Chapter Ten: Who is it?

The following morning, entering his office before classes, Harry was surprised to find Dumbledore waiting for him.

"Albus?"

"Harry... I need to speak to you."

"What is it?"

"There were more attacks last night. One in Essex, two in Cornwall."

"Muggles?"

"Yes."

"What is going on, Albus? Who are they?"

"I don't know, Harry, but this time... this time, the Death Curse was used."

Harry looked at the headmaster, still and shocked.

"We need to find out," he said, his voice sounding strained and low, even to his own ears.

"Yes."

"Who was left after the final battle?"

"Not many. Most are in Azkaban. I just don't know, Harry. I don't know who it could be, unless it's someone completely new, who has never..."

"But we would know."

"Would we? How?"

"Leaders of the Dark don't just step up out of nowhere, Albus!"

"Voldemort did, originally," Albus shrugged, completely unlike himself this morning. Harry had never seen him so... directionless. "We had had peace for so long, Harry. He was totally unexpected."

"But..."

"I knew him, Harry. Tom Riddle. When he was a student here."

"Yes. I know," Harry thought back to the Chamber of Secrets... Tom's diary... Ginny. "So did Hagrid."

"I taught him. A good student... but..."

"But?"

"Harry, if you, twenty years from now, look back on your time at Hogwarts and have to pick a student who might have evolved into someone like Voldemort, who would it be?"

"Malfoy," Harry said without hesitation.

"Exactly. Tom wasn't like that. Tom was... Blaise Zabini."

Harry was surprised. Zabini was one of the few Slytherins that Harry had actually liked.

"Precisely, Harry," Dumbledore had been watching his expression carefully. "He was... likable. I admit to having my own suspicions after the Chamber incident when that unfortunate young witch died. But he was a very likable young man, nonetheless."

"So, when we try to think of who it could be, who it is that is beginning this again... my point is, it could be anyone, Harry. Anyone."

"But it's not, Dumbledore... it's someone. Someone who has been here before, because they are doing things exactly the way Voldemort began. And I don't think that that is just a coincidence."

Harry walked down the stone corridor, heading for his private quarters, feeling melancholy. Ginny was finding that seventh year, NEWT year, was going to be her most challenging yet. Harry could have told her that, but knew that he'd been partially in denial. He had hoped that, in addition to being at Hogwarts to learn and teach, it would also afford him the opportunity to spend some time with her that he otherwise would not have had.

Thus, his melancholy mood.

Turning a corner, he felt a chilling dampness run through him, and reacted by shying away.

"Oh, I am sorry, Professor Potter..."

Harry looked back to see that he had run into... or rather, through, Nearly Headless Nick. He shivered. The same thing had happened to him several times while a student here, and he hated it. He didn't imagine it was much fun for the ghost in question, either.

"Sorry, Nick. You okay?"

"Yes, yes, of course..."

"I know you hate it when that happens."

"Rather disturbing feeling of warmth, actually, Professor. Do forgive me... I wasn't watching where I was going. The Baron is on the warpath. Peeves has been causing trouble with the house elves again, and I was rather looking to avoid..."

"Would you like to come in?" Harry asked, noting that they were standing directly outside his quarters. "I would offer you a drink, but..."

"Very amusing," Nick countered dryly. "But yes, if you don't mind, I could use the respite from dodging the Baron. Peeves' antics really do put him in a foul mood, and the rest of us try to avoid him when he's like that."

"Come in," Harry motioned to the door, but Nick smiled and drifted through the solid stone wall to the left of the doorway as Harry entered the more conventional way.

"Nice. Very comfortable, I'm sure..." Nick commented as he floated about.

"Where do the... do you have quarters here, Nick?" Harry asked interestedly as he retrieved a bottle of butterbeer from the cupboard and cast a quick chilling charm.

"After a manner," Nick said, turning back from his admiration of the view from the large windows. "We occupy a... well, a room is kept for each of us... not nearly as nice as this, but..."

"But you're... comfortable?"

"After a fashion," Nick nodded, his head toppling precariously, held up, in the end, only by the ruff about his neck.

"Nick?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Oh, please, don't call me that," Harry smirked. "That really is too odd."

"Well, in front of the students I must. The Baron insists, you see. But perhaps, while in private..."

"Nick, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Harry," Nick settled, strangely, in an armchair across from Harry. Harry shook his head. It was the first time, he thought, he'd ever seen the ghost sit.

"Why do some people stay, and some go?"

"We've had this conversation, Harry," Nick said gently. "At the end of your fifth year... after..."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "And you told me your reason. Is that the only reason?"

