Chapter 15
Just as Deep the Other Way
A funny thing happened to Harry during his first week of classes. So absorbed in the news of Amelda Barlow and how best to meet with her, he hardly paid attention at all to classes and studies. Yet he performed better than ever, casting new spells and charms with little or no difficulty.
Ron mildly resented Harry's new-found talent, which unlike his tainted achievements the previous year in Potions (due to the Half Blood Prince's notes), appeared to be legitimate. In the past, Ron could take comfort in the fact that Harry was as mediocre a student as he. Hermione observed Harry's unusually excellent performance with less surprise and no resentment. Throughout Harry's six years at Hogwarts, Hermione knew that he possessed more raw magical gifts than she or anyone else in school. Conjuring a patronus as a third year convinced her, as nobody else in school even now could conjure a decent one. Harry's patronus from across the lake - well, that is the stuff of great wizards.
When his friends inquired about his sudden academic success, Harry merely shrugged his shoulders and returned to the matter at hand, Amelda Barlow. Dobby learned that Amelda's old house elf, Lefty, currently lived with Amelda's older brother in Wales. Lefty told Dobby that Amelda moved to Romania years before, but Lefty did not know where she lived or what she did there. She visited her brother in Wales on rare occasions, but the siblings did not have an especially close relationship.
The three friends immediately discussed how best to go about arranging a meeting with Ms. Barlow, and they decided first to contact Ron's brother, Charley, who lived in Romania. Unfortunately his return owl indicated that he knew nothing of an Amelda Barlow. They disagreed as to the best manner to go about plan two, contacting her brother in Wales.
"We can't just owl him from out of nowhere and ask, 'Where's your sister.' We need to talk to her," Ron argued reasonably to Harry's initial suggestion, "People are too nervous now days. He's going to think we're up to no good."
"Ron's right," Hermione nodded, half listening and half reviewing a Charms essay, "but we can't just show up on their doorstep either. They might hex us."
"But I am 'Harry Potter, The Chosen One' and all that rubbish," Harry argued, his barely-started essay forgotten by his side, "They're not going to throw us out. I'm sure they'd let us explain."
After two days of off-and-on deliberations, they agreed on a plan. Harry wrote a note to Ms. Barlow's brother, Richard Barlow, and sent it with Dobby. The house elf would meet Lefty, and who would present Dobby to Mr. Barlow, personally presenting the note and assuring him that Harry Potter needed to speak with him.
In the event Mr. Barlow did not believe that Harry Potter, of all people, wanted to speak to him, then Dobby could offer to take Lefty with him to Hogwarts to verify it. Mr. Barlow found this to be acceptable, and less than an hour after Dobby left, he returned with Lefty at his side to an unused classroom where Harry waited.
Quite large for a house elf, Lefty stood at least six inches taller than Dobby, and he appeared to be less excitable. Though a slave, the elf wore a clean, new uniform. Harry determined quickly that the Barlows treated Lefty well, and in fact he appeared to be fit and in good health.
"You must be Lefty," Harry greeted the elf, extending his hand in greeting. Lefty jumped slightly, shocked by this gesture, as almost certainly no wizard had ever offered to shake his hand before, and in fact as house elves did not shake hands among themselves, he probably had never shaken hands with anyone in his life.
Dobby immediately understood Lefty's confusion, and assured him, "Harry Potter is a great wizard. Harry Potter likes house elves, and does not think house elves are stupid. Lefty can shake the hand of Harry Potter."
With great solemnity, Lefty extended his right hand, which though large for a house elf still only measured half of the wizard's. Harry gently grasped it.
"I am extremely pleased to meet you, Lefty," Harry greeted him, and then let go of the elf's hand.
Lefty looked up at Harry and in a voice an octave below Dobby's replied, "Master tells Lefty, make sure Harry Potter wrote the note. Look at Harry Potter's scar, Master says."
