A/N: Sorry, I would have updated this a few days ago, but ff.net is being
nasty. At one point it even said that my story had been deactivated, and I
nearly blew the damn computer up. But no worries, I have backups
everywhere. As it is, I've been working pretty hard, but then I get to
write after work, and so I should have another chapter up within the next
day.
In case my explanation of dimensional laws and the structure of the universe confuses you, go refer back to Eva's explanation in chapter 15. This will be very important to understand in later chapters, and I'm not going to repeat myself for comprehension when it's already there.
Dedicated to three people today. First, Raven Eades again, for flattering me so much on her literary website that in a fit of joy I went and wrote six more pages and started another idea to work with. I know you can't wait to read the back story.
Second, to Victoria (Tori Black), for helping me get out of the house last Sunday, because I went and wrote most this chapter that night. Thanks, and please don't kill me after these two chapters. Reign in the fire and death for the moment.
Thirdly, to sopybubbles, for being one of my most ecstatic reviewers and for that last review you left. I'm incredibly sorry for your loss; I've lost a friend before too quite suddenly. I work to convey accurate and genuine emotional reactions. I'm glad that my story can help you at least a little bit.
Disclaimer: Do you really need this again? I don't own Harry Potter, and am trying to finish this before OoTP comes out (which may not be possible, but I still will finish this), which will just prove yet again just how wonderful JK Rowling is. If there's anything you don't recognize from outside this story, it's mine, so don't touch.
Chapter 25
Harry lay in the Hospital Wing that night, staring up at the dark ceiling with empty haunted eyes, exhausted beyond belief but unable to sleep due to his muddled thoughts. He refused to take the Dreamless Sleep potion, and it sat there on his bedside table, flask glinting in the moonlight. Memories flashed before him, and he clenched his eyes shut, unwilling to examine them just yet, but they persisted.
Hissed words echoed in his ears, compounded by the icy cold. Visions of Voldemort's ghastly face, the rippling floor whipping out to tie him down, the light . . . the sight of his parents and godfather, waiting to hug him.
He breathed out hard, determined not to cry. He was ice, he was stone; he couldn't, wouldn't feel anything. Not now. Just then a soft noise caught his attention, and he was thankful for the distraction from his melancholy.
It sounded like someone had snuck in, and they would only do that if they didn't want Madame Pomfrey to hear. They weren't here for a medical condition, and since he was the only one in here at the moment, that someone had probably come to see him.
Unsure of whether or not he wanted a visitor, probably Ron or Hermione, he turned his head away and pretended to be asleep.
Near silent footsteps padded closer and stepped around the screens, then he felt the person stop at his bedside. He regulated his breathing carefully, feigning deep sleep. This was nearly stopped when a light hand brushed over his forehead, sweeping away the hair that still hung over it to gently trace his scar.
He fought to keep still, but the touch seemed to race through him like lightning, much more pleasant than when Voldemort had touched it. That, more than anything else, gave him comfort, and unconsciously he relaxed a bit.
Harry heard a soft sigh, then a weight settled beside him as the person sat down. The hand stroked his forehead again, then lightly traced down his face and the skin seemed to tingle. He couldn't have opened his eyes if he wanted to, unwilling to break the spell.
Touch was a very interesting sense, for when the hand brushed his neck he was suddenly very aware of his entire body. Briefly he forgot how to breathe, and was only reminded by the ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his memories.
Those hands were now fluttering down his arm, outlining the muscles with a smooth fingernail before it took his hand. The size let him know it was a girl, and he knew it wasn't Hermione. The presence that he felt rubbing his hand soothingly were nothing like he ever felt in connection with his best friend.
His hand was raised, and to his shock and amazement felt soft lips press a kiss to his knuckles. Heat seemed to sweep out from that spot and warm his whole body, melting any ice left in his body.
He couldn't stand it any longer; he opened his eyes gradually and saw Ginny Weasley sitting by his side, holding his hand to her chest and gazing at him seriously, sadly.
He expected her to drop his hand, blush and run when she realized he was awake, but she didn't move. Instead she met his confused eyes steadily, now rubbing one hand down his arm as if trying to comfort him.
Harry hated it when someone pitied him, even more when they tried to coddle him. But Ginny wasn't; she knew how he'd react to either of these, so she simply gave him what he needed. Comfort and reassurance that she was still there for him, still his friend.
For a long time there was simply silence as they stared at each other, then she whispered, "I knew you weren't asleep."
He didn't have anything to say to that. She continued to massage his hand and asked, "Are you feeling any better?" He nodded a bit. "The pain is nearly gone. Pomfrey is really good at mending broken bones, and Snape had a couple of useful potions on hand."
Ginny dropped one hand to his left shoulder gently, massaging that too as if to reassure herself while helping him. "That's good, but that's not what I really meant." She leaned over him, chocolate brown eyes boring into the shadowed green ones.
"Harry, whatever happened in that Dream Stand, it was more than just Voldemort. He no longer has the power to affect you as deeply as you reacted. I know something is wrong, and it's eating away at you." Harry turned away, unable to look at her for fear she'd see it in his eyes, but a light touch at his cheek turned him back towards her.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But don't keep it inside. Remember our conversation on the roof? I can see the pain you try to keep hidden away from everyone. All they see is the mask, but beneath it, you're dying."
Dying. The word reverberated through his head and unwillingly his mind flashed to Sirius and his parents. Tears sprang to his eyes and one leaked out traitorously before he could force it away. Scowling, he brushed it away harshly, then sighed. "Something unexpected happened."
Ginny snorted. "The whole damn thing was unexpected." His lips curled reluctantly at that. "Yeah." He went back to staring at the shadows on the ceiling.
She simply sat by his side, holding his hand until he spoke up again. "It's just . . . I got a taste of what I really missed. Somehow that makes it all the worse."
She nodded in at least partial comprehension and didn't push him, and her comforting presence soothed him enough that he could fall into that state between wakefulness and sleep, his mind still awake but body resting. He hardly heard her leave some time later, but knew when he was alone again.
That night it was just him and the shadows.
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Harry spent a full day in the Hospital Wing after that episode in the Dream Stand, which was actually quite unusual nowadays for him. He was only released after lunch, rather reluctantly by Madame Pomfrey, when Ron and Hermione came in to inform him of an Order meeting that night. He simply nodded in acknowledgement and went straight to his dorm to flop down on his bed, staring at the ceiling and nearly dozing.
He didn't move when Ron called him for dinner; he simply felt too sick to eat, both physically and emotionally. Problems kept running through his head; the clone, Voldemort's power increase, the Dream Stand, and his escape. He had pondered it over and over again during the long sleepless night in the infirmary, and had come to only one possible conclusion: He had died.
That city gave it away as another dimension from his own, and Sirius, Lily and James could only be in one possible place. He had gone to the land of the dead, probably the one commonly known as heaven, one of two realms under Death's immediate control. But, according to Eva it was impossible for any living being to go there.
Even people who are mostly dead or still revivable only see the light at the end of the tunnel. In order to fully materialize in the realm, one had to be not only merely dead, but really most sincerely dead. Then the soul was stuck there, never to return.
So what in the name of Merlin's favorite pajamas happened? Harry at first thought that maybe he had hallucinated; a delusion brought on by the painful torture in the Dream Stand. After all, he had reacted wildly and irrationally once he woke up.
Yet somehow his gut instinct was telling him loud and clear that this had been no illusion or hallucination. He had really seen his parents and his godfather, and they had seen him.
Briefly he recalled that scene to his mind, having committed it to memory as his only time seeing his parents in person. His father, with messy hair flopping in his face, eyes twinkling at his son from behind his glasses, one arm wrapped around Lily's waist in a loving manner.
His mother, with her long red hair and bright sparkling green eyes that he had inherited, arms outstretched towards her only son to hold him for the first time in 15 years. And Sirius, looking young and fit and happy with his fellow Marauder, staring at him through eyes that had closed forever in his arms . . . .
Harry shook himself from these melancholy thoughts and rolled over with a sigh. Every time he healed, something came along to rip those old wounds open again. Randomly an old quote from somewhere drifted through his brain, one that he had probably heard in his cupboard while the Dursleys watched a movie on the telly. "So you always wanted a regular type life. What the fuck is that? Barbeques and ball games?" He gave a soft snort of irony. Well, he had both barbeques and ball games, just that the things cooking were demons and the balls flew.
A knock on the door startled him, and Ron peeked his head in. "C'mon Harry, we have to run. The meeting's in ten minutes." Harry nodded and hauled himself out of bed, and as Ron closed the door to go wait for him in the Common Room he quickly changed into fresh clothes and pulled on his boots. Sighing, he joined Ron and the two boys left Gryffindor Tower, walking in comfortable silence to the Headmaster's office.
Ron gave the password, they rode the staircase up, then crossed the room to the Phoenix chamber. They both waved a hand in front of the lock to enter, and the door swung open to reveal that they were the last ones to show up, and as they took their seats Dumbledore began the meeting.
"It seems like our enemies have come back from their hiatus now. There has been more activity detected recently, and just this morning a minor attack was repelled in downtown London. Still no demon activity though." Moody rubbed his grizzled chin with a frown. "That makes 15 days since any of those damn things made so much as a detectable peep. They must be planning something big."
Snape nodded in agreement, looking slightly disgusted at concurring with the ex-Auror. "Voldemort is not one to hold a weapon back unless it is allocated for a more important task. Where are his most likely targets?"
Several eyes turned towards Ron, who blushed when he realized that was his cue. "Um, well," he cleared his throat and tried to stop the heat rushing to his ears. "With the Minister's residence destroyed, the list of probable targets has been rearranged." He took out a sheet of parchment and spread it on the table in front of him. "First in the line of fire is DMLE Headquarters and the Auror base."
Several voiced protests at that, but Dumbledore waved them down. "Explain, Mr. Weasley." Ron expelled a quick breath. "They have to plan with the end in mind. It's like climbing a ladder; we know what the destination is, now we have to figure out the steps needed to reach it. Obviously, his ultimate goal is Hogwarts, right?"
When everyone nodded, he continued, "To get to Hogwarts and have any chance of success, either through treachery or brute force, he had to cut off any help that we might call for. So You-Know . . . I mean, Voldemort, needs to neutralize Hogsmeade."
He seemed a little surprised at the name, but accelerated past it. "However, that needs to be a quick attack to get a strong foothold for a Hogwarts assault, so he has to take out their support lines too, both material and personnel. This means some surrounding communities, but more importantly Diagon Alley and the Ministry."
Mundungus Fletcher interrupted him, "Both of those are tough nuts to crack. They can't rely on mere brute strength to destroy them. They need insiders to allow them at least a foot in the door."
