Chapter One
"Phoenix tears..." said Riddle quietly, staring at Harry's arm. "Of course... healing powers... I forgot..."
He looked into Harry's face. "But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me..."
He raised the wand...
Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell into Harry's lap - the diary.
For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to do it all along, Harry seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book.
At first, nothing happened. Riddle laughed.
"Fool!" he said, "it will take more than bone-"
He stopped, and looked down at himself. He was blurring at the edges, his essence drifting away like smoke. Harry's eyes followed it. It was floating across the chamber over to Ginny's body, where she was breathing it in.
"No!" cried Riddle, and he lunged for the diary. Harry rolled over, strong again from Fawkes' tears. He clutched the diary to his chest and scrambled to get up.
"Avada Kedavra!" Riddle cried. There was a flash of green light; Harry dived back to the floor.
But Harry had not been Riddle's target. The spell crossed the chamber in less than a second, moving too fast for the eye to follow, a blur of green light. It struck Ginny. Immediately, Riddle's ghostly being lost its shape, dissolving into a cloud of roiling colour. The cloud turned one way and then another, like a dog sniffing the air. It pointed itself towards Ginny, then shot into her, entering through her mouth.
Ginny stirred, then clumsily got to her feet.
"Ginny!" Harry cried, and he rose to meet her, relief rushing through him. But he stopped cold when he saw her eyes.
Her eyes were red.
They stood there for a moment, Harry and Ginny, eyes locked. There was nothing of Ginny left in those eyes. Hate and anger coursed through Harry, so strong he was almost trembling. Tom Riddle needed to die.
Harry's wand was lying abandoned on the floor, dropped by Riddle when he moved to possess Ginny. Riddle seemed to realise it at the same time; they both began running at the same moment.
Harry was faster.
He reached the wand and dived for it. Still holding the diary with one hand, he grabbed his wand with the other.
"Expelliarmus!" he cried as he rolled onto his back. Riddle had been right on Harry's heels. He had no time to avoid it: the spell caught him in the face and knocked him off his feet. Harry rose.
Their situation was now the mirror image of five minutes previous. Harry stood over the possessed Ginny, wand in hand, positioned to strike him down. But Harry was not Tom Riddle.
"What're you going to do, Harry?" Tom said. His voice was a strange combination of Ginny and Tom Riddle. It was Ginny's voice, but it held all the cruelty and malice of Lord Voldemort. "Are you going to kill poor, defenceless Ginny? Do you even know how?"
Harry didn't. He hesitated. Tom stood up and looked into Harry's eyes. Harry looked right back.
"Give me the wand, Harry." His voice was soft, but it carried such authority, lulling Harry into some sort of trance. His scar was itching, and his arm began to move."You cannot win. I shall make it quick. Just give me the wand."
Harry's scar was burning now, burning white hot. Somewhere, someone was screaming, and he had fallen to his knees without realising it. He held his wand out.
Fawkes saved Harry one last time. He descended from nowhere and snatched the wand from Harry's hand, right before he could pass it to Riddle. The bird trilled as it carried the wand away from Riddle, and Riddle's spell was broken. Harry came out of his trance and realised where he was.
There was a strange feeling in his head, behind his still-burning scar. It felt like a needle spearing through his thoughts, trying to push them in unnatural directions.
I should give him the diary, Harry thought. But now he was aware of it, he knew this thought wasn't his own. Harry focused on it, grasped it with his full attention. He embraced the pain of the scar andpushedagainst it with his mind. And now Tom was screaming too, a high pitched scream filled with rage. Harry could feel Voldemort's thoughts, as Voldemort could feel his, the whirlwind of a mind of frightening strength. Voldemort's thoughts moved rapidly, faster than Harry could follow, racing from one line of thought to another. Still, Harry pushed.
With a great struggle, Harry came to his feet, though it felt like a great weight was forcing him down. He started to walk towards the fallen Basilisk, each step a battle against Riddle for control of his body.
