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Chapter 21: Of Nothing At All

"I don't remember much, Professor. At least, not much that could help."

"That's fine, Harry. Just tell me again what you know."

Harry took a moment to collect his thoughts, which were really just vague shards of memories, before he told Dumbledore his tale for the fifth time. The urgency and repetition was because Chris hadn't woken up, and it had been almost a week since they had gotten out of the battle.

"I didn't see him but once. I just heard his voice, telling me to fight and never give up," the Potter began, his tone distant as he went through the memory in his mind. "Then I was back at the train station and he was there, but he looked extremely bad off, Professor. He told me they couldn't know he was there, or they would try separating us, so it was all up to me to get them out. But he was doing something…. It was really helping me, I think, but hurting him. I don't remember, sir. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, my boy. What happened next?"

"Next… the walls exploded and he disappeared, but I could still feel him with me, in a manner of speaking. It was like he was …influencing me somehow," Harry continued, floundering a bit for the words. "I just knew what I had to do to throw Voldemort out, and then I felt so… so angry at Voldemort for being in my mind. It helped, but it wasn't me. I would have been determined or resolved or something, and I was that, too- but the anger just wasn't mine."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding and prompted Harry on, again.

"And… then I found a good memory and threw it at Voldemort. That's when I woke up here." Harry's lips twisted into a wry expression. "I'm sorry that doesn't help much, sir."

"No, Harry, it helps," said Dumbledore firmly. "It tells us that Chris was strong enough to guide you unto the very moment you won. It proves he was not completely without power, himself."

"So… so he's still just… sleeping?" Harry implied dubiously. It was the same conclusion they had reached with every conversation. Harry, himself, was still catching up on rest- under the nurse's orders alone, though. He had hoped to sneak that into this conversation; he was absolutely sick of laying in bed all day, literally 24-7.

"My guess," Dumbledore continued, unwittingly interrupting Harry's scheming, "is that the only actual rest he gets are the times he is knocked unconscious. That isn't a whole terribly lot, I suppose, after continuing for several years."

"You mean that curse about the nightmares?"

"I do," Dumbledore confirmed calmly.

Harry sighed. "I guess that makes sense, professor."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off abruptly by a strange but familiar ringing, coming from Chris' direction. His cell phone.

After a brief, amused glance at Harry, Dumbledore reached out and took the phone from Chris' jacket pocket. It was odd, but the old wizard got the distinct feeling that this call shouldn't be missed.

He flipped it open, very familiar with the nifty Muggle device, and answered brightly, "Chris' phone, Professor Dumbledore speaking."

Dumbledore saw out of the corner of his eye Harry suppressing a laugh at the oddity of the sight.

"Uh, is Chris not available?" a very confused male voice asked loudly, but it was still hardly distinguishable over the talking and noise in the background. Suddenly, there was a very distinct BANG, and much swearing followed.

"No, he is quite unconscious at the moment. Could I, perhaps, take a message?" Dumbledore responded pleasantly, wondering if this was the almost-infamous Joden, from the Resistance. His brow furrowed in concern when the explosions continued.

"Um… You're a professor at the school, right?" he asked with something like mildly bashful thoughtfulness. At Dumbledore's confirmation, he continued in the same tone. "So… that would make you an intelligent, experienced individual, correct?"

"Correct…" said Dumbledore, smiling but slightly confused.

"So, you know, if I had a- uh- theoretical- situation I needed-uh- theoretical help with, you might be able to offer, um, much appreciated service?" he finished brightly, even as Dumbledore heard more explosions in the background.

Dumbledore chuckled at the transparency of the lie. "Yes, I suppose I could. Theoretically, of course."

"Wonderful!" The young man's enthusiasm practically bubbled over the mouthpiece of the phone. "Okay, um, what would you say to three individuals locked in a- er- energy room- with a single exit, which would be- of course- blocked by middle level demons, a few Cyclopes, and- YO, DUNCAN! WHAT'D YOU SAY THOSE THINGS WITH THE THINGS AND THAT STUFF WERE CALLED? CHUPACK- CHUPACK-UHBRA? CHUPACABRA? OKAY, THANKS, MAN!- and Chupacabras?"

There was another, much closer explosion.

Dumbledore frowned quizzically. "Well, fire or bright light of some sort would take care of the Chupacabras, but Cyclopes are excellent blacksmiths, so fire wouldn't be anything to them. Try to unbalance them; they're quite a bit like turtles on their backs when they're down. The demons, however, are not my area of expertise."

