Instead of my normal bit about not owning anything worth millions of dollars, I'm pointing out that I did not kill Luna in the last chapter. I spared her life even though, in my story outline, she was supposed to die. Just pointing out my kind-heartedness …
.
.
Chapter 38. Fishing
In near-record speed following the match, several new rules were posted throughout the castle, most of which Harry remembered from his Third Year. So much so that he felt justified in only paying cursory attention as Albus addressed the student body the next day. Quidditch players must be escorted to and from the field by a professor – check. The Great Hall will stay open until curfew so students have a safe place to visit with friends from other houses – check.
When Albus paused dramatically, however, Harry knew it was time to tune in. Everyone must have shared that opinion, for the room fell as silent as a room full of curious children can fall.
"I want to be very clear," Albus started in a voice that was low and hard, making each word sound that much more important. "Voldemort is powerful, yes; but his power comes at a horrific price. He uses the darkest of magics … it taints his soul, corrupts his mind, and ravishes his flesh. His path is neither righteous nor just. It can only lead to darkness and destruction … not only for his named enemies, but for all Wizardkind. Where now he targets the Muggle-borns," and his eyes briefly flitted toward Hermione at the Gryffindor table and Kevin Entwhistle with the Ravenclaws, "when they are gone – and I do mean gone, for he intends nothing less than their total extermination – where will he turn next?
"Will it be those with physical defects, who cannot see or have trouble moving about? Will he target the infirmed, claiming that they are using up our valuable resources? Perhaps he shall decide that squibs are the result of faulty breeding and he will order the extermination of any line that produces one." He made eye contact with Jasper Meeks, whose older brother Jareth was never spoken of, for he hadn't had the magic required to be invited to Hogwarts.
"Do you see how this works? Do you see the true danger? It is not Voldemort! He will be defeated eventually, for his kind of magic … his kind of power … is not sustainable. But what will he leave behind? A society scarred to the point it no longer functions … so divided it can never work cohesively again … so fragmented it ceases to exist?
"I can assure you all of one truth: magic is magic. It is nothing more and certainly nothing less. It does not come from the blood; it simply is. So why would one's heritage matter? Cannot the purest of families produce a squib? And cannot the commonest Muggles produce a powerful witch or wizard?"
Albus paused and gave Harry what felt like an apologetic look. "Harry Potter is a so-called half-blood. His mother was a Muggle-born witch. Yet he is a power to be reckoned with, as Theodore Nott and his cohorts learned yesterday. I myself am a half-blood," – the room filled with gasps and shouts of surprise but he ignored them and continued on – "for my mother, like Mister Potter's, was a Muggle-born witch … and I dare say very few of you consider me a weak wizard, magically speaking. And Tom Riddle is a half-blood. In fact, he is more a half-blood (if one can be such a thing) than either Mister Potter or myself, for it is his own father that was the Muggle."
Again, the room filled with murmurs of students, this time accompanied by many shifty looks in both his and Harry's directions.
Albus paid it no attention, though his voice became more forceful as he continued. "I ask those of you who have listened to Voldemort's whispered words … who have found yourself believing his seductive promises and platitudes … which of us three is the most worthy of your support?" He paused a moment to slowly scan the room, making several students squirm in their seats or turn their heads down. "In a moment you will be excused to spend your day in leisure. I only ask that you take a moment or two to consider my words.
"And now, one last announcement. This morning, Minister Bluestreak received the blessing of our Board of Governors to have the entire population of this castle checked for the Dark Mark. All students would do well to be in their appointed Common Rooms promptly at curfew, where a team of Aurors will take roll and check your arms. It is my deepest desire that their search be in vain."
The hushed buzzing that had been drifting across the room just seconds ago immediately stopped at this pronouncement, flooding the room in silence. Albus paid it no mind as he turned to walk back to his seat, the clink-scrap of his old-fashioned shoes practically echoing through the room.
Harry arose from his seat and stood, closemouthed and straight-backed, earning strange looks from his friends, who in turn caught the attention of several others around them until a majority of the students were watching the standing Harry instead of the sitting Headmaster.
With much flourish and flair – 'finally, I used something I learned from Lockhart' – Harry removed first his left robe sleeve, then his right, leaving two unblemished arms for all to see. A heartbeat later, Ron and surprisingly enough Dean had joined him in his display … followed by Hermione and Ginny and Colin and Dennis and Quidditch player Demelza and even a little dark-haired girl that had to stand on a bench to be seen.
It spread across the Hall, sleeves randomly disappearing from all four tables, much to the surprise of many. Granted, the number at the Slytherin table was significantly smaller – the Minister's grandson Dierks Harper and his friends the largest group there – but Harry understood that for some, a proudly-exposed arm was more dangerous than a covered one.
In all, more than a third of the students joined in Harry's display. With a nod of appreciation toward his boy, Albus waved his hand to open the doors, allowing his students to leave. It was hard to tell over the loud noises what was going to be the gossip of the day: Albus' moving speech, Harry's defiant display, or that strange little half-suggestion the Headmaster made that they should all know someone named Tom Riddle.
Later that night, after every last Gryffindor had been checked and cleared by the Aurors, Harry snuck out of the tower and headed for home to hear how the other Houses fared.
"You should be in your dorm, Harry," Albus said in lieu of greeting. "I certainly hope none of your classmates are aware you have left."