"What. Are. You. Doing?" Riddle said, each word filled with effort and pain. And underneath the anger, Harry thought he heard fear, as well. The thought emboldened him. He walked quicker now, and easier, and Riddle began shouting incoherently, raging not just at Harry but at the universe. Harry reached the basilisk, and pulled free a fang. Unlike the fang that Harry had plunged into the diary, this one was still dripping with a lurid green venom.
"I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!" Riddle cried as Harry skewered the diary a second time.
Tom fell silent. Minds connected as they were, Harry felt Riddle's death intimately, almost as if it were his own. The racing maelstrom of Voldemort's thought stuttered and slowed, and then resolved onto one thought only, terrifying in its intensity.
I am dying.
And then he did.
But it wasn't over. The mental connection Harry had created remained open; he didn't know how to close it or control it. Ginny's body slumped the floor at the same time as Harry. His mind stretched and twisted; it felt like he was falling, being sucked into the vacuum left by Voldemort's death like water down a sink. There was nothing he could do to stop it. The world was spinning now, swirling in a kaleidoscope of confusing sensations.
Harry vomited, and then passed out.
Harry woke in the hospital wing. He knew it without having to open his eyes – he would recognise that forcefully floral scent for the rest of his life. He was quite comfortably tucked into bed, two of his legs pulled up in a foetal position, the other two crossed at the ankles.
Wait, what?
Harry sat upright and opened his eyes in confusion. Dizziness overtook him as he tried to process what he was seeing. For a moment, his mind rebelled, but then the hospital wing came into focus.
It was night time and no one as around. Though dark, a few candles were lit – enough for Harry to see shapes in various shades of grey.
He was in a bed, staring at Ginny, who was sitting upright in a bed opposite him. But he was also in the bed opposite, staring at himself. His field of vision included both. It wasn't that they were next to each other with black space in between, or anything like that. He simply had two different fields of vision, which he was aware of separately.
For some reason he was seeing out of Ginny's eyes.
"Ginny?" he whispered. But when he spoke, he spoke with two voices and two mouths, perfectly in time with each other. He wasn't seeing out of Ginny's eyes. HewasGinny.Andhe was Harry Potter.
Another wave of dizziness overtook him; his vision blurred and then refocused, but now it was different. Rather than being two separate fields of vision, he was seeing one panorama, an almost complete view of the hospital wing. He could see out of the window behind his head, as if with his own eyes. Experimentally, Harry tried to replicate the feeling from before, stretching metaphysical muscles that he was only just becoming aware of. His vision blurred briefly – and somewhat painfully – and he returned to seeing things separately. It was really just like deliberately blurring your eyes, Harry thought, or how it feels when your eyes first adjust to new glasses.
"Weird," he said, and he said it with two voices again. Harry frowned. That could get annoying. He raised his right arm: Ginny's arm moved too.
Only that's not what it felt like, not really. He didn't feel at all like he – Harry – was the dominant side. It wasn't really that he moved his arm and Ginny's arm copied. It was that Ginny's arm and his arm were both his right arm. He had two right arms, and they were equally his. The body of Harry Potter felt no more his than Ginny's did.
Well, that wasn't quite true. He still thought of himself as Harry, and if he were to imagine himself, it was Harry Potter's body he would picture. But as far as his senses and muscles were concerned, there was no real hierarchy between the two bodies. In fact, Ginny's right hand felt more dominant than Harry's left.
It felt odd to think of himself in that way, as divided into two: Harry and Ginny, and his true self as some kind of thing that bridged the two. But it was the easiest way to think of things, Harry quickly found. English didn't have words for third and fourth arms, only left and right. So as Harry experimented with various movements and got used to having two sets of each sense, he soon found himself thinking in those terms: thinking of one of his bodies as Harry, the other as Ginny, and himself as some kind of superHarry.
It took around an hour for Harry to become sufficiently accustomed to his new situation that he could think past the sheer amazement and novelty of having a distributed consciousness. It was then that the events of the previous day caught up with him. It was then that he realised that Ginny was dead.
