Chapter 4: Oasis
The sea was beautiful.
Harry's eyes were drawn to it the moment the Portkey landed, sparkling water beckoning him forward, enchanting him with the rhythmic whispers of the waves upon the shore.
He stepped toward the azure expanse of ocean, forgetting his bags, forgetting the gaggle of people standing behind him.
It was so beautiful.
"Harry."
Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing him toward the beautiful house waiting for them.
"Let's get settled. After that, you can ogle the ocean as much as you want."
Harry let himself be drawn toward the house, taking in the splendor of the building. It was lovely, bright and airy. It was a house made of wind and light, expansive and ethereal.
"It's so beautiful here," Harry breathed, not quite believing this was real.
"It's like another world."
It was everything beautiful about the earth: wind and sky, sea and shore, sun and air.
"I know," Sirius said, a soft smile splitting his face.
"My mother hated this property. It was everything she despised. I loved it all the more because of that. Remus and I stayed here for a bit just after Hogwarts."
Sirius' eyes grew misty, memories dancing across his gray irises, happiness melting into the lines of his face.
Sirius led them all inside, assigning bedrooms with practiced ease, clearly knowing which room would suit which person.
Harry ended up on the highest floor, closest to the sky. There were only two bedrooms on this level. The other was for George.
Sirius was highly pleased with himself for thinking of the arrangement, winking ruthlessly as he showed them to their respective rooms. Harry knew that Sirius had planned it this way not out of mischief but out of the knowledge that Harry needed George close, needed him near.
It had been five days since his disastrous Occlumency lesson, five difficult days. Harry had experienced two more paralyzing flashbacks in that time. The first came out of nowhere, brought on by nothing at all, senseless and terrible.
The second had happened only yesterday.
Mrs. Weasley had baked a cake for his sixteenth birthday, crafting it in the shape of a Snitch. Harry had been delighted with it, grinning madly at the golden icing. Everything had gone wrong so quickly. She'd lit a candle, smoke rising gently into the air.
Harry had forgotten how to breathe.
George had intervened before it could get too bad, dragging him from the room, holding him until the memories passed.
When they'd returned to the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley had looked at the two of them with a glint of something in her eyes, a sparkle of understanding. Even so, Harry was surprised when Sirius whispered that Mrs. Weasley had approved their sleeping arrangements.
"She sees how the two of you help each other," Sirius said, smiling at him.
"We all do. These are dark times, Harry. No one wants to stamp out the lightest parts. Time spent with those you love is the most precious light we have."
Harry watched his godfather as he walked down the stairs, turning his words over and over. He imagined that Sirius and Remus must have been that light for each other during the First War. They must have been the glue holding the world together, keeping each other whole.
That light had kept burning even in the darkness of Azkaban, even in the madness of a full moon, even in the cold sting of betrayal.
Harry had that same light, flickering in his chest, shining in his eyes. He'd found a person so wonderful, so profoundly perfect that all the words and all the poets in the world couldn't express it. He'd found his person, the whole half of his broken soul.
Even at 16, he knew it.
He'd never believed in true love as a child, never believed that you could just know that you were meant to spend your life with someone else.
Nearly dying had changed that, running out of time had changed that, war had changed that.
George had changed that.
There was a reason his mother and father had married so young. It wasn't societal pressure, it wasn't necessity. It was love. The kind of love that's hastened and strengthened in the forges of battle, maturing beyond its years as the specter of death tries to snatch it away.
What he felt for George wasn't the confused blushes of a teenage crush. It had the same innocence but was fathoms deeper, an ocean rather than a drop. The emotional connection they had was beyond romance, beyond anything. It was understanding. It was finding meaning in silence, telling secrets with glances, knowing the heart of the other person so completely that you could etch their essence into your soul and have it match.
The room Sirius had chosen for him was bright and open, light streaming through tall windows. It felt like a portal to the clouds, a passageway to the sky. It was far from cramped cupboards and burning houses, far from panic and breathless terror.
It seemed like the kind of place for healing, for resting, for living. Harry hoped it could be that for him.
