Water on Stone
AN: And yet again, it takes me an unforgivably long while to pound out another chapter. Nearly everything about this chapter was slow in coming-- even the title-- and without any good reason. I half suspect the real reason I used "Water on Stone" was because that's what writing this one felt like: very (drip)... very (drip)... very (drip)... slooooooowwww (splash). :p Here's hoping the next chapter proves to be a little timelier. Thank you all for being so wonderfully patient, and Dr. C for pointing out that I forgot to give Ron pink ears. :)
***
...me deber imperioso de vigía,
mi inclinación a ser sólo yo mismo
en la debilidad de mis placeres,
por eso-- agua en la piedra-- fué mi vida
cantando entre la dicha y la dureza.
~ Pablo Neruda*
***
"You're kidding, right?" Harry pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "You've got to be joking." He looked to his godfather, who nodded, confirming Dumbledore's words. "Great," Harry sighed. "Just brilliant."
"It's not as bad as all that, Harry," Sirius Black interjected. "It's not like the Balance makes your decisions for you."
"It just makes me cast spells I've never heard of in a language I don't know!" Harry cried agitatedly. "I don't even know what I did yesterday! I could have hurt somebody-- I could have killed someone. And I wouldn't have known even if I did." Harry brought his hand up to his forehead and traced the scar there lightly. "I never asked for it," he said quietly. Sirius ruffled the boy's hair.
"I know you didn't, Harry," he said gruffly. "None of us did. But it's not something you can change. And," he added, "at least you're not alone in this." Harry looked questioningly at Sirius.
"It would seem," Dumbledore said slowly from his chair beside Harry's bed, "that Ginny Weasley is also a conduit." The Headmaster paused for a moment. "She is not terribly thrilled with the prospect either. I'm afraid it brings back rather unpleasant memories for her."
Harry blinked. Of course-- Riddle. "Ginny's a conduit, too?" he asked, wrapping the words around in his mind. He wasn't the only one? "How many are there, then?"
"As many as there need to be," Dumbledore answered. "Apparently, there need to be at least two right now. But most scholarship into the Balance and the Old Ways record there being only one conduit at a time. It would behoove us to look a little more deeply into the matter, as it's a rather unprecedented situation."
"Oh," said Harry. His forehead wrinkled, and he rubbed his scar. "How do you know she's a conduit, though?" he asked. "I mean, has she-- has the Balance done anything through her? Like it did through me?"
"Not as of yet." Dumbledore smiled slightly. "There were other signs. But I'm certain the Balance has its plans for her in the future." Harry wondered what "other things" Dumbledore could mean. Ginny had always seemed to be a normal sort of girl-- it just didn't fit that she would be mixed up in this whole Balance mess. Honestly though, if he thought about it, Harry didn't really know her that well. But the idea of somehow being connected to her was a little disturbing, for more than one reason. Not least because of the scene in the kitchen earlier that morning.
Dumbledore rose from his chair. "I imagine the others will be arriving soon. I should probably offer my assistance to Molly before the kitchen becomes a war zone."
Sirius nodded. "I should probably go and join the Allied forces, too-- it's the least I can do, really. Not many people let strays stay overnight, you know." He looked down at his godson. "You think you can make it down to the kitchen in a while? You don't have to, of course, but it would probably be best if you were there to hear everything," he said.
Harry assented. "I'm okay. I'll be down in a bit," he told Sirius. "I'd just rather not go down there in my pajamas, if that's okay." Harry managed an attempt at a grin.
Sirius chuckled. "All right, then," he said, shutting the door behind him as he left.
"All right, then," Harry echoed back to the blank of the closed door. He leaned back against the pillows, and for a moment considered just pulling the covers back up over his head and ignoring it all.
It had been a long, confusing summer for Harry. Life with the Dursleys had been predictably miserable, and it had only been made worse by the nightmares that had plagued him since the Third Task. He hadn't been able to keep himself from calling out in his dreams, and had woken up his aunt and uncle on more than one occasion.
