The Cevalo Ring

Harry Potter sat at his desk, watching the dim street below. Privet Drive was half-lit by the dozen or so streetlights that stood up and down the lane. His window was open, letting the summer night air in.

As he had on many birthday eves before, Harry watched as the red numbers on his clock changed from 11:59 to 12:00. He was now sixteen. It was a significant milestone birthday for Muggles, but for a wizard, it just meant that he was one year closer to seventeen. One year wiser. One year older.

A woman on the sidewalk below glanced up at Harry's window. She observed, off-handedly, that the young man above her appeared to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. That observation was all too accurate. Harry's shoulders were weighed down with a prophecy that named him as the savior or the downfall of the entire magical world.

Harry sighed, placing his head in his arms, trying to lock up the disturbing thoughts in a corner of his mind. He knew that in the next few minutes, owls would start flying through his window, bearing gifts, cards, letters, and messages from his friends, and he didn't want to be in a foul mood for the rest of the night.

Sure enough, a tawny school owl appeared from the darkness, carrying a large package. Hagrid, he thought, feeling a little glimmer of pleasure. He remembered when he first laid eyes on the school gamekeeper. That night still remained one of the happiest in his life. It was a time before Draco Malfoy, before Voldemort, and before Wormtail.

Before Sirius.

Harry saw Sirius dodge Bellatrix's jet of red light: He was laughing at her, "Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.
The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.

Harry clenched his eyes shut, fighting back the stinging behind his eyelids. After a moment, the tears subsided, leaving him with only the dull ache he had in his chest, the one that he'd had since. . . .

"There's nothing you can do, Harry - "
"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"
"It's too late, Harry - "
"We can still reach him - "
Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go.
"There's nothing you can do, Harry...nothing. He's gone."

Harry gave up the fight. He let the tears come.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes slowly. They felt tight and sticky. After he had cried for a good, long time, he'd fallen asleep, still sitting at his desk. His arms felt numb, and shaking them out only resulted in a painful, prickly feeling. He felt his forehead - along with the famous scar that adorned his face, he could feel lines left by the wrinkles in his shirtsleeves where his head had rested on them.

His desk was now littered with gifts and cards. The post owls had all left, save one. Hedwig sat on the windowsill, peering at him questioningly. She gave a quiet hoot. Harry dug into the drawer to find his bag of owl treats, and slipped her a couple. Satisfied, Hedwig flew off into the night, leaving Harry with his presents.

He unwrapped Ginny's first - it was a book with a picture of Harry, Hermione, and Ron printed on the front. They were waving at the camera, grinning and laughing. Harry smiled at the faces of his two best friends before opening it up - to find blank, lined pages.

Harry

, said the note on the inside cover, here's something for you to talk to when you have no one else. Don't worry, it's not like mine from four years ago - this one has no one listening in on your pen strokes. I do, however, remember how much I needed to talk to someone at times. Maybe this will help you in a way. - Ginny.

Harry blinked. Of all the people to give him a diary, Ginny was the last one he would have expected. But as he stared at the blank pages, he realized that this was exactly what he needed. His head was swimming with thoughts of Sirius and prophecies and Voldemort and Sirius and the Department of Mysteries and prophecies and Sirius. Maybe he did need to find a place to put them. Maybe this would help.

He put the diary aside for the moment. His hand touched a gold-wrapped gift next. Harry, the note began, I hope you have a happy birthday. I'm sending you this so you can have some fun with the Dudley this summer. Also, so you can be prepared when you come to stay with us next month. See you soon! - Ron

Harry opened the package with a slight sense of trepidation. His anxiety gave way to a huge grin when he saw that Ron's gift was a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes sampler - an enormous box filled with every joke, trick, and prank known to man - and then some. Wow, thought Harry, if Fred and George keep this up, they're going to be richer than the Malfoy's. A thought, he knew, that would make Draco Malfoy turn green. The Weasley twins were already becoming a hot business team - sales were rising daily, and there was even talk going around about opening another shop in Hogsmeade.