He set his rucksack on the deep blue bedspread, grateful that magic allowed him to carry 2 weeks worth of clothing in a single bag. He should probably unpack, but the ocean was calling to him, pulling him back out of the room.
George was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, wearing the most ridiculous pair of swim trunks Harry had ever seen. They were a terrible shade of neon yellow, patterned with tiny turtles wearing pink sunglasses.
Harry stared at them, eyes bugging out of his head.
"Like them?" George asked, smirking.
"Sure…"
George laughed, grabbing his hand.
"They grow on you. Besides, they're not nearly as bad as Fred's."
Somehow, Fred's swim trunks were worse. They were so orange that they left an imprint even when you looked away, burning into the back of your eyelids. They were adorned with tiny flamingos, each of which was playing a different musical instrument. Harry was suddenly very glad that Sirius had bought his in a simple green.
With the sunlight streaming down on his bare chest, Harry was suddenly very aware of how thin and fragile he looked next to George. The other boy was all strength and freckles, managing to look good even while wearing the ugliest clothing known to man.
Harry wasn't particularly fond of his current physical appearance. He'd already been a bit too thin at the end of Fifth Year, struggling to eat enough while on a Potion that was literal poison. The month of near-starvation at the Dursleys hadn't helped any. He was eating as much as he could, fueled by the insatiable hunger that accompanied growth spurts, but it wasn't helping much. All his nutrition seemed to be going toward making him grow up rather than was annoying. He looked like a gangly teenager recovering from a bad stomach flu. Not at all like a hero. Not at all like someone who was meant to defeat an evil Dark Wizard. Most days, he couldn't understand what George saw in him.
Harry's only consolation was that their height difference was shrinking. He was still growing rapidly, having gained nearly two inches since the beginning of summer. According to Sirius, his Dad had grown the same way, shooting up nearly five inches between the end of his Fifth Year and Christmas of his Sixth.
Even if Harry managed to grow that much, he wouldn't quite make it to George's height. All of the Weasley boys were tall. Even the short ones were tall. Fred and George had nothing on Ron, who was still growing at a breakneck pace, but they had still been the tallest in their year at Hogwarts.
Harry found it hard to take his eyes off George, wanting to count the freckles on his back, wanting to…
"Those freckles are everywhere, you know," Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry in a manner not at all suited to polite company.
Harry felt his face heat, embarrassed beyond belief.
"I wasn't.. that's not…"
Fred ruffled his hair, smirking.
"You're a bit of a prude, Potter. I pity my poor brother."
"Don't," George cut in, glaring at his brother, looking completely unamused.
"I'm just joking.."
"Well, it wasn't funny."
George grabbed Harry's hand, dragging him toward the ocean. The sand was wonderfully cool under their feet, waves lapping at their ankles. George pulled him out into the sea, stopping when the water was about at Harry's shoulders.
He still seemed troubled, brow furrowed in anger.
"George…"
"I don't care about that."
"What?" Harry asked.
"What Fred said. I don't care."
They'd never spoken about this, never even broached the subject of where relationships like these inevitably went.
"I'm serious, Harry. I could spend the rest of my life just talking to you and that would be enough. I don't want you to worry about anything or feel pressure…"
"Hey," Harry said, recognizing a spiral when he saw one.
"Fred's an idiot. I'm not bothered about it."
He wasn't. Not really. He knew that George would never push him into anything he wasn't ready for. And Harry certainly wasn't ready for much of anything. It wasn't that he wasn't interested, it was more a kind of wariness. Perhaps fear. Whatever the reason, he just wasn't there yet.
"Good…" George breathed, smiling again.
"It's just...I worry sometimes. Because I'm older and all that."
"Don't," Harry reassured him.
"I trust you."
George smiled at him, looking relieved.
"Good."
...
The rest of the day passed in a whirl of sand and sunlight, water and breeze.
As evening fell, Sirius and Harry set off down the shore, walking together through the sand, leaving a trail of footprints in their wake. They were silent as they watched the glowing embers of sunset flicker on the surface of the sea, rippling down to the horizon.
"Sirius?" Harry asked, wanting to ask a question he'd been wondering about for months.
"When did you know that you were in love with Remus?"
Sirius frowned, clearly deep in thought.
