Chapter Eight: A Test of Faith
The cave was lit by two roaring fires. The light from them flickered over walls that were painted with soot and ash. Harry had a tight grip on Draco's hand, even as his palms began to sweat. They faced an empty chair made of white stone. Smoke rose up from underneath it, curling around the mammoth seat, then disappearing into the darkness overhead.
"Where is she?" Draco took a step forward. Harry held back.
"Right here." The voice came from behind them. They both spun, Harry losing his grip on Draco's hand. Pythia had her arms crossed over her chest and a small smile on her lips.
"Where's the door?" Harry frowned.
She looked over her shoulder and shrugged. "It comes and goes as it pleases."
"So we're stuck here?"
"That depends on your view of things." Her eyes glittered in the light from the fires.
"I found my way," Harry said, stepping forward.
"So you did."
"I had a dream."
"The first of many."
"I didn't like it."
"You won't like most of them, I'm afraid."
Harry swallowed and pushed forward. "Is there any way I can change the future?"
Pythia's expression went soft. "Come this way, boys," she turned and made her way to one of the large roaring fires.
"But…" Draco caught Harry's arm. "How do we get home?"
"You will learn in time." Pythia answered over her shoulder.
"You mean we're stuck here?" The indignation in the blond's voice made her smile.
"No, child. Time does not move here, as it does in the world which you live."
"So we're here until you say we can leave?"
Pythia smiled and sank down onto a padded chair near the hearth. "Of course not. That is no way to learn."
"Then what?"
She lifted a pot from the hearth using a pair of long tongs. The tea was fragrant as she poured it into three wooden cups. "You will stay until you learn the lesson I have put before you each time you come and visit me."
"And what if we never learn?"
Her eyes reflected the firelight. "Oh, you will."
Draco swallowed and shut his mouth.
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On a road, on an isle long famed for its esoteric happenings, a body was putting itself back together.
The shattered pieces of the auto littered the road. The smell of burning petrol and oil wafted through the air. Dawn was coming, lighting the eastern edge of the horizon with a blue that could trick the eyes into thinking it was black.
A forearm connected with the elbow. The joint forced itself back into place. The long dead tendons, leathery from centuries of disuse, threaded themselves back together. Blood from the dead man in the front seat of the tangled mess of metal and plastic soaked into the dry skin. Veins ran red with blood for the first time in centuries.
Struggling to his feet, the priest blinked moisture into his eyes. Knowledge from the blood tingled through his brain. The world reshaped itself by bits and pieces. The road he was on was not a Path, but a byway to a small town of little more than a hundred people. There were children there, yes. Families, parents, aunts and uncles. Plenty for a sacrifice that would please his Lord, however small it may be.
Turning to the west, the priest shrugged off the last of his moldering clothes. Naked, an hour to dawn, he stood in the depth of night and raised his arms to the sky. The call of his God was still weak, still to the east, but he could not follow it. The town to the south swallowed his attention. He opened his eyes, sighted down the deserted road, and began to walk.
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Neville woke from a nightmare, panting for breath. The ground around him had been soaked in blood. Blaise's body had been torn to pieces in front of him. He rolled to the edge of the bed, grasping the mattress with both hands.
The summer night was warm. He'd left the window open in hopes to get a breath of cooler air in his room. Shrugging off the covers, he headed for the stirring curtains.
The lights from the muggle town made a hazy glow in the distance. Pollution was kept away from their lands by a spell of his grandmother's own making, but Neville could still sometimes see it, the yellow brown cloud that hung over the sprawling metropolis, like a giant insect, feeding off a pond, turning it brown.
The thought made him shiver. He twitched the light fabric aside. The air was cooler, and he could see the eastern sky starting to brighten, but the sense of despair from his nightmare hung over him, even as the stars faded and the birds began to chirp.
"Harry," he murmured, resting his head against the glass. "Where are you?" He had sent many letters, but had received none in return. He was half-tempted to ask his grandmother to take him to Surrey, just to see if he could find the other boy himself.
"Neville?"
As if his thoughts had summoned her, his Gran stood in the doorway to his room.
"Yes?" He turned, arms still wrapped around his middle.
"What's wrong? I heard you moving around."
"Nothing," he ran a hand across his forehead. "Just a nightmare."
In the dim light of the room, he saw her expression shift. She stepped to the old rocking chair and sat, her heavy knitted shawl enveloping her shoulders. "About what happened at school?"
