AUTHOR'S NOTE AND DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fanfiction, written and posted solely for the enjoyment of readers of fanfiction. The author makes no claims and receives no remuneration. All characters and locations in this story are from the works of JK Rowling, or derive therefrom. Many thanks to Ms. Rowling for letting us riff a little.
A Mosaic of Warping Mirrors
Chapter Ten
Seeing More Clearly
Waking suddenly in the darkened ward, Harry reached for his bedside table where he remembered he had put his glasses before he closed his eyes. He decided he must have gone right to sleep, thanks to the potion he'd been given by Madam Pomfrey.
'Remember to thank her,' he thought to himself.
Glasses in place, Harry looked around the ward. His screens were gone, pushed up next to the beds to his right and left. There had to be at least eight, he decided.
"Morning, Harry," said a familiar voice.
"Must be very early in the morning, Headmaster," Harry replied.
The snowy hair and beard showed up in the low lamplight that reflected from the half-moon lenses. Madam Pomfrey was in her office, looking out the window onto the ward. Harry wondered if she had gotten any sleep or if she had been keeping watch.
Dumbledore chuckled.
"It is only technically morning," he said. "As a matter of fact, even though I'm told you're at the limit for sleeping draughts, I'd advise you to try and sleep a little more before sunup. People are waiting to talk to you. Hogwarts put you out of their reach for as long as we could but this is Ministry business and the Minister and his department heads will have questions."
"Questions."
Harry's internal conversation, the one that babbles on and on in humans from the moment consciousness awakens until the moment of death, came to a halt. One word remained; Questions.
Harry knew, somehow, that he was not going to be enjoying his upcoming chat with the unnamed 'Ministry Officials.' He would want to know what they wanted with him. What they wanted him to say. They wouldn't volunteer that information. He remembered the voice from the fragment of memory, arguing over whether someone was back.
'Oh.'
The conversation resumed. Harry didn't know what was in the potion Madam Pomfrey had been giving him but, bless her, she had spared him reliving his recent memories.
"Why me?" Harry asked.
"Well, Harry, you had some interesting things to say when you returned to the grandstand area. Following the maze?" said Dumbledore.
"Ah," Harry acknowledged.
"You returned with the cup, which had been made a port key, for the purpose of transporting the winner back," Dumbledore went on.
Harry wondered if Dumbledore was invading his mind, reading his thoughts. He didn't feel anyone in there.
"Did I?"
"You brought Cedric's body back as well. You told us he appeared to you. As did your parents. You remember none of this?"
"Some blank spots," said Harry.
"Perfectly understandable and to be expected in such cases, I'm sure," said the headmaster.
Harry noticed Dumbledore had his wand out. Now and then the tip seemed to twitch. He wondered what that was all about. Harry glanced toward Madam Pomfrey's glass-walled office and saw her stand up. She appeared at the door and looked out into her ward.
"Headmaster?" she called.
"Just…leaving, Madam Pomfrey," said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. "You'll see he gets some rest?"
Madam Pomfrey didn't say anything, although she did nod, once.
Harry heard one of the great double doors close and meet up with its mate. Looking back, he noticed Madam Pomfrey had returned to his bedside.
"Potter…" she began, then paused. "Memories are powerful things. They really can torture us."
He wondered what Madam Pomfrey had in mind. He hadn't discussed any memories with the medi-witch, not that he recalled. Harry waited to hear her next thoughts.
"If you find yourself in pain, from incidents in your past, there are potions that can make life much more bearable. Don't try to face bad things out of a belief that you should do it all yourself, to prove yourself tough enough. Come see me."
"Thank-you, Madam Pomfrey," said Harry. "I'm fine, really. For now."
"Good," she said. "Dumbledore's right. You should try to get some sleep."
Harry watched Madam Pomfrey turn and walk away, then closed his eyes. He slept lightly, waking up several times, thinking he had heard something only to look around and find his part of the hospital ward deserted. The sun had turned the eastern sky a marvelous blend of tangerine and rose when he blinked his eyes and discovered he was fully awake. What's more, he felt completely rested.
That meant he was quite hospitable when Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley arrived carrying a tray with a bowl of porridge and a plate piled high with buttered toast.
"Wow," Harry said.
"Yeah, Dobby wanted to bring it up but Hermione got to him first," said Ron. "She negotiated."
Harry looked at Hermione who wore a grin that said, 'sheepish, yet pleased.'
"He was so sweet but I explained that we needed the breakfast to get past the guards," said Hermione.
"Guards?" asked Harry, visibly startled at hearing there were guards posted.
"Sure, you've had two aurors outside the door there, ever since they brought you up here," said Ron. "You really got their attention when you came back. Oh, sorry, if that is the wrong thing, Cedric and all."
"What? It's done. I have to face it. I have to live with it."
Harry stared across the ward, looking out the window opposite. That side looked out on Scottish countryside, green hills and granite, clumps of trees here and there. The peace and tranquility a real help to him as the memories came back.
"How is everyone doing? How long has it been, anyway? Madam Pomfrey had me on some serious potions. It's all kind of a blank," Harry said.
"Three nights, two full days," said Ron. "Today would be the third full day, only I think Madam Pomfrey is going to have to give you up."
Harry looked at Hermione, who looked away.
"Okay, what?" asked Harry.
"Harry, when you came back with the cup, and…and Cedric," said Hermione, "You were talking about Voldemort coming back. Some ritual, with Death Eaters. You were raving about a cemetery and a cauldron and him getting his body back."