"I think I was 16. It was after the Whomping Willow, not long after the night when I almost…"
Sirius trailed off, letting the truth of his near-suicide drift up to the moon, letting it flow out with the tide.
"Anyway, there was one night when I was having a really bad time. I kept thinking about things I didn't want to think about. It just wouldn't stop."
Harry knew that feeling, knew it better than most.
"He sat with me all night, just talking to me. It was…"
Sirius trailed off, eyes regaining that misty sheen.
"I knew that I loved him before that night, but I hadn't understood that he was the only one. The only person for me. Most people don't find that person, but I did. I think you have too."
Harry nodded, knowing Sirius was right.
"He's the best person in the world," Harry breathed.
"And I'm so afraid that I'll lose him."
Sirius stopped, staring out at the sea.
"You might," he said, voice edged with steel.
"I wish I could promise that you won't, but…"
Sirius trailed off, watching the sun as it completed its journey, meeting the sea and receding into night.
"After that Halloween night, I thought I'd lost everything. It was...it was hell. Those 12 years were like reliving the worst of myself over and over again, looking into a mirror and seeing only the darkest parts of myself. Do you know what got me through it?"
Harry shook his head, stunned. Sirius never talked about Azkaban.
"It was a few things. First, it was you. I knew you were alive. I knew that I needed to protect you from Peter. Then, it was Remus. I wanted to see him so badly it felt like…"
Sirius paused, voice breaking slightly.
"It felt like my soul was already gone."
Harry watched Sirius closely, wondering where he was going with this.
"But I thought...I thought that there'd already been enough tragedy. That my death wouldn't...it wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't make the world right. All it would do is make things darker. I didn't want that. And I knew that Lily and James would never want that."
Sirius brushed a tear away from his face, turning to look at Harry with a conviction he'd never seen before.
"If George dies, if I die, if Remus dies…"
Harry felt his heart speed up at the very thought, doubting he would survive that.
"We'd all want you to keep living. We'd want you to be happy. Isn't that what you'd want if you died?"
Harry nodded reluctantly.
"It's the greatest honor you can pay to someone to keep living for them, to make the most of the time they didn't have. It's what I would do for you or for Remus. I'd do it even though it'd break my heart."
Harry breathed deeply, overcome by the enormity of what they were discussing, overwhelmed by how fragile this all was, struck by how quickly his world could shatter around him.
Sirius seemed to sense that Harry was upset, wrapping an arm around him.
"Enough of the heavy stuff. You don't need to worry about any of this right now. We're all alive, and we're all together. And just look at how beautiful this place is…"
Harry did look, gazing at the expanse of stars and sea before him, marveling at how they reflected back to each other, endless beauty forming a dome around them.
"Come on, kid," Sirius said, leading him back toward the house.
"I think Molly is making some sort of delicious sugary thing. You could definitely use some of that. Especially if you're going to keep shooting up like a weed."
Harry laughed, feeling the heaviness of the moment fade, swallowed by the sea, engulfed by the stars.
…
Harry couldn't sleep.
It was becoming something of a pattern for him, nights spent tossing and turning, begging for his thoughts to stop swirling.
Even in this new place, even in paradise, he was afraid to close his eyes.
Today had been wonderful. It was probably the best day he'd had in years, but there was still the nagging worry that it would all be taken away. He couldn't shake the fear that this time next year he would be dead. Or George. Or Sirius. Or Remus. Or Ron. Or Hermione...
A soft knock on the door startled him from his morbid thoughts, pulling his attention back to the present.
"Harry?"
George was standing on the threshold, looking forlorn and exhausted.
"Can I come in?"
Harry nodded, making room for George on the bed next to him. The other boy settled down beside him, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"What's wrong?" Harry whispered, worried by the emptiness in George's voice.
"Nothing. I just couldn't sleep."
Harry knew he was lying.
"I can't sleep either," he whispered, deciding not to push George.
They fell silent, listening to the waves crashing outside the open windows.
"I'm afraid," George said suddenly, voice softer than a whisper.
"This is all happening so fast. I'm glad I joined the Order, but it all feels so real now. I'm not ready to fight in a war, Harry. I'm not..."
