Getting Harry Back

Chapter 13
Expecto Patronum

“…compassion, the capacity to feel what others are feeling and to take their suffering to heart, is an essential factor in the fulfillment of our vision…. When we are moved and motivated by compassion, our vision is no longer determined by the boundaries of the ego-logical body.”

David Michael Levin
The Opening of Vision

Ooooooh!

I’ve had it, I’ve just had it! I’m definitely not myself, not myself at all!

The first two days I try to write my summer Potions essay, and I’m stuck. Completely! And I know I’m just being silly. Silly! If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s silliness. Especially when it gets in the way of work!

Hermione was sitting at her bedroom desk, looking out onto her dad’s backyard prize-winning flower garden. She was not, however, seeing the flowers. She huffed, paused, then raised her eyebrows sadly and sighed.

Part of it is that I miss Ron and Harry. Even though it’s only been two days, I find that I miss them so terribly. Maybe it’s the idea of not seeing them for a week? But I used to be able to go much longer.

I know I need Ron and Harry to balance my “must-prepare-for-the-future” and my “too-seriousness”. Just as I balance Ron’s “think-only-of-today” and his “over-playfulness”, just as I balance Harry’s “charge-into-action” and his tendency to mope and brood. But… my missing them is so much stronger, and it’s different than the other summers….

Hermione sighed.

To be honest, I need Ron for more than just balance, too, so much more. I can feel him coming up behind me and kissing me on the back of my neck – just like I’ve seen his dad kissing his mum. Yes, and I can hear him saying, “Love you, Hermione.”

Oh, I so love being in love.

With Ron, I don’t have to pretend to be somebody I’m not. He already knows me, and he likes it that I’m smart and can figure out things. I don’t have to hide that or have him always in awe of me. It’s part of what he loves about me, it really is.

And he doesn’t have to pretend with me, either, though I don’t know if Ron could pretend. He’s always so… well, Ron – open and friendly and honest. And he’s ever so much brighter and braver than he thinks he is, when he thinks about himself at all. He’s so cute when I tell him that; he gets all embarrassed and he has the most colorful blushes.

And our love, it’s so…. I can really be myself and he can really be himself – we can even still bicker and fight -- and that being ourselves isn’t just comfortable, but… real, so deep, all-the-way down real. Like Ron. So very special. Like Ron. And when he looks at me, I can feel not only that he knows me, but that I’m so very special, too.

And it’s so special, and fun, well… playing around. I’ve never done anything like this. Lavender and Parvati talk about it non-stop, but I’ve never really thought about it before. Well… of course not never, but… well….

She blushed.

Anyway, Ron says he hasn’t done anything, either. But it’s been really wonderful, even if we are just trying out things. When we do something for the first time, and I can tell we’re a little scared and I can see that Ron’s so worried about whether it’s okay with me – he’s so sweet. Even then, even when we don’t quite know what to do, it’s still not just fun but… magical.

It’s not what he knows, or even what he’s learned or what he does –that’s not the magic. It’s…

That he’s Ron.

When he touches me, or I touch him, there’s that… that “yes” feeling, that excited, “this is Ron and I can’t believe it’s really happening, that he’s touching me, that I’m touching him,” and I get all quivery inside. When we’re just holding each other, and I can feel him around me, I want to fall all the way inside of him and never, ever come out again, and I feel so warm, I feel so… loved.

No, better than that: I feel so loved by him, so loved by Ron.

And we don’t even have to touch. It’s special just to look at him. I mean really look, look as long and as hard as I want, and know it’s all right, and know he likes it, even when he blushes. I’ve known him for years, but now that I know I love him and he loves me, he looks so… different. Small things about him – the way he walks with his big feet and those long legs he’s not used to, the way he slouches when he sits, like he’s trying to hide how tall he is, and, oh, the way he smiles when he sees me – I can think about that forever.

I’m so very, very lucky.

