Prongs Rides Again

XIII.

Such a silence had not descended over the Dover coast in many, many a year. The Cliffs rose high and foreboding over a turbulent sea, and yet a presence in the air itself seemed to have swallowed all noise that might have reached an ear. The thick, ponderous gray clouds threatened a storm, but those who knew the temperament of the area knew it would not come.

Perilously close to the cliff's edge rose a jagged circle of standing stones. They were patient, and motionless: the weather they paid no heed. Suddenly, a little ways behind the ring, another tall, solemn figure appeared with neither sound nor warning. It strode slowly forward to take its place in the circle: the others shuffled aside to make room.

They were not monoliths. They were Death Eaters.

Lucius Malfoy slid in between two Crabbe and Goyle-shaped figures. He did not deign to greet them, or even acknowledge them. Instead, he turned his head ever so slightly to the left and said softly, "When is he due?"

From beneath a hood, the voice of Thomas Avery replied, "If he hasn't told you, then none of us know. He just said to be here with the moon straight overhead. So here we are."

Dissatisfied, Lucius invisibly curled his lip. He didn't like waiting: other people waited for him. He attended the Dark Lord's arrival with very bad grace indeed.

"What're we s'posed to be doing, Lucius?" came Crabbe's voice thickly.

"We'll be informed of the plans for tomorrow, of course," he answered, though that was only an assumption.

Crabbe grunted.

"Wot's ‘e planning f'r Halloween, Lucius?" Goyle asked.

"He's going to kill Harry Potter," he replied witheringly.

"Aw yeah," Goyle mused. "He told us that, didn' ‘e."

Lucius rolled his eyes and bit his tongue. He raised his eyes and examined the moon. Should be full in another day or two, he thought, for lack of other things to say. A keening silence tore across the cliff tops. The circle of Death Eaters became a ring of standing stones once again -- waiting, just waiting.

* * *

A thick shimmer appeared at the center of the circle. The air seemed to congeal, and then Lord Voldemort was lifting his head and breathing deeply, a thin, cruel smile on his lips. A small animal emerged from his shoulder: it scampered down the length of his outstretched arm and jumped off. Wormtail landed heavily, and had to pick himself up from the lightly frosted grass. Nobody moved; nobody paid any attention to him.

"Good morrow," said Voldemort softly. "I am glad to see... all of you present this evening." All eyes darted towards the figure that was undoubtedly Snape. Snape seemed unconcerned, concentrating on watching the Dark Lord. "I am sure the more astute of you are well aware of why I have called you here. If not, then only one word need suffice.

"Potter," he hissed, with a sudden vehemence that broke his composure. His red serpentine eyes narrowed angrily. "Thrice! Three times he has eluded me. The ‘charm' is broken -- he shall not walk away from his fourth encounter with Lord Voldemort." The eyes focused back on the Death Eaters. "Yes, he shall not escape..." he murmured softly.

"And yet!" he continued, and every wizard present winced inside. "And yet, perhaps this might not have been necessary, had at our last reunion my skilled and faithful servants aided their master properly." He began to pace the circumference of the circle, daring his minions to quail under his glare.

Here it comes, thought Lucius desperately -- the punishment, the pain -- "Crucio".

But unexpectedly, he did nothing of the sort. He only smiled. "I see you all fear a rebuke from me," he said, a slight, sibilant sound that might have been a laugh accompanying. He shook his head and turned his gaze to the moon. He remained in that attitude for a few minutes more, like a professor speaking to himself, lost in scholarly thought. "You may relax: even Wormtail here can do nothing to dampen my spirits tonight. In twenty-four hours, Potter shall be dead, and the world shall truly know that my reign has resumed."

He paused, as though solidifying an idea into words. "Luckily, you will all be safely far away, so as not to bungle the event a second time. Yes, I blame you, loyal Death Eaters: do not pretend you do not know that."

Voldemort slid a pale, thin hand into his robes and withdrew a small, faceted orb made of glass, or crystal. He smiled. "A delightful little confection, is it not? This is a Gallivesper. Let me show you what it can do." And with that, he launched it vertically into the air. As it hit a certain altitude, about thirteen feet off the ground, it leveled off, and gave off a bright flash of white light. The Death Eaters gasped, and backed away, shielding themselves with their cloaks. At the sound of Voldemort's loud, mocking laughter, they all knew they were still unharmed. They lowered their disguises, and watched what was occurring where Voldemort had been standing an instant ago.

