Getting Harry Back

Chapter 25: Wild Dreams

Author's Notes: Many thanks my betas: privatemaladict (Read her "The Greatest Kind of Magic"), bufo_viridis (Read his "Gremlins" & "Visits"), and azazello (Read her "Therapy" and, on ashwinder.net, "But You Alone").

Thank you for reading, and as always, please review.

That woe is me,
Poor child for thee!
And ever morn and day,
For thy parting
Neither say nor sing
By by, lully, lullay.
Coventry Carol, 15th c. English
Commemorating the Slaughter of the Holy Innocents

In wildness is the preservation of the world.
Henry David Thoreau

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Teeth bared and ears flattened back, the she-wolf growled and glared. Her eyes never left the large snake. She smelled another presence, but she knew that it wasn't the threat. And there was something odd about that smell, odd yet familiar....

The instant the she-wolf had felt her man-cub's trouble, with the speed of magic, she'd raced through their connection and into the dark wound cavern where he lay motionless.

With that snake.

The snake moved again, testing.

The she-wolf's growl increased as she moved, too, keeping herself between the snake and her man-cub, who was quiet and completely still.

Without warning, the snake spat venom -- harmless to her magical fur, but some hit her cub's face. He began writhing and making distress sounds, though she knew he wasn't awake.

She attacked, trying to drive the snake further away. The snake lunged, and she leapt aside. She turned and counter-lunged, her teeth grazing its body, just below the great triangular head. She sprang back as that head twisted to get at her. But she didn't see the serpent's tail. It swept her legs out from under her. She feel, then felt a sharp pain in her right foreleg. She knew it was broken.

The snake's head reared.

The she-wolf struggled to regain her footing, knowing that it was too late, that she could never dodge its next attack. The snake, too, seemed to realize this. It paused, and she could smell its pleasure. It moved lazily from side to side -- feinting then pausing, over and over. She felt it toying with her, like a cat playing with its still alive, yet already dead prey. She maneuvered herself to keep facing the snake -- she could do that much. She was determined to sink her fangs into it, to trade bite for bite and, if she were lucky, death for death.

The snake halted, and the she-wolf smelled its change, its seriousness. She knew its next lunge would be real and that would be her end. She faced the snake with calm mother-duty and with all the readiness her considerable mind and magic could bring to her injured body. Time seemed to stop, snake and wolf now one motionless whole. After a moment or two, she felt their shared suspension end, with the snake rearing back ever-so-slightly.

Suddenly the dark cavern flooded with yellow-eyed magic. Her cubs, hundreds of her moon-night cubs appeared as if out of nowhere -- silent and each with its own small piece of death. They surrounded the man-cub, they flanked her, and they ringed and double-ringed the snake, just within reach, their attack reach. The cavern filled with their lively stares and their awful, intense quiet.

The she-wolf felt the snake's hesitancy. It turned its head this way and that, flicking its tongue, taste-smelling out numbers and strength. As the snake moved, so did the cubs, beginning their own small feints, some cubs backing off as the snake turned towards them, while at the same time, others moving in as they had its back. A cub nipped its tail, and the snake hissed and flicked the cub aside, realizing now that werewolves, even werewolf cubs, had their own venom. In defense, the snake semi-coiled itself, exposing less snake-body and bringing all her body under her instant fang-bite.

The she-wolf saw the cub actions increase as they moved closer with each feint. Sensing their enemy at bay, their excitement spilled into sound. The cavern echoed their soprano growls and yips, as if their numbers doubled and tripled. The snake lashed out with its tail, crashing through a line of cubs, crushing two, but sustaining four or five cub-bites. The snake writhed in pain. The injured cubs were promptly dragged away by littermates, two more taking their frontline places, all now backing out of tail reach. Snake-blood flowed from its wounds. As it lashed out, again, with its tail, it struck only emptiness, its blood splattering cavern and cubs.

The snake lunged, grabbing a cub and retreating, though not without four or five more bites, one of which blinded a red eye. The she-wolf felt her cub's impending death; she felt it in her heart and wolf-soul. She felt, too, as her cub, impaled on fangs, sank his own sharp teeth into that snake-tongue, biting into and through it, ripping and tearing and filling the snake's mouth with a mixture of werewolf poison and cub's blood and snake's. (1)

The snake spat out the dying cub, sprang over the cub rings, and fled into the cavern deeps. The she-wolf smelled that other strange presence also flow away and disappear.