Harry immediately pulled his twisted black hair to reveal his forehead, and the telltale zigzag scar became visible. Lefty recognized it immediately, for house elves knew of Harry Potter as well as wizards.
"I wrote the note to Mr. Barlow, Lefty, and I very much need to speak with him. It's with regard to his sister, Amelda Barlow. Please assure Mr. Barlow that so far as we know, Ms. Barlow is fine, but I need to be able to speak with her. It's very important."
Lefty nodded and answered, "Lefty will tell master." He took a step preparing to leave but could not before saying one last thing, "Dobby tells Lefty that Harry Potter is a great wizard. Harry Potter shakes Lefty's hand. Thank you Harry Potter."
"You're very welcome, Lefty, and I should be the one to thank you. Please take Dobby and return to Mr. Barlow." A realization came to Harry, he had never been to Wales, at least as an adult, and could not apparate there. He turned to Dobby and asked, "Dobby, if Mr. Barlow agrees to speak with me, can you apparate me to his house, because I can't without having seen it before."
"No Harry Potter, house elves apparate differently from wizards. House elf can take wizard along, but the wizard will die. Wizards are not able to take house elf, or house elf will die." Harry took this to mean that house elf magic was incompatible with wizard's magic.
"OK, Dobby, I understand. If it's OK with Mr. Barlow, we need to arrange for a place to meet. I would suggest The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade; we can arrange for a private room." He looked at his watch, 2:30 pm, "If it's OK with him, we could meet tonight or tomorrow night for dinner." Lefty and Dobby vanished with a pop, not inhibited by the antiapparation wards of Hogwarts.
After waiting another ten minutes, Dobby reappeared and with a jump informed Harry, "Mr. Barlow will come tonight, Three Broomsticks, 7 o'clock."
Harry decided to give Professor McGonagall the courtesy of notice that Ron, Hermione and he would be offsite for a few hours. McGonagall did not appear too happy about it, but she recalled the agreement between them.
"Very well, Mr. Potter. Please try not to arrive too late. I will provide word to Mr. Filch."
Harry had not been in the headmistress' office since the beginning of the term, though he had often visited it during Dumbledore's tenure. Harry took the opportunity to examine the former headmaster's portrait, and just as the only other time he viewed it, Dumbledore sat in a large rocking chair, asleep, his chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly.
"Professor?" Harry called softly, not knowing whether he should wake him up.
"Don't waste your breath, Mr. Potter; he's been like that all summer. Has not awakened even once." McGonagall gazed up at the portrait, "Nobody understands why. Magical portraiture is an unpredictable art."
"Really, he's been like this for over two months?" Harry asked intrigued.
"Correct, Mr. Potter, but I have other concerns at the moment. Please do not dally in Hogsmeade, and try to make your departure and reentry inconspicuous."
Harry tarried a few moments longer in front of his mentor's portrait before taking his leave. He then rushed off to find Ron and Hermione to let them know of their dinner engagement in Hogsmeade that evening.
The three seventh-years discreetly left the castle, which did not arouse suspicion on the warm, pleasant day in which many students basked in the sun. They zigzagged a bit through the grounds, ultimately reaching the high stone wall which marked the border of Hogwarts. This could not be viewed from the castle, so they walked along the wall until reaching the front gate.
Upon arriving at The Three Broomsticks, the proprietor, Madam Rosmerta, greeted them, and whispered in Harry's ear, "McGonagall told me you may be in town from time to time. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help. I mean, after what happened . . ."
Harry knew that she referred to her actions, unwillingly performed by her under the control of the imperious curse, which contributed to the death of Professor Dumbledore.
Harry nodded his thanks, for he was fond of Rosmerta and did not blame her, and replied, "Thanks, I'll remember that. But for now, we'd like one of your private rooms. We're meeting a man at seven for dinner, and I'd prefer not to have everyone staring at me. It's become a bit of a problem lately."
