Chapter 8: Do Not Go Gentle
Harry was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, gathering his courage, steeling himself for what he was about to do.
It had been three days since the attack on Azkaban, and Harry wanted answers. His connection with Voldemort was no longer something he could ignore. No magical or physical connection could have broken through the Elixir of Lethe, but Voldemort had done so easily, ripping Harry out of sleep. He couldn't afford to be left in the dark any longer. It was time to understand what the connection really was.
He knew just where to look.
Voldemort understood the connection. He'd known how to hurt Harry, known how to cause him pain from miles away. He must know something Harry didn't.
All Harry had to do was look into his mind. All he had to do was access the connection.
This was the perfect time to try it. Everyone was busy.
The grand opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been just yesterday, and the twins were already overwhelmed with sales and customers. The shop had been an instant success. The Daily Prophet had even run a story on them, urging everyone to explore the wonders the Weasley twins had to offer. It was the first positive article in weeks, a beam of light in the darkness.
Sirius was shopping, exploring the Muggle world to find the finishing touches for his remodel of Grimmauld Place. Remus had gone with him, determined to stop Sirius from revealing magic to all of Muggle London.
Ron and Hermione were...well...snogging. Harry had found them in the library and had immediately left, not wanting to be witness to that. Ever.
The rest of the Weasleys were back at the Burrow, preparing it for their return. Bill had been working tirelessly to Ward the place, wanting his family to have their home back.
They planned to move back just after Hogwarts started. Only Fred and George wouldn't be joining them. The twins had elected to continue living at Grimmauld Place, gratefully accepting Sirius' invitation to stay. The twins had a special bond with his godfather. Harry knew that they helped Sirius remember the best times in life, driving memories of Azkaban further and further away.
Harry took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
It was time to get some answers.
He focused on his magic, quickly finding the part of him that belonged to Voldemort. He cloaked himself in the foreign magic, slipping easily into Voldemort's mind.
He let his desperation color his magic, emotion strengthening him. He focused hard on his own name, hoping to find the information Voldemort knew about him.
It was far too easy to find what he was looking for. Voldemort's thoughts about the connection glowed so brightly it was almost impossible to miss them. Harry drifted to them, sinking his magic into the cloud of thoughts. Disparate words flowed into his mind, muffled whispers and tangled shouts.
The Boy…
The Boy was his.
The Sixth of Seven...
A Horcrux.
Harry jerked away, ending the connection, snapping back to his own mind.
He sat there for a moment, unable to breathe, unable to think.
It couldn't be true...he couldn't be…
He couldn't be THAT.
It wasn't possible….it wasn't….
But…
It made a certain sort of sense.
Why else would Voldemort want him alive? Why else would they be so intimately connected?
"No, no, no…" he muttered, burying his head in his hands.
There was no denying it. It was the piece of the puzzle that made all the pieces fit, revealing the terrible picture he'd never wanted to see.
He was a Horcrux.
He had a piece of Voldemort's soul INSIDE him, buried in his scar, keeping the monster whole. He was keeping Voldemort alive. He was a vessel of evil. Part of him was the man who had murdered his parents, part of his soul belonged to Voldemort.
He was going to be sick.
Harry raced to the bathroom, losing everything he'd eaten that day, waves of disgust crashing over him. He couldn't believe this. He couldn't…
He had to die.
The thought hit him like a train, crashing into him with the full force of impending doom.
He had to die.
All the Horcruxes had to be destroyed in order for Voldemort to die, and Harry was a Horcrux.
He had to die.
He was going to die.
There was no future for him. He wasn't going to be a professional Quidditch player, he wasn't going to get to spend the rest of his life with George….
Merlin, George…
He was going to die and leave George all alone.
He was going to leave Sirius and Remus.
Hermione.
Ron.
Professor McGonagall.
Neville.
Luna.
Hedwig.
He would leave them all behind. He would have to leave them.
He was going to die.
Harry didn't know how he made it back to his room, collapsing onto his bed, struggling to draw in enough oxygen.
What was he going to do?
What was he supposed to do with this information?
How was he supposed to live with this?
How did people live when they knew they were going to die?
Harry curled into a ball, trying to hide from the swirling thoughts. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to do this.
He had to defeat Voldemort.
He had to die.
It was part of the mission, part of the plan.
Sirius will never let me do it.
The voice echoed above the rest of his thoughts, true and terrifying.
He couldn't tell Sirius. Or George. Or anyone.
They would never let him go through with it. They would never let him do what had to be done…
The only person who would understand was…
Harry sat straight up in bed, a lightbulb going off above his head.
Dumbledore.
Dumbledore knew.
He'd always known.
He needed to talk to Dumbledore.
Harry pulled himself out of bed, heading down the stairs. He approached the fireplace, taking a handful of Floo Powder from the mantle. He stepped into the green flames, uttering the password for the Headmaster's office.
He stumbled out of the flames, tripping over his own feet as he landed in Dumbledore's office.
The man was sitting behind his desk, poring over some parchments.
He was blessedly alone. Harry had no idea how he would explain his presence to anyone else. He hadn't really thought this through.
