Disclaimer: I own nothing of these characters.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: LEARNING NEW WAYS
Hogwarts
The welcoming feast was more a more subdued affair than usual; many students had returned, some had not. Most notably of those not attending their final year was Draco Malfoy, having elected to finish his magical education at Durmstrang.
Ron had been quick to point out his absence from the Slytherin table to Hermione. "No doubt the git's in hiding now that his goons Goyle and Nott are out of the picture. She shushed him in anticipation of the head mistress's address, but had been disappointed that the professor had made no mention of recent events, though she left the podium with an odd gleam in her eye.
McGonagal's speech had been brief , but had the desired effect of putting all in attendance at ease. She left the podium with an odd vacancy in her eyes as the sorting hat was called forth.
The ragged old wizard's hat was placed on its wooden stool, but this year it lay quiet, before starting in on its usual song of praising Hogwart's founders, or preaching for unity among magic folk. A stoic hush swept over the hall as the hat finally began to twitch. With a loud ripping sound it's fabric rent open in the shape of a mouth, and the hat began to sing:
"In all the years I've served this school,I've strived to give sound advice to you .
Many great wizards have graced these halls, and many others have shamed us all.
Gryffindor was kind and brave, and Slytherin a cunning knave.
Hufflepuff 's work was honest and true, Ravenclaw's wisdom was, at times, more dark than shrewd.
Dumbledore's brilliance was without peer. In Voldemort we learned to fear!
I've done my duty and sorted well, despite my warnings, a hero fell.
On Christmas past a fire of legend lit the sky, though victory won, the price was high.
If you had but listened, had heed my call; the one named Potter would still be with us all!
The hat went silent and seemed to slump over dejectedly. The headmistress's face was all but unreadable. Her eyes fixed painfully on the sorting hat where it lay. Madam Pomfrey on her right, was dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, sniffling softly. The hall was deathly quiet, except for the sounds of sniffles and an occasional sob.
Hermione Granger's face, at first sorrowful, became a mask of shock as she noticed the antics of Ginny Weasley , who now sat in the chair that should be rightfully be filled by the very person the sorting hat so eloquently lamented. Ron, ever at her side, was murmuring soft words of comfort and encouragement, though he too was having a difficult time of it as he glowered at his sister.
Ginny Weasley was oblivious to the shock and dismay of the students around her as she quietly dug into the remains of her pudding, occasionally giving a saucy wink toward Collin Creavey, who sat across from her, blushing deeply in obvious embarrassment.
Months passed and the weather gradually turned cold and rainy. Students had settled into a normal routine of constant study, growing anticipation of the beginning of the House Quidditch Cup, and an occasional weekend trip to Hogsmeade sprinkled in for good measure.
Ron had taken over the captaincy of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and resumed his role as keeper. Ginny and Colin Creavy had both resumed their previous roles as chasers, but the rest of the team consisted of new green recruits. Ron was having a terrible time of it trying to whip his new team into shape for the coming season. The truth be told, his heart just wasn't in it anymore without the services of his friend and Gryffindor star seeker.
It took a bit, but his mood had finally improved and his fervor for this beloved sport returned as the fortunes of his beloved , Chuddley Cannons had taken a dramatic change for the better from previous decades of dismal failure. The Cannons were off to a 3-0 start, their best effort in some thirty odd years. Ron excitedly bent the ear of anyone who would listen as he ticked off facts about Chudley's new team. He scowled as his sister passed him in the Gryffindor common room, making the snide remark of,
"The season's just beginning, there's still plenty of time for Chudley to totally blow it."
His scowl deepened further as she sauntered over to Collin Creavey an unabashedly hooked his arm in hers and guided him toward the portal from the common room.
Not for the first time he wondered if he and Hermione had made a mistake in the charm they had placed upon Ginny's memory. She hadn't just forgotten all memory of her once deep seeded feelings for Harry, but seemed, if anything, to constantly be seeking attention from any and all available males in the population at large, though Creavey appeared the front runner thus far.
He shuddered as he remembered their last argument regarding her forward behavior, having made the mistake of going so far as to comparing his sister to a 'common alley cat'. Ginny caught him off guard; her wand was in her hand in a split second. He barely raised a shield in time to prevent having suffered the ill effects of the infamous, bat bogey hex. She settled down after Hermione's timely intervention, or so he thought prior to having been struck from behind with an arse clamping hex, after he'd let his guard down . Harry's memory notwithstanding, he had to admit that she was at least enjoying herself, if a bit too much.