He couldn't know for sure, of course. He had never possessed another person before. He didn't know what it felt like to do so, or how much you should be able to feel the other person. But what Harry knew was that he could feel no trace of Ginny's mind. He tried to clumsily search for it, using primitive instincts uncovered to him by his mental battle with Riddle. He had no real understanding of what he was doing, but he focused as he had the night before, picking apart his own thoughts, taking each one in turn and searching them for any trace of alien presence. He found none. But as he was doing so, he did remember something Riddle had said.
She struggled and cried- that's what he'd said. If Ginny were there, wouldn't she be struggling now? And even if she wasn't fighting him, wouldn't Harry be able to feel her? It sounded like Riddle could.
No, Harry was fairly sure that Ginny was gone.
Oh god, Ron,Harry thought. He would have to tell Ron that his sister was dead. For surely they all believed her to be alive – her healthy body was right there, lying in the hospital wing. And Mr. and Mrs. Weasley too, he'd have to tell them. And he'd have to tell them that he now had control over her body, a living reminder of all they lost. And what would they do when they found out? Would they attempt to sever the connection? Would they destroy Ginny's body if they couldn't?
Harry rebelled at the thought, as he would if someone suggested cutting off a limb. For that's exactly what it would be.
But he had to tell them. Hehadto.
Harry didn't sleep that night. Neither of his bodies did. Instead, he occupied himself with practising with them. Unfortunately, independent movement remained beyond him.
It was like the piano, he decided. He'd taken some piano lessons at school – all the kids had. It had been a compulsory thing, otherwise he was sure the Dursleys wouldn't have allowed it. They'd only had a few lessons, and they stopped before Harry was ever able get the hang of having two hands playing separate things. Trying to move two bodies independently was exactly like that, Harry thought. It was justtricky. It was instinctual to raise both of his right arms together. But Harry knew that with practise, people could play the piano with left and right hands doing different things. It was that thought that kept him going. All he needed was practise.
By dawn, he could lift his right arm at the same time as raising Ginny's left. It took a lot of concentration, but he could do it.
By the time Madam Pomfrey came around, he had discovered something much more important: while it was difficult to move two bodies in different ways simultaneously, it was relatively easy to move one body while keeping the other motionless. You just had to clamp down on the urge to move it.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter," she said as she rolled a potions-laden trolley towards him, "drink these, please."
Harry knew by now that there was no use arguing. He pinched his nose as he downed three potions, each more disgusting than the last.
"What do they do?" he asked, curious. He didn't feel injured or ill. Pomfrey huffed.
"I'm glad you appear to be finally taking an interest in your health, Mr. Potter. Perhaps it will stop you, next time you decide to jump down a giant hole or fight a giant snake."
"Er..." Harry said, not sure of how to reply, but then he caught a twinkle in her eye. She smiled.
"Oh, but how can I complain, when you saved poor Miss. Weasley?" She ruffled his hair. Guilt flooded through him. "To answer your question, they're a series of potions designed to purge the body of toxins and poisons. You were bitten by a basilisk, you know."
Harry remained silent.
"I suppose you do," she continued, "which is why Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you. Do you feel up to it?"
Harry nodded, suddenly relieved. That was it!Dumbledore. He didn't have to tell Ron and the Weasleys! He could tellDumbledore, and then Dumbledore could do it. And the headmaster was a great wizard. He surely wouldn't cut Harry in two. He would understand.
The old man entered the hospital wing by the main door. He was wearing unusually restrained robes of dark purple, with gold around the seams. Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, given the way he had left Hogwarts. Hogwarts was were Dumbledore belonged.
He took a seat next to Harry's bed in comfortable silence, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to leave. When he was sure they were alone, he spoke.
"My dear boy," he said, "once again much has been asked of you. And once again you have surpassed all expectations."
"You know what happened?" Harry asked, not really surprised.