Dumbledore looked up, failing to hide his shock as he took in Harry's appearance.
"Harry?" he asked, standing up.
"Is something wrong? Has something happened?"
Harry stepped further into the room, staring at Dumbledore, finally beginning to understand this man.
"I know," he croaked, hoping he wouldn't have to explain himself further.
"You know…?" Dumbledore said, brow furrowed.
"I know that I'm a…" he choked on the word, unable to say it.
"I know that I'm like the locket," he said, watching as understanding filled Dumbledore's eyes.
The man fell heavily into his chair, one hand over his eyes. He looked so old, so sad.
"It's okay, sir," Harry said, sitting in the chair across from him.
"I'm okay with it. I'll do what needs to be done. You don't have to worry."
Dumbledore raised his head, eyes gleaming with tears.
"I am sorry, Harry. I never wanted this…"
"I know."
And Harry did know. He knew that Dumbledore wasn't perfect, knew that he'd made mistakes. But he also knew that the man cared about him. Perhaps it was a twisted sort of care, but it was care nonetheless. He knew that Sirius would disagree, but Harry saw the good in Dumbledore, recognizing the burden the man was forced to carry, understanding the weight of it. Harry had a burden of his own. Like Dumbledore, he was deciding to hide things from people, deciding to lie, deciding to manipulate.
He didn't know what else to do.
"I never wanted you to die," Dumbledore said suddenly, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"I thought you might live. I had a plan...but…"
He removed his spectacles, wiping at his eyes.
"When Voldemort used your blood to bring himself back, he reinforced your mother's protection. I believed that it might be enough to tether you to life even when the Horcrux was destroyed. But now…"
"The protection is gone," Harry said quietly.
Dumbledore nodded, defeated.
"So...there's no other option. I have to die."
Dumbledore's silence said it all, confirming what Harry had already known.
"Alright," he said, breathing deeply.
"I need you to do some things for me."
"Anything," Dumbledore said.
"Absolutely anything."
Harry stood up, beginning to pace.
"You can't tell anyone else about this. I want to keep it a secret."
Dumbledore made no protest, simply inclining his head in agreement.
"I need you to train me. Occlumency, Dueling, all of it. I'm going to take him down, sir. I need you to help me."
"Of course," Dumbledore said quietly.
"And…"
Harry paused, struggling to speak through the shattered glass in his chest.
"When it's all over...can you tell them that I'm sorry?"
…
When Harry stepped back through the fireplace, he felt empty, hollowed out, numb.
He wasn't sure how people normally felt when they learned they were going to die, but he imagined that he should be feeling something.
Shouldn't he be angry?
Shouldn't he be sad?
Shouldn't he be scared?
Shouldn't he feel something other than intense detachment?
Maybe it was for the best. If he was going to keep this a secret from those closest to him, he was going to have to hide his true feelings. Perhaps the numbness would make acting easier.
He would need to play this just right. He couldn't pull away from his life, couldn't show signs that he knew his time was running out. He would have to act normal, oblivious, hopeful.
He couldn't risk letting Sirius know about this. He wouldn't put it past his godfather to take him out of the country, keeping him a prisoner for his own safety. Sirius would do anything to keep him alive, even if it meant letting the world burn.
Harry couldn't let that happen.
He'll be so angry. When I die, he'll be so devastated and so angry. They'll all be furious. Furious and hurt. Because I'm betraying them. I'm LYING to them.
Harry brushed away the thought, trying to ignore the sudden twinge of intense guilt and sadness.
He had to do this.
There was no other choice.
He was going to die, but he was going to leave behind a better world for those he loved. He was going to win the war for them, save them, protect them.
He would offer them everything he had in the desperate hope that they could somehow forgive him for what he was about to do. He was going to forge himself into a martyr, harnessing his own death and turning it into a weapon.
He was going to lie.
He was going to deceive.
He was going to get himself killed, embracing death with open arms, welcoming it as a brother, letting it take him.
Harry sank down at the kitchen table, legs suddenly weak. His hands were shaking, fingers trembling.
"Stop it," he murmured.
"Stop. You're fine."
He forced himself to his feet, trudging into the kitchen. He could make dinner. He could do that. That was a normal thing that people did. Right?
Harry loved cooking. It was something he'd always enjoyed. Aunt Petunia had sometimes had him help in the kitchen, and he'd learned a surprising amount from watching her. It was one of the only positive things she'd ever given him.
It was strange to love something knowing that you might not get to do it for much longer. How many more times would he get to cook?
The others trickled back over the next hour. Mrs. Weasley joined him in the kitchen, chattering to him as they worked.
Dinner passed slowly, each second dragging on. All the food tasted like ash, turning to charcoal in his mouth. He could barely swallow, could barely stomach the food.
He did his best to act normal, smiling and laughing, making light conversation. He must not have succeeded completely because George took his hand under the table, holding tighter than usual, keeping Harry grounded.
Harry didn't know how to play this off. He would have to come up with something. He couldn't tell George the truth. He just couldn't.
"Is everyone still up for the trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow?" Sirius asked, getting the attention of the table.