"Yeah," said Harry. "It was rough. I was terrified. Honestly. When the potion wore off and things cleared up a bit, up here, I remembered. There are blank spots and it doesn't all make sense to me. That may be a good thing, I guess."
"There's something you should know, Harry," said Ron, dropping his voice until Harry could barely make out the words.
"Minister Fudge was there and you were loud and you were shouting at Dumbledore and Mad-Eye about it and the minister said that couldn't be true and you-know-who couldn't be back and you were in shock and he just ordered Dumbledore to get you away from the grandstand before you started a panic. Mad-Eye brought you back to the castle. Something went on in his rooms. It's all very secret."
Harry looked from Ron to Hermione.
"Well, I'm getting out today so all I have to do is finish the term and let this die down over the summer," said Harry. "Everyone will have something else to talk about by then."
"Harry, the ministry is trying to put a stop to speculation," said Hermione. "They may want you to help with that."
"From what I have heard, Fudge wants a statement from you that Cedric died in a tragic accident and You-Know-Who had nothing to do with it," said Ron.
"That isn't the way I remember it," Harry said, taking a bite of toast. "I think Madam Pomfrey's going to let me go when I finish eating."
Madam Pomfrey did release Harry when he finished his meal. The tableware went back to the kitchens via Dobby and the three friends were on their way back to Gryffindor Tower.
"What now?" Ron asked.
"Nothing, it appears," said Harry. "Sit here and try not to think about it."
"It wasn't your fault, Harry, don't feel guilty," said a very tight-voiced Hermione.
"I can say it over and over but it doesn't seem to do any good," Harry said. "They sent us into that maze. Fleur and Viktor got abducted and Cedric was killed. I came back and they want to give me prize money. Can you make sense of that? It amounts to human sacrifice by someone. I would like to find out just who that is."
Hermione's face looked like it was about to melt. Ron stared at Harry for a bit before taking a pinch of Hermione's sleeve.
"Maybe we should give Harry a little space," Ron suggested as he gave the sleeve a tug. "We're here, Harry, if you want to talk."
"Got it," said Harry, staring straight ahead. "Maybe I'll go see what Hedwig's doing."
Harry made his way to the Owlery, taking his time, thinking back to the joint decision, with Cedric, to share the cup and finish together. Those were the last moments when events made sense. Hedwig was perched on a horizontal dowel rod, her eyes slowly drifting closed only to pop open, wide. Then she would turn her head right and left, before looking straight ahead. Then the cycle would repeat. Harry held out his hand.
"Bit of toast, from breakfast, if you're interested," Harry said.
Hedwig hopped off her perch, flapped her wings twice and landed on Harry's forearm.
"How's it going?" he asked.
Hedwig declined to answer in favor of grabbing the toast. The piece was large enough she leaned over and raised one foot in order to hold it in place for pulling off more manageable bits.
Harry laughed, watching her. Hedwig was interesting, even when she was sleeping. The dramatic white feathers accented by large, yellow eyes, the four-clawed feet that were lethal for the local small mammal population, the liquid beauty of an owl in flight. Harry often wondered how long Hedwig could glide before she had to use her wings. He resolved to time her, someday.
"Had any decent adventures lately?" Harry asked.
"Prek," said Hedwig.
"Of course," Harry said. "When I get time I promise I'll go to work on transfiguration. Then we can go flying together. Would you like that?"
"Prek."
"Harry Potter," said a voice, followed by Millicent Bulstrode stepping up onto the platform at the top of the stairs.
"Millicent," said Harry. "Good day to you."
"Hmm…" said Millicent.
Harry saw she had a piece of rolled-up parchment in hand, tied with a string. Millicent picked out a little barn owl and waved the message.
"What's your owl's name?" asked Harry.
"Kate," said Millicent as she finished tying her message to her owl's leg before sending it off on its errand.
Millicent looked down the steps and didn't see anyone, then looked out all of the owls' open windows before speaking again.
"The Taming of the Shrew," she said. "Kate bit me I don't know how many times before she settled down. She just had to bite before taking her letter. I started telling her she was not an owl, she was a shrew."
"And it stuck," said Harry.
"It did," Millicent agreed. "So, what can I do for you?"
Harry didn't have an answer ready so he resorted to looking off into the distance.
"I don't know," he said. "I don't know the question so I don't know where to look for an answer. Well, that is not entirely true. The question itself is very distressing so maybe I don't want an answer."
"What are you thinking? Conspiracy? Assassination?"
"Something like that," said Harry. "Before this last task, I'd begun to think about the old histories. Myths. Did you ever read The Iliad?"
"A little kid version," said Millicent.
"So you know about the Trojan War? Troy and the Greeks going to war because Paris and Helen ran away together? Iphigenia? Agamemnon? Clytemnestra?" said Harry. "Ever hear of those?"
"Not so good on the names," Millicent admitted.
"Well, the short version is Agamemnon, the Greek general, had to sacrifice his own daughter in order to get wind to blow the fleet to Troy," said Harry. "I don't understand everything but the main idea is leaders are always committing grave sins against the innocent in order to achieve some other purpose that they think is important."
Millicent held out her arm and Hedwig hopped over for some preening and communing.
"Cedric, then, was the sacrifice?" she asked.
Harry shrugged.
"I don't know the myths that well," he said. "I'll see what Madam Pince has on hand. This feels so weird."
"I agree," said Millicent. "The rumors are really flying. Some people think you saw him. You know. He-who-must-not…"
"Be-named," Harry finished.
Millicent looked at Harry, stroked Hedwig and waited. Finally, Harry looked back.
