Homecomings

Dumbledore clasped William's shoulder in wordless thanks. If he despaired of the young man's choice he did not allow it to show. Then Dumbledore turned and followed Pilgrim through the doorway of light.

The city was silent, apart from the soft whisper of zephyrs. There was a scent of lemon trees. Pilgrim turned to watch as the gateway faded away behind Dumbledore. The door had opened into a white walled square.

Dumbledore turned in a slow circle examining his surroundings. 'I must confess I have never seen a place quite like this. It is reminiscent of Granada …'

'We aren't on Earth,' Pilgrim said. His eyes flicked backwards and forwards as he patted down his robes. Colour gradually drained from his face. 'I've been here before. It isn't safe, or rather, it's too safe. Where is the damn thing?'

A flash of boyish delight crossed Dumbledore's face. Then with a sigh he settled back to a graver expression. 'Magnificent, I must admit I never thought to see the day. Might I enquire as to how a place might be too safe? I would prefer not to impose upon our hosts, whomsoever they may be, of course.' He paused in the middle of inspecting a nearby orange tree, or something very similar, and looked at Pilgrim. 'You look as if you have lost something.'

'I … the card. You remember, the tarot card I had. I had it on the ship. I thought I must have just missed it before we came through …' Pilgrim turned back to where the doorway had been, eyes desperately searching the air as if there might be something there. His mouth moved wordlessly, he crumpled, sitting heavily on the ground.

'My dear boy, whatever is the matter?' Dumbledore asked, tearing his attention away from the murmuration of dark birds in the sky above.

'It's gone. I'm lost. Eight hundred years and I lose it in one bad day,' Pilgrim murmured to himself, head hanging low. 'That benighted, thrice-cursed creature. He knew this would happen, and now when I was so close …'

'Who might I enquire?'

'Death. I met him, it, once, a long, long time ago. We made a deal. So long as I had that card I was immune to his touch,' Pilgrim said his voice was broken and his face was empty of all feeling. 'Without it … I am lost. Damn this place! It draws words from you.'

For a few moments Dumbledore watched Pilgrim. He did not, he had to confess, know the man well enough to understand how best to help him. However, from what he had seen it seemed best to humour him and unlikely that platitudes or sympathy would be of use in bringing him back to himself. Dumbledore spoke evenly, 'Mr Pilgrim. I admit I find the idea that one might meet an anthropomorphic personification of Death hard to believe. However, those who live in glass houses should not throw stones I suppose, we are after all in another dimension, you say. On that note, I must ask can we retrieve this card whilst we are in this dimension?'

Pilgrim shrugged and then reluctantly shook his head.

'Then may I recommend that we focus on the problem in hand? We will, I imagine have a much better chance of recovering your charm in our own world rather than this one. I imagine that you enchanted the case?'

'Yes,' Pilgrim admitted.

'In which case is it conceivable that it would survive the Daedalus' destruction?'

'Probably.'

'Therefore, would it not be best to hurry now and save your concerns for another time? I can see this is difficult for you,' Dumbledore continued in a kindlier tone, 'but you and I both know that bowing to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune will do no good.'

Pilgrim opened and closed his mouth for a moment and then with an evident effort he brought himself back under control. 'To think I would be taking advice from Albus Dumbledore,' he muttered. 'Very well. However, if it is gone, I will not be responsible for my actions.'

'Then I shall,' said Dumbledore, gravely. 'Now, if I might repeat the question: in what way is this place too safe.'

'There are no memories of pain, hatred, suffering, anger,' Pilgrim answered, trying to focus on the matter in hand. 'The masters of this place will try to give you peace, if they can. Spend too long here and you might find it not only difficult to leave, but impossible to understand why you should.'

'And yet you have visited before, and emerged unscathed?'

'I had the card and I made a bargain. Do not think that I was some miser hoarding life. It might be partially true, but when you've lived as I have you need insurance. I've dealt with creatures that were more than men, whose mere voices could shatter minds,' Pilgrim answered, shaking himself free of his thoughts.

'I have been the friend of Nicholas Flamel for most of my life,' Dumbledore said with a hint of amusement. 'I might condemn the means, but not the philosophy, even if I disagree with it. So, must we find a wardrobe? Or is there another way out? Can you create another doorway?'