"Oh, we were thinking the regular athame in the throat for them-- um, theoretically, that is. Haha. Of course. So high voltage electricity sparks would work on the Choopackabras and, um, there's a car over there to knock the Cyclopes on their-"

"CHUPACABRA, JODEN! CHU-PUH-CAH-BRUH!" a female voice yelled in the background, sounding beyond annoyed. "AND GET THAT LEVER BEFORE THAT THINGY IT'S HOLDING CRUSHES US!"

"Hey, I'm allowed to mess up names!" responded Joden, sounding indignant even as Dumbledore heard the tell-tale signs of him running, probably to get the lever that was holding the thingy. "Privilege of the non-magical. I'm proud of myself for even recognizing the Cyclopes on my own!"

There was laughter at this, and Dumbledore felt his confusion return. There were non-magical people fighting the war in the Resistance? -How was that in the least bit safe?

"Anyways, thanks, man- I mean, uh, professor," Joden was saying again. "So is Chris sick or just unconscious for the usual miscellaneous reasons? I mean, he never told us why he didn't come back Friday night or anything…"

"He's just a little under the weather and is sleeping it off," Dumbledore replied vaguely, glad that they were at least concerned for him. "Should I give him a message when he wakes?"

"Um… yeah, please tell him that if he doesn't get well soon and call us, we'll send him a ton of singing chocolates and entire bushes of flowers and embarrass the hell out of him in other varying ways. I could list some more, if you want to take notes…" He trailed off, then there was a peel of laughter in the background. He called to the others, sounding only distractedly amused, "Okay, the replacing the gun with a banana was funny, like, five months ago! Who the hell has my real gun?"

There was more laughter, then a few explosions, and then the laughter continued.

"Anyways, like I said, thanks for all your help- I mean, er- theoretical speculation."

"It was no problem, I assure you," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "And do be careful, if you would permit me to say it."

"Uh… sure. I, uh, gotta go-" the voice said, extremely distracted as there was a defined roar in the background, and the line went dead.

Dumbledore's lips tilted wryly as he pressed the 'end' button. He automatically felt worry churning in his stomach at the thought of such violence and danger, but he also got the inexplicable feeling that those young adults would be fine. Maybe it was just Joden's humor in the face of it all, but it was still oddly comforting.

"That was strange," Harry commented after a few moments of silence. Joden had been speaking loudly in order to be heard over the constant thrumming of explosions, so, needless to say, Harry had overheard the entire conversation. "Who was that?"

"Apparently, that was Joden," said Dumbledore with a teasing twinkle in his eyes. Harry just gave him a deadpan look. Dumbledore smiled. "He is, I believe, a friend from Chris' weekend excursions."

Harry blinked, obviously having come to the same conclusion on his own. "Hm," was all he said.

XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting around Harry's bed playing Exploding Snap that evening when Ron suddenly blurted,

"Ginny, would you stop looking at Chris! You have a boyfriend, and- trust me- you don't want him!" he jabbed a thumb at Chris' bed, where the teen was still unconscious.

Ginny threw her brother a withering glare. "I wasn't looking at him like that, Ronald. I just couldn't help but notice how different he looks in light colors." She flicked her long hair behind her shoulders as she finished, as if to brush it off. Harry could vividly recall Ginny and Ron's last conversation about her love interests; it was a scene he wished he'd never witnessed at all, and he had hoped it would never be brought up again.

He did, however, know what she meant by her glances. Madam Pomfrey had swished her wand and instantly replaced Chris' dark clothes and trench coat with the standard hospital pajamas, which were white with thin light blue stripes. The difference was astounding. He actually looked kind of a little bit almost- normal.

Apparently, Ginny thought differently. "Looks a bit like an angel, doesn't he?" she commented offhandedly as she took her turn. "With the white hair and nice necklace and all. Not nearly as threatening."

While Hermione nodded in agreement, Ron demanded, "He's threatened you?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "No, Ronald. He's never even spoken to me. Now, stop being a prat and take your turn."

Ron scowled and grumbled, but Hermione suddenly gasped, and everything stopped.

"I think he's waking!"

Sure enough, Chris' eyelids were fluttering and his face scrunched up slightly, as if uncomfortable. Harry, fearing that Chris might be going into a nightmare, called,

"Chris, wake up! …Chris!"

XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX

--"Oh, wake up, Chris!" Wyatt snarled as he rose from his seat on the council table. "It's all about power, I've told you. Just get those stupid little notions of good and evil out of your head and look at what's best for everyone."

