Chapter 6
Normal I Am Definitely Not
On July 31st, Harry celebrated his birthday by awaking at 6:30 am, quietly dressing and slipping out of the dim bedroom without disturbing his friend. Thinking that all the Weasleys were sleeping, he softly descended the stairs, only to find Molly Weasley wide awake in the kitchen. Upon seeing her pseudo-son, she smiled lovingly and hugged him while wishing him a happy birthday.
"Remus should be arriving soon," she noted, "Have a little breakfast before you leave." Harry's appetite had been healthy since leaving Little Whinging, and he happily accepted the offer. Promptly at 7:00 am, as previously agreed, Harry walked out the kitchen door to meet Remus on the dirt drive to the side of the Burrow. He only took a few steps when he heard the crack of the werewolf's arrival. After more birthday greetings, Remus grabbed Harry's shoulder, and they apparated to Godric's Hollow.
Remus had not been lying; not much remained of Harry's first home. In fact, other than a few blocks of stone scattered about the patchy grass, no evidence survived that a family ever lived on the site.
"This is it?" Harry asked, not able to disguise his disappointment.
"This is it," Remus confirmed, "Maybe someday I'll put a memory into a pensieve for you, but I don't think that may be the best idea yet. The front of the house was over here." The friend of James and Lily Potter pointed some twenty yards to his right, and the pair stepped on the gravel, their feet crunching. "To the right was the kitchen. Your mother always loved it, because it pointed west, and she could enjoy the beautiful sunsets over those hills." Remus turned in that direction, his eyes filled with nostalgia.
Harry turned to look where the older man pointed, and in fact he saw in the early morning light the outline of the low hills. Wildflowers of yellows and reds covered them, but Harry could barely see them so early in the day. The house had been located in a shallow valley, bordered by hills here and there, with wide openings among them. No other dwellings could be seen nearby, though off to the north, Harry could just see the outlines of a small village.
"Last time I saw the house standing was about a week before it happened," Remus mused as he turned back towards the remnants of the foundation. "I hadn't been here all that often. It wasn't an easy time, and we were all traveling around a lot. Sirius and I came over for dinner, Peter too." He scowled at these last words, knowing that merely a week later, Peter Pettigrew betrayed James and Lily to their deaths, and Harry to the hell that had been his life.
Harry paid little attention to Remus' moods, as he walked though the area where the front door must have been sixteen years earlier. Secretly he had hoped that he might recognize something about this place, a forgotten memory, a flash of his mother holding his hand while he staggered through a flower-strewn garden. But he remembered nothing. No special feeling, no deja vu, nothing. Despite himself, his heart sank in disappointment.
After kicking through the coarse dirt and grass, Remus quietly walking behind at a suitable distance, Harry asked without turning around, "What happened after they were killed? To the house, I mean."
"It was on fire when Sirius and Dumbledore arrived. Dumbledore put it out, but it was beyond repair. It was left in ruins for a year or two, but death eaters and other Voldemort supporters almost made this a shrine to him. They would come here and leave notes and offerings to him, and they did things to the graves. When Dumbledore was informed of this, he fell into a rage as I have rarely seen. From what I understand, he came here immediately and removed the remnants of the house, and then placed some spells or wards on this area. I have no idea what he did, but it stopped the problem."
"They desecrated my parents' graves?" Harry asked quietly, anger surging though his veins.
"Yes."
"Where are they?"
Remus said nothing but walked to the south, leaving the foundation of the house and continuing on a couple hundred yards to the top of a small rise. There before Harry appeared two simple graves, now covered by a thin carpet of grass. The gravestones, however, were free of weeds, probably Dumbledore's doing. In whatever manner the sites had been desecrated in the past, Dumbledore fixed it, and the graves were almost beautiful now, overlooking Godric's Hollow in all directions. Harry stood before the graves stone-faced, saying nothing. Remus decided to leave the boy to his thoughts and turned back towards the ruins of the house. Harry heard the footsteps crunch on the pebbles.
His mind went blank, unable to express thought. He merely gazed expressionlessly at the two graves, allowing the realization to set in that the remains of their bodies lay below his feet. Finally, he looked up at the hills and the valley around him, and he recognized the beauty of his first home. Not a spectacular beauty, but a comfortable beauty. A beauty you can live in.
"It must have been nice," he muttered to himself.
