Chapter 4: Water
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"And it harm none, so mote it be." - Wiccan Spell Ending
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Unsure of what else to do, Draco laughed loudly. "Good one! You really had me going for a moment there."
"I'm quite serious," Dumbledore smiled slightly, "and you also come into the story, though not as importantly, nor in the prophecy. The king of Cyrin had a younger brother, whose children were the cousins of the Dark. You are descended from the eldest, down your father's side. As a royal descendant of Cyrin, that is where you get your own ability, Empathy, from." Draco paused for a moment at this. "Does my father know?"
"He is one of the Resistance, as well as I." Dumbledore replied.
"Who's Voldemort, then?" Harry asked suddenly. "Does he know about the Dark?"
"No, he's just a powerful Wizard gone bad." Dumbledore said, a little quickly. Draco gave him a look that quite plainly said 'I can Feel you lying', but Dumbledore shot back a look that replied, 'But Harry doesn't have to know that'. Aloud, he said, "The original leader of the Resistance was Lord John Abyssay, and the job has gone through the family. The leader at this time is Sir Abyssay, who is the one that handles minor events of your life, Harry. Sir Abyssay noticed the excellent opportunity to train your agility and reflexes when it was discovered you are an excellent Quidditch player, and recently decided Draco wasn't enough of a match for you - that's why we want to find a better replacement."
"Thanks." Draco muttered sarcastically.
Harry finally managed to speak. "Why were my parents chosen?"
"Your father was the descendant." Dumbledore explained. "Your mother - though only just above average in power - was a Pastreader, able to see people's pasts or past-lives just by wanting to. It was hoped that you would get that ability, though it's unknown until you try, and tell us."
"So that explains all the property and keys, then?" Harry asked. "The keys are to the houses, and those have been passed down through the generations?"
Dumbledore nodded. "However, I'm afraid we couldn't give you all your money. Not only would it attract unwanted attention from the Dark, if a boy was strangely wealthy, but we didn't want you to grow up selfish or greedy, in case you became dark yourself. You can have it now, but I hope you understand it was for the best."
Harry nodded. In a strange way, he did understand. "Does my being the Phoenix - does it have something to do with why Voldemort wanted to kill me?"
Dumbledore stood up, and walked over to Fawke's empty perch. "I'm afraid so. Voldemort knew you would be powerful - your father had been so - and knew from the protections around you that you were destined for great things. So, he tried to kill you. The backlash was purely because of your mother's love, though."
Draco rolled his eyes. What a load of lies. He mused over why he had wanted to kill Harry, but couldn't think up an answer. "So, three questions." he said loudly. "Firstly, why would my father fight for freedom from the Dark, and oppression with Voldemort? It's a bit hypocritical."
"He's a spy for me." Dumbledore said simply.
Draco stared. "Okay then," he choked out, "Secondly, if Potter's so powerful, and is the result of hundreds of years of selective breeding, descended from the Atlantean royal family, and all that rubbish, why's he so useless?"
Harry glared at this, but Dumbledore seemed amused. "There are certain blocks on his power, which will be taken off soon. Imagine; if an ordinary Wizard baby could make a mirror explode simply by being angry - what could Harry have done if he couldn't control his power? And of course, there was again the risk of the Dark finding out about such a powerful baby and killing him to end the Resistance. And finally?"
"Who else knows about this? Harry, and the Dark, and all that?"
Harry nodded. That was what he wanted to know, as well.
"Only the Resistance. That includes the heads of houses, and I," began Dumbledore, "The Minister - he's not as incompetent as he seems, only a good actor - Rita Skeeter; her job was to make sure you were psychologically fit, by testing your anger thresholds, and seeing how you reacted to humiliation, fear, and so on - and the Unspeakables.
"Officially, they're there as the part of the Department of Mysteries that deals with daemons and Forbidden Magic - not Dark, Forbidden. They're two different things - but really, only half of them deal with that. The other half deal with hunting down spies of the Dark, making sure the Phoenix isn't uncovered, choosing which couples would be best to breed, and so on, though all of them, including the Forbidden magic ones, know. No-one else."
"What happened to the girls?" Harry asked suddenly. Dumbledore's face turned grim. "As you said Harry, they were already dead. The Necromancer killed them, and raised them to do her bidding; the Multielemental Summoned the representative forms of Void and Earth, and the Possessor placed them in the bodies. They were told to look for the descendant. They can only be seen by their eyes; Earth with blue, and Void with starlit.
"Unfortunately, Leone and Natasha were descended from one of the Atlanteans that managed to escape. They knew about the Dark, though not the breeding program, and so I was forced to tell Leone the truth about her sister's death. The elementals that took their bodies are being interrogated by the Unspeakables as we speak."
There was another silence, broken by Draco. "What is the prophecy?"