First she went over and sniffed her dead cub, and then her two crushed cubs, one of whom was already dead, the other dying. She saw cubs surround her dying cub, whining and trying to share their warmth with him, trying to share their life to keep him alive. She licked her cub's face and heard his whimper. His eyes looked at her, pleading for her to give him life. She'd given him life once; surely she could give him more, surely she had more life to give.

Her mother's soul clenched. She searched herself, her magic and her love, trying to find what she knew was unfindable. If she could only trade places, if she could only exchange her death for his so young, too young death....

She kept licking him as his body began shaking. The cub convulsed, then he stretched, reaching to hold onto his life as it was ripped away from him. At the extreme of his stretch, he gave a last shiver and went still, limp.

At first, no cub moved. Then two cubs began nudging the newly lifeless body, trying with their noses, as they'd tried with their warmth and their whining, to call back the cub's life. She heard one cub begin its high, keening death-howl, which was quickly joined by the others and echoed by the cavern, as if the wound itself were mourning.

But the she-wolf had no time for her own grief. Slowly, painfully, she limped over to her man-cub, who was still making those agonized mewling noises, who was still tossing his head as if trying to get away from the pain. She saw that the snake venom had hit his closed eyes. She began licking those eyes, knowing full well what that would cost her. With her licking, the man-cub stopped his restlessness and he moved his face into the warmth and healing of her tongue. She hoped against hope that the venom had not penetrated far enough to permanently blind him. She kept licking her cub and ignoring the throbbing pain in her leg and the burning that grew from her mouth and throat to find its way into her belly and spread out.

"RON!!" The chasm vomited Harry back into the world. Dazed and blind, he felt hands on his shoulders, he heard garbled voices.

"RON!!" Harry screamed toward consciousness and his brother.

"RON!! RON!!" He thrashed and flailed. He had to get through! He must find a way!

"HARRY! I'M HERE! I'M ALL RIGHT!"

Familiar large hands held his face. "It's me, Harry. Ron."

Timid and fearful, Harry reached out to touch the face that went with those hands. It felt as it should feel. It felt Ron.

"Ron?"

"Yes, Harry. It's me, Ron. I'm okay. Everything's all right."

Harry flung himself into his twin. "You're alive!" Harry had room for that thought only. "You're alive! God, Ron, you're alive!"

Then Harry faded away, clutching the thought, "Ron's alive!"

In a room at St. Mungo's, Harry's extended family stood silently around his bed. Ron sat on that bed holding Harry, just as Harry had grabbed him before fading away.

Why can't I feel him? Why won't Harry answer me? Where is he? I've got to find him. I've got to protect him! He's gone again, and that snake--

"Ron," I hear Dad say, "Please. You're exhausted, and the Healers say you need to--"

"No!"

"But son--"

"NO! I won't leave Harry, I won't!"

Why don't they understand? I can see it in their eyes, in their faces. They don't understand! If I hadn't felt that snake, and if I hadn't.... Well, I don't know what the hell happened, but I know that sodding snake almost sucked out his soul!

Breathe, Ron; breathe, you gormless idiot. If you work yourself up, you'll never be able to find him or protect him from that--

"Damn," I groan.

I'm only able to just turn my head before vomit surges out of my mouth and onto the floor, covering poor Hermione's feet as she tries to jerk back. Where the hell is that wastebasket?

"Ron," I hear Mum. I know what she's going to say. I look up at her; I can see it in her face.

"NO!!" I shout, and that sets off another round of sicking up, then dry-heaving.

Oh bloody hell, Mum's starting to cry again. I hate it when she cries, I just hate it! I feel my body quiver, and I can feel my own tears start again. I close my eyes, put Harry down and lie with my face next to his. "Come on," I hear myself whisper to him. "Come on, Harry. You can pull through this. You've got to pull through, mate, you've just got to!" I feel my tears wet Harry's face, and I feel Hermione, then Mum and Dad put their hands on me. That brings more tears, but their touches feel good, the first good thing I've felt since that damn ward trapped me and--

No, you sodding fool! Keep your mind and your magic on Harry! He needs everything you can give him!

"Harry," I hear myself say. Again and again, I keep calling, "Harry. Harry." Hermione begins stroking my face and my tears. I can feel her hand shaking as well as Mum's. The bed sinks down as I feel Dad sit next to me. But their touches, everything about them, it's like they're at a distance now. All that matters is Harry, all I can feel is my calling him, calling him, and even that's getting fuzzy....

"RON!!"

With a throat-clenching start, I wake up. Damn! I've fallen asleep, and here he is, screaming for me.

"RON!!"

