Getting Harry Back

Chapter 24
Godric's Hollow

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

Herod, the king, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day
His men of might,
In his own sight,
All young children to slay.
Coventry Carol
15th c. English
Commemorating the Slaughter of the Holy Innocents

BOOM!!

Dudley closed his eyes and whimpered. But again, he quickly found that inside was even worse than outside. Because inside....

He shuddered and his eyes flew open.

Black waves, furious and tower block tall, reared and crashed all around them. No, more than crashed -- they exploded, exploded more savagely than anything he'd ever heard or imagined. Dudley could see each vast wave desperate to engulf them, to crush their small boat into the sea.

"Mum? Dad?" Again he looked over at his parents, and again he saw what he'd seen over and over -- his parents there in body, but.... "Like they're trapped inside themselves, trapped with...."

Once more, he shuddered, and that "trapped with..." forced his eyes to the boat's stern. It was there. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. And he could see the rowing, steady and excruciatingly slow, rowing through the placid narrow trough in the storm-lashed sea. Never resting, never hurrying, just rowing, rowing through the storm, rowing them from Scotland's coast to the island they called Azkaban.

Dudley remembered that giant, the one who'd first come to get Harry and who'd told them about Harry's magic, the one who'd put that pig's tail....

He whimpered, and he recalled the giant's harsh voice just before they got into the boat. "Th' trip'll take yeh three days. But yeh won't be needing ter take no food -- jus' water. Even that, yeh'll have trouble keepin' down. An' not 'cause of no sea-sickness."

More flashes of memories, horrible memories of that man who'd threatened them right after he found Harry, who'd threatened them earlier that summer at the train station. That man had come back, just the evening before, more angry than ever, with all those many angry-looking others -- all in robes. And he'd said,

"I accuse you, Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley, Dudley Dursley. I accuse you all of unspeakable acts of violence against one Harry James Potter, now Harry James Sirius Arthur Potter-Weasley. I accuse you by right of being Harry's father. By that right, I bring you before the Wizengamot to stand trial on these charges. And know you all," he intoned with barely controlled rage, "that the truth shall be fully told."

They'd been forced to touch a black stone, and then they'd found themselves at the bottom of a dark hall, surrounded above by more angry-looking people in robes. They were forced to drink something crystal clear and....

Dudley began quivering, then shaking at the memory of all those black-hoods and their reactions to his father's words, his mother's words, even his own words, forced out by whatever they'd made him drink. True, it was worse than he'd known, but it was only about what they'd done to Harry. From the angry people above, he'd felt their rage, their hate. He'd felt it pressing down on them, pressing breath, pressing thought, pressing everything out of them, and leaving them flattened and in inflamed agony, like a puss-emptied boil.

Violently ill, Dudley retched over the boat's side, dry-heaving again and again, as if trying to expunge that cold emptiness and terror which filled his stomach, his lungs, his brain, his heart. That cold emptiness and terror which replaced his blood and coursed throughout his body. That cold emptiness and terror which first came from all those angry people, which now came from it, which now threatening to swallow him up and crush him -- mind, body and soul -- even more than those huge, angry sea-waves.

It.

Dudley knew that it wasn't just there, in the stern, rowing. "It's inside me; I can feel it. It's inside me forever!" That's all Dudley could feel, whenever he closed his eyes, whenever he sensed inside of himself -- that hopeless forever. That's what he could feel his body trying to expel as it retched, desperate to be rid of all those feelings, to be rid of it.

He felt a quick flash of anger. "Just because of that poncy Harry. Just like last summer, when it came before, this's all his fault. He did this! He's behind it all!"

With those thoughts came more hate than he'd ever known, more than with the glass, even more than with the puppy. And with that hate came neither less terror nor less hopelessness, but at least a place for him to stand. "As if," a small part of his mind thought, "I'm joining it." And with that place to stand, Dudley found that he could think more thoughts, more thoughts bringing more hate and more of a place to stand, standing not against, but with it.

"Harry's behind all this, I know he is. He sent it, and he told it what to do."