"I use it well," was his cheeky reply as he held up the corner of his invisibility cloak.
"Hmm, too well, I'm starting to think."
"Gryffindor's clean," Harry said, ignoring Albus' comment. "Are they done checking the others?"
"I have not received the final reports but Severus sent a note earlier that all of his students were present, so I took that as a good sign."
Plopping into a cushy chair, Harry asked, "You don't really expect them to find anything, do you?"
"I suspect that on his best day, Tom considers using students a necessary evil – if you'll excuse the pun. They are notoriously ineffective and unreliable, as Mister Malfoy proved just last year. No doubt, he considers himself the exception to the rule. I would guess that he only marked Mister Nott out of necessity, and as we know Mister Malfoy was marked as a punishment to his father. It is unlikely that any other student would have earned such an honor."
Albus' prediction proved true, as Harry had known it would, and soon the excitement of the 'desleeving', as the students took to calling it, died down. The new restrictions quickly became habit and grumblings over them slacked off considerably. Even gossip over Albus' stirring speech had faded, except for one small part – the identity of Tom Riddle.
A few of the braver students had asked Harry what he knew, but after the first two students hadn't believed his answer, he started getting a bit belligerent . "Let me think … maybe … VOLDEMORT!" was how he'd phrased it to a bunch of mini Hufflepuffs, one of whom walked away in tears. "Well, the Headmaster mentioned three names and there are three key players in this war. Dumbledore is Dumbledore, Potter is Potter, so Riddle must be …" He hadn't finished his sentence that time, confident the three Ravenclaws could figure it out on their own.
The last straw had been when a couple of Fifth Year Slytherins accosted him outside the Great Hall thinking they could intimidate him into recanting. In a huff – and fully aware of the dozens of other students watching – Harry pulled his wand and used Riddle's own trick to spell out 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' in the air. He hadn't quite mastered the spell that rearranged the words so he was forced to then point out, letter by letter, how they would spell 'I am Lord Voldemort'.
It might not have been as dramatic but it had finally been enough. Students seemed to accept that Riddle and Voldemort were one in the same. Unfortunately, the vast majority (even among the Muggle-borns) refused to believe the rest; namely, that Riddle was a half blood. After all, as Hermione pointed out, "student records are private and none of the public records reference blood status, so there's no way to prove the claim short of finding his birth record, and even that won't convince many."
If anything, the Riddle-is-Voldemort revelation seemed to bolster some of the darker-leaning students, who could be heard reasoning that Riddle having been a top student somehow justified their idolization of his alter ego.
Many times Harry felt like his head would explode from all the conflicting information being passed about. Yes, the truth was out there; but as often as not it was buried in the middle of just as much codswallop. Harry very much would have liked Hermione's help dealing with all this but ever since the Quidditch attack (ever since Nott's death, to be honest) she'd lost a bit of her confidence and seemed sad and remote. It was glaringly obvious when she spoke in class, offering one or two word answers instead of her usual vomit of knowledge.
Ron overcompensated by constantly trying to lift her spirits, mostly with gag items from the twins or old jokes that were, truth be told, rather unfunny. Harry could tell Ron wanted him to join in but he felt what she really needed was time to process things at her own pace. So instead, he reminded her he was always available to talk and he gave her the occasional hug and he watched, vowing to himself that if she buried herself in her emotions too deeply he'd be ready to put a shovel in her hand and teach her how to dig.
It was the last part of March before Hermione started to show signs of her old self, and predictably it came at Harry's expense when school gossip turned to a new topic: practically naked, fully animated photos of a dripping wet Harry were floating around the castle. They were forgeries, of course, but flawlessly made so that, since he wouldn't prove he didn't have a mole there, no one believed him.
Harry alternated between furious and mortified over the mess, the latter winning out when Luna approached him during breakfast for an autograph. Mouth twitching as she fought off a grin, Hermione promised to search the library for a charm that would unravel the photographic forgery. Secretly, Harry knew Albus had Flitwick working on it, but he was thankful that she was trying. It was nice to see the real Hermione peeking through.
Minerva kept him after Transfiguration the next day, supposedly to berate him for whispering during her lecture. In reality, she wanted him to know that the culprit had been identified (and would have detention for a month) but that she and Albus both believed that any action on their part to confiscate or ban the photos would only make them more popular. Given how popular they already were, Harry gave her a dubious look as he thanked her for the information. She smiled back and gave him a supportive pat on the back before she taking five points for talking during class and sending him on his way.
His pessimism, it turned out, was not exaggerated. When he came down to the common room on Sunday morning to find one of the photographs had been enlarged life-size and stuck on the wall, he decided today was a good day to spend in hiding. Skipping breakfast, he headed for the family quarters where Albus later found him lounging on the couch practicing Transfiguration while Uncle Abe offered suggestions worthy of a thirteen-year-old – "You've got to grip your wand firmly and give it a good yank," being the cleanest.
Harry had "mastered his wand" (Abe's words, not his) and finished his Arithmancy essay on the secret uses of fractions when a house-elf popped in with a tray of refreshments. Albus waved off an offered cup; he was sitting in his favorite chair lost in a thick pile of parchments he'd received from the International Confederation of Wizards. Harry didn't offer anything to Abe, as he was now lightly snoozing, a copy of Witchy Witches magazine half-fallen off his lap.