"Hey," Harry said, reaching down to take George's hand.
"It's alright."
But it wasn't. Not really.
They were all being forced to grow up so fast, much too fast. They were living their lives under a black cloud of danger, unable to run fast enough to evade it completely. Harry himself was a magnet for violence and tragedy, cursed to be hunted until he either lost or achieved an impossible victory.
"I'm not ready either," he breathed.
"But you've done so much! You've fought Death Eaters and Voldemort! You're…"
Harry shook his head, wanting George to understand the truth of those encounters.
"I wasn't ready for any of that, and, to be perfectly honest, it's messed me up pretty badly."
George turned to look at him, searching for understanding.
"How did you get through it? How were you able to fight him?
Harry sighed, drawing in a deep breath of fresh, salt air.
"I don't know. I was so scared that I just...I was just trying to survive. It wasn't glamorous or brave or heroic. It was just scary…"
Harry found that he very much didn't want to talk about this. He didn't want to think of the Ministry or of Privet Drive or…
"It's okay," George whispered, voice gentle.
"You don't have to talk about it anymore."
Harry forced himself to calm down, focusing on the moonlight glinting off George's face, listening to the endless rush of water.
"I wish it could always be like this," he said, offering the wish up to stars, pleading for fate to listen.
"I know," George whispered, wrapping his arm around Harry and pulling him closer.
"I do too."
Harry closed his eyes, comforted by the physical contact. He was still generally wary of initiating touch, too used to violence instead of affection, but he always accepted it gratefully when it was offered. Years of being denied hugs or simple touches had made him desperate for moments like these. He found nothing more peaceful than the feeling of someone else close to him, keeping him safe.
George understood this part of Harry, the part that wanted simple companionship, simple touch. Better yet, he honored it, giving Harry what he wasn't able to ask for, knowing that it was what he needed. It was one of many things that Harry loved about George.
"Thank you," he whispered, voice already fading into sleep.
With the moonlight gilding their faces and the sea singing in the background, Harry and George both lost themselves to dreams, drifting away into an ocean of oblivion.
...
"Hey, Harry! Have you seen George? He's not in his….ohhh..."
Harry and George both jerked at the voice, returning violently to wakefulness.
"I'll just go," Ron said, ears going scarlet as he backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Harry groaned, burying his face into his pillow.
"Oh no."
"Did you see his face?" George cackled, laughter ringing in his voice.
"Yes," Harry muttered, voice muffled by his attempt to drown himself in his pillow.
"He'd better not tell your Mum. I think I'll die of embarrassment."
Harry was pretty sure he was already dying of embarrassment, but Mrs. Weasley finding out would be the final blow to his pride.
"Stop freaking out!" George urged.
"Even if she does find out, Mum won't care. She's raised 6 boys. Nothing fazes her anymore. Besides, we literally just talked and then fell asleep. Nothing scandalous happened. Not even by your standards."
"We sure look scandalous."
It was true. They'd moved closer to each other during the night, snuggling together in a way that did not look at all platonic.
"Hmmm. I'm not complaining."
Harry sat up, glaring at George.
"Out," he said, feigning anger.
"I'll not have your crude forwardness here!"
"But your majesty," George said, leaping out of bed and giving a deep bow.
"I am but your loyal servant!"
Harry couldn't contain his laughter at the ridiculous look on George's face.
"Well, I'm ordering you to get out."
George pouted, trudging toward the door.
"As you wish, my liege. I can see when I'm not wanted."
George made a production of opening the door, wiping away fake tears as he headed back to his own room.
Harry watched him go, feeling as if someone had just lit a small fire in his chest. Merlin, George was perfect.
He shook his head, realizing that he'd been staring after George like a love-struck idiot.
"Pull it together, Potter," he muttered to himself, making his way over to his wardrobe.
"You're being ridiculous."
"You're blushing, Dear," the mirror informed him sweetly.
Harry threw his comb at it, deciding it was better suited to shutting up impertinent mirrors than to taming his unruly hair.
Mrs. Weasley said nothing at breakfast, clearly unaware of the fact that Harry and George had spent the night together. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to have been spared what likely would have been a very awkward conversation. Mrs. Weasley may have been oblivious, but Ron certainly was not. He spent the entire meal staring intently at Harry, watching him.
