I do not own Harry Potter. That honor goes to one J.K. Rowling. I do, however, own the story and my original characters. Thank you for your kind attention.

Chapter 33: Puzzle Pieces

        The classroom in which Harry and the other sixth years usually took transfiguration, and, this year, animagus training, was buzzing with excitement. Today was the day that they would attempt to conjure the image of the animal that they would hopefully become. Though they had studied their intended animal thoroughly, Professor McGonagall reminded them, repeatedly, that their intentions and the actual animal did not always match up.

        However, she had also informed them that it was beneficial one way or the other to have an intimate knowledge of animal anatomy. So Harry stared at the picture of the stag he hoped to become on the paper before him, and hoped that he would follow in his father's footsteps in this case. Hermione had been studying the form of the cat diligently, but also extended her studies to insects, avian and various other animal forms just in case.

        Ron had hopes of becoming a lion.

        Harry looked about nervously, this class also had a few observers. Professor Dumbledore sat in the back, having just ended a sprightly discussion with Professors Lanya and Flitwick. They were there to see the progress that had been made in this experimental class.

        "Alright class." Professor McGonagall said in her crisp no nonsense way, "If you are all prepared, let us proceed with the incantation now."

        "Spectro Animus!" Harry said, pointing his wand at the bare floor in front of his feet. He dimly heard everyone else in the room echoing his words. And, slowly, a hazy looking form began to coalesce in the air before him.

        It was indeed a stag, a young one, judging by the leggy look of it, but with strong hindquarters and a broad deep chest. It became more corporeal, and now Harry could see its color was a deep coal black, not a usual color to be sure. And when it turned its head, Harry could see that between its solemn dark eyes, there was a slash of white, which, he found with a slightly uneasy feeling, was exactly in the shape of the scar that was blazoned on his own forehead.

        "Now, keep your wands trained, keep them there as long as you can," the Professor's voice called out, and Harry could see her walking among the students, making notes on a piece of parchment.

        He looked over at Hermione, curious, and found her staring, enraptured at the otter that was staring back at her with a winsomely intent expression on its furry little face. It looked in all ways like a normal otter but for a thatch of hair on its head that was a bit too curly to be natural.

        On his other side, Ron looked like he was restraining the impulse to reach out and pat his animagus form on the head, and Harry had to fight down a rising lump in his throat.

        It was a dog, looking much like an irish setter with a smooth red coat and patient brown eyes, though he was somewhat larger than usual, his body lean and lithe. He sat on his haunches, observing everything with an expression so like Ron's that it was rather uncanny.

        "Excellent, you three."

        Harry started and looked away from Ron and his dog to find that while he was distracted McGonagall had reached where they stood. She examined Ron's dog minutely, nodding and making more notes on her parchment, then moved onto Hermione.

        Hermione almost looked abashed that her animal was not a cat, but she beamed broadly when the Professor proclaimed her otter charming.

        Then she came to Harry's stag, and stopped, looking at it very closely. "Most unusual, Potter, that it has more than one distinguishing mark." She glanced at his forehead, then back at the stag, seeing the mark perfectly duplicated. "One does not often see one of these in this color."

        Harry found himself beginning to feel nervous and a bit disconcerted with both the eyes of the Professor and the stag trained on him. He lowered his wand hurriedly, a strange shiver making its way down his back, and the stag vanished. McGonagall looked at him piercingly, but said nothing as she moved on.

        Harry looked around, finding more than a few eyes trained on him, and he noticed with some embarrassment that he was the only one who had released his animal's image after it had been examined. He walked over to Ron, aware of his flushed face, making brief notes of a falcon soaring over his head from across the room and the skittering quicksilver movements of what appeared to be a small brown squirrel. He heard as well a rather shaky sounding student protesting that he was NOT a skunk, thank you very much, and the strident sounds of someone who apparently had summoned a spider begging another classmate not to squash it.

        "Well, it's not a lion." Ron said briefly when Harry reached him, but the flush on his ears and neck pronounced him pleased nonetheless.

        "He's brilliant, Ron." Harry heard Hermione say from over his shoulder, and he hastened to add his agreement. Ron's blush grew deeper.

        "Yes, a most fetching animal, Ronald." Professor Lanya's voice agreed, and Harry noticed that she and Dumbledore had approached and were looking over the various animals now moving around the classroom. "And your otter, is being so as well, Hermione," She added, with a nod at the creature which was now bouncing around Hermione's ankles. "And your stag was simply an animal of magnificence, Harry."

        Dumbledore said nothing, but he smiled at Harry with what was rather an understanding light in his eyes. Then the two of them moved on, and Harry tried to dispel the uneasy feeling that rose in him whenever he saw the stag's face in his mind's eye.

