Chapter Fourteen: The Messenger
"Quiet, please," the deep voice of Albus Dumbledore wasn't raised, but it achieved the desired effect. The noise in the room died down, people sat, and Albus looked around. His eyes met Harry's and he nodded slightly. Harry's arm tightened around Ginny where they sat on the sofa, which had been turned to face the room.
Harry felt the small girl next to him, and took comfort from her warmth. Ginny had attached herself to his side the moment the household had been made aware of what had happened to the portrait of his parents, and hadn't left him for a moment since. He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of her. She always smelled of vanilla and strawberries. How did she manage to smell of strawberries at this time of year?
His breath caught in his throat as she looked up at him with her cinnamon brown eyes. She smiled. Not a smile of happiness, for they were all to concerned ot be happy right now, but a smile of... reassurance.
"I love you," she whispered as she leaned into his shoulder. He instinctively tightened his arm around here, pulling her more closely to his side.
Where would he be without her? Without her strength?
"There have been a massive number of attacks reported in the last forty eight hours," Harry realized that Dumbledore had begun, and tried to concentrate on what the old wizard was saying. "And it seems clear that someone has taken up the Dark cause... I feel it is now time to tell you who we believe that to be."
Ginny's hand tightened in Harry's. He squeezed back, but didn't take his eyes from the headmaster's face.
"We believe..."
At that moment, the door to the study flew open with a bang, and every witch and wizard in the room turned, as one, their wands at the ready.
The hooded figure that stood there raised a wandless hand in a gesture of peace.
"Wait!" Harry yelled, jumping to his feet. Ginny gasped and shot to her feet beside him, her hand still in his. Everyone paused.
"I must speak with the one who leads the Light," the figure spoke. The deep, gutteral voice sent chills down Harry's spine.
"How did you get in here?" Harry demanded, stepping forward.
"Your wards are excellent, Harry Potter. Do not concern yourself. But wards and magical barriers can do little to hold me out."
"Who are you?"
"I am Keeper of the Gate, Guardian of the Way. Some of your people have referred to be as... Anubis. I bring a message for one who leads on the path of Light."
With this, he pulled off the hood, revealing a rather strange looking face. It was the face of a man, but badly done, almost as though it was out of focus. Strangely, while clearly human, one got the strong impression of a dog when looking at him. He had a long nose and beady, wide-spaced eyes. His brow ridge was low and long, and there was little chin below the thin lips. His teeth were strong, and sharp-looking. His skin was a dusky, coffee-brown, and his large ears were set high and far back on his head. His hair was cropped short.
Harry heard Hermione gasp, but didn't have time to glance at her. He still stood in the doorway, but it felt, to Harry, as though the robed figure was approaching, encroaching on his personal space. The smell...
It wasn't unpleasant. It wasn't the smell of death, or of decay, but it was. Harry couldn't explain it. He knew that, under normal conditions, he'd be retching, but strangely, while his mind processed the fact of the stench, his body wasn't reacting physically to it.
"A message? From who?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse. He instinctively knew that he wasn't going to like the answer.
"From one who would cross if he could take that risk. Shall I show you?"
"Yes," Harry knew several of the others in the room tensed instinctively, but he could feel something... something odd. Like this... person... was communicating on more than more one level, and with absolute certainty, Harry knew they must hear the message he had brought.
The rather odd-looking man took a deep breath, and they watched as his face contorted... stretched, moved. The skin lightened from the dusky brown to a lighter shade. Pale, English skin. The hair... the hair did not lighten, but became longish and slightly curled at the ends. When the contortions finished, the eyes snapped open suddenly, revealing intense, blue, nearly crazed eyes that searched the room, coming to rest on Harry.
"Sirius?" Harry said weakly, swallowing.
"In a way. Harry, you must listen, I do not have much time."
"Sirius... you... how...?"
"I have been granted but a moment, Harry. Listen carefully."
"What?"
"The way... the gate has been opened..."
"We know..."
"No... you don't. You think it's the gate that I went through... it's not, Harry."
"My mother... her portrait... said there are several. If we destroy them...?"
"Destroying the gates... that will only make things worse."
"What?"
"Voldemort has discovered a way to draw souls back through a Veil. He is building an army, Harry... an army of the dead. Destroying the gates will only destroy your ability to return the souls to where they belong."