"Some, but not all. It was I who retrieved you from the chamber, after Mr. Weasley failed to navigate the rock fall." He paused a moment, and popped a sweet into his mouth. "Ah! Poor Gilderoy! I'm sure you will be sorry to hear, Harry, that Professor Lockhart will not be returning to teach next year. Alas, his own memory charm was surprisingly powerful, and he now finds himself residing within St. Mungo's long term spell damage ward."
Harry didn't miss the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he said this. Apparently, it wasn't just the students' patience that Lockhart had tested. And fraud that he was, Harry thought he deserved it. Who knew how many peoples' memories the man had taken? A thought occurred to Harry.
"What about Fawkes? Is he all right? Thank you for sending him, sir. He saved my life."
Dumbledore smiled now, a warm smile that matched his eyes.
"He is quite well, thank you, Harry. He's resting, for his burning day approaches rapidly. But he shall be reborn, and soon enough he will be full grown once more. But you should know, Harry, that it was not I who sent him. You called Fawkes yourself, by showing great loyalty to this school, and to me personally. I am quite touched."
Dumbledore had a talent for understatement; he was clearly quite moved by Harry's loyalty. He reached out and grasped Harry's hand, holding it firmly.
"I am in your debt, Harry, for all that you have done. Should you desire anything from me, you have but to ask."
Harry's mind immediately went to the Dursleys.
"The Dursleys..." he began. Dumbledore shifted in his seat.
"I am aware that your relationship with them is not what I had hoped, when I left you on their doorstep," he said. "But, as you know, there are reasons for your staying with them, important reasons regarding your safety from Lord Voldemort and his followers. I believe you are now all too aware of the very real dangers which remain."
Harry nodded. He was more aware than Dumbledore knew. An image of the kitchen at the Burrow went through Harry's mind, with the Weasleys bustling around, full of the energy of family life. That would never be the same again.
"However," Dumbledore said, and Harry's heart stopped, "forcing you to return to the Dursleys would be poor repayment for the services you have performed. There is one other option I can offer you, one which I dismissed when you were a baby. But you should be aware, Harry, that if you take up this offer then the spells on Privet Drive will break, and you can never return there."
"Whatever it is, I'll take it," Harry said, becoming restless with excitement. He sat up eagerly – only to realise that he had almost sat up with Ginny's body as well. Dumbledore's gaze shot immediately to Ginny; she (or he? - it was all very confusing to Harry) went very still. Dumbledore stood up and walked over to her. He waved his wand a few times, nodded to himself, and returned to Harry smiling.
"I do believe Miss Weasley will be making a full recovery quite soon," he said, strangely loudly. It was almost as if he wanted to be overheard... was there a spell that told you if someone was awake? There surely was, Harry thought. "Now, where were we? Oh yes. Now, Harry, as you know, you remain at Privet Drive for your safety. There is, however, one other place where I may be certain of your safety at all times. I dare say it is one of the safest places in the world."
"Where is it?" Harry asked. Dumbledore paused to take another sweet.
"Each summer, the International Confederation of Wizards convenes to discuss various issues of astounding banality. This year, the convention is to be held in Paris, and I am unfortunately its chair."
Harry frowned, wondering what that had to do with anything.
"Harry: would you like to spend the summer in Paris?"
Harry's eyes widened.
"It is of course not for the entire summer: we would retire to my summer home at the end of term, making our way to Paris a week or two after that. And there would be rules, Harry, for both your safety and education. I would expect you to-"
"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" Harry cried, grinning from ear to ear. Summer with Dumbledore! In Paris, no less! Harry's enthusiasm was infectious; Dumbledore smiled too, and clapped Harry on the back.
"It is settled, then. I shall pick you up from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and we will proceed from there. I shall have to write to the Dursleys, of course, so that they know not to come."
"Why not just go from Hogwarts, sir? Why take the train?"
"I should not deprive you of that tradition, Harry. Nor would I deprive your friends of your company, especially after these dark days. But that brings us to more unpleasant business. Do you feel ready to share with me what occurred in the Chamber of Secrets?"
Harry did. He told Dumbledore everything, starting right at the beginning. He told him about the voices he had heard, about following the spiders, about Hermione's message, about going after Ginny with Ron and Lockhart. Dumbledore listened to this all attentively, without interruption, until he described his meeting with Tom Riddle.
