Disclaimer: I only own the plot, the concept, and any original characters and places that you don't recognize.

Tears of Twilight
Chapter Three: Forbidden Manifest

Secrets, secrets everywhere
Hidden deep in the sky, earth, and sea
Such is the destiny of man, to revel in light and cower in dark
Those who belong to the dusky twilight are those who will inherit
As they seek the answers and the secrets, hunters of knowledge
Divine Psyche, embodiment of the highest light and deepest dark
My soul is dreaming, the memories of the past unleashed on my mind
My manifestation should have been forbidden

The words rung in his ears like a grave mournful bell, tolling the moment of his funeral. The cold seeped into his bones even deeper, chilling him to a level that he did not fully comprehend. Replace Nightmare? How could he replace Nightmare? More importantly, what was he replacing exactly? Nightmare should have explained it all to him, according to Miss Ellery. Like that was likely: that man had no intention of talking to him at all except to pronounce a death sentence. Which was very nearly carried out.

Looking down at his hands, he saw that they were shaking. He should know this, that was really the only thing that was clear in his mind, and it frustrated him (as well as scared him) that he didn't know. That he had no idea who Nightmare was, what Miss Ellery was, what according to her…what he was. Manifest. What was that?!

Replace Nightmare.

He did not want to replace Nightmare. Whatever it was, he at least knew that. "No," he responded, though it came out as a loud whisper in the quiet of the hospital room. "I'm not going to."

"You've got no option," the black woman said, tone plainly implying that there was no reasoning with her. "You were the only Lateil that Nightmare was near when he was called back. It needed a new host-guardian quickly before it could be contaminated." She shook her head. "Do you think I like telling you this? Not even I would want to replace Nightmare, boy! But you were called and that means you have to answer it. No questions asked."

"So I don't have a choice?" Harry demanded. "What your saying is that I was just because I just happened to be close to that ravaging murderer that I've become…whatever it is you claim!" Ignoring the pain and the affronted (yet, he could sense chagrin as well) in the expression that Ancelin Ellery wore, he brought his knees to his chest, leaning his head dejectedly on them. It was always the same. What made him so different from everyone else? So different that he was never allowed free will, constantly being pulled in the direction that either the abstract form of 'destiny' wanted or as a puppet in the machinations of those who were supposed to be encouraging him on his own path in life? "What do you all want from me?" he asked softly, but it reverberated loudly off of the white walls.

The bed creaked as Miss Ellery sat gently on the hospital bed, her wrinkled and aged hands grasping on her cane. He looked at her, sulky, as she gave him a reproving dark stare. For a moment, he was slightly reminded of Professor McGonagall and her strict policy for no nonsense, but it soon faded in his mind as he got a good look at her. No. This woman, despite her elderly body, there was a mind as sharp and strong as steel, with a will possibly even greater than he had ever known. She understood, probably better than even he himself did, but would not sway.

But did he know Professor McGonagall? Really? He had only seen her in class or other such occasions. Other than that…

Why was he questioning himself like this? And how did he…how did he know about…

"How did you know about me, child? Simple. You're a Manifest. That easy," she harshly drawled, startling him. "That is the business of a Manifest: to know. To find out the hidden secrets. It has nothing to do with being a wizard of moogal – whatever your kind call us regular people." She then paused, adding, "Though there weren't that many wizard Manifests at any given time, actually." The older woman shrugged her shoulders in a matter-of-fact way, continuing, "Prolly because of the cycle…and none of you make much sense anyway. Moving on. A Manifest is one who can find the secrets and use them, who can manipulate the cycle." She opened her mouth to elaborate, but then shut it suddenly. "I'm afraid that is all I can say for now."

Harry gave her a disbelieving look, ignoring the brief flash of intuition that had occurred right when she decided not to speak. I suppose that's…knowing? Whatever. "You can't just leave me here like this," he accused. "Especially after all that you were saying before – how Nightmare was supposed to tell me? Now you aren't!"