"I went through something," Harry said. "I can't understand a lot of it. Dumbledore doesn't either, or he isn't saying. I get the feeling lots of people know things. Bits, maybe. Maybe no one knows it all. If I could just learn some of it I'd feel a lot better."
"That's possible but consider this: You might be better off knowing what you know, and no more. What is next?" asked Millicent.
"I don't know. I've heard the Ministry or Minister Fudge wants a word. I'd rather not."
"Then, if you don't know everything, you might not be able to do anything for them and they'll leave you alone," Millicent said, grinning.
"That is true," Harry said. "Yeah. Ignorance…"
"Is bliss," said Millicent. "Gloom and doom finished? It's going to be lunchtime."
"It's hard to feel like eating," said Harry.
Millicent moved her arm over next to the dowel rod perch so Hedwig could hop aboard.
"Eat something, Harry. Eat something then get some exercise," Millicent said. "Stay sharp. Right?"
"Right," Harry sighed.
No one took much notice of the two of them walking together. Harry had asked Millicent to the Yule Ball, so they were known to be on speaking terms. If there was more to it than that it was all speculation. Harry and Millicent had been very discreet.
"Okay, thanks," Harry said.
They had come to the point where Harry would climb some stairs and Millicent would descend to the dungeons.
"Maybe later," said Harry. "I think I will check the library."
Millicent nodded.
"Good idea," she said.
Harry didn't get to go to the library, though. At least not right away. Professor McGonagall stopped at the Gryffindor table during lunch and told him he was to go up to the headmaster's office when he was finished.
"Any idea what for?" Harry asked.
McGonagall didn't answer right away, making Harry wonder if he'd been impertinent.
"Yes, but I'm not able to say anything," the professor said, finally.
Somehow, when he arrived at the headmaster's, Harry was surprised and not surprised to see the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, sitting across the desk from Albus Dumbledore. Fudge gave the usual politician's effusive greeting to which Harry had become accustomed. He thought it transparently insincere, not yet appreciating how such a thing is a valuable interpersonal tool. Everyone understands it is blather while, properly delivered, there is nothing offensive enough to provoke serious objections.
"Why don't you sit down, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "Minister Fudge has some concerns about the outcome of the final task, would you say, Mr. Minister?"
"Not concerns as in agitated, I assure you," Fudge oozed. "Our people simply need reassurance that we are not going back to some bad old days. The period when you-know-who was running amok."
Harry stared at the minister.
"What do you want from me?" he finally asked.
Fudge seemed to find that shocking. He jerked upright, stiffened, looked as if he had been slapped.
"Some confirmation that magical folk have nothing to worry over," Fudge said, a hint of pleading in his voice. "That young Diggory's death was a tragic accident. That you were not in your right mind when you returned to the grandstand area. Harry, there were students and parents nearby. You were babbling about 'He's back,' quite loudly. Rumors are sweeping the country."
"I don't know what I was saying right then. I was under a lot of stress and in pain," said Harry, looking down at his forearm where he'd been cut to supply blood for the ritual.
"There, you see?" said Fudge. "Now you've had time to reflect. We'll arrange for one of our public affairs professionals to come by and set things up. An exclusive for the Daily Prophet? An interview, perhaps. You'll be doing Magical Britain a great favor. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will be grateful if you'd mention young Diggory's tragic accident, let the parents know their students are safe here."
"I don't think so," said Harry.
"What?" Fudge demanded.
He showed signs of being accustomed to getting his way and habituated to anger when denied.
"You just said you don't know what had happened. Are you going back on your word?"
"I said I don't know what I was saying," said Harry. "I'd just come from a murder and some Dark graveyard ritual. It's all broken up. I remember the big things."
"Mr. Potter, you landed in front of witnesses, courtesy of a portkey that was part of the Tri-Wizard Tournament," said Fudge. "There was no part of the task that involved a Dark ritual, nor a graveyard, so I would advise you to be very careful about what you say. Coming back from a tournament task with the body of a deceased fellow competitor under your control could be interpreted different ways. The Ministry's official position is that Cedric Diggory died, tragically, as a result of competition. Something out of the control of tournament organizers and certainly out of yours. Should we revisit that?"
"Cedric Diggory was murdered, by Peter Pettigrew," said Harry.
"Impossible!" Fudge shouted. "Sirius Black murdered Peter Pettigrew along with twelve muggles to cover up his participation in the conspiracy to murder your parents! They are heroes of Magical Britain and you would sully their memory? What kind of son are you?"
"A truth-seeking son, I hope," muttered Harry. "I saw Peter Pettigrew murder Cedric by casting the killing curse. That was just before he used a knife to open up my arm."
Harry pulled up the sleeve of his robe, unbuttoned his cuff and pulled up his shirtsleeve. His wound was closed, thanks to dittany, but the edges were still very red and the area around the wound discolored.
"Dumbledore, perhaps a word?" said Fudge.
The minister's demeanor had changed and Harry got the sense he was changing direction. Dumbledore looked at Harry and made a gesture toward the spiral staircase.
"I'll be in contact, Harry," he said. "Go on back to the dorm."
Harry walked down the staircase, thanked the griffin and headed toward Gryffindor Tower. His mind was fixed on Millicent's advice, not Dumbledore's instructions. Millicent advised him to get something to eat followed by some exercise. Harry smiled all the way to the broom closet, talking to himself, silently, while he ran through his collection of profane terms for scoffing at authority, beginning with '**ck the dorm, I'm going flying!'
Harry took off and flew directly to the Owlery. He stabilized outside one of the openings where the owls came and went, then called up Hedwig.