"And you are sure, Harry, that he said that it was thememoryof Voldemort which forced me from the castle? Just the memory?"
"I'm sure, sir."
"Very well. Please continue, Harry."
For some reason, Dumbledore looked relieved. He relaxed into his chair, and crossed his legs. But when Harry started telling him of Tom's possession of Ginny, he interrupted once more.
"Voldemort's exact words, Harry. Do you remember them? What did Ginny feed him, to make him so powerful? Just her secrets?"
Harry struggled to remember.
"I think he said... her soul. Yeah, I remember now. He said she fed him her soul, and that it was exactly what he wanted."
Dumbledore sighed, and the twinkle had left his eyes. Is that what had happened to Ginny, then? Had she lost her soul, and Harry's soul filled in the gap?
"I am sorry for interrupting, Harry. Please, go on."
They were coming up to it, now, the part Harry was dreading. Ginny's death. He was describing his fight with the basilisk when the door slammed open.
"Oh, Harry! You're awake!"
Mrs. Weasley strode into the room, a horde of noisy Weasleys in her wake. She came to Harry's bedside and enveloped him in a hug.
"You saved her! You saved my girl!"
Guilt filled Harry once more and he remained silent as Molly sobbed into his neck. He swallowed loudly.
"Modest as always," Arthur laughed, squeezing his shoulder with one hand while peeling Molly away with the other.
"As a true Gryffindor should be," said Percy, who, always formal, shook his hand.
Fred pushed him out of the way and George took Harry's hand in both of his, shaking it vigorously.
"Simply splendid job, old boy," he said; a ridiculously bad impersonation of Percy.
"Ten points to Gryffindor, what," Fred continued.
"Boys!" said Molly, and she dragged them away.
And then there was Ron. He came up to Harry and punched him in the arm.
"Not bad," he said, a study in casualness. Feelings were to be avoided.
Dumbledore stood up, smiling.
"Molly, Arthur," he said gently, "Harry was just telling me the events of two days previous."
"Oh!" said Molly, and then again, "oh! Yes, of course! Boys, back to the common room!"
"But mum!" said Ron, but Molly held firm.
"None of that! Off you run – there'll be plenty of time for talking later."
"I think," Dumbledore interjected, "that Ronald has earned the right to hear this."
Ron paused, and so did Molly. As strong willed as she was, when Dumbledore made a suggestion, you listened.
"Oh, very well. Ron, stay. Everyone else, back to the dorm!"
After a few more protests, Percy dragged Fred and George from the hospital wing, leaving Harry with Dumbledore, Ron, Molly and Arthur.
"Are you okay with us being here, Harry dear?" Molly asked. "We can wait outside, if you like."
No, I'm not, Harry thought, resenting the unfair question.
"You can stay," he said into his lap.
"Excellent," said Dumbledore, taking his seat once more. "Can I offer anyone a pear drop?"
No one took Dumbledore up on his offer, so Harry resumed his tale, allowing Dumbledore to summarise – with the help of Ron – those parts he had already told. And then it was his turn again. He told of how he pulled the sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat and of how he stabbed the basilisk with it, impaling himself in the process.
It was at this point that Mrs. Weasley began to cry. Silently, Dumbledore conjured her a handkerchief and gestured for Harry to go on.
"The venom worked fast – I began passing out in seconds. Voldemort stood over me, gloating, still holding my wand. But Fawkes was crying on where the fang had cut me, and he just stood there, not realising what was going on!"
Dumbledore smiled.
"The short-sightedness of those who place too much value on advanced magic, Harry. It did not occur to him that something so simple could foil his plans, even though he surely knew of the power of phoenix tears. It was the same fault that led to Voldemort's fall."
"Right, exactly!" Harry agreed, "he realised it, but by that time it was too late, the wound was already healed."
"But he still had your wand," said Arthur. "How could you possibly defeat him?"