The figure of a man was sprawled on the ground before them. He was not moving, although his body quaked every few moments, trembling with naked fear. He was a tall, gaunt-looking man who had obviously seen better days. Lucius realized he could not have been real, however, when he noticed that his limbs did not appear solid. It was a projection, coming from the little sphere hovering above their heads.

"You may have heard, that in the Muggle world, they have devised cameras that broadcast images and events all over the nations. We magic folk, of course, had developed this capability long ago. This Gallivesper is French, a marvelous instrument of glass and æther and light. It recorded this image at the end of August, just before the start of term at Durmstrang Institute."

It was then that a real chill raced down Lucius Malfoy's spine: he was witnessing the execution of Igor Karkaroff.

Though the voices were distant and muffled, the audience of Death Eaters could tell that Voldemort had just addressed Karkaroff. The Russian wizard let out a great cry of terror, and pressed himself closer onto the ground, if that was at all possible. The Dark Lord's laugh came through eerily clear, and Karkaroff was suddenly dragged upright and onto his feet as though by an invisible hand around his neck. He flailed his arms and tried to pries away whatever choked him, but to no avail: he was not going anywhere.

A sinister incantation reached the ears of the circle, although the words themselves were indistinct. A small spark shot through the air and buried itself in the man's chest. Karkaroff doubled up violently, and several spasms rent through his body. Then he began to cough.

At first it was only a little puff of smoke -- no more than if he'd been exhaling from a pipe. But soon the amount grew, until plumes of ash were pouring from his mouth. A look of blind, wild pain was blazing in his face, and he tore at his body as though trying to extinguish something he could not reach. The Death Eaters watched silently, stunned and horrified. At last, Karkaroff's skin began to char, and, as he very obviously retained consciousness, he burst into flames with an inhuman scream.

Then there was nothing. No sound of breathing disturbed the perfect quiet atop the Cliffs of Dover. Then -- a low, throaty chuckle. "Cineris Suspiro, my friends. Brought back to Rome from the deepest reaches of Egyptian Africa. The curse sends a small, tight spark of unquenchable fire into the heart of the victim. The spark burrows into the flesh of the muscle, and begins to smolder. More sparks break off, and spread through the veins and blood into the entire body. Slowly, oh so slowly, every cell is consumed in flame, and the recipient is forced to exhale every dead bit of ash.

"The caster, on the other, gains the benefit of certain powers if he breathes in this ash. It's almost like absorbing the energy of another body." Voldemort smiled, leaving no doubt as to whom he was envisioning to next writhe in the throes of the curse. "When Potter's cinders mingle with my blood, then my strength will soar to heights never before imagined on this earth! Tomorrow, gentlemen," he said, his voice resuming its silkiness; "tomorrow, the world shall be at our feet."

He reached up with one impossibly long, white arm, and the Gallivesper seemed to be sucked into his hand. He held it up to the Death Eaters. "You will each receive one of these. At midnight of All Hallow's Eve, Potter shall finally join his parents. And you shall have a show to satisfy your every last desire of revenge." His smile was jagged, and immeasurably cruel.

A small, glassy orb suddenly appeared before Lucius. It hovered in front of him, near neck level, waiting. Lucius found himself breathing hard. He glanced around at the other Death Eaters. He felt rather than saw Voldemort eying him. He fought to keep his hand from shaking: and he reached out in front of him and plucked the Gallivesper from the air.

* * *

James only just had time to dodge the curse as it barreled toward his head. He threw himself to the side, and rolled over quickly. "Impedimenta!" he cried, pointing his borrowed wand at his attacker.

"Contego!" the other wizard retaliated, blocking his spell. "Samotsarum!"

James's legs wobbled and collapsed beneath him. He looked at his legs, bending in odd places, as though bones did not matter anymore. He sighed, amused, and squinted up against the rising sun. "Jelly legs, Sirius?"

Sirius walked over to him and performed the countercurse, shrugging. "Just thought you ought to be ready for anything, you know." He helped James to his feet. "You need the practice, if you're going to be dueling."

James frowned, but said nothing. "Come on, let's go see what Moony's up to." The two friends walked across the moor together, leaning against each other to keep warm against the wind.

Remus's face was flush with excitement when he opened the door for them. "I've got it!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe I didn't see it before! Come in, I've got to tell you! It's rather brilliant, if I do say so myself," he added.

"What, has modesty left our favorite professor?" Sirius commented wryly as he removed his coat and hung it on a peg. When he turned around, Remus was grinning about four inches from his face. He held a shimmering red feather between them.

"Fawkes's feather," he said.

"Yes... and your point is?"

