In Daylight's Shadow

Chapter Five

Harry trailed a few steps behind Albus Dumbledore as the old man made his way through the towering oaks that littered the edge of the Weasley property. They had been walking in silence, and Harry did not feel inclined to break the calm. He was trying to run over the events of the last week in his mind to form some kind of fluent narrative to tell Dumbledore, but all the details seemed to blend hopelessly together. Harry eventually tired of the effort, and focused instead on keeping up with Dumbledore. For an old man, the Headmaster at Hogwarts was surprisingly quick. Rather abruptly, Dumbledore stopped in his tracks and turned around. Harry had been looking down at the leaves scattered across the ground, and unceremoniously walked into Dumbledore and promptly fell backwards.

"Sorry," he said feebly, as he picked himself up off the ground, wiping the dirt from his cloak. "I guess I should watch where I'm going."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he looked down on the boy. "Sometimes what is happening around you is more important that where you are being led," he said, as he stroked his beard. "Of course, one should also always be weary of the habit of old men to simply do as they please." He smiled at Harry.

Harry composed himself and took a brief look at his new surroundings. The two where standing in small, grass covered clearing. The stars shone down brightly, illuminating the patch in soft light.

"Is this where we were going?" Harry asked, gesturing at the field.

"This is the first stop on our journey," the old man replied.

Dumbledore moved into the center of the clearing. He withdrew his wand, and, with a quick flick, two large chairs appeared at either side of a small fire burning in a shallow pit. Dumbledore moved to the first seat, and sat down heavily. He gestured to the other chair at Harry, who quickly sunk into its soft fabric. Harry positioned himself against the comfortable chair, and looked into the fire.

"Thanks for taking the time to talk with me Professor."

"It is always my pleasure to speak with you Harry. Now what is troubling you?"

Harry looked up at Dumbledore.

"You mean you don't know?" he asked.

"I have my suspicions," Dumbledore replied softly, "but sometimes it is better to hear a story than to assume the details. What happened?"

Harry breathed in deeply, avoiding Dumbledore's gaze. "Well, I woke up six days ago, my scar was burning, and there was blood running down the corners of my eyes. It didn't hurt, you know, the blood, but I knew it wasn't normal." He laughed bitterly to himself. "Though nothing about me really seems normal." So I went to look in the mirror and the blood had formed a black mark on my neck. V.I.I. And as I was looking into the mirror, and seeing my face covered with blood, I felt this sudden...anguish. I saw Sirius in my mind, and I sort of...let my emotions take hold of me. The mirror shattered and the glass flew at me, so I covered my face with my hands. But when I looked again, the pieces were just floating there. I tried to touch one, but the glass just pooled into a silvery ball, and, the next second, it was the mirror again. And I don't understand it!" He choked back a tear. "Why does this have to happen to me? I already have to fight Voldemort, and now this? I just feel lost." He threw up his hands in desperation. "Why does this have to happen to me?" A tear slipped down his check. "Why?" He looked up at Dumbledore through his bleary eyes, and all was still.

Dumbledore stood up and crossed over to Harry, and knelt next to his chair. He put his arm reassuringly on Harry's shoulder, and let the boy cry.

As the boys sobs slowly halted, Dumbledore spoke.

"Harry. I am sorry that it is you who must bear this burden. If I had the power, I would gladly take it from you. Your eyes have seen far too much sadness, and far too much despair. But you must remember what we are fighting for."

Harry looked up at him.

"And Harry: Cedric, Sirius. It was not your fault. You cannot blame yourself for the actions of other men. Cedric was killed by Voldemort, you could no more have stopped that than stopped the world from turning. Sirius chose to come after you. You where tricked, but it was still his choice. To blame yourself for his death does a disservice to both of you. You have to let the hurt go Harry. No amount of blame will bring our friends back."

Harry wiped his nose with his sleeve and turned his head back to the fire.

"But I shouldn't have let them trick me," he said softly. "I should have known better. I should have seen it. Too many people have died for me."