Harry absently munched a peanut butter biscuit as he watched the man sleep, his mind lost in thought. Earlier in the week, unbeknownst to the student body, something far worse than fake pictures had occurred. Abe had reached another milestone in his disease, leaving him surly enough that Snape seemed positively sunny in comparison.
A loud snort from said Uncle brought Harry back to himself.
Deciding watching his uncle was a pretty sorry way to spend his time, Harry shoved the rest of the biscuit in his mouth and reached for his bag. Stuffed in the very bottom he found his latest paperback novel, its dingy blue cover masking its true identity – the dramatically titled "If My Soul I Give To You". He'd last read it to kill time in the infirmary but after his fight with Albus, he hadn't been in the mood for the cheesy novel. But today, it might be just the distraction he needed.
Shifting so he was comfortably spread out on the couch, he found his place. If he remembered correctly, the heroine Veronica had just fallen into a pond, miraculously ripping her clothes to shreds in the process. With a quick glance at Albus (who had his nose buried in parchment) and Abe (who's nose was softly whistling in his sleep) he skimmed the page.
Maxim took Veronica into his arms, holding her wet, trembling body against his. "Hush, lovely. You're safe now."
"I'll never be safe," she cried, "not as long as the Dark Man is after me."
"The Dark Man is only a myth, Veronica," he chuckled, "a story made up to scare small children."
Pulling back, Veronica stared at Maxim in disbelief. "You don't believe me?" Her chest heaved in anger, giving the Earl a tantalizing view of her ample mounds.
"I believe that you believe the Dark Man is after you," he tried to placate.
SMACK! Her hand struck violently, leaving a red print across his cheek. "You cad! You scoundrel! You … you … dastard. I should have known better than to trust you. You've been playing me all along hoping to gain my favor. You've never loved me at all."
She yanked herself from his grasp and began to move away.
"No! You can't leave," Maxim cried with a voice so full of love that Veronica stopped and spun back around. What remained of her wet gown slapped against her bare thighs enticingly.
"I do love you," he pleaded. "I do. More than life itself. Without you I am nothing. I've given you my heart, my soul, my very essence. If you leave, I will surely die."
Moved by his impassioned declaration of love, Veronica fell into his open arms and began kissing him in earnest. He returned the favor, but soon left her mouth to trace her throat with his lips. His hand moved from her waist, lower, to cup her -
Harry shifted uncomfortably, stealing guilty glances around the room. Albus was alternately writing on one scroll and reading from another. Abe was still sleeping; his head rolled to the side leaving a trail of drool down his chin.
Feeling slightly naughty and perverted and secretly thrilled, Harry casually pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and covered himself from the waist down.
"Cold, Harry?" Albus asked, briefly flicking his eyes toward Harry as he continued to write something.
"Er … a bit," he sheepishly replied.
"If you are still uncomfortable I can stoke the fire."
"No … I'm … this'll be fine."
Albus only nodded as he continued to write. Letting out a slow breath, Harry turned back to his book to find where he'd left off.
She yanked herself from his grasp and began to move away.
"No! You can't leave," Maxim cried with a voice so full of love that Veronica stopped and spun back around. What remained of her wet gown slapped against her bare thighs enticingly.
"I do love you," he pleaded. "I do. More than life itself. Without you I am nothing. I've given you my heart, my soul, my very essence. If you leave, I will surely die."
Wait … what?
"Without you I am nothing. I've given you my heart, my soul, my very essence."
"My very essence," Harry repeated, his heart thumping in his chest.
"What was that?" Albus had paused in his writing to look Harry's way.
"My very essence … my soul." Sitting up, Harry swung his legs around so he was facing Albus, the blanket tangled unnoticed around his feet. "Pissing Pixies! We already have it – we have the bloody locket. We can do it."
"Harry, my boy, slow down," Albus urged. "Tell me this again, and this time, perhaps slow enough that I may understand?"
"Slytherin's ritual," he practically shouted, but a grunt from Abe caused him to lower his voice to a normal level. "Remember how the potion required four things? Basilisk venom, which we have from the Chamber; phoenix tears which Fawkes can give us; Acromantula silk, which Hagrid has in spades; and Essence of the Immortal. We've been using a scientific definition and assuming essence meant blood, or his … stuff. But I just realized; a person's essence also refers to their true self … the part of them that makes them them. Augh … I'm not saying this right."
"I think you are doing just fine," Albus assured him. He put down his quill and leaned forward to give Harry his full attention. "But how do you suggest we capture Tom's true self. That would suggest you want to capture his consciousness."
"No … see, it's in this book," and without thinking he held up his paperback novel and gave it a shake. "He tells Veronica he's given her his heart, his soul, his very essence. His soul is his essence."
Looking confused, because he was, Albus asked, "who, exactly, is Veronica?"
"Oh … she's the Earl's girlfriend."
"The Earl's girlfriend," Albus repeated. "That does not sound like any research book I am familiar with. Is that a school book?"
"It's … er … look, that doesn't really matter," Harry asserted, tossing the book over his shoulder. "The point is, it's made me realize there is an alternate definition. And really, given everything we know about Horcruxes, I think they can definitely be considered a person's essence. They literally contain a piece of his soul, a part of his true self. And as luck would have it, we already have one we can use."
"The locket," Albus said, beginning to catch on.
"Exactly … right?"