Pilgrim slid his wand inside the cane. He stood and brushed himself down before speaking, 'It is difficult. I forced that doorway open in extremis, and with some advice. If I tried again, I do not know what the consequences might be. To use a crude analogy the weak points between reality, curtains, rather than walls. Following the analogy, I might say that we just pushed our way through a supporting wall. Fortunately, I have an ally here, of sorts, they will know where the best place for us would be to leave from.'

'I believe I understand. In that case is there anything else that it would be advantageous for me to know?'

'Speak to no-one; eat nothing; try not to make eye contact; and use no magic. If you do have to speak, be honest. You do not want to draw the city's attention.' With that Pilgrim led the way out of the square and into the maze of the city. If he had a direction in mind it was not evident to Dumbledore.

The streets were covered in mosaics of blue and gold. Over everything lay white sand. The sand whispered around their ankles in the breeze. The narrow passages and arches quickly gave way to broader streets. Around them there was a constant hum, the faint strains of a great harmony, at the edge of hearing. Throughout the city, it seemed, voices were singing a mother's lullaby.

The wide streets were abandoned. The city seemed like some vast and perfect sea shell, emptied out by time and tied. Corkscrew towers of nacre curled upwards. Along the avenues green trees cast cool shade. Gradually Dumbledore began to see shadows moving. To begin with they were distant, barely discernible as they climbed far off steps. Then they grew closer, flitting down the streets, appearing at the windows of the houses.

He could practically feel the discomfort around Pilgrim: a knife's edge of tension. Yet, he found that he was calm. The air was filled with the soft hum of bees. Children laughed in the side streets. Always only to be seen in the corner of one's eye.

They crossed a culvert, babbling with rushing water, and they were in the city no longer. Instead there was a country village. Thatched cottages and white-washed walls. It was summer. Dumbledore could hear the birds singing in the trees. The sky was a perfect blue.

Pilgrim stopped in his tracks. His shoulders stiffened. Down the dusty village street, a girl was walking, her shadow skipping along beside her. She was fair haired, and a heartfelt smile split her gentle face at the sight of them. The smile of an old friend welcoming them home.

Dumbledore stepped towards her, the years falling away as he looked at her. 'Ariana …' he began, only for Pilgrim to step between them.

'No,' Pilgrim said, to both the girl and to Dumbledore. He turned to the girl, addressing her, 'Merlin help me, but you can't have him. Not yet. He has a job to do, and he isn't ready for this.'

The girl reached out a hand, opening her mouth to protest. Pilgrim turned to Dumbledore. 'You can't go with her. Remember, Voldemort's waiting. Remember everyone who has put their faith in you. If you go with her they'll eat your memories. You'll be gone.'

Dumbledore hesitated, looking at the girl over Pilgrim's shoulder. She stood, smiling up at him, her fingers playing with a plait. Her cornflower blue eyes blinked up at him. 'Harry will lead them,' Dumbledore murmured, 'he will do it better than I ever could, foolish old man that I am.'

'No. He can't. Not yet, he's too young. Voldemort will eat him alive. Possibly literally,' Pilgrim said firmly.

Dumbledore sidestepped, trying to reach around Pilgrim. 'Please, let me go. I am so very tired,' he said. There seemed no point in hiding it here, not now.

Pilgrim took him by the shoulders, fingers digging into him, 'Remember William, remember the girl? She died screaming. Are you going to let that go?'

The sense of peace shattered. Dumbledore shuddered, he still had work to do. The girl with Ariana's face was, however, still there. 'If you would not mind, could you explain how it is that you have my sister's face?' Dumbledore asked, his voice barely trembled.

'It's the only face I have,' she said, 'I am, or I believe I was, Ariana. Though I am better now.'

Pilgrim shrugged as Dumbledore's eyes turned to him. 'I had no loved ones for them to show me. It could be her, I wouldn't be able to tell you.'

Dumbledore turned back to the girl, who held out her hand to him. 'This is a cruel lie to show an old man,' he said, looking at her. 'Please …'

'We don't lie here,' she said softly, and her hand curled around his gnarled fingers as Pilgrim stepped warily out of the way. She looked towards Pilgrim. 'Don't worry. We won't take him, not if he wishes to go on by the long road. Still, it seems to me that a great deal of time has passed since I last saw him. I have missed him dearly. Might I walk with him for a while?'

