Title: The Lost Horcrux

Chapter 7: Hail The Victorious Dead

Harry sighed exhaustedly, running a hand through his unwieldy black hair and dragging his feet as he walked back to his office-cum-bedroom. He could have used the Floo, but he needed some time to think. That morning, he had announced to the entire school that Chris and his Resistance were now going to be permanent additions to their ranks. He had explained a few things about Chris and the situation in America (without going into detail about Chris's family). He had also explained that Chris was now their whitelighter and what that meant. They had not been pleased. They had demanded that the Resistance leader be brought before them so they could question his intentions. They hated the idea that this stranger now had access to their emotions.

Harry had tried to placate them, but had snapped when they refused to listen to reason. He had told them in no uncertain terms that Chris could not help his emotional connection with them, that he was in a great deal of pain because of it. He told them that Chris had been willing to endure pain to ensure their own protection against demons, who were capable of a lot worse than Death Eaters. He spoke about Chris's magical heritage, and finished by saying that if any of them were in danger, they had only call his name and Chris would be able to sense it and come to their rescue. Chris was, above all things, dedicated to protecting his charges from harm, and Harry hinted darkly at the lengths he had gone to do so for the Resistance.

His words made such an impression that rather than leaving the Hall outraged and determined to hate Chris, people left in awe of the young man. Harry was rather pleased with this accomplishment in oratory, although he knew that the reason people had been so willing to listen was that it was him who was doing the talking.

The entire Order, including Ron and Hermione, were amazed at how emotionally attached Harry had become to Chris in the space of a few days. Such behavior would not have been anything to remark on Ginny, who had famously inherited her mother's maternal instinct, but in Harry it was unusual enough for people to take note of. Moody, in typical paranoia, had gone straight to the library the second breakfast was over to research all the spells Chris could have possibly cast on him. The others, though not as suspicious as the old Auror, were also uneasy.

Harry himself was not surprised at how quickly Chris had found a place in his heart. As a rule, he tried not to get too attached to people, because he was always conscious that his role in this war was not conducive to long-term attachments. Frankly, sometimes he was amazed that he had managed to live as long as forty-five years, although that was no means even half a lifetime for a wizard. But he understood Chris.

Every time he looked at him, Harry saw himself as he once had been twenty years ago. And after last night, even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to stop caring for him. The lost, vulnerable look on Chris's face when Harry had tucked him into bed, and the look of love and peace when he had mistaken him for his mother had affected Harry profoundly, and broken down the last of Harry's defenses. The boy's absolute adoration for his mother had literally shone through his face and Harry had been filled with a sudden, fierce and very unexpected longing for that look to be directed at him.

He had not slept a wink after that, and had spent the entire night by Chris's side, occasionally raking his hand gently through the younger man's dark locks and watching as his sleeping face softened at the action. It had been a huge relief to Harry that the Dreamless Sleep Potion was potent enough to dull Chris's pain. It meant that the young man could at least get some real rest and relief, even though the Potion was too addictive for him to take more than once a week. It was a small blessing, but still a blessing nonetheless.

Harry's thoughts trailed off abruptly when he found himself in front of the Room of Requirement. He had been so lost in thoughts that he hadn't noticed where he was going. He took a deep breath, willed the door to appear, and walked in. Chris was lying on his back, his face tilted in the direction of the door. He hadn't moved from the position he'd fallen asleep in. Harry sighed when he saw the faint lines of pain etched on his face. The Potion was wearing off.

He sat down on the chair beside Chris's bed and gently shook him. The boy turned over and mumbled something about 'five minutes more,' much to Harry's amusement. He briefly contemplated allowing Chris to sleep a little, but decided against it after checking his watch. He had told the Resistance to gather in the Great Hall in an hour's time so that Chris could make his announcement. Chris would need some time to prepare himself for that.

"Chris," He said, shaking him once again, "You have to wake up. Come on."

Chris's eyes gradually fluttered open, and he sat up slowly, wincing as his head pounded at them movement.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Harry said brightly, "How are you feeling?"

"Better." A look of confusion passed over his face. "Which is odd…something's different, I shouldn't be…" His voice trailed off and his eyes widened in sudden realization. "Why is it that half my charges have gone from not knowing who I am to worshipping me?" He exclaimed. His eyes narrowed when he saw Harry's self-satisfied expression. "And why are you feeling so pleased with yourself?" His eyes widened as he put two and two together. "What did you do, Mr. Potter? Did you cast a spell on them to influence the way they felt about me? Because if you did-"

"For Merlin's sake, Chris, you're nearly as paranoid as Moody!" Harry exclaimed, torn between exasperation and amusement. "Do you know, at this very moment he's in the library researching spells you might have cast on me?"