"That again, Harry, was their choice," Dumbledore said as he stood up. "And to ask those who love you not worry for your safety or fight to ensure your happiness is to abdicate your own humanity. Love has saved you many times Harry, because you are boy who loves so many."

Harry sat quietly and absorbed what Dumbledore had said. He knew he would need time to make sense of it all, and the strain of the mood was starting to unnerve him.

"What about the blood?" he asked.

"For that Harry," Dumbledore said as he slowly stood up, and withdrew a small gold coin from his cloak, "we must attend to the second part of our journey."

Standing up, Dumbledore gestured for Harry to join him. As Harry approached him, Dumbledore lifted the coin up and let the light from the fire dance across its surface.

"What's that?" Harry asked, staring at the coin.

"A device that will take us where we need to go," Dumbledore replied simply.

"A portkey?"

"In a way," Dumbledore said, running his fingers across the golden edges. "Here," he said, throwing the coin to Harry, "catch."

Harry reached out and caught the coin as it soared through the air. As soon as his hands made contact with the gold, his entire body seemed to glow. Looking down, Harry realized he was floating a few feet above the ground. He began to feel light, as if air was running threw his entire body. Looking at his hands, he was alarmed to see them appear to evaporate, like dust caught in a soft wind. He tried to yell, but his mind went black.

A few moments later, Harry opened his eyes slowly, and saw Dumbledore standing over him. The night sky had been replaced by a high vaulted ceiling, which, judging by the flickering light, was lit only by torches. Dumbledore reached down and pulled Harry up to his feet.

"Sorry for that," he said apologetically. "The first time traveling by Hermkey can be a little disconcerting. Here, eat this." He offered Harry some chocolate.

Harry took it. He munched slowly on the bar and wondered why most injury prone wizards weren't all incredibly obese. He finished the chewing, and swallowed.

The fog in his head cleared slowly, and Harry looked about to see if he was somewhere he recognized. He soon realized he was not. The ceiling he had seen before was nearly fifty feet from the floor, and stretched for what seemed like miles down a grey stone hall. The walls were covered with maps and inscriptions, none of which Harry recognized. Large statues ran opposite each other down the length of the walls.

"Where are we?" asked Harry.

"We are in the Hall of our Father's, the anteroom of The Assembly. Come," he said, gesturing to the far end of the cavernous path, "there is much to see."

Harry followed Dumbledore towards the end of hall, glancing from side to side at the mammoth marble statues that seemed to follow their movements. He could hear his footsteps echoing off the walls and ceiling.

"Who are these people?" asked Harry, pointing to the nearest figure, a man with a flowing cloak holding a large scythe.

"These," Dumbledore said, his voice low and reflective, "are past members of The Watchers."

"The Watchers?" asked Harry, confused.

"An ancient and secret group, Harry," Dumbledore started, his eyes fixed squarely ahead of him. "In the time before magic was widely known, before spells had specific enunciations and those with the gift of our people simply willed forces with their minds, a group of twelve met to fight the evil of their age. Though their names and the name of their foe have long been swallowed by history's gape, the organization they founded, The Watchers, survives. These men took it upon themselves to answer the call of righteousness, and to ensure that their children would do likewise in times of need. They believed in a single, simple tenant; that there are worse things in this world than evil."

They reached the end of the hallway, and were halted by a large, black slate door. The light reflected off of its glistening surface, and Harry could see his own reflection staring back at him. He turned, and looked up at Dumbledore.

"What's worse than evil?" he asked.

"The apathy of good men."

Harry looked at Dumbledore's shining blue eyes, and felt a surge of sentiment deep within his chest. Before he could reply, Dumbledore spoke.

"May I present to you, Harry, The Assembly."

With both hands Dumbledore threw the doors open, revealing the room within. Harry gasped. The room in front of him was a large circle, nearly one hundred feet across, cut entirely out of pure cream marble. A massive golden dome formed the ceiling, which had four small slits cut into it that let in four beams of silver light. Across the walls there where twelve golden crests accented in silver. In the middle of the room, on a stone tablet the size of a coffin, lay a sculpture of the body of a man.