"And they have them," Percy informed him a bit curtly. "There's at least one in every office with Dark leanings or spy connections, and most would be only too eager to help the Death Eaters out if it meant their ticket to initiation. Most others could be threatened or coerced into it." He looked down at his hands briefly. "They approached me early on, knowing my dissatisfaction and trying to exploit it. They are . . . very persuasive," he gulped, rubbing unconsciously at his stomach. Arthur placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Ron nodded grimly. "Unless we can track them all down with concrete evidence and get them removed, which is nearly impossible, the Ministry is vulnerable. Now, the main protection of the Ministry and the wizarding community is of course the Aurors. Destroy them and any support and information they have, and he's one more rung up the ladder."
Tori grimaced. "If they attack with demons, we're pretty much screwed. Only a handful know enough about their vulnerabilities to actually get out of a confrontation alive, much less kill one of those things."
Remus glanced over at her with surprised. "What about those guns we used during the last attack? They were simple, yet effective. And we went to enough trouble to get them that they should last a while."
Tori rolled her eyes in disgust. "You'd think so. Some were ruined in that attack, most are out of ammunition and we don't have the people who know what to get, let alone where and how. The few remaining reliable ones were somehow confiscated by both the artificers in Experimental Charms, and a couple of card-carrying Unspeakables. We're back at zero in our weapons department."
Fred and George were shaking their heads simultaneously, and Dumbledore arched a white eyebrow at them. "I take it that you two disagree with Ms. Black's assessment?" George sat back casually and tutted, "Tori, my dear girl, you are sadly mistaken. Fred and I have applied the brutal training you so graciously put us through to our more creative endeavors." Fred mimicked his twin's posture and affected a serious air.
"As my better half stated, we have turned briefly from mere pranks to a more, shall we say, dangerous line of products exclusively for the Aurors. Some are rather painful and even lethal, but with a 100% Weasley guarantee on it."
George picked up the thread of discussion. "For example, we obtained one of the firearms, took it apart, then improved upon it. The result is a lightweight version of an Uzi, a type of Muggle automatic weapon, with magically enhanced bullets similar to armor-piercing ones."
Fred added a bit apologetically, "We haven't tested it yet, for we can't find a demon who's willing to volunteer as a test dummy. But it tears through Graphorn hide like Ron through a treacle pudding." Ron throw his brothers a glare, but they merely grinned at him with their trademark looks as the other laughed quietly.
Arthur nodded slowly. "Good work boys. And you've come up with other items like this?" They nodded enthusiastically. "We have an entire arsenal, probably enough for just the two of us to invade and occupy France." Fred looked at George. "Wait, bad example. Italy would be a bit more of a challenge, and it's prettier country."
"And prettier women. Definitely Italy, and we might get a corner of Germany with a little bit of work." Dumbledore's moustache quivered as he suppressed a grin. The day the Weasley twins could remain serious for an entire meeting was the day the world ended.
After a few more reports from various members, Dumbledore turned to Harry, who had been sitting quietly in his seat the entire time staring at the table. "Harry," he tried to catch his mind from wherever it had been wandering, "could you tell us about the assault yesterday?" The teen refused to look up and answered quietly but firmly, "No."
The Order stirred at the refusal, and the headmaster frowned. "Why not? I believe that the information we could obtain would be beneficial to all of us." Abruptly Harry shoved his chair back and shot to his feet, stating flatly, "No. It wouldn't." He turned away and walked to the corner, staring at the wall with arms crossed protectively over his chest. He ignored the ominous muttering behind him, making it clear through body language that he definitely was not in the mood to talk. Dumbledore started to speak, "Harry . . ."
But then Snape cut him off brusquely. "Potter. Any information on the Dark Lord is valuable. It could save lives. Quit sulking and help us." The condescending sneer in his voice worked, for Harry whirled on him, eyes flashing with a furious mix of emotions. "What do you want me to say?!" he fairly hissed in a low voice that sounded venomous and deadly.
"That Voldemort knows I have the talisman? That he's madder than hell about it? That he's going to do everything he can to take it back? That he tortured me? That I was as helpless as a baby in his hands? That he in fact did kill me?! Fine! Consider it said!" His voice had grown steadily louder until he was bellowing back at his professor, then he spun back around and glared at the wall as if to drill an escape route through it with his gaze alone, arms wrapped around himself as if to ward off a chill.
There was silence for a long minute where the only sound was Harry's harsh breathing, then Snape stood up slowly and walked over to him. Carefully he placed a hand on his shoulder, but Harry remained as rigid as stone. "What do you mean, he killed you?" The teen clenched his eyes shut and drew in a shaky breath, but didn't answer.
Still, Snape knew exactly what he meant. "Harry," he said softly, "you're not upset about Voldemort. What happened?" Harry shook his head violently, even more unwilling to tell in front of the Order than in the Hospital Wing with Ginny.
Snape stepped in front of him and met his distant pain-filled eyes. "Harry, tell me. What happened?" He quirked an eyebrow up. "Or do I need to go get the Veritaserum?" Harry glared at him briefly, then closed his eyes and sighed, slightly turning away from him. The Potions Master waited, simply watching him until the teen began to speak haltingly in a monotone.
"He can manipulate the Dream Stand, not simply to take us both there, but the actual physical surroundings, like the floor. It . . . when it touched me . . . it was cold. Painfully burning cold. It actually freezes . . . from the inside out, slowing blood flow, heartbeat, breath . . . He . . . he used it to tie me down . . . I, I couldn't move at all, and it was so cold."
He shuddered convulsively, eyes still closed as he spoke in a tightly controlled voice. "He threatened to torture me until my mind broke, just like the Longbottoms, with Neville looking on, and nobody would be able to do anything about it." He cleared his throat to continue speaking.
"Before in the Dream Stand, I somehow managed to summon a light to transport me out. This time, it was . . . different. I'm not sure . . . I thought . . . I was dying, and then it came to me . . . I didn't do anything . . . it took me away to another place. I . . . I saw . . ." he couldn't finish, and scrubbed a rough hand over his eyes.
Snape was still there, his presence surprisingly comforting as he placed both his hand's on Harry's shoulders. "What did you see?" The teen was breathing hard, attempting to reign in his emotions as the memories washed over him in full force. "I saw . . . I saw Sirius," he finally managed in a strangled whisper that all the Order heard nevertheless. Remus closed his eyes and seemed to wince.
"Sirius was standing there . . . with my parents . . . and they saw me. They . . . they called for me, and my . . . my mum, she looked so happy to see me . . . she was reaching out for me . . . and my dad . . ." he choked up again, tears shining on his face but only Snape saw them.
"Then . . . them it all disappeared, just like that . . . blackness . . . and I heard Ron calling me back. I followed the sound until I woke up." Harry's whole body shook as he suppressed the howl that wanted to be unleashed, but he made no sound. Ten years in the cupboard with the Dursleys had taught him silence under all circumstances.
As one their hearts clenched in sorrow for the orphan boy who had a taste of what exactly he had lost yet never really knew it until now. He had lost them all over again.
Harry surreptitiously swiped at his eyes and managed, "I'll be right back." With a pop he disappeared, and the Order all glanced around at each other, at loss for words after such a story. He didn't return for another ten minutes, and they spent the time in near silence, each pondering the implications of Voldemort's latest action.
Finally the door creaked open and Harry stepped back in, the blank business face of the War Mage and Phoenix Lord firmly in place, betraying nothing as he went back to his seat.
Uncomfortably Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Forgive me, but I do not understand. Are you sure you actually died?" The teen nodded curtly. "I'm sure. It was no hallucination. Several people confirmed that I was in fact dead for five minutes. I believe that you were there." He glanced around briefly. "My problem is that if that is so, then it is impossible for me to be here right now."
Fletcher threw him a look. "Why? You do tend towards the impossible quite frequently." Harry just started back at him for a moment. "As much as I like to break conventional rules, do you understand the dimensional laws of the universe?" Most of the Order shook their heads, so he leaned back in his chair to lecture.
"As I am given to understand, the universe is made up of different dimensions or realms, like threads on a loom. The Guardians are in charge of that loom, weaving together a pattern of sorts so that each dimension is somehow touched by others, yet remains separate. For instance, back towards the beginning another realm crossed over ours, and the result was humans beginning to understand and be able to harness magic.
"Only the Guardians can fully access any dimension. Other beings below them are restricted to certain areas and tasks, like my trainer Eva. Beings in the realms are generally forbidden to cross to others except in special circumstances. I am one exception. Another is for departing souls. When someone here dies, their soul or essence goes to one of two of Death's realms. As we know it, heaven or hell."
He drew a deep breath and resumed his lecture. "Once a soul leaves, they cannot return to their original place. Apparently in one realm, however, they are allowed to visit a few other dimensions for a very short time, but never their home."
Flitwick interrupted him with a befuddled frown. "What about ghosts? How do you explain why they stick around?"
Harry nodded slowly. "They are people with circumstances around their death that ties them here emotionally, until such a time as they're ready to move on. Like Nearly Headless Nick, whose bitterness over the botched beheading has kept him here for 500 years. Essentially he's on hold, and someday he'll be recalled out of here, just like the others."
He sighed. "But that's off the topic. The problem is, I saw the realm and was seen there, I felt it. It was real. I was fully there, which meant that I was fully dead.
So according to trans-dimensional laws, I should be there, not here. I am supposed to be dead."
Utter silence dominated after that pronouncement, for a paradox of such magnitude is indeed a puzzlement. Ron leaned over to his friend and muttered, "Why are you complaining? Death is the only thing I really like cheating. Do you want to be dead?"
Harry gave him a wan smile. "Well, it was much nicer there." He exhaled a bit and ran a distracted hand through his hair. "But not yet. Not yet."
After a tense minute when it became clear that no one had anything else to say, Dumbledore spoke up to close the meeting. "Very well. Harry, I'm afraid you are on your own to figure it out." The teen nodded solemnly.
"Fred, George, you will be responsible for providing new weapons and training the Aurors how to use them. Keep a sharp look out around your stores too for any new information. Tori, work with them and also begin to plan out a defensive strategy Preparation will save lives." They nodded once in acceptance.
Dumbledore looked over at another redhead and braced himself. "Ron, you will work with Professor Snape to develop a counterattack for offensive moves on all targets. Please try not to kill each other before you're done." The two glared at each other briefly but reluctantly nodded.
Ginny hid her amusement and sympathy for Ron's predicament, and Charlie shook his head with a sympathetic smile. "The rest of you, your usual assignments. If there's nothing else, this meeting is dismissed."
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As the days passed, the whispers and stares that followed Harry everywhere after the hallway incident died down, and the school seemed to return to normal.
Well, as normal as Hogwarts ever gets, but with all things considered that's not saying much, if anything at all. Actually, there's really no such thing as normal. It's just a figment of your imagination. But then again, so is this.
Back to the subject. Snape continued to be his usual nasty self, except now it extended to his own House, especially when the wards around his quarters kept catching them trying to make his life miserable.
Trelawney predicted Harry's death with absolute certainty in about a thousand different but appropriately vague ways, but by now not even Lavender or Parvati took her seriously. Figg kept them worn out after Dueling Club, and Lupin worked with all years on various methods of both self-defense and attack.