"He thinks I cast a spell on you?!" Chris asked in amazement. "Why?"

"Never mind," Harry shook his head, not really wanting to pursue it at the moment. "You wanted to know why your charges have suddenly changed their mind about you? Well, this morning I made them gather in the Great Hall, and I told them about you and the Resistance, and about how you were their whitelighter and what that meant."

Chris grimaced. "Let me guess. They totally flipped out when they heard that I had access their emotions." He said flatly. Of course they did. They always do.

"At first, yes, they did. I tried to reason with them, but I'd had just about enough when they started suggesting that you were a Dark wizard spying for Voldemort. I yelled at them for ten minutes straight. I told them that you were the only thing stopping the demons from waltzing in here at any moment, and how much pain you were in, and how you would do anything to protect your charges. I sort of…made a hero out of you, the way I described you."

"But that's…" He was having hard time even imagining Harry losing his temper, let alone over him. And Harry didn't seem the type of person who could influence people through words. And it couldn't possibly have been as easy to change people's minds as Harry had made it out to be.

"They idolize me," Harry explained, sensing his confusion. "They have since I was one, when Voldemort tried to kill me. Both my parents died to save me, and my mother's love protected me when he cast the Killing Curse. The curse deflected back onto him, and I was the Boy Who Lived, the only known person to survive the Killing Curse, the one who had finally ended the Dark Lord's reign of terror. For awhile, everyone thought he was gone for good, but the Horcruxes prevented him from being completely killed. He used my blood to resurrect himself during my Fourth Year at Hogwarts, and he's been waging war on us ever since. Everyone believes that I'm the one who will defeat him again. Add to that the fact that I've been head of the Order of the Phoenix since I was eighteen, and have been leading the better part of the wizarding world ever since the Ministry of Magic was over-run by Death Eaters…well. Let's just say it wasn't that hard to convince them, all things considered."

Once, Harry had hated that the entire wizarding world was looking to him, a man barely out of his childhood, for leadership and protection. He had found it difficult to trust his own instincts, had relied heavily on the advice of Moody, Remus, and the Weasleys for any decisions. But with time and experience, he had accepted his role in the war-stricken world he lived in. He was no longer bothered by the fact that he was idolized for something he hadn't really done. In fact, he sometimes used it to influence people's opinions, like today. He was nowhere near as good at manipulation as Dumbledore had been, and didn't pretend to be; but sometimes, when the situation called for it, the Syltherin in him would rise to the surface and take control. And he had stopped trying to fight it.

Chris pondered over Harry's words for a few moments, and then his face cleared and he nodded. "Sorry I accused you of casting a spell on them," He said, slightly sheepish. "I actually should be grateful. You spared me quite a headache, and I mean that literally. It hurts twice as much when my charges are feeling hostile towards me." He suppressed a shudder as he remembered what the last few weeks had been like. With so many of his charges starving or ill, his head had ached almost constantly, a constant reminder of their pain. Many of his charges had started to question his ability to protect them, and a few had even begun to resent him for not being able to provide for them. The resentment had hurt Chris even more than the lack of faith, and that on top of his own guilt, had completely drained him both emotionally and physically. "So thank you."

"It was nothing," Harry replied dismissively, but Chris felt Harry's sudden surge of happiness at being able to spare him pain. Chris would barely have noticed if the emotion was self-satisfaction But it was unselfish, just pure joy felt on another's behalf. The emotion spoke of a great deal of caring for him on Harry's part, and Chris was touched in spite of himself. He remembered how the older man had tucked him into bed the previous night, and how soothed he had been by the surge of paternal affection which Harry had unwittingly blessed him with through their bond. He opened his mouth to say something to acknowledge that emotion, though he wasn't sure what, but stopped when he felt a new, considerably less joyful emotion shadow the older man's spirits, as if a thought had just struck him and he'd been reminded of something unpleasant.

"What is it, Mr. Potter?" He asked. When Harry didn't reply immediately, he grew apprehensive. "What's wrong?" He asked again.

"I wish…I wish I could have spared you this somehow," Harry said in a rush, "I asked the Resistance to gather in the Great Hall at ten-thirty. I said you had an important announcement to make. I'm sorry," He added when he saw a flash of pain darken Chris's eyes.