She felt some of that awful sense of stuck melt away. She looked up again, this time seeing the flowers in the warm afternoon sun.

With Dumbledore and the Weasleys leaving Twelve Gimmauld Place, she’d decided to return to her home, where she reckoned she could better concentrate on her studies and, hopefully, miss Ron and Harry less. Especially Ron and their beautiful summer. Now, her thoughts left Ron and love and, as they had so often this summer, went on to Harry and worry. She sighed.

A few days before Harry was… beaten… I realized something that had nagged at me ever since he opened up: Ron and I had become his mum and dad! That bothered me, that really bothered me. I tried to talk about it to Ron, but of course he dismissed it. I can still hear him chuckle: “Aw, c’mon Hermione. Your brain’s getting over-active again. He’s my best mate, even like a brother. But I’m not his dad and you’re not his mum.”

I really took in how alone Harry was, that he didn’t have a mum or a dad, and what that meant. The way Harry was acting, like a little lost child… he really needed a mum and dad. So in spite of what Ron said – Sometimes he can be so thick! – I decided if that’s what Harry needed, that’s what we’d do.

God knows there wasn’t anybody else coming ‘round to do it!

After Harry had been beaten and almost killed, and after Dumbledore and the others were so incredibly stupid, I sent an owl the Hogwarts library – thank goodness I’ve made such a friend of Madam Pince. I got everything I could on child abuse. I’ve never been more shocked in my whole life! So much fit Harry, it really fit; there were so many signs. I was furious with myself, simply furious that I hadn’t known and put a stop to it.

I’m supposed to know! It’s my job to know! And my friends depend on me to know, too!

Even though maybe it’s… a bit unrealistic… I still feel that… I let Harry down? And I know Ron feels the same way. We should have known, and we should have stopped it!! After that, I decided that Ron and I were going to be the best mum and dad that Harry could have!

Even after Dumbledore’s apology and promise, I didn’t trust him. Why would I? I swore that nothing and nobody would ever hurt my Harry again! And while we didn’t talk about it, I knew Ron felt exactly the same way. Our Harry!

Hermione glared so fiercely that all the people in her wizard photos were peeking out from behind the edges of their picture frames. It took her several minutes to calm herself.

When Ron told me that the Weasleys were adopting Harry, I felt so relieved, so incredibly relieved. I knew that finally Harry would have the mum and dad, and the protection that he deserved.

But even though I know this is what Harry needed….

She didn’t want to admit this.

It was just a little hard to let someone else be Harry’s mum. And… I know this is silly, but….

This was difficult to admit, too.

It was even harder to… well… I guess to trust someone else -- even Mrs. Weasley -- to take care of Harry, to make sure he’s safe. I don’t think I could’ve stood it at all not watching over Harry for a whole week, unless I’d known that Ron was right there.

Just in case?

And even so, I find I keep wanting to go to the Burrow to check up on him.

Just to be sure?

Hermione looked over to the picture on her desk, and she saw Harry and Ron smiling and waving at her. She smiled back, but she felt an emptiness in her heart. Then, suddenly, she shook her head and frowned.

Even though I’ll miss Ron and Harry this week, I was looking forward to it. A little, anyway. With everything that’s happened this summer, I’ve gotten so far behind – I can’t believe how far behind – and I promised myself that I’d use this week to really catch up.

But that hasn’t happened. And I’m simply furious with myself, because I know I’m just being silly! And it started the first day. I can’t believe it started the first day. And in the morning no less!

There I was, just beginning my Potions essay, when suddenly this… this… this feeling came. I can’t explain it; it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever felt before. But something came over me, something strange – not bad really, very magical, but… strange. And I felt as if I were closer to Harry than ever before.

Not close like I am to Ron, not like that at all. It’s as if Harry and I are… connected, actually connected… and I can feel what Harry’s feeling.

Or at least I think I can.

She shook her head as if to clear it.