Pilgrim scowled, bending down to look her in the eye. 'You'll lead us to the Watcher. No eating his memories, not even one. Not even to "help him",' he added. 'And only so long as he chooses.'

She nodded solemnly, and Pilgrim straightened up, his face relaxing slightly. Then her eyes turned up to Dumbledore's, blue meeting blue. 'Well Alby, can I come with you?'

Dumbledore took a deep breath and despite himself he squeezed her hand. 'Of course, my dear.' He looked at Pilgrim. 'Was that quite necessary?'

'The pilgrim doesn't really understand us,' Ariana said, mildly. 'He tries, but he thinks about everything the wrong way around.'

'I understand you well enough. You aren't all purity and light. Even if you were, light can blind as well as illuminate,' Pilgrim answered. 'I should just leave you both and carry on my way … I don't know why I martyr myself like this. Come on then.'

They said nothing in reply, and instead began to walk. Afterwards Dumbledore would look back and wonder if the had spoken as they walked, but if they had he could not remember what was said. There was a warmth about them, like the sleepy end of a Saturday in July. Dragonflies darted through the lanes as they wandered onward. The landscape blurred around them like watercolours in the rain. Whether the girl was Ariana or not seemed to matter less and less. The old sibling affection, broken a lifetime ago, was whole again.

At last they came to an iron-wrought gate into a great garden. The gate itself was open and a man sat beside it, half-asleep. He wore an old smock with muddy fingerprints on the hem and a tattered straw hat. He sat up as they approached, tipping his hat to Ariana. 'G'morning miss. Are these two with you?' His words did not fit the movements of his mouth, which spoke another language, though Pilgrim could not understand it.

'They are. They are just passing through.'

'Well, mind they don't make a mess,' the words said. The mouth whispered of ancient bonds and broken promises.

'Do you know where the Watcher is?' she asked.

He nodded and pointed to the left. The girl nodded and led them into the garden. She stooped every now and then to pick daisies, gradually knotting them into a long chain. She plaited the chain together with another, and another, until it was a rope of sorts. Her deft fingers never stopped moving. As the rope grew longer her shadow started to pick the flowers for her.

Green swards surrounded the trees which were dotted across the gardens. Silver bells chimed softly in the branches of an ash and the scent of pine needles hung in the air. All around them there was a sense of deep and abiding peace. As they came to the top of a ridge they caught sight of a figure sitting upon a limestone bridge which ran over a river.

As they descended the slope the figure changed, each step brought a new facet into focus: a young boy with fair hair, skimming stones; an elderly woman, straight backed and proud; a fisherman with a face like old leather; a young woman with skin the colour of peat and silver eyes. It was as if they were turning a kaleidoscope. Each figure was part of a single whole, but individual and never to be repeated. It stood as they approached, turning towards them.

The figure gave bow of greeting as they stepped onto the bridge. 'Ariana, Albus, and you, the pilgrim. How has your road proven?' It asked. Its voice was low and musical, humming with a cadence that was not human.

'Long and vexing, Watcher,' Pilgrim replied. 'At the moment it seems intent on leading me in circles. Could we speak privately, for a little?' Pilgrim asked the figure, shooting a glance at Dumbledore.

The Watcher looked to Dumbledore who gave a nod of acquiescence. 'If you would not mind,' the elderly wizard said, 'I think I should very much like to examine some of the trees you have here. Pomona has been encouraging me to take up horticulture for years. I believe that she would think it remiss of me if I did not take the opportunity to admire such an exquisite arboretum. I must evince a certain interest in the cupressus sempervirens you appear to have, or at least it appears to be some variety of cupressus.'

'Child, would you show Albus around? Do not stray too far,' the Watcher said, 'and the other trees are more fitting for you. The cherry trees on the hill are just blooming.'

Pilgrim and the Watcher waited a little while until their two companions were out of earshot before turning back to one another. Birds twittered from the trees. There was the gentle plop of a fish in the river.

'So,' Pilgrim began, 'you've got a rogue agent on the loose. At least I hope that she's rogue. One of the General's, I imagine. She called herself Erelah.'

'The General has managed to keep me in the dark before. Yet, the lower orders would struggle to keep themselves from my sight,' the Watcher said, gazing down into the waters. 'Why do imagine that she has betrayed us?'