"The answer comes from Harry!" Remus declared impatiently. "Don't you see? His wand and Voldemort's both have a core from Fawkes! At the Third Task, when they were forced to work against each other, they wouldn't: the Priori Incantatem effect took place, and all of Voldemort's last spells came back and hit him in the face! James, don't you see? Your feather is our secret weapon!" He began pacing. "If you can throw back one of his curses on him, it might work against him!"

James and Sirius stared at him. "You... you really think that can happen?" James voiced.

Remus nodded fervently. "I do."

Sirius gulped, and stepped back a pace. "I think I'll... go and get the mail." As casually as he could, he retreated into a side room where they had been letting the mail pile up.

Remus's eye followed him. "He's scared this won't work," he said flatly to James, not looking at him.

"Well of course he's scared," James reasoned. "I am too. But now we're done thinking, which is where he comes in, " he ended lightly.

Remus laughed. "That's not very fair..."

James shrugged, and absently wished he had some hot cocoa. From outside the kitchen he and Remus heard the sound of wings beating against a window. "Hold up, don't be such a-- Will you--?!" The rest of Sirius's indignant reply to the mail owl was lost in the creaking of the sill and the owl's hoots.

James turned back to Remus. "Will the feather itself work with spells and such? Will I need a real wand as well?"

Remus shook his head. "The wood around a wand is mostly for concentrating the power. The feather might act a little wild, but it should be just fine." He narrowed his eyes pensively. "I wonder what's taking Padfoot so long. Surely the owl can't be that hard to negotiate with..."

James paused for a second, and then asked, "Are you up for some breakfast?"

His friend nodded. "Sounds great. I could do with -- oh, hello there."

Sirius had reentered, his step slower than usual. "You got a letter from Hogwarts, James," he said carefully, handing him an unevenly-folded piece of parchment. James took the letter and examined the front: "To Mr. James Potter, Residence of Professor Lupin, The Cottage on the Moor."

"Whose hand is this?" he asked. It didn't look like anybody's he knew.

Nobody answered him. He looked up curiously. "What?"

Sirius took a breath, locking eyes with him. "It's Harry's."

The room was silent. "Harry's?" James repeated dumbly, as though he didn't quite know who Sirius was talking about.

Sirius nodded.

"Oh." He looked back down at the parchment. The letters, he could now see, shook slightly, and a faint sweat stain colored one of the edges. "Oh." He raised his head, to find that his friends had withdrawn from the room. James wasn't sure if he should thank them for it or not: he felt very vulnerable, alone with this note from his son. He stood, indecisive, for a moment more, and then he slowly made his way over to the plush armchair near the fireplace.

He sat down heavily in it, and unconsciously thought back to that encounter in July. He was lost in thought for a few moments, and then found himself opening the letter. He read over it, once, twice, three times, not quite believing its contents. He then set it down upon his knees, weak with emotion. And then he allowed himself a laugh, because he felt if he didn't, he might not be able to bear what would follow.

* * *

"Which way is it next?"

"I don't know! How am I supposed to see this map in the dark?"

"Oh, honestly! Lumos."

"So where are we now?"

"Close, I should think. I see Sirius and Professor Lupin over there, on the other side of that wall."

Harry barely heard Ron and Hermione's bickering. His feet blindly followed the shapes of his two friends, while his head was in another place altogether. It really is you, isn't it. That's what he said, that night at Professor Lupin's house. And now it's my turn.

"Harry? Harry?"

Hermione's voice cut through his reverie. They had stopped walking. She and Ron were examining him closely, with slightly apprehensive looks on their faces. "Harry, are you sure you'll be alright?"

He felt a smile slide across his face. "Yeah. I'll be fine." He turned to leave but found a solid stone wall between him and his godfather. "Ah, how do I get through?"

Ron handed him the Map. The Harry Potter dot was accompanied by a speech bubble reading "Fissum." Harry withdrew his wand, then paused. "Thanks for walking me through."

Ron and Hermione smiled back, as though they didn't quite know what to say. "Oh Harry!" Hermione finally breathed. She searched for words for an instant more, and finding none, she finished, "Tell him... tell him... well, hello, I suppose, from me."

Ron stuck out his hand. "Good luck, Harry," he said earnestly.

Harry nodded. "Thanks." He looked at his two best friends. "Do you need the Map to get back?"

Ron grinned. "Nah. I'll bet your dad will want to see it again."

They were silent for an instant more. Then Harry slipped the Map into his robes and took a deep breath. He opened the wall and stepped through, leaving them behind.