Yesterday and today, I kept getting these little jolts, like having his emotions: happy, scared, playful…. There was this one blast of shame, I’m sure it was shame, though I don’t know what the shame was about, or for that matter what any of his feelings were about. It’s so curious, even a bit unnerving. Scary, actually, these feelings coming out of nowhere, and they aren’t your feelings.

And it’s all so distracting, too. I can not get my work done.

Then this afternoon, just a little while ago…. This wave of terror. I felt as if Harry were dying!

Hermione looked fearfully at Harry in the picture, then reached over, put her hand on him and kept it there.

I’m sure I’m being silly, I’m sure. It’s just some sort of awful flashback thing – like I read about in those books on child abuse. I’m just having my own memory jolt from when Ron and I Portkeyed into Harry’s room and we saw him in all that blood. We thought he was dead!

I know Harry’s all right. He’s all right, he’s all right, I know it, I know it, I know it. After all, he’s there with all the Weasleys, even with Professor Dumbledore. And Ron’s right there, too. They’d never let anything happen to him.

She took her hand away from the picture as if it hurt to lose her contact with Harry. But she kept her eyes on him.

Would they?

She winced.

I still want to go check... just to be sure?

And it’s almost as if a part of me already has gone to check. Like part of me is there with Harry, like it’s… inside him?

She shook her head, then stared down at the blank parchment that was her unstarted Potions essay. But her eyes soon wandered back to Harry in the picture. Hermione stopped herself as her hand was reaching out again to touch him. She wrinkled her nose.

One of those books mentioned that the parents of abused children get that awful disease, too. Not just the children. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Where you can’t concentrate and you’re all jittery, and you have all those miserable feelings and all those horrid things you can’t get out of your mind.

Well. If that’s what I have, then I’d better go to the library to read what to do about it. Or I’ll never get my work done.

And with that, Hermione got up from her chair and strode out of her room, down the stairs, out the door and off to the library – a witch on a mission.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child,
By by, lully, lullay,
Thou little tiny child,
By by, lully, lullay.

Refrain, Coventry Carol
15th c. English

Harry found himself awake inside his body, but not outside to the outside world. He felt Mum’s presence surrounding him. At first he didn’t have the energy even to make himself known; he could only feel. As he felt beyond his mum, he sensed: Protection.

“My shelter.”

He also felt a strong sense of Ron and Hermione, and others, too, though they were less clear, more at a distance, and he couldn’t recognize them.

Harry felt his mum, his shelter, Ron and Hermione and the others as good presences; he really liked them. But he couldn’t clear his mind enough to know why they were there. Or what he was doing stuck inside his body, so weak, so drained.

“The snake!” he remembered. “That snake inside me, inside my wound!”

In response, Harry felt his mum, Ron and Hermione, and his shelter grow stronger. Trembling and shrunken, Harry sank into their embrace.

Gradually his trembling slowed. Gradually, too, he sensed, not-quite-felt outside, checking for the snake. It hadn’t left his wound. More, Harry sensed it couldn’t leave his wound. Yet.

Harry sank back again into those surrounding him, absorbing Mum, his shelter, Ron, Hermione, and more.

Harry heard his mum’s outside voice: “Take your time, Harry.” And he felt Ron pat his arm, saying, “S’okay, mate.”

Inside, he felt-replied: Agree.

* * * * * * * * * *

“If my new-found Harry connection may be trusted, he seems to be feeling better.”

Remus sniffed carefully again.

“Albus’s fear is entirely gone, that’s certain. And Arthur’s is almost calmed down to worry.”

He frowned.

“Molly’s is still strong. But then she’s always the last to ease up.”

He smiled.

“Whatever it was, I believe I can leave Harry and his family now to their privacy, to their bonding week. I did so hate to intrude on that unless….”

He felt his own jolt of fear. He firmed his jaw.

“But ‘unless’ has not happened,” he told himself resolutely, if not convincingly.