After the dishes were cleared away, Ron dragged Harry out onto the beach, pulling him down the shore. They walked for about a minute, settling themselves on a strip of sand just barely in sight of the house.
"Ron, if this is about this morning…"
"What? No. It's not about that. I just...are you okay?" Ron asked, expression deadly serious.
"What?" Harry said, genuinely confused.
"I figured you had a bad nightmare or something. Because George was with you…"
Harry shook his head.
"I didn't. Not last night."
Ron looked at him skeptically, eyes boring into him.
"Really?"
"Ron, I'm fine."
His friend did not look convinced, eyes darkening with something resembling anger.
"I know that's a lie. You've been, well, kinda out of it since what happened to the Durs...to your relatives, and I just...I'm WORRIED!"
Ron was almost shouting by the end of his sentence, clearly flustered.
"I've been so scared, mate. All last year you were in so much pain, and I didn't know how to help. And now...everything's so much worse, and I just...I'm feeling a bit…"
"Overprotective?" Harry tried, hoping to lighten the mood, hating how upset Ron looked.
Ron grinned tentatively at him.
"Yeah. I guess."
Harry smiled at Ron, overwhelmed with gratitude for his friendship.
"I'm doing better, Ron. I promise."
Ron searched his face for a moment, looking for any signs that he was lying.
"Alright."
Harry looked away from his friend, turning his eyes back to the clear blue water of the sea, watching the white foam of the waves crashing against the sand.
"I'm really glad you and George are together."
Harry turned to look at him, a bit surprised.
"Really?"
Ron nodded, smiling.
"Yeah. You two are really good for each other."
Harry grinned back at him, grateful for his approval.
"But if he hurts you, I'm going to punch him."
"Ron…"
"I'm serious."
He looked serious, jaw set and expression stern.
"Fine. But please don't go around punching George for no reason. I like his face the way it is, thank you very much."
Ron laughed.
"I won't. Unless he hurts you. Then I'll have to hit him. It's a brother's duty."
Harry furrowed his brow, completely confused.
"It's your duty as a brother to punch...your OWN brother?"
Ron shook his head.
"You're my brother too, Harry. You have been for years."
Harry felt a bit choked up at those words. What had he done to deserve a friend like Ron Weasley?
"Although," Ron said, frowning slightly.
"If you're my brother, then you're George's brother too...that's a bit awkward."
"Just stop talking," Harry said.
"Probably for the best," Ron agreed, ending that disastrous train of thought.
"Have you heard from Hermione lately?" Harry asked, trying to gracefully change the subject.
"Yeah," Ron said, grinning.
"She's been doing schoolwork mostly. Of course."
"How?" Harry asked incredulously.
"We haven't been assigned any work…"
"I dunno, mate. She finds a way. She probably made up her own homework just to do it."
"Probably."
"Hey!"
A voice broke through their conversation, ringing toward them from the house. It was Ginny, hands on her hips, hair blazing in the sunlight.
"Come swimming with me!"
Ron stood, offering Harry a hand and pulling him to his feet.
"It's best to do what she says. She's even scarier than Mum sometimes."
The water felt amazing, cool and refreshing. Ginny challenged them to a race, and the trio set off toward the edge of the Fidelius Charm, speeding through the crystal waves.
The rest of the household was on the beach, discussing Order business under the bright morning sun. It was a strange juxtaposition: war and paradise, fear and freedom.
It felt strange to be racing through open waters while the rest of the world fell into war. It felt somehow selfish. It felt somehow wrong.
Harry brushed away the guilt, shoving it into the darkest recesses of his mind. This was a reprieve, an oasis in the desert of a war he would soon be forced to fight. He was allowed to enjoy this.
He increased his speed, trying to catch up to the others. Harry was losing the race. Badly. Swimming was much harder without the assistance of Gillyweed.
He reached the edge of the Charm, feeling the brush of magic against his skin. They had set the finish line at the beach, making this the midpoint of the race. Harry was already exhausted, wishing he was back on shore. Swimming was quite difficult, especially when you weren't very good at it.