At this, Dumbledore unlocked another drawer in his desk, and brought out a small scroll. "This is one of the copies we have." he told them, holding it up for them to see. "Throughout the war, there were so many deaths that rules had to be made to prevent the extinction of magic. One of them was that copies could be taken by the Dark, but not the original. That's stored in the Ministry of Magic HQ. These are the exact words."
He passed it over to them. Harry unrolled it, and held it open so both he and Draco could see it, and read;
"To wax and wane, but never die,
Rebirth is where its life shall lie,
Born from the ashes of the parent birds,
The Phoenix fulfils the pleas it heard.
Once, twice, thrice more,
It faces its foe,
Once, twice, thrice more
It flees the death blow.
But the Phoenix's fire was forged
Centuries ago,
Carefully controlled and raised,
It was not allowed to know.
Just past its fifteenth celebration
Its powers are released;
The Guardians stop their tending
And the fire is then ceased.
The cage door is unlocked,
And the Phoenix then flies free;
Understanding what it is,
And how it came to be.
The Phoenix born of ashes,
Turns to face its enemy;
The king of all the serpents,
The most feared adversary.
If the Phoenix is the victor,
Then the test is won and passed;
Next the real battle starts,
And the bird must not be last -
For if it is, then all is lost,
The fire-bird shall die;
And with it all the others,
In one loud battle-cry.
But if the King of Serpents wins,
The test is failed and lost;
A different phoenix starts anew
Failings corrected, but at what cost?
For the Phoenix and Magpie are gone,
And none can replace them;
Only they can defeat the Dark,
And others shall perish if they face them.
The fire gives the Light,
And chases away the Dark;
But to truly defeat it must be
The Phoenix and its Storm Mark."
Draco frowned. "Well, the 'born from the ashes' part is where his parents died, but he lived; the fulfilling pleas is saving people from the Dark Lord; the facing foe is where he meets him again and escapes; the forged fire is him being planned; the carefully controlled is obvious, and so on down 'til 'turns to face its enemy'. What's that?"
"Voldemort." said Harry immediately. "It says 'King of Serpents'. Voldemort's a Parseltongue and heir of Slytherin, and in our second year controlled a Basilisk - the king of serpents. Then it must be if I win against him, I'll go on to the 'real' battle - that must be the Dark; but if I lose when I fight the Dark, I'll die, along with the Resistance. I am the last chance, after all... and if I die when I fight Voldemort, they'll redo the breeding program; 'but at what cost' - that must be like before, there can only be one Phoenix. And only I can defeat the Dark."
Draco still didn't look certain. "There's two things I don't get. Firstly, what's the Magpie? And secondly, if Harry's the last descendant, how could they start the breeding program again? If Harry dies, that's the end."
He didn't seem to notice he was calling him Harry instead of Potter, which Harry was amused at.
"No-one knows what the Magpie is." Dumbledore sighed. "There are theories of course; Animagus forms, other people - as Harry is the Phoenix, Ron could be the Magpie, for example - Patroni; all sorts. And as for the breeding program; it would set it back a few years, but Wizards have spells for things that Muggles don't have the technology for yet. We have some DNA of Harry's; we could clone him, though hopefully it will not come to that."
"So. Do I play any part in this?"
"Possibly, but as far as we know, no." Dumbledore apologised. "If there are no more questions, Harry, I would like to ask you to do something for me."
"Yes Professor?" Harry asked, wondering what Dumbledore wanted.
"As I said, your Mother was a Pastreader. She could See people's lives by touching them or their wand - or sometimes an object of theirs, if it was particularly close to them, emotionally - and focusing on them. I would like to see if this gift has been passed into you, or if it hasn't."
Harry nodded, and Dumbledore reached out one of hands for Harry to touch. "Just do as your mind says."
Harry nodded once more, and shut his eyes, touching his hand to Dumbledores. He concentrated on the image of Dumbledore, but found his thoughts drifting to Dumbledore's mind. Behind his eyelids, a pale grey cloud formed in his vision, with several strands of grey and white lines encircling it. Each strand represents a past life, Harry realised suddenly, without knowing how, and the further away they are from the cloud - his mind - the longer ago they were. He snatched at the string closest to him with his own mind, and felt himself as an observer.
He had no body like in a Pensieve, and was watching some kind of temple. A man ran in, dressed in white robes, about twenty-five years old. "Stop!" he commanded to someone behind Harry. For the first time, Harry noticed a thin white string attaching his own mind to the man. This was Dumbledore in a past life.
He tried to turn to see who the man was shouting at, but found he couldn't. Guards dressed in blue armour, with spears, rushed in after him. The man held out his hands and a glow surrounded them, before everything went white, and - "Agh!" Harry almost fell backwards in shock. "I - I did it!" he gasped. "You - you were there! At the beginning, I saw it - you were him!"