'I found her with a small army of the malakhim, on Earth. I admit, at first, I thought someone had sent her after me, seeking an early repayment on our deal. However, she practically admitted that she wanted to devour the souls of the rest of the humans on the planet.'

The Watcher sighed. A wind gusted along the waters in sympathy. 'As we have told you before, we do not "eat the souls" of mortals. We nurture them, purify them.'

'I can't say that I think she is very interested in purifying anything,' Pilgrim said, a little dryly. 'Unless it's with fire.'

An expression which might have been pain passed across the Watcher's features. The waters rippled. 'I will seek the truth in this matter. If she is using the malakhim then she must have a gate, and allies amongst the lower orders. That they were able to hide any rumour of this from me is … disconcerting. However, it is not my most pressing concern: child, a shadow mantles you. What have you brought here?' The Watcher's eyes narrowed. Pilgrim flinched as he felt the concentration of vast presence settle onto him. The wind died around them. Absolute silence fell.

'Nothing. In fact, if anything, I've lost something. The card of Death is gone,' Pilgrim said, his voice hitching on the last word. 'I don't suppose …'

'That I could find the very object you planned to use to dodge your end of the bargain?' It asked. 'Do not try to speak to my heart. I can see you. Every speck of dirt upon your soul.'

Pilgrim met the Watcher's gaze unabashed. 'I was unconscious briefly before I came here, and when I awoke the card was gone.'

The world moved, and the Watcher was running its fingers through the river. Reality blurred around it. When it finished the watcher had always been kneeling by the river. It examined the glistening droplets as it raised its hand. 'Did you meet anyone when you were unconscious?'

'I did, though what they were I can't say for certain,' Pilgrim answered. He blinked, eyes struggling to adjust.

'May I examine you?' The Watcher asked. 'Permit me this and I will find Death's gift to you. This shadow alone shall be my prey, I will not steal from you.' It took his silence as assent and stood. Its body stretched and lengthened until it stood over him. It mantled him with arms which stretched around him like featherless wings. One bony hand reached down and pulled back Pilgrim's eyelids. It peered into him.

Pilgrim fought the urge to scream as the fingers brushed his eyeball. He was frozen on the spot. Wisps of cold fire slid over his skin. A tendril of alien thought stretched into his mind cautiously. It gently sifted through his recent memories. He closed his eyes, and still fingers of thought raked through him. They were gentle, but they spread and grew, choking all thought. Behind his eyelids he could see it, a creature with a thousand flaming eyes scrutinising him. Its long limbs stretched towards him, grasping him. Then it was gone, and he was kneeling on the grass by the river, panting.

The Watcher pulled away from him. Its features ran like melting wax. The skin and human shell sloughed away. A pillar of crackling white fire stretched upwards. The air smelt of roses and pines. Pilgrim's eyes spiked with pain. White vines of bone twisted upwards, growing and multiplying around it. Droplets of starlight ran down the flickering appendages which might have been arms.

The Corrupter, it spat in words like liquid fire.

Pilgrim gritted his teeth and raised his hands to his ears. 'Stop! Stop!' Blood was dripping from his nose and eyes.

There was a hiss of flame and then silence. Forgive, whispered a voice of ashes. You are still human.

'I take it from your reaction,' Pilgrim said, wiping away the blood, though he kept his eyes down, 'that you didn't like what you found?'

Shadow of shadows lies over you.

'And the card?'

Out of the corner of his eye Pilgrim saw the river change. At first there was a spot of blackness, like a drop of ink. Then it spread, growing and growing until the water was as smooth as a mirror and blacker than the night sky. At first it was empty and then small points of light burst into life within it. Pilgrim drew back further, his flesh breaking into goosepimples. A minute passed, and then two.

'Well?'

There was a soft slithering sound and the water returned to a normal river. Card is yours. The river …

Pilgrim nodded and knelt down again. He looked deep into the flowing water. At first it was empty and then, as he was about to ask what he was to do next, he saw the leather case which should have held the card bobbing in the water. He plucked it out. And he was standing, reaching into his pocket and drawing the case out from inside it. Some feet away the river flowed onward. He blinked, suppressing the sense of nausea at a movement which had never been made.

