Chapter Thirty-Eight: King's Cross
The scene slowly came to focus. Dim street lamps overhead broke through that all consuming darkness of the night, shedding light upon a rather unremarkable neighborhood. Each house was the same as the next, just as each house was oddly familiar to him, if only with subtle differences than he remembered them. The trees, peculiarly enough, were what stood out most. They were far too small, saplings of their former selves.
All was quiet and still. It was late in the evening. Two owls swept by overhead. A car door slammed in the distance. A cat sat perched upon a stone wall, as still as a statue. At first, he considered it might actually be a statue. But then... its tail twitched, its eyes narrowing. Something had changed. He looked about for the disturbance.
An old man had silently appeared on the far corner of the drive, quite out of nowhere, as if he'd arisen from the paved street itself. It was immediately obvious that this man did not belong here, an oddity amongst all the conformity.
He stood there watching this man with a wondrous fascination, as did the cat. He knew this elder man, as did he know this street, but their names evaded him. He was standing out in the open, but was untroubled. He did not know why, but all the same, he knew he could not be seen.
The elder man began to rummage about within his purple cloak which was draped to the ground. Then with a passing breeze, something caught his attention. His eyes fell upon the cat. "I should have known," he chuckled, rather amused.
Having found what he was looking for, the man held up into the air what appeared to be a silver cigarette lighter. He clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a slight pop. He clicked it again, twelve times in all, until each and every lamp was doused.
It became near impossible to see, and he edged closer as the older man moved down the lane to the brick wall upon which the cat was perched, claiming his own seat next to it.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall," the cloaked elder spoke to the animal without looking to it. The name rang a bell. He then turned to face the cat, but it was gone, replaced by an elder woman, dressed similarly as the old man, though in an emerald cloak. Neither was surprised by this sudden transformation.
She sat stiff and erect, her hair pulled back into a severe bun, with rectangular spectacles rested upon the brim of her nose.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
"My dear Professor, I have never seen a cat sit so stiffly."
Banter. Idle banter. Talk of celebrations, muggles and lemon drops. The two's unknown, prying guest shuffled in circles behind them, his eyes flitting by each and every house, trying to make sense of it all, until they finally settled on one before him. A large number four was posted on the frame beside the door.
"The rumors … Lily and James are - are - that they're - dead," her words, the names... they struck a chord within him, something deep and painful that he'd buried long ago. His head whipped to the witch and wizard sat upon the wall. Witch and wizard? Yes, witch and wizard... how bizarre.
The wizard's head was bowed, the light aura about him now gone. The witch gasped.
"Lily and James... I didn't want to believe it... Oh Albus..." she loosed a strained cry.
"I know... I know..." he reached out and patted her shoulder most affectionately.
Their conversation carried on, heavier now, emotional, but his world had become muted, his head swimming with the names... Lily and James.
"You don't mean - you can't mean the people that live here?!" the witch suddenly yanked him back, jumping to her feet as she cried aloud. There was a boy, an infant, and he was to be delivered to this house, to these people that lived here... to the last family in which he had left. His parents had been killed... Lily and James.
The witch put up the fiercest of protests, but the wizard held his ground, responding calmly and with logical reasoning, albeit a bit morosely. It wasn't until the peak of her fit, visibly shaking with anger, when she suddenly stopped, closing her eyes and taking a deep, shuddering breath, that she garnered his undivided attention.
"Not his only family, Albus..." she drew it out, long and slow. "We could-"
"Minerva!" he cut her off, rising from his seat to face her. "We have been down this road, years ago. We need not-"
"That was your decision, not mine!" it was now her turn to stop him cold.
"It is too dangerous! If they were to find out..."
"Are you not Albus Dumbledore, or are you?!" she got right in his face, spouting loud enough to rouse the entire neighborhood. "Have you not been readying yourself all these years for-"
"I cannot be all places at all times, and I could never live with myself if-" he pleaded with her, but she was not having it.
"And I?!" she practically screamed at him, but just as suddenly, all the fire and wind seemed to leave her at once. "And I... I find it harder and harder to live with myself for..."
"Minerva!" the wizard stepped forward and embraced her. "We did what we had to, what was necessary, what was best for her, to keep her safe," a single tear peeled from his sparkling blue eyes, rolling down his cheek to disappear into his beard. "And still it was not enough. Do you want the same for-"
"And so now you will banish the child here, in hopes to keep him just as safe?" she muttered into his shoulder. "Oh Albus... Albus - you can't!" she pushed back at him. "I've been watching them all day! You couldn't find two people more unlike us. And they have this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for treats. Harry Potter come live here?! Our own-!"