Dumbledore smiled proudly. "Very good, Harry. Now, you two had better go quickly; supper's nearly over."
---
For the first time that day, Harry realised how hungry he was, and checked his watch. It was already seven twenty five, and supper finished at ten past eight. The pair hurriedly thanked him, and left, bound by the secret spell.
Hermione and Ron rushed to his side at supper, obviously worried about his long disappearance, and questioning him as to where he was, and why it took so long. When Harry explained he was with Dumbledore and Malfoy - though he couldn't say why, literally - the pair were even more curious, and then felt offended when Harry explained he couldn't tell them why. Harry was ashamed to admit to himself that at this moment, he didn't really care; firstly, he was curious about his ancestors. Who were they? With hundreds of years of selective breeding, he must have had scores of famous magic-users as his ancestors; he'd have to ask Dumbledore.
Secondly, he knew exactly what the Magpie was. He fingered the magpie feather in his pocket absently. This was the DNA he was going to use to create his Familiar; the Magpie wasn't a Patronus, or a an Animagi form - it was his Familiar, and no ordinary one, but one he would create himself.
Saturday, he promised himself. That's when he'd perform the ritual.
---
After Charms and before break the following day, there was the lesson that the fifth year Gryffindors had been looking forward to - Defence Against the Dark Arts. The first thirty minutes were spent learning more about Volucris daemons, and at the start of the final half-hour, Professor Figg finished the talking and moved on to practical. "This," she announced loudly and dramatically, "is the special treat I had planned."
With drawn out movements to increase the suspense, she watched the class impassively while reaching slowly into a large, black, crushed velvet bag she had with her. She took something that was inside, then stopped.
"I must warn you, this is a rare and valuable object." she cautioned, "It was made in a special, week long ceremony, with a pearl, dragons' blood, tens of rare and powerful herbs and ingredients - as well as several hour-long incantations. This has been passed down in my family along the first-borns for over twenty generations, so I need hardly mention its importance to me and my family."
With that, she drew it out the bag. It was about a foot and a half in width and height, perfectly smooth and a glittering, shining white, with thin, jagged stripes of pure black scattered across it. It was a gorgeous, incredibly large pearl - but Harry had no idea what the black was, or what the pearl was for.
It was beautiful anyway, and Harry gasped along with the others The light caught it, making it seem even more radiant, and the students moved closer without realising it. Figg held it higher so they could all see it, straining at the weight. "This is a Myrrh Cage, a magical device. There are only seventeen in existence, each belonging to an old magical family. They're used to trap daemons, since they're impossible to kill; this one contains six of them."
As one, the class halted their inching forwards and scraped their desks back as the hurried to get further away from the pearl. "Each Cage can hold any amount of daemons, and these black lines, called Tellers, show how many they contain." said Figg, pretending she hadn't noticed. "The amount of Tellers on the surface is the same amount as the daemons inside. Instead of Summoning a daemon, people could also just free one from a Myrrh Cage, which would be a lot easier - that's why these are extremely well guarded."
Hermione was taking notes again, and the rest of the class was listening intently. "You could only get a daemon out of a Cage deliberately - there's no way one could escape, or you could get one out by accident." Figg explained cheerfully. "This particular one was left in a will to one of my ancestors, when the original owner didn't have any children. They're typically passed down along the first-borns, whose job it is to protect them and make sure they aren't stolen, but when the Witch in charge of it knew she would die childless, she passed it along to my family, who were close to her. Now, it's come down to me. Yes, Mr Thomas?"
Dean stopped waving his hand eagerly. "Professor, have you or your family caught any daemons, or were they all trapped inside it already?" Figg beamed. "Four of the daemons were already inside it when it went to my family - my grandfather caught another, and I trapped one myself."
Immediately, there was a clamouring for her to recount the tale, and she did so; telling how, about twenty years ago, a dark Wizard in Ireland had Summoned an Equus Daemon; a horse-like type with a scorpion tail, a pair of huge, crab-like pincers and incredible magic, but had got the binding wrong, and had been slaughtered by it. Then the daemon turned on the Wizard's family and killed them, before escaping and massacring everyone outside.
Within minutes of hearing the news, Figg, as the owner of the closest Myrrh Cage, had Apparated to the street, set up a pentacle, fought the beast singled-handed into the centre, bound it there, and then trapped it in the cage.
Of course, she admitted, it had been quite a young one, weakened already by the Aurors, and it had been when she was in her prime - but it was too late. Instantly, she was hailed as a heroine by her new fans, and the lesson was, in everyone's opinion, over far too soon. At lunch, everyone was so busy talking about her defeat of the daemon, that few remembered what she'd trapped it in. Some people remembered it however, and told others - and when the information that a Myrrh Cage was in the school reached a certain person, they had a plan...