Again I hear him scream, again I feel his terror, and again I scream back: "HARRY! IT'S ME, RON! I'M HERE! I'M ALL RIGHT!" Oh damn, oh bloody, bloody damn. His terror rockets through me, and I have to steel my insides to keep from pissing myself, or from puking. Merlin, he still can't see! What's wrong with him? What the hell's wrong with him, and why can't those Healers fix it? I grab hold of him, squeezing.

I feel him start, realize it's me, and hug back. And now we're Ron&Harry, we're Ron&Harry! He's crying, sobbing. "Shhhhhh," I hush into his ear, rocking him. "It's all right, mate, I'm here and alive and I'm not going to leave you. I promise I'm not going to leave you." I feel my own tears joining his. Inside Harry, I feel Mum HandBonding into Harry, and -- thank God -- -giving him some of her, too. And Hermione, I can feel her reaching through me and into Harry. I sigh, and hug deeper into him, hold him, bring him even more into Ron&Harry.

But then I feel him fading, fading away from Ron&Harry, fading away from all of us. "No! Harry! Don't go! You can't! I won't let you!"

[Ron,] I hear him whisper.

And then he's gone.

Gone!

"HARRY!" I clutch him even tighter.

"HARRY! HARRY!!" I scream and scream. "You can't leave us! You CAN'T!"

I pull up everything magical inside of me, every scrap of magic I can lay my hands on, and I push all of it into him, into where he should be, into where he's got to be. But I still can't feel him; he's still gone. I grab hold of him even tighter. I want to crawl up inside him, I want to tear everything apart until I find him.

"Harry," I hear myself say as my mind, as everything dissolves again into tears, tears falling into emptiness, tears falling into Harry gone. All there is, all I can feel or hear is me crying and the silent emptiness of Harry gone.

We need the tonic of wildness. ...we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be infinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed because unfathomable.... We must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and titanic features.... We need to witness our own limits transgressed, and some life pasturing freely where we never wander.
Henry David Thoreau
Walden

Throughout that day and night and into the next morning, Harry felt himself lurching between nothingness and terror. He'd return from nothingness only to find himself blind and stripped of all knowing except Ron dead. Then he'd find Ron, only to fade away, losing not only Ron, but even the memory of Ron alive. Again, he'd be plunged back into that nothingness, a nothingness beyond Ron, beyond even his shelter, beyond everything but a feral protectiveness and a wild warmth -- no, many wild warmths, all them nudging and curling around him, forcing away from him everything that was bad, and forcing into him love and life, a life wilder than anything he'd ever felt.

He'd take in that wild life and its love. And he'd grow stronger, he'd find himself nudging back, nudging blindly and deliciously into those squirmy wild warmths, into his strange family where he belonged -- he could feel that. And he could feel their joy in his return, their licking and romping, their yips and nips of happy welcome. Then, instinctively by making their instinct his own, he'd burrow his way through them and into a healing teat with its oh-so-good milk. There he'd suck and suck, growing warmer, stronger. And he'd feel the tiredness, that wonderful healing call of wild sleep, coming to gently take him into even wilder dreaming, but not wild dreaming alone. His dreams would join the dreams of his littermates, his many, many littermates. And they'd dream of milk and warmth and squirming and playing and the smell of red meat and the feel of soft fur and the everything of their dark den home.

Then those wild dreams would shift. He'd feel, they'd feel that huge evil -- green and poisonous and red-eyed. He'd feel the emptiness of brothers and sisters gone, still and gone forever. With his dreaming littermates, he'd howl and mourn, and suddenly, a great hole would open up in his heart, the black hole of another and very different littermate, also still and gone forever -- a littermate with red fur. Falling into that great hole and almost-seeing that red fur, he'd remember his brother's smell and feel and love. The pain of his red fur's passing would grow and grow until it burst into clear images -- images of that strange red-furred body, still and lifeless. His pain would grow even bigger until a word joined with that hole and those death-still images. And the word and the pain exploded him away from his other brothers and sisters, away from their squirming warmth and love, away from that healing milk and their wild dreaming together. That word and that pain exploded him into a different world. Still within his heart-hole, still blind and helpless, that word would finally come screaming out of his mouth:

"RON!!"

"HARRY!! IT'S ME! RON! I'M ALL RIGHT!"

Harry felt arms grab around him and into him, and he knew they were Ron arms! RON ARMS! He felt Ron strong-bond, fierce-bond him into Ron&Harry. He felt held and here.

