Second Chance - The Death Eater & The Rat

Originally published July 2009

Revised & Re-Structured November 2014

Chapter Sixty-Seven - The Gathering of the Spirits

Thus Begins The Death Eater & The Rat

Severus dropped a single piece of parchment on top of the holiday homework his son was doing. Harry glanced over it. In his father's precise, yet spidery cursive was a list of very unusual items. They were:

The colours of a sunset

The song of a bird

The smell of rain

The sound of laughter

The Hidden Beauty of Snow

The happiness of parents

The sparkle of Christmas

The mist of Halloween

The delight of discovery

At the bottom of the list was the simple line of: A Gathering of Spirits.

Harry was intrigued, especially when he looked up into his father's eyes. and saw within the ebon pools that this was one of those rare secrets that father passed to son. Harry, as might have been mentioned before, loved secrets.

"What is A Gathering of Spirits, Dad?" asked Harry.

Severus drew up a chair, and folded his height, a bit uncomfortably, next to his son's short desk. Severus tapped the list with his long index finger.

"This is an art of Potions creation that very few Potions Masters practice today. In fact, I'm quite certain that there are only two others that have this knowledge, but they do not use it. I am going to teach you the art of Gathering Spirits."

"These aren't spirits like ghost spirits, right?" Harry's green eyes sparkled in anticipation.

"Correct. These, Harry, are ingredients used in some of the most arcane and wonderful potions ever created. They are without form or substance because they are remnants, echoes, flights of fancy, sights and sounds. Spirits of those things that we cannot touch, but we can hear, smell, taste, or sense deep within lost memories, or in our souls."

Harry leaned his chin on his hand. He was absolutely mesmerised by the velvet, near musical tone of his father's voice as he revealed this lost art to him. Harry wasn't lulled, but ensnared like an insect in cooling amber.

"Choose," Severus finally said.

"What?" Harry glanced down at the list then at his father. "Choose? Only one?"

Severus smirked. "You would be a Squib at the end of the day if we did all of them, Harry. Just one. Then we are going to create a gift for the baby."

Harry perused the list carefully. A gift for his unborn brother or sister. He had no idea what he, and his father would be brewing, but all the Spirit ingredients sounded fascinating. Finally, he smiled. About halfway down was the perfect ingredient since the weather that day was perfect.

"This one, Dad," Harry pointed.

"Ah! The Hidden Beauty of Snow. Perfect, Harry. Get only your Potions robes, and your gloves."

"But it's cold, Dad," Harry protested lightly. "Shouldn't I dress warmly?"

Severus straightened in his chair, and gave his son a discerning, gimlet-eyed glance. "You are worried about the cold now when your mother and I have to remind you to wear your warm clothes every single time you have gone out to play?"

"Uhm... yes?" Harry gave his father a half smile. Severus' expression dropped into a speculative smirk. Harry shrugged.

"Go on, you ridiculous child," Severus waved a hand, and Harry pushed away from his desk, and hurried to his bedroom upstairs. A few minutes later he was practically flying down the stairs, his midnight blue robes, which were made specifically for his work with potions brewing, billowed behind him just like his father's did. At the front door he began pulling on his gloves, and met Severus. Harry's father quickly cast a Warming Charm over his clothing, and they stepped out onto the front terrace.

The wide, long front lawn was covered with a blanket of glittering white snow. More snow fell, drifting lazily down from the grey-blue sky. Harry drew the chill air into his lungs, and smiled with pure, childish joy. Severus leaned over just enough to grasp his son's hand in his, and he drew him down the snow-covered steps, and out onto the lawn. Harry marched with exaggerated steps as his boots crunched through the thin top layer of the snow. He looked up at his father, and grinned.

Severus looked warmly down at his son, and began to speak, "The Gathering of Spirits is considered one of the oldest Magicks known to wizard-kind. Some speculate that the Gathering of Spirits was a gift to the first Witch and Wizard as a way to bind them to the Magick of the Earth. It is a very difficult Magick to practice for it exhausts one of their magic in the performance of gathering. Early in the 12th Century wizards decided that the Gathering of Spirits was an impractical and wasteful Magick. The wizards decided, too, that such gathering of potion ingredients was better suited to witches.

"Witches that brewed, did their best to preserve such arcane knowledge until into the first half of the 18th Century."

"Do witches still brew with spirits?" asked Harry as they stopped somewhere in the middle of their front yard.