Harry had forgotten about their plan to visit the Alley. Books and joke shops hardly seemed to matter anymore.
Then again, maybe they mattered more than ever, maybe they were the most important things.
If he was going to die young, then he should at least try to enjoy the time he had left. He should at least try to live. He should play Quidditch, visit joke shops, laugh with his godfather, spend time with his boyfriend. He was going to make the most of this time, make the most of this life. He didn't want to be a living tragedy. He'd have time enough to be tragic in death.
After dinner, Harry was dragged into the sitting room by George. The other boy looked worried, eyes full of concern.
"What's up with you? You're acting weird."
"No, I'm not," Harry said, voice cracking slightly on the words.
He really wasn't very good at pretending.
George simply looked at him, clearly unimpressed.
"Try again."
"I'm just tired. Moody was brutal today."
The ex-Auror had resumed their lessons after the attack on Azkaban, pushing Harry past his limits. The sessions were intense, leaving him exhausted and covered in bruises.
"Promise?" George asked quietly, looking deep into Harry's eyes.
"I promise," Harry breathed.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
"I'm really excited for you to see the shop tomorrow," George said, lazily draping an arm across Harry's shoulders.
"I just know you're gonna love it. Especially the Harry Potter Line."
Harry stared at him.
"The what?"
George smirked, eyes sparkling with the mischief Harry loved so much.
"Well, we had to honor our benefactor somehow."
"What did you do?" Harry demanded.
"I guess you'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"
Harry stared at him for a moment, searching his face.
"You're just messing with me, aren't you?"
George grinned.
"Of course, Harry. We would never do something like that without asking you first."
Harry gave a sigh of relief, slumping down on the sofa, leaning into George's side.
"I can't believe you're going back to Hogwarts soon," George whispered.
"I'm going to miss having you here all the time."
"Me too. But you'll still get to see me. You'll be at Hogwarts nearly every day for your apprenticeship."
George sighed.
"I know. But it won't be the same. I just...I hate being away from you. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't see you."
Harry felt his heart clench, knowing that George would have to live much of his life without Harry in it.
This is going to destroy him. I'm going to DESTROY him.
Harry sighed, moving closer to George, trying to pretend that they had all the time in the world, trying to pretend that he wasn't going to shatter the trust George had in him.
That night, while Harry waited for the Elixir of Lethe to take hold, he stared out his window, watching the stars.
The gray clouds were swirling against the black sky, illuminated by the silver moonlight.
Harry didn't know if there was life after death. He desperately hoped that there was. Maybe he could see his parents again.
He wondered what they would think of him. He wondered what they would say.
Would they approve of his actions? Would they want him to tell Sirius?
They would want me to live. They literally sacrificed themselves so that I could live. And here I am, treating that like it means nothing.
Harry quieted the voice in his head, hating that it was right.
They would probably hate him for throwing away their sacrifice, despise him for inflicting such pain on their remaining best friends.
"I'm sorry," he whispered up to the stars, hoping his parents could hear him, hoping they would understand.
"I'm so sorry…"
…
Morning came too soon, sun streaming through his windows, flickering over his skin.
Harry sat up slowly, dragging himself out of bed, fighting hard to feel something other than despair.
He wanted to curl up under his duvet and hide.
He just wanted everything to stop.
Harry shook it off, shoving the emotions as far back as they would go.
He needed to be strong. He had to.
He finally pulled himself together, heading to his wardrobe.
He was about to open it when there was a knock on the door.
"Harry! Are you awake?"
"Yes, Sirius," Harry said, face splitting into a genuine smile at the joyful tone of Sirius' voice.
The door swung open, revealing his godfather. The man was beaming, carrying a huge number of shopping bags.
Harry just stared at him, jaw hanging open.
"I bought you some more clothes yesterday. You're getting far too tall for your old ones. Besides, I wanted to. Moony cut me off before I could get everything I wanted, so if you have complaints...blame him."
Sirius dumped the bags on the floor, seemingly oblivious to the shocked look on Harry's face.
"Get dressed and get downstairs. We have lots to get done today!"
Harry stared after his godfather, stunned.
Sirius had bought him a ridiculous amount of clothing, somehow knowing exactly what Harry liked. The clothes were simple, but they were ideal for Harry, comfortable and functional. Sirius had picked the perfect colors, opting for the deep blues and greens and grays that Harry preferred. He picked up a forest green shirt, recognizing it as his exact favorite shade.
He felt his eyes beginning to water a bit, overwhelmed by the fact that Sirius knew him this well, cared this much.
I don't deserve this. I'm hurting him. I'm going to let him adopt me when I'm probably not going to live to see 18. How is that fair?
Harry ignored the thought, recognizing it well. Thoughts like these had been a constant companion for him while stuck in his cupboard. It was his self-loathing, his doubt, his guilt, drowning out his other thoughts. He hadn't heard it this loudly in years. He wasn't glad to have it back.
He got dressed quickly, amazed by how well the clothes fit. He almost looked good. He was still a bit too thin, but he no longer looked like a strong wind might blow him away.