"Oh yes, I understand, Harry. I've seen how the Prophet has hounded you. Follow me," and Rosmerta led them to a smallish room with four tables, already set for dinner. "We're not expecting a large crowd tonight, so we will not be needing this room. Who are you waiting for so that I can send him in?"
Richard Barlow arrived a few minutes late and though polite to the three teens, he appeared quite nervous and out of place. After they had been seated and ordered drinks, Barlow looked around the room as if expecting a ghost to pop out of the wall.
Hermione finally asked, "Are you all right, Mr. Barlow?"
He realized what he had been doing and apologized, "It's just been a long time since I've been in Hogsmeade, twenty years at least. I don't keep in touch much with the wizarding world, you see."
Harry thought that Barlow reminded him of an athlete now past his prime, perhaps a rugby player. About as tall as Ron, who now stood well over six feet, he had the muscles of a man who works with his hands. His belly, however, was no longer that of an athlete. His thinning brown hair still covered his head, but probably would not in a few years. Harry figured he must be the older brother of Amelda, who would have been just a year or two younger than Sirius. Richard looked to be at least ten years older than Harry's godfather.
"Really?" asked Harry, "You are a wizard, obviously. What do you do?"
"Well, it is true I am a wizard, but there is a lot of muggle in me. In fact I feel a lot more muggle than I do magical." Barlow stopped speaking as Rosmerta brought in their drinks, butterbeer for the teens and mead for the man. He sipped his mead and pursed his lips.
"Never did much like this stuff, but I haven't had it for so many years, thought I shouldn't pass up the opportunity."
"Hermione here is muggle born, and I was raised by muggles, so I think we can identify with you a bit," Harry responded, trying to make Mr. Barlow feel comfortable. His efforts seemed to be helping.
"Is that right? Well, I'm a half blood myself, as my mother is a muggle, and though I went to Hogwarts all right, I spent the rest of my time in the muggle world. My mother knew about my dad being a wizard and all, but she had no interest in it, and my father rarely used magic in our presence." A wistful expression came over his face, and he adjusted himself in the chair, making himself more comfortable.
"I learned enough magic at Hogwarts; thought I was great stuff for a while. But I never much liked the wizarding world, with those snobbish pure bloods and all. When I graduated, I went back to Wales, went to work as an automobile mechanic. Have my own garage now. Mostly do all the work the muggle way, but I do 'cheat' when I have to with a well-timed spell. Helped me with my business, got to admit that."
"Are you married, Mr. Barlow," asked Ron, who self-consciously had not yet spoken, and shifted nervously when Barlow mentioned pure bloods.
"That I am, married a muggle, just like my father. Knows I'm a wizard and thinks it's kind of cute. Uses me to light fires and levitate things into the closet, but otherwise doesn't give a hoot about it. Married late, I did. Have two boys, nine and six. Haven't decided if I'm going to send them to Hogwarts or not, but they both definitely are wizards. Been showing it lately, if you know what I mean," Barlow winked at them.
Hermione could not resist asking about Lefty, "If you prefer to live like a muggle, why have you kept a house elf?"
"Oh, Lefty's family's been with our family for generations. He's the best house elf you'd ever want, big help to the Mrs. and me. I'd free him in a second if he'd let me, our home not really being a place for a house elf, but he refuses. Says he likes it there, even though he has to hide when any muggles are around. Keeps me informed a bit about what be happening in the magical world. I'm not completely ignorant," Barlow grinned, looking at Harry's scar.
The four enjoyed their meal, and Harry realized how rarely in his life he had actually eaten dinner at a restaurant. Of course the Durleys almost never took him, only when they drove to or from Aunt Marge's house. As they finished, the inevitable lull in the conversation occurred, and everyone looked at Harry to get down to business.
"As you know, Mr. Barlow," Harry began, his fingers fidgeting nervously, "We would like to speak with your sister, Amelda. I'm afraid we can't tell you exactly why, but I can tell you that she is not in any danger. We understand that she was a good friend of Regulus Black, and we need to know some things about him." Barlow's face soured when he heard the name.