Harry swallowed. He couldn't do it. Not like this. Not with Mrs. Weasley looking at him, tears of thanks in her eyes. Not with Ron sitting next to him. He had to lie.
"Riddle scared Fawkes away with a spell, but when he flew away he flew to the diary. He dropped it in my lap, and before Riddle realised it, I stabbed it with the fang."
All true. Just not everything.
"Of course," Dumbledore muttered.
"As soon as I did that, Riddle disappeared. Just melted away like smoke."
Dumbledore was looking at Harry now, looking into his eyes.
"And that is everything, Harry? After that you just passed out?"
Harry nodded, embarrassed. It was a bad lie, but he hadn't had the time to come up with anything better.
He could feel it, like he had in the chamber. An alien feeling in his mind. It wasn't painful, like Riddle. Nor was it anywhere near as intrusive, or violent. It didn't seek to dominate. It fluttered around, brushing against this thought and that thought, like a bee hovering over flowers.
Dumbledore, Harry thought. He felt no real anger at the intrusion. He had just lied, and about Voldemort, no less. But he couldn't let Dumbledore know. He might tell the Weasleys, and then Harry would be exposed as a liar. To let Dumbledore tell the Weasleys before was one thing, but now Harry had committed to a lie. The Weasleys wouldn't understand.
But Harry didn't want to fight Dumbledore. His fight against Voldemort had caused pain to both - and besides, he didn't know if he could win. The shade of Tom Riddle was the memory of a 16-year-old without even the strength to take physical shape. This wasDumbledore.
So instead of fighting, Harry tried to hide. He pulled back from Dumbledore's intrusion, marshaling his thoughts, trying to avoid thinking about Ginny or anything other than what he had told. Still Dumbledore searched. Harry panicked, and then he did something he didn't fully understand.
There is a certain feeling to thinking, to consciousness. Instinctively, people feel like they are thinking with their head. But Harry now had two heads – two brains – and he was using both. The feeling of his consciousness was inside the heads of both his bodies. It had been a bizarre feeling, to be having a conversation with all these people with one consciousness, while another lay pretending to sleep. But now he used that to his advantage. He split his thoughts in two, so that he was able to have two thoughts at the same time. It wasn't quite splitting his sense of self in two: he still had control over both. But the streams of consciousness quickly diverged, and he soon found himself following two different lines of thought. At the same time.
Harry used it to his advantage. Concentrating, he fixed one mind on the memory of stabbing the diary. He exposed that mind to Dumbledore, and whenever he was going to think of the true events in the chamber, he syphoned off those thoughts to the other mind – his hidden mind. He did all this in a matter of seconds. Dumbledore was left searching a mind which apparently lacked any memory of the true course of events.
"Very well," Dumbledore said, and he withdrew. Harry's separated thoughts crashed back together. He was exhausted; Dumbledore looked completely untroubled. "It is not unexpected that one should be drained after such an ordeal."
"Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley said, and she went to hug him again. Arthur walked over to Ginny.
"When will she wake, do you think?"
Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry and joined her husband. Dumbledore got up, frowning at Ginny. Harry knew what he was thinking: he was wondering why Ginny, whom he knew to be awake, was pretending to be asleep in front of her family.
"Oh, soon, I should imagine," he said, and once again he said it in such a way that made Harry think that Ginny was meant to hear. "But she has been through much. We must give her the time and space she needs in the coming months."
"Come, Molly, Arthur. There is no use waiting here. Madam Pomfrey shall tell us when she wakes. Will you join me for breakfast, while you're here?"
They left for breakfast. Just before he closed the door, Dumbledore turned to Harry and looked at him over his spectacles.
"Remember, Harry, should you ever wish to share anything with me, I am at your disposal."
And then he was gone.
Dumbledore had said something similar, once, not too long ago.
Right after Harry had lied.
A week later Harry was on the Hogwarts' Express.
"Oh, I can't believe how many lessons I missed!" said Hermione, newly unpetrified. She was leafing through a series of parchments that Professor McGonagall had given her to help catch up.
