Disclaimer: I do not own HP. I repeat, I do NOT own HP. But, of course, you lot know this, right? If not, whack yourself repeatedly in the head with a blunt object until you do.
Chapter 16 – Lines in the Pavement
Two months passed idly by and then Harry was summoned to Dumbledore's office. The teen gave the password to the gargoyle (Licorice Twists) and shifted nervously as he rode the moving staircase up. Last time he'd been in Dumbledore's office, he'd learned that the old wizard had allowed the Death Eater's in to test Ethan's loyalty. Harry had thought that had been wrong. Deeply so. He trusted Ethan with his life, even though he'd once been the greasy Potions Master. He didn't know when he'd started to really trust Ethan but now he did. It didn't matter that he'd been so snarky to him or that he'd been a Death Eater or anything. That wasn't who he was anymore.
And if Dumbledore didn't see that, well…in Ethan's words: fuck him.
He did wonder what the old wizard wanted. Had to be something big. It generally was for him to get called to the office. Maybe it was Sirius…oh hell, Harry'd bloody well kill his godfather if he was the reason for this. Harry had had it up to here with Sirius' stubborn behavior. Yeah, he'd been tossed out of his family by his father and raised by another family. So bloody what? At least he'd had a family. Unlike Ethan and Harry, who both had a vaguely psychopathic aunt and uncle that they had lived/did live with.
The revolving staircase stopped and Harry frowned at the oak door for a moment before he slowly pushed it open. Poking his head into the office, he saw Dumbledore sitting at his desk, fingers steepled with the bright blue eyes peering about them.
"Ah, Harry. Come in, come in."
Harry shuffled inside and shut the door behind him, eyes darting to Fawkes then back to Dumbledore.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes, yes. Have a seat, my boy. Lemon drop?"
Harry shook his head at the offered tin and sat, watching as Dumbledore popped one of the candies in his mouth. He folded his hands in his lap and politely waited, wishing that Medusa was with him. Or sleeping on top of his head – her favorite perch. He felt safer when the odd little cat was around him.
"Sir?"
"Ah, yes. I wish for you to listen to something."
Harry frowned and waited, watching as Dumbledore pulled something from his desk that looked like a Muggle recording device. He tapped it once with his wand and it whirred for a moment before a voice filled the room. A voice that Harry recognized.
"That little imp has my blood (how else would he have my gift?) but he is not my Heir."
Slytherin! screamed Harry's brain. He knows about the conversation with Slytherin! He knows I'm the real Heir! Oh, cripes, my life just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?
"Sir?" said Harry, keeping his face in a neutral expression. He'd gotten quite good at picking up on some of Ethan's expressions, especially his mask of neutrality. The scowl wasn't quite there…
Dumbledore tapped the device again and it shut off. He steepled his fingers again and peered at Harry over him.
"I believe you are wondering how I recorded that conversation."
"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," said Harry, feigning ignorance. I can't let him know. I won't let him know. Not after what he did to Ethan. If he didn't trust Ethan, even though he's still really Snape inside, then I know for sure he won't trust me.
Dumbledore frowned darkly and he said, "We have no time for games, Harry. There is no guarantee that what that statue said is true…"
You just don't want to believe that your precious Gryffindor savior is a Slytherin, sneered Harry mentally. Damn, I'm getting good at that…
"So?" said Harry.
"I wish to test you."
"Test me?" questioned Harry, still feigning ignorance.
Dumbledore's blue eyes darkened and the twinkle completely disappeared. "Mr. Potter," he growled, "I have no time for games."
Harry frowned now. Dumbledore hadn't called him by his last name since his first year. The teen's frown deepened as his vision shimmered and he could quite suddenly see Dumbledore's aura. This was an ability he'd discovered a few weeks after arriving at the Dursley's and he'd managed to get it under control whilst at the Weasley's. When it had appeared, he'd been able to see people's auras for days upon end. Ginny was a pulsing red, Hermione soft blue, Ron pale green, Fred and George were both canary yellow, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were both pale green. Ethan, on the other hand, had a silvery sort of aura with splotches of dark through it – signs of Voldemort's magic. Dumbledore was generally a gentle blue-green, though now that color had darkened to the tone of a storm tossed sea. Harry's own aura was shimmering emerald green. But the green was nearly overrun by dark, much more than Ethan's. Signs of Voldemort's magic on his own aura.
