Chapter Thirteen
Voldemort's Ultimatum
For a long time, Harry stared out the window in Ron's room at the Burrow. Life suddenly seemed very quiet with Jordan gone. Ron and Hermione tried to cheer him up but it did no good. He was only able to get as far as the airport's security checkpoint with Jordan. She had seemed relieved to be going home, as if the distance from Hogwarts to her home in America was enough of a distance to erase all of the painful events of the past weeks. He understood entirely why she would feel that way. He would too, if the positions were reversed. Unfortunately, Harry had no one with whom to change places, no one to get away from.
He had stood outside the airport and watched a large jet take off. He hadn't known if it was hers, but pretended it was. Harry imagined himself on his Firebolt, the fastest broom ever made, flying side by side with the plane, looking at her in her seat. Was she thinking about him? How could she not be after all he had put her through?
"Mum's made dinner, Harry. I know it's late, but…"
"No thanks. I'm not hungry."
"She's not going to take no for an answer, mate. Come on, you need to eat."
Harry got up and followed his best friend downstairs. The table was full of food: sausages and potatoes, green beans with butter, treacle tarts--even though six Weasleys weren't even home. Bill was with his new wife, Fleur Delacour, Triwizard contestant and Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry graduate, in their home in France. Harry's pride still stung to know that his former girlfriend and Ron's younger sister, Ginny, was with them. Twins, Fred and George, owners of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, a successful joke shop in Hogsmeade, were too busy to come home much. So it was just Ron, Hermione, Harry and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
Harry tried to smile when he came downstairs. Truth be told, he was tired of feeling so stressed and unhappy. No one spoke of anything having to do with Jordan, Voldemort, Snape, the Ministry of Magic or even Hogwarts during dinner. Instead, Mr. Weasley kept quizzing Harry about appliances found in Muggle homes. Harry found himself droning on about the many uses for a microwave oven.
"How can I take care of this?" Harry asked after dinner, as both boys sat outside on the steps. The sky was lightening as dawn approached, but no one felt like sleeping. Too much was at stake.
"I don't know. The only thing to do is to find another horcrux."
"Maybe I should…"
"What?"
Nevermind."
"Tell me."
"Maybe I should just join him like he wants."
"That's stupid! I can't believe you just said that!"
"I told you to nevermind!"
Ron stood and walked a little ways up the path. "What good do you think that will do anyone?"
"It'll save Jordan for one thing. And I'll be out of the spotlight for awhile, since I won't be in every wizard newspaper for fighting Voldemort or some Death Eater or something."
"Every paper will run that story—you and Voldemort on the same side."
"Yeah, but it will go away. Voldemort will get what he wants—"
"He will kill you Harry."
"So?"
Ron stopped walking, his back toward his best friend. For some reason, tears were stinging his eyes. Harry had given up. Someday it was bound to happen, Ron knew. He and Hermione had talked about it. But the fight had to be almost over. Soon, Voldemort would really die and Harry would be able to live a normal life—he was only 17—still plenty of time for fun and normality.
"Don't you think it will ever be over?"
"Ron, it will never be over until I kill him or he kills me. It doesn't look like I'll ever be able to kill him. Don't you see? I needed Dumbledore to help me find the other horcruxes. I don't know enough yet."
"Harry…"
"Ron, I've only known who I really am for six years. You've heard of Voldemort for almost your whole life! I'm still catching myself up on everything--and the people who could have done the most good for me are all dead!
"The only way I can really save Jordan—do something, anything useful—is to give myself up to the Dark Side. I'll just let Voldemort slap a Dark Mark on my arm and get it over with."
"That's almost treason, Harry." Hermione said from the doorway.
"Don't be so righteous, Hermione. Sometimes we have to be realistic."
"You are the Chosen One. You have a destiny."
"I'm tired of this damn destiny! I want to be a regular kid—I want to take Jordan to the movies—or Ginny—or whoever. I'm tired of having to remember what spells to use to stay alive! I want to play video games and go to University, study to become…I don't know, something. How would you both like to think you alone could save the lives of thousands of people?"