Albus set aside his papers and stroked his beard in thought. "You know," he finally said, "that just might work. I will have to check a few facts, just to be certain, but I feel confident you've found a viable solution. But Harry," he added, his face losing some of its smile, "this still doesn't solve the entire problem. We would still be short one element – the end of life to bring the gift of death."
"Yeah," Harry agreed as he slumped back on the couch. "But at least we're a bit closer."
"You're closer than you think," a gruff voice called out, taking both Harry and Albus by surprise. They turned to see Aberforth awake in his chair, an oddly calm look on his face.
Wiping his chin with the palm of his hand, Abe spoke. "You need someone to give up their life to make the ritual work – oh, don't be looking surprised, if you didn't want me to know about it you shouldn't've talked about it so much and so loudly. Well, by lucky co-incidence, I happen to be ready to give up this miserable excuse for a life."
"What – No!" Harry cried as he jumped from his seat, only to fall back to his behind because the forgotten blanket held his feet trapped. Ignoring Abe's soft chuckle he turned to Albus, expecting the man to back him up, but Albus remained suspiciously silent as he tipped his head in thought.
Turning back to Abe, Harry told him, "that's insane."
"It's practical," Abe replied. He shifted and twisted so he was sitting upright, and with a determined look on his face, he turned to Harry. "My life is good as over already, lad. I can't beat this beast. And frankly, I'm tired of pretending I can."
"You could still have years," Harry tried to reason.
"Years," Abe harshly laughed. "Maybe one year … and that's being generous. And what kind of year will that be? Sittin' around withering away, just waiting for death to take me? Listen to me, Harry." And that's what got Harry's attention … got Harry to calm and really listen to what Abe was saying … being called Harry and not lad or sonny or whatnot.
"For the first time in a very long time, I'm at peace. You did that. You gave me that. Albus and I hadn't been a family since we were kids ourselves and you brought us together. And now I find myself looking forward to doing the same with Ariana and our parents. And, I'll get to see my lovely Lenore again." His eyes seemed to shift to some other place for a moment. "I can only hope she was patient enough to wait for an old kneazle-herder like me."
Turning back to Harry, he added, "Imagine living most of your life without your Ginny. Wouldn't you be ready to be with her again?"
Harry didn't trust himself to reply, so instead he turned away.
"This is a very serious decision, Aberforth," Albus softly said to his brother. "I do not think it can or should be made in one afternoon. We have yet to determine that using the Horcrux will even work."
"You know it will," Abe replied, casually waving off his brother's comments.
The brothers locked eyes, giving Harry the impression a great unspoken discussion was taking place. Finally, Albus blinked. A look of understanding crossed his face and he warily nodded.
Harry could hardly believe his eyes. Albus was agreeing! "But killing Abe – wouldn't that be dark magic?" Harry blurted out, earning himself a smirk from Abe and a compassionate look from Albus. "Maybe we shouldn't attempt this. I mean, wouldn't it make us just as bad as him or damage our souls or something?"
"If the sacrifice is willing, if it is done out of love and not hate, I believe it is the exact opposite of dark magic," Albus explained.
"So we're just letting him die?!"
"Calm down, sonny," Abe snapped. "I'm dying anyway, so there's no lettin' about it. And this ain't no snap decision," he continued. "I've known about your little ritual for some time now. Plenty long enough for me to think this through. A while ago I decided that if you could solve the problem with the blood, I would be your sacrifice."
"Yeah, but—"
"Harry, this was your idea," Albus gently interrupted, "and you were perfectly willing to go ahead with this ritual when the sacrificial lamb was some unnamed other. If memory serves, you were willing to be the sacrifice yourself. Perhaps your sudden unease isn't due as much to any perceived danger or immorality as to your reluctance to lose your favored uncle?"
"That's different," he insisted, purposely ignoring Albus' last comment. "And besides, you talked me out of that, remember?"
"It was indeed different," Albus countered. "You are young and healthy and have most of your life still ahead of you, whereas Aberforth is, forgive my bluntness, old and dying. It is as he said; his life is ending."
"I can't believe you're siding with him on this. How can you want your own brother to die?"
Instead of rising to Harry's bait, Albus took a breath and tried to reason with him. "Suppose, Harry, that we suddenly discovered you were still a Horcrux. Would you not accept your death if it was the only way to make Tom mortal again?"
As Harry was unwilling to admit what everyone in the room already knew, he remained silent.
"How can you deny Aberforth the same choice?"
Harry dropped his head in defeat. He knew their minds were made up.
"Look at me lad," Abe gently commanded, and Harry did so. "You're the closest I've ever had to a family of my own. I'm rather proud that you let me be your uncle. And I'd give anything to see that you survive this war. Even my own life."
Harry smiled sadly, knowing he couldn't stop his uncle from doing this any more than he could stop the tears that were running down his face.
"Unless you don't think I'm as worthy as your Mother?" Abe added to really drive his point home. "Her death would have been meaningless … except it allowed you to survive. Death by this disease is meaningless. If I do this, my death will mean something, too."
Harry nodded sharply once, then kicked the blanket away so he could wander over to his favorite window seat. The two grown men allowed the teenaged boy a few moments to reign in his emotions. He lost himself in thought as he traced patterns on the glass, not even realizing his finger was leaving a trail of frost in its wake.
Grasping for a new topic, Harry turned back and asked the first thing he could think of. "We still don't know how to get the sawol out of the locket. Do we just put the whole locket into the potion, do you think?"