Harry frowned some more and closed his eyes, willing the Sight away. When he opened his eyes again, the vision of the aura's were gone but he could feel Dumbledore's power thrumming upon the air. Dear Lord, he was testing him like this…
Testing me with his power, mused Harry quietly. He didn't exactly know what being the Heir of Slytherin curtailed but by judged from Voldemort, a lot of power went with it. But Harry didn't know shit about them or how to use them. So unless it leapt to life to answer Dumbledore's challenge, this test wasn't going to show anything.
Abruptly a jolt went through Harry's body and he jerked involuntarily, eyes widening. Dumbledore was using spells on him now! Harry clenched his jaw as another jolt went through him. Can't let him know, can't let him know… he chanted in his head.
As more jolts came, Harry felt something building within him. Something dark and wild…and angry. Angry at being attacked. Angry at not being able to fight back.
But it was about to.
Teeth creaking from the tightness of his jaw, Harry moaned, leaning over his knees with his arms wrapped about his body. If Dumbledore kept this up…well, the consequences wouldn't be pretty…
Someone…help…"Albus?"
The jolts raging through Harry's body faded abruptly and the power rising within him lessened, gliding back down into its hiding place. He caught it and followed it down, trying to find out where it hid. Just in case he might need to use it one day. And he probably would, most likely in the battle with Voldemort that would also likely come about.
Professor McGonagall eased the office door open and peered inside, frowning when she saw Harry bowed over in his chair, forehead touching his knees.
"Albus, what did you do?" demanded the Gryffindor Head of House as she hurried to her charge's side. She – like Harry – had begun to have doubts about Dumbledore after the incident with Ethan. Both boys were like her own children.
"What had to be done," replied Dumbledore, his eyes grave. Emerald eyes lifted to meet that gaze and hardened as a scowl spread across the young features.
"Thanks," growled Harry. "I really did need that."
McGonagall almost smiled. Almost. Time with Ethan had obviously taught Harry some of his expressions and a great deal of sarcasm. Slyness was something the young Gryffindor had always had, along with the habit to ignore the school rules during some wild venture. More Slytherin traits than Gryffindor, she'd always thought.
"Come along, Harry," she said softly, eying Dumbledore disdainfully. "Let's get you to your next class."
The dark-haired boy shook his head and looped one arm about his stomach.
"Don't think so, professor."
McGonagall eyed Dumbledore again then lifted the boy to his feet, supporting him with a whispered charm and her hands as she steered him out of the office. She didn't even give Dumbledore a goodbye.
"What did he do?" she demanded as they stepped out into the corridor, her eyes worried as she looked down at the exhausted teen.
"Some…spell," breathed Harry. "Felt like – electricity. No…no – more like being struck by lightning."
McGonagall frowned darkly and spat, "Stupid, stupid man. What was he thinking?"
"I'd tell you," gasped Harry, "but I think I'm about to throw up."
McGonagall's eyes widened and she hurriedly transfigured a matchstick from one of her pockets into a bucket. Harry dropped to his knees beside it a half-second later, emptying the contents of his stomach. He moaned softly before his stomach expelled itself again. McGonagall knelt beside him, gently rubbing her hand over the taut back. A frown crossed her face as she felt the bones of his spine and ribs (still visible even after the warning she'd given the Dursley's and a good time with Molly Weasley) but she ignored them as she rubbed his back.
Finally Harry's heaving stopped and he snuffled a bit before pushing the bucket away from him. He leaned on his forearms and let his head hang down so his forehead touched the cool flagstones.
"I feel like crap…"
McGonagall smiled and continued to rub his back soothingly as she said, "You look like it too."
"Thanks," grumbled Harry, slowly sitting up. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked at her again, smiling. "Thanks for that, professor."
"For what?" asked McGonagall.
"For staying," replied Harry, looking down at a spider making its way across the stone flagged floor.
McGonagall first resisted the urge to draw the thin teen into a hug then did. He stiffened for a moment then relaxed, leaning his head against her shoulder.
"Thank you," he murmured sleepily.