---
While Ron had History and Hermione had Arithmancy next, Harry had Divination; and when, upon entering the room, Trelawney wailed about the 'Spectre of Death lurking behind you, my dear boy! Ready to strike at any moment!', he quickly determined that he would use his new-found ability of Pastreading for the greater good - in other words, to freak the professor out so badly, that she's never want to teach him again.
He waited for the moment to present itself, which it soon did. As the teacher inspected his crystal ball, bending low over him, Harry made his move. Yelling in what sounded like agony, Harry fell forwards, reaching out and grabbing Trelawney's wrist as he did so. Quickly, he focused on her mind and fell forwards - much faster than when he hadn't know what he was doing - into the view of the fog. This was slightly darker than Dumbledore's, but had more life-strings surrounding it; about twenty or so.
Harry grasped the fog (which had occasional black streaks drifting through it), rather than any of the strings, so he could now See her present life, and ordered it mentally to show him a recent, but trivial moment from her life.
What seemed like an hour later, he woke, and realising where he was, feigned an expression of dazed pain and shock. "Harry, my dear boy!" trilled the professor in a strange mixture of disappointment and delight on seeing he was still very much alive. "We thought the black Spectre of Death had taken your soul!"
"I didn't think so," Seamus Finnigan muttered, but Trelawney didn't hear.
"You just yelled, and fell forwards!" Parvati squealed in glee. "And then a second later, you just woke up! Did you have a vision?" Now the gaze of the whole class was on Harry - for once, exactly what he wanted. He nodded.
Instantly, there were gasps. "What was it, my boy? Did you foresee your demise?" No prizes for guessing who said that one. Harry put on a brave, but tortured, face. "It was terrible, Professor." he said, closing his eyes as if he was seeing the horror all over again, and gritting his teeth. "Just as you came near me, I had a sudden pain in my head - and then a voice said 'The sister of the Dark Warrior will be dead by the next new moon.'"
Trelawney went pale, and Harry resisted the urge to burst into hysterics right there and then. "My brother's name means 'Dark Warrior'," she wailed, inciting 'oohs' and 'aah's from Lavender and Parvati. "As the tenth is the next new moon," she said, acting every bit the grief-stricken victim, "I must conserve my strength for that fateful day, class... you're dismissed." With that, she turned and collapsed into her over-stuffed seat, fanning her face.
Glad to have brought some joy to the world, Harry left the room, feeling particularly pleased. Who would have thought that a simple vision of a twelve year old Trelawney and her brother, being told the meaning of their names, could have so amusing an effect?
---
The girl from Atlantis didn't seem bothered by the fact she was alone in a huge, dark forest in early Winter. In fact, she seemed quite pleased about it. On the other hand, it probably was only to be expected if she'd been stuck under the Atlantic Ocean for God knows how many years, and was now free to do what she liked.
The rickety cottage had looked ready to fall down on Monday, but now on Thursday evening, it appeared well looked after. The stones that made its walls were new-looking, the windows replaced, and the wooden door had been fixed back on to its hinges. The thatched roof had been repaired, and the moss that grew over the walls now looked alive and healthy rather than dead and crumbling.
It was, quite obviously, the work of magic; and specifically, magic worked by girl who now sat on the grass outside the cottage, humming cheerfully and flicking through a huge brown book - surely she didn't have that before, though? - , entitled 'Enchantments for the Journeyman'. Occasionally, she stopped at a page and read through carefully, before returning to turning pages. By her side lay her wand; it was about twelve and a half inches, and was made of holly inscribed with what seemed to be runes. It couldn't be seen, of course, what the core was.
The girl looked up at the sky suddenly and scowled, before closing her book and picking up her wand, then getting up and going inside the cottage. A wispy cloud drifted overhead, and bird song rang out from the trees. Yet somehow, someone, somewhere, threatened to shatter the tranquillity; and they were already making plans.
---
Harry muddled his way through the final lesson of the day (Potions), before escaping to supper with Hermione and Ron. The girl was recounting the ancient legend of how Syneeta had been sentenced to life as a daemon, and had been banished beyond the Ten Gates of Elysium, what sounded like their version of Hell.
His eyes, finally fixed yesterday by the eye-correcting fluid, scanned the Great Hall. Draco was talking to Blaise Zabini, a boy in his year, the teachers were all seated at the table (except for Trelawney, who was never there), and no-one was missing. "So then," he heard Hermione explain excitedly to Ron, "Y'Laagrondd gave Syneeta over to be judged by Suipui, the God of Justice, and he sentenced her to be a daemon until someone broke her curse. Naoze and Aisiivou, the God and Goddess of Elysium, took her away and imprisoned her beyond the Tenth Gate, which is the part where the daemons and evil spirits were said to live - but the story goes that she escaped into our world, and was eventually captured by a human."