Dumbledore's letter instructed Harry to lay his hands on the graves. Frankly he felt foolish, but he knew that the old man had his reasons. Slowly he bent a knee to the grass, and then the other, resting himself on his ankles. Simultaneously, he placed his right hand on his mother's grave and the left on his father's. He felt nervous. As his hands touched the grass, he almost recoiled, expecting a shock or pain of some sort. Instead, he felt a warm sensation, quite pleasant. In fact, as he pressed his palms flush to the ground, a wonderful tingling infused his body, almost like stepping into a tub of water just the right temperature. He allowed himself to relax, and the tingling became a warm buzz throughout his body, a most wonderful sensation.
The minutes passed, and he did not move, thoroughly enjoying himself. His mind began functioning again, and he pondered for some time this sensation. It felt familiar somehow. Finally it dawned on him. Felix Felicis - the good-luck potion. The sensation running though his muscles and bones did not feel exactly like that, but similar. As he continued to kneel there, he felt that all things were possible, defeating Voldemort actually was within the realm of possibility. I am a man, now, he thought, and he felt powerful, more powerful than ever before.
Remus had rested on one of the remaining stones of the house's foundation, gazing up at his friends' only child. Harry meditated up there for a good half an hour, virtually motionless. Debating whether he should go up to the graves, he decided against it. This was something between Harry and his parents. Finally Harry ambled back towards the older man, a look of contentment on his face.
"All right, Harry?"
"Just fine, Remus. I'm glad I came." Harry gazed one last time at the site of the house and its environs. "Let's go."
The days following the conversation with Ginny and the visit to Godric's Hollow passed pleasantly enough. Hermione arrived the afternoon of his birthday, instead of the previous evening as originally planned, and Harry could not help but enjoy the company of the three people who meant most to him in the world. As soon as a thought would emerge that this may be the last time the four of them could be together like this, he repressed it. Ginny and he seemed to come to an understanding, and they carefully avoided being alone with each other. They dared not tempt fate. Moreover, the aftereffects of communing with his parents' graves had improved his mood noticeably. Yet when asked about it, he merely stated that he visited the graves. What happened was between him and his parents, and he felt no need to tell anyone about it.
Harry's seventeenth birthday was suitably celebrated, with cake, singing, gifts and much laughter. Though he remained anxious to have a strategy meeting, as he had come to call it, with Ron and Hermione, they all agreed that this should wait until after the celebrations had concluded. Hermione planned to stay another two days after the wedding and then return to her home one last time before traveling to Hogwarts. So far she had told no one of her intention not to return to school.
The day after his birthday, Harry had made arrangements with Mr. Weasley to obtain his apparation license at the Ministry. This worried Harry, as he had not been afforded an opportunity to practice since he side-along apparated Dumbledore from Voldemort's cave more than a month earlier. Fortunately Mr. Weasley told him that he could practice apparating around the Burrow, as the Ministry did not bother monitoring such minor incidents. Thus Harry spent much of his birthday disappearing and reappearing all around the Burrow, and by the end of the day, he felt quite confident that he would pass the test. This in fact proved true, as Harry easily completed all elements required to obtain his license.
The visit to the Ministry did have one revealing aspect to it. Harry was reminded of his celebrity in the magical world; virtually everyone recognized him. While most wizards and witches respected his privacy, many, especially many young witches, squealed and giggled upon seeing him. While Harry was slowly becoming accustomed to his fame, he realized that his notoriety could be a hazard when he started horcrux hunting in earnest. How was he to get anywhere if he would be hounded by adolescent witches wherever he traveled?
Bill and Fleur's wedding fascinated Harry, who had never attended a wedding of any kind before, muggle or magical. From what he knew of muggle weddings, this one seemed similar - vows, rings, music, flowers. Ginny was extremely beautiful as one of Fleur's bridesmaids, and Harry tried to avoid looking at her. Of course this became difficult when the dancing started, but despite a bit of discomfort, Harry had a wonderful time dancing with Ginny, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Fleur, the flirtatious girlfriends of Fred and George, and Fleur's sister. This is how life should be! This is what Harry had to fight for.
Now the time had come. Everything Harry had been waiting for had passed - leaving the Dursleys, securing Grimmauld Place, his birthday and the wedding. Now he had to decide upon a plan of action and get started. Ron, Hermione and Harry met in Ron's bedroom. Ginny probably knew they were there, but she knew not to crash the meeting. Harry, freed from the restrictions against underage magic, placed a silencing charm on the room so as not to be overheard, and the discussions began.
Harry told them all that he knew. Soon they focused on the first task at hand, determining whether the museum artifact was in fact Hufflepuff's cup and a horcrux. Hermione knew a bit about the museum, as her school class had taken a field trip there as a young girl, but she had no detailed knowledge. The museum was open to the public, however, so the obvious course of action was to visit the site, just as hundreds did every day.