"Let's go," he said and took off. Hedwig's eyelids looked like they were closed as tightly as she could manage, consistent with keeping slits just wide enough to fly.
'Prek!' she called.
They flew across the lake and followed the path on the far side opposite the castle. Harry stayed just above treetop height. He pushed magic into his flying, not caring about consequences. His life was awful and kept getting worse. Cedric had died right in front of him and now the Minister for Magic was making threats. Besides, now he really needed to kill Peter Pettigrew. He didn't doubt he would get his chance so he resolved to hold the thought, all the time, even when he had to think about something else. An idea hatched in Harry's mind, that he wouldn't mind dying, now, as long as he got to kill Peter Pettigrew. Even if was his last act on Earth. He was having so much fun with the mental rehearsals for getting his revenge on Peter Pettigrew that he almost missed the skinny black dog that trotted along the lane he was using for navigation.
Harry was in front so Hedwig saw him drop into a diving turn and fly back the direction they'd come.
"Come here, Padfoot, I know it's you," Harry called as a black nose pushed out from a thick stand of reeds.
The day was warm so Harry and his stray walked a short distance to a huge oak tree that shaded many square yards of scrub. Harry cast all the revealing charms he knew and became satisfied he and Padfoot had only squirrels for companions. Hedwig was free to exercise, soar or hunt, as she wished, but she took up a post high in the oak.
"So," said Sirius after he had transfigured. "Tournament news?"
"In a manner of speaking," Harry managed before he broke into sobs.
Getting Harry back to something resembling his stable self took more than ten minutes.
"Thank-you," he said when he'd pulled himself out of Sirius' arms, protesting that he was fine, now, and could again take responsibility for himself.
"Thank-you, I'll try to never have that happen again," Harry said, even chuckling just a little as he finished.
"I've been in the hospital wing for two days, or, well, this morning was three, but Madam Pomfrey let me leave."
Sirius knew about the maze figuring in the third task. He had been lying concealed in Hagrid's vegetable patch when the rules were read by Ludo Bagman. That was the last he'd seen of Harry and the other champions.
"This is really weird and I won't take offense if you don't believe me, but Cedric and I were sent off somewhere by the cup and Peter Pettigrew performed a ritual and gave Voldemort a new body! I wouldn't believe it either if I hadn't seen it. Pettigrew killed Cedric, then cut me on the arm and took my blood to put in the cauldron. He had what was left of Voldemort, like a big baby only not really human. Then Voldemort wanted me to duel him so he could kill me in front of some Death Eaters. So messed up."
Sirius gave a great laugh.
"Sounds like it," he said. "Well, that is not good news, but it solves one problem. No one found a body so there was always that lingering doubt. The old Death Eaters in Azkaban loved preaching to the rest of us. 'Cast your lot with Voldemort—He will return! He lives forever and shows mercy to those who acknowledge him and submit to his will.'
"I'm telling you, Harry, if you didn't know, I spent some years as a down-and-outer. The Blacks wouldn't give me a knut and I didn't want to freeload from James and Lily so I'd be a bit short and take a meal from a rescue mission now and then. First they hold a religious service which you're expected to attend then they'll open up the cafeteria line. Some of the folks on the street have educations. They know one tradition or another and ought to have been fine but they just got too fond of wine before they understood what it was doing to them. I've seen them repent of their sins and fall down in the aisles, trembling all over, thanking this deity or that."
Sirius got a far-off look, pulled up a blade of some tough grass and began to chew on the end.
"What I'm saying, Harry, is that what I'd see at the mission was a lot like those Azkaban Death Eaters. They believed. I expect he will go to work on getting them out. He is nothing without followers. They are the most fanatic so he'll want to put that organization back together."
"Sirius, do you think it is possible that Fudge or other officials in the Ministry are secretly followers or under Voldemort's control? Fudge has been involved in this tournament at every step. I don't trust him at all," Harry said.
Sirius looked at Harry, studying his face, then sighed.
"Harry, I don't want to make you a complete cynic, not at all," said Sirius. "It is madness to believe that everything in life is rigged or operates with hidden and malign motives or purposes. This is the magical world, though, so I confess it does look that way at times. Sounds funny, coming from me, eh? In this case, I can't think of anything connected with the Tri-Wizard Tournament that looks to me like it is completely straight. Reviving something our forebears had said they were done with centuries ago, restricting entry to witches and wizards who had achieved their majorities, then letting you in! No one could show you had even entered, yet you were told you were a party to a binding magical contract. Hippogriff feathers! No one is a party to a contract they didn't agree to. No, I've never thought this was on the up and up. It reeks of manipulation and corruption. By extension, then, some stain must transfer, to someone. Let's see—Bagman, Fudge, Dumbledore, Karkaroff and Maxime. To start."
Harry leaned back against the trunk of the oak tree, silent, staring off into the distance. He discovered he was very tired when his eyes refused to stay open. Fighting sleep is never a good use of time, as Sirius advised.
"Harry, if you need to sleep you ought to go back to Hogwarts," he said, shaking Harry's arm. "This isn't safe. Anyone could show up at any time."
"You're right," said Harry, stretching. "Thanks again, Padfoot. You've given me a lot to think about."
"Stiff upper lip, Harry," said Sirius. "We'll stick together and put an end to this drivel. He has to come out in the open now, where we can get at him. Someday you'll look back to today and think it was nearly over."
"Merlin willing," Harry said as he swung his leg over his broom.
Sirius switched back to his Padfoot form and sat on his haunches.
"One of these days you'll have to teach me how to do that," said Harry as he kicked off.