Harry grabbed back, clinging to Ron inside and out. And this time, he felt not only held and here, but held and really here, staying here, belonging and not fading here. He let himself go into Ron, and there he found Hermione, too. And then his shelter and his mum -- yes, she was HandBonding. And his shelter became Dumbledore and his Hagrid and his Dobby. And Ron and Hermione and his mum led him into his whole family, awash in his family, known and unknown, well-known and new and beyond anything he was able to sort out.

For what seemed like forever, Harry just felt into everyone. And with that, Harry also felt.... not a fading away, but something, someone -- no, many someones, warm and wild and also but differently family, moving away and deeper into him, just beyond his knowing. Harry felt them taking wild dreams with them, more-than-wonderful wild dreams that they'd shared, wild dreams that now had no sounds or images, but were only a great vague feeling-memory, strengthening his heart and his magic.

He sighed as those wild dreams passed farther outside his knowing. Then he felt a wetness that he realized was Ron tears, jerking him even more into here.

"Ron! You're crying! You hurt? What's wrong?" He opened his eyes, but he opened them on darkness. And that darkness -- he could feel it wasn't in the room, but in him!

Not only could he not see around him, he couldn't see within, he couldn't visualize. Inside and out, Harry was blind!

Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, O Lord,
And by Thy great mercy, defend us from all perils and dangers of this night....
Collect
Anglican Evensong

"The Healers don't entirely understand." Harry clutched Dumbledore's words, desperate to make sense of it all, to know why this darkness. "Hagrid and I, too, have spent much time feeling into your blindness." He heard the old wizard sigh and, through his shelter-connection, Harry could feel his sadness and fear. "It is as if your eyes have lost their soul. And so they have lost their ability to apprehend the soul of light, the soul which is light."

Harry heard gasps around the room. Through his bond, he felt fear rush from Mum. He felt Dad's hand, and Ron and Hermione's on his arms and shoulders.

"I know this seems a strange way to say it," Dumbledore continued, "but both Hagrid and I agree. That is how it feels to us. Terrifying, but those are the words that fit."

Silence, fear's silence pressed in on him from everyone around. Harry checked inside and found, to his horror, that he agreed, that he, too, felt what Dumbledore and Hagrid felt. He felt more and deeper, saying, "It's like... my eye soul isn't just gone. It's stolen." He frowned. "And stolen by that Dementor-snake." He felt the room's shudder. Harry set that shudder aside to feel even deeper, knowing that he must. "In a way, I can feel that... the snake still has it. So it's not gone; it's there with the snake." He shuddered. "The snake's taken my eye soul."

Harry's words were greeted by more silence, a silence as profound as his eyes' soulless dark.

He lowered his head. "I guess I've got to...." He swallowed, lifted his head and began again, dully. "I guess I've got to go inside and get it back from that snake."

"[You go, I go.]" Exhausted as Harry could feel Ron, he could also feel that Ron was ready any time.

"When you go, we all go, Harry." Mum's tone and feel tolerated no argument.

"Which means," Dad added, "we've got considerable work to do, to make certain we're all within you, and within you full of magic."

Harry felt his family's agreement.

"And before we go..." Ron said.

Harry felt a surge of Ron's wild magic and more. He felt a surge of Ron's eye soul, a surge which joined that wild magic, then joined Ron&Harry, and finally became not just Ron's eye soul, but Harry's, too -- their eye soul shared. And with Ron's shared eye soul, Harry began to see dimly. But he realized that Ron's sight--

"Ron! No! You can't! I won't let you!"

"Forget it, Harry. You know damn well you can't go in there blind. I need you to be able to see, too. I'm just protecting myself."

"But Ron--"

"Stuff it, Harry. Anything we've got, we share. Including eyes. Besides, you don't have enough magic to give it back on your own. I checked. It isn't coming back 'til I'm ready to take it back. So get used to it." Harry felt Ron's [utter firmness]. There was no negotiating.

"Ron?" Harry heard his mum's voice. As he turned his head, he could see her as a gradually clearing outline, which stabilized as if he were seeing her at late dusk -- some features, some hints of color. He turned back to Ron, and saw him avoiding his mum's face.

"Ron?" Molly intensified her question.

"We're sharing Ron's eye soul, Mum," Harry answered. "He gave me half. We can both kind of see." He looked over at Ron, knowing that Ron was right. He didn't like it, but he knew not only that Ron was right, but that he, Harry, would do the same for Ron. He gave Ron a little smile. "Thanks."

Ron nodded with a blush and a little smile which Harry felt more than saw.

