because she did, but in light of... well, let's just say she can do her part another way."
"Recruited?" said Harry.
All three seventh years nodded. "At the beginning of the year," said George. "Almost all the Gryffindors, most of the Hufflepuffs, handful of Ravenclaws and even a-"
"Slytherin or two," filled in Ron. He jerked his head to the right, and Harry turned to see what he was motioning towards. Ben Agouti was bent down over Liam and Connor's table, signing the register. "So that's why you all insisted he was one of the good ones."
Fred nodded. "He really is. He's training with Lupin and Sirius, Harry, and Snape, to infiltrate the Death Eaters."
"He's good, too," Alicia said, causing Harry to recall the limited number of encounters he had had with the Slytherin. He couldn't help but think all over again that not knowing him had only been a guise for Ben that afternoon in the hall. "He's where I was after six months, and he's only been in for four."
"You're not going to..." Ron trailed off questioningly, and Alicia laughed.
"Nooo," said Alicia, drawing the word to several syllables. "I'm training with Tonks and Kingsley. I'm trying to get into the Auror Academy after graduation. You know-so much for Quidditch, but we need more people in the Ministry."
George grinned, touching Alicia's back. Again, he stage-whispered, "Don't listen to her. She loves it, and she's incredible at it. Good enough that she's the Order's only placement in Auror training for the autumn super session. They could have put in two others, but they trust that she'll do the best job. They've got about six wizards doing what Agouti over there does."
"George, stop it," said Alicia patiently. "Ben will actually be the fourth wizard we get on the inside, Harry. It's a lot more dangerous than what I'm doing. I'd much rather face Barker than face the Dark Lord!"
"Who's Tonks?" asked Ron. Harry glanced at his friend, who seemed so at ease with everything that was going on. Harry, on the other hand, could not help but feel overwhelmed. He turned from their little group to survey the room, still trying to comprehend the memberships of Fred, George, and Alicia in the Order, as well as the knowledge that some kind of recruiting had been done among the seventh years. Dumbledore had said he would be surprised at the extent of the Order when he saw it, which Harry was starting to take as the extent of deceit of those around him over the past year. He snorted. Not that he hadn't come to expect it after meeting with Dumbledore.
And I rather should have, Harry thought. Since I've been lied to my whole life and all.
(He had started questioning whether he had more of a problem with being lied to or the fact that he never suspected he was being lied to.)
Would it have killed any of them to hint at all this going on? Harry wondered as he spotted Lee Jordan signing the register. Lavender Brown followed him in, which he was sure at first was a double take until she saw him too, and quickly averted her eyes. Harry felt his cheeks burn, remembering a certain confrontation with Lavender in the doorway of the dorm room she shared with Hermione. Who else am I going to see walk through that door that I never would have expected, not in a million years?
Harry felt someone touch his shoulder, and he swirled around. Somehow, in his distraction, his friends had moved back several feet, and now his godfather stood behind him. Sirius, though incredibly concerned over his godson's condition early on, had made himself scarce over the weekend. He hadn't so much as made an appearance, even as Padfoot, since Lupin and Dumbledore had spoken with Harry.
"She's a Seer, Harry," said Sirius quietly, his hand still on his godson's shoulder as he followed Harry's line of vision outward to Lavender. "I know she tries your patience when she and her Indian friend hang on that bat Trelawney's every world, but three days before Halloween she insisted on seeing Dumbledore because she'd had a fit the afternoon before and had seen something terrible coming. She came back in tears the day after Durmstrang, knowing details of the massacre before we did. At least seven times since she's been dead on-"
"Who's going to come through that door next?" Harry wanted to know. "Who else has been deceiving me? Hermione? Dumbledore told me he's her-"
"Harry!" hissed Sirius, which at least told Harry he wasn't the only one who had heard that story.
"Well how do I know that's not a lie as well!" Harry said loudly, not really caring that a handful of other wizards had begun to stare. "I trust Hermione, but is she going to walk through that door next?"
"No one's been deceiving you," said Sirius with a small sigh. Harry withered out of his godfather's grasp. "I won't lie to you. We were on-"
"You did before," said Harry shortly. "Call it what you like, but when almost every person in my life is told to make me believe the exact opposite of what's happened is what's actually happened...sounds an awful lot like lying to me." When Sirius said nothing, Harry found that he was seething again. "Do you have any idea what it's like to go through what Ron and Hermione and I did last week? Any idea what it's like to find out afterwards that you went through it all for nothing because you thought that was all that was being done when it wasn't?"
Sirius said nothing, just folded his arms across his chest. He stayed silent for a long time, watching with Harry the door. Professors McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Lupin (of course) entered. Hagrid and Madam Maxime. Mad-Eye Moody (the real one). Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came in arguing, followed closely by Bill-Harry half expected to see Charlie walk through then, but then he remembered Ron telling him that Charlie actually headed up the rapidly-growing Romanian division of the Order.
And those were just the witches and wizards Harry knew. At least a dozen others scampered through as the hour grew late, to make more than fifty crowded together in the decrepit shack. He glanced at his watch-the one Sirius had given him, no less-to see that only a minute remained until nine o'clock. Promptly on the hour, the Headmaster entered the door, cast what could only be a sealing spell on the doors, and made small talk with the Brody twins. As he picked up the quill and parchment from the table (Harry presumed it was to check the validity of the signatures), Sirius uncrossed his arms.
"Do I know what it's like to be tortured by Voldemort?" said Sirius. "Yes. Do I know what it's like to go through something for nothing? I do, actually. But Harry? You don't. I don't reckon Dumbledore made it clear to you how much he appreciated what you did. How important your actions were. So you made something of a mess-nothing so bad to clean up as the massacre you prevented. Harry, I don't agree necessarily with how the headmaster has handled your situation to this point. But you made a difference the other night and you'll continue to-you're brave, you're strong, and you fight well-but only if you force yourself to forgive Dumbledore."
Harry ignored his godfather. "You never answered my question about Hermione."
Sirius sighed. "She knows nothing of this unless you've told her, which Dumbledore-"
"-doesn't want," finished Harry. When the headmaster clapped his hand and drew the meeting to order a minute later, the boy wizard took a seat on the opposite side of the room from his godfather and everyone else he knew when Dumbledore conjured a large table and enough chairs for everyone there. He didn't know the witch with the purple hair and two nose rings on his right or the tall wizard with the crooked nose on his left, but that was okay because they didn't know him and couldn't have done anything to change the fact that everyone he did know was deceiving him.
"I'm Tonks," whispered the witch as Dumbledore began the meeting.
Harry awkwardly offered his hand, wishing suddenly he had paid more attention to the twins and Alicia, who had Ron with them, looking quite at ease, on the other side of the table. "Harry Potter," he whispered back.
"I know," said the witch eagerly. "Sirius is my mum's cousin, and he's said so much about-"
For the rest of the meeting, Harry ignored this witch too.
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