Harry and Ron shared a look. Typical Hermione: has a near-death experience and her main concern is how much learning she missed.
"Well, at leas' there we' no 'xams," Ron said around a bacon roll. He'd made it at breakfast and kept it for the train. As he spoke, a small piece of bacon managed to make its way from Ron's mouth, on one side of the compartment, to Hermione's lap, on the other.
"That's... disgusting," Hermione said. She pulled out a tissue, used it to pick up the bacon, and threw it out the window.
Harry said nothing. He was concentrating. He wasn't just on the Hogwarts Express after all - he was also in the hospital wing.
"I just want to understand, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley. Or "mum", as he called her now. She was sitting on the bed by Harry's knees. "Why don't you want to come home? Is it your brothers? They can stay with your Aunt Muriel, if you like."
Harry had "woken up" as Ginny three days after his conversation with Dumbledore. Any longer and he feared that Dumbledore would take action. Those three days had been packed with him practicing independent movement at every chance he got. He had found that it was much easier if he split his consciousness like he had with Dumbledore, but he found it unsettling to do so. Though he – that is, superHarry – remained in control, it was just too weird how Harry and Ginny's thoughts diverged. It was almost like he was two separate people when that happened. That way lay madness.
"You covered minor atmospheric Charms! Were they hard? I've never tried one before," Hermione said.
So Harry had been practising at his multitasking. Walking simultaneously was coming along, but he still had some trouble. Eating simultaneously had resulted in quite a bit of mess, but he was getting better at it.Talkingsimultaneously was still something he struggled with. As he was now, he was managing by making minimal contributions to conversations on one end while talking on the other.
He realised, of course, that he was much better at it simultaneous action than he ever would have been, before he gained a second body. Even without splitting his consciousness, he found that he could juggle thoughts in a way he never could before. He supposed it came from having two brains. More unsettlingly, he also found that his emotions were acting strangely, taking odd directions. Again, he supposed that this was the result of having Ginny's body. It was to be expected, he supposed, that there would be mental effects from having the body of a girl.
"Hey Harry, I just realised, next year'll be Wood's last chance to win the cup. Think you'll do it?" asked Ron.
"So long as giant snakes don't attack the pitch," Harry replied.
That was something else he was coming to terms with. While mentally he felt like he was a boy who just happened to have a body of a girl, physically he felt like he was both. Ginny's muscles moved in their own, different ways. He didn't know why they did, when there was no remnant of Ginny's mental self. But when he sat down as Ginny, he didn't sit like he did as Harry. He crossed his legs in a different way. He sat with his legs closer together. It just felt... right. Comfortable.
"Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley said, seeking an answer.
"Idowant to go home. Of course I do," he said. Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Just... not yet."
Taking his cue from Dumbledore, Harry had been acting as if he was affected deeply by Voldemort's possession. He was using it as a shield: it gave him a reason to avoid the Weasleys, seeking solitude. He had barely known Ginny. There would be no way he could convince the Weasleys he was her under normal circumstances. So he used every excuse to avoid them, and when he couldn't avoid them he was quiet and distant.
He realised that it was causing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley pain. But it was nothing compared to how they would feel if they knew Ginny was dead.
And so it was that Ginny had asked to stay at Hogwarts over the summer. Surprisingly, Professor McGonagall had allowed it. She too had been planning to stay in the castle, as had Madam Pomfrey. But convincing Mrs. Weasley was another matter.
"Oh, I've always loved this bridge," said Hermione.
"Oh, my baby girl," Mrs. Weasley said, and she pulled Harry in for a hug. "I've spoken with your father. He's convinced me that we should listen to what you want. You can stay at Hogwarts, for now."
Harry tried not to smile.
"But we're going to visit you every week, and Professor McGonagall's going to keep and eye on you. I still don't think it's good for you to be alone. You should be with your family! But... well."
Molly stood up and brushed herself off.
"Madam Pomfrey says you're free to return to your dorm, if you want. You shouldn't be in here all the time, it's not healthy."