Dudley felt his hate grow until it reached his fear and made his fear give him more space, space to hate, and so space to live and breathe.

"I'll get you, Harry Potter." Hate now glowed out of Dudley's eyes. "I swear, I'll get you."

* * * * * * * * * *

After finally falling asleep, the night before he and his family were to visit Godric's Hollow, Harry woke up with spasms of nausea. He barely had time to grab the wastebasket.

Ron was right there. "Harry? What's wrong? What's happening? Is You-Know-Who--?"

Unable to talk, Harry could only send his thought, [No.] He didn't know what it was, but he knew it wasn't Voldemort. It was familiar, yes, but not Voldemort-familiar.

For several minutes after the most violent nausea subsided, Ron&Harry sat joined, with Ron's arm around him, Ron's love, Ron's complete support within him.

"D'you want me to get Mum or Dad?" Ron asked. "Or Dumbledore?"

Harry shook his head. "No. No, Ron. It's... it's settling down -- can't you feel that?"

"Yeah, I can." For another, longer time, they were quiet.

"If I didn't know better," Harry said, "I'd say that it feels... like Privet Drive, like the Dursleys." He felt Ron's pained [worry] hovering inside him, wanting to explore, yet afraid of setting off more nausea. Ron settled for checking and re-checking the snake-barriers -- they both had felt the Dementor-snake stir, but no more than stir. But there was....

"No, it's not the snake," Harry said. "There's something else in there, in that part of my wound with the snake. I've felt it before, but I've never... Well, I've never noticed it, not like now. I don't think it was ever this strong, though I can feel it settling down. Can't you?"

"Yeah, I can feel that." Harry felt Ron's [worry] open into a decision. "Settled down or not, we need to tell Dumbledore."

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Harry agreed. "But can it wait until after Godric's Hollow?"

Ron scowled.

"Please, Ron? It's only a day. I don't want anything to keep us from going. Please?"

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Ron agreed.

* * * * * * * * * *

Petunia felt herself fading more and more, fading away entirely into that memory, the memory where Vernon and she found her parents in their burned down--

"No," she whispered with what felt like the last scraps of her will to resist, her will to keep anything at all of Petunia outside of that memory. "No," she whispered again, even softer, as those last Petunia bits dissolved into hopelessness and terror. Everything she was became trapped within reliving that memory, over and over and over again. She was swallowed up into the death of being that horror.

Petunia was that memory, and nothing, nothing else....

* * * * * * * * * *

The green eyes began losing their glow, that more-than-hate-filled glow awakened by Dudley's hate. They knew Dudley's hate, those green eyes did, and they were prepared to meet his hate. "With more hate than that fat sod ever imagined." Indeed, those green eyes had met Dudley's hate. And they fed on it and grew even more powerful.

The glow hadn't quite settled down when those eyes felt Petunia -- "Dear, dear Petunia." -- take her final plunge into the only-horror of her darkest memory. The power behind that glow -- it grew. "From an even tastier source to feed on."

Green eyes turned to the snake's red eyes, and the mouth under those green eyes smiled.

"Dear, dear Petunia."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Godric's Hollow," Hagrid murmured. In the powerful magic of first light, he stood in front of the ruined house and called through himself to the earth below. Then he waited, listening with his whole body. Finally he smiled. "Aye, I can feel it. Yeh remember Harry, yeh remember him well." He body-listened again. "Yer laughter - it tells me so."

He relaxed, his smile deepening. "Now, about James an' Lily. Some o' their earth, it's mixed here, I can feel it in my bones." His smile left, replaced by a grim tension. "I'm asking yeh, will yeh call them ter me?"

Hagrid was silent, again listening and feeling.

"O' course, I know the costs, ter you and ter me. I can bear it, and bear it willingly. An' I'm asking you ter join me in it. I can' do more, only ask."