McGonagall smiled as she spelled the bucket away to the kitchens and brushed a few locks of dark hair off the pale forehead. Harry had dropped off into sleep in her arms. As she lifted him up, surprised at how very little he weighed for a boy of sixteen and how small he was, she whispered, "You're welcome, Harry."
* * * *
Harry awoke warm and cozy. He didn't open his eyes as he woke, simply started to lift his arm.
Hot pinpricks of pain shot through his body as he tried to move and he gasped breathlessly. His muscles cramped then relaxed before they cramped again, causing him to moan. Make it stop, make it stop…
He lay gasping for a long time, muscles clenching and unclenching painfully. A cool hand touched his forehead and he jerked violently away, crying out as all the muscles in his body seemed to cramp at the same time.
"Shhh, Harry," whispered a gentle feminine voice, the cool hand stroking his forehead. Then to someone off to the side, they said, "Go get Professor McGonagall."
"What-what happened?" croaked Harry, finding his throat sore but not sore enough that it hindered his speech.
"I don't know," replied the voice. "Professor McGonagall came and told us you were ill."
A shiver ran through Harry and he asked hoarsely, "I'm not in the hospital wing, am I?"
"No," replied Ginny, moving her hand away from his forehead. "You're in Professor McGonagall's quarters. She said Madam Pomfrey wouldn't know what was wrong with you."
"What is wrong with me?" croaked Harry, wishing he had the energy to open his eyes. "I feel…" He trailed off, not knowing how to describe the fiery pain that laced through every nerve and muscle in his body.
The squelch of water being squeezed from a rag sounded off to his left and then a cool rag was laid on his forehead. Gentle fingers brushed sweaty strands of hair away from the rag as Ginny replied softly, "I don't know. Just lie still, Harry."
"Okay," murmured Harry, feeling vaguely childish. Would this have been what he could have expected when he was sick if his parents had lived?
"She's not out there." Harry recognized Hermione's voice and smiled. Or he tried to. His cheek protested and he stopped trying, content to lie still. "Harry, are you alright?"
"No," answered Harry truthfully. "Where's Ethan?"
Hermione shrugged and replied, "I don't know. Why don't you open your eyes?"
"Hurts too much." Harry shifted slightly and cried out involuntarily at the pain. Ginny gently rubbed the offended muscle, soothing it into silence.
Harry managed a grimace and painfully whimpered, "Thank you."
"Shhh," said Ginny, placing a finger over his lips. "Go back to sleep."
"You'll stay, won't you?" asked Harry in a petulant voice, sounding very much like a young child.
Ginny smiled and nodded, leaning over to gently kiss the side of his mouth. "I'll stay," she murmured after she planted the kiss. Harry smiled tightly then tried to relax.
The redhead looked at the brunette standing in the doorway, her expression one of worry. Hermione's look matched it. Harry was in pain and they didn't know why.
But McGonagall did.
* * * *
"Has he woken?" asked McGonagall as she entered her quarters almost three hours later, looking at the two girls who were sitting in her main room. Ethan followed her in, shifting a large box with a thick strap attached to it on his shoulder. He smiled tightly at Hermione, his dark eyes worried.
"Once," said Ginny. "Professor, what's wrong with him?"
McGonagall frowned and replied, "I have only heard of something like this once and that was from Severus."
Two sets of brown eyes turned on Ethan, who shifted nervously under their piercing gazes. Hermione noted that he had abandoned his outer robe and was dressed in dark slacks and a plain white shirt, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up to the elbow and spattered with small amounts of blue and purple liquid. His hair hung lank about his face, which looked weary. But his eyes were sharp and flickered with worry.
"Where?" asked Ginny, sitting on the edge of her seat.
Ethan sighed and eased the box down to the floor, rubbing the shoulder it had occupied. He did this for a long moment before he looked at the girl and replied, "Voldemort. After a brief scuffle with Dumbledore."
"When?" asked Hermione.
"During my second year as a Death Eater. Voldemort returned in much the same condition Harry is in." He nodded towards the closed door that led to where Harry lay and added, "Only Harry's is much worse."
"Its because he's a Slytherin, isn't it?" said Ginny, earning a wide stare from McGonagall.
Ethan only nodded and looked at McGonagall, saying, "You were right, Minerva. I didn't want to tell you in the lab."