"I believe Miss Granger would not be pleased were we to do so," Albus replied. "She is very passionate about saving the few remaining Founder's relics. But we have another option at our disposal – one you are already familiar with."
"Oh?" Harry questioned, not in the mood to figure it out on his own.
"We can move the sawol into another vessel like Voldemort did with the sawol that was inside Nagini. Something which can be safely added to the potion without fear of corrupting it's potency."
Harry nearly felt his jaw drop. "If it was that simple, why all the research? Why didn't you just do that in the first place?"
"Oh, were you going to ask Voldemort which spell he used?" When Harry looked properly humbled, Albus continued, "Simple is never a word I would use to describe spell creation and manipulation. The spell we already knew – the one that creates the Horcrux – needed to be twisted to work on an external sawol without endangering the caster. Now, Miss Granger has recently found –"
"No need to bore us to death with the details, Albus," Abe cut in. Turning to Harry, he added, "always lecturing, that one. His point is, they have the spell figured out, right Skipper?"
"We are very close, yes," Albus agreed. "But how do you know?"
With a smirk, Abe pulled a flesh-colored jumble from his pocket. "My niece-in-law-to-be gave me this odd looking device. You wouldn't believe the things I've learned with this little gem," he added with a funny look at Harry.
Harry was smart enough to know that whatever Abe had learned while using the extendable ear would not be flattering for him, so he turned his back on the man. Behind him, Albus and Abe began talking about time frames and putting things in order and last wishes in what Harry felt was a cold, precise manner. Death wasn't meant to be entered into like a business decision. It was meant to be fought, kicking and screaming. Wasn't it?
Lost in thought, it barely registered when Albus led him into his office. He hardly realized he was sitting in a chair, holding a cup of tea. It wasn't until Fawkes sang what felt like a glorious hymn that Harry came back to himself.
Looking Albus in the eye, he had to ask, "Why?"
"Why am I allowing my brother to make this choice … or why am I not more upset by his decision?"
"Why have you suddenly changed your mind about the ritual? You kept telling me the price was too high but now you're alright with it."
"You mean aside from the fact that until this very day, we had not discovered a way around the blood dilemma? In truth, you had already started to sway me to toward the viability of the ritual. Your research certainly seemed to support your contention that Slytherin used it successfully. But you are correct; I remained unwilling to consider asking anyone to kill themselves for the cause. For just a moment, I had considered using myself, but, if you recall, you made it quite clear to me that you would not accept that option, and … I admit … I feared how such an action would affect you."
Harry nearly chuckled, for that had been the politest way anyone had ever said they were concerned about his mental stability.
"In the end, Aberforth himself was the deciding factor. As much as it pains us, Harry, we have to accept that he is ready to move on. He wants to avoid what he feels is the humiliating end this disease would give him. An end that is rapidly approaching, even without this ritual."
After that, the two lapsed into silence and Harry fidgeted in his seat and played with his tea as he tried to come up with any argument he thought would make a difference.
"Easter break will soon be upon us," Albus eventually said in a weary voice. "Now that Aberforth has made his decision, he wants to 'get a move on', as he put it. I find myself selfishly wanting to spend my brother's last days without the distractions of school and politics, so I would like to arrange a family trip over break. Just the three of us. A last hurrah, if you will. Do you … find this agreeable?"
Harry had been staring into his cup, but had looked up as Albus had stumbled over his words, and found himself struck by the sadness he saw on his guardians' face. "Yeah … sounds … nice."
"Very well. I shall make the necessary arrangements."
Deciding that was a good point to escape this discussion, Harry put his cup aside and stood. Before he could get very far, Albus stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "I do so hate speaking bluntly in these matters, but you do realize that only two of us shall return?" When Harry mutely nodded, he added, "you'd best pick out something appropriate for a funeral so the elves can get them cleaned and pressed while we are gone."
Harry returned to his friends in Gryffindor Tower on autopilot and though he could never remember exactly what he told them, he could tell by the girls' tear-streaked faces he'd gotten the main points across. Hermione confessed that they were confident they had the spell worked out; they just needed to break the protective enchantments and spells on the Horcrux, which was something Albus refused to let her help with.
"It just had me so worried," she continued, "I mean, I'm fairly confident the spell will work but you can never know for certain with new spells until you try and there's just so much that could go wrong. Souls aren't toys, after all. Who's to say how they'll react to all that magic. And there was that whole shared blood mess. It's impossible to truly predict how using his blood would have affected you, because it's really your blood. I was starting to worry that it simply wouldn't be resolved and the only other answer is finding those other bloody Horcruxes, which let's be honest, isn't going to happen any time soon, if ever."
"Whoa –" Ron began, no doubt to comment on Hermione's uncharacteristic language, but Harry loudly coughed to drown him out. But if there was one bright spot to Hermione's nervous ramble, it was proof to Harry that she was indeed coming out of her depression, which despite everything brought a (admittedly small) smile to Harry's face.
The next ten days were some of the hardest in Harry's life. For the first time he understood … truly understood … why Albus had hidden the prophecy from him for so long. A dozen times a day he wished he didn't know Uncle Abe's death was in eight days … in seven days … in six days … a morbid countdown to a depressing finale. He confessed to the girls that he rather wished he could go back to being that naïve little First Year who believed that everything was going to be alright, and Hermione couldn't help but agree.