"But how...?"
"Harry, just listen! He is planning on drawing an army through, of souls who will then be bound to do his bidding. Souls that should be at rest. Some of them are the souls of those who... will most affect you."
"Sirius..."
"Of people you knew, Harry! Of... of those who have fought with you... of those who you would find it difficult to fight against... of those you cared about!"
Harry went still, thinking of the now-still painting in the study of Potter Manor. His face lost all color, and he drew a rasping breath.
"Dear Merlin..."
"Harry?"
"I know, Sirius. He's already begun."
Harry moved around the Manor in a black mood. There was so much happening, and so very little he could do to affect it.
Voldemort was back. He could hardly believe it was possible. Not only that, but he had made the choice to return... as a ghost. Something that Harry's wand was little good against. In essence, he had returned immortal.
And the one bloody person who knew how to help wasn't willing to.
Harry found himself in the study, staring up at the portrait of his parents, stilled now. Somewhere in the world... somewhere out there... these two people had returned from eternity, brought back to fight against him, against their wills, to break him. And somehow, he had to find a way to not only stop Voldemort and his forces once more, but he had to go through people like this... people he loved... to do it.
What next?
"Harry?" the soft voice came from the door. Harry turned to see Hermione standing there, hesitant.
"I thought you'd gone to lie down," Harry said gently, watching her as she entered.
"I did, but I couldn't rest."
"And Ron let you up, anyhow?" Harry asked, smiling.
"He doesn't know," she flushed. "Actually, I slipped out when he went to the loo."
"You'll be in trouble with him."
"When am I not?" she asked with a sigh. "Can I talk to you?"
"You can always talk to me, Mione."
She looked up at him with her gentle brown eyes, unsmiling.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her lips quivering. He could tell she was on the verge of tears.
"Sorry?" Harry was surprised. Shouldn't it be him doing the apologising? "For what?"
"For... for making you do that. For not being able to... to just tell you."
"Hermione..."
"But thank you, as well."
"For?"
"For doing what had to be done, to get it out of my head and into yours."
"I.."
"What are we going to do, Harry?"
"I have no idea," he shook his head. "There is a possibility, but I can't say anything more until I hear from Dumbledore."
"I understand," Hermione looked down at her hands. "Are you going back to the school?"
"I'll have to, won't I?" he sighed. "I have classes to teach on Monday. Ginny's got classes. Ron missed a Quidditch tryout today..."
"Oh, no!"
"It's okay. McGonagall filled in. But still..."
"Is it hopeless?"
"What?"
Hermione took a deep breath, then looked up at him again. "Trying to have a life."
"No," Harry sat down next to her, leaning back against the upholstery of the sofa. "No, Mione... we can't give that up. Not that."
"Every time..."
"Not every time, Mione," Harry whispered. "Look at my parents. They graduated in a time of war, yet they went ahead, got jobs, got married... had me. They didn't give up, and things were even darker then, I think. Why should we give up, if they didn't?"
"Sometimes it seems so hopeless."
"I'm going to tell you a secret," Harry glanced at her. "That's not you talking."
"What?"
"That's not you talking, wondering if it might be hopeless," Harry said. "When we carry something around, a secret that can't be told, but must be, when we know something that will affect the world, but it can't be shared, it takes a toll on us, Mione. I know... I carried around the secret of the prophecy for a long time. I felt hopeless. Remember our fifth year? You and Ron tried to get me to talk and I just couldn't... and I got deeper and deeper into that place where there is no hope. Now that you're not carrying your secret alone, Hermione, things will begin to look up. They did for me, when I finally told you and the others about the prophecy."
"You've changed," Hermione mused.
"Ginny changed me," Harry shrugged.
"How?"
"I have something to live for, something to make the world a better place for. Before, I couldn't see that. Ginny gives me that."
Hermione smiled, then laid her head on his shoulder. "Ron gives me that."
"I know," Harry smiled. "Just like you do for him. It's how it's supposed to be. We should enjoy it while we can."
"Hermione? What are you doing out of bed?" Ron strode into the room, coming to sit beside Hermione on the couch. She smiled at him, a knowing smile that said she knew that his reaction was going to be this way, and took his hand.
"Talking to Harry, Ron. We don't do this enough, the three of us."