"Can't you keep yourself quiet, boy?" Aunt Petunia had asked angrily two weeks ago. "Blabbering on about all those-- abnormal things. If the neighbors hear you, you can be sure you'll be out of this house before you know which way is up," she had threatened with a glare. But as much as Aunt Petunia hated the wizarding world, she did love to eavesdrop. "And who is this Cedric you keep bellowing about?" Seeing Harry flinch, she had pressed on. "It sounds like he was in quite a bit of trouble because of you."
Harry had snapped. "What does it matter to you?" he asked. "He's dead now, anyway."
The Dursleys gave him a wide berth after that. But the nightmares weren't as easily dissuaded. And then yesterday....
Harry sighed. Being fifteen was complicated enough without evil Dark Lords trying to kill you at every turn and mysterious ancient powers forcing you to recite spells that you didn't remember learning. At least he wasn't the only one with that particular problem. But still. He was supposed to be worrying about Quidditch and school and girls right now. Normal stuff like that.
Yeah, because "normal" is a word that applies so well to me, he thought sarcastically, throwing his legs over the side of the bed to get up. He couldn't hide in Ron's room for the rest of the summer, however much he wanted to.
***
Harry dressed quickly in some of Ron's old clothes; his trousers and shirt from the previous day were gone. "My goodness, you're pale, dear," the mirror commented on his way out the door. "And those trousers are entirely too long for you. And for goodness sake," it called after him, "can't you do something with that hair of yours?" Harry shook his head. Wizarding mirrors were something he could easily live without.
He made his way down to the Weasley living room-- it wasn't quite noon, and he didn't feel like joining the throng in the kitchen just yet. He pushed the door open, and nearly walked into someone standing just inside.
"Oh," he said a bit stupidly, staring at a flushing Ginny Weasley. He still wasn't sure what to make of the whole hand thing that had happened earlier in the morning. And to tell the truth, it made him a little uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Ginny-- I didn't know you were in here." He made to leave, but she shook her head.
"You don't have to go," she said hurriedly, fidgeting with the end of the damp plait resting on her shoulder. "I mean, unless, of course you want to. Which is fine. I was just-- thinking. About things. You know. Things," she gestured vaguely, and then shook her head.
"Let me try that again. I can be a rational person, if I try," she said. Harry bit back a smile; he hadn't seen her so flustered since her first year. "I guess you've talked to Dumbledore?" she asked, a good deal more collected.
"Yeah." Harry sighed and leaned heavily against the wall. "Bloody brilliant, isn't it?" he said dryly.
"My thoughts exactly. He told Mum and Dad about-- about the whole me being a conduit thing before he went to talk to you. Another thing for them to be protective about," she said, a little bitterly. There was a moment of silence, and then the two spoke at once.
"It's almost noon, we should probably go-- "
"I need to go fetch Ron before the meeting-- "
"Where is he, anyway?" Harry asked, his face brightening slightly. "I haven't seen him yet."
"He's been right worried about you," Ginny said. "He's probably owling Hermione right now... that seems to be about the only thing he does these days. I think he's trying to wear Pig out."
A spark of amusement flitted across Harry's face. "Really?"Ginny smirked. "C'mon. Let's go see if I'm right." She made to put her hand on Harry's forearm, but stopped suddenly and jerked it back. "Um, right," she said, twisting her hands. "I think he's in the dining room." Great, Ginny, the little voice in the back of her mind chided as she led the way to the dining room. Perhaps we should implement a "no contact" rule, so you won't humiliate yourself.
She peeked inside the doorway, motioning for Harry to stay quiet. Ron was sitting at the table, surrounded by a sea of crumpled papers. He looked lost in thought, and was furiously scratching out whatever it was he had written last. Ginny grinned, and opened the door all the way.
"Honestly, Ron, how many drafts does it take to say, 'Harry's here, he's been hurt, and, by the way, I fancy you?'"
