Caedmon extended an invitation to Ron and Hermione to stay until September 1st. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that it was to make sure he wasn't lonely or spent too much time brooding, but he was glad of the company, so he didn't say anything. He and his friends spent the days together, walking around outside, talking, playing games, and just keeping one another company. Ron and Hermione's school things would be sent ahead, so they didn't have to worry about packing. Harry was the only one who had to pack, but he wasn't worried about getting all of his stuff to school. No, he was worried about something else entirely.

Harry wondered what he was going to do. The school year was drawing closer and he still had no idea what was going to happen when he got back to Hogwarts. It was as if someone had picked up the world, turned it upside down, and turned it right side up again, leaving everything to flutter down in a new way. It reminded Harry of a snow globe, and he was feeling distinctly fluttery himself.

A welcome visit from Lupin and Tonks came two days before they were due to head back to Hogwarts. They came and stayed a few hours, saying that they would have loved to stay longer, but that they had something to do and had only stopped by to see how Harry, Ron, and Hermione were.

Caedmon noticed that Harry seemed distinctly depressed. He didn't know if it was a case of "end of summer" blues or if Harry were truly dreading heading back to school. He began to wonder if he should talk to the boy about it, but in the end, he didn't have to. His grandmother did it for him.

It was August 31st, and Harry was packing the very last of his things into his trunk. He hadn't bothered undressing since he felt he couldn't get himself to lie down and go to sleep. He was too keyed up to even think about sleeping, so he tried to keep himself busy. After packing and re-packing his trunk, he was starting to feel as if he were going to start screaming in a minute.

"You are worried," a quiet voice said, startling him.

Spinning around, he saw Caedmon's grandmother, seated on the edge of his bed.

"How did you know that, Cara?" he asked, surprised.

She smiled at his use of the name she'd given him. She'd had a feeling that he'd remember it. "I would have to be dead not to notice it, child," she said, patting the bed in an invitation for him to sit down next to her. "Also, I have never seen anyone pack a trunk several times in a row before. What is it that has you so worried?"

Sitting down beside her, Harry poured out his troubles to her: Voldemort, being The Boy Who Lived, and his uncle. She knew that he wasn't terribly worried about the first three things and that he had only listed them to cover up what he was really worried about. No, he was worried almost to death about an uncle he had never seen and was going to meet the next day.

Remembering how mortals were, she had to take a diplomatic approach with him: He wouldn't like to know that she had seen through his ploy to downplay his troubles, so she addressed the first problems first.

"I know about the man who calls himself 'Voldemort,'" she said, sounding scornful. "You may not believe me when I say this, but he is nothing to worry about."

Harry looked at her as if she were daft. "You do realize that the whole wizarding world is scared to death of him, don't you?"

"I understand their fear," she said, nodding slowly. "But I also understand that Voldemort is more afraid than they are. He is afraid that someone will become a light to combat his darkness. That is why he is so afraid of you."

Harry stared at her, not able to believe what he had heard. "Voldemort is afraid of me? How on earth do you know that?"

She smiled. "He is a man full of fear. He is a man, only that, and he is afraid. He strikes before others can strike at him, and he strikes only in fear. Why do you think he tried to kill you when you were only a baby? He was afraid of what you might become."

That makes sense, Harry thought. That makes an awful lot of sense.

"As for your problem of being 'The Boy Who Lived,'" she said, taking his hands in hers and rubbing them to warm them. "You are special. You lived when no one thought you would. You lived through something that everyone felt would be impossible to live through. Such a feat, and the fact that you were only a baby at the time, makes people believe you are special. Just because people believe you are special, they are bound to treat you so. But do you believe you are special? Do you want to be a great legend, or simply a young man?"

"I want people to stop treating me as if I were made of glass," Harry told her. "I want people to stop staring at me when they recognize me. I just want to be seen as Harry, rather than 'The Boy Who Lived.' Ron and Hermione don't treat me as special, and neither do the teachers at school or the Weasleys. They treat me as if I'm a normal person, and that's what I would like out of everybody."

"Then it sounds as if you have made your choice," she pointed out. "You wish to be a young man and not a legend. You wish to be mortal before you are immortal. That is a good choice to make. It is your decision what you will be that makes you what you are. Always remember that, and no one shall be able to tell you who or what you are."

Harry nodded, putting the words in his memory.

"Now, about your uncle," she said, giving his hands a pat. "You have never met him, and you are nervous about doing so. Also, you feel angry with him since he never came to save you from the Dursleys, am I right?"

"How did you…" Harry began, but he stopped. He had to learn to stop being surprised by her.

"What you feel is natural," she said. "It is the way of feelings to feel hurt. You thought you had no other family to save you from the relatives you had, so when you learn that you had someone all along, you do not know how to feel. You want to feel happy, but you cannot since you also feel angry at what was his unintentional failure to help you. It doesn't matter if he couldn't help not knowing what had happened to you, it is still natural for you to feel hurt."

Harry felt his eyes burning, and he prayed that he wouldn't cry. What she said made so much sense. . .

"Are you tired?" she asked, looking closely at his eyes.

"I don't think so," he said quietly. "I don't feel like I want to go to sleep or anything. Right now, I just feel sort of numb."

"That is only to be expected after a great deal of emotion," she explained. "How would you like to come with me? I am going to the Court tonight. Perhaps it will relax you."