Dumbledore walked to the middle of the room, and stood in front of the tablet. Without thinking, Harry followed him.

"For nearly three thousand years The Watchers have been in a constant state of readiness. They train their bodies and their minds to be at the peak of their potential. They have fought evil, and they have won. Membership is passed down through family lines, so through each member's veins courses the blood of one of the founders."

"How many members are there?" Harry asked, marveling at the beauty of the room around.

"Twelve. Always twelve. One of each of the orders," he said as he gestured at the crests around the room.

Harry looked down at the sculpture atop the stone. The body seemed to be made of clay, though the dark color of the man's jet black hair and the green of his wide open eyes seemed almost alive. As he traced his fingers along the muscles of the right arm, he suddenly realized that he was touching real flesh. He pulled his arm back with a start.

"That's..." he said nervously. "That's a person?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said sadly "The latest of The Watchers to have fallen in service. His likeness will sit in the hall, but his body will serve a different purpose." Dumbledore put his arm around Harry's shoulder. "Does he seem familiar to you?"

Harry stared for a few moments, and then slowly shook his head. "No. No, I've never seen him before, I'm almost sure. But there's something about him that's very...familiar."

"Harry," Dumbledore began softly, "this man's name was Jonathan James Potter. He was your great, great grandfather."

Harry took a step back and shook his head violently. "That's not possible!" he said in disbelief. "He looks no more than thirty!"

"Magic can be very powerful, both to the body and to the mind. Jonathan was one hundred and ten years old when he died."

"And that was..." Harry said softly, "six days ago?"

"Yes."

"Is that what caused it?" Harry asked, gesturing to his eyes.

"In a way," Dumbledore said. "When a Watcher dies, his role is passed on to the relative who would most compliment the order. It is an old and powerful blood magic. And it chose you."

Harry sank back on his haunches and laid his head in his hands. His mind was racing with questions. One, though, seemed to stick out among the rest.

"How do you know all this?" he asked, looking up.

"Because Harry, I too am a Watcher."

"And am I one now too?" Harry asked.

"No," Dumbledore said simply "But the option is open to you. Remember, the creed of this group is that true danger lies in the indifference of the hearts of the good, not in the power of the weapons of evil. You must make a choice."

"But the prophecy..." Harry began, but Dumbledore raised his hand and stopped him.

"Is just that, Harry, a prophecy. Whether you are destined to battle Voldemort is beyond your control. The reason you fight him, though, is entirely up to you. You can fight him simply because someone has told you to, or you can fight to protect what you believe in."

Harry thought to himself for a moment, then answered.

"I want to fight for what I believe in."

Dumbledore smiled at him. "Then stand before your forefathers."

Dumbledore stepped back into the doorway, leaving Harry alone next to the body in the middle of the room. Harry heard Dumbledore mutter something in a language he didn't recognize. Suddenly, the light from the four slits in the ceiling focused into one tight beam, and lanced at Harry. He was surrounded in a warm wind. He looked through the white, and saw similar beams erupting from the crests on the wall, shooting into the column that now engulfed him. The shirt he had been wearing disintegrated. He shut his eyes as the light became nearly blinding, and felt a dull burning in his wrists and chest. He felt himself lifting off the floor. For a few moments, he floated there, his mind at rest, until the light began to slowly dissipate, and he was gently dropped to the floor. As the beams withdrew to the ceiling, he stayed kneeling on the floor, panting.

As his breathing returned to a steady tempo, Harry looked down and saw smoldering black etchings where he had felt the burning on his skin. Dumbledore moved towards him, and helped him to his feet. He gestured to the boy's new markings, and spoke.

"These are the etchings of your order. They only become visible in these halls, or in the fellowship of another member. On either wrist, the Alpha and the Omega, signaling the beginning of the end that each of us must face. On your chest are the twin symbols of love and charity. On your neck, the number of your order. V.I.I. 7. The Malachi."