As most of the student body prepared to enjoy Easter break, Harry was packing for the saddest trip of his life. He, Albus, and Aberforth were spending a few days at Minerva's sister's lodge on the Orkney Islands. Harry wasn't even certain which island they were headed for, only that it was a safe and remote area. The three of them were going fishing, an idea that made Harry do a manly version of giggling every time he thought about it. He certainly didn't know the first thing about fishing – Vernon would have likely kicked him into the water as soon as let him give it a try. Albus, he was equally certain, had never fished the Muggle way ... and probably never the magical way, either.
Leaving his dorm, he met Ginny by the stairs and together they wordlessly walked to the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Ignoring the gargoyle that was anxious to open for him, Harry grabbed Ginny in a tight hug. "Love you," he whispered.
"Me too," she softly answered back. Pulling back to look into his eyes, she added, "you be sure to give Uncle Abe my love. And … I'll be here for you when you get back."
With one last kiss, Harry let go and allowed Ginny to leave. Once in Albus' quarters, he found the brothers already waiting. Albus had a battered old telescope in his hand and at the appointed time, all three took hold for the journey. They landed near a small structure made of mismatched grey stones with large shuttered windows and smoke billowing from a stubby chimney. It looked unkempt and possibly unsafe, with crumbled sections of stone near the windows and corners and tall weeds growing up around the foundation. A loud rushing noise could occasionally be heard, telling Harry the sea was probably hidden just beyond the thin line of trees.
The interior of the lodge, it turned out, was cozy and welcoming and full of exotic souvenirs from Helena McGonagall-MacDougal's adventures. There was one central room incorporating living, cooking, and dining space, with doors leading to the bedrooms and the loo. The walls were predominately brown and deep purple, but there were splashes of color everywhere, like an Italian flag hanging in the kitchen area and the human-sized oriental urn done in reds and oranges. Large pictures of a happy, waving couple adorned the walls: posing on the lip of a smoking volcano, standing deep inside a cave holding up picks and sparkling jewels, and swimming with the Loch Ness 'monster'. An set of long spindly horns hung above the fireplace and the rug under the dining table appeared to be made from yeti fur. Harry chuckled as he spotted the scratching post and cat toys stuffed away in a corner.
While the brothers squabbled over who got which bedroom, Harry ventured out and explored the grounds and found them to be as isolated and as peaceful as promised. He returned from his impromptu hike to find Albus frying eggs and sausage for supper. Abe was relaxing on the lumpy green couch with his eyes closed, but he shouted out nonsense advice to his brother so everyone would know he wasn't sleeping. After eating, they called it an early night.
Bright and far-too-early the next morning, the three made their way to a sturdy wooden walkway suspended over the water's edge. Abe was using what could only be described as the magical equivalent of a wheelchair, Albus-style – an oversized, overstuffed, plush-covered easy chair adorned with colorful butterflies that Albus levitated between locations.
Somehow, Albus had gotten his hands on Muggle fishing poles, complete with mechanical reels and fancy feathered lures. Already, the two old men were fighting over the rods – Abe wanted the full-sized green one but Albus felt he should use the smaller one with the cartoon figures on it. Leaning his own pole against his chair, Harry watched as Albus tried to show Abe how to cast his line. Tried being the key word: the tiny hook at the end of the lure mysteriously caught Albus' beard, pulling uncomfortably on the hair instead of sailing over the water.
It took a few minutes to untangle the beard but eventually Albus was ready to try again. This time, he decided to use live bait so he summoned a can of worms from his supplies. Unfortunately, he managed – accidentally of course – to dump the worms all over Abe's lap.
Camera in hand, Harry sat back in his chair and spent the morning watching the two men bicker and whine and continually sabotage each other. Needless to say, the fish were perfectly safe.
Over a dinner of cold beans and fried meat, Abe told Harry all about the ones he'd almost caught. He swore there were grindylow in the water helping the fish escape.
Every day Abe pushed himself to enjoy every moment, and his worn-out body was paying the price. After the third catch-less day of their trip, Abe actually fell asleep in the middle of dinner, slumping sideways and almost falling out of his chair. Albus was quick to catch him and moved him to the sofa, where he tenderly tucked a blanket around his brother. That simple act brought home for Harry just how hard this was on his guardian.
Walking up behind Albus, he cleared his throat to make his presence known. Albus silently turned to face him, unwittingly showing Harry the teardrops tracking down his face. Without even thinking, Harry put his arms around Albus and hugged him, surprised to feel the man's body shaking when he hugged back.
"It's going to be alright," Harry said, even though he didn't believe the words himself. "He won't really be gone … not as long as we keep him in our hearts." If he'd stopped to think, Harry would have realized he was repeating back to Albus things the man had said to him, but he wasn't thinking so much as simply saying what he felt. "And we'll still have each other. You won't be alone, Dad."
The second it left his mouth, Harry stiffened in mortification. But Albus made no comment on Harry's unusual word, although his did hug him tighter.
After that emotional outpouring – or 'goo', as Harry categorized it – Harry was afraid Easter would be a somber day. Entering the great room that morning, he was relieved to find that Albus had recovered from his bout of human-ness. He was sitting at the table cheerfully painting eggs which he claimed would be hidden for Harry to find, insisting his own mother did they same when he was growing up. Beside him, Abe was grumbling about preferring chocolate as he collected the finished products.