Another body-listening pause. "Aye, and many thanks. I'll jus' have a sit here an' wait." With that, Hagrid sat down, closed his eyes and seemed to merge with the ground, his skin earth-darkening, his whole being becoming, to the distant viewer, almost mound-like. Then as expected, as agreed upon, Hagrid felt himself aging. And in the earth that was Godric's Hollow, he felt it -- a painful thing, a slowing of the Dance. Both Hagrid and the earth shared that pain, a pain they'd willingly taken on. Hagrid's face was strained. All the small sounds and pleasant outdoor smells, even the wind, itself, were hushed, as if they, too, felt the earth's pain and then withdrew.

After many long minutes, a warm shimmer rose from the earth and surrounded Hagrid. He roused himself.

"Yeh know, o' course, that Harry's comin' here, ter Godric's Hollow." He paused, body-listening. "I can feel that he don' know why he's got ter come, though I feel he's got sommat to say ter you. But most of all, I can feel he's called, and yeh know what that can mean. Called fer good, called fer ill, called fer some mix o' the two, more like. And when we're called, we never know, do we? That's why I asked the two o' yeh here, that's why Godric's Hollow an' me, we opened the way fer yeh. As yeh well know, Harry may need yeh. And anyway, he needs yeh to hear what he's got to say. Tha' I know fer certain."

Again, Hagrid paused, listening and feeling. "I reckoned yeh'd agree, and that yeh'd want ter come. That's partly why I called yeh -- I knew yeh'd want ter come. And I reckoned I owed yeh that, jus' like I owed Harry."

Now, for the first time since Hagrid called James and Lily, his face began to lose its tension. And the earth seemed to ease, with smells and sounds and gentle breezes returning.

For good while, Hagrid stayed talking. When he left, a sharp-eyed observer would have noticed him a bit stooped. But anyone could have seen the magnificent glow on his face.

* * * * * * * * * *

The day was grey, overcast, just barely not drizzling.

A pile and scattering of scorched tiles, burned timbers, fire-discolored broken glass, and the odd bits of twisted metal. Once houses had stood on all sides but, as Harry was told, those had been cleared away, and a park of some size now surrounded the ruins, a spell keeping them as they were right after it happened. In the front was a collection of notes, stones, old coins, and other small objects.

"People started coming here right after it happened," Mum explained. "And they've never stopped. Not just to pay respects, but.... Harry, you and your first parents gave us all a dozen good years, after so many terrifying years."

Dumbledore had, of course, come along. He had, in fact, come first, to set up the Portkey. Harry suspected he'd also made certain that everything was safe. His family had come, too, including Hagrid, Hermione, Neville, Remus, Dobby and the Diggorys. It was decided that Snape wouldn't come, as it could get a bit public and that might lead to awkward questions in difficult places. And Harry hadn't minded Snape's not coming -- in a way, it was easier.

They all stood quietly in front of the ruin.

"Hagrid?" Harry asked. "Do you remember where I was, when you came to get me?"

"Yeh were in the back o' the house, where tha' big hole is. That's where I found yeh." He hesitated. "And yer mum."

For a while, Harry didn't say anything, he just felt. Then he looked up at Hagrid and asked, "Where was my dad?"

"Righ' there," he said, pointing, "in front, in what was the sittin' room."

For several minutes, Harry looked, still not thinking, not even picturing anything -- just looking and feeling. He turned to his parents. "Can I go in there for a bit? I mean... by myself, without anyone watching?"

Harry's parents looked at the Headmaster. "Molly, Arthur," he said, "Hagrid and I strongly sense that if Harry is safe anywhere, he is safe here. He has even more protection than we can give him."

They nodded, and everyone but Harry began to withdraw to a far corner of the park where there were a few benches sheltered by some trees. Ron, however, lagged behind, looking back and obviously not wanting to go.

Harry felt that he agreed with Ron's not wanting to go. "Ron?"

"Yeah, mate." Ron turned right away.

"Would you mind... staying close-by, just outside?"

Ron immediately moved toward Harry. Then he stopped and looked stubbornly at his parents, who smiled and nodded. He turned back to his best friend. "Of course, Harry. Whatever you say." Ron sat down just outside the ruin, behind a small pile of timber, facing away.