Ron and Hermione acted completely normal (for them anyway), bickering and flirting in public and while working for the Order. Ron complained continuously about the torture of working with Snape, but gradually he toned it down until grudgingly he admitted to Harry that Snape was actually a brilliant tactician with a wealth of inside information. They seemed to settle on an uneasy respect for each other, but that didn't mean they had to like each other. Much like Sirius and Snape, in fact.
Once Harry was called out to DMLE Headquarters by Tori Black's request, and helped the Auror team of Charm builders to create new wars around the martial-looking building. As Bill set to work with other Curse breakers testing the wards, Harry got to look around at the defensive fortifications and layouts. Eventually he agreed that whoever attacked here would have a hell of a time even making it to the building, let alone inside.
Once he saw Fred and George, but they were both too busy to notice him at the time. Fred was instructing a division of Aurors how to use their latest inventions, including the modified guns and something that had a passing resemblance to a bazooka.
Harry watched with great interest as Fred hefted the tube to his shoulder and with a button push sent a stream of pure green flames spitting out at the target, which had been outfitted with Graphorn armor. In an instant the target vaporized, leaving only a few floating ashes with no trace of smoke anywhere. Pretty impressive.
George, on the other hand, was busy with an entirely different type of weapon. As Harry was checking out the watch tower balconies around the perimeter, he saw George and Tori backed into a corner. Their posture was very familiar, as he had seen it several times with Ron and Hermione in the last year, and he stifled both an urge to laugh and his gag reflex as her hands ran up his back, apparently pleased with whatever his mouth was doing at the moment. Harry shook his head and left them to it, hoping not to run across them again.
Even as they prepared for the big one, the Aurors still had to respond to the various random Death Eater attacks. Luckily with the inclusion of the Order's Detection Parchments most were over before they could really get started. Harry knew about them, of course, but never needed to go himself anymore.
The only downside was that some Death Eaters always escaped, and the Aurors had to divert some resources to guard the capture ones in a renovated castle out along the shore by Azkaban. Things seemed to have calmed down, with the Dark Mark seen less and less often.
However, neither the demons nor the dementors had made an appearance in a month. It was the lull before the storm, and everyone was setting up the chess pieces for the next big move. While the Order prepared itself for a serious escalation of the war, Harry simply waited. He went to classes, did his homework, kept up his physical training routine with Ron in the mornings, and as captain started up Quidditch practices.
Even though the previous year's reserve team had trained quite a bit with the regular team, they hadn't had any true game experience and lacked the coordination of seasoned players. Harry drove them all hard during thrice weekly practices, even though their first match wasn't until the second week of November. They had a Cup to defend.
While on the outside Harry appeared perfectly fine, that mask hid inner turmoil. The Dream Stand continued to haunt his sleeping and waking hours, and the clone problem plagued his thoughts like a mutated virus.
Worse, he was beginning to suspect that Eva, despite all her forthright bluntness to his questions, had been deliberately withholding information from him. That though burned into him, doubt gnawing at his spirit, until one sleepless night he gave in and attempted to contact Eva through their mental link.
Much to his shock, he found the connection blocked. Just another disturbing topic to ponder. Rolling over restlessly in his bed, he punched his pillow and buried his head in it, feeling suddenly and inexplicably alone and lonely.
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The first week of October brought in some particularly beautiful weather in that part of Scotland, and so it was that on a lazy Saturday morning Harry lay outside by the lake with his eyes closed, enjoying the sun and warmth. Come evening it tended to drop to more seasonably chilly temperatures, but now it was perfect.
Idly he remembered the day after Halloween last year, when he had been lying in this exact spot after his swim, only to have Ron confront him about all the girls spying on him.
He let a smile cross his face at the memory, and admitted if only to himself that while very much embarrassing, it actually had been a little flattering and thrilling to know that they found him attractive, and maybe even desirable.
Still, such shallow attentions ultimately meant nothing, and held no real attraction for him. It was harder but infinitely more rewarding to find friendship and respect, and he appreciated the few close friends he had more than ever.
Occasionally though, he thought about love, and why it was the one thing that seemed to be denied him in this war. He saw what Ron and Hermione had, what other couples had, what his mum and dad had. He wanted love. Maybe after the war, if he even dared to dream that far, he'd work on that.
He dreamed about what his life would be like if he was normal, just plain Harry. Would he have a girlfriend? Would he actually find someone who loved him for who he was? What would they do together? Actually, he had a few ideas on that last one, but those were just fanciful dreams.
He thought about Ginny and her obvious attraction to him, and wondered if he could ever reciprocate those feelings. Or what about Eva? They shared a close connection and friendship, and he suspected that she cared for him more than she readily admitted. She was attractive to him, and they were comfortable with each other. They had a lot in common, and fit together well.
However, a far stronger feeling in him was to avoid those types of relationships, that he was meant to be single. He searched for the source of this, but it was something that his heart echoed, and he trusted his instincts.
Experimentally he tried to picture his future; what would he do if he finally managed to end this war? A world at peace, with no Dark Lords or demons running around destroying lives. He saw himself traveling, wandering distant lands and exploring everything, meeting new people, learning and experiencing. Alone.
He sighed, releasing those thoughts far into the future. Maybe dreams were only for those who could afford them.
Harry thought of his friends. Hermione was currently in the library, her favorite place, with Professors Figg and vector working on a new type of defensive wards for the Ministry. Apparently she thought of innovating an obsolete charm ward by combining it with one of the twins' charm inventions, and needed Professor Vector's help with the Arithmancy involved with spell building.
Ginny was no doubt keeping tabs on the Slytherins, made much easier with Percy's advice to George for a new security invention, around her extra Animagus lessons with McGonagall. She couldn't wait to see what animal she would transform into. Hopefully something small and unobtrusive, to better her role as a spy.
Ron had been called in to Dumbledore's office with Snape to discuss strategy and the latest information from intelligence sources around Great Britain, as well as updates on Dark movement around the world that could deal directly with Voldemort. Under his suggestions, Hogsmeade residents had all been informed of the potential danger and were making their own preparations. Some left, either temporarily or permanently, but most dug in with defensive plans, unwilling to give up their homes without a fight.
As he thought of the village, arm over his eyes to shield from the hot sun, Harry had a sudden urge for a butterbeer. Hogwarts students hadn't been able to visit for the last year, and he was sure Madame Rosmerta's business was suffering for it.
All at once tied of sitting around and moping, Harry sat up and looked around him cautiously. No one was outside at the moment, since it was nearly lunch time, and he felt a rare mischievous grin spread.
Quickly, before he could change his mind, he summoned his money bag and transformed his features into another disguise, a completely forgettable twenty-something man that he last used in Diagon Alley. Then he Apparated to the street outside the Three Broomsticks, which appeared nearly deserted. He wondered how many times the Marauders had used the secret passageways to sneak down to Hogsmeade for a butterbeer interlude, just like he was today.
He walked in to find the pub populated by only two old warlocks in the corner and the pretty bartender, a far cry from the busy crowds of students on Hogsmeade weekends. Rosmerta looked up at the tinkle of the bell and smiled as he walked up to the bar and took a stool. "Good day to you sir. What can I get you? I specialize in fresh brewed butterbeer, and some swear by my stock of Ogden's Firewhiskey."
Harry smiled back. "Butterbeer sounds great." Nodding, she had a tankard drawn in seconds and he slid her some coins before taking a long sip. He sighed with satisfaction as the frothy liquid quenched his thirst and helped him relax with the memory of better times. "I've missed good butterbeer." She smiled back. "Glad you like it." He glanced around then asked, "Has business always been this slow?" Rosmerta lost her smile as she sighed.
"No. But with Hogwarts canceling their Hogsmeade visits and the rise of Dark forces, my customers have been dwindling. Some of my regulars moved away, and others don't have the money to come in for a pint nearly as often. The economy's been hit hard, what with the Diagon Alley attack a few months ago. And it's not just me."
She gestured towards the door. "Honeydukes is relying mainly on their mail order business to pay the bills. I don't know how Weasley's Wizard Wheezes manages to keep this second shop open here, because they get so few customers. Maybe they have enough in London to justify it, but still . . ."
Harry blinked in surprise and took another sip. He had no idea how the rest of the wizarding world was coping, and looking back he realized how sheltered and surreal his life really was, both of them. On one hand, locked away at Hogwarts. On the other, venturing out into a shadowy world of death, destruction, and powerful magic.
It never occurred to him that there were still other people who had never directly faced the Darkness like he had, but still weathered its ravages and kept living like they did, and meanwhile he was out trying to counter supernatural powers and prophecies.
He watched the bartender as she wiped down the bar with a rag. Rosmerta made her living honestly in the pub, working for every cent she made and depending upon customers for her livelihood. The other two customers finished their drinks, settled the bill and left, leaving him the sole patron. He ordered another butterbeer and thought hard as he drank it.
An idea floated into his mind and he toyed with it briefly, weighing all considerations before deciding his course of action. Harry waved Madame Rosmerta over and asked, "Do you have a lot of butterbeer stored in the back?" She looked at him curiously. "Barrels. I brew a fresh batch every week, but it keeps for months. I probably have enough in my storeroom to serve everybody up at Hogwarts twice."
He grinned. "Perfect. That's just what I want. How much would that cost?" The curvy bartender gaped at him, then realized he was perfectly serious and quickly went to tally it up, a slightly shell-shocked look on her face. As soon as she was out of sight, he brought out his whistle and blew a couple notes, and soon Eredfire swooped in through the open door.
Harry scribbled a quick note on a scrape of parchment then handed it to his phoenix. *Please take this to Dobby in the kitchens, then assist him if he needs help with the delivery.* The phoenix chuckled a bit as he took the note in his beak.
He shot Eredfire an apologetic look. *I'm sorry, but you are faster and easier to summon than Hedwig.* Eredfire fluffed his feathers. I do not mind, master Harry. But Hedwig might get a little jealous.
He flew off with an amused trill, and Harry turned back to his butterbeer just as Madame Rosmerta returned with a bill, which she slid over to him. "For my entire stock of butterbeer, barrels and bottles, even today's batch." He looked over the figure and calculated he had just enough on him to pay in cash, rather than order it out of his Gringotts vault account.
He nodded and placed the bill on the bar. "That looks reasonable. Here," he took out his money bag and tossed it to her, "I believe that should cover it, plus change."
Expertly she dumped it out and counted it up quickly, coins clinking in her palm, then glanced up at him. "If you're sure . . ." He nodded decisively, and she shrugged as a delighted grin blossomed. "Okay then, it's all yours. Don't drink it all at once."
Rosmerta tried to give him back his change, but Harry refused, only accepting his empty money pouch. "Consider it a tip." She started to move to the back to round up the barrels, but then stopped as an idea occurred to her. "How are you going to transport it?"