"Regulus Black, haven't thought about him in years. I knew the Blacks, pure blood elite scum were Mr. and Mrs. Black. Sirius was all right - didn't really know him much - but I never liked Regulus. Neither did my father. Real upset when Amelda and Regulus became such friends. I'll tell you, the Blacks didn't like it either. Must'a been hard on both of them."
"We're they romantically involved?" asked Hermione cautiously, setting her knife and fork down.
Barlow looked at her and then tilted his head back, gazing at the enchanted ceiling showing the night stars.
"Not quite sure, to tell the truth. I assume so, but they must have kept it quiet. They were close though, that's for sure. Strange pair. Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Pure blood and half blood. Handsome and plain." He tilted forward again to take another sip of his second mead, "They drifted apart after Hogwarts, and I hear Regulus got caught up with Volde, I mean You Know Who."
"You can say 'Voldemort' here," Harry interrupted.
"Right, most people don't like me saying it. Never understood that. Anyway, Regulus got caught up with Voldemort, and Amelda stayed away, but something happened - don't know what - and they were real close again. That must have been five, six years after Hogwarts. Understand that I was eleven years older than Amelda, so I wasn't around. We get on OK, but couldn't say we are close. I don't see her very often, since she moved to Romania."
Mr. Barlow eyes glazed slightly, and the three teens politely left him to his thoughts for a few moments. Harry's eyes met Hermione's, and she nodded her encouragement.
"Well," said Harry, "we were hoping you could contact her for us so that we could speak with her. It really is very important. I can't say much more than that, except that it does have to do with the fight against Voldemort."
Ron shifted in his seat, and Hermione gnawed on her lower lip. They knew that Mr. Barlow's response would dictate their next moves. If he refused, they would fall all the way back to where they started.
Barlow stared at Harry considering his response. Involuntarily his eyes fixed on Harry's scar, partially visible due to Harry's attempt to comb his hair.
Finally he responded, "I may not keep on top of the magical world, but I do know about you, Harry Potter. I know what happened when you were a baby and about what has happened the last few years. Can't say that I knew your father, but the Potter family was one of the pure blood families that my father tolerated. Everyone thinks about pure bloods hating half bloods and muggle born, but it goes just as deep the other way. My father hated almost all pure bloods, but not the Potters." He took another swig of mead. "Now they're saying you're The Chosen One. Don't know about that one way or the other, but I feel I can trust you, Harry. I'll contact Amelda for you. As soon as I get home, I'll give her a call."
"On the tellyphone," asked Ron with interest, almost getting the word right. Barlow laughed.
"Must be a pure blood. Yes on the telephone; she married a muggle too, and lives in a muggle home. But she can apparate over easily enough. I'll set up a time and place for you to meet."
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Harry lay in bed that night, his head in a jumble. Dumbledore's portrait bothered him, but he could not decide exactly why. Something struck him as not right. Moreover, he felt anxious to take the next step, destroy the next horcrux, and come that much closer to the final showdown with Voldemort. And why did Voldemort continue to lie low? No attacks for two months. No arrests, no death eater sightings.
Though he tried, he could not clear his mind of Ginny either. They had studiously avoided each other over the first week of school, which proved difficult when they both belonged to Gryffindor House, hung around the same common room, and her brother happened to be his best friend. Harry missed her, but he also remained upset with her. The more he thought about their encounters at the Burrow, the more unreasonable he felt she had acted. She had ended it, he reminded himself, it was her fault, conveniently forgetting that it was he who had broken up with her in the first place.