[Ron, would it be all right if maybe... well, I went in not so much... Ron&Harry?]

Harry felt Ron's [smile]. [That's fine, Harry. Hey, this is your place, your home, and... well, I'm just glad to be... around.]

Harry [smiled] back, and he felt both sadness and relief as he and Ron semi-detached. He picked his way carefully into the ruin, crossing what had obviously been the doorsill. Once inside, he stopped and stared at the place where Hagrid had seen his father. "That's where Dad fought Voldemort," he thought. "That," he forced himself to think the words, "is where he died. To save me."

Harry wasn't sure what he felt, because he was so full and so empty at the same time. All he knew was that he felt his father more strongly here than ever before. He spoke quietly. "I've got to fight him, too, Dad. I don't know why me, why that prophesy. But... I have to." He lowered his eyes. "Like when Voldemort came to kill me, and you had to."

Not only from his wound, but also from the ruin itself, from the place where his father had died, Harry felt... his dad agree. He closed his eyes, letting himself feel deeper into his dad's agree.

"I don't know how I'm going to do it, Dad, I just don't know," he said, eyes still closed. He swallowed. "But I reckon you didn't know how you were going to do it, either. When your time came, when Voldemort came, you knew you had to, and you did. I just hope that when my time comes...." Harry faltered and bit his lip, unable to go on.

He felt his dad move closer to him with understanding. And with his dad's understanding, Harry felt that the last still-alone place inside of him was no longer alone. Startled, he opened his eyes, looking at where his father died. There were no words; he knew that words didn't matter between his dad and him -- not about this. What mattered was that his dad understood. No matter what Harry felt or thought before, no matter what he was able or not able to do, his dad understood. For a long time, Harry just looked and felt not alone now and held by his dad's understanding.

"When my time comes to face him," Harry said, "I know you'll be there, too, Dad -- you and Mum. You'll both be there with me. And you'll understand."

He knelt on the rubble, closed his eyes again, took a deep breath and said, "Thanks. Thanks for understanding; thanks for saving me. And... thanks for being my dad." He pressed his hand down into the rubble and held it there, whispering, "I love you." For quite some time, Harry knelt here, feeling as close to his first father as he could get.

Slowly, Harry stood up and moved to the great hole in the ruin. "Where Mum...." He decided not to think that yet. Before stepping into that hole, he stopped and looked around the ruin that had been his home, his happy home, the home he'd shared with his first parents, the home where he'd been first loved.

But right now, while he felt love from his wound and from the ruin, there were so many other feelings, so many jumbled, confused feelings.... "I don't want to sort that out now," he thought. "I just want to...."

Harry shook his head, stepped into the hole, and sat down. For a time, his mind was blank. He was here, where it happened. That was all, and that was enough.

Finally, words began to come, and he said, "Hi, Mum. I wanted to tell you that I've got a family again. You know them - the Weasleys. They're a really great family. They're so good to me, and they love me and I love them, and it feels wonderful and everything, but.... I still miss you. I still wish I'd had the chance to know you, to have you for my mum, not just that first year."

Harry was quiet for a moment.

"You saved my life. Maybe you didn't know, but you did - you and Dad."

He smiled gratefully, but that smile faded away. "Voldemort... well, he's back now, and Professor Dumbledore says I've got to kill him. Or he's going to kill me and a lot of other people. But I reckon you knew about that, about the prophesy."

Harry gave a big sigh. "So before anything happens? I just wanted to come here and say thanks. I know that sounds messed up, but that's not how I mean it. I just wanted to make sure I told you how much I missed you and...." Harry gave a little smile. "And to thank you for giving me my life. In a lot of ways, it's not been such a bad life. 'Specially now. And no matter what happens, I want you to know that I'm glad I've had it."

Again, Harry put his hand on the rubble. "I love you."