He examined himself more closely, taking in the changes to his appearance. He'd really grown quite a lot this summer, now nearing 5 foot 10. He was only four inches shorter than George, but he doubted he would make it to six feet. The Dueling sessions had helped as well, giving him a tiny bit of muscle. It wasn't anything to write home about, but it was better than being literally just sharp bones and pale skin.
"You're quite a catch, Dearie," the mirror told him, voice sweet.
"I'm taken," Harry reminded the glass, smiling despite himself.
He made his way downstairs, trying to settle his emotions. He could do this. There was happiness in this house, in this life. He needed to remember that.
"Don't you look swell," Sirius exclaimed, catching sight of Harry from above the rim of his mug of tea.
"Swell?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat down beside Hermione.
"Don't judge me, Harry," Sirius pouted.
"I'm just trying to give you a compliment. Besides, you do look swell. Back me up, Hermione."
Hermione glanced at Harry, scanning him up and down.
"I wouldn't say swell. I would say...fanciable."
Ron choked on a mouthful of pumpkin juice.
"Oh calm down, Ronald. I'm not flirting with him, just stating a fact."
"I know," Ron said, ears turning red.
"Besides, why would you flirt with him? He's in a relationship...with my BROTHER. Who, in case you haven't noticed, is a BOY."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Honestly, Ron. Harry likes girls too. Remember Cho? People can like more than one thing."
"Oh. Right. Sorry, mate."
"It's alright," Harry said smiling.
"It's not like I talk about it much."
Harry had never even thought about how he might label himself. Frankly, he didn't really care. He liked George. That was all that mattered.
"Not much need to," Ginny said, grinning evilly.
"I would say he's pretty much Georgesexual at this point."
It was Harry's turn to choke on his pumpkin juice.
"Don't worry about labels, kids," Sirius said sagely.
"Just follow your heart."
Remus snorted.
"You were following a lot more than just your heart at Hogwarts, Padfoot."
Sirius gasped, staring at Remus.
"Moony, you wound me! I'll have you know that I only snogged like…"
Sirius paused to count on his fingers.
"Some...number...of people at school."
Harry laughed, watching Sirius trying and failing to remember exactly how many people he'd kissed.
"He snogged more girls than James and Peter combined. And more boys than…"
Sirius clapped a hand over Remus' mouth, silencing him.
"In my defense," Sirius said.
"I haven't kissed anyone but Moony since I was 16. So...in your face."
"In whose face?" Harry asked, laughing.
Sirius threw a piece of toast at him, missing spectacularly.
Harry just grinned, flinging an orange at him, hitting him right on the forehead.
"I hate you," Sirius muttered, pouting as he rubbed at his head.
…
Diagon Alley looked the same as it always did, lively and eclectic.
The Wards against the Dark Mark gave everyone a sense of security, allowing them to go about their lives like nothing strange was going on.
Even with the Wards, Harry knew they weren't completely safe. The Wards couldn't block the Imperius or Polyjuice Potion. There were still dangers here, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike.
He could hear Tonks' magic floating behind him, knowing she was acting as a guard. He didn't mind. He was just happy to be outdoors, happy to be able to breathe.
He was not nearly so happy about the stares he was drawing, feeling eyes on his back as he walked down the street. Sirius noticed his discomfort, wrapping an arm around him.
"Just ignore them, Harry."
Harry nodded, trying not to notice the pair of middle-aged women staring at him, eyes shining with something he very much did not like. He was 16 for Merlin's sake!
They turned a corner, stopping to stare in awe at the grand orange shop looming before them. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was bustling with activity, filled with excited customers. The orange facade was beautiful, swirling with shades of cream and neon. It was comforting and energizing, magic made material.
As they entered the shop, Harry felt like he was entering paradise, losing himself to the rainbow of colors and the cacophony of noise. It was everything he had dreamed it would be, bursting with laughter and magic. It helped him forget.
"Wow," he whispered, gazing around.
"Like it?"
Harry turned to see George standing there, beaming at him.
"It's brilliant. It's just...Merlin..."
Harry couldn't find the words, staring around like an idiot.
George smiled wider, grabbing Harry's hand, pulling him around the shop.
"Let me give you the VIP tour!"
George led Harry around the shop, showing him the various pranks and jokes, demonstrating a few. Harry especially loved the Pygmy Puffs, reaching into the cage to stroke them. They immediately congregated around his hand, rubbing their soft fur against his skin. The fuzzy creatures were adorable, soft and cuddly. Harry had to restrain himself, very much wanting to take them all home with him.
"I knew you would like them," George said, smiling as he watched Harry's hand be attacked by an army of Pygmy Puffs.
"I have something for you in the back. Come on."
George grabbed his hand, dragging him through a curtain and into a large supply room. He drew Harry over to a small cage covered with a cloth.
"When we were experimenting with the Pygmy Puffs, we made a different variety. He was really hard to create, so there's only one. I want you to have him."
George pulled back the cloth, revealing a pure white Pygmy Puff. It was even cuter and smaller than the rest, around the size of Harry's palm. It looked up at him with wide eyes, melting Harry's heart in an instant.