Hermione came up, put her arms around Ron and squeezed. With her squeeze, Ron's blush reddened more, and his smile took on embarrassment while his dimmed eyes looked elsewhere. Elsewhere, but thoroughly loved and belonged.

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for Your love's sake.
Collect
Anglican Evensong

Harry swallowed one more humongous wad of chocolate.

"Be a bloody miracle if I don't turn dark brown," he grumped as he glared, though he could barely see for all his glaring. But their sight of his eyes, not his sight of theirs, was what counted. This past month, since he'd been beaten at the Dursleys, he'd spent far too much time stuck in bed with someone fussing over him. He was way over his bed and fuss quota.

He vaguely saw the Healer and his mum smile. The Healer was standing next to him; Mum was sitting beside him and HandBonded. Through his bonding, he felt Dumbledore, Hagrid, Remus and the Diggorys also smiling, but they were just beyond his effective sight range. He felt Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and his brothers all giving him enormous sympathy -- "Been there, done that, got the T-shirt, oh, have I got the T-shirt."

"And," Harry continued with unabated ill-humor, "when is somebody going to tell me what happened?"

The room was quiet, as if no one knew where to begin.

Finally, Charlie spoke. "Never seen anything like it, little bro." Harry felt his wonder. "We were just sitting, and then this ward...." Charlie shuddered; Harry almost-saw and very much felt many other shudders. "We tried to break through, we tried and tried, but...."

When Charlie finished Hagrid's ramming the ward and Dobby's red-orange light, Harry was at a loss as to how he could ever thank--

"I have been meaning to ask you, Dobby," the Headmaster said, interrupting Harry's thoughts, "do all house-elves have that much power?"

"Oh no, Sir." Dobby hesitated. "When Dobby felt Harry Potter hurting...." He stopped and looked around at everyone, his large eyes filled with uncertainty. "Dobby linked with all other house-elves."

"All?" Harry was stunned.

"Well, Harry Potter, Sir, not quite all. But almost all. They sent Dobby their magics. They tried really hard to be helping, Sir."

"I suspected as much." Dumbledore shook his head. "And through that ward...." He sighed and turned to face Harry. "I doubt whether Voldemort could have done anything to you, because of your protections at Godric's Hollow. But for Dobby and Hagrid, however -- " He turned to Molly and Arthur. " -- by the time we would have got through, I strongly suspect that Ron would have been killed."

Mum gasped, and Harry felt his terror shriek, "Ron almost died." He saw his family move over to the half-giant and the house-elf, thanking them with small touches and words. Hagrid blushed hugely, muttering things like, "Wasn't nothin', really," "Just tryin' to do me bit," and "Least I could do, you know, Ron bein' family an' all." But Dobby -- Harry felt him beyond uncomfortable.

"Not only was Hagrid seriously injured, but...." The Headmaster looked at the house-elf. "In drawing all that power to you, Dobby... you almost killed yourself. Had Hagrid not burst through the ward when he did, you would have died." He looked more gently. "But you knew that, didn't you?"

Dobby hung his head and said quietly, "Yes, Sir. But Dobby saw that Harry Potter and Master Wheezey, they is needing us, so...." He stopped, shrugged, and then whispered, "And Dobby is just a house-elf."

Dumbledore walked over to Dobby, and he did something Harry had never seen him do -- he crouched down until he was eye-level, face-to-face with Dobby. The house-elf didn't move. "Dobby," he said gently, "please look at me."

Hesitantly, shame-facedly, Dobby looked at the Headmaster.

"You are not 'just a house-elf'. 'Just a house-elf' is wrong, Dobby. Being a house-elf is as honorable and precious and important as being a wizard, a Muggle, a Giant or a centaur."

Murmurs of, "Hear, hear." and "Too bloody right." echoed Dumbledore's words. Harry felt Hagrid's protection surge out and through Harry's bond with Dobby, leaping into the house-elf. Dobby jumped, not sure what it was. "House-elves," Harry thought sadly. "Not used to being protected."

"I hear o' anyone mistreatin' a house-elf," Hagrid growled, "I swear they'll answer ter me."

Noises in the room told Dobby that Hagrid wouldn't be the only one they would answer to. And their answers had better be good, damn good. Harry could feel and almost-see Hermione's particularly satisfied look.

"Dobby," Dumbledore said, "if you will permit me the honor." Harry felt him drawing on the house-elvishness within Harry. The Headmaster bowed, with that little head twist, and Harry could feel him fully giving himself to Dobby. Then one by one, Harry's family lined up before Dobby, and each of them, through Harry's BondRope magic, gave themselves to a very stunned house-elf.