Hermione shook her head, "I don't know, Harry. I don't know if I could do it, but you have. You have been saving us all since you were a baby. No matter what the press says about you, no matter how some of the students at Hogwarts have treated you, everyone admires and respects you. And Voldemort won't admit it, but he's frightened of you. He thinks he has you this time. He doesn't."
"What do you mean?"
"I think you should give the Time Turner to Jordan." She had it in her hand, the long gold chain sparkling in the light the sun cast as it rose. "And then I think we should find another horcrux. Together."
Harry looked at her warily, "How can we do that?"
"By using Snape."
"Hermione!" Ron yelled, indignantly. "Are you completely mental this time? He wants to kill Harry, always has! He killed Professor Dumbledore!"
"I think Voldemort's using him. He wants Snape for one reason—to get to Harry. But Draco said Snape's been working both sides. I think if we convince Snape that Voldemort's using him, he will help us."
"You are mental." Ron muttered.
"Wait…" Harry stood also. "You might be on to something. I've seen Snape waver. He's still treats me badly, but sometimes, like at the Quidditch match my first year, when Quirrell put that spell on my broom…"
"And when he gave Umbridge the fake Veritaserum."
"That was only because he didn't want Harry to rat him out." Ron still wasn't sure that involving Snape in any way was good.
"But he did it. We all hated Umbridge and Snape helped Harry get the better of her."
Harry smiled at Hermione, "Do you really think we can do this?"
"I know we can. As long as we stick together. Where do you think, deep down, the other horcrux is?"
"The home of Godric Gryffindor."
"Good! Me, too. Ron?"
Ron shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I guess so. Tom Riddle's diary was destroyed, someone with the initials R.A.B. destroyed the necklace, Voldemort won't let you near Nagini now, Jordan is in America and she's the Ravenclaw link. So yeah, Gryffindor would certainly be next. Where did Godric Gryffindor live?"
Harry's eyes grew wide. "No! Not where he lived, Ron, a town that's named for him—Godric's Hollow! In my old house!"
-------
Jordan sat in the backyard with most of her family. It was a beautiful summer Sunday. The Taylor's yellow house was buzzing with people running from her sister Becky's part of the house upstairs to her mother's apartment downstairs. Her two nephews, Tyler and Chris, both in their teens, were moving back and forth with dishes Becky had been simmering in crockpots: baked beans, kielbasa, ziti, beer-marinated meatballs. Jordan's niece Madison, who had just turned twelve, was helping make a big salad and had just put it on the picnic table set up outside. Tom, Becky's husband of nearly twenty years, flipped burgers, chicken and ribs on the grill--his specialty. Tom loved the summer and fall. He cooked everything he could on his gas grill.
"Do you want some lemonade?" Jordan's mother, Carol, asked. She walked a little more hunched over now, her back bothering her more as she got older, but her stride was still strong.
"That's okay, Mom. I'll get it."
"No, no, sit down. I'll get you some. That's why I asked."
Carol Taylor had been very surprised to get a call that her youngest daughter needed a ride home from the airport. Jordan hadn't let anyone know she was coming home so soon, and it took them a little while to round up a ride. Finally, the second Taylor daughter, Marie, who worked close to the airport, left her office to come get her.
It was a pleasant surprise, none the less. Jordan was so grateful to be back in her New England hometown that she could almost forget the price on her head. No one need know what had happened. For now, she would be content to say she would soon have to go back. Part of her even wanted to test the three day theory—stay a little longer--but she was too scared to bring Voldemort's wrath down on her innocent family.
Marie couldn't make it to the picnic, but Jordan and she promised to go shopping at the local mall later in the day. Meanwhile, the rest of the Taylors all helped themselves to a feast.
As the evening wore on, the food was cleaned up and some wine and beer was brought out. Chris had set up his boom box in the summer house and he, Tyler and Madison played a game of badminton with an old set of rackets that had once belonged to Jordan's sisters.
"How's the lecturing going?" Tom asked, finally settling in a folding chair after meticulously cleaning his grill.
"Fine," Jordan lied, easily. "I have more set up for next week, but since I had some time off, I decided to come home."
"Well, that's good."