Harry had almost caught up to Ginny, he could see her red hair in the water, he was almost…
"The Order has almost complete control of the Ministry, my Lord."
The voice echoed in his head, loud and jarring. He stopped swimming, clapping a hand to his forehead as his scar began to burn, sharp pain spreading across his head.
"They have Wards which protect against your Mark. They've placed them in all major Wizarding locations including Diagon Alley and Hogwarts. They're screening all Ministry employees for signs of the Imperius…"
His vision began to fracture, ocean fading into the blackness of a dark room.
He had to get to shore…
"We shall have to be more careful," he spoke, cold voice echoing off the ceiling and reverberating through the floor.
"I will hold off on giving the Mark to our youngest followers. It will make them more difficult to contain."
Dumbledore's band of fools was causing more problems than he'd expected. They'd suspended almost all Apparition across the country, making it near impossible for raids to occur. Even the families of Muggle-borns had been hidden, somehow removed from his reach.
It was infuriating.
He wanted to spill as much blood as possible, purge the dirt that sought to destroy the purity of Magic. Dumbledore was standing in his way. He needed to die, but first…
"I want Harry Potter caught as soon as possible. The failure last week was inexcusable."
"Yes, my Lord."
Lucius Malfoy was such a coward, cowering before him like a little girl. How he'd like to wring that ridiculous neck...
Harry gasped, water filling his lungs as he sank beneath the surface, completely disconnected from his own body.
"We will need to take Azkaban. I believe the Dementors can be...persuaded."
He could offer them an entire population of souls. The souls of Muggles. The souls of scum. Maybe he could even watch them feed...
Distantly, Harry felt someone grabbing his arm, dragging him back above the water.
He could feel the air on his face, but he couldn't bring himself to draw in a breath. He couldn't do anything.
"When will you take the prison, my Lord?"
Lucius' voice trembled, revealing his fear. It was pleasing to know that these men still feared him. They were right to fear him. He'd had to demonstrate the price of failure just yesterday, killing the idiot who'd thought…
He paused.
Something was off...
Potter….
He was here. He could feel his pathetic consciousness straining at the edges of his mind, trying to pull away.
How interesting.
Perhaps a bit of fun…
Fingers of fire dug into Harry's brain, pure agony radiating through his body. He would have screamed, but he'd gone limp, completely helpless.
He could hear shouting, feel sand under his body, but it meant nothing. It meant nothing compared to the pain.
You shouldn't invade other people's heads, Harry. It's quite rude.
Voldemort's voice echoed in his mind. It was deafening, sending jolts of fire across his skull and down his spine.
I think such bad behavior warrants punishment. Don't you agree?
Before Harry could make any attempt to stop him, Voldemort projected a memory into Harry's mind, sending an image into his head.
Bellatrix Lestrange was holding a knife, kneeling before a bound man. She pressed the blade to his skin, whispering sugary words as she butchered him beyond recognition, blood oozing and spurting from his wounds.
He couldn't look away.
Screams were echoing across the room, pleas for mercy landing at his feet.
Harry was forced to watch, unable to separate himself from Voldemort's memory, unable to close his eyes.
Make it stop.
He was forced to watch as Bellatrix cut and sawed, slicing deep into the man's body.
Please. Make it stop.
He was forced to watch as a human being was utterly brutalized, forced to watch as Bellatrix looked at the blood on her fingers and smiled...
The memory faded.
He could feel the sand under his body, feel the shaking of his limbs, feel the tears of horror that had flowed down his face. He was vaguely aware of Sirius sitting beside him, whispering to him.
He sat up, pressing his hands against his eyes, trying to resist the nausea. He wasn't going to let Voldemort get to him. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
"Harry, I need you to look at me."
Sirius' voice was calm and measured, soothing.
"Come on, kid. You're scaring me a bit."
He lowered his hands, opening his eyes to meet Sirius'. He never wanted to worry his godfather.
"Let's go inside, okay?"
Harry nodded, letting Sirius pull him to his feet. No one else was on the beach. They'd clearly left to give him space. Harry appreciated it. He didn't want to see anyone right now.