Chris just shook his head. "It had to be done," He said, in a voice a touch hoarser than was usual. "Just let me shower, and then we can orb down to the Great Hall." He shuffled to the bathroom and leaned heavily against the door when he had closed it. He still hadn't let himself grieve for his family, and even speaking their names or thinking about them was enough to send a shard of pain straight through his soul. He stripped and stepped into the shower, reveling in the feeling of the hot water beating down on his back. Even though he had been at Hogwarts for a few days now, the novelty of a hot shower had yet to wear out.

But the water was not enough to soothe him this morning. He had given more than his share of eulogies over the years, but nothing could have prepared him for what he was going to have to do today. How was he going to break the news to them without falling apart? He felt Harry's concern grow at the amount of time he was taking. Sighing, he rinsed himself off. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to barge in here thinking he had drowned himself.

He dressed quickly and stepped out. Harry rose from his chair, relief obvious on his face. "Are you alright?" He asked, and then flushed when Chris gave him you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me expression. "Sorry. Stupid question."

Chris just shook his head, dismissing the apology. He took Harry's hand and orbed them both down to the door of the Great Hall, where Ron and Hermione were awaiting him. He could tell from the loud murmur of conversation that most of the Resistance was already gathered inside. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and walked in. A resounding cheer greeted his entry. The entire Resistance rose to their feet as one. They wanted to show their gratitude to Chris for bringing them to this place after the hell they had all lived through. The sheer force of their gratitude and relief was overwhelming enough to make him stumble, although, thankfully, everyone was too lost in giddy euphoria to notice. He adjusted quickly, however, and made his way slowly to the top of the Hall, impeded by everyone who wanted to wring his hand and thank him face to face. He did not deter them, but was acutely conscious of the fact that it was Harry who deserved their thanks.

It was a long time before everyone had clamed down enough to sit down and listen without interruptions. Chris took a deep breath and stepped forward. He saw Jennifer for the first time since the day he'd let slip about what Wyatt had done to Emma. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked exhausted. His heart lifted when he saw Hope cradled in her arms. He hadn't seen her in two days. Darryl and Sheila Morris, and their two sons Robert and Julian, were standing near her. It felt good to see Darryl on his feet, for he had been one of those who had contracted cholera. He had not been expected to last very long the last time Chris had seen him. Chris's gaze swept around the room again as he took note of other people who would not have been here today if Madam Pomefry hadn't got to them in time.

His gaze fell on Michael, who was standing silently, apart from his group of friends. He was wearing a worried expression. Chris winced as he realized the reason for it. He had told Michael that the Charmed Ones had been injured in a fight with Wyatt and were being healed at Hogwarts. Michael would be wondering where they were and why he couldn't sense them. Chris knew, looking at Michael's face, that he would take the news of his family's deaths very badly. Losing a charge was painful for any whitelighter, but Michael had not had any other charges besides the Charmed Ones and their family. His whole life had revolved around them.

He felt Harry touch his shoulder gently, jerking him from his thoughts, and realized that everyone had fallen silent and was waiting for him to speak. He cleared his throat, more aware than ever of how hoarse his voice was. Madam Pomefry's Potions had not healed it. "Good morning, everyone. I trust you all enjoyed breakfast?" A number of people snorted at this blatantly euphemistic phrasing. 'Enjoyed' didn't even begin to cover how they'd felt when they'd seen the lavish spread. Some of them hadn't been able to believe their eyes. "I called you all here to explain a few things," Chris said, "First; I'd like to introduce Mr. Harry Potter, and his two friends, Ron and Hermione Weasley. For those of you who don't yet know, Mr. Potter is the Headmaster of this school, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in Scotland. I am extremely grateful to him, for if he had not offered his assistance to us-"

He was cut off by a tremendous round of applause and more cheering. Several people who were standing close to Harry actually came forward to thank him, some of them weeping openly. Harry returned their thanks with nods and smiles of acknowledgement; overwhelmed, but pleased. When the applause had died again, Chris resumed his speech, this time in a more sober tone. "I know you all must be wondering why I ordered you to evacuate without allowing you any say in the decision. Rest assured, I hated to exercise my authority in that way, but I'm afraid I had no choice."

The Hall stilled at his ominous tone. Apprehension began to cloud the looks of happiness, and Michael looked even more worried. Chris took a deep breath, and prayed for the strength to get through this. "You all know that my family and I left the Resistance on an important mission a week ago," He said, "But we didn't tell you what it was. We were going to retrieve the Book of Shadows from Wyatt's lair."