Damn!, but his arse still ached when he rode his broom!
Headmistress McGonagal sighed as she reached for another paper from her 'to-do' basket. She mentally scolded herself for her recent distractibility. It wasn't like her to fall behind in her work; in fact, she prided herself on her work ethic and professionalism. She was having more and more difficulty keeping her mind on her tasks.
Nearly three months had past and still no word from Harry. A slight smile played at the edges of her lips. She may have promised to call him Alan Brandt, but in her mind and heart he would always be Harry Potter.
Her eyes strayed to the empty perch in front of her desk; even Fawkes has left me in the lurch. Dumbledore's phoenix had made a habit of spending less frequent time in her company since Harry had left Hogwarts. Not for the first time she considered the possibility that Fawkes had found a new home and kindred spirit in young Mr. Potter. She hoped it was so. Fawkes was a loyal companion and would provide Harry with both friendship and a second line of defense in times of trouble. Despite his promises, she knew in her heart that sooner or later Harry would find trouble or it would certainly find him. The young man's overly developed sense of protectiveness would win out and he would throw himself into a fray with reckless abandon.
I swear he'd throw his life away defending a bowtruckle from a falling leaf, she thought both worried and amused by the prospect.
Damn it all, why doesn't the boy write me just a note for Merlin's sake!
Eastern Europe
"Is all in readiness?"
"Yes, milord Morvis. We have found several giants still sympathetic to our cause. Our attack on the dragon camp in Romania is set to begin before the day of Christmas, as you specified."
The rising dark lord was pleased with this news. With his special gift in drawing dark creatures to do his bidding, he would soon have a new and powerful army at his disposal. Not only would the attack on the dragon camp free many allies in the form of dragons, but it would strike fear and terror into the wizarding world. His attack both marked the anniversary of Voldemort's demise and heralded the rise of a new Dark Lord to power.
Potter had been an over eager young fool to have let he and his former fellow Death Eaters off when he had had them at his mercy.
God, but the boy's power had been incredible . Thankfully, Voldemort, had at least accomplished one of his goals; to rid the wizarding world of it's supposed champion, leaving the way open and unchallenged for a new power to emerge and wrest control. He mused lecherously.
"Alert our men that we will begin our attack on R.I.D.E.R. at daybreak Christmas eve. I, myself, will lead our forces to victory."
His servant bowed low in acknowledgement and backed out of the room.
Southern England
Alan Brandt was enjoying a bit of a lie in this morning. Training had been brutal over the past week. Morning runs followed by afternoon workouts on broomstick, and still he found time for martial arts classes with Sanders several days a week. He had advanced in his martial arts skills to the point that Sanders was now instructing him in the use of weapons, beginning with the Katana, or more commonly known as, the Japanese sword.
Though worn out from his daily training activities, most evenings consisted of studies in the use of ancient earth magic. He had progressed in his knowledge and abilities over the past several months. At first, he had wondered why modern wizards had foregone the practice of earth magic, (first developed by the ancient druids), in favor of common wand use. As his theoretical knowledge improved, the answer to his ponderings was obvious. It was dangerous, very dangerous.
Earth magic, was just that; the use of the magic of the world around you. Harry had been startled to learn that magic did not just solely exist within the soul of wizard folk, but in every living thing in the world around you. The practitioner of earth magic, would call upon, or channel, the energy of the magic that existed around him and utilize it for his own means. The dangers of such a practice were in that an earth mage could draw upon all the energy, or life force, that existed in his environment- all life force... even that of another wizard. Not only did this give the practitioner an incredible source of power, at the same time it could rob the life force of any living creature within the range of the mage's abilities. That range varied with the strength of the castor. The more powerful the mage, the greater the circumference of his or hers range of influence. Even more importantly: the greater the mage's ability, the better his control over the powers at his command. That is to say, only the strongest and most gifted of wizards could safely use earth magic without bringing unintentional harm by drawing too much energy from the life force available in their environment.
As his studies progressed, he had soon come to realize that wandless magic had no doubt been developed as a safer alternative to the use of earth magic. The ancient druids , ( having no doubt suffered many unintentional hardships, accidental and even intentional losses of life in the practice of their use of earth magic), must have taken it upon themselves to focus their abilities on only drawing from their own personal magical resources- their own life force.
The first logical step in that progression was undoubtedly- wandless magic. Over the years as wizards had become less attuned, even lazy in the focus and use of their magic, wands had been developed. Wand magic, gave the practitioner a useful tool in focusing and drawing upon the core of their magical energy and projecting it from themselves. Wands were, for all intents and purposes, a crutch!