"And what's that, Wyatt?" Chris whispered, gazing hard at his brother, his emotions inconceivable behind the mask of gleaming nothingness. "What's best for everyone? Death? I admit, it solves all the problems encountered during life."

"United rule, Christopher, is best for everyone. Regulate the interactions between witches, humans, and demons so the fighting stops. Don't you just want all the fighting to stop?" His voice suddenly broke, and he looked straight back into Chris' eyes, earnest, pleading even. "I can't keep letting so many witches die fighting the immortal, the inevitable. I just want it to stop, Chris. This has to be the way." Wyatt paused. "Why do you always do this to yourself?" He sighed as he directed his fourteen year old brother to his own room. "You've got to stop this stupidity eventually, you realize."

Chris shook his head numbly, his eyelids drooping and his limbs heavier than lead. Everything was spinning, rocking, waving. He felt like he was going to vomit if he couldn't get steady soon. He heard Wyatt say something else, but he was so high, by the time Wyatt got to the end of the sentence, Chris had already forgotten the beginning, and while he tried to remember that, he ended up forgetting what he was trying to remember. He was so going to puke…

"Just tell me why, for Christ's sake," Wyatt begged as he lowered Chris onto the bed, a little more roughly than necessary. "You're just going to be hung over and no good to anyone for any thing in the morning, and you know it! How is this worth it? Are you having fun, now?"

Chris couldn't exactly identify where he was, but it was soft, and something warm was laying partially over him. He pulled the covers closer and mumbled softly, haltingly, "…Just wanted… to forget…."

"Forget what?"

"…I don't… don't… remember…."

-- Chris felt the brick wall scrape even more skin from his cheek as the gym coach held his arms behind his back even tighter.

"So what are you going to do, kid?" the coach growled, close enough to Chris' ear to be frightening. "If you even think of telling anyone, or if I hear a little birdie whispering in ears, you know what I can do? I've got the whole football team under my thumb. All I gotta do is let slip some comment about, gee, I dunno, gay porn in your book bag, and you know what? They'll make the rest of your high school career a living Hell, kid. That's what I can do."

"-Wyatt--" Chris tried to say, in spite of his face being pressed flat into the wall.

"Yeah, Wyatt will make sure they don't do it in front of him, I'll give you that," the coach conceded, but he still sounded arrogantly in control. He slammed Chris' body into the wall yet again before he continued. "But what will you tell him when he wants to know the truth? Huh, kid? Doesn't it all amount to the same? Now, listen to me…"

-- Wyatt spun around in the school's hallway as he felt something being placed into the back pocket of his pants, where he kept his wallet. Chris was behind him and held up a dollar bill, proof of his bounty. He explained it by the monotonous words, "Vending machine."

Wyatt blinked, then slapped himself on the forehead. "Shoot, I forgot! I'm so sorry! Listen, we'll go by Pizza Hut or something, but I've got to go to practice first, after school. That okay?" He waited for Chris' response with sincerely worried eyes.

Chris nodded mutely, but took the dollar to the snack machine, anyway. After school was still a long time to wait when he hadn't eaten in almost a week.

-- "No, Chris, don't go," the words were sobbed, thick yet broken with grief. "Don't go, you can't go. Please, you can't leave me, too. Chris… please, come on, Chris. Wake up…"

Blond hair obscured Chris' already darkening vision as the person pulled his body from the blood soaked floor, clinging onto him tightly and yelling at someone, anyone, to call an ambulance, because he can't heal self-inflicted wounds. He couldn't heal his brother. "Please, wake up, Chris," Wyatt sobbed again and again and again. "Please, wake up… wake up… You c-can't do this… Wake up…"

"Chris, wake up! …Chris!"

His eyes snapped open.

XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX

Chris' eyes shot open at the exact same moment that Madam Pomfrey came rushing into the room. Once she saw Chris awake, she headed directly towards him.

Chris fell straight through the bed in his groggy alarm. They all stared at him. He, in turn, stared up at one of the bed's bars that was going through his forehead and squinted in bleary confusion. He rolled out from under the bed.

"What the hell was that?" Ginny voiced in surprise.

"Intangibility," Harry informed her once it became apparent that Chris was not getting up or answering her any time soon. "Are you alright, Chris?"

Chris only blinked.

"Mr. Halliwell?" queried Madam Pomfrey, eyebrows drawing together in her scrutiny.