        That night, Harry lay in his bed, his eyes trained on the curtains above his head. He let his thoughts tumbled wildly over themselves for a long moment, then busied himself with the exercise of selecting out certain memories and pushing them into an inaccessible corner of his mind. Then he concentrated retrieving them one by one, and examining them.

        The first thought he pulled out was the day he got his Firebolt, he looked at that memory from all angles, thinking of the time and circumstances in which he had received it, then carefully, he cut out the parts of the memory connected to Voldemort, and then he brought out the associations that the broom had with his memories of Sirius and pulled them into greater prominence, and almost immediately, the joy of that day overshadowed all else. He was able to forget, for a moment, that Sirius was gone.

        He closed his eyes and smiled before, almost viciously, he tore away the modifications he had made to the memory, and as though all freshly renewed, they flooded back, and he once again felt a sickening grief. He tamped it down, and turned to the next remembrance, going through each and every one that came to his mind that night. And, in time, and with effort, the grief became less.

        He had gotten this idea from both his lessons with Texi, and yes, even Snape, as much as he hated to admit it, as well as with Sarven on that night before Halloween, now several weeks past. He had decided to try and go back to his memories, to understand them, and to learn from them. He had learned much, but still understood little. It was a trifle frustrating, but this was what drove him in his lessons, making much progress in what seemed little time. Even Snape had acknowledged it, in that back-handed way he had.

        He opened his eyes again with a sigh, and checked his watch, which had been a gift from Hermione for his sixteenth birthday. It was very late, he thought, as he replaced the watch on his bedside table and turned over, pulling his blankets up around his neck.

        As luck had it, just before he closed his eyes, he caught a rustle of movement among the curtains at the side of his bed.

        "Who's there?" He demanded quietly.

        The movement paused, but then, a moment later, a small black form slithered up one of the bedposts and across his pillows. Harry relaxed. "And what news tonight, Cord." He asked, slight exasperation apparent in his voice.

        "Master," Cord greeted him, "I have been up on the fourth floor, and I encountered much activity unusual for the humans at this time of night, sunlight lovers as most of them are."

        Cord had come, after that first long absence, during which he claimed he was exploring the castle, which he called, 'as confused as a rabbit warren', to think that he should make reports from what things he witnessed while he slithered unobserved through the halls. Harry guessed that that was something simply in his nature, since his original intention had been as a spy.

        "Do you know what it was about?" Harry asked, turning over and propping one arm under his head. Durry, who had been curled up there on his pillow, opened one eye half-way, greeted Cord with a muffled squeak, then returned to his rest.

        "It is difficult to say. Most activities of humans are unusual to ones such as us." He sometimes seemed to forget that Harry was not a snake himself. "But there was much rushing of feet and hushing of voices."

        Harry became interested. Usually the only things Cord reported were surreptitious trysts in the darkened halls, towers, or classrooms, and the seemingly ceaseless patrolling of the professors. Harry had also heard about a rather eventful encounter with Mrs. Norris, in which it seemed, they had startled each other, but the cat had had the worse reaction. Harry recalled that she had been scarce for several days after that report, and Filch had taken to being more suspicious of everyone, even poking at the tapestries as he walked, as though expecting something inside them to say 'ouch'.

        "Was there anything else, Cord?" He asked.

        "If you wish to know all, you could look into my thoughts."

        Harry recoiled instinctively. It was not the first time Cord had suggested this, and it always took Harry aback. He shuddered in revulsion at even thinking of such a thing, but Cord seemed to think of it being as a matter of course.

        "Just...just do your best." He said finally.

        The sleek black snake bobbed its head in acceptance. "It centered around the room I cannot enter."

        "Dumbledore's office."

        "Yess... and also a room near the place with many books." Harry nodded. "There were feet going back and forth, and many faces looked...pale. It was still going on when I chose to return."

        "Thank you Cord." Harry said, knowing that this would be the most he would get in the way of information. "Will you rest now?"

        "Yes, thank you master." With that, he slithered under the blankets and curled up against Harry's feet, leaving Harry alone to contemplate the meanings behind many feet going back and forth between the Stepenwolv apartments and Dumbledore's office.

        As he lay there, trying to fall asleep, the image of his stag, the form he would take upon becoming an animagus, appeared before his eyes, and he hastily banished the vision before deciding to do something he had contemplated trying before. He had been cautious about it because he wasn't sure what the effect would be, but now, with his curiosity roused, and his lack of visits from Sirius, he decided to risk it.

        Harry formed his receiver in his mind's eyes, then, very carefully, he let his emotions flow into it, but not all of them. He retained just enough to feel, but only in a rather distant way. The dog gained in substance, but it also seemed to look at him expectantly, and as Harry let himself fall into the realms of slumber, the eyes seemed to have turned faintly approving, but as blankness covered his mind, he was certain he had just imagined it.