Just then Dobby appeared with a pop by Harry's ankles, just as eclectically dressed as ever. "Sir, Dobby got your message and he decided it was a grand idea, sir, and Dobby is here to help you get all the butterbeer back to Hogwarts."
Rosmerta shot a weird glance at Harry, and he shrugged and said, "I can't drink all that, and you did say you had enough to serve Hogwarts twice over. Besides, the students have also missed good butterbeer." He winked at her astonished face.
She took a deep breath and shook her head incredulously. "Let me get this straight. You just bought a four month supply of butterbeer, covering most of my expenses for the year, and you are giving it away to the students at Hogwarts." Harry paused, considering, then shrugged again with a slightly sheepish nod. "And the professors. That just about sums it up, yes."
"Why?" He smiled sadly. "I sat here and realized that I have some pretty fond memories tied to sitting in here with friends and laughing over a butterbeer. Somehow that just made my day all that much brighter. So I just do what I can to make life seem a little better for everyone. In the darkest times, all you need is a little light to give you hope."
He picked up his tankard and drained it as the first barrels went floating out under Dobby's direction. "Besides, your butterbeer is excellent, and it sure beats pumpkin juice."
They watched more barrels and clinking boxes float out, then Harry slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Oh! I completely forgot about that!" The bartender glanced at him quizzically, but he grinned at here. "I forgot about something I set up a long time ago as a surprise. Maybe today would be a good day for it."
Standing up, he stretched out a hand, and with a grin Rosmerta shook it. "Nice doing business with you, Mr. . . ."
He paused, then answered, "Potter. Mr. Potter." With a wink at her, he picked up a case of bottles and carried it out, following the last barrels. He caught up with Dobby just inside the gates. "Dobby, had lunch been served yet?"
The house elf shook his head, ears flapping around the tea cozy. "In five minutes more, Harry Potter. The other house elves were not happy when Dobby had to leave, but I says it was urgent delivery, and they is having no choice but to let me go, sir."
Harry grimaced. "You're not going to be in trouble, are you?" Dobby just smiled. "Not to worry. I is not in trouble for helping you, and I would do it anyways if I was, sir." Harry smiled back at him gratefully. "Okay. Now, I'm going to take these cases of bottles with me back to Gryffindor Tower. Serve the barrels with lunch in place of the pumpkin juice. Don't tell anyone who it's from, got it?" the enthusiastic elf nodded, then with a snap of his fingers he and the butterbeer disappeared.
Harry hauled the three heavy cases up to his dormitory and stashed them under his bed before heading down to lunch. Outside the doors he heard a tremendous amount of chatter and laughter along with the clinking of dishes. He smiled to himself at the comforting sounds, then walked into the Great Hall and plopped down in his seat next to Ron.
The red head broke off from his animated conversation with Dean and Seamus and turned to his friend excitedly. "There you are! Here, take a drink and tell me I'm not delusional." He thrust Harry's goblet at him, and obediently he took a sip.
He raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. "That's not pumpkin juice. Unless I'm mistaken, that's butterbeer." He took another gulp and added, "Madame Rosmerta's finest, it tastes like."
Ron crowed triumphantly and gestured wildly at the other two boys at the table. "See? I knew it! We've not been down to the Three Broomsticks in so long I've nearly forgotten what it tastes like."
He finished off his own goblet with a flourish, and Seamus grinned. "I'm thanking me lucky stars that these goblets are self-refilling. A toast," he offered, raising his goblet high. The other boys cheered softly, clinked glasses and drank deeply.
Harry smiled at their enthusiasm and glanced down the Gryffindor table to find all his housemates considerably cheered by the butterbeer surprise, as were the other tables. The younger students who had never been to Hogsmeade were particularly jubilant at their first taste.
Certain little things caught his eye. Denis Creevey sat with his brother Colin and seemed to be playing some sort of drinking game with their butterbeer. Justin Finch-Fletchley was talking earnestly with Ernie MacMillian and Hannah Abbot, all sporting huge grins as they sipped at their goblets. Cho Chang at the Ravenclaw table laughed with her girl friends at some story a seventh year was telling. Overall, people looked like they should be, without a war raging outside in the real world. This was normal.
Up at the professors' table, however, many sipped cautiously and engaged their neighbors in low conversations, concern on their faces as they gestured towards the pitchers and goblets repeatedly. Snape was ignoring Lupin as he examined his own goblet piercingly, so the DADA professor leaned in towards McGonagall's huddled conversation with Dumbledore.
The Potions Master suddenly looked up and stared right at Harry for a moment, then questioningly arched an eyebrow. Harry let a small smirk curl his lips as he gave a miniscule incline of his head in affirmative acknowledgement, and was slightly surprised when Snape lifted his goblet a bit towards him with a fractional nod of his own, took a long draft and went back to his meal as usual.
Harry was still trying to come to grips with this improved relationship between them when Hermione bustled in ten minutes later and flung herself in a seat across from him and Ron. "I can't believe the time completely got away from me like that! I'm starving!" she moaned, reaching for the nearest platter of food to heap on her plate. "It's just the subject is so interesting and challenging, but we were having difficulties getting the equations right to where the spells could be modified enough to combine together."
Amused, the boys watched her as she filled her plate talking nonstop, and Ron silently passed her the goblet with a wide grin. She paused for breath, drank a bit, then continued, "One time we thought we had it, but then the charm . . ." she trailed off as her brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked into her goblet with wide eyes. "What the . . . this isn't juice."
Ron laughed a bit. "Nope. It's butterbeer. Looks like the house elves mixed up today and tapped the stores. Good for us." Hermione only looked more confused and alarmed. "Ron, they don't store butterbeer in the kitchens. You've been down there enough, you should know." She glanced up at the High Table.
"Dumbledore didn't order this," she stated as the headmaster gazed into his own goblet with surprise and concern, and she pushed hers away. "We don't know where this came from. How do we know it's not poisoned, or worse?"
Ron started choking, but Harry laid a hand on his arm and leaned in conspiratorially. "It's from the Three Broomsticks, direct from Madame Rosmerta. I asked Dobby." That seemed to placate them, but then Ron glanced over, suspicious. "When did you ask him? You seemed surprised when you tasted it."
Harry sighed. "I was outside when he was bringing it up from Hogsmeade. It was a surprise, so I didn't want to ruin it for you." Well, it was the truth. Kind of. But he could tell in their expressions that they had figured out that he was probably involved, but decided to drop it.
Harry finished his lunch and excused himself, but at the doors he paused briefly, took out his wand surreptitiously and whispered, "Afficijam." Pocketing it again, he sat back to watch the fireworks. The Three Broomsticks earlier had brought Sirius to mind, and how often he and his father had been down there on lazy Saturdays, drinking butterbeer and plotting new pranks.
This in turn reminded him of the various traps he had set in the Common Rooms the night of the Dueling Club and that attack. He had forgotten all about them, and so they lay in hibernation, waiting for his signal. In true Marauder tradition, he had decided today was perfect. Sirius would be proud of him. With that single whispered command, the Great Hall erupted.
The students at the Hufflepuff table disappeared, to be replaced with a bunch of black and yellow furred Nifflers, who immediately started attacking the gold plates and silverware. Gryffindors who had just been laughing and drinking were suddenly transformed into a variety of lizards, and soon the table and benches were covered in scurrying clawed feet as they darted here and there.
Ravenclaw table had become the Owlery annex apparently, for all different species of owls perched there clicking their beaks and ruffling their feathers. The Slytherins, in contrast to the cool sophistication of their house mascot, were all shocking pink Puffskeins. Long thin tongues skittered around snatching up bits of food from the floor and the table.
The professors all shot to their feet with wands out, but their immediate alarm was diffused with the laughter echoing over the noises of the animals and falling dishes. Harry laughed so hard he was leaning against the wide double doors to keep from falling over, tears streaming as he gasped for breath. Snape scowled and bellowed, "POTTER!" while next to him Lupin was fighting his own amusement.
Harry calmed himself enough to straighten up and face them, but then summoned three Puffskeins and started juggling them casually. "Yes Professor?" he inquired, the picture of innocence around the flying balls of purring fur. Puffskeins love to be tossed.
McGonagall turned away, losing her own battle against a wide smile, and Vector actually had the audacity to chuckle. Snape glared at the two of them before rounding on Harry. "What did you do?" he said in his most menacing voice, but the teen simply blinked owlishly, imitating what used to be the Ravenclaws. "Me? Nothing. I was just leaving."
Snape sneered and pointed his wand at Harry, but instead of the curse he half-expected the three Puffskeins simply levitated back to their places. Lupin said warningly, "Harry . . ." but with a slight smile curling the edges of his mouth, and Harry shrugged. "Well, butterbeer is good for lifting the spirits, but pranks always lighten the mood." He smiled widely. "Besides, this was nothing compared to the Common Rooms."
Following that pronouncement, the students began popping back to normal and every single person was glaring daggers at him. He looked around, stated, "I think that's my cue to leave," then quickly exited and bolted down the corridor at top speed to avoid the first few hexes.
*******************************************************
It was much later, after the Common Rooms had been discovered and the aftermath cleaned up and tempers had cooled a bit, when Harry finally returned from wherever he had been hiding since lunch.
He snuck back into the tower just as the clocks ticked midnight, and the Fat Lady tried to tell him off for being out after curfew. Luckily the Common Room was empty and he walked up the stairs to quietly open the door to the dormitory.
Immediately he was beset by a deluge of pillows from the other boys, and a particularly hard hit knocked him back into the door. Reflexively he brought his hands up but restrained himself from using magic to ward off the attackers just in time.
Instead, he blocked one blow and yanked the pillow away from the wielder, then went on the offensive. That instigated a full-out pillow war, and they all were soon smacking each other happily with large feather pillows.
It only stopped when Seamus' pillow, on impact with Dean's head, burst and feathers exploded everywhere, flying in their faces and settling over every surface. The boys looked around at the mess, then each other, and collapsed on their beds, sniggering uncontrollably. Then Neville accidentally snorted up a feather, and that sent them into hysterics, especially when he finally managed to blow it back out his nose.
Ron finally propped himself up on his elbow to glare over at Harry. "You turned me into a newt!" Harry shrugged casually and said, "You got better."
Shaking his head, Dean asked, "How long have you been planning that?" "About a month, give or take. Too bad you couldn't see what I did to the Slytherin Common Room." He grinned toothily.
From there the night only got better, for Harry made amends by pulling out one of the cases of butterbeer to share, and soon they settled down to engage in some serious guy talk, from Quidditch to girls to Quidditch to homework to Quidditch to brooms and of course, Quidditch. For a while, it almost seemed like they were normal teenagers, sitting on their beds drinking butterbeer and swapping stories.
Right in the middle of Ron's passionate defense of the Chudley Cannons in spite of their abominable record, reality intruded when Harry's arm began to sting fiercely. He winced and leaned over his bed to get the Detection Parchment out of his trunk, then spread it over his knees. One glance confirmed his suspicions, and with an unhappy sigh he looked up to meet Ron's gaze somberly.