Ron jumped, and Harry made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a guffaw. Ten points, Ginny Weasley. Had Ron not noticed Harry at that moment, he probably would have attacked his younger sister, chivalry be damned.
"Harry, mate!" Ron rose and hugged his friend tightly, avoiding Harry's bad arm. "Erm, right." Ron gave Harry an awkward pat on the back and stepped away. Ginny had to suppress a snicker; however evident it was that the two friends were genuinely glad to see each other, neither of them was willing to delve into all the sappy, emotional stuff. Boys.
"Writing to Hermione, were you?" Harry asked with a faint smile. He was still pale, but it comforted Ginny to see him fall back into his routine with Ron.
"As a matter of fact, yes." Ron hurriedly tried to gather his papers together. "Someone had to let her know what's going on, you know. Keeping her informed, that's all." Ron's ears were a suspicious shade of pink, and Ginny caught a glimpse of one of the letters-- the words "blasted," "Krum," and "Bulgaria" were visible. She tried to catch Harry's eye to see if he had also seen the incriminating letter, but Harry's face had taken on a worried look.
"Are you sure it's safe to owl her?" he asked. "I mean, after yesterday.... What if someone else reads the letter? I don't want her to be in trouble." He grimaced. "I know I'm putting your family in enough danger by being here-- but the Grangers can't even defend themselves. Maybe you shouldn't mention me."
Ron shook his head and smacked Harry over the head with his letter. "Twit. Do you really think I'm that thick? I already asked Mum and Dad about it this morning at breakfast. I didn't want to send it with Pig because the feathery git would probably get lost on the way. Dumbledore said I could give the letter to him, and he'd make sure it got put in with her Hogwarts letter. Less suspicious that way. And if you're really worried about it, Bill could put a Voice Encryption charm on it so that the writing's invisible until it can identify her voice." Ginny was impressed; Ron had given this a lot of thought.
"Besides," he continued, "she'd never forgive us if we didn't let her know what happened. You know Hermione. Being the last to know something would drive her mad."
"Can't imagine how that would feel," Ginny muttered.
Ron winced. "I take it I'm still in trouble," he ventured.
"Got it in one," she answered. Harry looked a little lost.
"Don't worry about it, mate," Ron said, pushing him towards the door. "We've got a meeting to get to, anyway."
Ginny glowered. "You can run, Ron Weasley, but you can't hide.... I know where you sleep," she warned him as she followed the boys into the kitchen.
***
Harry, Ron, and Ginny slid quickly inside the kitchen door. Ginny looked around for a place to sit, but it didn't look like there were enough seats. Professor Lupin and Sirius Black (who is not a bloodthirsty murderer, she reminded herself) were arguing good-naturedly over something across the kitchen table. Mr. Doffle, the red-faced man from the previous evening, sat next to Black, watching the exchange with a satisfied grin spread across his broad face.
Mrs. Weasley sat in another spindly-legged kitchen chair next to her husband and Mundugus Fletcher, gesturing frustratedly to her eldest son's hair ("I wish you'd talk to him, Arthur... he looks like a-- a degenerate!"). Bill, whose hair was long-- but very cool-- leaned up against the mantle over the fireplace, ignoring the chatter behind him as he talked dragons with Charlie and a stone-faced Tuesday Birchfald. The twins had claimed the hearthstone, and were messing about with a rather dangerous-looking miniature of a troll that was swinging its tiny club around viciously.
Percy and Mr. Herron, both looking fussy and out of place in the chaotic room, sat on two stools against the far wall, discussing international trade and each trying to use larger words than the other. Mr. Grell, as he had been the night before, was separate from the group-- quietly watching the tableau from a corner.
Dumbledore was seated at the head of the kitchen table, and rose when they entered the room. "Ah. Good to see you down here, Harry. Miss Weasley, Mr. Weasley," he nodded to Ginny and Ron and smiled. "Harry, I don't believe you have had the pleasure of meeting everyone yet." Dumbledore introduced the strange faces in the room to Harry, much as he had done the previous night for Ginny and her brothers, although Harry was much tenser than they had been.