That completed, Dumbledore said, "I apologize for stepping in, Charlie. Pray continue."

"Well, not much left, is there? But... we saw that green light come out of you, Harry, and...." Charlie swallowed, and Harry saw him and his family staring at him. He shifted in bed, uncomfortable and nervous. "Ye gods," Charlie said softly.

George sidled up to Harry and bowed with exaggerated respect. "Really doesn't do to upset you, sir."

Fred mock-cringed. "We're keeping that in mind when it's time to make payments on our loan."

Harry looked frantically at his mum, who was giving both twins glares of suspicion. "Uh... you don't have to, really."

Fred kept his mock-cringe. "We'll pay it back anyway. Just to be safe, you know."

George nodded over-vigorously.

"For the moment," Dumbledore interrupted again, "let us leave aside the matter of the green light. Of that, I am certain we all wish to know more." He looked carefully at Harry. "But questions would be needed, perhaps many questions."

Harry winced.

Dumbledore smiled and leaned over to pat Harry's arm. "And these can wait until later, when you are better rested."

Harry sighed.

"Right now," he continued, "I believe Charlie has neglected a few details you might find worthy of note. The moment the ward shattered, I could have sworn that there were many death curses cast at Voldemort." He turned toward Hermione. "Including one that I had never imagined, and that was so powerful that its reverberation almost killed four Death Eaters, all of whom are now in Azkaban."

Hermione seethed, as did his extended Weasley family.

"But of course," the Headmaster added, "since Death Curses are highly illegal, I know that I am much mistaken."

"Hermione," Arthur said, "there are some fine points of magic I'm looking forward to discussing with you. At our earliest opportunity."

Dumbledore raised his eyes to the ceiling, pretending he'd heard nothing. Everyone else looked vengeful. The room, itself, felt as if it were growling.

"In all the confusion," the Headmaster said, "somehow Bellatrix Lestange was killed."

Harry noticed, felt mostly, his family giving small glances at Neville, who blushed and looked at no one. But he didn't seem apologetic. Molly squeezed Neville's shoulder. Harry understood and felt sorry for him, not for Bellatrix, though he noted his not feeling sorry for Bellatrix left unsettling edges and resonances inside him.

"And Charlie's partner," Dumbledore continued, "Anton, I believe?"

Charlie nodded. "Yes, sir."

"A fine young man, truly a fine young man."

Smiles went around, though Harry was puzzled. And Charlie, following family tradition, blushed regally.

"So," Dumbledore said, "Anton appeared just as we were Apparating to you. Again, I assume that I was hallucinating, but I could have sworn that he had with him four of the best-behaved dragons I have ever seen. That, of course, would have been highly illegal, too. I would hazard a guess, though, that the non-existent dragons' behavior might have been quite different had there been any Death Eaters still standing."

Charlie looked grim, even fell.

"If I may ask, Charlie, how did you call him through that ward?"

Charlie concentrated, then shrugged. "Sorry."

"Molly, Arthur, I do not think we need worry about whether these two are truly in love, or whether they are compatible."

More smiles and blushing.

"Which reminds me." Dumbledore smiled. "I believe that Charlie is being, shall we say, over-delicate. He and Anton have decided to move to Britain and to marry immediately. We have all encouraged Anton, repeatedly, to join us here in the room. But they wanted to first check with you, Harry, just to be sure."

Charlie looked shy.

"Charlie." Harry gave him a pained look. "I already said he was family. You're my brother, so he's my brother." He smiled. "And I need to thank him for coming to help." Harry looked at the Headmaster. "Do people HandBond with their new family when they marry?"

"Of course, Harry."

"We need to do that." He turned back to Charlie. "Where's Anton now?"

"Just outside. He... well, we both felt it might be important for him to stay close. We weren't certain who you were bonded to, and he felt that he might be helping."

Bill spoke. "Even though Anton wouldn't come in until he was positive that it was all right with you, he's always been just outside the door. He keeps talking about it not feeling right to leave. Actually, I think it's been hard on him not to be in here." He looked sadly at his just-younger brother. "I know it's been hard on Charlie."

Charlie gave Bill a look of pure Weasley temper.

Bill smiled. "Charlie, it's all right to miss the man you love. Hey, if you didn't, he wouldn't be the right one. I want him here for you." Bill leaned over and grabbed Charlie's neck, giving him a rough hand-hug. "We all do. Huh?"

