The world around them had just started to disappear in their eyes when a heavy fluttering of wings came in suddenly from the window. Harry was startled enough to jump back from November. Hedwig, the snow-white owl he'd had since he was a boy, was upstairs napping in a small room they'd nicknamed "Hedwig's room". It was roomy enough for the aging creature, but there was very little room inside for much else. Age was not doing the animal well, so Harry rarely sent his friend out to carry messages. Ordinarily he just had to wait for the Ministry of Magic to send him an owl and then he would simply use that owl to send his reply. However, this was no Ministry bird. This was a tiny owl, a pitch-black one small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. He carried a card that was bigger than he was. It was a plain white card made of a light cardboard material, and it was folded over so that the writing inside was hidden. There was no writing on the outside.
The moment Harry slid the card from the bird's sharp talons it flew off immediately back out the window. Its haste puzzled the both of them. "I suppose it's not expecting much of a reply," November commented, attempting to explain the bird's behavior more to herself than to Harry. A look of bemusement completely covered his face as he looked over the blank card.
"Em, I really don't like the looks of this," he said warily. There was something disconcerting *thank you Kelly for that word! * about a mysterious message being flown from someone in hiding. That, at least, was his guess. When his godfather Sirius Black had gone into hiding, he used to use little wood owls such as this to send post to Harry. It made it difficult for the Ministry to trace that way. Still, they had never flown away so quickly after their delivery. That very much irked him. He slid his thumb into the opening of the card and pulled it wide open.
The green light that soon emitted from the card was almost blinding. He blinked a couple times and waited for the light to dim. It was a spell-a charm, to be exact-he knew well. It was used to light up the words of any message for a flashy appeal. It really had no use other than for entertainment, and he and Hermione used to use it when they sent posts to each other, just for fun. However, this message was certainly not from Hermione. When the light had dimmed enough to make out the letters on the card, Harry found two words staring up at him. He spoke them aloud as he read them.
"Avada Kedavra." November's arm, which she had wrapped protectively around Harry's arm, quivered in fear. Fear struck her as it never had before. Her mouth went dry, her eyes widened, and her stomach churned uncomfortably. Not for the first time, someone was out to kill Harry. For a moment she was struck speechless. Her arm wound tighter around his, as though in doing so it would keep him alive beside her. The words of the dreaded, unforgivable, lethal curse, when used with a swift wand motion, brought upon a death so feared that the words alone were nearly as taboo as the word "Voldemort" had been ages ago. This was a threat to be sure, and it scared her to no end.
"Voldemort," she breathed. He was the only possible culprit that made sense to her, and it seemed the very thing he would do. As terrified as he was, Harry took the situation calmly. It was one thing she admired about him: he was usually very skilled at keeping a level head in a crisis. Not always, but usually. He turned the card over and discovered new lettering on the back that hadn't been there before.
" 'The Friend of the Foe'," he read, his voice unwavering. "No, this is a game someone's playing. Voldemort wouldn't play games. If he truly wanted me dead, he would just come right out and kill me. No, whoever this is, is just trying to scare me. 'Friend of the Foe'…must be a friend of Voldemort's, then. A Death Eater, perhaps. Well, they can't scare me this easily. Still, if it would make you feel better, I'll go to the Ministry with this. Would that ease your fears?" He could sense her fear in everything about her, from the expression on her face to the way she clung so tightly to him. Maybe he felt safe enough to wave the note off as nothing important, but it was visible that she didn't share the feeling, and her feeling of safety meant more to him than his own.
"A bit," she replied. "I just worry about you, that's all. You'll take your cloak, won't you?" He grinned at her valiant attempt to care more about his safety than hers. He knew she wanted him to tell the Ministry of the message, but he hated to leave her alone and frightened like this. He also knew if he told her he wanted to stay and keep her company, she would refuse and insist that he go, though it wasn't at all what she wanted. Maybe he would ask Ron to keep an eye on her without telling her. It would make him feel more at ease about leaving his family behind. He knew Abby was safe enough at Hogwarts. It was November and now the son she was carrying that he worried about.