"This is Gary."
"Gary?"
George blushed.
"Fred named him as a joke. It's our names squished together. I tried to change it, but Gary really likes it."
Gary hummed in agreement.
Harry felt a grin split his face as he looked at Gary, watching as the fuzzy creature rolled up to the bars of the cage.
"He's really cool. Watch."
George lifted Gary from his cage, placing him into Harry's palms. The creature immediately turned yellow, fluffing up happily.
"Um…what just happened?"
"He responds to moods! He changes color based on how the holder is feeling. He's like a mood ring, but he's alive. Aren't you, Gary?"
Gary purred, burrowing into Harry's hands.
"Anyway, I wanted you to have him. He's really sensitive to emotion. I think he'll be good for you."
Harry felt his heart swell, watching as Gary's fur began to change, pink patches appearing.
"What does pink mean?"
George leaned in to look at Gary.
"Love, I think," he said quietly.
"Oh," Harry whispered, realizing just how close George was.
"Yeah," George agreed, locking eyes with him.
Later, Harry wouldn't remember who leaned in first, but he would always remember the kiss. It was gentle and sweet, perfectly awkward in the way that first kisses always were.
It was magical.
When they broke apart, Harry was blushing so brightly he thought he might combust. Gary seemed to share the feeling, sporting a hot pink color that looked almost radioactive.
"Thanks," Harry breathed.
"For Gary and for the…"
"No problem," George said, running a hand through his hair.
"I've been wanting to do that for a long time."
"Me too," Harry confessed, blushing brighter.
"Well," George said, smiling at him.
"We should probably join the others before they start to worry."
Harry nodded, placing Gary back in his cage.
As Harry walked from the storeroom, the illusion of paradise faded, throwing him back to reality. The guilt rose up, swirling in his chest, crushing the exhilaration of the kiss. His lungs felt tight again, barbed wire tearing at his insides.
Harry didn't know how to do this. He wanted to cherish his time with George, but every interaction drove the knife deeper, making it harder and harder to let go.
He didn't know how to do this.
Gary was an immediate hit. Sirius loved the puffball, cooing at him in a way that was not at all dignified. Gary seemed to enjoy the attention, fluffing himself up and rolling around his cage.
"What does he eat?" Sirius asked, stroking Gary through the bars of his cage.
"Fruit mostly, though we think he'll eat anything."
Gary buzzed in approval, licking Sirius' finger with his tiny pink tongue.
"Oi!" Sirius said, pulling his finger back.
"Don't eat me!"
Gary rolled up the side of the cage, making a sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
"Exactly how smart is this thing?" Sirius asked, backing away a bit.
"Wicked smart," Fred said.
"He's got a tiny bit of Kneazle in him plus a whole bunch of other magical creatures. We may have broken a few laws, but that's all water under the bridge now. We just told the guy in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that it was a gift for Harry Potter, and he gave us a permit right away. You're a bit famous these days, Harry."
"I noticed," Harry muttered, remembering the stares he'd drawn on the street.
"Don't sound so sad, Harrikins," Fred said, nudging him.
"People don't think you're a demented maniac anymore! We should be celebrating that!"
Harry cracked a smile.
"I guess you're right."
"Now that you've regained your hero status, I think my brother will have some competition this year," Fred said, nodding toward the corner of the shop.
Harry turned his head, noticing a pretty girl with dark hair. She was giving him a decidedly hungry look, scanning him up and down. Harry quickly looked away, suddenly very uncomfortable.
"That's Romilda Vane," Hermione whispered to him, sending a nasty glare toward the other girl.
"She's the year below us. Quite intelligent, but a bit...obsessed with you."
Harry nodded, trying not to make eye contact with the girl.
"Don't worry about it, Harry. If she tries anything, I'll hex her."
"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, laughing.
"Now, come on," she said, tugging on his arm.
"We need to get to Flourish and Blotts. I can't wait to get the new books for Arithmancy! One of them is brand new. It just came out."
Harry let Hermione pull him out of the shop, finding himself equally excited to get the book. Ron and Remus followed them, leaving Sirius in the shop to obsess over the pranks.
"We're going to need to watch him very carefully for the next few days," Remus said, clearly exasperated.
"He's going to go on a pranking spree. I absolutely guarantee it."
Flourish and Blotts was nearly empty. Most Hogwarts students were in the joke shop, neglecting books until later in the day.
Harry left Hermione to get the Arithmancy book, heading up the stairs to the section on obscure magic. Flourish and Blotts was far more than a student bookshop, also carrying scholarly works and ancient texts. As the primary book supplier in Wizarding Britain, it had to serve a variety of needs. Harry had never gotten to explore the upper parts of the store. He was glad to finally have the chance.
He wanted to see if there was anything related to how emotion could best be used in Spell-Crafting. If he could harness the unique nature of his magic, he might be able to create the improved Stunner he was having so much trouble with.
He searched through the sections, too engrossed to notice the person following him, ducking behind shelves to avoid being seen.
He'd just reached the section on Empathetic Magic when a hand landed on his shoulder.