"Where do you live when you're there, in a hotel?" Madison sat on the ground, giving up the game to her brothers.
"In a rented house in a town outside London."
"Wow! You get a house?"
"Yep."
A sudden CRACK made everyone turn their heads toward the front yard. Attributing it to a branch falling from a tree or perhaps a car backfiring, the rest of the family returned to their conversation. Jordan knew better and her heart sped up.
"Is that how it works, Jordan?" Becky was asking.
"Um, what?"
"Your royalties? Don't they give you 10?"
"Actually, it's 15 now. Pretty good. I have a really good deal with the publisher. Did anyone else hear that?"
"Want me to see what it was?" Tyler started to get up.
"No! I mean—I'll go. You guys keep talking. I'll be right back."
Jordan hurried around the side of the house, past the large White Oak that dominated the landscape. Family stories said that the tree came from the Ravenclaw clan in Europe and now Jordan wondered if it was enchanted.
As she closed the fence gate behind her, she slowly walked toward the front yard. She recited spells she might need over in her mind, to be prepared if Snape or Malfoy stood there. However, she found she was not entirely surprised to see Harry preparing to knock on the door. He wore jeans and a gray sweatshirt and carried a dufflebag of his own.
"What are you doing here?" Jordan hissed.
"I brought the Time Turner. We have to talk."
"I don't want to do anything that might make Voldemort angry. You shouldn't be here. Wait—how were you able to apparate here? You have never been here before. What did you concentrate on?"
He pulled out a photograph of the front of the Taylor house. Jordan remembered she had thrown the photo of her mother and late grandmother sitting on the front stoop in her backpack before Harry had taken her away from Little Whinging.
"You took that?"
"Yes…just in case. When I found out you were leaving. I wasn't sure if I could do it, since I hadn't really ever been here before, but I guess so, cause here I am." He was smiling.
Jordan wasn't amused. "This isn't funny! You have to promise me, Harry, that you won't use magic."
"You mean now that I've finished apparating?" He was almost giddy to be with her again.
She looked pointedly at him, ignoring his sarcasm. "You're just a regular kid, okay?"
"Jordan," Harry became serious. "I'm not a kid. I thought you understood that…"
"You know what I mean."
Harry took her hands, "It will be alright. Come on. I want to meet your family."
"For the sake of propriety, can you at least say you're 21?"
He laughed, "I suppose so."
Harry followed Jordan into the backyard. All talking stopped and Jordan noticed Becky's children had left the yard.
She cleared her throat, "Everyone, this is Harry Potter. I met him in England. Harry, this is my sister Becky, her husband Tom and my mom, Carol."
He bowed slightly to Becky and Tom but since Jordan's mother was so close, he took her hand, "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Taylor."
Carol Taylor smiled. His accent and formality were charming. "I was just going to make coffee, Harry, since it's starting to get dark. Are you hungry? Or could I get you some coffee or tea?"
Harry looked around, feeling a bit uncomfortable in a Muggle home; he half-expected Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to come around the corner at any moment.
"Um—Tea would be great, thanks."
Carol got up and waved her daughter away when Jordan stood up to help. Harry smiled as Mrs. Taylor went inside the house. He didn't know why he was suddenly partial to older women but if Jordan went on to look like the shapely, but silver-haired Carol, he'd be a very happy man.
"So how did you get here, Harry?"
Tom's question snapped Harry out of his reverie. "Excuse me?"
"How did you get here?"
The meaning of a question to one person and the meaning of a question to another person can always collide like a freight train and Jordan saw it happening in front of her eyes. She could see the wheels turning in Harry's head as he thought, Floo powder, broom or apparition.
"Virgin Atlantic," she answered for him.
It was only then Harry realized Tom was talking about planes. He smiled, awkwardly. "Sorry, ears haven't popped yet."
Tom laughed, "And a bit of jet lag too, I'm sure."
Harry nodded although he had no idea what that felt like, having never flown on a jet. He played with Dudley's cast-off toy airplanes a long time ago in his cupboard under the stairs, but that's as close as he had ever been to one.
Jordan's face was pale and Harry watched her concerned, as she put her head back and closed her eyes, "You okay?"