"Of course," he replied, getting up and walking toward the front door. There was a small closet by that door, and this was really where he was headed. It was a cramped closet under the stairs that led to the upstairs bedrooms. In many respects it reminded him of the closet the Dursleys used to make him use for a bedroom when he was younger. Now it made him chuckle every time he opened it. November stood and walked over to where he had gone, still trembling a bit from the shock of the note.
"I think," he said, opening the door and rooting through its contents, "I might even take the broom Ron gave me for my birthday. Goodness knows I haven't been able to use it yet, and I think it would be better for my nerves than to Apparate." With this he dug out the Windcatcher that had been propped up against the back wall. The gold lettering still sparkled like new, and familiar electricity flowed through his hands just in touching it. It even made November smile to see how much he ached to put such a quality racing broom to good use. She couldn't refuse.
"All right," she said slowly, as thought not altogether sure it was all right. She reached into the depths of the closet and pulled out a black, silky cloak, the likes of which flowed through her fingers like liquid rubber. She had handled it before, but it still came as an odd sensation. "I suppose I have to let you go. Come back as soon as you can, okay?"
He nodded in agreement *what's he gonna say? No? * and, placing one hand casually on her hip, kissed her softly. Like I would do anything else, he thought. "Send an owl to Dumbledore for me?" he asked her imploringly. "I think he ought to know about this."
She had been planning to do this anyway, so she had no difficulty in agreeing to it. "Okay…but Harry?" she asked, still toying with his cloak in her hands. "There's something else I want you to talk about with the Ministry. If this continues…well, I…I-I want…I want a Secret-Keeper." She said this last bit all at once and in one breath, as though she hated to say it but knew she had to. It was what she wanted and it was an idea she'd been playing with for quite some time. However, she was unsure of how he would react.
Sure enough, he looked at her quietly while the words soaked in. A Secret-Keeper? A Secret-Keeper had betrayed his parents. A Secret-Keeper had left them both to die. He wasn't too sure he could put that much trust into one person and cut off so much contact with the outside world in going into hiding. However, Harry knew better than to refuse right away without thinking about it. *smart kid*
"Sure, I'll ask…but only theoretically. I want to discuss it more when I come home," he told her. She smiled weakly, and reluctantly handed him back his cloak. Truth be told, she really didn't want to let him go. Every time he went to the Ministry for a little thing like this, he always ended up staying there for days at a time. He would deliver his message, but Cornelius Fudge (who was still the Minister of Magic, though he was getting along in years) would send him on some errand for the Order that required more time and energy than they seemed to realize, and Harry was too good a person to tell them no. She had a few more nights without him to look forward to. She sighed inwardly.
He gave her one last kiss goodbye before draping the cloak over his shoulders and dropping the top part of it over his head. He was now completely invisible, just a vague shimmer of light whose outline she could hardly make out. All she could see was a broomstick standing upright before her. It had been a little creepy at first, but she soon got used to seeing objects move through invisible hands. She watched the broomstick fall horizontally a foot or so above the ground before it, too, was disguised by the cloak.
"I love you, November," came a disembodied voice from the air in front of her. She didn't even give it a second thought anymore. She returned the statement in kind, folding her arms across her chest in a vain attempt to protect her body from the cool wind that was about to flood the house. The front door swung open, and in her mind's eye she followed Harry's path up into the bright blue stretch of sky.
"Good luck," she murmured beneath her breath, as though someone were listening and could overhear her. She prayed silently that he would come home, alive and well. That was part of the difficulty in being married to Harry Potter: you never knew if the conversation you were having would be his last. Maybe that sort of uncertainty works for him, thought November, giving a shiver and closing the door, but it doesn't work for me.
*one of my favorite chapters…I love the reviews, you guys! Thank you! ~slyly~ So, you think November's being a bit wimpy and reliant on Harry, who's become the hero to save the day and knows it? ~rubs hands together mischievously~ Good, good…*