"It begins."
In case my explanation of dimensional laws and the structure of the universe confuses you, go refer back to Eva's explanation in chapter 15. This will be very important to understand in later chapters, and I'm not going to repeat myself for comprehension when it's already there.
Dedicated to three people today. First, Raven Eades again, for flattering me so much on her literary website that in a fit of joy I went and wrote six more pages and started another idea to work with. I know you can't wait to read the back story.
Second, to Victoria (Tori Black), for helping me get out of the house last Sunday, because I went and wrote most this chapter that night. Thanks, and please don't kill me after these two chapters. Reign in the fire and death for the moment.
Thirdly, to sopybubbles, for being one of my most ecstatic reviewers and for that last review you left. I'm incredibly sorry for your loss; I've lost a friend before too quite suddenly. I work to convey accurate and genuine emotional reactions. I'm glad that my story can help you at least a little bit.
Disclaimer: Do you really need this again? I don't own Harry Potter, and am trying to finish this before OoTP comes out (which may not be possible, but I still will finish this), which will just prove yet again just how wonderful JK Rowling is. If there's anything you don't recognize from outside this story, it's mine, so don't touch.
Chapter 25
Harry lay in the Hospital Wing that night, staring up at the dark ceiling with empty haunted eyes, exhausted beyond belief but unable to sleep due to his muddled thoughts. He refused to take the Dreamless Sleep potion, and it sat there on his bedside table, flask glinting in the moonlight. Memories flashed before him, and he clenched his eyes shut, unwilling to examine them just yet, but they persisted.
Hissed words echoed in his ears, compounded by the icy cold. Visions of Voldemort's ghastly face, the rippling floor whipping out to tie him down, the light . . . the sight of his parents and godfather, waiting to hug him.
He breathed out hard, determined not to cry. He was ice, he was stone; he couldn't, wouldn't feel anything. Not now. Just then a soft noise caught his attention, and he was thankful for the distraction from his melancholy.
It sounded like someone had snuck in, and they would only do that if they didn't want Madame Pomfrey to hear. They weren't here for a medical condition, and since he was the only one in here at the moment, that someone had probably come to see him.
Unsure of whether or not he wanted a visitor, probably Ron or Hermione, he turned his head away and pretended to be asleep.
Near silent footsteps padded closer and stepped around the screens, then he felt the person stop at his bedside. He regulated his breathing carefully, feigning deep sleep. This was nearly stopped when a light hand brushed over his forehead, sweeping away the hair that still hung over it to gently trace his scar.
He fought to keep still, but the touch seemed to race through him like lightning, much more pleasant than when Voldemort had touched it. That, more than anything else, gave him comfort, and unconsciously he relaxed a bit.
Harry heard a soft sigh, then a weight settled beside him as the person sat down. The hand stroked his forehead again, then lightly traced down his face and the skin seemed to tingle. He couldn't have opened his eyes if he wanted to, unwilling to break the spell.
Touch was a very interesting sense, for when the hand brushed his neck he was suddenly very aware of his entire body. Briefly he forgot how to breathe, and was only reminded by the ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his memories.
Those hands were now fluttering down his arm, outlining the muscles with a smooth fingernail before it took his hand. The size let him know it was a girl, and he knew it wasn't Hermione. The presence that he felt rubbing his hand soothingly were nothing like he ever felt in connection with his best friend.
His hand was raised, and to his shock and amazement felt soft lips press a kiss to his knuckles. Heat seemed to sweep out from that spot and warm his whole body, melting any ice left in his body.
He couldn't stand it any longer; he opened his eyes gradually and saw Ginny Weasley sitting by his side, holding his hand to her chest and gazing at him seriously, sadly.
He expected her to drop his hand, blush and run when she realized he was awake, but she didn't move. Instead she met his confused eyes steadily, now rubbing one hand down his arm as if trying to comfort him.
Harry hated it when someone pitied him, even more when they tried to coddle him. But Ginny wasn't; she knew how he'd react to either of these, so she simply gave him what he needed. Comfort and reassurance that she was still there for him, still his friend.
For a long time there was simply silence as they stared at each other, then she whispered, "I knew you weren't asleep."
He didn't have anything to say to that. She continued to massage his hand and asked, "Are you feeling any better?" He nodded a bit. "The pain is nearly gone. Pomfrey is really good at mending broken bones, and Snape had a couple of useful potions on hand."
Ginny dropped one hand to his left shoulder gently, massaging that too as if to reassure herself while helping him. "That's good, but that's not what I really meant." She leaned over him, chocolate brown eyes boring into the shadowed green ones.
"Harry, whatever happened in that Dream Stand, it was more than just Voldemort. He no longer has the power to affect you as deeply as you reacted. I know something is wrong, and it's eating away at you." Harry turned away, unable to look at her for fear she'd see it in his eyes, but a light touch at his cheek turned him back towards her.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But don't keep it inside. Remember our conversation on the roof? I can see the pain you try to keep hidden away from everyone. All they see is the mask, but beneath it, you're dying."
Dying. The word reverberated through his head and unwillingly his mind flashed to Sirius and his parents. Tears sprang to his eyes and one leaked out traitorously before he could force it away. Scowling, he brushed it away harshly, then sighed. "Something unexpected happened."
Ginny snorted. "The whole damn thing was unexpected." His lips curled reluctantly at that. "Yeah." He went back to staring at the shadows on the ceiling.
She simply sat by his side, holding his hand until he spoke up again. "It's just . . . I got a taste of what I really missed. Somehow that makes it all the worse."
She nodded in at least partial comprehension and didn't push him, and her comforting presence soothed him enough that he could fall into that state between wakefulness and sleep, his mind still awake but body resting. He hardly heard her leave some time later, but knew when he was alone again.
That night it was just him and the shadows.
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Harry spent a full day in the Hospital Wing after that episode in the Dream Stand, which was actually quite unusual nowadays for him. He was only released after lunch, rather reluctantly by Madame Pomfrey, when Ron and Hermione came in to inform him of an Order meeting that night. He simply nodded in acknowledgement and went straight to his dorm to flop down on his bed, staring at the ceiling and nearly dozing.
He didn't move when Ron called him for dinner; he simply felt too sick to eat, both physically and emotionally. Problems kept running through his head; the clone, Voldemort's power increase, the Dream Stand, and his escape. He had pondered it over and over again during the long sleepless night in the infirmary, and had come to only one possible conclusion: He had died.
That city gave it away as another dimension from his own, and Sirius, Lily and James could only be in one possible place. He had gone to the land of the dead, probably the one commonly known as heaven, one of two realms under Death's immediate control. But, according to Eva it was impossible for any living being to go there.
Even people who are mostly dead or still revivable only see the light at the end of the tunnel. In order to fully materialize in the realm, one had to be not only merely dead, but really most sincerely dead. Then the soul was stuck there, never to return.
So what in the name of Merlin's favorite pajamas happened? Harry at first thought that maybe he had hallucinated; a delusion brought on by the painful torture in the Dream Stand. After all, he had reacted wildly and irrationally once he woke up.
Yet somehow his gut instinct was telling him loud and clear that this had been no illusion or hallucination. He had really seen his parents and his godfather, and they had seen him.
Briefly he recalled that scene to his mind, having committed it to memory as his only time seeing his parents in person. His father, with messy hair flopping in his face, eyes twinkling at his son from behind his glasses, one arm wrapped around Lily's waist in a loving manner.
His mother, with her long red hair and bright sparkling green eyes that he had inherited, arms outstretched towards her only son to hold him for the first time in 15 years. And Sirius, looking young and fit and happy with his fellow Marauder, staring at him through eyes that had closed forever in his arms . . . .
Harry shook himself from these melancholy thoughts and rolled over with a sigh. Every time he healed, something came along to rip those old wounds open again. Randomly an old quote from somewhere drifted through his brain, one that he had probably heard in his cupboard while the Dursleys watched a movie on the telly. "So you always wanted a regular type life. What the fuck is that? Barbeques and ball games?" He gave a soft snort of irony. Well, he had both barbeques and ball games, just that the things cooking were demons and the balls flew.
A knock on the door startled him, and Ron peeked his head in. "C'mon Harry, we have to run. The meeting's in ten minutes." Harry nodded and hauled himself out of bed, and as Ron closed the door to go wait for him in the Common Room he quickly changed into fresh clothes and pulled on his boots. Sighing, he joined Ron and the two boys left Gryffindor Tower, walking in comfortable silence to the Headmaster's office.
Ron gave the password, they rode the staircase up, then crossed the room to the Phoenix chamber. They both waved a hand in front of the lock to enter, and the door swung open to reveal that they were the last ones to show up, and as they took their seats Dumbledore began the meeting.
"It seems like our enemies have come back from their hiatus now. There has been more activity detected recently, and just this morning a minor attack was repelled in downtown London. Still no demon activity though." Moody rubbed his grizzled chin with a frown. "That makes 15 days since any of those damn things made so much as a detectable peep. They must be planning something big."
Snape nodded in agreement, looking slightly disgusted at concurring with the ex-Auror. "Voldemort is not one to hold a weapon back unless it is allocated for a more important task. Where are his most likely targets?"
Several eyes turned towards Ron, who blushed when he realized that was his cue. "Um, well," he cleared his throat and tried to stop the heat rushing to his ears. "With the Minister's residence destroyed, the list of probable targets has been rearranged." He took out a sheet of parchment and spread it on the table in front of him. "First in the line of fire is DMLE Headquarters and the Auror base."
Several voiced protests at that, but Dumbledore waved them down. "Explain, Mr. Weasley." Ron expelled a quick breath. "They have to plan with the end in mind. It's like climbing a ladder; we know what the destination is, now we have to figure out the steps needed to reach it. Obviously, his ultimate goal is Hogwarts, right?"
When everyone nodded, he continued, "To get to Hogwarts and have any chance of success, either through treachery or brute force, he had to cut off any help that we might call for. So You-Know . . . I mean, Voldemort, needs to neutralize Hogsmeade."
He seemed a little surprised at the name, but accelerated past it. "However, that needs to be a quick attack to get a strong foothold for a Hogwarts assault, so he has to take out their support lines too, both material and personnel. This means some surrounding communities, but more importantly Diagon Alley and the Ministry."
Mundungus Fletcher interrupted him, "Both of those are tough nuts to crack. They can't rely on mere brute strength to destroy them. They need insiders to allow them at least a foot in the door."
"And they have them," Percy informed him a bit curtly. "There's at least one in every office with Dark leanings or spy connections, and most would be only too eager to help the Death Eaters out if it meant their ticket to initiation. Most others could be threatened or coerced into it." He looked down at his hands briefly. "They approached me early on, knowing my dissatisfaction and trying to exploit it. They are . . . very persuasive," he gulped, rubbing unconsciously at his stomach. Arthur placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Ron nodded grimly. "Unless we can track them all down with concrete evidence and get them removed, which is nearly impossible, the Ministry is vulnerable. Now, the main protection of the Ministry and the wizarding community is of course the Aurors. Destroy them and any support and information they have, and he's one more rung up the ladder."