McGonagall blinked a few times then gasped, "Harry is an Heir of Slytherin?"
"The," corrected Ethan. "According to the statue of Salazar Slytherin in the Chamber, Voldemort is no more a full-blooded Heir than I'm a unicorn."
That statement brought a bark of laughter from McGonagall, who earned a scowl from Ethan.
"Be serious, Minerva. And don't joke about you not being Sirius, we have no time for things of that nature."
"What exactly is wrong with him?" asked Hermione, staring at her boyfriend.
Ethan sighed and replied, "Whatever Dumbledore did to Voldemort, nearly killed him. It took me two months to find a series of potions that would return him to his normal power. The only thing that sustained him during that time were the experiments he'd done upon himself in his quest for immortality."
"You mean he could have been gone then?"
Ethan looked into Ginny's accusing eyes and said, "Yes, he could have been gone then. I don't know if what Dumbledore did would have kept him from taking over Quirrell or coming back but he would have been gone earlier and Harry would have been spared losing his parents." He shook his head and continued, "But you must understand, Ginny, I could not simply not look. That was why I had been recruited, because of my skill at potion-making. Had I not searched for a cure, others would have surely cut me down and another Potion Master would have been found, either recruited or kidnapped and placed under Imperius."
"But Harry…"
"I know. Merlin, I know. But we don't know that Voldemort would have been killed. He could have found some way to be reborn and have gone after Harry again. We don't know. And it is better not to dwell on the past. We can't change it and we can't go back. Now, Minerva, if you don't mind…"
"Of course," said McGonagall, motioning at the door. Ethan nodded and picked up the box, sending a small reassuring smile at Hermione and Ginny before he opened the door to the room where Harry lay and entered. The door closed behind him with almost a note of finality.
"Will he be okay?" asked Ginny, a note of pleading in her voice.
McGonagall forced a smile and went to sit down between the two girls on her couch. She drew them both into a hug and said, "Severus is the best at what he does and he knows what potions he must use to heal Harry."
"But will he be okay?" said Ginny tearfully.
McGonagall smiled and hugged the redhead tightly.
"We can only hope, m'dear. We can only hope."
* * * *
Inside the room, Ethan sat the box down by Harry's bed and eased himself down into the chair Ginny had occupied while she kept up a silent vigil. He removed the now dry rag from the other boy's forehead and placed his hand across the pale skin.
"Clammy," he murmured as he set the rag aside. "So much faster reacting. Damnit, Albus, what did you do? He's only a boy."
Harry whimpered and his eyes clenched tightly together, jaw line tightening. Ethan frowned and gently shook the boy, sensing he was sinking down into a dream and not a good one either.
Green eyes opened a hair and Harry's lips parted.
"Ethan…"
"Shhh," whispered Ethan. "I've got some things that will help you."
"What's wrong with me?"
Ethan frowned and replied, "Dumbledore performed some sort of spell on you. He did the same to Voldemort once."
"What…"
"Just lie still, Harry. I know it hurts. I'm going to need to you swallow some things for me. You think you can do that lying down?"
Harry gave a barely perceptible nod and whispered, "Yeah…"
"Good," said Ethan, leaning over and opening the box. Two dozen capped phials and flasks twinkled up at him from the box and he pulled one out, jerking the cork out. He held the small phial up to Harry's lips and commanded, "Drink this, Harry."
The pale lips opened and Ethan tilted the phial so the pale blue liquid inside ran down into the other boy's mouth. Harry coughed painfully for a few moments but Ethan rubbed his throat, helping to coax the potion down, and the coughing subsided.
Ethan waited a few moments before he repeated the action, this time with a phial full of a sickly green potion. A dose of sugar water from one of the flasks followed, along with a blue-green potion in a phial.
"Sleep now," said Ethan as he administered the last potion, this one consisting of half a flask of orange liquid. "Those potions have to take effect before I give you the rest."
Harry nodded, eyes closed again. As Ethan packed the empty phials and flasks back into the box, easing the top closed, he heard a voice whisper, "Thank you."
Ethan sat up and smiled at the other boy, who had fallen into a deep slumber. He brushed a few locks of dark hair back from the clammy forehead and murmured, "You're welcome."