"Yes, just glad to be here." Truth be told, exhaustion sometimes completely overwhelmed her. Her world had been moving so quickly, that now that she was stationary for two days, the energy was rapidly draining from her.
Jordan glanced surreptitiously at her sister and brother-in-law to make sure they weren't watching, "You may be putting my family in danger."
Harry shook his head, "No, you don't…"
"Harry, what if Snape or Malfoy come here since we're here together? Malfoy wouldn't think twice about going after my niece, Madison."
The pretty girl was helping to clean up and Harry wryly remembered that Voldemort, as his younger self, Tom Riddle, had once set his sights on twelve-year-old Ginny Weasley. The Dark Lord had nearly killed the girl in order to strengthen himself.
Jordan went on, "If Malfoy thinks she has the slightest bit of magic in her."
"How do you suddenly know so much about Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked, suddenly angry to learn that maybe she wasn't happy to see him. When she didn't answer, he patted his chest where the Time Turner lay under his t-shirt. "Besides, I told you I came with this. I figured we'd go back three days, head to Hogwarts and start from right before I took you to Heathrow. Hermione has a good idea, something we can use."
She saw the hope in his eyes and it was touching, but Jordan knew in her heart of hearts that Voldemort would not be stopped. Even though she only recently became aware of her background, she knew that he would win. She couldn't quite wrap herself around the idea that Harry—this seventeen year old, mature or not—was the Chosen One, whatever that meant. It was one thing helping him find the horcrux when she thought she would die if they didn't find it, but now it seemed she would die either way.
"What if I decide to stay here?" She closed her eyes again.
His heart began to hammer in his chest. She was giving up. He felt a familiar pang of guilt. It hadn't been that long ago he had almost given up himself.
"If you stay here," Harry chose his words carefully. "You will definitely be inviting danger. Snape and Malfoy would come, if not the other Death Eaters, but Voldemort would come here as well. He wouldn't kill you because his soul's inside you, but he would want to kill someone else."
Harry stopped talking as two tall young men, slightly younger than himself came out of the house. Jordan drew in her breath sharply, tears wanting to spill over her cheeks. Voldemort would certainly kill her family. They had to leave—at first light they'd use the Time Turner and do as Harry said.
"You okay, Aunty Jordan?"
She shook her head, "Fine. Boys, this is a friend of mine," Harry's eyes darkened briefly. "Harry Potter. I met him when I was working in England. Harry, these are my sister's sons, Chris and Tyler."
They all shook hands as Carol returned with the tea. "Hi, boys!"
"Hi, Gram. We saw Jordan had company so we thought we'd say hi."
Tyler, with his dark complexion and dark eyes looked at Harry, "Hey, do you play Xbox?"
"Erm—no, I don't have one." Harry knew all too well what an Xbox was, having watched his cousin Dudley destroy at least five.
"We've got a couple of new games if you're up to playing."
Harry looked at Jordan. He couldn't really take off to go play video games after just revealing to her that Voldemort would probably be coming to kill her family, but she nodded, urging him to go.
"That's fine. I need to talk to Mom anyway."
Harry picked up his tea, gave Jordan a kiss on the forehead and followed her nephews upstairs. Jordan waited for what she knew was coming in the silence that now permeated the backyard.
"Jordan, he's very young…"
"Mom, he's 21…" She winced at the lie. "Look, I need to talk to you. Can we go inside?"
How would she say what she had to say? How could she describe something as fantastical as what had happened to her over the past weeks with any sort of validity?
"Sure."
Once they reached her mother's powder blue living room, Jordan walked to the bay window. She squinted into the blackness and swore she saw two cloaked figures standing on the corner of the street. Quickly yanking the shade down, she turned toward her mother.
"Jordan! My shades!"
"Sorry…"
"What's wrong? Why has seeing this boy shaken you up?"
"He's not a boy." Why she said that, she had no idea.
"Still, it's obvious he likes you…have you two...?"
"Mother! No!" Why did everyone keep asking that? "We met under unusual circumstances."
"Oh?"
"Mom, sit down."