Still smiling, Harry dug further into Ron's package. He found a container filled to the brim with some of Mrs. Weasley's home cooking, along with a new knitted jumper at the bottom of the box. It was the usual red and gold, this time with a stag stitched on the front.

Harry paused, looking at the leaping form. He put it aside quickly, before his emotions ruined the night any more than they already had. He picked up a box wrapped in brown paper - a note from Hagrid wishing him a happy birthday adorned the front. Harry grabbed his wand and poked the box - just to be sure. Somewhat assured that the box was safe, he unwrapped it.

Inside was a photo album. It was identical to the one that held the photos of his parents. Curious, Harry picked it up and opened it. He felt his breath catch. Inside were pictures of the Marauder's. All four of them were there - Lupin, James, Peter, and Sirius. There were photos from his father's first year at Hogwarts, all the way to Lily's baby shower. Photo after photo chronicled the friendship of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.

Harry had had enough. He stood up from his desk, and walked around in circles. He suddenly felt very claustrophobic within the four walls - within his own skin. He needed to escape. Harry suddenly was struck with the feeling that he would burst into a million pieces if he didn't do something soon. He sat down, put his head in between his knees, and took deep, heaving breaths. He knew that he was dangerously close to hyperventilating.

His friends didn't seem to realize that the last thing that Harry wanted was a reminder of his father, or Sirius, or Wormtail. Close to tears, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to collect himself.

After a few moments, he felt more in his own skin. He reached out for the last present - Hermione's gift. Holding the silver-swathed package in his lap for a second, he collected himself. He slowly unwrapped the present, afraid of what might be inside. Judging by his presents so far, and knowing Hermione, it would probably be a book on dealing with death and grieving.

Instead, he found a large box of Honeyduke's sweets...and a ring. It was a simple gold band, nothing distinguishing or remarkable about it. Inside was a note from Hermione: Harry - I found this when I was at Sirius's place earlier this summer. It was a family heirloom of your dad's - called the Cevalo ring. I'm still not sure what it is or what it does, but I'm working on it. Hopefully by the time I see you at Ron's, I'll know more. Have a happy birthday - see you soon. Love, Hermione.

Harry looked at the ring. He held it up to the light, examining it, trying to see something besides the smooth gold finish on it. He soon gave up, placing it on his right-hand ring finger.

Harry sat at his desk until the sun came up.

* * *

Ring. Ring.

Harry looked up from his History of Magic textbook. The Dursleys were at a family picnic for Uncle Vernon's company, and Harry was taking advantage of their absence by doing his homework in the sunny living room.

Ring. Ring.

Should I answer it?

Harry asked himself. It would most certainly not be for him - most of his friends didn't even know how to use a telephone.

Ring. Ring.

He sighed, and got up from his warm spot on the couch to go to the phone mounted on the kitchen wall.

Ring-

"Hello?" he picked up the phone.

"Hello, is Harry there?" a female voice said in his left ear.

Harry paused. This was unprecedented - with the exception of the disastrous phone call from Ron three summers earlier, Harry could not remember a time when someone had called him.

"Hello?" the voice repeated.

Harry started. "Oh, yes, sorry. Er - this is Harry."

"Oh, Harry! I didn't recognize your voice over the phone - you really do sound quite different. How are you? Are the Dursleys treating you well? Oh, I'm sorry I haven't gotten in touch with you earlier, but I've been in Florida with my parents, and now I'm at Ron's for the rest of the summer and they asked me to call you because apparently Ron tried once to call you and your uncle yelled at him, and I know how to use a telephone, so they wanted me to call and let you know that we're coming to get you on Thursday. Oh, and did you get my present?"

Harry found himself grinning as Hermione rattled on. He hadn't recognized her voice at first, but her monologue gave her away.

"Hi, Hermione," he laughed. "That's quite a lot to process in fifteen seconds."