Ron hid a yawn, and nodded in fake interest at the myth, urging Hermione to continue.
"Talking of daemons," Dean butted in, "have you heard what Figg's done with the Myrrh Cage?"
Hermione looked interested. "No. What?"
"She's only gone and lent it to Trelawney!" Dean scowled. "The old bat says she wants to try and See how each daemon was imprisoned in it, and of course Figg doesn't know she's just a fraud, so she agreed to it." He shook his head angrily. "I wanted to have a closer look at that, too."
"Well, never mind." Seamus said slyly, "I'm sure Figg will get it back once the new moon has passed, and Trelawney's dead." The Gryffindors laughed at that, and recounted the tale to those who weren't present at the lesson. Harry himself gave a secret grin; no-one had a clue how Harry knew what Trelawney's brother's name was.
His mind drifted off to the thought of his Familiar. The Magpie of Merlin's final prophecy would be created in just two days, and he would have his Familiar to serve with him. At the thought that the Familiar would make him more powerful, he wondered how powerful he really was, and when the wards on his power would be taken off. The Charmometer obviously wasn't able to break past the magic-blocks, so until they were removed, he wouldn't know.
On the other hand, if he was tested at birth, then Dumbledore should know his real power. Harry thought for a moment about asking him, but then decided against it. He'd find out soon, anyway.
---
Friday came and went; Transfiguration, History and Magical Languages (in which they started on the basic nouns of Mermish) came and went, and in the afternoon the trio visited Hogsmeade to celebrate the end of their first week back at school. "Although," as Hermione pointed out, "as we came back on Sunday, we've only been here six days, not seven." However, she didn't seem to see this as a valid reason to stop drinking Butterbeer.
Harry felt slightly queasy in the Three Broomsticks when he noted they were sitting at the same table Diana and Natasha had been, but the feeling quickly passed. After their drinks, the three wandered the village, Hermione nearly drooling over 'The Unabridged Collection of Ghost Types' and 'The Domestic Application of Enchantments', that sat in the bookstore's window, which she only stopped gazing at when she went in to buy them.
While Hermione and Ron looked in the store, Harry wanted to resist the temptation to buy more books, and waited outside for them to finish. He stood in boredom for a minute, before looking at the rest of the books in the window, promising himself that he wouldn't buy them.
There was Lockhart's latest best-seller (it seemed the prat had regained his memories), Battle With A Basilisk; Practical Geomancy; Dragons' Social Organisation (by Charlie Weasley!); The Faerie Rings; So You've Found Out You're A Wizard? A Guide for Muggle-borns; and Apparition: The MOM Authorised Guide.
Ron and Hermione spent a thankfully short time in the shop, Hermione coming out with her nose buried in 'The Unabridged Collection of Ghost Types', and Ron with the latest edition of 'Quidditch Through The Ages'.
None of them noticed a figure watching them carefully from inside Gladrags, eyes fixed on Harry.
---
"I'm stuffed." announced Ron, leaning back in his seat after filling his stomach in The Laughing King; a pub-turned-restaurant next to the village hall, two doors down from Honeydukes. Although there wasn't any Butterbeer, the food was even better than The Three Broomsticks, and was fast becoming popular with the students since its opening late in the previous year.
Hermione scowled. "Maybe," she pointed out, "if you hadn't eaten a whole cooked dinner, and Yorkshire puddings, and two bowls of raspberry-ripple ice-cream and chocolate cake, you wouldn't be full." She paused for a second. "Although you'll probably be sick later, so that should empty out your stomach."
Ron's face went green at this thought. "I think I'll skip those Every Flavour Beans I was planning on eating."
"Good idea." grinned Harry, whose thoughts were on the Familiar ritual tomorrow. He reached up to take off his glasses to clean, remembered he wasn't wearing any, and resisted the urge to yell, 'I can see! I can see!'.
"Do you have the feeling," Hermione asked suddenly, after their dishes had been taken away, "that we're being watched?" At this, Ron 'subtly' looked round in a way that wouldn't have fooled a five-year old. "No." he said.
Harry shrugged. "I can't feel it." he answered Hermione. "Are you sure you're not just feeling things?"
"Quite sure, thank you." Hermione sniped. "I've felt it since we were shopping, but I thought I might have been imag-"
"Or maybe you weren't," Ron said darkly as the bell on the door - left from when the pub-turned-restaurant was a pair of shops - tinkled. Draco Malfoy entered, half-slouched, eyes gleaming, and followed by his two goons. The boy caught sight of them, sneered, and led Crabbe and Goyle over to an empty table, where he started muttering something to them.