Once inside, Harry raced to find a piece of parchment and a quill, needing to write down what he'd seen. The Order needed to know about Voldemort's plans. Sirius waited patiently while Harry scrawled a summary of the encounter in jagged handwriting. He wrote down everything he remembered, pausing only at the end. He wouldn't write down what he'd been forced to witness. No one else needed to know about that.
Sirius took the parchment from his trembling fingers, scanning it quickly.
"I'll send this to Headquarters. I'll be right back."
Harry watched him leave the room, sinking into a chair.
"Harry?"
He looked up, startled to see Bill standing in the doorway.
"Can I talk to you for a moment?"
Harry nodded, gesturing for Bill to take the chair across from him. Bill sat, staring hard at Harry.
"I wanted to ask you a question. It's about what happened out there."
Bill took a deep breath, frowning.
"When You-Know-Who invades your mind, is he in your mind with you, or is he separate?"
Harry thought for a moment, reflecting on the times when he'd been possessed.
"He's...separate. I'm in one part of my mind, and he's in a different, separate part."
Bill nodded, looking as if he'd suspected that.
"I thought it must be that way. I don't think he can see your memories at all. Otherwise, he'd know about the...Horcruxes."
Bill whispered the last word, glancing warily at the dining room.
"The connection between you is a one-way connection. He can send things to you, but he can't take anything from you."
It made sense. Otherwise, Voldemort would know that Harry knew about Horcruxes. He would know everything about him.
"But…" Harry started, suddenly very confused.
"If that's true, then why am I learning Occlumency?"
Bill leaned toward him, eyes bright with curiosity.
"I have no idea. It doesn't make sense. It's a good skill to know, but it won't stop these visions. You're being pulled into his mind. It's involuntary. He's not using Legilimency on you. This is like nothing I've ever seen before. I did some work with human and animal possession in Egypt, but I've never encountered a connection quite like this."
"So...what do I do? How can I stop these visions?"
Bill sighed, looking sympathetic.
"I don't know. You should learn Occlumency, of course. It can't hurt. Besides, if you ever meet Voldemort face to face, he could very well use Legilimency on you. As for blocking the connection, I'm going to do some research. I'll have access to you at Hogwarts, so…"
"You will?"
Bill grinned.
"Yes. You're looking at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher! I'm actually not much of a fighter. Dumbledore wanted someone in the Order after everything that happened in the last two years, and I was the best choice. I'll start looking into these kinds of connections. Do you know anything about it?"
"Dumbledore says it's a magical connection," Harry said, hoping that would help Bill.
"Purely magical?"
Harry nodded.
"That doesn't make sense…" Bill trailed off, looking concerned.
Before he could say anything else, Sirius returned, face covered in soot.
"I hate the floo in this house. It always tries to eat my head!"
Harry couldn't hold back a snort at the state of Sirius' face and hair. He looked ridiculous.
"Don't laugh at me!" Sirius exclaimed, glaring at Harry.
"It's very rude."
Harry just laughed harder, feeling the aftermath of Voldemort's memory begin to fade.
He felt better as the day went on, spending the afternoon engaging in mock duels with Remus and Sirius. Both men were excellent duelers, pushing Harry hard. He'd been working with Mad-Eye over the past week, and he was glad to keep up his training. He didn't want to lose the skills he'd been developing.
After a few hours, the duels devolved into prank wars, leaving them all looking ridiculous. Harry ended up with bright blue hair, Sirius with orange eyebrows, and Remus with a beard to rival Dumbledore's.
After dinner, they all headed out onto the dark beach, excited to watch the fireworks display Fred and George had prepared for them.
Harry sat on the cool sand beside George, watching as colorful explosions of light blasted across the sky, leaving trails of sparkling ash falling into the dark sea. It was so beautiful here, sitting at the edge of the world.
Here, in this place, everything was peaceful. There was no Dark Lord, no torture, no death. There was only the sea at his feet and the stars at his head. There was only George's hand in his, laughter ringing in his ears, family all around him.
Harry was going to fight for this place. He was going to fight for these people.
He was going to fight, and, for the first time, Harry knew that he was going to win.
Chapter 5 is coming on WEDNESDAY!