Tori grimaced. "If they attack with demons, we're pretty much screwed. Only a handful know enough about their vulnerabilities to actually get out of a confrontation alive, much less kill one of those things."
Remus glanced over at her with surprised. "What about those guns we used during the last attack? They were simple, yet effective. And we went to enough trouble to get them that they should last a while."
Tori rolled her eyes in disgust. "You'd think so. Some were ruined in that attack, most are out of ammunition and we don't have the people who know what to get, let alone where and how. The few remaining reliable ones were somehow confiscated by both the artificers in Experimental Charms, and a couple of card-carrying Unspeakables. We're back at zero in our weapons department."
Fred and George were shaking their heads simultaneously, and Dumbledore arched a white eyebrow at them. "I take it that you two disagree with Ms. Black's assessment?" George sat back casually and tutted, "Tori, my dear girl, you are sadly mistaken. Fred and I have applied the brutal training you so graciously put us through to our more creative endeavors." Fred mimicked his twin's posture and affected a serious air.
"As my better half stated, we have turned briefly from mere pranks to a more, shall we say, dangerous line of products exclusively for the Aurors. Some are rather painful and even lethal, but with a 100% Weasley guarantee on it."
George picked up the thread of discussion. "For example, we obtained one of the firearms, took it apart, then improved upon it. The result is a lightweight version of an Uzi, a type of Muggle automatic weapon, with magically enhanced bullets similar to armor-piercing ones."
Fred added a bit apologetically, "We haven't tested it yet, for we can't find a demon who's willing to volunteer as a test dummy. But it tears through Graphorn hide like Ron through a treacle pudding." Ron throw his brothers a glare, but they merely grinned at him with their trademark looks as the other laughed quietly.
Arthur nodded slowly. "Good work boys. And you've come up with other items like this?" They nodded enthusiastically. "We have an entire arsenal, probably enough for just the two of us to invade and occupy France." Fred looked at George. "Wait, bad example. Italy would be a bit more of a challenge, and it's prettier country."
"And prettier women. Definitely Italy, and we might get a corner of Germany with a little bit of work." Dumbledore's moustache quivered as he suppressed a grin. The day the Weasley twins could remain serious for an entire meeting was the day the world ended.
After a few more reports from various members, Dumbledore turned to Harry, who had been sitting quietly in his seat the entire time staring at the table. "Harry," he tried to catch his mind from wherever it had been wandering, "could you tell us about the assault yesterday?" The teen refused to look up and answered quietly but firmly, "No."
The Order stirred at the refusal, and the headmaster frowned. "Why not? I believe that the information we could obtain would be beneficial to all of us." Abruptly Harry shoved his chair back and shot to his feet, stating flatly, "No. It wouldn't." He turned away and walked to the corner, staring at the wall with arms crossed protectively over his chest. He ignored the ominous muttering behind him, making it clear through body language that he definitely was not in the mood to talk. Dumbledore started to speak, "Harry . . ."
But then Snape cut him off brusquely. "Potter. Any information on the Dark Lord is valuable. It could save lives. Quit sulking and help us." The condescending sneer in his voice worked, for Harry whirled on him, eyes flashing with a furious mix of emotions. "What do you want me to say?!" he fairly hissed in a low voice that sounded venomous and deadly.
"That Voldemort knows I have the talisman? That he's madder than hell about it? That he's going to do everything he can to take it back? That he tortured me? That I was as helpless as a baby in his hands? That he in fact did kill me?! Fine! Consider it said!" His voice had grown steadily louder until he was bellowing back at his professor, then he spun back around and glared at the wall as if to drill an escape route through it with his gaze alone, arms wrapped around himself as if to ward off a chill.
There was silence for a long minute where the only sound was Harry's harsh breathing, then Snape stood up slowly and walked over to him. Carefully he placed a hand on his shoulder, but Harry remained as rigid as stone. "What do you mean, he killed you?" The teen clenched his eyes shut and drew in a shaky breath, but didn't answer.
Still, Snape knew exactly what he meant. "Harry," he said softly, "you're not upset about Voldemort. What happened?" Harry shook his head violently, even more unwilling to tell in front of the Order than in the Hospital Wing with Ginny.
Snape stepped in front of him and met his distant pain-filled eyes. "Harry, tell me. What happened?" He quirked an eyebrow up. "Or do I need to go get the Veritaserum?" Harry glared at him briefly, then closed his eyes and sighed, slightly turning away from him. The Potions Master waited, simply watching him until the teen began to speak haltingly in a monotone.
"He can manipulate the Dream Stand, not simply to take us both there, but the actual physical surroundings, like the floor. It . . . when it touched me . . . it was cold. Painfully burning cold. It actually freezes . . . from the inside out, slowing blood flow, heartbeat, breath . . . He . . . he used it to tie me down . . . I, I couldn't move at all, and it was so cold."
He shuddered convulsively, eyes still closed as he spoke in a tightly controlled voice. "He threatened to torture me until my mind broke, just like the Longbottoms, with Neville looking on, and nobody would be able to do anything about it." He cleared his throat to continue speaking.
"Before in the Dream Stand, I somehow managed to summon a light to transport me out. This time, it was . . . different. I'm not sure . . . I thought . . . I was dying, and then it came to me . . . I didn't do anything . . . it took me away to another place. I . . . I saw . . ." he couldn't finish, and scrubbed a rough hand over his eyes.
Snape was still there, his presence surprisingly comforting as he placed both his hand's on Harry's shoulders. "What did you see?" The teen was breathing hard, attempting to reign in his emotions as the memories washed over him in full force. "I saw . . . I saw Sirius," he finally managed in a strangled whisper that all the Order heard nevertheless. Remus closed his eyes and seemed to wince.
"Sirius was standing there . . . with my parents . . . and they saw me. They . . . they called for me, and my . . . my mum, she looked so happy to see me . . . she was reaching out for me . . . and my dad . . ." he choked up again, tears shining on his face but only Snape saw them.
"Then . . . them it all disappeared, just like that . . . blackness . . . and I heard Ron calling me back. I followed the sound until I woke up." Harry's whole body shook as he suppressed the howl that wanted to be unleashed, but he made no sound. Ten years in the cupboard with the Dursleys had taught him silence under all circumstances.
As one their hearts clenched in sorrow for the orphan boy who had a taste of what exactly he had lost yet never really knew it until now. He had lost them all over again.
Harry surreptitiously swiped at his eyes and managed, "I'll be right back." With a pop he disappeared, and the Order all glanced around at each other, at loss for words after such a story. He didn't return for another ten minutes, and they spent the time in near silence, each pondering the implications of Voldemort's latest action.
Finally the door creaked open and Harry stepped back in, the blank business face of the War Mage and Phoenix Lord firmly in place, betraying nothing as he went back to his seat.
Uncomfortably Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Forgive me, but I do not understand. Are you sure you actually died?" The teen nodded curtly. "I'm sure. It was no hallucination. Several people confirmed that I was in fact dead for five minutes. I believe that you were there." He glanced around briefly. "My problem is that if that is so, then it is impossible for me to be here right now."
Fletcher threw him a look. "Why? You do tend towards the impossible quite frequently." Harry just started back at him for a moment. "As much as I like to break conventional rules, do you understand the dimensional laws of the universe?" Most of the Order shook their heads, so he leaned back in his chair to lecture.
"As I am given to understand, the universe is made up of different dimensions or realms, like threads on a loom. The Guardians are in charge of that loom, weaving together a pattern of sorts so that each dimension is somehow touched by others, yet remains separate. For instance, back towards the beginning another realm crossed over ours, and the result was humans beginning to understand and be able to harness magic.
"Only the Guardians can fully access any dimension. Other beings below them are restricted to certain areas and tasks, like my trainer Eva. Beings in the realms are generally forbidden to cross to others except in special circumstances. I am one exception. Another is for departing souls. When someone here dies, their soul or essence goes to one of two of Death's realms. As we know it, heaven or hell."
He drew a deep breath and resumed his lecture. "Once a soul leaves, they cannot return to their original place. Apparently in one realm, however, they are allowed to visit a few other dimensions for a very short time, but never their home."
Flitwick interrupted him with a befuddled frown. "What about ghosts? How do you explain why they stick around?"
Harry nodded slowly. "They are people with circumstances around their death that ties them here emotionally, until such a time as they're ready to move on. Like Nearly Headless Nick, whose bitterness over the botched beheading has kept him here for 500 years. Essentially he's on hold, and someday he'll be recalled out of here, just like the others."
He sighed. "But that's off the topic. The problem is, I saw the realm and was seen there, I felt it. It was real. I was fully there, which meant that I was fully dead.
So according to trans-dimensional laws, I should be there, not here. I am supposed to be dead."
Utter silence dominated after that pronouncement, for a paradox of such magnitude is indeed a puzzlement. Ron leaned over to his friend and muttered, "Why are you complaining? Death is the only thing I really like cheating. Do you want to be dead?"
Harry gave him a wan smile. "Well, it was much nicer there." He exhaled a bit and ran a distracted hand through his hair. "But not yet. Not yet."
After a tense minute when it became clear that no one had anything else to say, Dumbledore spoke up to close the meeting. "Very well. Harry, I'm afraid you are on your own to figure it out." The teen nodded solemnly.
"Fred, George, you will be responsible for providing new weapons and training the Aurors how to use them. Keep a sharp look out around your stores too for any new information. Tori, work with them and also begin to plan out a defensive strategy Preparation will save lives." They nodded once in acceptance.
Dumbledore looked over at another redhead and braced himself. "Ron, you will work with Professor Snape to develop a counterattack for offensive moves on all targets. Please try not to kill each other before you're done." The two glared at each other briefly but reluctantly nodded.
Ginny hid her amusement and sympathy for Ron's predicament, and Charlie shook his head with a sympathetic smile. "The rest of you, your usual assignments. If there's nothing else, this meeting is dismissed."
********************************************************************
As the days passed, the whispers and stares that followed Harry everywhere after the hallway incident died down, and the school seemed to return to normal.
Well, as normal as Hogwarts ever gets, but with all things considered that's not saying much, if anything at all. Actually, there's really no such thing as normal. It's just a figment of your imagination. But then again, so is this.
Back to the subject. Snape continued to be his usual nasty self, except now it extended to his own House, especially when the wards around his quarters kept catching them trying to make his life miserable.
Trelawney predicted Harry's death with absolute certainty in about a thousand different but appropriately vague ways, but by now not even Lavender or Parvati took her seriously. Figg kept them worn out after Dueling Club, and Lupin worked with all years on various methods of both self-defense and attack.