He whipped around, coming face to face with...
"Malfoy?" he whispered, shocked.
The other boy looked terrible, exhausted and anxious. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his normally perfect hair was mussed and out of place.
"What's wrong?"
Malfoy's eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like tears. For the first time, Harry saw just how much those eyes looked like Sirius' eyes.
"I want out," he whispered.
"I don't want to be on HIS side."
Harry stared at him, finding nothing but sincerity in those tortured eyes.
"Please..." he whispered.
"Please, Harry..."
Harry startled at the use of his first name.
"Alright," he whispered, putting a hand on Draco's arm.
"Wait here."
"I'll be right back."
Harry raced down the stairs.
"Remus," he said quietly, pulling the man away from the book he was looking at.
"I need to show you something upstairs."
"Alright," Remus said, furrowing his brow in confusion.
The man drew his wand upon seeing Draco, wariness clear on his face.
"What do you need, Draco?" he said, voice edged with steel.
"I want to leave...I want to get out...he's in my house..."
Harry recognized the beginnings of a panic attack, moving over to the shaking boy.
"Just breathe, Draco. It's going to be okay."
He turned back to look at Remus.
"What do we do?"
Remus frowned, turning to look at Draco.
"He's about the right height. This just might work."
Remus waved his wand over Draco, turning his hair to a bright Weasley red and his eyes to a deep brown. To the untrained eye, he looked just like a Weasley.
"Okay," Remus said gently.
"There's an Auror here. Nymphadora Tonks. You know her from school. I'm going to take you to her. She will bring you to a secure location. Expect to answer some questions, Draco. I imagine they'll want to question you under Veritaserum."
Draco nodded frantically.
"I'll do anything. I just...I can't stay there. I can't..."
Remus nodded, taking Draco's arm.
"Harry, wait here. I'll be right back."
Harry stared after them, hoping Draco would be alright. He was making an incredibly brave decision, abandoning his family, choosing the right side.
Harry turned back to the books, picking up a thick tome. It was dusty and old, looking like it hadn't been touched in years. The title helped explain why: Empaths and Spell-Crafting: Channeling the Gift into Magical Structures. Empaths were exceedingly rare. There were never more than a handful alive at any one time.
Empaths had the unique gift of being able to sense the emotions of others, sometimes even feeling their pain. Harry wasn't an Empath. At least, not in the traditional sense. He could sense emotion to a certain degree, reading people through the sound of their magic. He wasn't nearly as accurate as a true Empath would be, but he probably had enough in common with them for this book to prove useful.
He couldn't wait to read it.
Harry rejoined the others, picking up the rest of his school books. He'd just finished gathering everything when the shop bell tinkled, signaling Remus' return. He offered Harry a warm smile.
"Everything is alright. He's with Tonks at the Burrow right now."
Harry gave him a smile, nearly dropping Gary's cage as he tried to balance the stack of books. Remus saw his struggle, taking a few of the books from him.
They paid and left the shop, heading to Madam Malkin's. Harry desperately needed to replace his uniform. It was far too short.
Sirius joined them around lunchtime, carrying a large bag full of Wheezes and grinning madly. Harry resolved to tread carefully around his godfather for the rest of the day.
They were passing a side street when something caught Harry's eye. It was a small shop, silvery orbs glinting in the windows.
"What's that?" Harry asked, moving toward the shop.
"Oliver's Orbs..." Sirius read.
"I've never heard of this shop before."
Harry walked forward, entranced.
"Maybe it's new..." Harry whispered, pushing open the door.
The shop was full of shelf upon shelf of pure glass balls, almost like prophecies. The only difference was the smoke inside, ranging from gray to gleaming gold.
A young man stepped out from behind the counter, smiling at them.
"Hello! Welcome to Oliver's Orbs! I'm Oliver! What can I help you with today?"
"What is this place?" Harry asked, still staring around in wonder.
"Well, we've got all kinds of things! I'm an Enchanter by trade, and I'm a bit obsessed with enchanting spheres. As you can see."
The man laughed, eyes sparkling.
"I have all types of things: Rememberall's, Study Spheres, Musical Mirrorballs..."
"Did you say music?" Harry asked, intrigued.
"Yes, of course!" Oliver exclaimed, moving over to a shelf full of what looked like tiny disco balls.
"These are Musical Mirrorballs. When you hold one, it plays whatever music best suits you at the present moment. No one else will be able to hear it. It's really quite ingenious. If I do say so myself. Go on, try it."
Oliver pressed one of the spheres into Harry's hand.
Harry gasped, suddenly overwhelmed by a burst of sound. Harry had never heard much music before. The Dursleys were hardly a family who loved artistic things. Harry didn't even know what he liked.
But he definitely liked this.
It was an orchestra, swells of music crashing over him like waves, lilting flutes and deep strings. He could hear the sigh of the violins, feel the thrum of the cellos in his chest.
"Just set it down when you want it to stop."
Harry put the orb back down, ending the beautiful music.
"Wow," Harry breathed.
"How much?"
Harry left the shop, reverently holding the Musical Mirrorball in the custom bag Oliver had given to him.