"What I don't understand, Harry, is how we can destroy the horcrux if we find it. Tell us again what Dumbledore did?" asked Ron exhaustedly. They had been at it for hours, and he was tired and hungry.
"He just put it on," replied Harry, who was not feeling the least bit tired, "then he said he used "pure magical power.'"
"But what it that?" pondered Ron, "and how do we know if we have enough of it?"
Often times Hermione would jump in to answer questions such as these, but this time she also turned towards Harry inquisitively.
"I have it," responded Harry simply, "I have enough of it." He thought back to sitting between the graves of his parents.
Ron and Hermione quietly gasped at this out-of-character statement by Harry. Their friend was not a braggart; in fact, he tended towards excessively humility. To hear him state matter-of-factly that he had enough magical power to destroy a horcrux created by a supremely powerful dark lord astonished them.
"Not that I doubt you, Harry, but how do you know?" asked Hermione carefully, not wanting to provoke Harry.
"I know because I did it. I have destroyed a horcrux - Riddle's diary," Harry explained, "I didn't understand it at the time, but when I stabbed it, I didn't destroy it with the basilisk's fang, I destroyed it from inside of me. I wanted it destroyed, and I made it happen. That is magical power, Ron. I had it then, and I have more of it now."
Hermione was processing this information and compared the destruction of the diary with the destruction of Slytherin's ring.
"But Harry, why did the horcrux injure Dumbledore's arm but the diary didn't do anything to you?"
"I've thought about that a lot, and I have a theory. Of course I could be wrong, but it comes down to one of two or three possibilities." Harry stood up to pace slowly across the room, dodging Ron's knees as he walked by. "Either I am more powerful than Dumbledore, or there is something in me that protects me from the horcrux. I tend to think the latter is more likely than the former. The other possibility is that the horcruxes themselves were somehow different."
Ron's lips gradually formed a smile as he absorbed this information.
"That's wicked, Harry!" he exclaimed. Harry, however, did not smile. Hermione understood what Harry was truly saying, and her face lined in worry.
Carefully choosing her words, she said, "So what you mean is that maybe the horcrux can't harm you because of your scar, because of what happened when you were a baby."
For years Harry had known of his special connection with Voldemort caused by the reflected killing curse some fifteen years earlier. Dumbledore and he had discussed it on several occasions, but recently a further possibility had occurred to him. In fact, Harry considered it a probability. This was important. Ron and Hermione needed to know what they were getting into.
Pulling up a chair, Harry motioned Ron and Hermione to move closer, as if he was worried that someone might overhear (despite the silencing charm). His friends sat expectantly, but Harry found it hard to put into words the ideas he had been thinking for more than a week.
Finally he mouthed the frightening words, "I am Lord Voldemort. He is inside of me. I am Lord Voldemort and I am Harry Potter." Harry's voice was little more than a whisper. He pointed to his forehead and continued, "This scar didn't just give me some of his powers, the ability to speak Parseltongue, a connection with him. No, there is something more than that, I know it now. I can feel it." The next words were especially hard to utter, "I think it's a piece of his soul."
Ron's mouth fell open. Hermione's mouth stayed tightly closed, however, and her mind furiously processed this information.
She reached out for Harry's hand and trembling asked the obvious question, "You think you are a horcrux?"
"No, I am not a horcrux, at least not a true horcrux," opined Harry, relieved that at least one of his friends could discuss this with him. This had weighed on Harry for days now, and the more he thought about it, the more he became sure he was correct. He could feel it. "There is a specific procedure you must follow exactly to create a true horcrux, and Voldemort never had the chance to do that. But something happened. Voldemort had just committed two murders, so the necessary circumstances were in place to create a horcrux, and he may have intended to create one, which is also a necessary element. When the avada kedavra backfired, I think a piece of Voldemort's soul entered mine. That may be why Riddle's diary did not harm me, though I'm not sure about that."
Harry gazed nervously at his best friends, wondering if this shocking information would create a wedge between them, whether they would no longer trust him. Hermione, as she so often did, seemed to read his mind. She stood, grabbed Harry's hand and helped him stand as well.
"Listen to me, Harry Potter, I believe in you. If Voldemort has a piece of his soul in you, well that's too bad for him, isn't it. You've had it inside of you your entire life, and I don't know a single person with more good inside of him. I'm not afraid of you," she exclaimed, and as if to prove it embraced Harry in a Mrs. Weasley style hug, "and I never will be. We'll deal with this like we have everything else." Ron approached Harry and Hermione too, and they welcomed him into their embrace.