He could hear Hermione laugh on the other end. "I'm sorry, Harry, I guess I'm just excited to talk to you."

Harry smiled. "It's nice to hear your voice, too."

* * *

"You're kidding me? What did your uncle say?"

"Well, he called Ron a freak, warned him to stay away from Aunt Petunia and Dudley, and told him to never call the house again. Then Uncle Vernon hung up and practically skinned me alive for giving the number to - " Harry lowered his voice to mimic Uncle Vernon's, " - 'people like me'."

Hermione was giggling. "Oh, I wish I could've seen your face! Oh -" she amended quickly, " - I mean, that really is too bad."

Harry laughed. "It's okay, 'Mione. It was pretty funny. I tell you, Mrs. Figg probably heard Ron shouting."

Hermione snorted. "He does have quite a loud voice, doesn't he."

Harry was about to retort to that when he heard the unmistakable scraping of a key in the doorway. He looked at the clock, and gasped inwardly - he and Hermione had been talking for almost three hours. Where had the time gone?

"Hermione," he whispered, "they're back. I have to go."

"Oh," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Right. Eleven o'clock, on the dot," Harry grinned. He couldn't wait.

"I can't wait," Hermione echoed his thought. "Bye, Harry."

"Bye, 'Mione."

Harry hung up the phone just as the Dursleys walked into the room.

"Boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon. "What have I told you about having your books out in broad daylight. Get upstairs!"

* * *

Harry sat on his trunk, looking around his empty room. Mr. Weasley would be showing up any moment - and Harry had no idea how he would arrive. He thought it best to stay in his room for the time being. Uncle Vernon was in an especially foul mood since discovering that Harry had been studying magic in the living room, and knowing that a wizard would be arriving once again in his home had spurred Harry's uncle to new levels of nastiness.

So Harry was sitting on his bed, staring at his now-empty room. His birthday gifts were in a small box next to him; everything else was crammed into his trunk. Hedwig sat impatiently in her cage, hooting every few minutes to show her displeasure.

He looked over at the snowy owl. "I know you don't like it, but we'll be leaving soon. Just hold on, okay?"

Hedwig held his gaze for a minute before turning her back on him. Harry sighed.

He reached into the bag next to him, searching for the box of Honeyduke's sweets that Hermione had sent him. Finally grasping a chocolate frog, he pulled his hand out of the sack. He unwrapped the treat, and turned the card over to find a picture of Dumbledore.

Harry munched on the frog as he read the headmaster's brief biography. Then he turned the card back over to look at the picture on the front. The normally twinkling blue eyes gazed at him sadly. It was as though the photograph knew what had transpired between Harry and the actual Dumbledore the previous June.

Harry asked..."The end of the prophecy...it was something about...

'neither can live...'"

"'...While the other survives,'" said Dumbledore.

"So," said Harry, dredging up words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him, "so does that mean that...that one of us has got to kill the other one...in the end?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Harry realized that he wasn't breathing. The thought of the prophecy was something that he had tried to avoid all summer. Now, it was suddenly hitting him full force.

If I can't kill Voldemort,

Harry thought wildly, no one can.

Faces were flashing through his mind at warp speed: Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George, Lee, Angelina, Katie, Alicia, Oliver Wood...

The lives of each and every person in the wizarding world, and very possibly the Muggle world, too, depended on his ability to vanquish the most evil, powerful Dark Wizard ever known.

...Dean, Seamus, Ernie, Justin, Hannah Abbott, Luna, Neville, Cho, Collin and Dennis Creevey...

It didn't matter to Harry if Voldemort killed him. What mattered was that Voldemort would then be unstoppable.

...Bill, Charlie, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, Kingsley, Mad-Eye Moody, Lupin, Mundungus Fletcher, Mrs. Figg...

Voldemort would have the power to kill everyone in his way.

...Dumbledore, McGonagall, Trelawney, Lockhart...Snape...