"Be respectful, child!" Miss Ellery admonished, so forcefully that Harry recoiled. "I'm one of the few around here that can actually get you through this – much less alive! Nightmare was much more than a regular Manifest and now that he's gone, you have it. And it needs to be protected!" Jerkily, probably due to her age, she stood up, a few bones cracking as she stretched. "You will understand soon enough why I stopped," she finished. "Soon, you will be getting the feeling. The knowing. Gnareil. I am not supposed to tell you everything yet, that's what my gnareil tells me. So sit tight and don't whine. We are merely humans and as such, cannot question what greater powers than we decide."

He winced gingerly as she patted him on the head. "We'll be seeing each other soon, I guarantee that. You're going to need guidance, because if you think you're confused now, wait until the Olim Queil starts. That'll really throw you for a loop." She walked slowly to the shadowy corner from where she had originally appeared, her black dress swishing and her cane rapping loudly against the tile. "You'll be getting out of here in a week, no matter what those doctors think," the woman said over her shoulder. "Trust your gnareil. I'll be nearby when you leave this place. Despite what you may think, you can't go on with out some help. Until next time, Phoenix Noveil."

There was a brief shimmer and Ancelin Ellery vanished.

In the silence that reigned in the empty air around him, Harry couldn't help but feel even more alone.

It was unbelievable in itself really. True to the word of the enigmatic (in her own way) Miss Ellery, the doctors were considering letting him out in a week. Though he could see that whatever caused this idea to root in their minds, they were fighting it with considerable will. He could see in it the way Dr. Abrams' eyes narrowed every time she said it, in Dr. Steadman's thoughtful frown, and how Dr. Parmar's stoic face seemed to become even more serious and sharp. True, Harry could not positively say that he knew Dr. Parmar's mannerisms as well as he knew the other two doctors that were helping him heal. After all, he had only met the man once. But that…gnareil must have been acting up again.

And what it revealed to him – though useful, led him to the decision to be more cautious around the head of the pediatric ward. This man had a sharp mind, keener than most, and was suspicious by nature. He had an encounter with magic, managed to escape with his memory of whatever incident it was, and now was chary of most strange happenings. This including Harry himself. However, the 'knowing' did push him to decide that the man was trustworthy and not a real threat. So that was a plus. Harry wasn't that oblivious to not see that he had no other contact with any other doctors, nurses, or surgeons in the hospital. It seemed to him that Parmar was deliberately limiting Harry's treatment and overall information to only Dr. Abrams, Dr. Steadman, Nurse Maude, Nurse Leah, and himself. He rarely saw anyone else. The solitary person he saw outside the ward was Dr. Dempster, the hospital's shrink, who seemed concerned about Harry's reaction to the trauma. Among other things that Harry was not inclined to speak about.

But overall, it did not bother him too much. The less who knew that he was here, the safer he was, right? No wizard or witch working for Voldemort would be able to sneak in and manage to off the Boy-Who-Lived while he was recovering from such serious maladies. That is, if any of Voldemort's lackeys had the sheer willpower to stand nearly a half-hour of being shunted here and there, asked their identification, etc., just so they could kill little ole him. According to Dr. Steadman, who liked to talk to his patients to make them more at ease, it was difficult for the doctors themselves to get into work.

On the third day of his stay at Mercy, the two doctors decided it was time he received some basic therapy. Seeing the horrible condition that his arms and legs were in, they were a bit hesitant to try so soon after his surgeries, but felt that it was necessary to check. He was under no illusions – this also had to do with whatever enchantment Miss Ellery had done to get him out of the hospital quickly. After some initial difficulty, he found himself able to walk quite well, despite the slight pain he felt. If it were another trick of Ms. Ellery…or a side effect of whatever happened to him, he was unsure.

Of what he could say of his time, it was actually enjoyable to its own extent. He was in pain most of the time, after all. And he still was constantly cold, as if ice instead of blood were running through his veins. There were times that the nurses forced him into bed, wrapping him in blankets, making him drink warm drinks and teas. Every time this happened, they claimed that his lips had actually turned slightly blue and his skin was so white that it made porcelain look dark.

He really had no idea what was going on there.