The Hall rang with exclamations of shock and alarm. Michael sank into his chair, his face white. The cave where Wyatt kept the Book of Shadows was the most dangerous, and the most impenetrable place in the Underworld. Over the years, Chris had sent out a number of teams to try and retrieve it, and each time had been met with failure and death. He and his family had eventually decided not to risk more lives on something so futile and had moved on to focus on other matters. But as Wyatt's power grew, conditions both aboveground and in the Resistance grew steadily worse. The last straw had been when Wyatt had destroyed the Resistance's supply system.

"You know how desperate things became after we stopped getting supplies," Chris said, "Offence was the only form of defense available to us. The Book of Shadows contains valuable information on how to vanquish some of Wyatt's most powerful demons. A weapon like that would have been enough to turn the tide of our fortunes in this war, if only we could get it from Wyatt."

Chris paused for a moment, bracing himself to tell the hard part of the story. He and his family had planned a desperate, but daring mission, aided by Bianca, who, as a former assassin, had explicit knowledge of how Wyatt had reorganized the Underworld. Armed with knowledge they had not had before, they had thought they had a good chance of at least getting near the cave without interference. As the job needed a great deal of magic for it to succeed, all of them, including Bianca, had been needed for it. It had been a huge risk, because if Chris and the other Haliwells had died, the Resistance would have fallen apart in a week's time, but with everyone starving and plagued by disease anyway, it had been a 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' situation.

And then things had gone horribly wrong. Wyatt had managed to make his probes, which had previously been unable to detect anyone orbing directly into or out of the Resistance thanks to Chris's spells, sense and track anyone orbing into the Underworld. Wyatt had known they were there moments after their arrival. He had waited until they approached the Book of Shadows, and had blocked their way out by sending an army of demons to capture them. They were so outnumbered that, although they managed to make a significant dent in their attackers' ranks, they had all been caught eventually. Then Wyatt had ordered his demons to shimmer them to the entrance of the Haliwell Manor museum.

He had arrived on the scene and with a typical flair for drama, and destroyed their home right before their eyes; in the process killing number of innocents who had been inside the museum at the time. It had been a blatant and very effective psychological blow for the entire family, Chris thought in retrospect, and the first indication of how badly Wyatt had wanted the book. His brother had always placed a great deal of store on his heritage, and it would have taken a great deal for him to even consider destroying his own museum.

"And after that, Wyatt ordered his minions away, cloaked the place, and…and…" His voice choked of his own accord, and he was forced to stop. The entire Hall was silent, hanging onto his every word. Chris looked away from their wide, frightened eyes and swallowed hard. "He wanted information, the location of one of the books we were able to save from Magic School. Ordinarily, I would have given it to them, but it was in SH 5." There were gasps of horror from everywhere, and many of the people who had lived in that safe-house paled when they realized the kind of danger they had nearly been exposed to. "Naturally, I didn't tell him where it was, but that didn't stop him from trying to get it out of me," He swallowed again. "When I refused to break down, he…he tortured and killed…everyone. They're all dead."

For a moment, there was utter silence. And then Chris's head exploded with pain as the combined grief and outrage of all his charges battered him at once. For a moment, he thought he was going to fall under the onslaught, but Harry's hand on his shoulder brought him back to his senses. The older wizard forced him down onto a chair, but he was too distracted to register it.

Jennifer was the first to say anything coherent. "But you said they were all fine!" She burst out. The Hall began to buzz angrily. "You said they were here, healing from their injuries!"

Chris met her gaze evenly. "I'm sorry I lied to you, but I had no choice. When they died, half the defenses around the safe-houses collapsed. Wyatt would have found us in four days. I had to act fast, and I didn't want panic and grief to disrupt the evacuation." He looked around the Hall. "You know how I get when all of you are experiencing powerful emotions at the same time," He gestured to his head. Some of the anger faded a bit at the words. Chris's migraines were notorious throughout the Resistance, and as a whole they felt guilty about being the cause of them. "I know that some of you, at least, I should have been honest with from the start."

He looked at Michael, had collapsed onto the floor, his shoulders heaving with sobs, and then at the shell-shocked Darryl, and at Sheila, who was crying softly into her hands. Their sons, good friends of his, shot him sympathetic looks. Jennifer's face was blank an unreadable. She was clinging to Hope so tightly that Chris worried for a moment that his daughter might be having difficulty breathing.

"Those of you who knew my family best deserved that, but I couldn't deal with telling some of you and not all of you."