Harry circled the oak tree one time, watching Padfoot trotting off to wherever he was off to. Harry thought the tree was just the spot for some relaxed contemplation of problems. He had a lot of those. He looked around, trying to identify nearby landmarks to aid him in navigating back. Harry thought he might want to return for contemplation from time to time.
"Hedwig!"
Ron Weasley was leaning out the casement window near their beds in the Gryffindor wizards' dorm when Harry arrived. He would normally land somewhere and walk in to put his broom back in storage but decided, since the window was open, to land on the sill and step inside. Harry was almost sure he could crouch low enough to duck in, provided he landed softly and with enough balance to permit landing on a narrow stone windowsill.
"Merlin's beard, Harry!" shouted Ron as he performed a reverse back-flop to get out of the way of the looming collision of Harry, broom and window.
The collision failed to transpire as Harry flew to the sill, braked and stepped off his broom in a masterpiece of precision flying.
"What?" Harry asked, turning and looking back to confirm Hedwig was flying toward the Owlery.
"You could have crashed right through that window or missed the window and flown into the castle wall. It is stone, you know," said Ron.
"That's true," said Harry, "But I didn't."
He tossed his broom onto his bed and twirled his flying cape off his shoulders. Harry saw he and Ron weren't alone, Seamus, Dean and Neville being present.
"Uh, Harry, one of the prefects came by, asking if we'd seen you," said Neville. "Did you have an appointment of some kind at Dumbledore's?"
"No, I am supposed to be officially at liberty," Harry said. "Did he say what Dumbledore wants?"
"Uh—no," Neville admitted.
Harry sighed. It was inevitable so he decided he might as well go and get it over with. It wasn't a good sign when Harry arrived at the headmaster's spiral staircase and the gargoyle sentry told him to, "Go right on up, Mr. Potter."
The formalities were minimal. Dumbledore again mentioned that Harry knew the minister, of course, followed by the introduction of a specialist, otherwise undesignated, who had come from the ministry to talk to Harry. The specialist was introduced as 'Dr. Beezle' and Harry was assured she was an expert in her field. Harry had his questions about the nature of Dr. Beezle's field because he suspected, quite strongly, that her proposed talk was some form of examination or investigation. He couldn't form an opinion as to whether she was from law enforcement or psychiatry. Those didn't have the same clear lines of separation in the magical world as they did in mundane circles.
"Very pleased to meet you," said Harry.
"Very pleased to meet you, Harry," said Dr. Beezle. "I'm looking forward to getting to know you."
Harry was already suspicious of Dr. Beezle, her ministry connections and her motivation for wanting to get to know him. He looked back to Dumbledore, waiting for a cue to do something.
"If you're willing, Harry, Dr. Beezle would like to meet with you privately," said Dumbledore, "Just to assure the Ministry that our champion wasn't permanently damaged during the third task."
"Uh-huh," said Harry, the words 'Ministry' and 'damaged' causing the skin over his spine to break out in goose bumps.
He looked back at Dr. Beezle and began to study her, seeking clues to who and what she was and the nature of her mission for the Ministry. He no longer believed she had even a slight interest in his welfare.
"Well, then, Mr. Potter, shall we? I believe the headmaster has offered us a classroom where we can speak in private. Just this way," smiled Beezle.
Harry knew the room. He had seen it on the Marauders' map and considered it for business meetings, rejecting it only because of its proximity to the headmaster's rooms. He thought it possible the headmaster used the space for purposes like the present one, which he would doubtless like to monitor. Harry certainly would have, had he been in Dumbledore's position.
"So."
Dr. Beezle sat and crossed her legs as she gave Harry a smile. Harry couldn't tell if she was naturally friendly, trying to give the impression she was friendly or masking a deficiency of friendliness. The foot connected to the upper leg, the one atop its partner, began bobbing up and down. Harry noticed Dr. Beezle's wand was in her right hand although he had not noticed when she drew it or whence it had come.
"The Minister is very concerned, Mr. Potter…or, would you prefer Harry?" Beezle began.
"Concerned about what?" Harry asked, ignoring the opportunity to choose a form of address.
"Well, during the third task of the Tournament, you disappeared for some time, then reappeared with your school chum who turned out to be dead. Perhaps you'd like to talk about what happened, to get it off your chest. Unburden yourself. Hence my presence here at Hogwarts. I have training and experience in these matters so if I can understand what you're thinking I may be able to give you some assistance, you see?" she asked.
Harry watched Beezle's right hand, her wand hand. She moved the wand now and then. Harry couldn't decide whether he thought she was deploying it in the furtherance of casting a spell of some sort or not. That in itself, not knowing, was enough.
"I don't know what I can add to what I've already said," Harry began. "I went into the maze, like everyone else. Right in front of the grandstand, so if you want witnesses there are plenty. I saw Fleur Delacour taken by the maze. Then Viktor Krum. Cedric and I saw the cup at the same time. I wanted him to have it and he insisted it belonged to me. We agreed to return together and we each took one handle. We were transported somewhere, to a graveyard. Peter Pettigrew was there. He killed Cedric with the killing curse. I was held fast. Some kind of enchantment. Pettigrew performed a ritual. He cut my arm and put my blood in a cauldron. He had something wrapped in a blanket. It didn't look human but it was more human-looking that anything else. It went in the cauldron and eventually a sort of man-thing stood and Pettigrew helped him out of the cauldron."
"Could we stop for just a moment?" Dr. Beezle asked. "Unless I'm mistaken, Peter Pettigrew is dead. Killed by Sirius Black around the time of your parents' murder."