Harry didn't have the heart to say no to the hunt, much to Abe's amusement, although he absolutely refused to let Albus give him fluffy bunny ears, no matter how traditional he claimed it was. At the appointed time Harry was pushed into the yard, wicker basket in hand, to hunt down the enemy eggs. After a few minutes of wandering around, he found the purple one with yellow stripes in a broken clay pot; the lime green one decorated with pink squiggles was next to an old boot; and he had to convince a garden snake to let him have the blue speckled one, which the snake wanted to eat.
Never would he admit it was fun – not ever would anyone know how much he'd always wanted find the eggs instead of boil them. If there was a smile on his face as he spotted the egg nestled on a knotted log, no one would be the wiser. Or so he told himself, until he caught a flash of light and turned to find Abe taking photographic evidence.
The rest of the day was equally enjoyable. After a simple supper, as the three relaxed near the fire and sipped glasses of lemon wine, Abe reached into a nearby basket and pulled out an assortment of wrapped gifts. Albus was presented with a lumpy package which contained a black woolen sea captain's hat and well-used corncob pipe.
"That's so you can always be the Skipper. Plus, I figure you're crazy enough to wear the thing in public and think it looks good. I should also tell you that there's an unopened bottle of Russian Vodka hidden in my room under all those transfiguration magazines you gave me. You might as well have it."
With a nod of thanks, Albus put on the hat and stuck the pipe in his mouth. He managed to speak around the pipe, looking at Harry and asking, "What say you, my boy?"
"I don't think sea captains are that formal, and you need to add an 'arrrr'," Harry explained.
Albus replied by removing his pipe and pouting.
"Now you, lad," Abe said, pointing to the two packages he'd put in Harry's lap.
Harry picked up a thick, rectangular-shaped box which was wrapped in old newspaper. Inside he found an old-fashioned German beer stein like the kind Vernon kept on shelves in his study. But this was no Muggle mug; it wasn't decorated with dancing people or snowy mountains, it was covered with fighting dragons. A horntail and a Chinese fireball, to be exact, and they were facing off over a treasure chest which was overflowing with coins and trinkets. Being a magical stein, the dragons flapped their wings, snapped their tails, and blew their fire, and the treasure glistened in such a realistic manner that Harry wondered if it was painted using real gold and silver.
"It's so you can drink to my memory from time to time," Abe offered as Harry continued to twist the stein around. "I had to barter with some of the best of the 'em, so I hope you appreciate it. Was going to give it to you for your birthday, but…"
Offering his thanks, Harry set the mug aside to pick up the smaller package. Ripping the paper apart, a stuffed goat fell into his lap.
Chuckling, Abe pointed to the goat. "Now that there is Wulfric."
"Wulfric the goat?" Harry questioned, glancing toward Albus to see his reaction. Albus appeared not to have heard, as he was suddenly very interested in his new pipe, which he was studying with a fierceness normally reserved for suspected dark objects.
"Wulfric Percival, to be precise. It's not really for you, though. It's for my first grand-nephew when he's born. But you have to promise not to name the little sprog after me. He'll have enough expectations heaped on him just for being your kid. Why add my legacy on top of it?"
"Ginny says she wants to name our first son Bilius," Harry chuckled, "but I think that's just to annoy Ron because he hates his middle name. But I promise, there won't be any Aberforth Bilius Something Something Potter."
"There's a good lad. Keep it to three names or less," Abe cracked back.
"You're one to talk," Albus replied, giving up pretending to examine his pipe, which in his defense was a rather small and plain pipe. One could only examine it for so long. "Have you ever mentioned your full name to Harry? No?" Ignoring the dark look from Abe, Albus turned to Harry. "Allow me to enlighten you. This is my brother, Aberforth Janus Ingvar Roy Dumbledore." Eyes twinkle, he added, "Apparently, Mother had trouble narrowing down names."
"I don't have to stay here and take the abuse, you know," Abe huffed indignantly. He struggled as he tried to stand and would have fallen over if not for Harry's quick reflexes. He slumped back in his seat, his energy completely gone.
"I'm tired."
Instinctively, Harry knew he wasn't talking about needing a good night's rest.
Turning to gaze out a window, Abe softly spoke. "Have I ever told you I love a good sunrise? It's my favorite time of day, though with the pub I rarely got to see one. I think I should like to enjoy one last sun rise."
Harry and Albus shared a look; they both knew what Abe was saying.
"One last sunrise," Albus finally said, "sounds like a wonderful idea. We should all be so lucky."
Harry closed his eyes, wishing this wasn't happening.
After several minutes, during which Abe continued to stare out the window, Albus picked up his pipe and fiddled with it again, and Harry bit his lip and took deep breaths as he tried not to think, Abe finally spoke again. "Right then … why don't one of you make yourself useful and help me to me bed? If I'm getting up early, I'd best get some sleep."
Albus silently helped his brother, leaving Harry to his own thoughts. When he hadn't returned after twenty minutes, Harry gave up and headed for his own bed, not that he expected to sleep much.
Early the next morning, well before the sun would rise, Harry stood next to Albus, helping prepare a rather simple potion. The Basilisk venom and Acromantula silk had already been mixed in a water base and now Harry stirred as Albus dropped in Fawkes' tears. The surface frizzled and frothed but Harry continued his steady motions until it was calm again.
"You may stop now," Albus told him as he looked into the cauldron. The liquid inside was an oily orange with floating bits of curdled gunk on its surface.