"That's right," he added, "I know you better than anyone, and I know if anyone is not evil, it's you. I've seen you have fun, act silly, goof off in the dorm room. You're normal, Harry, a normal person."
Normal I am definitely not! thought Harry to himself, but he so deeply appreciated the support of his best friends, he could not say anything.
"So," said Hermione in her business-like voice, "what are we going to do about the museum?"
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Ron and Harry took the floo to the home of Jeremiah and Elizabeth Wright, a magical couple that lived not far from the home of Hermione's parents. When Hermione had to leave the Burrow to return home, she pleaded with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to allow Ron and Harry to visit her at her home, as her two friends had never properly met her parents, and she wanted to show them around. Mr. Weasley enthusiastically supported the idea, and it was all he could do to refrain from asking to come along. His wife, however, was a worrywart by nature, and it took a good deal of persuasion before she relented.
Hermione told her parents that Ron and Harry were coming over because they wanted her to take them to a real muggle museum. She related the sad story of Harry's childhood, which needed no embellishment given the horrid treatment he received at the hands of his aunt and uncle. Of course, Ron was a pure-blood wizard, she explained, and had virtually no contact with the muggle world. This would be a great experience for both of them, and Hermione acted the part of a giggly teenage girl admirably. Her mother clearly thought that Hermione liked one of the boys, and Hermione did nothing to dissuade that notion.
Her two friends were unable to apparate as they had never been anywhere close to Hermione's home and could not picture anyplace to arrive. Mr. Weasley found that the closest wizarding family to Hermione was the Wrights, and he contacted them. They gladly allowed use of their floo, especially when Mr. Weasley threw out the name Harry Potter. The Wrights were an elderly couple, more or less in their seventies by muggle reckoning, though Harry knew that they could be twice that age in the magical world. They effusively greeted Harry and Ron and insisted that they sit down for a cup of tea while they waited for Hermione and her mother to drive by for them.
Harry instantly took a liking to the elderly couple, who had a sharp sense of humor, and did not mind poking fun at him. They even joked about his scar, which Harry thought was wonderful. Yes they were pleased as punched to meet a "celebrity," but Harry appreciated being treated as a normal teenage boy should be treated by an older couple, and the two boys genuinely enjoyed themselves. After half an hour passed, the sound of wheels on the gravel drive could be heard, and soon they heard a knock on the door. Though only a couple of days had passed since she left the Burrow, Hermione squeezed the stuffing out of each of the boys, who were slightly embarrassed at the public show of affection. Embarrassed but not displeased.
As the Wrights' home was closer to the museum than the Granger residence, Mrs. Granger took the three friends directly to their destination. Allowing them four hours to roam the halls, Mrs. Granger left them, and finally the three could stop acting, though in reality the act had not been difficult and was rather enjoyable. They shared a good laugh.
Harry was the first to come to the business at hand, asking Hermione, "Were you able to find out anything on the internet?"
"A little bit," replied Hermione, "I'll tell you inside." They paid the small admission fee and soon found a bench. Taking proper precautions, Harry and Ron stood close to Hermione to shield her from view while she gracefully waved her wand to the incantation of "Muffliato." She no longer bothered harping on the Half Blood Prince, and at the least seemed to acknowledge the usefulness of that spell.
They sat on a bench in one of the side halls of the museum. This would not be considered an especially impressive museum, not world renown, not home to any world class traveling exhibitions, and without any particular theme. One hall contained a hodgepodge of paintings, sculptures and other artwork, while another dealt with natural history - bones, fossils and the like. Ron was quite fascinated by it all and wished that he could pay more attention, but the three were excited and focused as they began the first of what promised to be many adventures.
"Well, the best way to put it is that the cup is a minor artifact in a minor museum. There was very little I could find about it." Hermione stated matter-of-factly. All I could find on the museum's website was a listing of all of the items here, but only the more important ones are pictured and described. I'm hoping that there will be some explanation of the cup in here, especially since it had a little notoriety according to Dumbledore."
The three friends roamed the halls of the museum trying to blend in, but they frantically tried to locate the cup as quickly as possible to allow them time to study it. At first they had no luck, but turning a corner from a room of medieval armor, which reminded them all of Hogwarts, Harry felt a tingling in his scar. He skidded to a stop. The last time he had felt anything in his scar was Voldemort's aborted possession of Harry at the Ministry atrium. Could Voldemort be at the museum? Harry quickly rejected that thought, as his scar would not just be tingling in that event. It had to be the effect of the horcrux.
"I think it's in here mates," said Harry, trying not to show the nerves he felt inside, "I can feel something in my scar." The three entered an alcove of sundry medieval artifacts - weapons, chain mail, clothing.