Ron and Hermione acted completely normal (for them anyway), bickering and flirting in public and while working for the Order. Ron complained continuously about the torture of working with Snape, but gradually he toned it down until grudgingly he admitted to Harry that Snape was actually a brilliant tactician with a wealth of inside information. They seemed to settle on an uneasy respect for each other, but that didn't mean they had to like each other. Much like Sirius and Snape, in fact.
Once Harry was called out to DMLE Headquarters by Tori Black's request, and helped the Auror team of Charm builders to create new wars around the martial-looking building. As Bill set to work with other Curse breakers testing the wards, Harry got to look around at the defensive fortifications and layouts. Eventually he agreed that whoever attacked here would have a hell of a time even making it to the building, let alone inside.
Once he saw Fred and George, but they were both too busy to notice him at the time. Fred was instructing a division of Aurors how to use their latest inventions, including the modified guns and something that had a passing resemblance to a bazooka.
Harry watched with great interest as Fred hefted the tube to his shoulder and with a button push sent a stream of pure green flames spitting out at the target, which had been outfitted with Graphorn armor. In an instant the target vaporized, leaving only a few floating ashes with no trace of smoke anywhere. Pretty impressive.
George, on the other hand, was busy with an entirely different type of weapon. As Harry was checking out the watch tower balconies around the perimeter, he saw George and Tori backed into a corner. Their posture was very familiar, as he had seen it several times with Ron and Hermione in the last year, and he stifled both an urge to laugh and his gag reflex as her hands ran up his back, apparently pleased with whatever his mouth was doing at the moment. Harry shook his head and left them to it, hoping not to run across them again.
Even as they prepared for the big one, the Aurors still had to respond to the various random Death Eater attacks. Luckily with the inclusion of the Order's Detection Parchments most were over before they could really get started. Harry knew about them, of course, but never needed to go himself anymore.
The only downside was that some Death Eaters always escaped, and the Aurors had to divert some resources to guard the capture ones in a renovated castle out along the shore by Azkaban. Things seemed to have calmed down, with the Dark Mark seen less and less often.
However, neither the demons nor the dementors had made an appearance in a month. It was the lull before the storm, and everyone was setting up the chess pieces for the next big move. While the Order prepared itself for a serious escalation of the war, Harry simply waited. He went to classes, did his homework, kept up his physical training routine with Ron in the mornings, and as captain started up Quidditch practices.
Even though the previous year's reserve team had trained quite a bit with the regular team, they hadn't had any true game experience and lacked the coordination of seasoned players. Harry drove them all hard during thrice weekly practices, even though their first match wasn't until the second week of November. They had a Cup to defend.
While on the outside Harry appeared perfectly fine, that mask hid inner turmoil. The Dream Stand continued to haunt his sleeping and waking hours, and the clone problem plagued his thoughts like a mutated virus.
Worse, he was beginning to suspect that Eva, despite all her forthright bluntness to his questions, had been deliberately withholding information from him. That though burned into him, doubt gnawing at his spirit, until one sleepless night he gave in and attempted to contact Eva through their mental link.
Much to his shock, he found the connection blocked. Just another disturbing topic to ponder. Rolling over restlessly in his bed, he punched his pillow and buried his head in it, feeling suddenly and inexplicably alone and lonely.
***********************************************************
The first week of October brought in some particularly beautiful weather in that part of Scotland, and so it was that on a lazy Saturday morning Harry lay outside by the lake with his eyes closed, enjoying the sun and warmth. Come evening it tended to drop to more seasonably chilly temperatures, but now it was perfect.
Idly he remembered the day after Halloween last year, when he had been lying in this exact spot after his swim, only to have Ron confront him about all the girls spying on him.
He let a smile cross his face at the memory, and admitted if only to himself that while very much embarrassing, it actually had been a little flattering and thrilling to know that they found him attractive, and maybe even desirable.
Still, such shallow attentions ultimately meant nothing, and held no real attraction for him. It was harder but infinitely more rewarding to find friendship and respect, and he appreciated the few close friends he had more than ever.
Occasionally though, he thought about love, and why it was the one thing that seemed to be denied him in this war. He saw what Ron and Hermione had, what other couples had, what his mum and dad had. He wanted love. Maybe after the war, if he even dared to dream that far, he'd work on that.
He dreamed about what his life would be like if he was normal, just plain Harry. Would he have a girlfriend? Would he actually find someone who loved him for who he was? What would they do together? Actually, he had a few ideas on that last one, but those were just fanciful dreams.
He thought about Ginny and her obvious attraction to him, and wondered if he could ever reciprocate those feelings. Or what about Eva? They shared a close connection and friendship, and he suspected that she cared for him more than she readily admitted. She was attractive to him, and they were comfortable with each other. They had a lot in common, and fit together well.
However, a far stronger feeling in him was to avoid those types of relationships, that he was meant to be single. He searched for the source of this, but it was something that his heart echoed, and he trusted his instincts.
Experimentally he tried to picture his future; what would he do if he finally managed to end this war? A world at peace, with no Dark Lords or demons running around destroying lives. He saw himself traveling, wandering distant lands and exploring everything, meeting new people, learning and experiencing. Alone.
He sighed, releasing those thoughts far into the future. Maybe dreams were only for those who could afford them.
Harry thought of his friends. Hermione was currently in the library, her favorite place, with Professors Figg and vector working on a new type of defensive wards for the Ministry. Apparently she thought of innovating an obsolete charm ward by combining it with one of the twins' charm inventions, and needed Professor Vector's help with the Arithmancy involved with spell building.
Ginny was no doubt keeping tabs on the Slytherins, made much easier with Percy's advice to George for a new security invention, around her extra Animagus lessons with McGonagall. She couldn't wait to see what animal she would transform into. Hopefully something small and unobtrusive, to better her role as a spy.
Ron had been called in to Dumbledore's office with Snape to discuss strategy and the latest information from intelligence sources around Great Britain, as well as updates on Dark movement around the world that could deal directly with Voldemort. Under his suggestions, Hogsmeade residents had all been informed of the potential danger and were making their own preparations. Some left, either temporarily or permanently, but most dug in with defensive plans, unwilling to give up their homes without a fight.
As he thought of the village, arm over his eyes to shield from the hot sun, Harry had a sudden urge for a butterbeer. Hogwarts students hadn't been able to visit for the last year, and he was sure Madame Rosmerta's business was suffering for it.
All at once tied of sitting around and moping, Harry sat up and looked around him cautiously. No one was outside at the moment, since it was nearly lunch time, and he felt a rare mischievous grin spread.
Quickly, before he could change his mind, he summoned his money bag and transformed his features into another disguise, a completely forgettable twenty-something man that he last used in Diagon Alley. Then he Apparated to the street outside the Three Broomsticks, which appeared nearly deserted. He wondered how many times the Marauders had used the secret passageways to sneak down to Hogsmeade for a butterbeer interlude, just like he was today.
He walked in to find the pub populated by only two old warlocks in the corner and the pretty bartender, a far cry from the busy crowds of students on Hogsmeade weekends. Rosmerta looked up at the tinkle of the bell and smiled as he walked up to the bar and took a stool. "Good day to you sir. What can I get you? I specialize in fresh brewed butterbeer, and some swear by my stock of Ogden's Firewhiskey."
Harry smiled back. "Butterbeer sounds great." Nodding, she had a tankard drawn in seconds and he slid her some coins before taking a long sip. He sighed with satisfaction as the frothy liquid quenched his thirst and helped him relax with the memory of better times. "I've missed good butterbeer." She smiled back. "Glad you like it." He glanced around then asked, "Has business always been this slow?" Rosmerta lost her smile as she sighed.
"No. But with Hogwarts canceling their Hogsmeade visits and the rise of Dark forces, my customers have been dwindling. Some of my regulars moved away, and others don't have the money to come in for a pint nearly as often. The economy's been hit hard, what with the Diagon Alley attack a few months ago. And it's not just me."
She gestured towards the door. "Honeydukes is relying mainly on their mail order business to pay the bills. I don't know how Weasley's Wizard Wheezes manages to keep this second shop open here, because they get so few customers. Maybe they have enough in London to justify it, but still . . ."
Harry blinked in surprise and took another sip. He had no idea how the rest of the wizarding world was coping, and looking back he realized how sheltered and surreal his life really was, both of them. On one hand, locked away at Hogwarts. On the other, venturing out into a shadowy world of death, destruction, and powerful magic.
It never occurred to him that there were still other people who had never directly faced the Darkness like he had, but still weathered its ravages and kept living like they did, and meanwhile he was out trying to counter supernatural powers and prophecies.
He watched the bartender as she wiped down the bar with a rag. Rosmerta made her living honestly in the pub, working for every cent she made and depending upon customers for her livelihood. The other two customers finished their drinks, settled the bill and left, leaving him the sole patron. He ordered another butterbeer and thought hard as he drank it.
An idea floated into his mind and he toyed with it briefly, weighing all considerations before deciding his course of action. Harry waved Madame Rosmerta over and asked, "Do you have a lot of butterbeer stored in the back?" She looked at him curiously. "Barrels. I brew a fresh batch every week, but it keeps for months. I probably have enough in my storeroom to serve everybody up at Hogwarts twice."
He grinned. "Perfect. That's just what I want. How much would that cost?" The curvy bartender gaped at him, then realized he was perfectly serious and quickly went to tally it up, a slightly shell-shocked look on her face. As soon as she was out of sight, he brought out his whistle and blew a couple notes, and soon Eredfire swooped in through the open door.
Harry scribbled a quick note on a scrape of parchment then handed it to his phoenix. *Please take this to Dobby in the kitchens, then assist him if he needs help with the delivery.* The phoenix chuckled a bit as he took the note in his beak.
He shot Eredfire an apologetic look. *I'm sorry, but you are faster and easier to summon than Hedwig.* Eredfire fluffed his feathers. I do not mind, master Harry. But Hedwig might get a little jealous.
He flew off with an amused trill, and Harry turned back to his butterbeer just as Madame Rosmerta returned with a bill, which she slid over to him. "For my entire stock of butterbeer, barrels and bottles, even today's batch." He looked over the figure and calculated he had just enough on him to pay in cash, rather than order it out of his Gringotts vault account.
He nodded and placed the bill on the bar. "That looks reasonable. Here," he took out his money bag and tossed it to her, "I believe that should cover it, plus change."
Expertly she dumped it out and counted it up quickly, coins clinking in her palm, then glanced up at him. "If you're sure . . ." He nodded decisively, and she shrugged as a delighted grin blossomed. "Okay then, it's all yours. Don't drink it all at once."
Rosmerta tried to give him back his change, but Harry refused, only accepting his empty money pouch. "Consider it a tip." She started to move to the back to round up the barrels, but then stopped as an idea occurred to her. "How are you going to transport it?"
Just then Dobby appeared with a pop by Harry's ankles, just as eclectically dressed as ever. "Sir, Dobby got your message and he decided it was a grand idea, sir, and Dobby is here to help you get all the butterbeer back to Hogwarts."
