Chapter 11 – Learning to Share

Harry didn't wait for Ron to wake him up the next morning. Instead, he dressed himself quickly and stole through the still-sleeping dormitory and out of the common room. He may not have been able to tell Malfoy last night but Malfoy wasn't the only person who needed to know.

"Ice Mice," Harry said.

He entered the newly revealed passageway and took the stairs to Dumbledore's office. With a hesitant knock, he waited, fondling the balled up library page in his pocket.

"Enter."

When Harry pushed the door open he was surprised to see Dumbledore dressed and alert and sitting behind his desk. As early as he was, he was prepared for a dressing gown and a tired curiosity.

"So it's true then," Dumbledore said, his eyes on Harry's temple. Every line in his old face looked grave.

"Sir?"

"Professor McGonagall told me you had a most curious tattoo on your face. The Scitalis."

Harry's jaw dropped and he sank into the chair across from Dumbledore. "You know what it's called? But you called it a Reader..."

"On the contrary," said Dumbledore. "I called my device a Reader because it is not a Scitalis. Scitali are snakes, Harry. My Reader is not so alive. However, I am surprised to find that you are familiar with the term."

"I'm familiar with more than that, Professor," Harry said. He pulled the paper from his pocket and smoothed it over Dumbledore's desk.

Dumbledore gave it one glance, then leaned back and steepled his fingers.

"I see," he said. "So you know what you are."

"Do you know what I am?" Harry was becoming more and more surprised. Could it be possible that Dumbledore had known all along and had never told Harry.

"I have been familiar with the Scytale for a long time. Admittedly, until sixteen years ago I rather thought it a legend. When Professor Trelawney made the prophesy concerning you, though, I couldn't not keep from worrying about what you might someday turn into. I had many paranoia's about you, Harry, I am not ashamed to say.

"However, I had no reasons to feel that way. Along with many other measures I took to disprove my other fears, I began researching your family tree. It wasn't easy, you know. There was a time many centuries ago when wizards chose to keep secret their heritage. And it wasn't one of my top priorities—at the time. It took me many years to compile your complete family tree and many more to research each individual for signs of the Scytale gene.

"I found it in a grandfather many times removed. But it was all pointless in the end. There was nothing I could do. I could only watch and wait and worry. Yet here you are, strong and healthy, with a more open-mind, if I dare say so."

His eyes twinkled but Harry felt murderous. "It's not open," Harry hissed. "I don't want to hear anyone's thoughts."

"Ah," Dumbledore sighed sadly. "I'm sorry to hear that you haven't accepted who you are."

In a burst of rage Harry leapt to his feet, kicking his chair back. "Who I am?! A genetic mutation, you mean?!"

Dumbledore said nothing, making no reaction to his shouting.

"And you decided not to let me know that someday I'd be a freak! It's not the first time, either! How many more secrets are you keep from me, Professor? How many more ways can I be separated from my world—"

His voice broke as anguish poured through him and a strangled sob escaped him. He felt like a dam had broken, letting in a flood that filled him, wrapped around him, took him over. He felt like a spectator, sitting back and observing as another drove him.

His vision flashed and turned red. It narrowed as though he were looking through a long tunnel. He dropped so that he could see Dumbledore's slipper-clad feet beneath his desk, then rose back up again, taller this time, looking down on Dumbledore. He swayed threateningly and flicked his tongue out, tasting the air. There wasn't as much fear as he hoped for. He could fix that.

He lurched backwards, but just before he could lunge Dumbledore opened his mouth and spoke; "You can control it, Harry."

And then Harry realized that he wasn't sitting back; he was chained back. The tunnel was in his head, connecting his barred prison to his eyes. He could see them; two holes, like windows—his only connection to the world. He struggled against his bonds, longing to reach his eyes, his control. But his driver was there, holding him back, whispering sweet words in his ear.

Let me help you, it said. Let me ease your passing into the mutant world.

I'm not a mutant! Harry shouted back. And Malfoy's not a mutant either! he added, a sudden image of Malfoy, lying sick in the hospital bed, springing to the front of his mind.

It hissed disparagingly and suddenly the chains and bars vanished and Harry reeled forward. He tumbled head over heels, spinning faster and faster. Colors ran together, blurring, making him sick, until it all disappeared.

Blackness.

When Harry regained awareness the first thing he noticed was a second consciousness in his head. It slithered in circles around the wall he must have instinctively erected to keep it out, searching always for even the smallest opening. He shied away from its existence, into the very core of himself. The blackness engulfed him again.

"How long will he remain this way?" a stern voice asked.

A deeper voice answered. "As long as it takes him to accept it."

"And what is it?"

"It is something that has been his constant companion. It is awake inside him..."

"Come on, mate, wake up! We're here for you."

A smaller voice discouraged: "It's no use."