He would annihilate everything good in the world. Voldemort had the power to bring on a second Dark Age.

Harry's blood was pounding in his ears like a hammer. He took slow, heaving breaths, trying to slow down his heartbeat.

Bang, bang, bang.

"Boy! What the devil are you up to in there?"

Harry realized that his uncle had been calling him. He rose to shaky legs, and moved to open the door before Uncle Vernon smashed it in.

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," he said, his voice quivering slightly. He opened the door quickly.

His uncle sneered down at him. "Your...friends are here," he snarled. "Get downstairs. I don't want your kind to be here any longer than necessary." With that, he turned and stomped off.

Harry stood still for a moment with his eyes squeezed shut, trying to collect himself. His heart had found a calmer rhythm, and his legs no longer felt as though they were going to collapse. Harry put his box of gifts under his arm, grabbed Hedwig's cage with one hand and the end of his trunk in the other, and went downstairs to meet Mr. Weasley.

* * *

Coughing, Harry stepped out of the fireplace, miraculously still clutching all of his belongings. Hedwig looked a bit worse for the wear, but everything else seemed to be intact.

"Harry!" a voice cried out. He looked up right as Mrs. Weasley threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Harry, dear, it's so good to see you! Are you alright? Have your aunt and uncle been feeding you well?" She released him and stepped back to examine him, her eyes scanning for any signs of mistreatment.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, ignoring her final question. Harry was quite certain that if he had told her that he had been eating catered, five-course meals all summer, Mrs. Weasley would still think that he had been undernourished.

At that moment, several other people came into the kitchen from the outside. Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny all clutched broomsticks, and looked considerably windswept, while Hermione carried a large stack of books. They all stopped talking when they saw Harry, and then there was a loud burst of noise as everyone greeted him at once.

"Now, now, let him breathe," said Mr. Weasley, who had appeared in the fireplace during the commotion. "Fred? George? Why don't you two go put the broomsticks away?"

The twins groaned, but they grabbed the broomsticks from Ron and Ginny, and headed towards the yard.

"Ginny, dear, would you set the table for lunch?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Mr. Weasley looked at Ron, Hermione, and Harry. "Why don't you three go on a walk before lunch? You probably want to catch up."

Harry's heart filled with gratitude for Ron's dad. Some time with his two best friends was exactly what he needed after two months alone with only his thoughts.

Ron nodded his head towards the door. "C'mon."

The three of them passed Fred and George by the shed, and headed towards the grassy playing field where they played Quidditch. They walked in silence for a while.

Ron broke the silence first. "How're you doing, Harry?" He looked over at Harry quickly, a nervous look on his face.

Harry thought about how to answer this. He opted for the truth. "I'm doing horribly," he said quietly.

Ron and Hermione both stopped walking. Harry followed suit. He stared at his feet, trying to put his thoughts into words that they could understand.

"It's just..." he began, "when I think about my mum and dad, they're this...idea, you know? I don't really remember them. It's like Sirius said, what I miss is having parents, I don't miss my parents. But, with Sirius..." Harry paused, his eyes stinging, "I remember him. I can still remember talking to him, laughing with him...I..." Harry couldn't continue.

He looked up to see Hermione fighting back tears. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean -"

"Oh, Harry, no," she choked, "it's fine. I just - I miss him too. And I know that you were closer with him, but - " She began to cry, throwing her arms around him in a fierce hug.

Harry hugged her back, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes as Hermione sobbed against his shoulder. He looked up to see that tears were running down Ron's face.

He had never seen Ron cry. That did it for him. Harry broke down.

* * *

Half an hour later, they were sitting on the grass. Harry felt better than he had in months. Crying with Ron and Hermione had been extremely cathartic. It was the first time they had actually mourned Sirius together, and he felt as though his shoulders were lighter, somehow.

Hermione lay on her back, looking up at the mid-day sky. Ron sat with his back up against a tree trunk, and Harry was sitting cross-legged across from him.