By this time, most of his charges' anger had disappeared. It was the reference to them as 'my family' which had done it. He had reminded them of who was suffering the deepest loss, and of how that person had embraced that loss in order to protect them. Awe and wonder was beginning to take hold. The mortals, who had always looked upon Chris with a measure of distrust because he was Wyatt's brother, were now looking at him with admiration and humility. Confronted with what he had sacrificed for their safety, and wondering how they would have fared in the same position, their perceptions of him had been changed irrevocably. It was rather a welcome change for Chris, although he was not comfortable with the fact that some of them now seemed to worship the ground he walked on.

Nor was he at all comfortable with the pity, but there was little he could do about that. Of course people would pity him. He had lost his entire family in the worst way imaginable. But he had never before fully appreciated the subtle difference between pity and compassion, which was wafting towards him from Harry's direction. It was gentle and soothing, and though he tried to suppress the thought, even paternal. It was also the only thing that kept him composed when he reached the hardest part of the speech; the eulogy. He rose.

"They were the best family anyone could ever have asked for," He said, his voice cracking and grating horribly. The rock lodged firmly above his Adams Apple was making its presence felt again, and it was painful for him to speak. "They fought for us on countless occasions, and all of them would readily have laid their lives down for those they held dear." He did not mention that in spite of that, Wyatt's torture had broken all of them eventually. Every one of them had begged Wyatt and Chris for their lives before the end. The lack of dignity in their deaths was nearly as painful to Chris as their loss.

"If I were to try to express in words every good deed my family has done, everything they have meant to me…to all of us, we'd be here for days. They were the Charmed Ones and their kin, the ultimate champions of good magic, and their legends are enough to inspire us for a number of years to come. They will live through us, and within us. I like to think they are watching over us as we speak."

What the hell am I babbling about? He wondered silently. They were his family, and he was talking describing them in the abstract, as though they were heroes, or soldiers. But then, he thought, no one wanted to hear about the other things. He alone would remember Phoebe's brilliant smile and Paige's droll sense of humor and Melinda's bizarre food cravings at odd hours of the night which had led them all to believe she was pregnant when she wasn't.

He debated mentioning Bianca, but decided against it. No one present besides himself would appreciate anything good he said about her, because all of them remembered her as the assassin who had been hired to kill the Resistance leader but who had ended up falling in love with him instead. Besides, he wasn't sure if he could talk about her. Very few people had understood the bond between them. Even Phoebe, in spite of being married to a demon herself, hadn't understood how he could care for her so much when she had tried to kill him. But Chris had loved her with everything he had, and losing her was in some ways worse than losing his entire family, because she had been the only person who had fully understood him. He didn't think he could talk about her without breaking into sobs.

"To conclude, I would like to propose a toast in memory of those who gave their lives so that we might live to see today." All the goblets that had been placed on the tables filled with champagne. Chris walked up to the table closest and picked up one. "To Mrs. Phoebe Haliwell-Turner and Mr. Cole Turner, and their daughters Prue and Penelope Haliwell-Turner. To Mrs. Paige Haliwell-Montana, and Mr. Richard Montana, and their daughter and son Melinda and Mathew Halliwell-Montana. To my fiancée, Miss Bianca Davies." He raised his glass and finished with a line from one of his favorite movies. "Hail the victorious dead!"

He raised his goblet and drank, and everyone else followed suit. They observed a few minutes' silence, broken only by the sound of a few sobs. After that, everyone began to disperse. Chris sank into his chair, and tried to calm his breathing. His hands were shaking. He knew he was inches away from a breakdown. All the emotions he had been suppressing over the last few days were rising slowly to the surface, and he could do nothing to stop him. Fortunately, everyone seemed either too wrapped up in their own sorrow, or too hesitant, to approach him. He didn't think he could have handled a stream of condolences at the moment. He felt someone touch his shoulder, and looked up to see Harry gazing at him with an extremely strange expression. It was a mixture of understanding, concern, and an odd brand of determination.

"I need to speak with you." His demeanor indicated that it was something important.

Feeling apprehensive, Chris nodded and followed Harry out of the Hall, and into an empty classroom. "There's something I need to give you," Harry began once they had both sat down. "I tried to spare you this as long as possible, but I don't think I can anymore. You need to face this." He reached down and pulled something out of his pocket. Chris's eyes widened and his face drained of all color when he saw what it was.

….

TBC…

"Hail the victorious dead," is a line from Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. Theoden says it when honoring those that fell at Helm's Deep.

I had to make up Bianca's last name, because I can't seem to find it anywhere. I checked on the IMDB cast list for Chris-Crossed, and her last name wasn't given. I haven't come across her last name in any of the other fics I've read either.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please review!