From the nearby woods, where he’d Apparated after he felt that jolt of Harry’s terror, Remus Lupin looked over at the Burrow and gave another sniff. Everything inside him screamed that, in spite of all the taboos against interrupting a bonding week, he should knock on the door, just to check. “I’m sure no one would mind, but….”

But….

So he’d stayed in the woods and monitored through his two-days’-old Harry sense and through the heightened senses that his lycanthropy gave him, even when he was in human form. “Has to be some advantage to being a werewolf,” he grumped. It’d been hard, very hard, but in the end, apparently, whatever had happened to Harry was better now.

Apparently.

“I really should go….”

His brow creased.

It took Remus nearly an hour to reluctantly Disapparate.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Harry opened his eyes, he was lying on his parents’ bed with nine heads of red hair and one of grey watching and worrying. Nobody moved, nobody made a sound.

He swallowed. “I’m okay now. I think.”

Still nobody moved, nobody even blinked.

“Uh… sorry?” Harry wished that his voice had been a bit more sturdy, or at least that it hadn’t cracked.

Most eyes looked more worried. Harry didn’t like that.

“Really, I’m all right. Honest. Hey? I didn’t mean to upset you all? Please?” He tried to smile.

None of the eye-worry stopped, but a few mouths got smiles, sort of. And many hands came out to pat him. Harry sensed they were comforting themselves as much as him. He liked both the comforting them and the patting him. His smile improved some.

“I believe,” the grey-haired one said, “that Harry is correct, at least in part. The danger, if there was one, has passed. I strongly suspect, however, that Harry is still somewhat weak. Molly? Arthur? Do you keep any chocolate?”

Nine Weasleys simultaneously jerked toward the door.

“Molly,” Dumbledore smiled, “why don’t you stay here and HandBond. Arthur and Ron, why don’t you stay, too. Perhaps you, Bill, could find some chocolate?”

With a crack!, Bill Disapparated. The remaining eight Weasleys returned to Harry, eyes and hands back on. He noticed less eye-worry. “That’s a step,” he thought. Harry looked up and saw Hedwig staring down at him from the headboard. He smiled at her, too.

Bill Apparated with what looked to Harry like an armload of chocolate. Mum promptly took a piece so big that Harry didn’t think he could eat it in a week.

He raised his eyebrows and started to protest. Mum’s eyes narrowed. He meekly opened his mouth.

* * * * * * * * * *

By supper, Harry was up and joining everyone in the kitchen. He was surprised to find that his appetite was enormous. For which he was grateful. Mum appeared determined that he would set new records for food consumption. Even more motivating for Harry, she looked better on the outside and, as they were still HandBonded, Harry felt her more relieved on the inside with every bite Harry took.

So Harry ate with a will.

Most of the family tried to make conversation. George’s and Fred’s jokes helped – helped them all relax, and in some way helped Harry get stronger, too. But Harry noticed that Mum stayed glued to his one side, that Dad stayed glued to his other side, and that, every few minutes, Ron, who sat across from him, found an excuse to get up, come by and touch him. Harry sensed Ron yearning to stand over him but controlling it. With great strength of character and not liking it much. Truthfully, not liking it at all.

“Family,” Harry thought to himself, wondering what he could do that might improve things. He noticed, with a “hmmm”, that Dumbledore appeared to be thoroughly enjoying everything.

By the meal’s end, the twins had everyone laughing, and Harry was sure that Mum had looked away from him at least twice.

At night, however, Mum had Charlie and the twins set up a bed in his parents’ room so he could sleep next to his mum and stay HandBonded. Which was fine with him -- he wasn’t quite ready to let go. They moved all his portraits, too, without Harry even asking, Dad casting a charm so they floated around his bed. Inside himself, Harry felt his shelter, and Ron and Hermione presences. And so surrounded, he slept deeply through the night.