"Do you ever wonder what it said?" Ron asked, suddenly.

Harry felt his throat close up. He knew exactly what Ron was talking about.

Hermione knew, too. "The prophecy? Of course. What was so important that it caused Voldemort to actually show up in the Ministry of Magic? I mean, it's just a prophecy, right? It's not a weapon or anything."

"Exactly!" Ron said. "But maybe it could've told him how to get a weapon!"

Hermione sat up halfway. "Or maybe, it talked about...about an heir, or something."

Ron looked at Harry. "What d'you think, Harry?"

Harry looked at Ron first, then met Hermione's gaze. I need to tell them, he thought. They deserve to know...

Harry paused before speaking. "I actually -" He cleared his throat. " - I know what it said."

Hermione sat up all the way, and Ron leaned forward.

"Why didn't you tell us earlier?" Hermione asked.

Harry didn't answer her. "I dropped the prophecy while I was helping Neville - he had a curse on his legs, and couldn't walk. Anyways, I dropped it, and no one could hear what it had said, because everyone was fighting."

"So then, how do you know what it said?" Ron asked.

"Later that night, Dumbledore took me back to his office. He said...he said he needed to tell me something. He said it was something he should've told me a long time ago."

"Wha-" Hermione began.

Harry interrupted her. "Apparently, Dumbledore had heard the prophecy years before. He used the Pensieve to show me what it said." Harry stopped.

"Well?" Ron asked, impatiently.

Harry raised his eyes to meet Ron's. "The prophecy said that there was someone born sixteen years ago with 'the power to vanquish the Dark Lord'." Harry closed his eyes, recalling the rest of Professor Trelawney's prediction. "His parents would have fought against Voldemort three times...and Voldemort would see him as an equal...and he'll have powers that Voldemort doesn't have. . . ."

"Does it mean...you?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide and frightened.

Harry closed his eyes and nodded.

"But - but that's a good thing, right?" Ron asked. "It means that you can defeat him!"

Harry looked up at the sky. "There's more," he said. He recited the second half of the prophecy with perfect accuracy. The words had burned themselves onto his brain. "And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. . . ."

Nobody spoke for a long time.

"Does that mean what I think it does?" Hermione whispered finally. Harry nodded. "Oh...Harry," Hermione said, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Damn," muttered Ron.

Harry didn't say anything. Ron had pretty much summed it up.

The three of them sat there for a moment in silence.

"Ron! Harry! Hermione! Lunchtime!" Mrs. Weasley's voice shouted, magically magnified so they could hear her.

The three of them slowly got up to move towards the house. None of them felt very hungry.

* * *

"So what now?" Ron asked. It was later that evening, and he, Hermione, and Harry were sitting on the two beds in his room.

Harry shook his head. "To be honest, I have no idea. I guess I'll continue with Occlumency, but I don't know how that will help me to actually defeat Voldemort. I'm probably going to have to start learning...I dunno, curses, spells actually used to...to hurt people..." Harry felt his stomach churn slightly. Their classes had taught them spells to protect themselves, and to immobilize or slow down opponents. He had yet had to learn spells whose purposes were to harm or kill. The idea made him decidedly ill.

"Ron?" Mrs. Weasley's voice came from downstairs. "Ron, you left your books on the stairs again!"

Ron groaned. "Be right back," he told them as he rose from his bed. "Coming, Mum!" he shouted as he exited the room.

Harry looked over at Hermione, who was sitting on the foot of the cot, her back against a wall. She was staring at the opposite wall, with her gaze fixed on a poster of the Chudley Cannons' Beaters.

"Hey," Harry said to Hermione. She turned to look at him. Harry smiled at her. "How was Florida?"

Hermione shrugged, a small smile appearing on her face. "It was fun. But to tell you the truth, I would have much rather been here with you and Ron."

Harry grinned. "Well, I can't say I blame you..."