"If you would like to take a seat, now that we have the introductions out of the way...." Dumbledore glanced around the room. There were no more chairs to be had. He turned his hand with a quick motion, and with a small pop! Ginny found herself seated on a tattered green sofa between Harry and Ron.
Ron grinned. "Wandless magic," he said, bouncing a little on the cushions to test them. "Excellent." Ginny was rather impressed herself. Wandless magic was very difficult to control; it would have been easy for a lesser wizard to have missed and conjured the sofa on top of someone unintentionally. But then, this was Dumbledore.
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily behind his spectacles. "I'm particularly fond of that sofa; it is extraordinarily good for a quick nap. I may request the use of it for that purpose later this afternoon, once we have concluded our business." He stood taller, and cleared his throat. "It would be best, I believe, if we began quickly. Time waits for no one, least of all those who have need of it." The room quieted.
Dumbledore began. "We spoke of many things last night, but we were missing a rather key perspective." He looked at Harry apologetically. "I wish there were a more pleasant way to go about this, Harry, but I am afraid we have little choice. I must ask you to tell us as much as you know, if it is not too much." Ginny felt Harry tense on the cushion beside her. Harry had been almost animated when talking to Ron moments before, but it was as though a light suddenly went out in him.
Black turned in his chair to face his godson. "You don't have to, Harry," he said in a low voice. "If you want to, you can go back to bed. That's fine." He laid a hand on Harry's knee. "Are you up for it?"
Harry made a frustrated noise. "Yes," he said, not really looking anywhere. "I'm fine." Sirius didn't look convinced, and neither was Ginny. "Where would you like me to start?" he asked Dumbledore in a flat voice.
"Let us begin with yesterday morning, and see where that takes us," the headmaster replied.
***
Harry talked slowly, without expression. He had risen at seven, he said, to make breakfast for the Dursleys. Eggs, sausage, toast, tomatoes, and a grapefruit for Dudley. ("He's still rather mountain-like," Harry noted.) Afterwards he went outside to tend the yard before it got too warm. He weeded the lawn, put another coat of whitewash on the garden shed, and trimmed the hedges so that Aunt Petunia could spy on the neighbors without straining her over-long neck. Then it was time for lunch, and then housework. He did the dishes, and swept the kitchen while his aunt caught up on her daily neighborhood observation.
"I was changing the sheets on Dudley's bed," Harry continued, looking at a spot on the wall, "when she screamed." He had talked steadily for several minutes without breaking the stream, but he stopped for a half moment before picking back up. "Dudley's room faces the street, and the curtains were up. So I could see what she was screaming at. There was a duel on over in Mrs. Figg's yard-- two wizards in black, and three others. I could see their wands out, and since the windows were open I could hear them, too." He stopped, and rubbed his scar roughly with one hand.
"Harry," Professor Lupin asked gently, "why did you leave the house?"Harry shrugged. "I couldn't just stay there. Mrs. Figg is a Muggle, and they could have hurt her." Ginny bit her lip; Dumbledore apparently hadn't been able to tell Harry that part yet. "And I saw Charlie from the window, and I thought it was Ron. It was...." He made a gesture towards his head.
Charlie grinned slightly. "It was what, mate? The hair?""Yeah, well...." Harry gave a half smile. "I knew it had to be one of you lot. Not Bill, though, or Ginny, unless they'd cut their hair." Ginny felt an odd shiver run up her spine, and she was certain that if she looked over at him, Harry would be looking back at her.
She sneaked a quick look. He wasn't. Of course. Just because he mentioned your name-- Her mental self rolled her eyes.
"At any rate, I couldn't just watch," he continued. "So I went outside. And-- " he stopped, and looked at Dumbledore. "It-- there was this pulling. I don't know. I-- I would have gone outside anyway. But...." He shook his head. "I didn't even grab my wand. Stupid of me. And my scar started to burn the closer I got. But I couldn't not go-- I just felt like if I didn't get there, everything would break apart, or something. But my scar... as soon as I got to the lawn it just-- exploded, almost." Harry put a hand up to the scar above his right eye, but didn't touch it, as though he were afraid of what might happen if he did.