He sat on the edge of the bed. "Yes," he admitted. He felt silly and uncomfortable. The last thing he wanted was for his extended family to think him a coward for being afraid of some dreams. He had enough problems with them as it was.
His Gran looked down at her thin hands. "Your father used to have nightmares about work," she began. "Before he married your mother. The first war…" Her eyes met Neville's. "The first war haunted many people, who cared to remember it. The second, I fear, will be as remembered as well as the first. And I'm not so sure it should be forgotten. Your father, before…before what happened, told me that he wanted you raised to know truth from falsehood." She shook her head. "But I think I did you a disservice, young man, by trying to make you strong instead."
Neville swallowed hard, his heart beating fast in his throat. They had never talked about Before, as his other family members liked to call it. The time Before he showed his magic. The time when they had all though he was a squib, a useless, weak remainder of the proud heritage his father had left behind.
"It wasn't so bad," Neville offered after a long stretch of silence.
The bark of laughter Gran let out was brittle and held no humor. "You silly boy," she stopped and sighed again. "I am proud of you," she said, catching his eye. "Be you in Gryffindor or Slytherin, I am proud of you. And that Blaise boy." Her nose wrinkled. "A pureblood, to say the least, but a decent one. That new House of yours was the one to give you confidence, when it should have been your family's job. But however it came, you're a good boy. A fine young man." She drew in a sharp breath. "Nightmares, Neville, are good for the soul. It lets out the horror and anger before it can bottle up in the mind and shatter the good in your heart. Never be afraid to talk about them, or be afraid to go to someone when they wake you up at night."
Neville had to blink several times before he could speak. "Thank you, Gran."
She waved it off. "Come on, then. I don't think either of us is getting back to bed. I'll make us a hot cup of tea and start on breakfast. I'm sure you have plants that need watering."
"Yes ma'am."
"Good, good." She rose and began to leave the room. At the door, she stopped and turned. "I do mean it, Neville. I may not be the most demonstrative witch in the world, but we are proud of you. We love you. And come Hell, high water or muggles themselves, the family will be behind you."
She was gone before he could find his voice to respond.
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Ginny sat in the window seat, staring out at the morning light.
Her dreams had been dark, but she could not remember what they had been about when she had woken. A tremor of uneasiness had settled into her bones. She'd been at the window for some time, trying to dispel the feeling.
"Ginny?" Bill had one hand on the door handle, the other pressed against the wood.
"Bill?" She turned in her seat.
"You didn't answer when I knocked."
"I was thinking." She shrugged and turned back to the foggy glass.
He entered the room, but left the door open behind him. "Are you all right?"
"I don't know."
"What's wrong?"
She rubbed at her forehead. "I'm just worried, I guess."
"About Harry."
"Who isn't?"
"He'll be fine, Gin. You'll see."
"Sirius…Dad. He's Dad." She took a deep breath. "He's so worried about Harry. So focused. It's almost scary."
"He's just worried too, Gin."
"I know." She chewed on her lower lip as he approached. She looked up at him through her lashes. "Is it bad to feel a bit jealous?"
"Jealous?" He sat next to her, pulling his feet up onto the thin padding, mirroring her pose.
"I…" Her face colored. "It's stupid. Never mind."
"Tell me."
"No, really. It's fine."
"Gin."
"What?"
"Tell me. It's not stupid."
"I…I was getting used to being the one Dad was worried about. The one he was so glad, so happy to be around. Horrid, isn't it? I'm so selfish. I wanted him all to myself, with Harry away with those muggles. It's awful." To her shame, she felt tears gather and slip down her cheeks.
"Oh Gin…" Bill began.
"Ginny." The voice of their new father startled them both. She dashed at her face, trying to hide her tears.
Sirius' hair was rumpled from sleep. He came up next to her, scooped her up and sat her in his lap, taking her place on the bench. "You're not selfish at all, my girl. Not at all. You went through an awful time. It's all right. Everything will be all right."
"No, it won't. I've been dragging your attention away from Harry and, and, and…" She had to gulp for breath.
"Shh," he tucked her head under his chin. "Stop that. None of this is your fault. None of it. Don't you dare blame yourself for things you had no control over. You either, Bill," he added with a sharp look. "We'll get Harry back soon. Then we'll all be a family together. You'll see."
"Do you think he'll hate me?"