But it was nice here. The doctors and nurses were pleasant and they didn't tiptoe around him when it came to his injuries. For one thing, they felt it more productive to talk to him about what happened and his burns. And when he did require help, they weren't rushing about or fussing over him (like Madam Pomphrey always had done) but calm and collected. The greatest plus was that they allowed him to keep his own dignity and treated him much like an adult, even if he was in the pediatric section. Though Dr. Abrams said it was only because he was still a minor…and that they originally thought he was thirteen or fourteen.

Which was slightly insulting. But he really couldn't help that he was still smaller than most of his peers, even with the growth spurt that he had the previous summer.

The next morning, he would be returning to Privet Drive once again and he doubted they would be receiving him with open arms. If what he knew of their characters held true, they would just jam him into the backseat of their car, so he would be privy to the pokes and prods of his idiotic cousin, then shunted into his room with the demand that he tell his 'freak' friends that they had no part in what happened and that they won't be paying the bills when they came.

He sighed softly as Leah wheeled him through the busy hallways, expertly weaving him around rushing doctors, running nurses, stretchers, other wheelchairs, and the occasional walking patient or to. During these times, he usually avoided meeting the gazes of other people – the sight of his different colored eyes seemed to be too much of a shock for most. But it was difficult since everyone seemed to want to stare at him, wrapped from head to toe in bandages. It wasn't lost on him how many visitors all the other patients seemed to have – almost every one in the ward had someone there at one time or the other, family and friends by their bedsides. Other than Miss Ellery, he had no one. Not even anyone from the Order.

It really showed how important he was in the world, didn't it?

He had just finished his last session with Dr. Dempster and was heading back to his room to 'rest' once again. If anything, he had 'rested' more than he ever wanted to. He knew it was for his own good, but he couldn't help but want to move about. And after a while, the reruns of old sitcoms did get pretty boring, especially when the television itself was in poor condition. If Dudley had stayed here for as long as he had, the big dimwitted oaf would have probably thrown a tantrum.

Well, it's either 'rest' or delving even more into my character and memories. I think I'll take the former. Dr. Dempster was a nice person with good intentions. But Harry didn't want to examine himself or the past. All he had to look forward to was ahead of him. And he knew that he would just get even more in the dumps if he cared to glance back at his unhappy childhood, the trouble caused in the wizarding world by his mere existence, the trials that Voldemort had put him through, the pressure of everyone watching his every little movement. The forbidding specter of death that seemed to follow him everywhere, like the feared Grim, causing those around him to fall to their demises. Even Nightmare was killed because of him.

Really, what other choice did he have left? It wasn't as if he could go back in time and change anything, even if he had a timeturner like Hermione did back in third year.

That was the year he met Sirius…

…You don't seem to be that close to your family, Harry. Why haven't they visited you? They didn't seem to care much when we notified them that you were here after you were stabilized. Can you describe your relationship with them?

…They don't really care for me, if that's what you mean.

…I'm sure that's not true. They must love you if they took you in their home and raised you.

…No. They're just afraid of what could happen if they didn't…my parents, they…umm…they have friends in high places…in the government…yeah. They wanted me to stay with my blood-relatives, you see, even if my mother and her sister – my aunt – were not only estranged, but hated each other…

…So your aunt and mother didn't get along? To tell you the truth, the actions of your parents' friends confuse me, Harry. They only gave your custody to them because you're related? Why didn't one of them adopt you themselves, instead of letting you grow up unloved? Were they aware of your aunt's feelings?

…I believe they were well aware. But they had their reasons…

…Do you really believe that? What possible reason could there be to let a child be raised in such a manner? Can their reasons for leaving you with the Dursleys be justified?

…I don't know…

…Hmm. I see. Why don't we move on to something else…I get the feeling you know your parents' friends reasonably well. How do you yourself feel about them?

…They make me feel…happy, I guess. They talk to me, they don't insult or bully me, and I have fun with them. They put up with all the trouble I get into. They accept me…

…So you think that even if you had gone under completely different circumstances and were raised by your parents like an ordinary child, they would still look after you? They would not treat you any differently?

…No, they wouldn't…

…You don't sound so sure. What makes you doubt them?

…You don't understand! I'm obligated to……never mind.