"Court?"

"It is not a legal proceeding, I assure you," she said, smiling. "Will you come?"

Smiling back at her, he nodded.

Once he had nodded, she rose, still holding onto his hands, bringing him to his feet. She led him through the house by one hand, the way one would lead a child, and like an obedient child, he followed.

They reached the garden outside, and she led him to the back wall, where in one corner grew a thorn bush. Reaching out to the thorn bush, she closed her hand on a branch, but none of the thorns pierced her skin.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked. "And why?"

Her only answer was a smile as the thorn bush seemed to evaporate, leaving in its place a door. Opening it, she led Harry inside to the place beyond.

At first, all Harry could see was fog, but slowly, very slowly, he could see shapes in the mist. They were shapes of people, and he could hear whispering. Also, there was faint music, growing louder by the second. Drums, pipes, harps, and fiddles. As the mist cleared away, Harry saw that they were in a hall made out of trees, with the ceiling above and the floor below comprised of leaves. Branches grew out from the trunks, forming seats, couches, and tables. Every table had something to eat or drink on it, and there were couples crowding the floor, dancing with such wild abandon that Harry wondered how they stayed on their feet. Now the whispering was talking and laughing, and Harry saw that all of the people in the hall resembled Cara.

"Where are we?" he asked, too surprised to wonder just how this place had been built into the wall.

"This is where we hold Court," she said, patting his shoulder, as if to tell him that everything were all right. "Many of these people you see here are Sidhe, like me."

"Oh," Harry said, looking about. "How did you make the floors?"

"They grew that way," she said, leading him to a couch. "Now, listen, for I have something to say that you must listen to. Do not eat or drink anything unless I give it to you. Someone may try to trick you, saying that I had asked them to bring you something, but don't believe them. If you ate or drank something that was not safe, you would not be able to return to the mortal world."

Harry nodded, wondering why. Food was food, wasn't it?

"Also," she continued, "Do not leave this room with anyone. I cannot keep you safe outside of this room. Do you understand?"

Again Harry nodded.

She smiled, relieved to see that he understood. "Well, then, Mr. Potter, would you care to dance?"

Harry had once told Professor McGonagall that he didn't dance, but that was before he'd met Cara. It didn't matter that she was Caedmon's grandmother, and it didn't matter that she was probably centuries older than he was; it only mattered that she was happy just to dance with him. They danced together, and then she introduced him to other girls who needed a partner or wanted to meet him. None of them seemed to realize that he was the Harry Potter, and he couldn't have been happier.

After his sixth or seventh dance, Harry was sweaty and exhausted. No one seemed to mind that he sought out a bench and sat down, and Cara, seeing he was sitting, brought him something to drink.

"How do you feel?" she asked, sitting down next to him. She brought out a towel from nowhere that he could use to wipe up with.

"Tired, but happy," he said after thinking about it for a moment. "This place is fun. Do you do this every night?"

"Not every night, but most nights," she said, refilling his glass when she noticed it was empty. She was looking out over the crowd, and her smile faded. "Oh, no."

"What's the matter?"

"Caedmon's brother is here," Cara muttered, looking ready to murder someone. "Now, how did he get in here? He always tries to ruin the party, honestly!"

Excusing herself, she swept off into the crowd after him, determined to catch him before he inflicted too much damage.

Two young men came over, looking very curious. "You're the mortal boy that Cara brought with her tonight, aren't you?" the taller one asked.

Harry nodded, not sure what to say.

"I'm Andros, and this is my brother, Errill," he said as they took seats on the couch as well. "Could we talk?"

Harry nodded and they sat down with him, asking him all sorts of questions. Harry was kept at a run with answers, for it seemed that the two brothers wanted to know everything about him. His throat was getting very dry by the time they asked him about Hogwarts, and Harry cast Andros a thankful look as he refilled his glass with what looked like ice water.

"I wouldn't," Ahearn said, appearing out of nowhere, resplendent in black silk and velvet. "Or did you forget Cara's warning not to eat or drink anything unless she gave it to you?"

Horrified, Harry sat his glass down on a handy table and looked at the two brothers for an explanation. Not surprisingly, they were no longer there.

"They are the two biggest troublemakers of the Sidhe," Ahearn said, draping himself over the couch next to Harry. "They would have thought it hilarious for you to be trapped here forever."

"Ah, thank you," Harry said, feeling rather embarrassed. How could he have forgotten so easily?

"Don't worry about it," Ahearn told him, stretching and giving a sigh. "I'm only doing my duty to my beloved little brother."

Harry was confused. "I thought you two hated each other."

Ahearn shook his head. "We may argue, we may disagree, and we may annoy one another past all patience and reason, but we are still brothers. I owed it to him to watch after his ward, that's all."

Cara appeared, furious at Ahearn, but Harry promptly explained how Ahearn had helped him. Cara thanked him, and he bowed, and after that, Cara took him back to the house and helped him get ready for bed.

Harry didn't mind that he was in his teens and having someone help him dress for bed. He was exhausted, far too exhausted to manage on his own. The last thing he remembered was Cara whispering to him, telling him to sleep and wake in the morning rested.

Harry's eyes closed obediently, and he slept, dreaming of people speaking to him and granting him power.