        Harry stood on the shore of the Hogwarts lake, staring out across the silvery water. The air was neither cold nor warm, and as he stooped to wet his fingers, he found the water to be the same.

        This was the place, he remembered, where they had fallen, where he had looked up to see what he had thought was his father, sending the beautiful silvery Patronus galloping smoothly across the lake to save their souls from the kisses of the Dementors.

        The water was still as glass, but as he watched, as sudden breeze seemed to ripple across the surface, approaching him and tousling his hair as it brushed past. He closed his eyes, remembering, when he felt a faint touch on his shoulder.

        "Harry."

        "Sirius." Harry replied, not turning around, not opening his eyes.

        "I remember, I was not so afraid, as when I heard your voice while the Dementors were still surrounding me. And believe me, I was terrified before."

        "We all were."

        "I know." The voice paused, the grip on his shoulder tightened. "Harry, turn around."

        Harry straightened his shoulders, and turned. Sirius stood there, but as had happened before, his appearance was different from the last time he had seen him. Here, on the shores of the lake, he appeared as he had when Harry had first met him, ragged, dirty, thin, that hollow look pronounced in the depths of his gray eyes.

        But as Harry watched, the face and arms filled out, the dirty, unkempt, look vanished, his hair became neat and glossy, and his ragged robes changed to a soft gray that matched his eyes. The years slipped away, and the hollowness of his gaze vanished.

        "It's not so bad a thing, you know, Harry." He said quietly. "It is worse, I think, for the ones left behind, for the ones with things unfinished, for the ones who choose to stay."

        "Ghosts?"

        "And those living while others close to them have moved on."

        "I miss you."

        "I know, Harry." His hand squeezed the young man's shoulder once again, and then it was lowered to hang at his side. "There is something I left unfinished, something that I could not resolve, something I could not see happening. And when it happened, I was already on the other side."

        "Just say it!" Harry burst out, suddenly, unaccountably angry. "Say you're..."

        "Yes, I'm dead, Harry." Sirius said soberly. "And the dead loose most ties to the living world, most...except with those who remember us. But those ties should not become chains...on either side."

        Harry's shoulders sagged. "You mean, you don't want to speak to me anymore."

        "No, Harry, I'm not saying that." Sirius said, still in a very calm voice. "But the sacrifice must not be made."

        Harry stared at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

        "Just what I said." He sighed. "Like the one told you, there are limitations. The most I can say is..."

        "I must do what she cannot." Harry interrupted bitterly.

        Sirius looked at him piercingly. "It is important, Harry. And you must choose."

        "Choose?"

        "Between desire and necessity." Sirius turned slightly, staring over Harry's shoulder, "It is a difficult thing to do; it is a difficult thing to tell the difference."

        His hand grasped Harry's arm, and he hissed, "Look!" turning him around to face the lake again.

        Harry found himself thrust around, his back to Sirius, and the two of them observed as a figure walked into the shallows, lifting the skirts of its robes to keep the hem out of the water. Small, bare feet gleamed coldly beneath the clear, still surface. Harry narrowed his eyes as he recognized what the figure was approaching. It was a stone plinth, the top adorned with an ancient-looking tome.

        The figure paused in front of the short column and seemed to hesitate, then, as though seized with some terrible impulse, it reached out, and took the book in small, slim white hands.

        It turned, the book clasped closely against its chest. And Harry could almost make out a face within the shadows of the cowl pulled down low around its face. Blonde curls peeped out around smooth pale cheeks, and one clung to pale, bloodless lips. The woman had her head bent, as though she were cringing against some suspected blow, walking out of the water with mincing steps.

        She walked quite close to Harry and Sirius before she stopped, her head still bowed, but Harry could see tears leaking down to drip off of her chin. Then her lips moved, and Harry heard, in a sweet, wispy voice, the word, 'Gypsy.' For a brief moment she lifted her head, and Harry got a glimpse of bright blue eyes, so bright that they seemed almost to be an impossible color for eyes to be. She seemed to stare straight at him, blue eyes meeting the brilliant green of his own. Then, she vanished.

        "Even the best of intentions." Harry heard Sirius murmur, and he turned around again, just in time to see his Godfather's back disappear through the rippling veil in the unsupported archway that seemed on the verge of crumbling, as it always did.

        "Sirius..." He whispered, beyond sadness. Then he shook himself. "Wait! She said gypsy! What does that mean!? Wait!"

        But it was too late for any more questions. And Harry found himself alone, the gateway to death before him, and the stone plinth, now empty, behind.