…You're obligated to what? To do in return for your friends? Or is it to live up to your parents' reputation, whatever that maybe? You feel trapped by their expectations, somehow bound to act on some kind of vow or promise you think you must keep? Harry, you don't have to do anything that they tell you to. Remember, you are your own person and no one else has the right to control you…

Distracted, Harry shook the thoughts from the last session he had with Dr. Dempster. It hit a little too close to home than he wanted. Way too close. Leah asked him if he was alright, but he didn't say anything in response, just a nod that he was. He lifted a hesitant to his forehead, reaching to feel the familiar raising of skin that was his famous scar. Instead, his tentative fingers came in contact with the rough texture of the bandages were still wrapped around his head.

I'm not obligated to do anything. It was a liberating thought in its own way. Especially since he already had the knowledge that the prophecy was void. He was free to whatever he wanted with his life. He and Voldemort didn't have to continue their feud anymore: Voldemort didn't have to worry about Harry being the only one to defeat him and would probably get on with conquering the world and all. He didn't have to really be too concerned with Voldemort being solely concerned with killing him.

He tried to push any thoughts of Miss Ellery and her strange visit out of his mind.

As they passed the front desk, the nurse manning the station gruffly called out to Leah, startling both of them in the process. Dr. Steadman explained that it was it was a sort of joke among the staff: put the nice ones with the patients and the ones that are less people friendly at the front desk.

"I'll be right back, honey," Leah said kindly, wheeling him to the side. "They wouldn't bother me if it weren't something important." Harry nodded in understanding, watching as the blonde woman made her way to the desk, but was momentarily sidetracked by a little girl with long pigtails who had whispered loudly to her mother, "Mommy, look at that boy! He has scary eyes!" The hands gripping the arms of the wheelchair tightened as he looked away, hearing the mother hush the child, saying that she shouldn't stare.

Maybe it was just his lot in life to be abnormal, in both the muggle and wizarding worlds. How he was going to explain away his red eye, most likely an unintentional gift from the Dark Lord? He was personally not looking forward to that.

He was brought out of his reverie by a black backpack being placed on his lap. Blinking in confusion, he looked up to find Leah smiling serenely down at him. She went back behind him, wheeling him the few feet into his room. "Well, young man, it seems as if someone had a gift from you. But they didn't say much to Lucy, only saying that it was a gift from mentor or grandfather. Something like that. Lucy said the man who delivered it was not only a pain in the arse, but couldn't seem to settle on who exactly was the person who gave this to you."

He gave the backpack a skeptical look. It couldn't have been the Dursleys. They wouldn't care about what he was wearing unless he went around town starkers. And the knapsack was new, made of strong material and of a well-known brand…from the wizarding world. Carefully, he unzipped the largest pocket and in the white fluorescent light he found several good quality shirts and jeans, the kind that Aunt Petunia bought most of the time for Dudley if there was a gigantic sale.

Digging a bit deeper, he found a folded piece of parchment. As he stood up and carefully sat against the fluffy pillows of the hospital bed, Leah propping the backpack against the nightstand to so he could take it the next day when he left, he spread-out the note, flattening out the tightly creased edges. What he found…unnerved him, to put it mildly.

Hello, Harry.

It seems that our link to each other has gotten stronger. A most amazing thing is it not? I felt your fear and pain. I must say that I am curious about this…Nightmare.
But to other things.
Here are some things that your pathetic excuse for a family never provided, along with a few…other things. And it does amuse me slightly to have Malfoy Senior act as a delivery boy. But, knowing him, he probably screwed up in some fashion. It isn't so hard to say the gift is from your great-uncle, right? If it worries you, there's no need. I don't believe there is a recent blood relationship between us, if one discounts the events of two years ago. However, I digress.
I hope you're considering my offer, Harry. I could teach you quite a bit. You don't have to continue to be manipulated by those fools.
Until we meet again, my little heir.
---Voldemort

The morning sun shining through the vertical blinds of his room woke him from the strangest dream. Lifting himself up, getting sort of used to the pain that seemed to always be present, accustomed to the frigid cold that only he felt in the balmy summer heat. The layers of fleece and wool blankets needed to be pulled back with a slight bit of effort on his part. To conserve body heat, the doctors said. Harry didn't need gnareil to tell him that they just doing it out of kindness.

