Chapter 10

Sir Lionel Speaks



Both Cassie and Harry stood awkwardly for a moment outside of her house, their fingers still linked together. "I guess. . ." Harry paused, "I guess I better be going home." He knew he needed to be home. His heart was still beating fast and the terror that had flooded through his body just a few minutes before was ebbing but he had not forgotten it. The fright was nearly matched by the regret that he had to leave her now. He wanted to stay with her longer, just to keep touching her. Cassie nodded at his words and pulled her hand away from his. Suddenly, before Harry could prepare for it at all, she hugged him, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her face against his shoulder. Just as had happened at the store, Harry realized first that her hair smelled really nice, like spring sunshine. The second thing that he noticed, however, was that there was no way she could not feel his wand this time. She was pressed against him for just a quick moment but he was sure that she felt it against her arm.

She drew back from him a few inches and said, with a definite question in her voice, "What is that, Harry?" and her small hand reached for his T-shirt, pressing it against the wood, trying to judge its size and shape. "I thought I felt something earlier, but thought I must have been imagining things. I wasn't though."

"I can't really explain, Cassie. It's kind of a good luck thing. Maybe . . . . Look. I've really got to go home." He didn't mean to be as abrupt with her as he was. He had hoped this moment would never come, when he would have to lie to her. But here it was and he just wasn't up to dealing with this issue right now.

Cassie seemed to sense his withdrawal and did not press him farther. He moved to walk away and very quietly she asked "Will you call me again, Harry? I promise I won't ask you any questions you don't want to answer." He saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes, and he wanted to do nothing except pull her back into his arms and tell her everything, but he couldn't. He couldn't.

"I can't promise, Cassie. But I'll try. I'll really try." Harry turned away from her, wanting to stay but knowing that he had to leave. The last four hours had been some of the best of his entire life and he could hardly bear the thought of leaving her crying when she had been the reason for his happiness. "I had a great time today, Cassie." And before she could form some sort of answer, he was gone.

He walked home through the dusky evening quickly, pulling the cart behind him. His thoughts were in turmoil. How was he going to handle Cassie? What should he have told her about the wand? Did that witch recognize him? Was the news right now being carried by owl to every Death Eater in Britain that he was still alive? Could he call Cassie again? Should he call her again? Would she tell someone about his scar? Would someone put two and two together and guess the truth? Harry felt as though a hurricane was traveling through him, picking up and throwing down random thoughts and he was unable to focus on any of them.

He walked cautiously up the empty street when he arrived at Little Chesterton Lane. He felt certain that dark wizards would jump out from behind each and every tree or parked car that he passed. It wasn't so much that he was frightened for himself as much as knowing how much effort Dumbledore had put into this whole plan. If he blew it, he would feel terrible for betraying Dumbledore's trust. He did not want to be the cause of anyone else being hurt or dying in the war. He wanted it over just as badly, if not worse, than Dumbledore did. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the piece of parchment with the address of the house on it. He did not think he needed this now, but was not familiar enough with how the Fidelius charm worked to be certain. He figured better safe than sorry. He read over the address and thought about it briefly and the house appeared as it had before, looking like a very safe refuge from all of Harry's inner chaos. He practically ran up the steps, carrying the cart in his arms.

"Sir Cadogan," he threw at the doorbell, which opened the door as a response and started to say, "It's about time you . . " But Harry didn't hear the rest of what was undoubtedly a lecture on the lateness of the hour as he slammed the door shut behind him. He shoved the locks into place with hands that were shaking slightly and as they clicked behind him, he collapsed against the door in exhaustion.

After a moment, Harry stood up. "I've got to get myself together" he said. Then another wave of terror rolled through him as he realized that there had been one major change in his house since he left four hours before. Sir Lionel was awake, awake and pacing. Harry's heart sank under the new wave of concern and guilt. He had been discovered. It was over. He approached Sir Lionel with feet dragging on each step. What could he say? How could he explain?

"Ah, Harry! Been out and about, I suppose?" This rather wheezy looking knight was looking him up and down and (Harry felt like rubbing his hands into his suddenly-tired eyes) he was actually smiling. "Dumbledore sent me with a message, of course. Here it is. The knight paused for dramatic effect, and Harry quickly faked a yawn to hide an involuntary smile at his pretentious attitude. "Harry, everything is going as planned here. I am pleased to report that your death has been well-reported and the Daily Prophet for the last five days has been printing detailed accounts concerning it. There are some signs that Voldemort's forces are changing strategy into more open battle, and that is what I want. I have been getting your notes and you sound bored but as though you are doing all the things you need to, Harry. We miss you and I will be very pleased when I can return you to your friends, who mourn your loss deeply." The knight stopped reciting from his memorized text and said in a low whisper. "It's true, young man. I have seen both young Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger in Dumbledore's office numerous times now, crying and questioning him about your death." Although Harry supposed that this was meant to make him feel better, it did not. The ache in his heart grew. He knew very well how it felt to lose someone you loved and he could only imagine the agony that both Ron and Hermione were going through. At least they had each other, he thought. Maybe this would finally force them to admit that they were meant to be together.

The knight continued, "I can take back any messages you wish to send to Dumbledore. I will tell him you are well, of course." Harry nodded vaguely. Apparently, rumors of the famous Harry Potter, alive and well, being seen walking on the streets of London were not circulating, yet. "Tell him. . . Tell him I want to come back. The sooner the better. Now would be good." The knight wheezed in dusty laughter at that and strode out of his frame to return to his other painting, the one hanging in the old headmaster's office.

Harry sat down heavily on the uncomfortable armchair. So far, at least, he had been lucky. He felt more tired than he had in a very long time. He put away the groceries with as much speed as he could muster and collapsed onto his bed, not even bothering to pull the covers over himself before he fell into a dreamless sleep.