"Do you know where Professor Dumbledore lives, Harry?" asked Hermione.
"Okay,", he said, replying to Molly, but with Harry's mouth. He kicked himself.
"Okay? That's not an answer at all. Honestly, it's like you're not even listening!"
"I am listening, sorry. I'm just tired. I don't know where he lives, but we won't be there for long anyway. We're going to Paris after just a week or so."
"Paris! I'm going to be in France too, you know. The south, but maybe we'll cross paths at some point..."
"Okay," Harry said, focusing back in the hospital wing now. Luckily, the short pause hadn't been noticed. He decided not to fight Mrs. Weasley on it. She was right: he couldn't stay in the hospital wing forever. And then it occurred to Harry: he would be in the girl's dorms! This time he couldn't stop himself from smiling. What boy hadn't dreamed of it? His thoughts suddenly turned to the Gryffindor girls in the year below. He'd never really spoken to them, but he'd seen them around the common room. Ginny had always been the prettiest of them, he thought, but none of them were bad looking.
"Oh, it's so good to see you smile," Molly said, a single tear falling from her eye, before she brushed it away. "I've brought you some clothes, so you don't have to walk back to the tower in a hospital gown. I'll see you next week."
Molly kissed Harry on the cheek, and left, leaving him alone on a bed with a pile of clothes. Harry pulled out the bra, and stared at it. He pulled back the privacy curtain, and shrugged off his gown, looking down at himself. Ginny's breasts were pretty non-existent at this stage, and a light smattering of freckles extended down from her neck. He quite liked the freckles. He gave one breast an experimental squeeze and wondered how big they'd grow. After some trouble, he figured out the right way to put on the bra, and shut the clasp. Next on were panties. He'd yet to exploredown there, leaving it for some time when he wasn't in the hospital wing. He was quite curious about it. All the boys in the dorm would be jealous if they knew – except Ron, he supposed. Harry was just relieved that he still liked girls.
He threw on the robe Molly had left for him and made his way to Gryffindor tower.
"Did you know France doesn't have a restriction on underage magic?" Hermione said.
That got Harry's attention. Now that he wasn't talking to Molly, he could focus better on Hermione and Ron.
"You think Dumbledore will let me?" he asked.
Hermione smiled.
"Harry, when Dumbledore arrived at Hogwarts he was already able to show his professors magic they'd never seen before. Somehow, I think he's okay with using magic outside of school."
Harry smiled. No Dursleys, with all of Paris and Hogwarts open to him and able to use magic: this summer was looking better and better. He bet Dumbledore could show him some pretty cool stuff, too.
The rest of the journey passed without major event. They talked, they ate, they read, the moaned about Snape, they made fun of Malfoy, they speculated about their summers. Ron even predicted that his family would win Daily Prophet Grand Prize Draw. Harry could tell Hermione wanted to talk about the chamber more, though he had already told her the story he had told the others. But he was sure she had noticed the way he was acting differently as he adjusted to his bodies.
But she didn't ask. She didn't even make hints that they should talk about it. She talked about magic and Dumbledore and France and even Quidditch, and Harry loved her for it.
It was dark by the time the train reached King's Cross, but the platform was well lit. The place was crowded with families waiting for the return of their children. Younger and older siblings were there too, ready to welcome back their brothers and sisters. He found Dumbledore easily – no-one that colourfully dressed is hard to find, especially amid the blacks and greys and blues of the other witches and wizards.
He said goodbye to Ron and Hermione, and promised to write to them both.
"I'll tell you if I can get to Paris," Hermione said, before she left with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.
"Well, Harry? Are you ready?" Dumbledore asked, after Ron, Fred, George and Percy were picked up by Arthur.
"Yes, sir," Harry replied.
"Please Harry, in the summer, call me Albus."
"Yes, Professor," Harry said, giving him a cheeky smile. Dumbledore laughed.
"Well then, Harry, take my arm, and we'll be off."
Harry did so, ignoring the curious stares of the surrounding witches and wizards, and they disapparated from the platform.