General agreement noises backed up Bill. Harry noted Mum and Dad reaching for each other's hands, and he felt, through his HandBonding, their love-squeeze.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling Charlie's rich bond-presence. As he explored, he noticed a glowing link that he also felt strongly, but that he didn't recognize. That presence was really bonded to him. He decided to try something. He merged with that new presence, and an image appeared in his mind. He opened his eyes and smiled. "Good to know Romanians have red hair, too."

Charlie looked gobsmacked.

"Already bonded, Charlie -- him to me, me to him. And I mean bonded. He's really helping. Please bring him in? Hey, I'll feel better. Right now, distance from family doesn't feel so good, you know?"

Charlie took a moment to gather himself, then quickly stepped outside.

Harry saw Dumbledore looking at him thoughtfully.

After introductions and thanks, Dumbledore asked, "Those non-existent dragons, Charlie -- how do you summon them?"

"We don't summon them exactly...." He looked at Anton.

"We feel need, and zey come," Anton said. "Zey feel our need. We don't know how."

"I think, Headmaster," Charlie said, "they have dragon-bonded with us. They're a very rare species, never before studied. In some ways, they're more like centaurs than dragons. They understand things we don't. And even though they don't use words, they have a highly developed language." Charlie looked at his mate, who agreed.

"Zey are teaching us," Anton added. "We are slow learners, but zey are very patient. I zink, in many ways, we have more to learn zan zey do." He chuckled. "I sense zey believe we are, for mere humans, relatively intelligent. Very like centaurs, zey are."

Harry felt Hagrid' near-explosive pride. "Ah, Charlie, I had me eye on yeh, all yer wandering around the Forbidden Forest. And I could see yeh always were the bes' at magical creatures, tha' yeh were." He smiled. "I'm glad yeh found yerself a proper mate, one who can be yer equal."

Harry decided that it wasn't just Weasleys. Blushing and red hair appeared to go together. "Unless," he thought impishly, "it's catching."

Ron snorted and poked him.

"Hurt. Hurt!"

The young unborn serpent -- wounded, half-blinded and poisoned -- started to coil even tighter in the back of the crevasse, all her instincts screaming Hide! and Smaller! But she found that this made the pain worse.

She was deeper into the wound than she'd ever gone. Going further felt wrong, maybe dangerous. So she'd sought out a hiding place - the smallest opening she could fit into. In great pain, she'd followed it back to its end, then turned to face the opening, this so that she could defend herself if needed. Slowly, carefully, she'd coiled herself as tight as she could stand. Then she waited. Waited for danger to come, if it did. Waited for her pain to lessen, her body to heal, though she was terrified that her eye would never be the same, even with that extra eye soul. And her tongue! Waited for her unsoul nectar -- her food -- and its power-comfort that she craved.

But most of all, she waited for him, for green eyes and his other-comfort. She found herself craving this even more than her power-comfort. She knew that green eyes' other-comfort had divided her in her deepest, her most profound and fundamental self -- that which was most-her, that which should have been only her unsoul. Green eyes had bonded to her, and she to him. And their bonding had created, in that which was most-her, no longer just unsoul, but now soul and unsoul. And so she was never at peace, soul and unsoul always at war.

She knew that her unsoul nectar had divided green eyes, too, in his most-him place -- her unsoul nectar and all that had happened to him. She'd shared her unsoul nectar and her power-comfort with him; they'd always shared everything. And so green eyes -- meant to be soul, just as she was meant to be unsoul -- had become like her, divided into soul and unsoul. And like her, he was never at peace.

Now she felt both her soul and unsoul keenly and at war. Unsoul screamed Revenge! With Revenge! she could stop the fear rocketing throughout her mind and all that was most-her. Soul screamed Him!, green eyes and his other-comfort, his warm, his soft, his safe and his so many, many good feelings, too many to count -- all of them known and needed, needed--

"Sssssssssssssss."

Him! She jerked her head up, sending pain shooting and stabbing through her body. Without thinking, she reached out to taste-feel green eyes with her tongue, to bring in his scent, those small essences of him (2) and his other-comfort into her.

PAIN!

"PET!" he shrieked. "Oh, Pet!"

"HURT!" she screamed back.

"Yes, Pet, I know, I know! HURT! So, so Hurt!"

"Hurt." Her word was small and echo-like, said almost more to herself, taking in his other-comfort, the comfort of being heard and joined and cared-about, the comfort of pain known and shared.

"Hurt," his voice and soul softly agreed. "Hurt."