Let me explain, came the Watcher's voice. A whisper of wind in the rushes. You beheld the 'Matrix Aeternitatis'. Its touch lies on you like a pall. Your soul is … was damaged, shredded. You think us malevolent, but when my kin and I offered you the key to reach that world in exchange for your soul we intended to heal the damage you had caused to it. Out of pity.

'So, my soul was damaged, what of it?' Pilgrim snapped, cradling the case. 'I can still walk, talk and cast magic. What more do I need?'

There was a moments' silence. When you were confronted with that book your soul was weak: you were as vulnerable as a new born babe to a lioness. That thing was inspired by the eldest of my kin. He has many names: Adversary, Corrupter, Prince of Lies, the First, the King of Shadows, among other, older titles.

'I think I get the idea.'

He walked with you. Invisible since that moment, until you were granted a soul renewed …

'I'm sorry, what did you just say?' Pilgrim asked and for the second time in not so very long his skin prickled with dread.

The spear which wounded you, it burns in your mind. It is an ancient weapon. It should not have been on Earth. The Daughter of the Flame has much to answer for. For want of words which your language could express this in more clearly: it sewed your soul together. The wound you bear on your side is the physical trace of the damage which it is repairing. A tiny scratch compared to the scars on your essence.

'And what precisely are the consequences of having a soul forcibly grafted onto the rotting husk I presumably have?' Pilgrim said, as calmly as he could.

There was a pause as the Watcher presumably searched for words. If you were to try to split your soul, it and your body would shatter. The one who dealt you this blow may have hoped to prevent you from taking action by gifting you a conscience. The return of a conscience to a man like you could have rendered you catatonic. It is fortunate that the wounds upon your soul are so terrible that they will take time to heal, that you will have time to adapt.

'So, what happened after I was wounded?' Pilgrim asked, though he could already feel the answer coming.

There was whisper of sounds, and the Watcher's voice returned to something approaching human. It almost sounded apologetic. 'The shadow hid itself inside the gift from Death. When you were weak and wounded it took its opportunity to hide itself. Perhaps in the hope that you would be more pliable without the gift's reassurance.'

Pilgrim turned the case over in his hands. 'And then it gave me just enough information to persuade me to open a gate into this world,' he bowed his head. 'Is that what he wanted? A way into this world?'

The Watcher moved slowly, its movements almost natural. The air blurred slightly around its limbs. Its voice was gentle and kind. 'No. He cannot enter here, not yet. A trace of a shadow like that is powerless here, it hides inside the card. But it is a seed of something worse. Take it back to Earth and it would grow.'

'But what did it want here?'

'I cannot read my brother's mind. However, if there is one virtue he possesses it is patience. At the least he has used you to scar our defences,' the Watcher said, 'and now I must ask you to give me the card.'

'So, you can destroy it?' Pilgrim asked, his tone was mocking. 'Come, do you really think I would fall for that? A tale of an ancient foe and a few words of doom?'

'I cannot force you to hand it over,' the Watcher said softly. 'But I will offer you three gifts in compensation.'

'What are they?' Pilgrim asked cautiously.

'There is a room in the city in which the candles of men's lives burn. I will light the candles for you and tend them. As long as you have lived you may live again, unless accident or design cut your time short; enough time for you to pursue a new quest for immortality. Better than becoming a puppet for a creature who would hollow you out and leave you screaming for its own amusement.

'Secondly, I will close your wound. You will need your strength in the days to come. The damage to your soul will mend more slowly for it, but your flesh will thank you.

'Thirdly, I will give you token of my favour. Those who see it will know that I walk beside you. Until you betray me.'

'And in exchange I give you this card, which you claim is tainted?' Pilgrim said. He pursued his lips dubiously.

Do not test me, child of dust, the Watcher's eyes flared with burning light. Its words wrote themselves into Pilgrim's mind. You know I do not lie. Consider it a blessing I find you amusing. My kin are not all so forgiving.

Pilgrim shuddered again. He blinked rapidly, trying to restore his sight to normal again. 'Very well.'

There was a polite cough behind him. 'Ah, I see we are back again,' Dumbledore said. 'I must congratulate you, the way this landscape moves so that one finds oneself where one never expected to be is refreshing. I hope though that it is matched by a convenience of timing?'