"I didn't know you liked music that much, Harry," Sirius said quietly.
"Neither did I. I didn't even know music could SOUND like that. It was...the most beautiful thing I've ever heard..."
Harry trailed off, feeling strangely choked up.
Sirius looked at him, concern clear in his eyes.
"What's up, kid? You look like you're about to cry."
"Nothing," Harry whispered.
"I'm just happy."
It was true. He was happy. And being happy made everything worse because he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to feel happy. His emotions were confused and jumbled, straining, fighting.
"You sure?"
Harry nodded, trying to pull himself together.
"Alright. But if you're not okay, you can come talk to me. You know that, right?"
Harry nodded again, wiping at his eyes, suddenly furious with himself.
What the hell was wrong with him? He never cried.
Never.
Harry struggled to pull himself together, knowing that Sirius was watching him.
"Come on, Harry. I think we're heading back soon."
Harry nodded, following Sirius over to the Portkey point.
Back at Grimmauld Place, everyone went their separate ways to stow away their things. Harry put his Musical Mirrorball on his bedside table, admiring the way the light glinted off it.
"Okay, Gary," he said, taking the puffball out of his cage.
His fur immediately turned into a strange pattern of deep blue and yellow splotches, reflecting Harry's conflicted emotions: sadness and happiness in equal measure.
"There's someone I want you to meet."
"Hedwig," he said, carrying Gary over to his beloved owl.
"Meet Gary."
Hedwig examined Gary closely, leaning down to stare at him with one yellow eye.
"Do not eat him," Harry warned.
"He's a friend."
Hedwig seemed to understand, beginning to groom Gary with her beak. Gary purred delightedly, licking Hedwig's feathers in thanks.
Deeming them sufficiently acquainted, Harry carried Gary back to his bed, flopping down onto the duvet.
Gary rolled up his arm, settling onto his chest.
Harry reached out his arm, gripping onto the Musical Mirrorball.
He let the music envelop him, listening intently to the tragically beautiful tune. It was devastatingly lovely, sending shockwaves into Harry's heart, shattering it slowly. The dissonant notes reverberated in his bones, rhythms pulsing in his chest, echoing in his ears.
It was grief and love and death, beauty and pain and endings. It was everything and nothing, heaven and the ether.
Harry felt the tears come slowly, drawn out by the melody, flowing down his face in silent rivers. He suddenly felt everything, repressed emotions rising to the surface: guilt, fear, sadness, happiness, love, loss, dread, pain. It was all so sharp, cutting into him, tearing him apart, piecing him together again.
He felt something wet and rough on his cheek, opening his eyes to see Gary. The tiny creature was licking at his face, trying to clean away the tears.
Harry dropped the Musical Mirrorball, reaching up to pluck Gary off his face.
"It's okay, Gary," Harry said, dragging himself out of bed, wiping at his eyes.
"I'm alright."
Harry set Gary on his desk, sitting down before the Spell-Crafting book. He needed to pull himself together. He didn't have time to cry. He had to accomplish something. He needed to do SOMETHING. Otherwise, he would lose himself to despair, sinking into a black hole from which he would never emerge.
Harry worked through the afternoon, splitting his time between Spell-Crafting and summer homework. He would normally work with his friends in the library, but he felt like being alone today. His emotions were fragile as glass, liable to crack at any moment. He needed quiet, solitude, peace.
Dinner came quickly, drawing Harry out of his room. He was sore from leaning over his desk for so long, eyes tired from reading and tears.
"How's Draco?" Harry asked Remus, sliding into the empty seat beside George.
"He's alright. He'll be staying with Professor Snape until term starts. Tonks and Moody questioned him this afternoon. He's genuinely had a change of heart."
"Really?" Hermione asked, disbelief clear in her face.
"Yes," Remus affirmed.
"He's been speaking to Professor Burbage for a few months, trying to learn more about the Muggle world. The only reason he stayed at home for so long was his mother. He needed a way to get her out of the house without it looking suspicious. Today was their first opportunity. Apparently, Narcissa always accompanies Draco to Diagon Alley. Lucius couldn't come because of the Dark Mark. Draco left his mother in a secure location in the Alley before approaching you. Tonks retrieved her. They'll both be safe with Professor Snape at Hogwarts."
"Has Mrs. Malfoy also had a change of heart?" Hermione asked quietly.
Remus sighed.
"She was questioned just as Draco was. She is a Black, and she still shares many of the beliefs of that family."
Harry saw Sirius flinch, hands tightening around his glass of water.
"However, she bears no ill will toward anyone. She doesn't desire violence, and she will do anything to protect her son. We have nothing to fear from her."
"Is she going to stay at Hogwarts?" Fred asked.
Remus shook his head.
"No. She'll be going to stay with her sister once Hogwarts starts."
"Andy?" Sirius asked, smiling.
"That'll be explosive. Those two haven't spoken in years."
"I'm glad they'll both be safe," Harry said quietly.
"Me too," Ginny agreed.
"No one deserves to be around HIM. He's disgusting, evil. He's poison."