Harry marveled at the markings across his body, and turned to Dumbledore.

"Why can't I see yours?"

Dumbledore smiled, and pulled his cloak away from his neck, exposing three long I's.

"There is one last thing you must do here Harry," Dumbledore said as he re-attached his cloak. "Move to your crest."

Harry looked about the room, confused at first. He had no idea which crest was his. As soon as the indecision took hold, flames ran across the wall above the crests, exposing numbers above each. Harry moved quickly to number seven. As he stood before it, the fire dissipated.

The crest was a brilliant gold, with a silver cross dividing it into 4 sections. Each section held a different symbol. Harry ran his fingers along the smooth lines, imaging his ancestors doing the same. As he drew his hand away, he heard a whisper.

As our blood, you must give your blood.

Harry turned around; the voice had not been Dumbledore's. Dumbledore pointed to the base of the crest. The shield came to a sharp point, which, Harry noticed as he leaned in towards it, was a dull red. Understanding what he had to do, he pricked his finger on the point, drawing a few droplets of blood. The whisper returned.

The blood of the Malachi comes anew. You are bonded to us, as we to you, as all of us are to the call.

Harry traced the lines on the shield again.

Let the body of our servant join his brethren.

Harry turned around, and the body atop the table seemed to turn instantly to grey ash, which lifted off the slab and disappeared into the air.

It is done.

"This place is open to you, Harry," Dumbledore said, startling Harry slightly. "The coin you used to come is yours to keep. It now bares your crest. You may come whenever you wish. This is our sanctuary."

Harry nodded to Dumbledore. He suddenly felt very tired. The events of the past hour seemed to come at him at once, and his legs felt like they were made of lead. Dumbledore looked at him sympathetically.

"I recall how draining it is at first. Come, let us go."

It was all Harry could do to nod and walk towards the door, turning only once to look back at the glowing room before walking out the door and into the antechamber. Dumbledore pulled another coin out of his robe and winked to Harry, then slowly disappeared. Harry looked around the chamber, breathed in deeply, and then disappeared as well.

Harry reappeared at the same clearing he, Remus and Neville had first left from to go to the Burrow. It seemed a lifetime ago. Dumbledore was already standing next to him, and he guided the boy out of the thicket and onto the road that led back to number four. Harry's head was swimming, but his body seemed to be falling asleep. Yawning, he looked up at Dumbledore.

"Why did my great-great-grandfather never try to meet me?" he asked.

Dumbledore looked down at Harry. "Jonathan had a hard life. I did not know him well, but he, like you, saw a great deal of sadness. After a time, the pain became too much for him to bear. Before last week, no one had heard from him in nearly twenty years."

"How did he die?" asked Harry, yawning again.

"We are not sure." Dumbledore admitted.

"Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"I hesitate to guess without further information, but, for now, that is as good an assumption as any."

Harry nodded, too tired to react. The two continued on in silence until they reached the front of Harry's home.

"I'm afraid you will have to stay with the Dursleys until school starts again," Dumbledore said, taking the boy shoulder in his grip.

Harry sighed and nodded heavily.

"You should be proud of what you accomplished tonight. It is my duty, though, to give you this one last ward of warning. We are a secret entity, free from the prying eyes of the outside world. The only way to preserve that is to keep the knowledge of our existence to ourselves."

Harry nodded again. "I understand. I won't even tell Ron or Hermione." He yawned again.

"Good."

Dumbledore pulled Harry into a hug. "Now go, and rest. Should you need anything, I am but an owl's flight away." Dumbledore turned, and moved up the street. "Oh, and Harry?" he called from the distance.

"Yes?" Harry shouted back.

"Happy Birthday!"

Harry opened the front door of number four Privet Drive as quietly as possible. He did not want to wake Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia. He made his way to his room, where he promptly fell into his bed, still wearing his cloak. For the first time in months, a smile stretched across his face as he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.