'I think the timing is just what our friend was hoping for,' Pilgrim said bitterly. He looked at the card. It wriggled in his hand. He twitched in distaste and it slipped between his fingers, trying to flutter upwards. It might just have been the wind; if there were a wind.

The Watcher reached upwards, plucking the card from the air with a silver talon. It lowered the arm, talons melting back into three fingers. There was a burst of flame and the card turned to white ash and a wisp of black smoke. 'Now, Albus, I have promised a series of favours for your companion. What would you ask of me?'

'Whilst I am cognisant of the honour you do me, there is nothing I feel that I can ask for,' Dumbledore said.

'There will be no price, no debt,' the Watcher said gently, 'I will pay it if there is. You may request three things.'

Dumbledore examined the Watcher over his half-moon spectacles. His hand was still clasped around Ariana's. The Watcher met his faze evenly. For a few moments they stood like that. If words passed between them Pilgrim could not follow them. Then Dumbledore nodded, 'I am grateful. Then I would like to know: is this girl my sister?'

The Watcher looked at him, and for a moment Pilgrim thought that he could see tears in the being's eyes. 'She is what we saved when your sister left your world.'

'A copy then?'

'No, but I cannot suggest that she is as she was. People do change, even here,' the Watcher said carefully. 'If it can be managed you will join her here, some day.'

'Thank you, that is … that is enough for me.'

'Is there nothing else you want,' the Watcher asked, and it seemed a little confused. 'Humans normally desire something more. Consider the favours held in waiting for you then.'

'All we need is a way home,' Pilgrim interrupted. He stood to one side, leaning on his cane, his hand pressed against his side.

The Watcher nodded. A snap of its fingers and a chalice arose from the river, brimming with water. 'Before you go, drink from this, pilgrim. Your wound will be healed. Children, the world you return to is troubled. Time is slipping through our fingers like sand. I will be watching over you as much as I can. Cross this bridge. In the span of two truths and an apology you will be back on Earth.' Then it was gone.

'I can't go any further with you,' Ariana said to Dumbledore as he stepped onto the bridge. 'I love you, I will always love you, and Abby. Tell him I love him, won't you?' She said, and she handed Dumbledore the daisy chain she had made.

Dumbledore nodded, and Pilgrim looked aside, unable to bring himself to intrude. There were a few murmured words and then Dumbledore was standing beside him. 'Shall we?' Dumbledore asked.

'By all means,' Pilgrim said, and stepped forth.

They began to walk across the bridge which stretched onward and onward, blending into the far bank.

'I must confess I do not know what to think of you,' Dumbledore said. 'I had formed the opinion that you were, in all probability, an opportunistic thief, or mad. A conman who had picked up some, admittedly remarkable, skills. I find myself revising that opinion. The things I have seen here suggest you are many things, but insane is not one of them.'

'I would not bother to revise it too much,' Pilgrim replied, a little morosely. 'Whilst my faculties have recovered there was a time when even I cannot deny I was unstable. As for being a thief, I had no honourable intentions for the Matrix Aeternitatis.'

'And yet we find ourselves on the same side. Do you expect to betray me soon?' Dumbledore asked. He had fished a yellow yo-yo out of his pocket and was bobbing it up and down.

'I cannot promise anything,' Pilgrim admitted. 'But not to Voldemort, and not for the Matrix. If what the Watcher said is true it's even more dangerous than I imagined.'

'It would be wise to trust him, I think,' Dumbledore said, 'there is a peace and a healing to this place. I feel younger than I have in years, and my own troubles seem lighter. Though that might be because the gravity is weaker here.'

'What?'

'The yo-yo's movement is in accordance with a weaker gravitational field,' Dumbledore said.

'Oh, I had not realised. I thought …'

'You thought I was trying to distract myself from the fact that I bade farewell to my sister?' Dumbledore asked. 'I am an old man, I have come to accept that we all part from time to time. At least now I have the hope that we will meet again.'

'Yes, I … I am sorry,' Pilgrim said. 'I think I might be able to see that it would hurt.'

Their feet struck earth instead of stone and they realised that they were no longer on the bridge. Pilgrim looked down, in his hand there was a single white feather, not quite a swan's. They were standing amongst damp pine trees and perhaps twenty yards away they could see the iron gates of Hogwarts.

The gates were rusted and fallen.