"That's not true," said Harry.
"All of the records attest to it, Mr. Potter," said Beezle. "The inquiries…"
"Got it wrong," Harry finished.
"Mr. Potter, Harry, I caution you, the Minister is committed, has pledged to the public that James and Lily Potter were murdered by Sirius Black, as was their friend Peter Pettigrew and that justice was done. You don't want to be in opposition to Minister Fudge, do you? The consequences could be, well, quite distasteful," said Beezle.
"Are we done, then?" asked Harry as he began to stand.
"Sit down!" Beezle shouted, or nearly so.
She pointed her wand at Harry. Harry looked at the wand. Beezle looked at the wand, which she lowered, smiling a bit sheepishly, then looked back at Harry.
"Potter, you must understand, this episode has, ahh, implications. Far beyond what your schoolboy brain can comprehend. Now, your babbling during your return from the maze was overheard by nearby faculty and numerous people in attendance. Rumors are flying. People are panicking. It is the Minister's intent to shut down the panic, by whatever means he deems necessary. He will put this right and you will go along. Do you understand?"
"Does he intend to send the dementors after me, again? I did learn Mr. Barty Crouch, Jr. was in custody here on school property and now has gone silent, soul sucked right out of him," said Harry. "Dementor's Kiss, or so says the rumor."
"Potter, you're giving me no choice here," said Beezle, her eyes intent on Harry's.
'Legilimens,' Harry thought as soon as his consciousness felt the first bump. It wasn't subtle. Dr. Beezle did not intend to get in and take a look around, then get out unnoticed. She was sending Harry Potter a message. The Ministry for Magic and particularly the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, did not intend to be put on the spot by a fourteen-year-old wizard with inflated ideas. Her job was to give Harry Potter a lesson in practical politics, gently if possible, but if that proved impossible, by whatever means she had at hand.
Dr. Beezle was skilled in the mind arts but that had saved her from some of the more physically-challenging features of magical life, a deficiency that she should have taken steps to correct. When he was hit by the wave of her mental attack, Harry felt the weariness that he had experienced in the second task. It was back, the cold, the wet, the sensation of feeling the fatigue flooding into every crack and fissure of his being.
"Mmm…ugghhh," he groaned, the sensation of cold water sucking him under the surface back, only he wasn't in the water. Harry understood Dr. Beezle was softening him up, distracting him from feeling what she was doing in his mind so she could probe around to her heart's content. She would learn what he had in there. Look through his experiences. She would wipe away whatever was inconvenient for Cornelius Fudge's interests and career then slip out leaving only those erasures behind. Harry wouldn't know what was missing. If she did a good enough job he might not even miss the memories.
Harry knew how to deal with the water. He had done it before. He visualized a basilisk and began carving S after S after S, pushing himself through the liquid.
'S-s-s-sooooo…' said the basilisk. 'Master's enemy would probe his mind? Not today-y-y-y.'
Harry was standing in the interview room, looking at Dr. Beezle, but the basilisk looked out of Harry Potter's eyes. Once again, being spared the direct gaze of the basilisk saved the object under inspection from instant death, instead substituting paralysis. Beezle toppled out of her chair and lay on her side, arms and legs in the positions they'd been in when she froze up.
'S-s-s-soooo…' said the basilisk. 'What does our enemy have to show us today?'
Harry moved the basilisk like a puppeteer, carving S over and over as it swam through Dr. Beezle's mind. Before long he had figured out how to perceive the thoughts she held most strongly. Her instructions from Fudge were very clear and prominent. She was to reason with young Potter then take additional measures if she thought them necessary. Fudge left that to Beezle's judgement. So no incriminating orders left in his instrument's mind. Very smart, Minister! In any case, Potter was not to leave the room and start up with the nonsense about the late, unlamented Dark Lord. That was unacceptable. That must be made to stop, now.
'Ahhh…' thought Harry. 'Best be careful with that when we go back.'
The basilisk swam, head above the surface, peering through the mist at the edge of Beezle's consciousness. It decided it was time to probe a bit deeper, and dove.
It probably would not have surprised an older, more experienced wizard, but Harry was still too young to have become used to the idea that functional is not the equivalent of balanced, mature or sane. Dr. Beezle wasn't a healer, it seemed, but an Unspeakable. She had used her skills to probe the minds of dozens of prominent witches and wizards. One result was her underestimation of Harry Potter's internal resources when confronted with strongarm tactics. Well, to be fair, though—who could anticipate he would be carrying basilisk consciousness around in his head?
Harry learned as much as he thought he could handle and swam the basilisk back to the surface. The basilisk filled its lungs with air and Harry Potter reinhabited Harry Potter's body and mind feeling energized. He realized he had a problem, one he had encountered before. Dr. Beezle was as petrified as Filch's cat, lying on the floor. She had barged into Harry's mind, not the other way around. No doubt she had meant to put him off balance or intimidate him, judging by the clumsy approach. If that didn't work then she would just go up one level of force. Harry wanted to release her without giving away that he had taken the liberty, as long as Dr. Beezle was in his mind, to take a look around in hers. He didn't think that was wrong, even by the rules of the magical world. She had voluntarily brought her mind with her, after all, when she entered Harry's, uninvited. If that was not an offer of a quid pro quo, what was?
Harry thought about Beezle's brain, inside of his, floating on the surface near the basilisk. A plan formed in his mind but he would need the basilisk's cooperation to make it work. He wondered how one addresses one's mental construct of a basilisk?
"Basilisk?" he tried.