Still nothing. Harry felt his heart speed up slightly. What was wrong? Had something happened to Chris while he was outside of his own mind? Had he somehow been unable to come back? Or worse- what if he had been permanently damaged by the fight?

There was a resounding crack, and Harry suddenly found himself staring at the back of a very familiar house elf.

"Dobby has the God's Elixir of Life that Just Chris enjoys, sir," the house elf addressed the unresponsive Halliwell solemnly, holding out a large thermos of steaming hot coffee. It was so strong, Harry could smell it from his bed.

The effect was instantaneous.

Chris bolted up and took the drink faster than any of them could even register him getting off the floor. After a huge gulp, Chris put the mug down and, Harry didn't know if it was the scalding hot liquid burning his throat or absolute joy, his eyes glittered with tears.

"Dobby, I love you, little man!"

Dobby's huge, bulbous eyes filled with tears, which immediately began to leak out. "Dobby has much love for Just Chris, too, sir!" the small house elf wailed, and Harry imagined the two would have been bawling on each other's shoulders in seconds if he didn't act fast.

"Chris! You've been asleep for a week- Voldemort is in the castle, Chris!"

That effect was fast, but it still didn't match the unadulterated speed the concept of coffee gave him.

"What?" all voices yelped, save Chris, who merely sounded confused.

Harry shifted under everyone's intense gazes. "Um… just kidding." He wriggled uncomfortably as everyone continued to stare at him. "Except for the part about… um… you being asleep for a week, that is. Because…. you were."

Harry shifted awkwardly, now. Chris sipped his coffee mutely.

There was complete silence.

Finally, it was broken by an unexpected query, which went something like, "…Why do I suddenly feel almost normal, slightly angelic, and a lot less threatening? …OH, GOD!"

XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX

Dumbledore had to be called to settle a dispute between Chris and the nurse about how thoroughly she could examine him. Apparently, she wanted to get closer than arm's length away, but Chris' opinion differed. Another issue was how long Chris was willing to stay in the hospital wing- which wasn't very long.

"I haven't been to the -you know- in almost three weeks," Chris snapped, unable to say the Resistance in front of Harry. He, Madam Pomfrey, and Dumbledore had been arguing for quite a while, now. "Do you have any idea how much can change in three weeks? I've got to go!"

"Albus, for the last time, you cannot let this boy out of my sight until I've completed a thorough examination!" Madam Pomfrey boomed, swelling with annoyance as her gaze remained largely on Chris. "He has been unconscious for over a week; there's no telling what has happened to his nutrition, physical strength, or mental stability! After a stunt like that, with Mr. Potter, there is no telling what may be wrong with him! I must be allowed to examine him!"

When Chris opened his mouth to argue yet another point, Dumbledore held up his hand for silence, and, surprisingly, Chris shut his mouth.

"Chris, for your information, Joden called while you were unconscious, and I spoke to him for a little while." Dumbledore once again held up his hand when Chris looked surprised and a little offended. "I realize I shouldn't have touched your belongings, but I was able to offer a bit of assistance with their Cyclopes-Chupacabra problem, so I will not ask you to forgive me."

Chris' jaw almost dropped. "They told you what was happening? I mean, it's not a top priority secret, what we do, or anything- that's ridiculous, the idiots!"

"No, he offered me a theoretical situation, which I discussed possible solutions to. He was quite ardent about the word theoretical, I assure you." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

Chris stared for just a moment, then could only find strength to rolled his eyes. "That sounds like them, alright," he mumbled. "How long ago was this?"

"Just this morning."

Chris sighed as he considered it. "Fine, I'll call him back and see how everything went, then we'll talk about it again. But I'm not staying in here any longer."

"Yes, young man, you are," snapped the nurse, looking like any examination she gave him now was not going to be gentle.

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as the two began a "no, I'm not" and "yes, you are" argument. Beside him, he heard Harry sigh, as well. Honestly, he thought it was about time Harry was allowed to leave. The boy had been there for a week of observation; Dumbledore was sure that was enough.

"Silence, please," he requested quietly, and the two paused abruptly in their debate. He continued before they could think to start it again. "Chris, I will ask you to submit to a short examination, and then you will be able to go where ever you please if the results are to my satisfaction. That means," he pushed ahead as Chris made to object, "you can leave the campus for up to two days, even though it is still during the school week. And Poppy, if you could please keep it as quick and painless as possible? Thank you."

Neither was happy with this compromise, but Dumbledore's unyielding gaze kept them from debating for another half hour over it.