Harry gave another sigh, and he relaxed. He'd said everything he wanted. For a long time, he just sat there. Then from his wound and from the ruin, he felt his first mum's presence well up, surround him, hold him. He began to feel drawn to a part of the hole a bit deeper than the rest. Harry moved over and sat down again, his right hand absently playing with the rubble. His fingers touched something smooth and round. Curious, he pried it out.

A small, dark stone sphere, hardly larger than a pebble and with an almost bluish tinge. Obviously, it had been broken in two then somehow repaired, brought together again. Harry looked at it, turning it around in his hand. His wound was glowing and, strangely, Harry felt the sphere, or at least his hand glowing, too. Even more, the hand- or sphere-glow linked to the glow from his wound. And with that, Harry felt himself gently-but-powerfully drawn into the sphere and toward the wound - not the wound of the snake, but the wound he first felt-saw at the Dursleys. And also, like at the Dursleys, Harry heard that keening guitar melody, drawing him even further into the wound and away from everything else. (1) And with that music, but gently, subtly different from that music, Harry felt a trance-like haze, a wall settling and growing between him and the world around him.

That keening guitar kept playing, that strange wall kept thickening, and Harry closed his eyes, feeling himself hypnotically drawn further and further away. He vaguely heard a crackling, like magical power, over near the trees and benches. But those sounds were too soft to penetrate into his full awareness, and so they dropped out of his mind before they could lead to even the slightest reaction.

* * * * * * * * * *

Bang-Crash!

Another blast of red light shot from Dumbledore's wand, again exploding uselessly against the ward and showering them, burning them with sparks.

Charlie ignored the spark-burns, concentrating on his own magic, conjuring his most destructive spells as fast as he could, though they, too, shattered uselessly against the ward. "Bloody hell!" he heard himself scream.

They'd all been sitting and talking - serious talk about Harry - when suddenly and with no sound to prepare them, that ward was there all around them, boxing them in. Voldemort and a dozen Death Eaters were feeding an eerie green light from their wands into the ward - such force that it pressed against them, almost making it hard to breathe. They saw, over near the ruin, Ron struggling to get out of another ward that also boxed him in.

Dumbledore had been the first to attack, with everyone else following right after. But spell after powerful spell, and still the ward held as firm as ever. They were trapped inside, trapped away from Ron and Harry.

* * * * * * * * * *

Engulfed by that haze wall and listening to the music from within his wound, Harry felt the music shift and it seemed... "Like it's coming through this stone," he wondered, even more entranced. "It's not like the music's louder. But it's...." He frowned. "It's more here, and I can go further into it, and that music can go further into me. More powerful and we're bonding -- like I'm becoming part of all that's beyond the veil. They're calling me -- through this stone and through my dad's music. In a way...." Harry stopped, just taking it all in. "Through the stone, the music and... even through the ground here, our magics are coming together, like with me and my new family. Like we're HandBonding."

Harry felt himself drawn, almost carried into the music, which held him, gently held him. For Harry, now, there was nothing but his dad's music and the magical bonding.

* * * * * * * * * *

Charlie felt the ground tremble, then release a massive outpouring of magic. Somehow, he knew to look up at Hagrid, who was standing next to him. Hagrid's eyes were closed, but Charlie could feel him.... "Calling that magic to him, right out of the sodding earth!"

As Charlie watched, he saw Hagrid. "Not like he's getting larger, but... greater."

Another blast from Dumbledore's wand brought Charlie back to the battle. He shivered, not just from the blast's force, but also from the rage and desperation behind it. Before he could think of his next attack curse, he felt something coming from Hagrid, and he saw his face pure battle-fury.

Suddenly, the earth's magic hurled him against the ward, which, while it didn't break, clearly bent. "More than any of us has done," Charlie thought. As Hagrid fell from the wall, Dumbledore threw a red curse against it, right where Hagrid made his dent. The rest followed him, all casting their magics into that one spot which, Charlie could see, began to glow.

Hagrid slowly picked himself up off the ground. In spite of clearly broken bones, he closed his eyes and readied himself. Again, the earth hurled him against the ward, denting more, though less than the first time. Harry's family threw all their magical weight against that dent.