Harry had happened upon an ancient tome entitled, " Earth Magic: The True Source". The book hadfallen down between the shelves of several old dusty tombs that were rotting, long forgotten in the restricted section of the Hogwart's library. He had been searching late into the night for any information that could possibly remedy the horrific curse that Voldemort had levied upon him. That same curse continued to rage against his own life force in a battle that he had little doubt he would eventually lose and slip into oblivion. Such a fate was beyond unacceptable! He had willingly given up his life, his love, in the battle to defeat Voldemort. Giving up his immortality, however, was not a sacrifice he was willing to make without putting up one bloody hell of a fight first. Earth Magic, may not only offer his a means of defense and existence within the magic world, though he was doubtful that it would hold the key to his salvation in freeing him from Voldemort's final curse.
He knew in his heart that if he could but summon Phoenix fire, its vast source of love and light could undoubtedly burn the darkness of Voldemort's taint from his soul. Initially, he had tried, and tried desperately to raise the fire ,but couldn't so much as ignite a spark of the inferno that had raged within him, last Christmas morn. Soon after, (when he had recovered enough to leave the muggle hospital that had been responsible for altering his appearance), he had learned the reason he could no longer hope to awaken the Phoenix Fire that had once burned within him.
Harry had learned a terrible truth that fateful day in early May when, despite his better judgment, he had given into his longing for friend and family and had wandlessly apparated to Ottery St. Catchpole and made his way to the Burrow. He hadn't even made it through the gate to the property when movement from the orchard caught his attention; movement of the long red-haired variety.
He had made his way around the edge of the property hoping to surprise the object of his desires with his return, only to have him be surprised with the shock of his life. Ginny Wesley; the object of his hopes, his dreams, his only reason for having survived the final battle, was locked in a passionate kiss with Collin Creavey. It was then, in that horrific moment of realization, that he recalled Dumbledor's final words to him...
"For one who's love is so great that they may wield the Phoenix Fire , the price for such may be love itself. It is for this very reason that Phoenix Fire has been called both wondrous and terrible."
He had felt the ecstasy, the unimaginable bliss of the fire burning from the depths of his soul and now he had learned the terrible price that came from wielding such awesome power was... his very soul. He could no longer summon the fire because there was nothing left for him to summon. His love had been torn from him. It was in that moment that he knew he had won the battle, but ultimately, he had lost the war. Harry Potter no longer existed, only the hollow existence of Alan Brandt was left to him. It wasn't much, but it was all he had left.
'Alan Brandt' had been Sirius's brain child. He knew that if Harry should somehow survive the war, then the press would be forever hounding him. It had been terrible when he was 'the boy who lived', how much worse would it have been if he ended up' the hero that conquered the dark lord'. Thus with some reluctance on Harry's part, the alternate identity of Alan Brandt had been forged.
Fake identification had been established. Accounts had been discreetly deposited in the name of Alan Brandt. The funds had been removed from their own accounts in such small amounts and over an extended period of time so as to not draw unwanted attention to the withdrawals. Furthermore, the galleons were channeled through various muggle lending agencies before being deposited in muggle banks or converted back to wizard gold, to make the transfers even more untraceable.
Through a muggle realtor they had secured the purchase of the small cottage that he now called home, located in the south of England. It was a comfortable two bedroom cottage on some thirty acres of secluded fields and woodland. The bulk of his estate should have been divided as set forth in 'the last will and testament of Harry Potter '. Though Alan Brandt could not claim the wealth of the former Harry Potter, he could live a life of relative comfort within either the Muggle or Wizarding world. Secondly, though more importantly, he could exist without the anonymity of his former title.
Silently, for the thousandth time, he thanked Sirius for his brilliant foresight.
The circumstances were perhaps not what they had anticipated, but the discretion it afforded him was all they had hoped for and more.
As Harry continued his study of Earth Magic, he occasionally found his mind wandering back to his time at Hogwarts this past summer, despite the painful emotions it brought with it. Though Professor McGonagal had frequently pressured him to renew his ties with his friends and family, she had never so much as made the slightest remark toward seeking out and renewing his relationship with Ginny Weasley. At first, he had been grateful, thinking she was being sensitive to his feelings. After all, Minerva McGonagal was one of the only people outside of the Weasley's and of course, Hermione, that even knew Ginny and he were secretly in love, despite their pretence to be nothing more than a bitter former couple.