He was silent for a moment, and Ginny heard the fire crackle in the grate. The room waited. She wanted someone to speak; the silence was too heavy for the bright light flooding the kitchen.
"It was-- loud," Harry said finally.
"Loud, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, concerned.
Harry met her eyes briefly. "Like with the Dementors. I hear my parents," he explained quietly.
Ginny heard her mother murmur, "Oh, the poor dear," under her breath. She wanted badly to slip her hand in Harry's and-- Stop, Ginny. Leave him alone. But it was very hard not to, when she knew what sort of voices the Dementors could bring back, and how real they were....
"You silly, stupid little thing. I could make you do anything. Anything I wanted, and you would never know, never remember."
"Tom-- please, don't-- please--"A high laugh. "Oh, do go on begging. It's so wonderfully pathetic. And so very useless. I'll have you kill them, you know. I'm going to tell you now so you can try to fight me and fail. I think I shall enjoy watching you go mad."
"No-- you won't make me-- I won't let you!""Such spirit, such life! No matter-- I'll soon have that as well. Until then, I shall bide my time. I have all the time in the world, my little fool. And you have very little left."
Ginny shivered, and forced herself to listen. "It was loud, and still. And-- it wasn't just my parents." He swallowed, and idly traced a stain on the sofa's upholstery. "It was like I could hear everything that he'd-- that Voldemort had done. All at once. And everyone else was...." Harry shook his head. "I don't know. Professor Lupin was near me, but-- They all stopped moving, like there wasn't any time. Except for them." He looked like he was struggling to find the words. "I don't know what I did. I saw a wand and grabbed it-- and my head felt like it would split in two, so I tried the first thing that I could think of. I tried a Patronus, because I've only ever felt like that around Dementors and I thought-- I don't know. Maybe they were Dementors in disguise?" He shrugged. "It didn't work. And then-- I don't really-- I'm not sure." He stopped and bit his lip.
Ginny glanced at her brother beside her. Ron's face was pale with concern for his friend, and his look reminded her of the night after the Third Task. He caught her eye briefly and did one of the most decent things he'd done for her in ages and gave her hand a quick squeeze. Ginny smiled faintly. Thanks, she mouthed. He rolled his eyes, and grasped her hand again.
"I remember a flash, and--" Harry spoke in jerks and starts, as gluing together the fragments of a glass. "Something in me squeezing, a vice-- and I felt my arm tear. Then not much at all. There was the pulling feeling again, and something warm rising, and words in my head, and then light-- and quiet." Harry rubbed his eyes. "I remember Professor Lupin and Miss Birchfald and my aunt arguing, and the Floo and feeling sick, and then waking up here in the kitchen."
Ginny had the funny shivery feeling along her spine again, and ventured another glance towards Harry. This time she was shocked to see a pair of green eyes meet hers for a moment, before darting back to their anonymous spot on the wall. Oh. She let out a slow breath.
Harry leaned back a little against the sofa and let out a quiet sigh. "That's it, really. I don't know how much that will help."
"You may have helped more than you know, Harry," Dumbledore said, cleaning his spectacles on his robes. "Theophilus, did you get all of that down?" Mr. Herron assented, and motioned to a scroll Ginny hadn't noticed before. A quill hovered over it, apparently scratching down what Dumbledore had just said.
Harry groaned. "What's the matter, Harry?" Sirius asked.
"Is that a Quick Quotes Quill, sir?" Harry asked Mr. Herron, looking pained.
"Of course not!" Mr. Herron looked indignant. "It's a Stenographer Spell. As though I'd use a Quick Quotes Quill for something like this. It would read like a penny romance." Harry relaxed, and to the other side of her, Ron snickered. Ginny though she heard him mutter something about scarlet linen, but ignored it. It would be like Ron to have some strange joke about bedclothes.