"The problem is that thing inside him is here for him too. It's probably just waiting to gobble him up when he comes out."

"Oh, don't say that!"

A rustle of clothing. "I'm sorry. Shh, don't cry. It'll be alright. It'll be okay."

A sob.

There was no talking this time; no noise. Only slow, deep breathing.

Harry focused on it, counting the breaths, distracting himself from the foreign touch in his mind. It was still there, circling, always circling.

The breathing stuttered, a slight cough.

Harry flinched, expecting this to be the change that triggered the attack. But the thing didn't pause, didn't stop; circling, slithering. Harry kept himself in a tight ball, in the center of all things, as far from its reach as he could. It exhausted him, this cowering in his own mind. He wanted to cave, to slip back into the blissful darkness, but he was afraid to leave his mind unprotected, in the hands of the second awareness.

Suddenly a warmth touched Harry. It wiggled its way into his curled hand, drifting over his palm. It stroked the same tempo as the breathing, which had grown shallow. It pushed his fingers, stretched them, pressing them into the mattress Harry rested on. The warmth fitted itself over his upturned palm.

Harry listened to it. He allowed his consciousness to stretch little by little, flattening instead of curling. He eyed the other warily but it never paused in its routine. He focused again on the warmth.

Now it stroked a path up his arm, drawing circles on his inner elbow.

Harry understood. Within his cage he stood, extended. He came close to the creature but it ignored him. He grew a little, inflated until he filled a bit more of the no-mans-land. There was no reaction, just as he wished.

And then a new thought came to him. Perhaps there was no reaction because he wished it. He experimented with this idea, focused on the other being, not reaching, only willing. And the thing abruptly changed directions. Now it rotated up and down instead of around and around. Other than this change, it remained unruffled, unprovoked.

Suddenly the warmth shrouded the side of his face. Separate beads of warmth danced over his temple, touching the Scitalis Harry knew was swirling there.

In a burst of light, Harry exploded. He grew outward rapidly, avoiding the unperturbed creature and expanding to the very edges of his head, illuminating all the corners of his mind. A great, shuddering gasp ripped the silence as Harry reclaimed his lungs, his heart. It pounded and fluttered frantically but its beat was equaled.

The warmth disappeared altogether and a quiet set of footsteps tripped away from him. His eyelashes fluttered at the click of a door. Then Harry gave in to the exhaustion and slept.

"Madame Pomfrey," Harry croaked.

He wanted water but his voice was too hoarse to make himself heard. He looked to his right to find a nightstand complete with a pitcher of water and a glass. When he reached for it his arm felt oddly rubbery and he over-shot. The glass tumbled to the floor and smashed, shards skidding across the floor in all directions.

The door across the room slammed open and Madame Pomfrey bustled out.

"Potter! You're awake!"

"Water," Harry rasped.

"Of course." Madame Pomfrey pulled out her wand and muttered 'reparo'. The glass put itself back together and she filled it with water from the pitcher. She helped prop Harry up with his pillows and he drained the glass while she fussed over him.

"How long have I been out?" he asked once he'd regained his voice.

"Two nights and two days—"

"Two days?!" Harry shot straight up anxiously but Madame Pomfrey held him with stern hands.

"Careful, Potter! Calm down. You've put too much strain on your body already!"

"But I've missed the Quidditch match!" Harry moaned in despair.

Madame Pomfrey tutted. "Relax, Potter! I daresay your friends will be in momentarily and they'll be able to explain all that you've missed. Now, I'm going to get you some breakfast. Stay in bed!"

Harry sulked most of the morning, though he dutifully ate his breakfast. Madame Pomfrey helped him cross the wing on wobbly legs so he could use the loo. She assured him that the rubbery feeling of his bones and muscles was only a side effect of the potions she'd been feeding him over the last two days. She promised they'd wear off by the end of the day—while she gave him yet another potion.

When she finally retreated back into her office Harry took the time to grope around in his own mind. He could still feel his new awareness snaking around his brain. He refused to lower his wall for it; whether or not it was himself; whether or not he could simply tell it to stay out. For now, he had adapted enough to share a space in his head with it. He would not share himself. The power of it was still too fresh in his memory, too frightening. The way it took him over, the way it drained and weakened him, the way the world turned bloody through its eyes. And worst of all, the way he relished the strength he'd felt in his long, muscular body, coursing through his very veins, tingling just on the tip of his tongue, ready to attack—win—kill.

Harry shuddered violently and pulled away from the consciousness once again, but not far enough to see the darkness. Its tantalizing whispers faded in a drawn out hiss as he took away its voice. It would not tempt him.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, running through the door. When she reached his bedside he could see the physical effort it took her to keep from throwing herself on him. "Oh, we were so worried! How are you?"

"Spiffing," Harry murmured. He was still rightfully grumpy.