In the weeks that followed his return to Hogwarts, he had been startled to learn one night that McGonagal not only knew of the changes that had taken place in Ginny's heart ,where he was concerned, but that she had also known the reason for those changes. Harry had quietly entered the infirmary one night to try and nick a sleep aid, when he had overheard McGonagal arguing with Madam Pomfrey on whether or not to tell him of the changes that had taken place within his former surrogate family.
"I'm telling you, Poppy, Harry has the right to know what's happened to Ginny Weasley, he more than anyone.
He could feel his heart clench at the sound of Ginny's name, such was the rawness of his still tattered emotions where she was concerned, despite putting on his best front.
"But, Minerva, what can you hope to accomplish other than to further torment the young man. Hasn't he suffered enough? Dear lord, when will it be enough?"
McGonagal contemplated silently for a moment before continuing. "No, he must be told. I won't make Albus's mistake and keep anything back from him. Look how that turned out? It damaged their relationship. Things were never quite the same between them after Sirius died. Albus always said it was his greatest regret, not having been completely candid with Harry right from the start.
Pomfrey continued to plead her case. "At least let's see if we can find a cure for the boy first. I mean... if he cannot be healed than what's the point? Telling him now would only have adverse consequences. It might rob him of his will to survive. How could we possibly tell the boy that Ginny Weasley's memories of him were forcibly removed? No, not just her memories but those of her emotions, her love for him was taken from her to ease her grief and protect her from herself .Then what? After he's digested that horrific bit of information are we then going to tell him the rest? Should we then tell his that his best friends did this? That it's irreversible!"
McGonagal's lips pursed distastefully, but she was undaunted. "Calm yourself, Poppy. You needn't make it sound as such a betrayal, after all, we all thought Harry was dead and Ginny(the poor dear), she was wasting away in her grief. Then when she tried to kill herself, and with Harry's own wand yet? If Ron hadn't stopped her, I shudder to think what would have happened. The Weasley's had barely recovered from losing Harry. Can you imagine them having to suffer the loss of Ginny on top of it? The healers had given up hope for her. The family was at their wit's end. Only Hermione Granger could have come up with such a brilliant plan, but even she,.. Gryffindor that she is lacked the courage to see it through. Can you imagine what must have gone through their heads that night? Having to decide on whether to take their daughter's, their sister's and friend's, most precious memories from he? All the Weasley men actually drew lots to see which among them was left with the dread task of stealing away their own sister's memories of her love for Harry Potter. In the end only Ron, Ron with Hermione at his side, had the courage to see it through. I don't know which of them actually preformed the charm that gave Ginny a clear conscious and a chance for a full life, free of her unrelenting grief. The others, though grateful, could not bring themselves to do the task. I'm told that Charlie Weasley had to be physically restrained from stopping them; such was his loyalty to their dead friend and his sister's memories of Harry. Part of me agrees with Charlie Weasley, but another part of me applauds them for their courage."
Harry had fled the infirmary as quietly as possible. Near blinded by tears, he had stumbled his way to the Astronomy tower where he wept bitterly for hours till the first rays of dawn streaked the morning sky. He would have once found such a sunrise beautiful beyond words. It could have been the herald of a day filled with hope and promise of better things to come. It was instead, nothing more than the painful reminder of that which he could never hope to attain.
Part of him was indeed grateful that Ron and Hermione had spared Ginny her pain. Another, far bigger part, hated them with the bitter contempt that one held for a betrayer. He wasn't six months gone and they were already erasing his existence. What if he was cured? What then? Ginny was lost to him, and for all time, if McGonagal was to be believed?
"Damn you, Hermione!" he spat bitterly.
If there was one thing he could always count on, it was that Hermione Granger always did things perfectly. The filthy charm was undoubtedly permanent. Even if he could be cured, there was nothing for him to return to. Any association with his surrogate family would be nothing more than a painful reminder of the dream he once had that was Ginny.
A quiet, melodious chiming brought him to the present. " 'Lo, Fawkes." he called over his shoulder, knowing that Dumbledore's familiar had joined him for a visit.
"I suppose McGonagal's seething that I haven't contacted her yet?"
A trilling warble from the bird, affirmed his suspicions.
"You might as well make yourself at home Fawkes. I'm afraid this letter is going to take a bit of time to compose."
He sighed resolutely as he closed his book and reached for a quill and some parchment. "Well I suppose there's nothing for it; she was bound to find out sooner or later. Just to warn you Fawkes, I'm not sure how the headmistress is going to take the news that I'm currently playing seeker for the Chudley Cannons."