Ron tried to maintain his indignance, but couldn't. He agreed with her.
"You're okay?"
"I'll be fine," she confirmed, leaning her head back against the back of the sofa, and holding Ron and Harry's hands on either side of her.
"Are you okay, though, Harry?" she asked.
"Me?" Harry glanced at her. "I'm fine."
"Sirius..." Hermione took a breath.
"I'm fine, Mione."
"You know who that was, don't you?" she asked after a moment.
"Who? The messenger?"
"Anubis," Hermione confirmed. "You know who he is?"
"No. Should I?"
"Don't you..."
"...ever read anything?" Ron finished for her, a smile playing about his mouth. "No. Why should we when we have you to fill us in on all this stuff?"
"Ron..."
"Look, Hermione, I'm still kind of freaked at the fact that some guy that looks like that, not to mention smells like that, was able to get through the wards of Harry's house, apparently without any effort at all. I'd like to avoid the whole conversation where you point out how uneducated and poorly read we are, and just get to the part where you tell us who it was, because from your reaction, he's obviously someone important."
"Would you consider the Opener of the Way, or as some might prefer to call him the Guardian of the Veil, important, then, Ron?" she asked.
"The... the Guardian of the Veil?"
"He was... is... an Egyptian god. I still don't understand it, as I rather thought of the old Egyptian gods as more mythical than real, but apparently there's something in it all..."
"Mione!" Ron looked at her. "On topic, please?"
"I'm getting there, Ron. He was an Egyptian god. The god of mummification, and the god of magic, in addition to a few other things. He was thought to carry messages from the Underworld to mortals."
Ron and Harry were silent.
"He was also," Hermione continued, squeezing Harry's hand. "The patron of orphans and lost souls."
Harry shuddered. How ironically appropriate.
Dumbledore left shortly after nine that night, telling them that he would return in the morning and that, regardless, Ron, Harry and the others would have to return to Hogwarts by tea time, at the latest.
"Get some sleep," Harry thought he looked at Ginny rather directly as he said this, but the headmaster's eyes moved on before he could tell for sure. "You will be needing all of the rest you can get before this is done."
"Harry," he turned again, looking to where Harry sat at the wide desk. "I will be speaking to... those who might help us. We will discuss this tomorrow, when I return?"
"Thank you."
Without another word, Dumbledore left, his robes flowing behind him as he hurried to the floo.
"What was that all about?" Seamus asked from the sofa where he reclined between Luna and Pansy.
Harry sighed. "Ron?"
"Harry?" Ron looked up at him, his eyes steady.
"Can you get the door? I need to tell you all something."
An hour later, Harry entered his room, his shoulders slumped and his neck aching. He'd told them everything, everything he knew, and he'd almost had to stun Seamus and Ron to prevent them from heading to the castle to confront the Bloody Baron.
In the end, he'd simply told them that if they alienated the ghost now, they'd never win this fight, and the attacks would never stop.
After, he'd gone to the kitchens to find a drink, and had gratefully taken the glass of amber liquid that Dobby had handed him after popping into existence in front of him and nearly giving him a heart attack. The house elf had said little beyond, "All will be fine in the end, Harry Potter, sir."
Harry had nodded, downed the firewhiskey, and retreated silently to his room.
As he shut the door and set the locks, he was startled as the door to the en suite opened, to reveal Ginny, a toothbrush in her mouth and her long legs bare beneath his green tshirt.
"You startled me," she said, turning back around and returning to the bath, but leaving the door open. Harry heard water running, and then the door creaking as she entered the bedroom once more.
"I'm..." He stopped at the sight of her breasts moving beneath the cotton of his shirt as she leaned over to turn down the bed.
"I know. Come on, to bed with you."
"Ginny, your parents can't be okay with this?"
"My mother was fine with it last night, Harry. I'm not changing things tonight."
"But..."
"Shh..." she helped him off with his shirt and guided him to the side of the bed, where she forced him to sit, then knelt, helping him remove his shoes and socks.
"Gin..."
"Hush, Harry. I'm not going anywhere..."
Harry w as particularly glad that night that Ginny hadn't left him. For a while... rather a longer while than he would have thought possible given the events of the day, she made him forget. And he needed, desperately, to forget. If only for an hour or two.