Three days passed since the dinner with Richard Barlow, and Harry's nerves were on edge. He suggested sending Dobby back to talk to Lefty, but Ron and Hermione advised him to stay patient. Hermione felt no hurry in any event, for her duties as Head Girl combined with her natural tendencies toward study occupied virtually every moment of her day. Though she attempted to mask her joy, her thrill to be back at Hogwarts could not be disguised. Ron and Harry usually only saw her at meals, during joint classes and for a brief chat by the fireside before bed. Harry could see Ron becoming more perturbed by her busy schedule, and thought back to their conversation in Ron's bedroom during Harry's coma. Would Ron try to bring up that subject again? Would he ever have the chance?
Harry had not yet missed a class, and as a seventh year, he took fewer classes than before: Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms, the only subjects where he would be allowed to take his NEWTs. He could have taken more non-NEWT subjects, but he did not want to bother even with these four. Whereas other seventh-years already obsessed over the end-of-year exams, Harry had not given NEWTs a second thought, or even a first thought. His study habits deteriorated, and had Hermione been around to supervise, she would have given him a good tongue-lashing. Yet so far he performed fine in all of his classes, even Potions. The new Potions master, Carlota Cooper, an energetic woman of some considerable age, had a manner of teaching which Harry found easy to understand, and he successfully, more or less, prepared the most complex potions he had ever seen.
In fact, Harry felt that the more he cared less, the better his magic became. Various transfigurations which in the past would have defeated him, he now mastered within minutes. While other students concentrated with all their might, eyes closed, jaws set, Harry merely wanted to get it over with. After he had succeeded transfiguring larger mammals (a pig into a badger, for example) a few times, he found that he could transfigure most any animal into most any other animal without undue difficulty. While his written work remained mediocre at best, given the cursory effort he gave it, his practical performance in all of his classes was second to none.
Other students noticed Harry's improvement, and the whispers began.
"What is happening to Harry?" "He's really training hard for when he has to fight You Know Who." "How is he doing it? Seems like he's not even trying."
Ron attempted to ignore Harry's dominance of new and complex spells, charms, hexes and transfigurations, but finally he could do so no longer.
"What's up with you, Harry?" the lanky red-head asked while Harry practiced their charms assignment in the common room. He had just waved his wand and simultaneously moved half a dozen large pillows spread randomly throughout the expanse into a neat pile in the corner. Ron's feeble attempts invariably resulted in half the pillows falling on the heads of his house mates, and watching Harry's nonchalant mastery of extremely complex charm work did not inspire him. "You're doing these charms like you're buttering your toast."
"Don't really know; I guess I've just gotten better. All I do is try to get it over with. I've got other things to worry about." Then Harry remembered that Dumbledore wrote something about that in the letter Harry received at Privet Drive. What was it? He excused himself and rushed up to his trunk and opened the carefully guarded letter, scanning over it. Then he found the passage and read it to himself three times:
Harry, you have the most raw magical power of any wizard I have ever known, including myself. Due to the tragic circumstances of your childhood, you have not yet realized the potential of this power. Remember that at its core, magic is simply the desire to make something happen and then causing it to happen. Spells and wand movements assist us, but desire and confidence are the key. Believe in yourself! Believe that you will succeed!
Now he truly understood what Dumbledore meant. Now he could feel it. It seemed so easy.
"Why didn't they teach us this before?" he wondered, but he knew that it could not be that easy, not for the average witch or wizard. Others had seen his potential, his ability to perform amazing feats, even if overall his performance had been mediocre.
"Unspoken spells!" cried Harry to himself, "I can do them. It's just a matter of wanting it to happen and making it happen." As if to prove it to himself, he pointed his wand at a quill on the floor next to his trunk, thought "accio," and the quill shot into his hand. He pointed at his firebolt in the corner, and it hovered over the floor. With casual flicks, the broom moved here and there. So easy! Harry felt foolish that he had not been able to master unspoken spells as a first year. Now it felt as natural as flying on his broom. A wave of confidence and hope pulsed through his body.
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The patience recommended by his friends paid off the next day when Dobby managed to attract Harry's attention into an empty classroom.