"Probably talking about the best way to torture Muggles." sneered Ron glaring, and Harry felt a bit annoyed that he couldn't tell anyone that Lucius Malfoy was a spy. Briefly he wondered whether Draco wanted to be a Death Eater - but since Dumbledore though it safe to tell him, it wasn't very likely.
As he and the others got up and made their way out, Harry nearly tripped over a chair when he remembered something the other boy had said in Dumbledore's office; '...I don't see why I've got to be kicked off the Quidditch team because of it...'. Draco was going to be kicked off the team? Because he wasn't enough of a challenge for Harry? He felt guilty, and sorry for Draco, and then wondered when the pale boy had changed from Malfoy to Draco in his mind. He was, however, snapped out of his reverie when they stopped outside one building to stare in the window.
"Wow!" breathed Hermione, her eyes scanning the posters. "Just imagine that! Four weeks in Barbados, a hundred and ten Galleons per person! That's incredible - do you realise how cheap that is?"
Harry looked up to the sign. It was a Wizarding travel agency, called 'Tinneus and Tracheus Trips and Tours', which explained why there were so many moving pictures in the window of smiling, waving families and sunbathing Witches.
"Well, it isn't as though you have to pay for transport," Ron pointed out. "They're just finishing setting up special Portplaces in different cities and towns world-wide - they're kind of like travelling by Floo, but a lot more powerful, and they have set times and destinations like Portkeys."
"So it's like an airport then?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"Er - probably." hazarded Ron, who didn't have a clue what an airport was.
Half a minute later, Harry found himself and Ron dragged inside by Hermione, who was now staring, starry-eyed, as she flipped through various magazines and brochures. "Ooh, we could go on a big holiday together when we've finished Hogwarts, just the three of us," she trilled, turning pages impossibly fast.
"Well, then let's look at the brochures when we're in seventh year, when the prices will have changed."
"Don't be silly, Ron. We should have a good idea of where we want to go beforehand."
"Yes, but maybe not whilst we're still in fifth year, hmm?"
Hermione actually paused for a second, as though thinking. "Nah," she said, and continued. Harry rolled his eyes and left the two to argue, picking up a leaflet about the annual Swedish Broom Race in December. He noted that some famous people were competing in it - a player from the Tutshill Tornados, two from the Woollongong Warriors, Victor Krum, and someone from the Stonewall Stormers, who was being sponsored to race to raise money for one of the North American magical hospitals.
Wondering whether Hermione knew that Krum would be competing, Harry called them over. "Do you think you could get permission to go to Sweden in the Christmas holidays?" he grinned, "'Cause I have an idea."
---
On Saturday morning, Harry drew the curtains round his bed, pulled the laptop inside the enclosed space, turned the sound down, and switched it on. He hadn't had a chance to have another go at it, what with homework and his friends, but now he had all day.
He clicked on to Techno-Chat, where he was glad to find Rhiannon and 'Sleepless' conversing about the benefits of Crups as opposed to Kneazles. Guessing that 'Sleepless' must be the witch from Seattle, Harry typed a hello on to the screen, and after introducing himself and being introduced ('Sleepless' real name was Lynne, 'but you can call me L, or Lynne, or Sleepless, or Ly, or Li, or Sleepy. Or Bob, but that's another story.'), found himself arguing alongside Rhiannon that Crups and Kneazles were both better than Pixies.
He chatted for a while longer, and then went about his usual business, breakfast, homework and hanging out by the lake with Ron and Hermione. When afternoon came around, Harry had lunch and then retired to bed early, complaining of a headache and brushing aside his friends' requests that he go to the hospital wing.
The dormitory was empty, apart from Crookshanks (who seemed to have taken to the boys' dorm. Mysteriously, no-one knew how he got in and out - Harry suspected the girls were sneaking him in, just to annoy Dean), who raised a bleary eye before returning to his nap on Dean's bed.
From his trunk, Harry picked out the equipment and ingredients - the candles, violet, cloves, coltsfoot; sage wisdom, rosemary, chalk, ribbon, and Monty's feather. He also picked out a piece of parchment that he'd written the incantation on, in case he forgot it, and (after putting a weightless charm on the items) wrapped them all in his father's Invisibility Cloak.
Checking the Marauders Map, he found the third floor corridor - that was still out of bounds, though to a lesser degree - was empty, and its size would make it ideal for the ritual.
Making sure the other two-thirds of the Gryffindor trio were in the library, he slipped out of the tower and casually but quickly headed over to the stairs that led to the third floor. He pretended to do his shoelace on the fourth floor stairs while some Hufflepuffs walked past, before going back down the steps and muttering 'Alohomora' at where the inside bolt of the door was whilst tapping it with his wand.
Before anyone could come by, Harry slid inside, and closed and bolted the heavy oak door.