Harry felt a sudden wave of nausea. He was just as evil as the diary, equally poisonous, equally disgusting.
He swallowed hard, shoving the feeling away.
Harry didn't know how he made it through the rest of the evening, smiling and laughing past the hole in his chest. He couldn't focus on anything, reading the same words over and over again, absorbing nothing. At least Gary couldn't give him away. The creature had met Crookshanks, immediately hitting it off. He was now perched on Crookshanks' head, parading about the house like a warrior on horseback. If Harry could still feel, he would have found it funny.
...
Time passed quickly, days flying by in a blur of attempted distraction. Harry dueled with Moody, worked on his modified Stunner, completed his homework, tried to be happy. He could never quite make it to happiness, haunted by the knowledge of the Horcrux in his scar. He did his best to act normal but couldn't quite keep up the facade. He took to spending hours alone, isolating himself in his room or in the attic.
Pretending was exhausting. Sometimes, he just couldn't do it.
He made up excuses, claiming that he needed to work on his summer homework, feigning tiredness. He knew it wasn't convincing, but he didn't know what else to do.
He was desperate to return to Hogwarts, knowing things would be easier there. He could busy himself with classes and Quidditch. He could begin training with the Headmaster, preparing himself for the fight he was destined to lose. At least around Dumbledore, he wouldn't have to pretend.
The first of September finally arrived, bringing with it the customary chaos of unpacked trunks and missing socks. They made it to the station with barely five minutes to spare, frantically rushing through the barrier.
Harry hugged Sirius and Remus, waving to them before moving toward the train. A hand stopped him before he could get on, pulling him into an alcove.
"Were you trying to leave without saying goodbye?" George asked teasingly, not noticing Harry's flinch at the double meaning behind that sentence.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Harry said, knowing he had Potions the next day.
Being Snape's apprentice had its perks. One being that George already knew when the Sixth Years had Potions.
"Still," George said.
"You could at least let me do this."
George leaned in, lips brushing Harry's for just a moment. It was a ghost of a kiss, hardly lasting a second.
George pulled away, grinning at Harry's blush.
"See you tomorrow!" he said gleefully, pushing Harry back toward the train.
Harry walked down the train's corridor, trying to cool the flush on his cheeks. He still wasn't used to the electricity of kissing George, a fact which delighted the other boy to no end.
Harry found a compartment at last, sitting down across from Luna. She was alone at the moment, staring dreamily out the window. The girl turned to look at him, blue eyes wide.
She examined him closely, eyes going blank. She was clearly miles away, adrift in a sea of her own magic.
"Silence is no man's friend, Harry," she said quietly, eyes regaining their clarity.
"Truth can conquer anything. Even death."
Harry stared back at her, shocked.
"What do you mean?"
She smiled.
"Don't presume to know where your path ends, Harry. You are a hallowed being. There are other choices to be made."
Before Harry could ask for further clarification, Neville arrived, carrying a purple cactus and smiling widely.
Harry spent the entire train ride mulling over her words, trying to decipher them. Was she saying that he should tell someone about the Horcrux? Was she saying that he didn't have to die?
"Luna..." he said, pulling her aside as they walked to the carriages.
"Are you telling me that I should...?"
"Tell someone, Harry," she said.
"You must."
"I don't want to hurt them," Harry breathed.
"I don't want to give them false hope. I don't..."
"Then tell someone you can't hurt."
Harry didn't get it.
Luna shook her head in exasperation, radish earrings swaying with her movement.
"You must tell the one who is bound by guilt to serve you, who is cloaked in darkness. You must tell the master of poison and the lord of lies."
Harry finally understood.
"And he can help me?"
She nodded.
"Yes. He knows the Darkest Arts. He knows how to solve this problem, even if he doesn't realize it yet. He can help. All you need do is ask."
Harry followed Luna to the carriages, thoughts swirling in a mad cyclone. Maybe he wasn't destined to die. Maybe there was a way out. Maybe he could live.
Harry was jittery all through the feast, barely listening as Dumbledore announced Bill as the new Defense professor, barely noticing the excited whispers that erupted when the Headmaster explained the new Dueling Club.
He trusted Luna, knowing that she had his best interests at heart. If she wanted him to tell someone, then he should do it. Telling this one person would allow him to continue keeping the secret from those closest to him. If there was a way for him to live, he would gratefully take it. If there wasn't, he couldn't risk Sirius or George trying to stop him from doing what needed to be done.
The person Luna had suggested didn't care about Harry, but he would do anything to keep him alive. He was the perfect person to help: knowledgeable yet detached, intelligent yet uncaring.
After the Great Hall had cleared out, Harry made his way down to the Dungeons, trying to still the shaking of his hands.
He knocked twice on the door, stepping backward as it was flung open.
"Professor Snape," he said, drawing in a deep breath.
"I need to talk to you."
I'm hoping to post the next chapter on SATURDAY, but I can make no promises. My finals end on Monday, and after that I have almost a month until my internship starts (yay summer!) You can expect a lot of posting from me in the near future!
Thanks as always for all the lovely comments! I really enjoy hearing what you think :)