Nick looked at him, carefully, for a moment. "No. No, it's not."

"Who else?"

"I couldn't say, for sure. We each have different..."

"The Grey Lady?" Harry prompted.

"She left her love behind, as did I."

"And the Bloody Baron?"

"Ah... well..." Nick suddenly looked rather uncomfortable. If it was possible for a ghost to feel uncomfortable.

"I know you don't like to speak of him," Harry said. "I'm just curious."

"Well," Nick began. "I don't mind speaking of him, really. It's just..."

"Are you frightened of him?"

"Dear me, no!" Nick said with a smile which appeared briefly before disappearing entirely. "Not as such, really..."

"Then what is it?"

"The Bloody Baron..."

"Nick," Harry leaned forward. "I... I need to understand."

"I've told you before, those who are frightened of death, stay. I stayed, in part, because my love was here, and I was afraid to go on without her. But..."

"But?"

"This is not something of which we normally speak, Harry."

"Please, Nick," Harry didn't know why he suddenly felt the need to know, it just felt very, very important.

"Oh, very well!" Nick sighed. "You are an incredibly tenacious young wizard, did you know that?"

"Nick?"

"I shall not discuss the business of specific... well, it is up to the Baron to tell you his story. I wouldn't dare. But for those who are left, there are three ways to become... one of us. There are those who are frightened of death or of leaving someone behind, and those who leave behind a wizard's debt, Harry Potter, and those who choose this... form... of immortality. Bloody silly choice, if you ask me, but there you have it."

"Immortality?" Harry gulped.

"Immortality. Damned nuisance, if you want to know the truth of it."

"You mean... at death you can... you can quite literally... choose?"

"Well, not precisely, of course..."

"What?" Harry asked. "Precisely?"

"Well, those with a particularly strong bond... or wish to remain. A particularly powerful wizard certainly could, theoretically, make a conscious decision..."

"Theoretically?" Harry looked hard at the ghost.

Nearly Headless Nick looked askance at him for a moment before understanding seemed to light his transparent grey eyes.

"Ah... yes... hmmm. Yes, yes..." he nodded, suddenly realizing who it was he was talking to, and about what. "Yes, I can see how that might... pose a problem, given the situation."

"Nick?" Harry's throat felt tight with what he had just learned. "Nick, does Dumbledore know this?"

Harry lost no time in finding the Headmaster. He ran all the way to the entrance to the elderly wizard's office, and hoped that the spells were still in place to grant him entry without a password.

They were.

"Albus..." he panted, running up the stairs and into the large, cluttered office.

"Harry?" Dumbledore's eyes met his over his halfmoon spectacles. "Harry... what is it?"

"I know what's been happening. I know who is leading them!"

"Harry?" Dumbledore put down the book he'd been looking in, and indicated a chair. "Sit down... what is going on?"

"I've just been talking to Nearly Headless Nick, Albus," Harry sat. "And he told me a particularly strong wizard can choose to stay, as a form of immortality!"

Albus Dumbledore's eyes widened as he quickly stood and strode over to a shelf of books, extracted one, and quickly flipped through it. Apparently finding the page he was looking for, he read for a moment, then closed the book. His cheeks went white, and he swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment, before turning back to Harry. Harry had seldom seen the old wizard so disturbed.

"Harry..."

"Is it true?" Harry's voice sounded raw, even to his own ears. Dumbledore nodded.

"I... I believe it could be. Yes. I never thought..."

"You didn't think what?"

"I never thought he would choose... well, few would... but if that is what we're dealing with..."

"Albus... if that is what we're dealing with... if Voldemort has returned, made the choice to... continue on... as a ghost..."

The blue eyes of the elderly headmaster met the bright green eyes of the young wizard, and they both looked horror-struck for a moment.

"Albus..." Harry gulped. "How the hell do you kill a ghost?"

Dumbledore paced, thinking. "Harry, I believe that we may actually have luck on our side in that."

"That would rather make for a nice change, wouldn't it, Professor?" Harry said shortly.

Dumbledore smiled benignly at the younger wizard. "Albus," he reminded him gently.

"Albus," Harry agreed.

"Leave it with me for a short while," the headmaster turned back to his desk, away from Harry.

"Do we have a short while?" Harry asked, looking at him with doubt in his eyes.

"Regardless of whether we do or not, it is not within my power to tell you now what you need to know."

"What?"

"Harry, confidences have been imparted to me that I cannot breach. You must understand this."

"This is war!" Harry spat with disbelief.

"Yes, and should I disregard the gravity of this particular confidence, we may lose all ability to fight this time, Harry. I must proceed with... care."