His dream was odd…

There was that mirror, an object that he somehow felt attached to, a bond deeper than anything he had ever felt before in his life. The frame was strange, a perfect circle of gold, silver, and bronze. Inside the circle was a star made of the same substances, the lines that made up the design intersecting and crossing over the glass. But the mirror itself…it reflected nothing.

Then the whole dream shifted to someplace he had never been to, yet felt he had. Déjà vu. It was hotter there, the sun glaring down on unpaved streets and buildings whose bricks were made of dried mud. There he could feel the heat, the warmth pleasant on his skin, not the intense internal cold that he seemed to be afflicted with constantly during these past few days.

The weird thing was…he was a cat.

First clue, almost everything was bigger than he was. And he was slightly upset to find in his dream, that he was smaller than the other cats. It was almost as if he were the size of a large kitten, though he knew somehow – gnareil? – that he was an adult cat. Skinnier, too, with black fur. Golden eyes and large ears, a completely innocent look about it. The kind that if Hermione or Ginny saw, they would immediately deem as 'adorable'. It was the ears that he enjoyed the most, he could pick up every whisper, every mutter, every nuance of voice whether human or animal.

He knew the dream wasn't finished, but what could he do against the sun?

This time around, he managed to refrain from stretching (it hurt…a lot) and blinked languidly, reaching over for his glasses. As he put them on, he was reminded again of that strange mirror that opened the whole sequence to Harry the Cat in…wherever desert place he was in. He looked down to where the sun was glaring off the steel, before stopping and staring at his likeness in shock.

The reflection off the metal railing, which had acquainted Harry with the knowledge that one of his eyes had turned scarlet red with catlike pupils, had another surprise for him. Another one that had to do with cats as well, though he felt that this change had nothing to do with the strengthening of any bonds with homicidal murdering dark wizards. For he was very sure the Dark Lord did not have these physical attributes.

Out of the wild mess of dark hair, stuck out a large pair of black cat ears. Honest to goodness feline ears, like the one's his cat-self had in the dream. "Will this never end?!" he groaned, to no one in particular. He brought his knees up to his chest, feeling icy cold again, leaning his head against them. As he did so, his new ears twitched a bit in response to his agitation and the cold he felt.. He really didn't want – or even need – all this.

"Sadly, kid, it won't," a familiar female twang answered. His ears perked up at the sound, his cat ears had done so literally. But he didn't look up. He knew who it was. Somehow should have expected that strange woman be involved in the mess in some way, with all her talk of Manifests and replacing the person that put him in this position to begin with. And it was the day she said he would leave Mercy Hospital. "I see you've started your Olim Queil," the Southern brogue of one Miss Ancelin Ellery filled the room. "Dreams of Past Time. Can't avoid it, part of a Manifest thing. Let me guess, you were a cat in your dream?"

Enjoy Harry's cat ears? There's a reason for them and it has to do with the dream he had.

I've been working on this plotline a little more lately, probably because I realized that I really hadn't put much thought into it. Thus, now I have. Miss Ellery is important and she is one of my favorite characters – probably because she's so brash that people just don't expect it. No, there will not be a hierarchy of gods like I have in the Elemental series, but it all becomes clear soon. And the mirror is definitely important as well as Harry's dreams. I've decided to include a little more action than I had originally planned and it will all come into play soon. Also, an entirely new magic system.

If it isn't bad enough that I have had computer and Internet problems for nearly the entire summer, school starts for me next week. Sigh. Back to…the usual stuff. Luckily, I have a study hall this year. I could probably fit in some writing time then. Thanks for being patient and for all those kind people that suggested software to help prevent it from happening again. I'm eternally grateful.

For the sake of you readers, here's how to pronounce some of the new terms as well as a short definition, though some Harry doesn't even know yet. Most of the definitions will soon be up on my Yahoo!Group.

gnareil – knowledge, the 'knowing'. (nar-eel)
Lateil – 'latent', meaning one that could become a Manifest (lah-teel)
Noveil – "novice", meaning one that has just become a Manifest but needs training (no-veel)
Olim Queil – "dreams of past time", dreams of past lives (oh-lim keel)