Rosmerta shot a weird glance at Harry, and he shrugged and said, "I can't drink all that, and you did say you had enough to serve Hogwarts twice over. Besides, the students have also missed good butterbeer." He winked at her astonished face.
She took a deep breath and shook her head incredulously. "Let me get this straight. You just bought a four month supply of butterbeer, covering most of my expenses for the year, and you are giving it away to the students at Hogwarts." Harry paused, considering, then shrugged again with a slightly sheepish nod. "And the professors. That just about sums it up, yes."
"Why?" He smiled sadly. "I sat here and realized that I have some pretty fond memories tied to sitting in here with friends and laughing over a butterbeer. Somehow that just made my day all that much brighter. So I just do what I can to make life seem a little better for everyone. In the darkest times, all you need is a little light to give you hope."
He picked up his tankard and drained it as the first barrels went floating out under Dobby's direction. "Besides, your butterbeer is excellent, and it sure beats pumpkin juice."
They watched more barrels and clinking boxes float out, then Harry slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Oh! I completely forgot about that!" The bartender glanced at him quizzically, but he grinned at here. "I forgot about something I set up a long time ago as a surprise. Maybe today would be a good day for it."
Standing up, he stretched out a hand, and with a grin Rosmerta shook it. "Nice doing business with you, Mr. . . ."
He paused, then answered, "Potter. Mr. Potter." With a wink at her, he picked up a case of bottles and carried it out, following the last barrels. He caught up with Dobby just inside the gates. "Dobby, had lunch been served yet?"
The house elf shook his head, ears flapping around the tea cozy. "In five minutes more, Harry Potter. The other house elves were not happy when Dobby had to leave, but I says it was urgent delivery, and they is having no choice but to let me go, sir."
Harry grimaced. "You're not going to be in trouble, are you?" Dobby just smiled. "Not to worry. I is not in trouble for helping you, and I would do it anyways if I was, sir." Harry smiled back at him gratefully. "Okay. Now, I'm going to take these cases of bottles with me back to Gryffindor Tower. Serve the barrels with lunch in place of the pumpkin juice. Don't tell anyone who it's from, got it?" the enthusiastic elf nodded, then with a snap of his fingers he and the butterbeer disappeared.
Harry hauled the three heavy cases up to his dormitory and stashed them under his bed before heading down to lunch. Outside the doors he heard a tremendous amount of chatter and laughter along with the clinking of dishes. He smiled to himself at the comforting sounds, then walked into the Great Hall and plopped down in his seat next to Ron.
The red head broke off from his animated conversation with Dean and Seamus and turned to his friend excitedly. "There you are! Here, take a drink and tell me I'm not delusional." He thrust Harry's goblet at him, and obediently he took a sip.
He raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. "That's not pumpkin juice. Unless I'm mistaken, that's butterbeer." He took another gulp and added, "Madame Rosmerta's finest, it tastes like."
Ron crowed triumphantly and gestured wildly at the other two boys at the table. "See? I knew it! We've not been down to the Three Broomsticks in so long I've nearly forgotten what it tastes like."
He finished off his own goblet with a flourish, and Seamus grinned. "I'm thanking me lucky stars that these goblets are self-refilling. A toast," he offered, raising his goblet high. The other boys cheered softly, clinked glasses and drank deeply.
Harry smiled at their enthusiasm and glanced down the Gryffindor table to find all his housemates considerably cheered by the butterbeer surprise, as were the other tables. The younger students who had never been to Hogsmeade were particularly jubilant at their first taste.
Certain little things caught his eye. Denis Creevey sat with his brother Colin and seemed to be playing some sort of drinking game with their butterbeer. Justin Finch-Fletchley was talking earnestly with Ernie MacMillian and Hannah Abbot, all sporting huge grins as they sipped at their goblets. Cho Chang at the Ravenclaw table laughed with her girl friends at some story a seventh year was telling. Overall, people looked like they should be, without a war raging outside in the real world. This was normal.
Up at the professors' table, however, many sipped cautiously and engaged their neighbors in low conversations, concern on their faces as they gestured towards the pitchers and goblets repeatedly. Snape was ignoring Lupin as he examined his own goblet piercingly, so the DADA professor leaned in towards McGonagall's huddled conversation with Dumbledore.
The Potions Master suddenly looked up and stared right at Harry for a moment, then questioningly arched an eyebrow. Harry let a small smirk curl his lips as he gave a miniscule incline of his head in affirmative acknowledgement, and was slightly surprised when Snape lifted his goblet a bit towards him with a fractional nod of his own, took a long draft and went back to his meal as usual.
Harry was still trying to come to grips with this improved relationship between them when Hermione bustled in ten minutes later and flung herself in a seat across from him and Ron. "I can't believe the time completely got away from me like that! I'm starving!" she moaned, reaching for the nearest platter of food to heap on her plate. "It's just the subject is so interesting and challenging, but we were having difficulties getting the equations right to where the spells could be modified enough to combine together."
Amused, the boys watched her as she filled her plate talking nonstop, and Ron silently passed her the goblet with a wide grin. She paused for breath, drank a bit, then continued, "One time we thought we had it, but then the charm . . ." she trailed off as her brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked into her goblet with wide eyes. "What the . . . this isn't juice."
Ron laughed a bit. "Nope. It's butterbeer. Looks like the house elves mixed up today and tapped the stores. Good for us." Hermione only looked more confused and alarmed. "Ron, they don't store butterbeer in the kitchens. You've been down there enough, you should know." She glanced up at the High Table.
"Dumbledore didn't order this," she stated as the headmaster gazed into his own goblet with surprise and concern, and she pushed hers away. "We don't know where this came from. How do we know it's not poisoned, or worse?"
Ron started choking, but Harry laid a hand on his arm and leaned in conspiratorially. "It's from the Three Broomsticks, direct from Madame Rosmerta. I asked Dobby." That seemed to placate them, but then Ron glanced over, suspicious. "When did you ask him? You seemed surprised when you tasted it."
Harry sighed. "I was outside when he was bringing it up from Hogsmeade. It was a surprise, so I didn't want to ruin it for you." Well, it was the truth. Kind of. But he could tell in their expressions that they had figured out that he was probably involved, but decided to drop it.
Harry finished his lunch and excused himself, but at the doors he paused briefly, took out his wand surreptitiously and whispered, "Afficijam." Pocketing it again, he sat back to watch the fireworks. The Three Broomsticks earlier had brought Sirius to mind, and how often he and his father had been down there on lazy Saturdays, drinking butterbeer and plotting new pranks.
This in turn reminded him of the various traps he had set in the Common Rooms the night of the Dueling Club and that attack. He had forgotten all about them, and so they lay in hibernation, waiting for his signal. In true Marauder tradition, he had decided today was perfect. Sirius would be proud of him. With that single whispered command, the Great Hall erupted.
The students at the Hufflepuff table disappeared, to be replaced with a bunch of black and yellow furred Nifflers, who immediately started attacking the gold plates and silverware. Gryffindors who had just been laughing and drinking were suddenly transformed into a variety of lizards, and soon the table and benches were covered in scurrying clawed feet as they darted here and there.
Ravenclaw table had become the Owlery annex apparently, for all different species of owls perched there clicking their beaks and ruffling their feathers. The Slytherins, in contrast to the cool sophistication of their house mascot, were all shocking pink Puffskeins. Long thin tongues skittered around snatching up bits of food from the floor and the table.
The professors all shot to their feet with wands out, but their immediate alarm was diffused with the laughter echoing over the noises of the animals and falling dishes. Harry laughed so hard he was leaning against the wide double doors to keep from falling over, tears streaming as he gasped for breath. Snape scowled and bellowed, "POTTER!" while next to him Lupin was fighting his own amusement.
Harry calmed himself enough to straighten up and face them, but then summoned three Puffskeins and started juggling them casually. "Yes Professor?" he inquired, the picture of innocence around the flying balls of purring fur. Puffskeins love to be tossed.
McGonagall turned away, losing her own battle against a wide smile, and Vector actually had the audacity to chuckle. Snape glared at the two of them before rounding on Harry. "What did you do?" he said in his most menacing voice, but the teen simply blinked owlishly, imitating what used to be the Ravenclaws. "Me? Nothing. I was just leaving."
Snape sneered and pointed his wand at Harry, but instead of the curse he half-expected the three Puffskeins simply levitated back to their places. Lupin said warningly, "Harry . . ." but with a slight smile curling the edges of his mouth, and Harry shrugged. "Well, butterbeer is good for lifting the spirits, but pranks always lighten the mood." He smiled widely. "Besides, this was nothing compared to the Common Rooms."
Following that pronouncement, the students began popping back to normal and every single person was glaring daggers at him. He looked around, stated, "I think that's my cue to leave," then quickly exited and bolted down the corridor at top speed to avoid the first few hexes.
*******************************************************
It was much later, after the Common Rooms had been discovered and the aftermath cleaned up and tempers had cooled a bit, when Harry finally returned from wherever he had been hiding since lunch.
He snuck back into the tower just as the clocks ticked midnight, and the Fat Lady tried to tell him off for being out after curfew. Luckily the Common Room was empty and he walked up the stairs to quietly open the door to the dormitory.
Immediately he was beset by a deluge of pillows from the other boys, and a particularly hard hit knocked him back into the door. Reflexively he brought his hands up but restrained himself from using magic to ward off the attackers just in time.
Instead, he blocked one blow and yanked the pillow away from the wielder, then went on the offensive. That instigated a full-out pillow war, and they all were soon smacking each other happily with large feather pillows.
It only stopped when Seamus' pillow, on impact with Dean's head, burst and feathers exploded everywhere, flying in their faces and settling over every surface. The boys looked around at the mess, then each other, and collapsed on their beds, sniggering uncontrollably. Then Neville accidentally snorted up a feather, and that sent them into hysterics, especially when he finally managed to blow it back out his nose.
Ron finally propped himself up on his elbow to glare over at Harry. "You turned me into a newt!" Harry shrugged casually and said, "You got better."
Shaking his head, Dean asked, "How long have you been planning that?" "About a month, give or take. Too bad you couldn't see what I did to the Slytherin Common Room." He grinned toothily.
From there the night only got better, for Harry made amends by pulling out one of the cases of butterbeer to share, and soon they settled down to engage in some serious guy talk, from Quidditch to girls to Quidditch to homework to Quidditch to brooms and of course, Quidditch. For a while, it almost seemed like they were normal teenagers, sitting on their beds drinking butterbeer and swapping stories.
Right in the middle of Ron's passionate defense of the Chudley Cannons in spite of their abominable record, reality intruded when Harry's arm began to sting fiercely. He winced and leaned over his bed to get the Detection Parchment out of his trunk, then spread it over his knees. One glance confirmed his suspicions, and with an unhappy sigh he looked up to meet Ron's gaze somberly.
"It begins."