"Lefty told Dobby that Amelda Barlow will meet with Harry Potter. Not tonight, and not at the Three Broomsticks. Amelda Barlow does not want to be seen by wizards." Dobby handed Harry a piece of muggle stationery, women's stationery with purple flowers gracing the corners. At the bottom, he read the words, "From the Desk of Amelda Stanovich." Her married name, Harry realized.
Mr. Potter:
I rarely agree to meet with wizards these days, given the state of the magical world. In your case, I will make an exception. However, I prefer not to meet with you in wizarding areas.
Please meet me in front of St. Paul's Cathedral in London in two days at 3:00 pm. I will be waiting for you. Naturally I know what you look like and will introduce myself. I believe I know what information you seek.
Until that time, I am yours sincerely,
Amelda Barlow Stanovich
"Finally!" Harry cheered, and then turned to Dobby, "Please tell Lefty that I will be there, and thank both Lefty and Mr. Barlow for me." Dobby nodded happily and disappeared.
Predictably, Hermione showed little pleasure in leaving Hogwarts, what with so much to study, and two essays to write, and her Head Girl duties.
"That's OK, Hermione, you can stay. Ron and I will go, or I'll go alone if Ron can't get away. We don't all have to meet her," Harry suggested.
"I'm going," stated Ron flatly, the thought of missing an opportunity to leave Hogwarts unthinkable.
Hermione groaned, "Oh, I'm going too. You know I am; it's just that I have so much work." She scrunched her eyes for a moment and jumped to her feet, "If I do a little extra tonight and tomorrow, it should be OK."
Harry and Ron shared a knowing glance and shook their heads. This time the three would have to miss a class, Charms, which bothered Hermione no end. Who would take notes for her that she could trust?
"Hermione, you know how to do every charm we are practicing this year already. You could skip every class and still be top of the year," Ron asserted reasonably. Hermione frowned but did not contradict him.
Again Harry arranged to inform the headmistress that the three of them would be absent for an afternoon, and Professor McGonagall did not bother to argue.
"Please be discreet again, Mr. Potter. I will provide Professor Flitwick with an excuse for the three of you." She paused to think of a decent pretext for their absence. "You will be meeting with Ministry officials regarding the inquiry into Professor Dumbledore's death. You understand, Mr. Potter."
Harry nodded and instinctively turned towards Dumbledore's portrait. The headmaster still sat sound asleep in the stately rocking chair.
"He hasn't woke up yet?" asked Harry.
"Alas no, Mr. Potter. Thank you for keeping me informed." Harry knew when he was no longer welcome, but again he tarried for a moment before the motionless portrait.
None of the three could safely apparate to St. Paul's. Hermione had been there as a child but did not recall it well enough to apparate with confidence. They at first thought of apparating to Diagon Alley and calling a taxi, but Harry remembered his last visit to the shopping area all too well. Instead, they would appear at King's Cross, and hail a taxi there.
The warmth of summer had started to recede, but at least no rain or bad weather ruined the day. The three made their way to the front gate and then removed their robes, stowing them under some bushes. To all the world, they looked like three typical teenagers out on the town. With a nod, they disappeared and found themselves, thankfully all in one piece, at the designated apparation area at King's Cross. The three casually left the deserted platform and made their way to the taxi stand.
They had never experienced the traffic of a major metropolitan city such as London, and the few minutes they had anticipated to arrive at St. Paul's turned into forty. As so often the case, the taxi driver drove aggressively through traffic, and Ron especially turned green. They hurriedly paid the driver and rushed to the front steps of the magnificent structure, knowing that they had arrived almost ten minutes late. Beside himself at their tardiness, Harry thought that Amelda Barlow, reluctant in the first place, may change her mind. But the worry proved unfounded, as in a few moments a lady in her forties approached from their left.
Eyeing Harry carefully, especially the tell-tale mark on his forehead, she thrust out her hand and stated, "Pleased to meet you, Harry Potter."