Dumbledore replaced his glasses and leaned back in his chair. "I believe this is the part where I am expected to reveal a brilliant strategy and give orders," he said whimsically. "Unfortunately, the best I can offer is the following."
He stood up abruptly, walked to the cupboard, and pulled out a kettle and some tea leaves. He continued, filling the kettle: "We know that Voldemort is gaining strength, and that he has some idea to win greater strength through some use of Mr. Potter. I believe we can also assume that the key to this potential power has its roots in Voldemort's resurrection in June, and his use of Harry's blood is somehow connected to the attack at Privet Drive yesterday. We cannot, however, predict Voldemort's plans any further than to say that he will most probably attempt attacks until he succeeds at his goal." He placed the kettle on the stovetop, and lit a quick blue fire beneath it.
"Therefore, it is rather imperative that we discover what, exactly, his is trying to achieve. Remus, Theophilus-- I will leave the research to the two of you. I have full confidence in your abilities." The two men nodded, and sat a little straighter. "Mr. Grell, Ms. Birchfald, Charlie, Sirius-- they may not be able to find all they need in books. I leave it to you how to obtain the information." He gave Grell a long, steady look. "Remember that some of our members are in precarious situations, and sometimes the information is not worth the risk." Ginny felt Harry stiffen beside her. Sirius.
"Bill." Dumbledore turned to her brother. "We need to know how they got past the wards without any forewarning. If Voldemort can get to Privet Drive, he can most likely get to Hogwarts." And if Hogwarts isn't safe.... Ginny shivered.
"Arthur, Percy-- " Dumbledore sighed. "As the Minister currently refuses to acknowledge Voldemort's return, I can only ask you to do what you can to spread the word within the Ministry itself. If you can learn anything...." He let his words hang, and Ginny peeked over at Percy to see what sort of reaction her bookish brother gave to the suggestion of spying. There was none; Percy's face was blank. Dumbledore continued to muse. "Perhaps we can glean some supporters from the woodwork in the Ministry-- the sooner Fudge realizes his error, the better. Molly, Bardrick, if you could continue to aid us with communication." The tea kettle whistled merrily, and Dumbledore put the strainer in to steep.
"As for the rest of you," the headmaster added, looking at the younger Weasleys and Harry, "your studies will take priority as usual. I do promise that you will be as informed as any of the rest of us. However. I must impress upon you the importance of secrecy. It is a matter of the utmost gravity, and this is one regulation that you shall obey without question." His eyes momentarily lost their twinkle.
"What about Hermione?" Ron asked. "We can hardly not tell her." He looked rather fierce.
The older wizard smiled. "I have learned over these past years, Mr. Weasley," he said, "to assume that anything told to one of you would be told to all three. Miss Granger is, of course, included." Dumbledore removed a mug from the cupboard. "Tea, anyone?"
***
*Sumario
Estoy contento con tantos deberes
que me impuse, en mi vida
se amasaron extraños materiales:
tiernos fantasmas que me despeinaban,
categóricas manos minerales,
un viento sin razón que me agitaba,
la espina de unos besos lacerantes, la dura realidad
de mis hermanos,
me deber imperioso de vigía,
mi inclinación a ser sólo yo mismo
en la debilidad de mis placeres,
por eso-- agua en la piedra-- fué mi vida
cantando entre la dicha y la dureza.
~ Pablo Neruda
SummationI am glad of the great obligations
I imposed on myself. In my life
many strange and material things have crowded together--
fragile wraiths that entangle me,
categorical mineral hands,
an irrational wind that dismayed me,
barbed kisses that scarred me, the hard reality
of my brothers,
my implacable vow to keep watchful,
my penchant for loneliness-- to keep to myself
in the frailty of my personal whims.
That is why-- water on stone-- my whole life has
sung itself out between chance and austerity.
~ trans. by Ben Belitt