* * * * * * * * * *

Crack!

Harry was startled out of his trance and through that haze-wall. "Was that someone Apparating?" he wondered. "Sounded like it was near Ron."

Harry listened, but heard nothing. He frowned.

"Ron?" he called.

Still nothing.

Harry reached out to Ron&Harry and felt...? "Odd. It's like Ron's sleeping," he thought. Then from where he heard that Crack!, from where Ron was, he heard:

"Avadra Keda--"

"NOOOO!!"

With Harry's scream, a golden blaze exploded from Harry's wound and sheered over the low ridge. Harry burst to his feet, following the blaze over the wreckage, frantic. Reaching for his brother, Harry felt Ron's presence disappear, like a light winking out.

"RON!!"

Quickly reaching the rubble's top, Harry looked at three Death Eaters, wands at-the-ready. Two pointed their wands at him. The third stared at a golden light which completely covered the motionless redhead. That Death Eater's wand pointed at the light-covering.

Pure Green Fury, magnified to infinity by that stone, erupted from Harry's wound. In an eyeblink, all three Death Eaters were ashes.

Harry's scar seared into his brain. He reached out to Ron&Harry and felt nothing. Nothing. Only Harry. No Ron.

Frozen and open-mouthed, Harry stared at the lifeless form of his best friend and brother, his twin.

Then sight and knowing left.

"Ron," he exhaled.

Harry's young legs buckled, and he tumbled. Harry's mind and soul fell, too, into his wound, into a newly-made chasm where all he felt was disemboweling fear and the snake, the soul-eating Dementor-snake.

* * * * * * * * * *

Charlie had watched in horror as three more Death Eaters Apparated at the ruin. Somehow, they pushed the ward onto Ron. Ron collapsed, that golden light came, and finally Harry appeared, sending out a green light that turned the Death Eaters to ash. Then Harry collapsed. Hearing a growl, Charlie turned and saw Hagrid raise himself up, ready to launch a fourth time, though his third had hardly dented the ward. Sticking out from Hagrid's bleeding shoulder, Charlie saw the white of a bone.

Suddenly, a massive red-orange light shot out from ground level, smashing into the ward-dent with such concentrated force that the ward cracked. Hagrid rammed that crack, which then vaporized outward into a shower of green sparks. Instantly, a dozen green death-curses were hurled against Voldemort, who Disapparated before they could reach him. One, however, found its mark, and Bellatrix Lastrange lay on the ground, staring vacantly at the sky. A few Death Eaters Disapparated, but more appeared stunned by the reverberations of the ward exploding and the curses sent at Voldemort. Ignoring all this, Hagrid ran toward Harry and Ron. Just then, four enormous dragons appeared at the ruin, right above Harry's body.

Before he Apparated to his brothers, Charlie heard Hermione scream, "Dobby!", and he looked back to see the house-elf crumpled on the ground, motionless. Dobby's Harry-given iron ring glowed a bright red-orange.

* * * * * * * * * *

Green eyes and red eyes looked at Harry's soul-form lying unconscious in front of them, lying exactly as it had fallen. Slowly the mouth under the green eyes began to smile, though that smile never reached those eyes. Turning toward the Dementor-snake, the mouth quietly said,

"I feel nothing of Ron. I think we may safely assume that he is... gone." The mouth gave a chuckle, though not a friendly chuckle. "As usual, it was not as we'd planned, but...." The mouth chuckled again. "It's good enough."

The snake hissed in response.

Green eyes turned back to the deathly still Harry. "In the interest of expediting matters and of tidiness, we'll dispense with Harry's enlightenment." He turned to the snake.

"He's all yours, pet. He's all yours."

* * * * * * * * * *

Hush ye, my bairnie, (bairnie = little baby)
Bonnie wee laddie,
When you're a man
Ye shall follow yer daddy.

Sleep now and close your eyes,
Heavy and weary,
Close now your weary eyes,
Rest ye are taking.
Sound be thy sleeping
And bright be thy waking.