She felt his joining and his caring-for-her even stronger. Carefully, oh-so-carefully, she opened her mouth, and breathed in his essences. With his essences, she also breathed in his caring-for-her, his joining-her and his other-comfort. She joined herself, her own soul essence with his.

She felt her soul grow and reach out, while her unsoul shrank and hid in pain, rage and fear. That was how it always was -- with her and, she also knew, with him. Never, never at peace.

"Touch?" he asked gently, not-at-all pushing. She could feel, she could taste, his deep wanting to help.

"Touch," she agreed, though when he reached for her head, unsoul instincts asserted themselves. She winced and drew back, her unsoul screaming Danger! and No!

He felt it, too, felt it and knew it, and shared it -- he had his own unsoul. Or maybe it was their unsoul shared -- they were so very close. He pulled back his hand, saying, "Sssssss, pet, sssssssss. You can feel into me, as I can into you. There's no harm in me for you. There never has been; there never could be. You know this, Pet, you know -- we're together. Always."

She could feel his sadness and his joining; she could feel her hurt in him. She could feel his truth, too, his naked truth. He'd never hidden from her, nor her from him. They couldn't. That was how it had always been, throughout their growing up together.

Together. Always just the two of them -- never anyone else. They'd played and slept and explored and learned and done all their growing up together. They'd shared so much for so long, that they were almost more one than two -- each one always looking to the other for fun, for closeness and care, for everything. They'd learned to comfort each other. Because there'd been so many hurts -- especially his. She'd seen that, over and over. There'd be a wound-shudder, pain would pour in through the wound's very walls, their safe and wonderful wound-dark would be broken, and then....

She never understood what happened next, though she'd seen it and she'd felt it in him so many times. When their wound-dark was light-shattered, something would come into him, something terrible and painful. And green eyes would writhe and scream, and then he would go away inside -- she never knew where he went, nor did he when he came back. But when he came back, he had so much pain and, somehow, there was more of him, too. He'd grown, though not at all like they'd grown up -- that gentle-grown, slow and hardly noticing. This grown was sudden and pain-grown. She would curl around him, carefully, caringly, taking his pain into herself and giving him whatever she could. When she gave him other-comfort, he came back sad and looking younger, even though he'd grown. When she could only give him power-comfort, he came back exhausted and enraged, and they could both feel that their hate and their unsoul had become greater, deeper and more pure.

"I'll stop if it hurts, Pet." With that, green eyes began gently stroking her. She'd dipped her head so he could reach her more easily. She took in his touch, his soul-comfort, and felt it reach out to all her hurt.

There'd been her hurts as well. Not only had that power-comfort come to her, sometimes through that same channel, that same source had come pain. And when pain came to her, sudden and without warning, he'd always been there to comfort her, to soul-comfort her. Yes, they'd always been together, inseparable and alone. Until those others had looked down at them. Later, that other-he fell inside with them -- fell inside twice, now. Then their connecting with that powerful one who was as divided, as soul and unsoul torn as they.

And now, those wolves--

With that thought, that memory, her pain lurched, and her fear, too.

"Yes, Pet, yes. I didn't know, I never saw it coming. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." He knew her thoughts, just as she knew his -- they had as long as they could remember. "We'll be more careful, ever so much more careful. Now curl around me, and take me into you, and I will find your pains, your hurts, and touch them as well.

With that, she gently coiled herself around him. When she was touching all of him -- everything save a place for him to breathe -- they merged together, and became as nearly one as they could be. And she felt him flowing into her and finding her hurts, finding all of them, and soul-comforting each one, singing, as he always did, that sad tune which, from time to time, they'd heard from even deeper within their wound-home.

Green eyes found, as she knew he would, that eye magic she had taken, and with that stolen eye soul, he gently restored her eye to seeing. He sought out her tongue and, with his own tongue magic, he first shared, then healed this hurt, though at least for now leaving both of them with clouded, less-tasting tongues. She could feel his hope, and hers, that time would bring more healing. Then with his soul-comforting and his singing, she began to feel herself slide into sleep, a deep, healing sleep filled with wild dreams, wild dreams she always shared with him.

We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep....

We wish you peace.
William Shakespeare
The Tempest

Author's Notes:
(1) Yes, I realize that this isn't how poisonous snakes bite prey. But for the sake of the story, go with it, all right? And maybe unborn magical poisonous snakes....

(2) With smell, so I am told, we literally take into our bodies bits of the other. To smell and to taste is to bring into our bodies some of the embodied reality of that which we smell and taste.