Hermione laughed and threw a pillow at him. "Get over yourself, would you?" Her laughs died down, and Harry realized that she was looking at his right hand - more specifically, the gold ring on his ring finger.

"When did you find it?" he asked her.

She cleared her throat nervously. "I found it in an armoire in the guest room where I stayed during the winter holidays. There was a note with it - from your father - asking Sirius to keep it safe. Judging from the date, it was probably right before your parents went into hiding." She looked a little apprehensive. "You're not...mad at me, are you?"

"What? No, not at all," Harry responded quickly. "I'm just - just glad to have it. Thank you."

Hermione smiled at him, before returning her gaze to Ron's wall decorations. Harry kept his eyes on her face. In a rare moment of objectivity, he observed how lovely she had become. Her face was thinner, her cheekbones more prominent, and her eyes seemed larger. Her white t-shirt, though somewhat loose, showed off curves that Harry hadn't noticed before, while her shorts displayed long, tanned legs.

There was no doubt about it - growing up looked very good on Hermione.

"What is it?"

Harry started. He hadn't realized that he was staring. He smiled at her.

"Sorry," he said. "I was just thinking that you look...different."

Hermione cocked her head. "In a good way, or a bad way?"

Harry laughed. "Don't worry, in a good way. You look older - more mature."

Hermione smiled. "Well, so do you."

"Really?" Harry asked. He stared at his reflection in the window. He didn't think he looked any older.

"Well, you wouldn't be able to tell," Hermione said. "You look in the mirror every day - I haven't seen you in two months. Trust me, you look older." She smiled. "In a good way."

Harry tore his eyes away from his reflection, turning to face her. "I feel older. And not in a good way."

Hermione looked at him sadly. "You've had to grow up fast, haven't you?" she whispered. Harry felt tears spring to his eyes. It was true - kids his age around the world were worried about parents, and dating, and grades. Harry didn't have any parents, dating seemed trivial after the events of the past few months, and, well, what did grades matter if Voldemort succeeded in world domination?

"Yeah," Harry said hoarsely. "I guess I have."

He looked up, and saw that she had tears in her eyes as well.

"It's not fair, is it?" she asked. "You saved the world once, you've had to put up with dementors, and basilisks, and - and Quirrell, and Snape, and Rita Skeeter, and Minister Fudge, and the Dursleys, and it's just not fair!" She swiped at her eyes quickly. Harry was speechless - he had never heard her talk about this before. "I - I'm sorry Harry, I just hate it sometimes what you have to go through, and I know you must hate it, too, and I'm just being silly, but..." She shook her head. "You must think I'm so silly."

Harry shook his head, finding his voice. "No, I - Hermione, that is exactly how I feel, I just never talk about it because...well, all those articles about me looking for attention, you know? I didn't want people to think I was just feeling sorry for myself."

Hermione scooted over to sit next to him. She put her head on his shoulder, and grabbed his hand with hers. "Harry," she whispered. "You can always talk to me, you know that, right?"

Harry squeezed her hand back. "I know, 'Mione. Thanks."

At that moment, the door swung open. "Sorry about that," Ron said as he stomped into the room. "Mum made me put the broomsticks away. I tried to tell her that Fred and George like to leave theirs outside - who knows why - but did she listen?" He glanced at the two of them before sitting down to untie his shoes. "So, what've you two been talking about?"

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other. "Not much," Hermione answered. She gave Harry's hand a quick squeeze before getting off the bed. "It's getting late," she said, stretching her arms above her head. "I think I'm gonna go get ready for bed. 'Night!" she called out as she shut the door behind her.

Ron was rummaging through his dresser, still complaining. "You can bet that Fred and George are gonna blame me, too." He groaned. "I'll just tell them that Mum put them away - then they can get on her case."

Harry wasn't listening. He leaned his head against the wall, his hand resting on the warm spot where Hermione had been sitting a moment before.