Hush ye, my bairnie,
Bonnie wee laddie,
When you're a man
Ye shall follow yer daddy.
Traditional Scots lullaby
Recorded by Ann Mayo Muir
From Celtic Lullaby, Elipsis Arts recordings

* * * * * * * * * *

"You're becoming a ghost?"

The pale, almost-formless form that had so recently been Lucius Malfoy turned toward the voice and saw Bellatrix. "Or at least," he thought, "that which once was Bellatrix."

"No," Lucius replied. "I merely find myself... reluctant, surprisingly reluctant to leave." Lucius was surprised, too, by the honesty of his answer. "Not," he thought, "that there's any reason to hide now. In a way, I suppose it's a relief to be clear."

The equally pale Bellatrix nodded and said, "My situation as well."

She looked sad, which surprised Lucius. "I can't recall ever seeing her sad," he thought. "I wouldn't have thought her capable of sadness. I wouldn't have thought her capable of anything except rage, revenge and lust for power. Perhaps I've misjudged her." Lucius paused in his thinking. "But then I wouldn't have thought myself capable of this... reluctance." He smiled ruefully. "Perhaps I've misjudged myself."

Bellatrix interrupted his thoughts. "Is it... him?" she asked. "That's my reluctance. I don't want to leave him."

Lucius frowned.

"It's not what you think," Bellatrix answered the frown's unasked question. "It's not his power, or his sex." Bellatrix smiled, and Lucius saw, for a moment, the old Bellatrix. "His sex was never more than average. He was never, my dear Lucius, as good as you. Or even Rudolphus."

Lucius nodded in acknowledgment of what he supposed was a compliment. "What, then?"

He saw the old Bellatrix fade, or rather he saw a new, thoughtful, even honest Bellatrix emerge. "I'm not sure that I can say," she answered. "It's.... There's something in him. I didn't see it often, and I don't suppose anyone else saw it at all."

Lucius shook his head. He'd never sensed anything in the Dark Lord except lust for power. "And," he thought, "his ever-increasing madness."

"But now," Bellatrix continued, "I can feel it clearly, though it's as hidden as it ever was. There's a vulnerability -- no, it's a power." She frowned. "He's human, Lucius, and it's his humanity that...." She frowned again, then shrugged. "Well, that's my reluctance."

Then she smiled a genuine smile. "Though I've no intention of becoming a ghost, either."

Lucius felt Bellatrix look deeply inside of him. She spoke again, "It's not him, is it; it's not him causing your reluctance."

"No," he said, "it's not him."

"Narcissa?"

Lucius smiled his own old smile. "No, not Narcissa, either. As you may have guessed, our relationship was little more than formal, a kind of alliance. Or a business agreement."

Bellatrix waited.

Finally, he said, "Draco."

"Ah, Draco," she replied.

Again, she surprised Lucius by showing no taint of sarcasm. There was.... "An almost sympathetic quality, instead."

For several minutes, the two were quiet, Lucius uncharacteristically feeling his heart, Bellatrix uncharacteristically feeling sympathy.

"It's what I haven't done," Lucius said eventually. "Or what I haven't done enough of. Especially lately." He paused. "And now...." He forced the words out, and with them came more sadness than he would have believed possible in himself. "It's too late."

"Perhaps," Bellatrix replied. "Perhaps." She smiled. "And perhaps not."

Lucius looked at her.

Bellatrix's smile -- a genuine, even a kindly smile -- deepened. "And perhaps not," she repeated.

"What...?" Lucius couldn't even frame the question. It felt almost too important for words.

Bellatrix kept her smile and cocked her head a bit. "Can't you feel it? Can't you feel, inside yourself, that your connections -- dare I say it, your bonds have... grown stronger?"

Lucius nodded; he had noticed. "That's what keeps me here."

"Of course," she replied. "I see that Goyle and McNair aren't here."

Lucius snorted. "No. They got up from their body ashes and left without a backward glance. Not the slightest hesitation that I could see. Not even a small curiosity as to why I didn't join them."