        Harry hesitated, then walked forward, he reached out his hand to touch the veil, finding it just as attractive to his curiosity as before. But, just before his hand touched it, he felt as though there was a presence behind him. He jerked around, feeling for the wand that his dream self did not have. And there was the woman again, seeming to look straight through him and into the space within the arch.

        Harry saw her lips move again, and he strained to hear her soft whisper. "Sirius." Her face was filled with conflicting pain and hope, joy and terror, love and horror.

        Then the scene seemed to shift, painfully, and he tore his mind back from the implications of that.

        Harry woke up with an uncomfortable jolt, his hand finding the burning pain of the scar on his forehead. As he sat up he acknowledged how risky that had been, but it had been worth it, in his opinion. More pieces of the puzzle.

        Harry rubbed at his face, then swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet finding his slippers. He didn't think he would be able sleep anymore that night, so, with a sigh, he pulled on his dressing gown. Cord, perhaps annoyed that his source of warmth was leaving, raised his head and asked where he was going in a slightly put-out hiss.

        "I need to walk." Harry told him tiredly.

        "May I accompany you, Master?" He asked, and Harry thought the snake seemed pleased that Harry was acquiring his habit of nighttime wanderings. Harry, in answer, held out his wrist and allowed the small snake to curl around it, taking up their favorite form of accompaniment.

        He trod quietly to his chest and pulled out the invisibility cloak. It was rare, now, that he ever thought to leave the dormitory at night without it, and recently, those nocturnal wanderings had increased in frequency. This was the first time, though, that Cord had come with.

        Harry made his way out the portrait hole, ignoring the sleepy protestations and inquiries of the fat lady.

        He let his feet lead him, not paying attention to where he was going other than to avoid tripping over things or tumbling down stairways. He passed Peeves without really seeing him, just thinking briefly that the poltergeist had seemed dejected since his reign of terror against Umbridge had ended.

        Harry rubbed fretfully at the back of his right hand at the thought of the repulsive toad-like woman.

        Likewise, he passed Mrs. Norris, only giving over a moment to brief wondering as the cat sniffed the air, laid her ears back against her head and bolted. Cord gave a satisfied sounding hiss from his wrist.

        He found himself in seldom wandered parts of the castle, walking past unfamiliar portraits full of sleeping occupants, past rusting armor that seemed to creak tiredly into the dank air. He found himself nearly running into a black-clad form that was peering quietly around a corner.

        Harry stopped with a jolt, his heart hammering at the sight of the black-clad back. Then the person turned his head and Harry saw Sarven's prominent profile. The young man seemed very agitated and pre-occupied, once taking several steps down the corridor into which he had been peering, then muttering angrily, it seemed, at himself, and turning back again. Finally he gave an angry shake of his head and strode off in Harry's direction, brushing very closely past him as Harry shrunk against the wall.

        When the young man had disappeared, Harry, curious, went to see what he was looking at that had gotten him into such an agitated mood, but, upon glancing down the hall, all he saw was darkness.

        It was early morning by the time Harry's heavy steps took him back to the Gryffindor common room. He gave the password, and the Fat Lady scowled fiercely at a point above his left shoulder before her portrait swung back to allow him inside.

        Harry pulled off his cloak as he stepped inside, raking his hand through his tousled hair and stifling a yawn.

        "Harry?"

        He jumped, and focused his bleary eyes on someone approaching him, looking newly-wakened. Ginny's hair shone like fire in the light of the rising sun outside the window.

        "Harry, what were you doing, are you all right?"

        "I...couldn't sleep." He told her quietly, unwilling to explain about his dream of the night before.

        "You look dead on your feet!" She protested. "Maybe you should skive off classes this morning and get some sleep."

        "Can't..." He said, stifling another yawn with his hand. "We have an important session in Defense this morning, I can't miss it, it'll be useful for DA meetings. Stealth and concealment."

        Ginny stared at him, or, more accurately, at his right wrist, where Cord had lifted his head and was looking at her curiously.

        "Who is this?" Cord hissed. "Your mate?"

        "No, I'm not!" Ginny protested. Then she gave a small scream, scrabbling backwards and clapping a hand over her mouth.

        "G-ginny?" Harry asked, aghast.

        She looked at him, her eyes wide and terrified.

        "She speaks! Another master?" Cord asked Harry. Harry couldn't find it in himself to answer.

        "N-no, no I'm not! Get...get away!" Ginny yelled in the hissing tones of parseltongue, then she turned so pale her freckles stood out like ink spots on her skin.

        "Ginny." Harry began, stepping towards her, his non-Corded hand held out. "It's alright, don't be afraid. It's alright."

        She didn't seem to be able to answer that, her hand clamped over her mouth tightly once again, as though afraid she would start spewing parseltongue again against her will.

        With a strangled cry, she turned and fled up the stairs into the girl's dormitory, where Harry knew he could not follow.

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