Reluctantly, Chris sat down at the foot of his bed and stared dejectedly at the floor. The nurse instantly seized this opportunity and made with the waving of her wand.

"Still tired?" Dumbledore surmised.

Chris nodded fractionally, not looking at him. "I hate sleeping…"

"Well, you must have needed it, or you would have been able to awaken," the headmaster replied calmly, searching Chris' suddenly very closed expression. "Nightmares, still?"

"Not until the end," said Chris, quiet, his eyes flicking up to Pomfrey's wand as it came unnecessarily close to his face.

Dumbledore inclined his head thoughtfully.

A few more minutes passed as the nurse waved and jabbed her wand, taking notes on a clipboard and occasionally clucking her tongue infuriatingly at the results only she could see.

Finally, it was over.

"Professor Dumbledore, could I speak to you in private?" Madam Pomfrey requested.

"No," Chris said before Dumbledore even open his mouth. "It's me you're talking about."

Dumbledore actually chuckled. "My, you are belligerent tonight, Chris."

Chris didn't even look mildly offended. "Duh. I'm in a bad mood. I don't exactly like wasting time." He motioned pointedly at the nurse, who glared in return.

Dumbledore, still just chuckling, followed Pomfrey into her office.

Chris blew out his breath and fell back into his bed, where his hair scattered into his face. He blinked, then tried to blow it out of his face. It only fell back into his eyes. Harry laughed from the bed next to his. Chris sighed.

"So, are you okay?" Chris asked without much feeling.

"Yeah. I've just been sitting doing nothing for about a week. You?" Chris noted that Harry seemed to be in an unnaturally good mood.

Chris deflated. "Peachy. Just peachy." Then he sat up again, more energetic as a thought struck him. "So, you kicked Voldemort out of your head. How does it feel to finally kick his ass in a square battle? Great, isn't it?"

Harry grinned. "It is pretty relieving to know I can do it."

Chris gave him a teasing look. "Oh, come on. You know it was awesome."

Harry laughed. "Alright, yes. It was pretty awesome," he imitated Chris' accent with a grin.

Chris laughed. "You're making improvement- and not just with your American accents. We've got to go gloat at Snape before anyone else does…. You know Dumbledore's going to remind him of this."

"Yeah, if he hasn't already. I just wish I could have seen Snape's expression when he first heard about it."

"Priceless," Chris agreed.

The two spent a few more minutes talking about it before the headmaster and nurse came back into the room, both their faces uncharacteristically grim. Chris' shoulders sagged. This didn't bode well for his possible escape.

"Chris, we need to talk," Dumbledore spoke quietly. "Harry, could you please excuse us? You are free to leave, but return immediately if your thought process or mentality shows signs of unprecedented change. Thank you."

Chris and Harry shared a brief, puzzled look before Harry rose, grabbed his belongings, and exited.

Chris turned his attention back to the adults, guarded. "Well?"

"Chris, is there anything you might wish to tell us about your past health? Anything we might need to know in case of emergency?" Dumbledore asked calmly, softly. The way he asked, Chris knew he already had answers in mind. What had the examination shown?

However, with the memories of his dreams still fresh in his mind, Chris did not feel up to any sort of heart-to-heart about his childhood. He just wanted to leave, get away for a little while. So, he answered bluntly, "Nothing that can be unexpected for a Halliwell. Is that all?"

Dumbledore smiled wryly, but the twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles was dull. "If that is all you're comfortable with, it is," he replied kindly. "Have a safe trip, and tell the team I said hello."

XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX

Slowly, the world rotated through November. Chris returned to the Resistance each weekend to save the world and play pranks with his team of misfits- Joden the Muggle, Andrea the witch, and Duncan the vampire. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had come to yet another silent understanding with their new Gryffindor. Since he had directly saved Harry twice in only two months, they slowly began to ease off on their relentless investigating and give him the amount of space he so obviously needed. And the world kept on spinning.

Dumbledore and Chris continued to have almost nightly chat and card games, but even Dumbledore seemed to begin bending to Chris' need of some mystery. Their talks were almost all inconsequential.

The James, Lily, and Sirius watched from the sidelines, knowing that, as the month passed without any excitement, something big had to be looming just beyond the horizon.

A/N: THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED!! I was so happy when I updated and, like, an hour later my email was full of magnificent reviews! Awesome! Y'all rock!

PS, Please, for the love of God, wish me luck on Saturday. I'm taking the SAT with only a year and a half of high school under my belt, and I'm so nervous.