"Harry?" Sirius pulled back to look into her face. "Why ever would he hate you, Gin?"
"Because I was here first," her whisper carried no further than the two men.
"Never, Gin. Never. Harry's not like that." Sirius hugged her tight. "Harry is good, forgiving, kind, brave and all the things his father and mother were best at. He is a gentle soul, a brilliant boy. He'll be so happy to be home. So happy to see all of us, you'll see."
"You think so?"
"I know so." Bill smiled at the picture the two made, curled up in the half-light of the morning.
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"Bloody, blasted, blazing ball of shite!"
"Nice alliteration, Harry."
"Shut up Draco!"
"This isn't my fault."
"Of course it isn't! That's the bloody point!"
"Getting angry won't help."
"Piss off!"
Draco folded his arms over his chest. "Potter, if I can keep my temper under these circumstances, then I assure you, so can you."
"Go to bloody hell!"
"You think hell is bloody?"
The non sequitur made the smaller boy pause. "Well, it would be, don't you think? All that punishment that's supposed to take place? Would make sense."
They were trapped in two oubliettes, mere feet from each other, but with an abyss between. The echoing dark around them muted their voices.
"I suppose," the blond acknowledged. "But that's neither here nor there."
"We're neither here nor there."
"That's true too."
They stared at each other. "So, Draco. How do you propose to get us out of here?" Harry sat down in the small area of rock that was allowed to them. He was tired. Dirty. And more than a little hungry.
"Well," the blond stepped close to the edge and kneeled down. "I don't suppose we could shout for Pythia, do you think?"
"She said we're on our own for this one."
They had lost track of the time they had been in the cave. The first set of lessons had been easy – too easy. Pythia's eyes had narrowed as they passed each of the tests, a strange glitter growing each time they conquered the obstacles she placed before them.
The lessons had encompassed a number of things they had learned while trying to wake the Old Gods. Meditation, the clearing of the mind, the ability to concentrate under extreme confusion. But the newest test their teacher had proposed them had them trapped in an oubliette within a minute of their journey, with stern instructions to figure it out themselves.
Harry propped an elbow on his knee. "Well, let's think. Pythia said this was a test of…" He frowned. "What did she say again?"
"Faith." Draco was kneeling on one knee, peering over the edge.
"She said faith?"
"Yes."
"That's odd. How is this a test of faith?"
Draco looked up. His hair had fallen over his eyes, striping his face with pale strands. "Faith in our abilities?" He offered.
"No…I don't think that's it." Harry chewed on his lower lip and ran a hand over his eyes. "I'm tired."
"So am I."
"Pythia said we'd be able to go home after learning each lesson. This is the fourth!"
"Sounding a tad Gryffindor there, Potter."
"Oh stuff it, Malfoy."
A rusty chuckle came from the blond. "I think someone needs some sleep."
Harry snorted. "I think we both need some sleep. Right after I eat a horse."
Draco's nose wrinkled. "Horse meat is disgusting."
"You've actually had it?"
"Of course. It was a delicacy at some party we went to. Absolutely nasty."
"It was a figure of speech, what I said."
"Odd figure."
"Muggle, I think."
"Well, there you go."
Harry waved off the blond. "So. A test of faith." He leaned forward. They were a few feet apart. But there was no way either oubliette could accommodate two people. He frowned and looked up.
"Where's the light coming from?"
"What?"
"The light, Draco. We can see each other, but nothing else. Where's it coming from?"
The blond stood and drew his wand. "Lumnos!" The spell lit the tip of his wand, but the glow around him did not get brighter. Neither did the dark around them become illuminated.
"Well, shite."
Draco shook his wand. "Lumnos you blasted thing!" The tip grew brighter, but nothing else happened.
"Don't set it on fire."
"I'm not that bloody stupid."
"Now who's cranky?"
"Shut up, Potter."
"You shut up."
"No, you shut up!"
Harry began to laugh, though the irritated expression stayed on Draco's face. "We really do sound like first years again."
The anger cracked and flowed away. The line of the blond's shoulders drooped. "Let's just figure this out so we can go home."
"I agree."
They each began to examine their spaces. Harry felt a creeping fear, every time he got close to the edge. The nearer he came, the worse the shakes were. It gave him a thought.
"Draco?"
"Yes?"
"Do you get a…strange feeling when you're close to the edge?"