The great, unnatural not-exactly-a-reptile turned its head, yellow eyes like searchlights. It didn't seem surprised that Harry stayed upright and conscious.
"Master?" replied the basilisk.
"We'll be wanting to give Dr. Beezle her brain back," said Harry. "Most of it, anyway. Thank-you for helping me out once again. If you could just hold it gently in your mouth and swim over there and deposit it? Then please come on back and we'll go. I'll wait."
"Master," said the basilisk, inclining its head.
Harry had the sense that he was incomplete for a short period, then complete once more.
"Master," said a hissy voice.
Harry didn't see any great snakes about so he assumed he had released the mental simulacrum. Its work was done, after all. It might as well go back to wherever it hung out during the time Harry didn't need it. Harry felt quite whole and not at all personally violated by Beezle's intrusive attempted intervention. It had been an interesting and educational experience, overall. He looked at the petrified Unspeakable. She reminded him of the petrified Hermione from second year, including the immobile eyes that stared straight ahead. She held her wand, just as Hermione had been holding the hand mirror.
Harry considered his next steps at some length. He knew it might be important to demonstrate how he hadn't had anything to do, personally, with Beezle's state of suspended animation. Fudge might demand that he be interrogated under veratiserum, willingly or unwillingly. Harry tried to remember the last thing for which he'd used his own wand. There was a simple charm that would reveal its last task. Priori incantatem. He hoped they used it. The last thing he remembered was using the wand to summon clean underwear from his dresser drawer.
Finally deciding he had nothing to hide, Harry opened the door and made his way back to the headmaster's rooms.
"Can I go up?" he asked the gargoyle.
Harry did not have any idea what Dumbledore was using for a password.
"How did you know?" asked the gargoyle, rotating itself out of the way.
When Dumbledore gave his permission, Harry took a deep breath and turned the door handle. He didn't know what to expect. Minister Fudge had thrown some fairly threatening observations around earlier. Who knew how he would react to hearing about his petrified Unspeakable?
"Interview over?" asked Dumbledore.
"I can't say," Harry replied. "Dr. Beezle is not speaking."
"WHAT?" shouted Fudge. "What have you done?"
"Nothing," said Harry. "She just drew her wand, then she kind of toppled over…"
"Where is this room of yours, Dumbledore? I demand you take me there at once!" Fudge raved.
"Right this way, Minister," said Dumbledore, dashing out his door with Fudge right behind.
Harry didn't know what to do. Without instructions, he thought he ought to do whatever seemed best for all concerned. It was fairly obvious to Harry that his options were to return to his dormitory or make his way to Salazar Slytherin's faculty club and see if he could raise the legendary wizard and scholar. Dutifully following along in Dumbledore and Fudge's wake did not even occur to him.
Professor Slytherin might have useful insights to pass along. Yes, he decided, he would leave Dr. Beezle to Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey while he went down to see if the professor felt like holding a stimulating conversation.
It was full daylight and Harry had left his cloak locked up in his trunk. Rather than go via Gryffindor Tower he decided to return through the Chamber of Secrets route and took off for Moaning Myrtle's.
Myrtle didn't seem to be around so Harry slid the great marble sink aside and dropped down the drain. This time he took a moment to command the sink to get back into its usual position. He found it very gratifying that the sink complied. Minutes later Harry stood in front of the Slytherin effigy and commanded it to open, letting him inside the club rooms.
He sat down in a leather chair and called for Dobby so he could order tea, then called out in parseltongue for Salazar Slytherin. The Founder made the usual, annoyed, waking up noises then asked who had come to interrupt his well-deserved rest.
"It's me, Professor. Harry Potter. I need some advice and I can't think of anyone more qualified than you to ask. I apologize…"
The combination of 'Professor' and 'I need some advice' were all it took to get Slytherin's eager cooperation. Harry told all about the tasks, the insertion of a ritual of restoration or resurrection or something of the sort at the end of the third task and the unhealthy (in Harry's opinion) interest of Minister Fudge in propagating a lie rather than facing the facts.
"Oh, lad, you have landed in the middle of something, haven't you?" asked Slytherin. "Let's take some moments and think this through."
"Thank-you, Professor, that is what I hoped you would say. I hate to bother you…"
"Nonsense, a wizard, a scholar of your quality must never doubt your right and privilege to ask for assistance. Think of it this way. You are on a path. Lives and fortunes trail along because people believe in you and your cause. They've thrown in with you, win or lose, so you owe it to them to do what you need to do to prevail. Understand?" asked Slytherin.
That was quite the polemic, Harry would think, later on. Most unexpected, coming from the distinguished Founder.
"What can you tell me about this Dark Wizard. He's the same one who figured out the route to the Chamber out there?" asked Slytherin.
"Yes, sir," Harry said. "He was ordering that basilisk around, the one I killed, who almost killed me."
"There has to be a connection there," mused Slytherin. "Be alert, young Potter, it will want to reveal itself to you, in time. That is all very esoteric magic, not the kind of thing found in the ordinary mass market magic books. Your headmaster may have some knowledge of the field but he seems to be uninterested in passing the knowledge along. I myself was criticized for giving young wizards all the magic they could handle, at whatever age, so take my comments with a pinch of salt."
Harry heard humor in the self-criticism. He appreciated the great wizard's candor.
"My worry, of course, is that Voldemort is going to be coming right back after me," said Harry. "Everyone concedes he murdered my parents. Most wizards accept he tried to kill me and was unsuccessful."
"And why was that?" asked Slytherin.