When he woke up in the early morning, Harry discovered that Ron had crept into the room and was sleeping on the floor beside him. Dad had fallen asleep in a chair at the head of his bed, his hand resting on Harry’s always-unruly hair. Harry saw more Weasleys sleeping on the floor in the hallway in front of the door; Ginny was awake and staring at him from the open door. Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled; she smiled back and relaxed. Harry suspected that his outside-the-room Weasleys had taken turns staying awake and watching him all night. And Hedwig, of course, was right above him on the headboard.

Harry looked up and saw all his portraits awake and watching; by their eyes, they looked as if they hadn’t slept. Harry frowned, worried.

“It’s okay, son,” one of his portrait dads whispered. “We can sleep during the day. If we hadn’t promised to stay awake, I don’t think any of your new family would have slept at all.” He smiled. “We would have stayed awake anyway.” All the portrait heads nodded and smiled. “Good morning, son. Hope you’re feeling better; and we love you.”

Harry smiled, sort of, and sighed. He certainly felt part of a family. Maybe even – Harry found this thought incredible – a little too much part of a family?

* * * * * * * * * *

“Molly.” Arthur smiled but remained firm. “Today is my day, I insist.” He chuckled. “I love you very much for continuing to be the woman I married. Harry is our eighth child, and I’ve had to insist on my turn at HandBonding all eight times.” He walked over to his wife, stooping to kiss the top of her head. “Thank you most of all for loving our children.”

Harry and his parents were sitting at the kitchen table after breakfast. He reckoned that his brothers and sister were close-by. They’d backed off somewhat when Harry got up, apparently all right. But they were still near and watching. Especially Ron.

Mum wasn’t done. “Arthur, I’m not sure that Harry is well enough yet, after everything that happened yesterday.” Harry blushed. “I don’t know if it’s wise. Perhaps we should check with Professor Dumbledore…?”

Harry’s dad pulled his wife to her feet, moved behind her, put his arms around her, and nuzzled her neck.

“Oh, Arthur, I’m just so--”

“Scared,” his dad finished. “I know.”

“Mum? I’m really feeling a lot better. I’ll be okay, I promise.” He paused. “I want to HandBond with Dad, too. Please?”

Arthur smiled. “Don’t worry, Harry,” “She’s been like this with all her children; it’s her, not you. She loves all of you so much it hurts. And of course we’re going to HandBond, and HandBond today.”

Molly Weasley removed her end of the BondRope as if it truly cost her, and oh-so-reluctantly gave it to her husband of over twenty-five years. “Please be careful, Arthur,” she pleaded with words, voice and eyes.

“For the eighth time,” he said, “I assure you that I will. Haven’t lost one yet, have I?”

Mum didn’t look assured.

Harry got up and moved close to his dad. With a comfort and confidence born of experience, Dad put on the BondRope, connecting him with Harry. He smiled down at his new son.

Harry looked up into his father’s face; like Ron’s, it towered over a foot above him. He felt bathed in father-love. It wasn’t like with his mum, either the kind of feeling or the kind of HandBonding. But it felt right and -- this was a feeling he hadn’t had, so he wasn’t sure – normal? He checked his dad’s face, which was simply there and smiling. Not-at-all surprised.

“Maybe,” he hoped to himself, “we’re normal.” He’d always wanted to be normal, to just fit in, almost as much as he’d always wanted to have a family. Here was his dad giving him both. Harry gave his dad a huge, relieved smile.

The tall man crouched down, getting at Harry’s eye-level and cupping his large hands around Harry’s face.

“Hello, son. I love you. Welcome to your family and to your dad. Me.”

Harry looked into his father’s eyes and said, “I love you, Dad.”

For a good while, Harry and his dad just smiled at each other as 'my dad, my dad, my dad' ran wonderingly through Harry’s mind and heart.

Looking over his dad’s shoulder, Harry noticed the great Weasley kitchen clock. With a start, he realized that there was a new hand named, “Harry”, and it was pointing to “Home”.