Draco frowned. "Yes. Dread."
Harry moved toward the deep dark. The feeling spread through his chest like cold fingers exploring his heart. It made him shiver. But the growing need to be at the blond's side was breaking down the fear the abyss projected. "I have an idea, but you won't like it." He stood.
"Harry, what are you – don't!" The blond lunged for him.
Harry's toes were at the edge of the oubliette. The abyss yawned before him, the deep dark swallowing every shred of light. He lifted one foot. He brought it forward. He stepped down.
There was a flash of light, even as Draco's shout rang through the cavern. They were back in front of the white chair. Pythia sat before them, her smile small.
"He could have died!" Draco turned on her.
"Mind your manners." The sharp, male voice startled them both. They turned to see a man in front of the flames. He was swarthy, with curly dark hair and brown eyes.
"Who in the name of Merlin are you?"
"Merlin?" He canted a look at Pythia. "They are odd."
"Boys," she said, gaining their attention. "This is Homer."
Harry goggled. "The Homer?"
"Who?"
Draco frowned. "Who, Harry?"
"The man who wrote the Odyssey!"
Pythia's nose wrinkled. "You mean that drivel is still around?"
Harry stared between them. "Of course it is. My cousin had to read it. Made me do his book report on it."
"Muggles," Draco's disgusted snort was soft.
"No, boys," Pythia's voice was full of laughter. "This Homer is not your…other Homer. He's my Homer." She smiled at the man. He rolled his eyes and returned to the pot that was boiling over the fire. "He is as Draco is to you, Harry. My pillar, my strength, my guide when all else fails me."
Harry frowned. "I don't understand."
She leaned forward, clasping her hands together. "The last test was a test of faith. You are tired. You are hungry. You both were angry and snappish. Yet, what did you feel, Harry?"
"That…" He thought about it. "That I had to get to Draco. Even though there was no way the oubliette could hold us both."
"And when you faced the feeling the abyss projected?"
"I…I didn't care." He blinked. "It's just the abyss. I've seen it before. I've walked over it before. And I knew if I was about to fall, Draco would catch me and keep me safe."
She nodded and leaned back. "There you go. A test of faith. You've stared into the abyss and neither of you flinched." She flicked her hand to something behind them. "It's time for you both to go."
"Is that all?" Harry stared at her.
"Don't argue, Harry! Let's go!" Draco grabbed his arm.
"It is all for now, boys." She rose and herded them towards the door. She stopped them before they could leave with a hand on each of their shoulders. "There will be more lessons, but this, this was the one you needed first. A test of faith. Faith in yourselves. Faith in each other. The abyss can be a terrifying place, but it is not terrifying in and of itself. It is what it contains that we must be wary of."
Draco drew Harry towards the door. "So what now?" He asked.
"You practice, of course." She reached out and touched Harry's face with her cold fingertips. "To learn to walk the paths of sight, Harry, you must first get to know them."
"You mean go into the Otherworld, voluntarily?"
"Yes."
"They won't like it."
"Who?"
"Draco's father. Professor Snape. Healer Fabing. Hell, anyone. Sirius will throw a fit if I do it when I go to his house."
"And how, pray tell young Seer, will they stop you?" She smiled at him.
Harry blinked. "But they'll get mad!"
She sighed and let it go with a shrug. "You will not learn if you do not practice." She turned away, saying the last over her shoulder and the world around them began to fade. "And I will not have you back if you do not practice. The path you took here this time will be closed. You must find another way to my realm, and to do that, you must know the Paths you wish to walk."
"But what if we get lost?" Harry tried to go back to the cave.
Her smile was a flash of cream and pearl. "It's a test of faith, Harry. You've passed it once, now pass it again." Then she and the cave were gone. The world around them shuddered, blinked and came into focus.
They stood in Harry's room at the Manor, in a chalk circle. The sky outside was just starting to turn with the shades of dawn. Draco had an arm around his middle, holding tight.
Harry turned in his grasp. "How the bloody hell are we supposed to practice if no one will let us out of their sight?"
Draco shrugged, but the sly smile had started his eyes twinkling. "We're Slytherins, Harry. Remember?" He leaned forward so his mouth was close to Harry's ear. "We have more than faith on our side. We have cunning. We have plans. But most of all," he drew the smaller boy close. "We have my brilliant mind to solve the problem."
Harry's laughter rang through the room.
End Chapter Eight