He couldn't stand it any longer. It was too much, too overwhelming. His head was reeling, it felt like it was about to explode. He clenched at his temples, screaming from the pain. But Death never came for him like it always did... it had already claimed him. The blackness rose like a monster of the depths and swallowed him whole. (1)
. . . .
Blackness. Complete and total. It lingered, pressing down upon him as if it meant to suffocate the life right out of him. He was defenseless against it, in a state of paralysis. He felt neither finger nor toe, he just... was. He was left there, alone, abandoned, wandering about in his own mind - minutes, hours, years in the darkness.
But a voice. Angelic, it came for him, calling for him, rousing him from his exile. He knew that voice, recognized it, needed and yearned for it with all his heart. It sang to him at first, an enchanting rhythm beckoning him forth, but then the tune changed, became more real, more desperate. She needed him, as he needed her. He did not accept that he was helpless. He pushed back against the blackness. He pushed all his might, with every ounce left in him.
Pixel by undulating pixel, the darkness began to give way to the light, the black to the white. Faster and faster it peeled away, until his eyes shot open and he became blinded by its brilliance. His eyes blinked fiercely at the overwhelming intrusion, battling to adjust to the sudden flip.
"Oh Harry!" the voice erupted within his ears with tears of joy. Tender arms cradled his head, pressing it against her bosom.
"He's awake?!" he heard another voice, strong and familiar. His lids whittled away the haze.
"Her - Hermione..." his own voice was weak and raspy. "Is it really you?" he asked doubtfully, reaching up to touch her, to know that it was real. Slowly she came into focus, glowing amidst the bright light - an angel to his prayers.
She bit at her lip to silence her sobs, nodding profusely. "Oh Harry! I was so - I thought..." she tried, but she could not finish the thought, hugging him so tightly once again as if in an effort to infuse them together. She buried her face into his mop of raven hair, the sobs starting all over again.
"Hermione!" Harry now came fully awake, pushing her back to look at her. "But you - you're..."
She was no longer in the horrendous state he'd last found her. The cuts and bruises and blood were all gone. She was wearing her favorite green blouse, jeans and trainers.
"You're okay?" he asked urgently, his darting eyes touching on every part of her. All nods.
"H-how?" he sighed with tremendous relief, running his thumb across her cheek to brush away the falling tears. Hermione just shrugged, not breaking their intense gaze. Harry felt his heart swelling within his chest... it had been so long now that he'd waited for this moment. Ron and Ginger moved around them, coming together, smiling down upon them.
The joyous moment was not to last.
"Hermione?!" the bright white all about them suddenly registered. The small smile decorating his lips disappeared. One moment he had been sitting, the next, he was on his feet.
"Where - where are we?" Harry demanded, forgetting all else.
His three friends could only look upon one another with a state of confusion. Hermione began to pick herself up, and Harry reached for her, lifting her to her feet. She was cowed into silence by what she saw in his eyes. And Harry saw that look of fear he was giving her, and forced his gaze away.
"Ron," Harry spoke low. "How long have I been out?"
"I..." Ron looked from Harry, to Hermione, to Ginger. "I don't know? Not long, mate," he shrugged. "We were all knocked out. Ginger came to first, then me. Hermione woke up not ten minutes ago..."
Harry noticed for the first time that Ron was no longer in his robes either, instead dressed in his more frequent muggle attire, as was Ginger.
"How did we get here?" Harry pressed on most urgently.
"Beats me, Harry. One second you had them, then the next... I don't know. The whole floor gave out... and then... and then..."
"Nothing..." Harry finished for him in a mere whisper, his eyes stretching out into the endless void of pure white light.
"It..." Ginger suddenly croaked, her voice weak and afraid, she shrinking back against Ron under Harry's fierce gaze. "It was a Witching Circle..." she revealed.
"A Witching Circle?!" Ron sputtered out, not yet having put two and two together. Harry himself was not versed in such magic, but he understood her well enough. On the stage of that room aboard the ship, amidst the circle in which they had Hermione placed, laid the trap, and he had fallen for it. Damn.
"Harry..." it was now Hermione's turn. Her hand came up once again to touch upon his cheek. He refused to look at her. He couldn't, not now, not after he'd only failed her once again.
"Harry," she carried on all the same, speaking softly and tenderly towards him. "They have been after you, Harry..."
He wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement.
"They are the one's who stole you from me in Australia? They are the one's who took you to India?" Definitely a question.