"Dad," he whispered, still looking at the clock. He bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

His father turned, saw the clock and smiled. Then he stood up, bringing Harry into a side-hug. And for a long time, father and son stood together, clockwatching.

The day he spent with his new dad was every bit as magical as the day with his mum, but a different kind of magical. With the BondRope, Harry was more sensitive to his dad’s feelings, and his dad more sensitive to his. But mostly and most magical, he had a dad now and they just did things together; nothing big, just things. They fitted each other naturally. Dad, who was extravagantly son-experienced, always seemed to know what Harry wanted and needed, this without talking or bumping: helping, encouraging, reassuring, allowing time to adjust, pushing, showing-how, giving a pat or a hug. With Dad, Harry felt for the first time in his life, loved, easy and normal, all three together.

Harry was almost as grateful to his dad for the easy and normal as he was for the love.

At day’s end, when Harry removed the BondRope, he and his dad had a long and easy hug to celebrate their day, a father-son holding through which Harry somehow also felt held by his first dad and by Sirius. Harry smiled as he felt his tri-father holding move inside him, becoming a big part of his magic.

For Harry, HandBonding with his dad completed, fulfilled his sense of being a son, really being a son.

* * * * * * * * * *

“…and he knew now what he had known… this morning but had not yet thought into words.”

William Faulkner
“The Bear”, from Go Down Moses

That night, just before he and Ron went up to their room, while the whole family was still gathered in the Burrow’s living room and enjoying their gentle evening, Harry asked:

“Can I say something?”

Various forms of “Of course” and “Certainly, Harry” came back.

“I’ve decided to change my name.”

“Harry?” Mum said carefully. “Certainly you should do whatever feels best, but you know we don’t ask. Whatever your name, you completely belong in your family; you couldn’t possibly belong more.”

Fond agreement followed.

“I know, Mum.” Harry smiled. “And thanks.” He paused. “Thanks – all of you -- for so much. Actually, for everything. I mean that: for everything.”

“Harry,” Dad replied, “we thank you for becoming part of us, for your everything.”

His family nodded and smiled.

Harry smiled back. “It’s what I want, you see, because it’s who I am now.”

He paused, his face solemn with a touch of nervousness.

“Harry James Sirius Arthur… Potter-Weasley.”

Then without thinking but knowing that he must, Harry took out his wand and said:

“Expecto Patronum.”

From his wand now came not only a stag, but also a large dog and finally a pair of enormous and fierce…

Weasels!

Harry was wide-eyed, open-mouthed scared, feeling he might’ve done something wrong or insulting.

The room was silent for a beat, then dissolved into roars of laughter, a laughter that made all the Patroni even brighter and more powerful.

“Well,” Ron said as he recovered speech, “at least there wasn’t a ferret.”

The room dissolved once more.

As things settled down, Harry felt something coming from his wound. Again he lifted his wand, then paused to check. All eyes were on him.

He quietly said:

“Expecto Maternam.”

A dense, multi-colored mist emerged from his wand, forming into three large pairs of hands, each radiating light. They surrounded Harry, bathing him, no, holding him in their light. Harry began to glow as if their light now lived within him. The hands then gently moved around the room until each person was light-held and glowing.

Finally, from Harry’s wand came a pair of white wings which folded themselves around Harry, bringing their own light.

For a long time, the room was silent, motionless, smiling.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Harry no longer just casts spells that he has been taught. He now senses magic’s potential, he draws on the magic around him, the magic at his call.”

Dumbledore allowed himself a brief and rare moment of enjoyment, a break from his thinking, just taking in his own holding and its light. Then his mind began analyzing, testing and reforming plans, always reforming plans.

“This new spell,” he thought, “the Materna, exceedingly powerful and most complex." He shook his head. “At last he is coming into his greatest powers, those powers he was born to use.”

[And none too soon.] came the thought response from behind him.

Dumbledore smiled. [Yes. So what do you make of this Materna? Ward, of course, but against what? And it has so much more.]