"Unfortunately, no one brews with spirits anymore. My mother taught me about the Gathering of the Spirits and a few times we brewed potions from what was gathered. Until you came into my life, I never thought I would have someone to pass this knowledge onto."

Harry grinned, always delighted to be reminded of how much he meant to his father. "So, what do we do, Dad?"

"This is your gift to the baby, Harry, so you are going to get to use your magic," began Severus, in teacher mode.

"I don't have a wand, Dad," reminded Harry, politely.

"Gathering a Spirit cannot be done with a wand. This takes Wish Magic, the magic that is the basis of your Accidental Magic." Severus smiled lightly. He enjoyed the way his son listened so intently. Harry was always eager to learn, especially since he was still very intent upon creating a series of potions just for children that tasted good.

Harry smiled. "All right, Dad. So what do I do?"

Severus knelt down in the snow on one knee so he was eye level with his son. He removed a delicate, filigree, crystal bottle from his pocket. He placed it carefully into his son's hands. He then gently shaded Harry's eyes.

"Close your eyes." Harry did so. Severus' voice drifted over him, musical, but not. Like velvet, silk, cream. There was love within each word the Potions Master spoke as he instructed. "Think back, Harry, to the first time you walked in the falling snow. It was wonder, magic, eternity."

Harry's brow beetled with concentration, but when he smiled, Severus rose to his feet, and began to slowly circle Harry as he continued to speak.

"Sight... sound... silence... sun… cold breeze... remember how all of it was and... tell me..."

"Winter. At Hogwarts. Only a few months after you came for me. I was waiting by the enchanted window in my bedroom every day wishing for snow. I remember waking up very early. You were still asleep. It was snowing! I could see the fat flakes falling past my window. Outside, it was all white, and clean, and sparkling, and brand new. The snow had changed everything and I wanted to go and run and laugh in that snow. I didn't even bother to take off my pyjamas but got dressed as fast as I could, and grabbed the heavy coat Aunt Minnie had given me a few days before. I shoved my cap on my head, my feet in my shoes, and forgot my gloves.

"I raced all the way to the Entrance Hall and ran right out into the snow. Oh! Powder, and cold, and so cloudy, sparkly. I started giggling and leaping. I'd never seen anything more wonderful in my life. It was all the good things in the world.

"I caught snowflakes on my tongue and they tasted like nothing, but like everything I'd ever enjoyed tasting."

Severus still kept walking in a circle round his son, but he leaned over, and whispered, "Keep your eyes closed, and open the bottle."

Harry did so, fumbling only slightly. A sparkling mist emerged from the bottle, and drifted over the young boy. Harry gasped as he felt the magic touch his memory. Without needing to be told, he opened his eyes, and spread his arms outward. Severus stepped aside as his son burst into laughter and sprinted away through the snow. The sparkling magic followed Harry dancing, bobbing, gallivanting along with him.

The glittering tail of silvery-gold magic was tied within the Potions Master. Severus gasped, feeling the sudden tug of his son's joyfulness impressing itself upon his heart. He looked down at his hands and saw a glittering, opalescent aura surrounding him. Tendrils had grown from the aura leaping towards Harry who was spinning, and dancing under the falling snowflakes. The aura of magic surrounded Harry for only a moment, and then vanished from father and son in the blink of an eye. At that very same moment, Harry had replaced the silver cap back on the crystal bottle.

Incredibly euphoric, Harry dropped so that he was now sitting in the snow. He felt... giddy and drunk. He giggled at his father who carefully took the bottle from his son's hands, and tucked it into his pocket. He then took Harry's head in his hands and firmly, but gently stroked his hands down his son's hair, and then over his face. Harry took in a deep breath, smiled, and blinked a few times.

"Wow."

Severus chuckled, and helped his son to stand. He put an arm across his back until Harry's knees were strong enough to support him. The Potions Master retrieved the bottle from his pocket, and held it in front of Harry's face.

"Look how well you did, Harry."

Harry peered into the crystal to see a diaphanous, swirling mist that looked like liquid pearls, drops of diamonds, sunshine beams of gold.

"That's beautiful, Dad," he gasped as he saw tiny sparkles in the diaphanous mist. "What do we make with it?"

"Come along, son, and I'll show you magic only few have ever seen."

Harry slipped his hand in his father's and they returned to the house.