"Curse them!" he could no longer hold away, his eyes falling into hers full force. "They stole you from me! I only wanted to protect you! To protect all of you! But I couldn't! I can't! I've failed you Hermione!" the words flowed from his lips in an uncontrollable sob, damning himself ever more with each lash of his tongue.
"No, Harry!" Hermione jerked his face back up to hers, which had fallen to his feet. "When will you ever learn?" she half scolded, half pleaded with him. "You've saved me. In more ways than one. All of us!"
Harry had no response, choking on his own clenched throat. He had not saved them - for they were here. He'd been here before.
"Shite, Harry!" Ron suddenly exclaimed. "You should have seen yourself in there!" his face brightened. "I thought we were all goners for sure, but you - you really showed them what for!" he started waving his wand through the air, mimicking a mock duel.
No, not his wand. The Wand.
"Ron, where did you get that?!" Harry abruptly voiced.
"Oh, er... this?" Ron shrunk, feeling quiet foolish. "S-sorry... seems as if we all lost our wands, and this one..." he scrambled in his explanation. "It was just sitting there beside you. I just picked it up in case... we, you know... I didn't know if we were good and rid of them."
"That's right, Harry," Hermione was not fooled. "You did not return it to Dumbledore's tomb?" she asked without any hint of accusation.
"Dumbledore's tomb?!" Ron's brow furrowed quizzically.
"No..." Harry shook his head. "McGonagall... it was her idea - she told me..."
"It doesn't matter," Hermione eased him.
"Wait a second!" Ron interjected. "Dumbledore's tomb?! You mean to tell me this wand..?!" he was slowly catching up. As Harry's and Hermione's eyes hit his, Ron suddenly jumped, dropping the wand as if it had scalded him, tripping away with fright.
"The Death Stick," Hermione confirmed the bewildered Ron as Harry held out his hand. It spun, flitting through the air to its rightful master's hand.
"But..?!" Ron was aghast.
"The Death Stick?!" Ginger was even more amazed. "You can't be serious?! This is a joke - has to be?!" she looked to her Ron.
"Harry," Hermione ignored the other girl. "You know who they are, don't you?"
"Who?" Harry questioned the obvious. There was a long pause as they all awaited for Hermione to go on, but it was to be Ron whom gave the answer.
"Wait a second..." the light bulb came on. "That - that witch! She called him... she called him her Cadmus. And the other..." the light in Ron dimmed. "Antioch..." he finished.
"No! That's not possible!" even Ginger was beginning to understand, even if she didn't believe it.
"Who?" Harry seemed to be the only one left out.
"H-Harry..." Ron looked right ill. "The Death Stick... Cadmus... Antioch..."
"It's not possible!" Ginger protested yet again.
"And why not?" Hermione questioned smugly. "It makes sense. The pieces fit."
"What pieces?!" Harry shook his head in confusion. "What makes sense?!" The names sounded oddly familiar, but he could not place them.
"You're serious, Harry?" Ron seemed beside himself. "After all of last year?! The Tales of Beedle the Bard?!" The first shoe fell. "The Tale of the Three Brothers..." The second landed with a loud clop.
Harry froze. "Impossible..." he mimicked Ginger. "They're - they're dead... that story was like a thousand years ago!"
"Not a thousand," Hermione answered. "Only about eight hundred. Nearly Headless Nick died only five hundred years ago."
"But Nearly Headless Nick is dead!" Harry shot back. "He's a gho..." Harry then stopped in his tracks.
More pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. He'd killed that wizard Bart, he was sure of it, only to face him again in Duma. The black spirit erupting out of those sad, broken bodies... in India, on that ship... and then the dreams, that demon, Dumbledore and the wand... Harry had to grip at his temples his head began to pound so fiercely.
"I saw them, Harry..." Ron muttered. "You - you destroyed them in there, but then... I don't know how... they just, came back?"
"Ghosts..." Ginger answered him.
Cadmus. Antioch. Peverells.
Ghosts of the Past.
"Harry?" Hermione asked softly. "Do you know where we are?"
Harry nodded slowly.
"Where?!" all three asked in unison.
"King's Cross..." Harry muttered.
. . . .
J.K. Rowling, 1997, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, P. 8-13, Scholastic Inc.
Author's Note: Well, the first part of this chapter, as I referenced just above, was either directly quoted or paraphrased, with some additional liberties taken by me to make it fit with my plot. Per the reviews, I see that some have already figured out who the three protagonists are, but hopefully this clears some things up, and still keeps you intrigued. There are still more revelations to come, thank you for reading, and as always, leaving a review if you are so kind!