[Like the Patronus,] came back the reply. [Always told you the Patronus has much more potential than Dementors. Harry showed that potential quite nicely, here, in his Patroni.]

[Agreed,] Dumbledore returned, [the way Harry conjured it. He shows so much more of what it can be. Let us consider both, and how they may best be used. The Materna first? I’m concerned lest it fade before we sufficiently understand it.]

[Albus,] the reply chuckled, [you should have more faith in me. I have it recorded and can recast it whenever we choose. I promise to teach you. You should have more faith in yourself, too. You’re really not such a bad learner. For a human.]

[I suppose I should thank you, Fawkes,] the old man chuckled back. [That is about as close to a compliment as you give.]

[About as close to a compliment as you deserve.]

Dumbledore felt the phoenix’s inner grin, and he replied:

[Frivolous curmudgeon.]

[Should be,] the phoenix said, [Studied with a master.]

[Are you implying that I--]

[Not implying, Albus, not implying at all. Stating. Stating facts.]

[I protest that--] The Headmaster was cut off.

[No one except humans could fail to see through that thin veil of eccentric whimsy into your vast inner sea of curmudgeonly scheming.]

[Curmudgeonly scheming? Now really I must--]

[And love,] the phoenix said indulgently. [That I will grant you – love. Even more love underneath the scheming. Old softie.]

[May we please move on to more pressing matters than my classification?]

[More urgent, less fun,] Fawkes said.

[Only, Fawkes, if I may classify you as well.]

[Ah, even less fun, that.]

[The materna, Fawkes. Or rather – with both Patronus and Materna – why multiples, and from whom?]

[Obviously, Harry’s greater gifts,] the phoenix replied. [He draws on all his fathers, all he knows to be fartherly.] The phoenix sharpened his tone. [All he knows.]

Dumbledore felt the phoenix glaring at the back of his head. He said:

[He will know more soon.]

[He should have known more earlier, much earlier. It would have helped.]

[I absolutely agree,] Dumbledore said. [I was wrong; you were right.]

After a shared sad pause, Dumbledore continued:

[So knowing, consciously knowing, is important.]

[Clearly.]

[But why the second weasel? And the third pair of mother hands?]

[Albus.] The phoenix sighed. [I forget how little you see.]

[I know, I know,] Dumbledore replied.

[Ron and Hermione.]

[Ah.] The old wizard’s eyes narrowed. [Of course.]

There was a long pause while the Headmaster digested this and added it to his hopes and plans. The phoenix thought-spoke next:

[You need to tell Molly and Arthur about Harry’s magic.]

[I had planned to tell them this week,] the Headmaster said. [They really should be the ones to tell Harry, now.]

[Quite.]

[I will urge them to tell Harry before he returns to Hogwarts.] The old wizard paused. [And to tell Ron.]

[Tough call, that,] Fawkes replied. [Bit chancy, don’t you think, what with all that could stir up in Ron. Risks shutting him down even more. You sure, Albus?]

[You may see, Fawkes, but you cannot feel into Ron and Harry as I can.]

[True, very true,] the phoenix conceded.

[There is much more afoot than meets the eye,] the wizard said, [even your eye. And not just with Ron and Hermione.]

[And the other fathers? More than them, too?]

[Yes, Fawkes, more than the other fathers. You saw that magic at the FirstBonding – all those firework links exploding out from that globe.]

[But even I couldn’t see where they went.]

Dumbledore smiled. [That’s where my feeling, while it lacks your clarity and specificity, has some advantages.]

[You may be right, Albus, you may be right.]

[Harry is not the only one benefiting and strengthening from the Ron-Harry connection.]

[Ah, just so….]

“The gaze which responds with care, with the response-ability of compassion, is vision’s most visible avowal of the truth that it belongs, inextricably, to the family of beings by which it is touched and moved.”

David Michael Levin
The Opening of Vision