He spied Ron over Hermione's shoulder, ambling in, and his spine went rigid.

"The match," he breathed in question, his eyes wide in anticipation.

Ron's face split into a wide grin when he reached the bed and Harry slumped back against the headboard with a relieved sigh.

"Oh, honestly," Hermione scolded in her usual Hermione-ish way. Harry couldn't help but grin at the side of her he hadn't seen in a few weeks. "It's just a game! You shouldn't be stressing yourself about it. You need rest, Harry!"

Harry ignored this, allowing her to straighten his covers and organize the sweets on the table at the end of his bed.

"How did we win?" he asked Ron.

"Ginny went on as Seeker," he explained. "And we brought on Creevey since you wouldn't be there to distract him." Ron sniggered at this. "Oh, if only he knew you were...that you fancied...Well, you know." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, the poor sod wasn't too bad. We kept mostly even with Ravenclaw all the way through."

"Why's he a poor sod?" Harry asked.

"Well, toward the end, he got hit pretty badly with a bludger. Broke his arm in quite a few places, I heard." Ron cringed at the memory.

"He was in here most of yesterday with you getting it fixed," Hermione said. "Madame Pomfrey kept your curtains closed though."

Harry was inwardly relieved.

"Demelza reckons he wanted it," sniggered Ron. "To match yours—you know, second year with Dobby's bludger."

"Oh, that's a terrible thing to say!" Hermione admonished.

"Well, he kept playing though, the crazy blighter!" Ron continued. "Although, we stopped scoring then. We were all getting pretty worried. Ravenclaw was pulling way ahead. At one point we were down one-hundred-thirty points..." He paused for dramatic effect. "And then Ginny did it! Snagged the snitch right out from under Ravenclaw Seeker's nose. No, I mean that literally, Harry. The thing was hovering right there and the git didn't even see it!"

After a good laugh at the opposing Seeker's mistake, Harry grinned happily and said, "looks like you didn't need me after all."

"Nah," Ron disagreed. "We were just lucky Ravenclaw's captain is new. He was rubbish at training up the team in such a short time. We'll need you next time though—gotta work hard to pull ahead in the next match. We only just won this one; two-hundred to one-hundred-eighty."

Hermione scoffed. "Isn't the point that we won?"

"No!" Harry and Ron cried at the same time.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Boys!" she huffed, then turned and dug through her book bag. "Here, Harry," she said, dropping a stack of books and parchment on his bed next to him. "I've brought your homework. And Dumbledore says none of the teachers will be bothering you anymore about your mark, so you can start going to classes again."

"Brilliant," Harry murmured sarcastically.

Hermione scowled at him then pulled up a chair and began flipping through his books. "Now, McGonagall's last lesson was pretty tricky but I can show you a short cut that will help you..."

"I think the stress shocked her back to normal," Ron whispered while she continued on into lecture mode. "Nice while it lasted," he grinned and winked.

"What happened to begin with, anyway?" Harry whispered back, pretending to nod along with Hermione's instructions.

Ron blushed deeply and shuffled his feet. "Erm, nothing really..."

Harry decided he'd had enough of this particular mystery. So, wary of the monster hovering just beyond his awareness, he cracked Ron's door and took a look for himself...

"I can't believe this—us...I can't believe we finally happened," Ron whispered.

He and Hermione were curled beneath a blanket on the stone floor of the astronomy tower, looking up at the sky, streaked with pink and gold from the setting sun. Their lips were swollen and pink and Hermione's hair was bushier than usual.

"Yes, it's taken you quite long enough," Hermione agreed with a fond smile.

Ron blushed but laid a sweet kiss on her nose.

"You know, we're both missing a Prefect meeting for this," mused Hermione. She giggled. "What a good role model the Head Girl is."

Ron froze, staring wide-eyed at Hermione. "That doesn't...bother you?"

"What doesn't?"

"That you're missing your meeting."

Hermione thought about it then smiled and shook her head. "No, at the moment, there's nowhere I'd rather be."

Ron's face split into the brightest grin he'd ever worn. "That makes me...so happy—that you'd break one of your precious rules for me."

Hermione flushed prettily and the two engaged in another round of snogging.

And Harry promptly burst out laughing.

"OY!" Ron bellowed. "You stay out of my head you sick pervert!"

Hermione looked up, shocked that they weren't paying their undivided attention to her.

Ron punched Harry in the shoulder when he continued laughing. He wasn't sure why he was in hysterics. Maybe because he was so shocked that they had finally admitted their feelings for each other. Maybe because he should have noticed the signs earlier. Maybe because he had simply been under too much stress lately and he had at last lost his marbles.

It didn't matter though, because for the first time in a long time, Harry was completely happy. And the angry red seeping up Ron's neck plus Hermione's embarrassed flush of realization only made him happier.