Carol obeyed, her scowl giving way to worry. "Okay…"
"I met him when in a park near my house, that's all. He's very mature for his age. I felt bad. He was being treated horribly at home. We just started hanging out together. We're not dating—and nothing has happened!"
She wanted to laugh when she said it, but was afraid the laugh would border on insanity. Nothing had happened yet so much had happened. Age really seemed meaningless. Part of her wanted to run upstairs and play video games too. But she had more to say.
"Mom, you remember Aunt Rosalina Ravenclaw?"
"Yes…"
By the time Harry came back downstairs, Carol Taylor was speechless. He knew immediately what Jordan had done.
"How was your video game?" Jordan asked, lightly.
"Fine," he answered absent-mindedly as he rounded the corner from the hallway into the living room. "The characters were all wizards. What were you two talking about?"
"Nothing…"
"Jordan!"
"She has a right to know!"
"No, she doesn't." He took out his wand and as Carol's eyes grew wide, he pointed at her. With a swish, she was frozen like a statue on her sofa.
"Harry!" Jordan hissed. "How dare you hex my mother! As a matter of fact, how dare you even come here! Or come into my life!" She longed to throw an Impedimenta spell his way.
Instead, Harry roughly grabbed Jordan by the arm and moved her into the hallway. "Now you've probably assured us a visit from Voldemort!"
"She has the right to know that her daughter may not be—will not be--coming back!"
"Andwhat do you think sheis going to do with that information?"
"I don't know. What do Hermione's parents do? They're Muggles!"
"They aren't faced with this truth. And we need to keep it to ourselves until we can sort it out. A little memory modification should take care of it." He took out his wand again, not exactly sure if this was in his realm of expertise.
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry stamped his foot in frustration as his wand flew out of his hand. "Jordan, we will just modify her memory so she doesn't remember your last conversation. Then we'll go."
"I don't want you to do anything to my mother but unfreeze her, do you understand me?"
Harry looked at her desperate face—those beautiful eyes, the alabaster skin, the long auburn hair—and knew he wouldn't be able to refuse her. Besides, if Hermione's plan didn't work out, and he wasn't entirely sure it would, he would have to kill her. This was the least he could do.
"Alright, alright. Accio Wand!" Harry aimed it at Jordan's mother and reversed the spell.
As if nothing had happened, Carol finished letting Jordan's words sink in. "I know I shouldn't believe this, but why would you lie?"
"I'm not lying, Mom. Somewhere deep down you knew about the Ravenclaws, didn't you?" Jordan asked, sitting next to her mother and taking her hands.
She nodded, "Yes, but no one I ever ran into could do—magic. And of course, this thing that man gave you—the hor…"
"Horcrux." Harry finished.
"Of course that would be special—I mean, make you special."
"Unfortunately," Jordan said.
Harry sat across from them. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Taylor."
Jordan shot him a look as if to say "don't talk about that" so he backtracked. "It must be difficult for you to hear this."
"It's certainly not your fault, dear. If you hadn't helped Jordan, she might never have known."
So she hasn't told her mother I may have to take her life, just that her life might be taken, Harry thought. "Mrs. Taylor, Jordan and I have to leave tomorrow. We need to take care of this—and to do that we need to go back to Hog—um, England."
"Leave?" Carol stood. "But won't you be safer here? Away from that terrible man?"
"If we stay, he will come after us here and endanger the rest of your family."
"We can't let that happen, Mom."
"No, no, of course not."
Jordan felt the tears falling—big, silent tears—and she didn't wipe them away. "Once we take care of this, I'll be back. We'll be back. It will be alright." Jordan spoke as if she was outside of herself and she was surprised her mother didn't cry.
Instead, Carol Taylor held her daughter. "I believe in you," was all she said.
The next morning, in the hallway, after goodbyes only Jordan's mother could truly understand, Harry took Jordan in his arms and disapparated. They stood alone in the Gryffindor Common Room—its cozy chars and red and gold decorations forming a familiar home base for them. Harry didn't release Jordan and she didn't try to move away. She way crying again and he knew it. It was his duty to hold her, keep her safe as long as his power would let him.
"Are you sure you're only 17?" she asked, after awhile.
"Well, I heard I'd just reached 21—at least."