Bellatrix's eyes defocused, and she looked pensive. "Saddest of all, that."

Lucius, who hadn't given it much thought, looked away. "I suppose you're right. No bonds, nothing to hold them here. Nothing... to take with them"

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "While we...." She left it hanging, as if inviting him to continue, to explore his bonds with Draco, the bonds that held him.

Lucius wordlessly accepted her invitation. His bond with Draco -- it pulsed and glowed, raw with sadness and regret. It hurt to feel it, even at a distance. And yet.... "I can feel what you mean, Bellatrix. It's almost as if I can sense that...." He frowned. "I can take a piece of that bond with me. In some ways, I can stay connected with him. Though he must want it. No, he must want me -- I can feel that -- he must want me, too, and search me out."

Bellatrix smiled, encouraging him more.

"And...." Lucius felt deeply into that bond. "I can leave a piece of myself with Draco, can't I?"

Bellatrix smiled. "I've already left a part of myself. It's there, now, with him. And...." Her smile deepened and invited.

"And I can bring a piece of Draco with me," Lucius finished the sentence.

Then Lucius let himself go as deeply as possible into his bond with Draco, still with sadness and regret, but now not only with sadness and regret. Now he went with purpose....

"And," he wondered, "with hope and love."

* * * * * * * * * *

"My Lord."

The voice echoed in the small stone room. Furious red eyes lifted and glared.

"We have received a report on the captured Death Eaters admitted to Azkaban." The masked figure hesitated.

"Well?" Those red eyes narrowed and joined the voice in threatening.

"My Lord. Bellatrix was not among them. And word has come... that she is dead."

Tom was surprised at his reaction to Bellatrix's death. It felt as if he'd been hit in the stomach, as if someone had numbed his mind.

"But not my heart," he whispered, almost inaudibly.

"My Lord?"

Tom's attention was abruptly brought back to the Death Eater in front of him -- Flint? Was that his name? No matter. Tom returned to glaring. "Nothing," he said. "Leave us. And say that no one is to disturb us."

The Death Eater bowed with such a jerk that Tom could almost hear his heels click. "Very good, My Lord." A swirl of grey cloak, and the Death Eater, whoever he was, disappeared, closing the door behind him.

Leaving Tom, Nagini, silence, and an unexpected emptiness.

"Not an emptiness he would ever share," Tom said bitterly. He found himself reluctant to begin his transformations back to Voldemort, and his thoughts continued on Bellatrix, his Bellatrix, "My consort, now dead."

He sighed as he realized that this was the first time he'd ever allowed himself to speak or even think his relationship with her. "My consort," he said again. "In a way, my Queen."

From deep within his emptiness, words came from a long-ago memory. He recited them aloud:

She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word:
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time: (2)

He smiled wryly and turned to his snake companion, his only confidant. "After all these years, Nagini, after all these years. I played Macbeth in the orphanage just before I went to Hogwarts -- my Macbeth to Jim's Macduff." Tom smiled faintly as the great snake raised its triangular head to look at him -- red eyes meeting red eyes. Tom continued, almost purring, though with a touch of sadness. "One might have thought that I would have long since forgotten it, along with everything Muggle. But apparently not. See, here comes more:

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle!

"Oh, that bloody Voldemort would like that -- wouldn't he, Nagini?" He chuckled. "But we shan't tell him. And Muggle though Shakespeare was, he pleases my fancy -- at least for now. So let's continue it to the end, shall we?"

Nagini lowered her head, though in such a way as to keep her eyes carefully on Tom.

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more.

Tom smiled. "Now my favorite part. That damned Muggle makes more sense than anything I ever heard at Hogwarts." The smile left, anger taking its place. "Not that he'd believe that -- more fool, him." Tom's anger slowly faded, while a sadness shone through his eyes from deep within, a sadness resonating in his voice as he finished:

It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

The flickering orange torches in the stone room were, for a long time, the only movement accompanying the silence, that hollow silence.