"This is all what I've been told, you understand," said Harry. "I was rescued from the house in Godric's Hollow where we were all living. My parents were found, dead, inside the house. Dumbledore had sent Hagrid, who works here at the school, to check on the Potters so Hagrid was the one who bundled me up and took me to my relatives. Dumbledore decided to have them foster me so that he could ward the house. My aunt is my last living blood relative. Well, there is my cousin Dudley. So ever since that night it has been accepted that Voldemort tried to cast the killing curse on me, too, and it rebounded and seriously damaged him."
"Ah, right. So, if I may ask, who made the connection between yourself and the Dark Lord?" asked Salazar.
"I don't know," said Harry. "As I said, it is accepted by pretty much everyone. Oh, I do have this scar on my forehead. It is in the shape of a lightning bolt. It healed but it is still red and raw."
Salazar Slytherin didn't speak right away. The silence went on long enough for Harry to begin to wonder if his bit of presence had drifted back into sleep. He had to admit the distinguished founder was doing him a favor he probably could not repay, interrupting his well-earned rest to pass along a bit of counsel.
"And why does your headmaster think you survived?" Slytherin asked.
"He thinks my mother must have cast a protective spell over me that was then powered by her love. She allowed her own murder to happen so that the sacrifice was a perfect expression of a mother's love."
"Oh, Mr. Potter, where to start?" Slytherin began. "Your headmaster's theory does answer many things. From a magical perspective, the sequence of Mother's protective charm, murder of the caster which in this case is your witch-mother, willing sacrifice at the hands of the Dark Lord, the attempt on yourself, the rebound on the assailant and the resulting scar all fit the theory. Perhaps I should add 'As far as it goes.' Your circumstances are extremely rare. Infanticide is so abhorrent only the most evil persons commit it willingly. You should know there is a possibility that you have been living in a delicately-balanced relationship since that night."
"With Voldemort," said Harry.
"Mmm, yes, but with a third party—your mother," said Slytherin. "Three magical humans, sacrifice everywhere you look, protections and killing spells and no break in the sequence. I can't say for certain. No one can, I suspect. However, if you have been living in such a relationship and it has been stable, the restoration of your enemy's physical body will have upset the balance. Just as muggle physics wants spinning wheels balanced so they don't shake everything to pieces, Magic will work to correct the imbalance in your magical relationship with you, your mother and the Dark Lord, his with you and your mother with the two of you."
"My mother!" Harry shouted. "A relationship with Voldemort? Impossible!"
"Nothing voluntary or in any way improper, Mr. Potter. Should I use transaction instead? The Dark Lord chose to commit various serious crimes involving the Potter family. He violated your home, killed your father who was also your mother's husband, killed your mother and assaulted you. The magical dimensions of those acts would not sit well in the magical sphere. He paid a price for that and commenced doing whatever it was he was doing, between that night and today. Now he has escaped from his reduced circumstances through a ritual that included another assault upon your person, albeit one carried out by a thrall owing to his own weakness."
"Excuse me, Professor," Harry interrupted. "My mother is dead. What does that all mean?"
"No, excuse me, Mr. Potter," said Slytherin. "I don't have answers to all of the questions that flow from my speculation. It is true that your mother is dead, in a physical sense. Are there staff or faculty in the school who remember her?"
"Yes. Both," Harry answered.
"So she is alive in memory," said Slytherin. "Do you have any memories of your parents?"
Harry nearly answered 'No' before he gasped. He remembered the dementors and how just before he lost consciousness, he heard a woman's voice, screaming. Dementor attacks force us to relive our worst memories, according to Professor Lupin.
"I may," Harry said, "No way to prove it but I've been attacked by dementors and when they got close I could hear a woman screaming. Dementor attacks supposedly force us to recall our worst memories. It was suggested I might have…"
Harry stopped, breathed deeply and clamped his eyes shut until he could go on.
"Suggested I might have retained a memory, just a fragment, from that night."
"So she lives, in you," said Slytherin. "Was she skilled, as a witch, I mean?"
"Said to be the brightest of her generation," Harry said proudly. "Some of her professors have spoken of her in the highest terms."
"I expect some of her magic is still rippling the magical tapestry," Slytherin said, his tone soft and gentle. "You can think of it this way—A magical personality walks through a kind of firmament. Our term for it is Magic. 'Magic wants this, Magic will not like that.' Witches and wizards can't always define what we are doing or what it is we are using to do this or that task. We learn to control it. We formulate theories that answer certain questions. It's all in the category of 'Magic.' I happened to have participated in the establishment of a school. The school is still in operation. I'm dead, physically, but the school isn't. Do I have a relationship with today's students? With you? With those in Slytherin House? You, your mother and your enemy are, sorry, no other way to say it, joined in an ongoing transaction, an artifact embedded in the thing we call Magic. It was stable and now it isn't. However, it is safe to say this fellow, however much power he could get to flow for him in the beginning, has surely made himself very brittle by now. You could do a lot worse than to dig into these books here and read everything on bonds. There are all kinds of bonds, two, three, four-way bonds. You and your basilisk are in some kind of bond pact."
Harry tried to absorb all of the information Salazar Slytherin had just dumped on him. He could make sense of only one thing—Slytherin had told him of the possibility that he, Lily and Voldemort had been thrown into a magical relationship of some kind, that the three-way arrangement was no longer stabilized but unbalanced and that he needed to read up on bonds.
"Professor, I will be in your debt forever," Harry began. "I had no idea…"
"Nonsense Mr. Potter," said Slytherin. "We are magical. Life for us is one long tutorial so you'd better get used to it. Besides, you've made me feel like a wizard again."