"Can you do it with care and a bit of bloody speed?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I shall certainly do my best, Harry."

Harry was pacing in his quarters late that night when he heard a weary sigh from the corner of the room. Drawing his wand, he turned.

"You're pacing," a disembodied voice said. Harry let out a breath and dropped his wand.

"You're sneaky. The door hasn't opened since I got in an hour ago. How long have you been watching me?"

"Long enough to know that you're going to wear a trench in that carpet if you don't stop it," Ginny pulled his cloak off her head, revealing messy hair and a concerned look. "What's happened?"

"Not enough," Harry muttered.

"Harry?" Ginny dropped the cloak completely and came to him, slipping into his arms as she did.

"Gin... I... things are going from bad to worse, and Dumbledore isn't communicating very well."

"Hmm," Harry felt her smile against his chest.

"What?"

"I rather wondered where you got that from."

"What?" He pulled back, looking down at her.

"Come on, Harry. For the first five years at Hogwarts you said practically nothing of any real importance to anyone. Especially anyone... well, important."

"I..."

"You know it's true. If you talk about Dumbledore playing his cards close to his chest, you have to admit, you do it, as well."

"It's not the same thing."

"Isn't it?"

"I... I don't like to involve people in things that..."

"Yes, I know. Nor does he," Ginny agreed dryly.

Harry was silent, contemplative, for a moment before he responded in a low voice. "He wouldn't tell me who it was who could help us, Gin. Even though he knew."

"Could he tell you?"

"Certainly he could. He chose not to."

"Did he choose to not tell you, Harry, or was he honor bound to not tell anyone?"

"I..."

"People make many commitments to many different people, Harry."

"But this is war, Ginny!"

"No, not any more. This is merely..."

"It will become another war if we don't do something about it!"

"I am absolutely certain," Ginny said gently, looking up at him. "That Dumbledore knows that, and is doing everything in his power to get the information to you that you need, while safeguarding the situation as best he can."

"I... he did say..."

"I know."

"What?"

"Invisibility cloaks are good for lots of things, Harry."

"Ginny!"

"I was following you to be able to get through your door without letting you know I was here. I was going to... surprise you... later," she blushed. "You just went in the wrong direction."

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "I should be angry."

"Should you?" she asked softly, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt. "You tell me everything, anyhow."

"I do, but..."

"Do you not trust me, Harry?" she paused, the warmth of her hands coming through the thin fabric against his chest.

"I trust you completely, Ginny. You know that. But I've reason to believe that Dumbledore can see through that cloak. You could have gotten yourself chucked for spying on us."

"Dumbledore won't chuck me," Ginny said confidently, returning to the buttons.

"He would have to if..."

"He won't."

"And just how do you know that?"

Ginny looked at him. "Because, Harry, if he chucked me, then you would be angry with him, not to mention my parents. My Mum is... well, she's pretty scary when she's really worked up, and even Dumbledore doesn't risk that unless he has no choice. But even more importantly, Dumbledore doesn't want you angry with him."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Right now, he still needs me."

Ginny looked at him for a moment, her eyes softening further, looking almost sad as they searched his face. "No, Harry. He's not frightened because of what he needs you to do. He's frightened because he cares about you, and doesn't want to lose you."

"Harry, the act of dispatching a ghost is a dangerous..."

"You're telling me that it's possible?" Harry asked the headmaster late the next afternoon. He'd gone to his office to confront him, to find out if he'd had a chance to contact to this person that he had referred to the previous day.

"Oh, very possible, Harry. For what are ghosts but souls who have lost their way?"

Harry looked at the old headmaster, his eyes thoughtful. "If that is the case, then they can be shown the way? But how?"

"It is not exactly showing them the way, Harry. When a ghost is... disposed of, they go nowhere; they do not go on to the next path, they simply cease to be. There are few who know how, but..."

"But?" Harry prompted as the Headmaster sat again, tapping his long fingers on the desktop and staring hard out the window.

"But we have access to such a one."

"Who?"

"It will be dangerous, though," Dumbledore continued to speak softly, as though to himself. "I do not know if he will help us. He was rather upset when I spoke to him of this."

"Who?"

Dumbledore turned sparkling eyes to the intense young man seated across from him. "In your many conversations with Nick, did it never come up?"

"I... Nick? No!"

"Did he never tell you why the Hogwarts ghosts are all so fearful of the Bloody Baron?"

And THAT is what I wanted to leave you with for the weekend, my friends. Enjoy!

As this chapter is longer than usual, and I want to bail for the weekend, I'm leaving my review responses until next time. Have a great weekend, folks!

CQ