The corridor was as dusty and cobwebbed as ever, the few streaks of sunlight that managed to enter came from grey, unwashed windows, and the tiles of the floor could barely be seen for all the accumulated dirt and grime over the past years. Everything was a dark grey, or black.
"Perfect," Harry grumbled, "how am I meant to see the chalk marking now?" He removed the weightless charm and removed the equipment from the cloak, before finding the chalk. The dust was quite easy to move, as no-one had stood on it and ingrained it into the floor - and a few cleaning spells from 'The Cosmic Classic of One Thousand Invocations' and 'The Domestic Application of Enchantments' helped as well - and soon, the ground could be seen.
The silver-white tiles were placed tightly together, with no gaps, which would make it all the more easier for the pentacle to be placed correctly with no gaps.
The boy quickly drew the pentacle, with a small circle joined on to the end of each of the five points. Within one circle, he put the rosemary; in the next the cloves, then sage wisdom, followed by coltsfoot. The coltsfoot came at the bottom, but the top circle - the one closest to him - was left empty.
So far, so good; the ritual was surprisingly simple, the hard part being to remember the words for the incantation. Harry set the candles up now - alternating brown and yellow, one at each place that parts of two triangles met. The animal part had to be the very last thing added, and so he walked round the pentacle and placed the feather in the top circle.
Lighting the candles with his wand, Harry finally stood back and recited the spell - a translated Atlantean one, according to the source; all Harry knew was that he may have learnt to pronounce it, but that didn't mean he actually understood it.
"Tonur verae, el amast carnaena. Tonur verae, el bewyryn soten.
'Anya stikal Moun; inar qelai.
'Nucco stikal Dal; inar qelai.
'Beowna stikal Laiyseen; inar qelai.
'Nevrant se laefana, aiono min da. El viornen hinin masika tupris.
'Tonur verae, maounai s'el mando; oni duunbarat..."
Harry could feel his mouth becoming dry as he spoke, and paused before continuing. I wonder what this spell actually means, he mused. Probably something really stupid...
However, now Harry was starting to feel stupid. He was three verses in out of seven verses, and absolutely nothing had happened. When he reached the fifth verse, however, something finally did start to happen.
Firstly, as Harry watched and continued reciting, the hers began to vibrate softly, and the points of the pentacles wriggled before - rather than just touching the circles - actually joined on to them and opened up, forming a tunnel.
As he continued, a little louder now that he was gaining confidence in the spell, the herbs shook harder and faster, and the candle flames flickered slightly, before turning to the colour of the candles they sat upon. Small grains of the herbs - the pieces that typically fall right into the corners of bags - not only looked as though they were being shaken by a minor earthquake, but also seemed to be edging towards the interior pentagram. As each grain reached the edge, they were suddenly pulled inside, straight to the very centre, where they floated around each other as if lacking gravity.
As Harry got further into the incantation, the larger pieces of the herbs started inching towards the centre, where the same thing happened to them. As the number of specks, grains and blobs began to increase, they also started to close in on each other, rather than just floating where they were. Whilst the remaining herbs raced to join them, the ones in the centre were forming a small, planet shaped mass, tightly packed together and perfectly smooth.
As the last bit of rosemary flitted into the sphere, the white feather began to glow a pale yellow, before shooting to join the herbs. It passes straight through the sphere into the middle of it, whereupon the entire thing started sending out gleaming blue light.
"Fynor matable el inar qelai." Harry finished, picking up the length of ribbon. and tying a knot in the centre of it. The sphere was humming now, thrumming and throbbing in midair as if an electrical pulse were going through it.
Holding each end of the ribbon and pulling it taut, Harry stepped over to the pentacle...
And Ron and Hermione burst through the door.
---
Harry managed to swallow the yelp of shock that was on the tip of his tongue. "What are you doing here?" he squawked in horror. They'd barged in on him in a rather... interesting situation.
"Funny; we were about to ask you the same thing." Ron smirked not very pleasantly. "Especially since you're up in the dormitory with a headache."
Hermione nodded furiously. "Something to tell us, Harry?" she snapped, closing and bolting the back over.
Harry felt the sudden sensation of being trapped, and lowered his arms, but held on to the ribbon. "I - I didn't think you'd let me do it." he said weakly, deciding it was a better excuse than 'It's a spell I got from a magical laptop, but just pretend I never told you that'.
The bushy-haired girl snorted. "Like that would stop you. What is it then? Something Dark, no doubt?"
Harry winced. "No! It's - well - I just... it isn't Dark, I just didn't think you'd want to be a part of it, and well, it's sort of a - personal spell."
Ron and Hermione's eyes flicked from Harry, to the ribbon, to the pentacle and candles, to the glowing orb of unidentifiable origins that hovered in mid-air. Ron raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
Harry gave in. "It's a Familiar spell."
"Familiar to who?"