Poking one of the floaters with his spoon, Harry asked, "Shouldn't we stir it longer to get those to mix in?"
"No, I do not believe they will have any impact. Such solidification often occurs when dealing with a natural poison. I believe all that is needed is the final ingredient, which I will add just before it is time."
It occurred to Harry that he didn't know what the sawol was now housed inside, as Albus had only said it had been safely extracted from the locket. He searched the tabletop but didn't see anything suspect; but then, what did a disconnected piece of soul look like?
"D-er … ahem … Dad, were's the sawol?"
In reply, Albus pointed to a canning jar that appeared to contain a single piece of rusty looking ice. Harry almost stupidly asked why it wasn't melting, but closed his mouth just in time. Based on the smirk on his guardian's face, he knew Harry's thoughts.
Instead he asked, "Is that really an ice cube?"
"It is our replacement Horcrux," Albus explained. "We knew the sawol needed to be placed inside something that was safe to add to our potion. And rather ingeniously, I chose water; or, more accurately, frozen water."
Harry held the jar up to a candle as he inspected the ice cube. "So that black stuff in the ice isn't rust?"
Taking the jar away from Harry, Albus explained, "That, I would imagine, is the physical representation of Voldemort's tainted and fractured soul. You will remember the black smoke released from the other Horcruxes; this is likely the same thing. When I add this cube to the potion the water will melt, allowing the sawol to mix with the potion. The melted water will have no effect on the potion by itself, but if we have done our research correctly, we will see a change in the color and consistency of the potion due to the addition of Tom's essence."
Somewhere in the house a bell chimed, letting them know that sunrise was close at hand. Together, they woke Abe and helped him move to a comfortable chair. They'd offered to help him dress, but he claimed he was plenty comfortable in his pajamas and the bunny slippers he'd stolen from his brother.
The trio made their way back to the fishing deck, where floating torches illuminated the area. Abe, in his floating chair, was positioned facing the horizon so he would catch the first rays of sunlight. Albus was helping his brother settle in by tucking a blanket across his lap. Hearing their hushed voices, Harry stepped back to check the potion and give them some privacy.
When Albus stood and stepped behind his brother's chair Harry stopped his busy work and joined the two brothers. Albus vanished the torches so they could wait in dark silence for the sun to rise.
Harry felt like he was experiencing a waking dream. He couldn't hear any of nature's noises that he knew surrounded them. His senses were narrowed down to two: touch, where his left hand was loosely resting on Abe's right shoulder, and sight. He knew Albus stood next to him, and he wondered if he was caught in the same strange spell.
From far away, where the earth appeared to meet the sky, came the first hint of daylight. The sky filled with streaks of red, pink, and orange as a giant ball peaked above the water. There was no concept of time; the sunrise might have taken five minutes, or twenty, or one hundred. But eventually, the sky was bright enough that Harry had to admit it was over.
With a pat to Harry's arm, Albus moved away to add the final ingredient to the potion. Harry's mouth went dry.
"Come where I can see you, Harry," Abe quietly spoke, and Harry sluggishly moved so he was squatting in front of his uncle, looking him in the eye.
"I … am very fond of you, son," Abe began. A shaking hand reached out and grabbed one of Harry's. "But I don't want to see you for a long, long time. Truth be told, I'm hoping Albus takes his time, too," he added with a stressed sounding chuckle. "I was the second son, so I never had our parents all to myself before. I'm rather looking forward to that … and catching up with Ariana … and my lovely Lenore."
Harry had the feeling Abe wasn't actually seeing him anymore, which was just as well since he'd been unable to stop the tears from running down his face.
Finally, Abe seemed to refocus on Harry. "I expect I'll keep plenty busy for quite some time. So you just take your time getting there and we'll catch up once you do. Now … one last request for a dying old man?"
Harry knew by the playful look that overtook Abe's face – which he found both comforting and unsettling – that he would regret doing so, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything but agree.
"When you get back to the school, you give that little woman of yours a pinch on her bum from me. It's a rather lovely bum, see, and if you hadn't already claimed it …" he suggested with a wink.
The laughter that came bubbling out surprised Abe nearly as much as it surprised Harry, and he assured the man he'd give her a pinch she wouldn't forget.
Albus finished his work and approached the laughing pair, clearing his throat to get their attention. In his hand was an unadorned ceramic chalice, which he lowered for Abe to take. From his vantage point, Harry was able to see the deadly potion inside. Its color had changed to blood red – not the bright red of fresh blood, but the darker, thicker shade of a puddle of hours-old, half-congealed blood. Harry could just imagine the smell of decay wafting up from the cup but Abe took it without complaint. He gave the goblet a swirl, crinkling his nose as he did so. Then, with a strange look of … contentment was the only word Harry could think of to describe it … Abe raised the cup.
"Here's to your health, boys," he cheerfully said. Then he brought the chalice to his lips and drank.
** end chapter **
Notes: For those who worried about Hermione – I know I didn't do her justice in this chapter. Unfortunately, the main topic didn't allow me to show much of her. Please be assured that while Harry has been distracted with his own issues, Ginny has stepped up and been helping Hermione.
This has been a very hard chapter to get ready to post. We've had a couple of family funerals, my Dad-in-law's cancer is back and it's not good, and as if that's not enough, we recently found out our older dog is severely diabetic and mostly blind. So … yeah.