Suddenly Ron hissed, "I found it." Harry and Hermione lost all sense of propriety and rushed over to Ron's side. Harry's scar tingled more intensely, almost to the point of being painful. This had to be a horcrux; why else would his scar be affected?
The cup itself certainly was nothing to write home about, and Harry was surprised that Tom Riddle would have used such a nondescript item as a horcrux. But of course, it belonged to Hufflepuff, one of Hogwart's founders. The cup was set back away from where they stood, in a locked cabinet which stood some six feet behind a thick red cord keeping the crowds at a distance.
"Just like Dumbledore wrote. It was set back from the public because some people felt sick just walking by it," Harry whispered excitedly. He remembered the need for security, however, and again whispered, "Look, we need to do the spell in case anyone comes in."
No complaints came from Hermione this time, and hiding behind the larger boys, she once again performed the Muffliato spell to ensure that they would not be overheard.
"It's definitely Hufflepuff's cup, Harry, you can just see the etched badger on the left side of it. Look." She pointed at a short paragraph posted next to the cup in large bold type so that it could be read at a distance. The three silently read the description of the artifact.
MEDIEVAL SILVER CUP
LITTLE IS KNOWN ABOUT THIS UNUSUAL CUP WHICH IS QUITE DISTINCT FROM OTHER CUPS OF THE SAME ERA, APPROXIMATELY 1,000 YEARS AGO. THE DEPICTION OF A BADGER IS BELIEVED TO BE UNIQUE IN MEDIEVAL ARTIFACTS. THIS CUP HAS A LEGEND TO IT, AS IT IS SAID THAT IT BRINGS PAIN TO ANYONE WHO TOUCHES IT, AND SOME PEOPLE COMPLAINED IN THE PAST OF HEADACHES AND NAUSEA WHEN NEAR TO THE CUP. BRIEF STUDIES IN FACT CONFIRMED THE COMPLAINTS OF SICKNESS, BUT NO CAUSE COULD BE DETERMINED. SCIENTISTS SUSPECT THAT THE CUP MAY CONTAIN HAZARDOUS CHEMICALS WHICH AFFECT CERTAIN SENSITIVE PEOPLE ADVERSELY. SINCE REMOVED FROM CLOSE CONTACT WITH OUR PATRONS, NO FURTHER COMPLAINTS HAVE BEEN RECEIVED. THE ORIGINS OF THE CUP REMAIN A MYSTERY.
"I don't believe it," Harry exclaimed smiling, "we really found a horcrux."
Hermione maintained her business mode, however, and replied, "Yes we have. Now lets look at this room carefully. I can see no reason why we can't apparate directly into this room after the museum is closed. There shouldn't be any anti-apparation wards here."
They studied the room and committed it to memory, then stared at the horcrux intently.
"There will probably be some protections around it, although how it got to a muggle museum is beyond me," Harry wondered. "Dumbledore always said that Voldemort underestimates muggles, and maybe whatever protections he put around it only affected wizards and witches, not muggles."
"That's very possible, as there are certain diseases that wizards can catch which have no effect on muggles, Wizard's Pox, for example. Anyway, it does not seem to have any terrible effect on muggles. They feel pain if they touch it and some people felt sick when near it, but nobody died or was seriously injured," Hermione commented while examining the cup as closely as she could from the distance. All three of them wanted to jump the cord, open the cabinet, grab the cup and get out of there, but they knew this would be folly.
"Let's go outside and decide what we're going to do," suggested Hermione.
Harry bought them all drinks, and they sat outside at a table in the small café attached to the museum. Again, Hermione discreetly said "Muffliato," and the few people in their vicinity seemed not to notice their presence. Nevertheless, they spoke softly.
"How should we take it?" asked Ron, "It shouldn't be too hard. Just apparate in, now that we've seen the room, take the cup, and apparate right back out again. We can do the whole thing in about two minutes."
"No," said Harry, "We can't take it. We want the cup to remain here. I'm positive that Voldemort knows that it is here. He probably thinks it's well hidden, that no wizard or witch will ever find it. I mean, it's just referred to as a medieval cup, no mention of Hufflepuff or anything like that. If we didn't know what we were looking for, we never would have given that cup a second look." Harry paused for a second to get back on track. "The point is, we don't want Voldemort to know that the horcrux is destroyed. I need to do whatever I need to do and then we put it back exactly like it was before."
"Harry's right," agreed Hermione, "but Ron is also right that we should be able to apparate right in. We need to make a plan."
The three conspirators detailed the plan over the next half hour, and each of them recited it back to the others. Tonight they would act.