"No!" Harry groaned, "The animal Familiars! I found a spell that said if you get DNA from an animal - like one of its hairs, or whatever - then you can create an entirely new animal from it, except it'll be your Familiar. I was just finishing it right now, when you came in."
The pairs' tempers seemed to have gone down. "Harry," Hermione gasped, sounding amazed. "You can't just create a Familiar, that's - that's impossible! You have to find a normal animal who has the ability to be one, and Bind it - and only one in about two and a quarter million animals have the ability..." But her eyes gave her away.
"Then it's much easier if I make one myself, right?" Harry grinned, holding up the rope. "Mind if I finish?"
Ron and Hermione looked at each other, and shrugged. "We're watching, though." Ron warned.
"Fine," Harry shrugged, and pulled the rope taut again. Pulling one end to one side of the pentacle, and the other to the opposite side, Harry positioned it until the knot started to touch the orb. Immediately, with a loud crack, the ribbon shot into the pentagram that was the interior of the pentacle, and - impossibly so, for the ribbon wasn't that long - started binding the herb-orb like a mummy wrapped in scarlet bandages.
"Cool!" Ron gasped, as the flames of the candles all leant towards the orb, the fires becoming longer and thinner until they touched the sphere - and the flames were sucked from the tip of the string, to cover the outside of the ribbon in rippling, rolling, liquid fire of yellow, brown, and the occasional hint of red flashing through.
"Tonur verae, inar qelai.' Harry ended, and as he said the final words, the flames on the orb turned to white, and the orb itself shifted and stretched in and out like liquid putty.
Then, in a flash of brilliant light and a resounding scream of energy, the sphere took the shape of the Familiar.
---
The girl was still in the woods, though she was now dressed in a plain black robe, and had her hair tied into a long, russet plait that fell down to the back of her knees. The cottage was back to crumbling, as though she had never been there - and perhaps she hadn't, because a moment later, she departed in a rune-studded glow of purple.
She reappeared in Hogsmeade, and started searching.
---
It's cold. Nothing happens. No warmth. No light. No darkness. Just cold. Just nothing. How long has it been? A day? A year? A century? I don't know... can't remember. Just drift. Still. No movement. Starving... hungry for so long. Need blood. Flesh. Meat. Don't care if it's poisoned, rotting, scorched. Just need it.
Do you... promise? Free me? Yes... obey... as long as I'm free... I'll have revenge... make them all pay...
How dare they do this? No light. No darkness. I'll make them regret. Starving. Blood. Forgetting. It's been too long... how long? Can't remember... long enough. Who... where am I?
What? Yes... yes! Not much longer now. No movement. Soon... soon I'll taste blood... warm, flowing blood... warmth... movement... food... free me? Soon.
---
Not much longer - a few days. We'll both get what we want, just by working together, and when she returns, I'll be happy. We'll both be - and so will you. Yes. Just do what I want you to do, and I'll reward you. I'll free you, I'll feed you; and you'll be the means to bring her to me.
Soon. Very soon; so close I can feel my heart pound just for it, so close I can taste it, so close I dream about it.
And above all, I'll make them pay. Have my revenge, just as you'll have yours. Why didn't - they should have. I will. I will. I'll do it. With your help, it'll be easy. The only hard part will be getting to you... your guardian is strong, too strong for me. But in another's hands, as you are now, it'll be only a matter of time.
Just a few days. You'll come back; I have everything prepared. And after that, after we've proved our worth, we'll strike a deal. A deal with them. I know no sane person would, but it's the only way. She'll come back - and we'll be powerful. So powerful together... and you - you can help us. Our own pet killing machine. Soon.
---
Where is he? I've connected... I'm tracking him, tracing his signal - it's already left its imprint on him. Ah. He's there. I have to stop them... who knows what they could do? But it's easy for her to get, I know what she's planning.
That girl... that fifth year Gryffindor with the brown hair - I know what she's planning, that stupid, evil fool - she'd kill thousands if she could get her way. And if she does, she'll kill thousands more, anyway...
The boy. The boy can stop her - the dragon boy. I just hope I can get to him before she kills him or uses him as a bargaining chip. That traitor... how could she turn on family, friends, history, just to make herself content and powerful? No matter. We'll stop her. We have to; she'll probably act in a week or two, to make sure it'll all work.
Merlin - perhaps - no. Best if I don't.
But then, how will I get the dragon boy to trust me? He won't believe a complete stranger... probably think I'm trying to kill him. I'll deal with that when I come to it.
There's probably a few weeks to stop her - the lion girl. I thought she was meant to be smart... ha. I'll stop her.
I'll begin in just a few days... and no-one can stop me...
She'll begin in a few weeks... no need to hurry... I'll stop her...
---
Harry's eyes were fixed on his Familiar, unaware of what certain people were planning
But he soon would be.
Soon...