Sirius and Professor Lupin were waiting on the other side. "Hello Harry," Professor Lupin greeted him. Sirius said nothing, only pulling Harry into a fierce bear hug. They began to wind their way through the passages.

"Is that what I think it is?" Sirius asked, eying the sheet of parchment sticking out of Harry's pocket. Professor Lupin grinned at Harry.

"I'm not sure it would be too safe to let him see it. He might fill you in on some of the ideas we never let him carry out. For good reason," he added emphatically.

Sirius playfully wilted. "I don't see why you three never got curious about where McGonagall kept those talking statues! Think of all the stuff we could have found out."

Professor Lupin snorted. "Like you didn't already know."

"Know what?" Harry asked curiously.

Sirius and Professor Lupin exchanged glances. "We'll tell you when you're older," Sirius said.

"When the information is safely useless to you!"

Sirius play-glared at him.

"How close are we?" Harry inquired.

"Pretty far," Professor Lupin admitted. "See for yourself."

Harry withdrew the Marauder's Map and found himself. His breath quickened as his eye rested on a figure pacing back and forth across a space labeled "Well Hidden Room No. 442". James Potter.

"What's my dad like?" he asked, his eyes still glued to the map.

Nobody spoke immediately. Harry looked up. Both Professor Lupin and Sirius had mixed expressions on their faces.

"He was a great dancer," Sirius mused finally.

Professor Lupin smiled a little. "I had forgotten that. Yes, remember how he used to dance with Lily in the living room?"

"What I remember is that jigging contest he held at Rosmerta's our sixth year."

"Oh that. Yes." A strange, devious glint entered the professor's eye. "Who won that again?"

Sirius shrugged. "I think it was Snape."

"Snape?" said Harry incredulously.

The pair simply grinned and would not explain further.

"And what a flier! Harry, if I were you I'd keep my Firebolt locked up tight -- it's more than likely you'd find him outside playing with it at odd hours of the day."

"That's true. You're great on a broomstick, Harry, but the old master might have a thing or two to teach you himself."

Harry couldn't help but grin. Yet somehow.... somehow they weren't telling him what he wanted to know, and they were well aware of it.

The trio was silent for another stretch of time. Harry found himself envisioning what he would say when he finally met his dad. It never seemed to come out right, however, and he wondered if it might just be easier to let him talk first.

"He..."

Harry looked up. Sirius was staring straight ahead, his eyes glassy. He gulped, as though what he wanted to say was hard for him. "He loved you very much. And he still does. And I think he'll make a great father." He looked down at Harry with an odd, vulnerable expression on his face, and Harry suddenly realized they must be very close. He hesitantly broke eye contact with Sirius and unrolled the Map again.

Well-Hidden Room No. 442 was at the end of this passageway. The James Potter dot was still pacing. Harry felt a wash of numbness over his body. They were almost there. He was thirty-five feet away from meeting his father.

"Do you... d'you want us to come in with you?" Professor Lupin asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, thanks," he whispered.

They halted in front of a dull-looking door with a brass knob. "Here we are," Sirius said, with a curious flatness to his voice.

Harry looked down at the Map. James Potter was standing stock still in the corner directly opposite the door. He suddenly felt a hand on his right shoulder. He glanced up: Professor Lupin was smiling encouragingly at him. Harry smiled back and felt his stomach completely disappear. The two men on either side of him seemed to grow tall and unreal. As though in slow motion, Sirius leaned forward, stretched out his arm, and grasped the knob. Harry watched with a lightheaded disbelief as he twisted his wrist, and the hinges creaked. The door swung open...

The room was empty, save for a couch and a few lamps. Harry furrowed his brow. He stepped forward, through the door and over the threshold.

A tall, thin man emerged from the shadows, an expression of disbelief identical to Harry's on his face.

The many who had commented how Harry resembled his father had been completely correct in the comparison. James Potter was lithe, skinny even -- though that could be attributed to the ordeal he'd been through. His hair, haphazardly streaked with bright white amidst the blackness, was thick and unruly. His skin wasn't so pale as before -- it had a flush of healthiness present now. Behind the wire-rimmed glasses, his great brown eyes were quick and intelligent.

He carried himself gracefully: his slow, tentative steps toward Harry were nonetheless sure-footed and fluid. He stopped about eight feet away from his son. Harry was completely motionless, save for the rise and fall of his chest. Both Potters seemed too absorbed in staring at the other to even begin trying to say something.

This is what I'm going to look like when I'm older, Harry thought fleetingly.

My son is standing here! James said to himself. It's finally happening! And he's not running away...

He took another step forward.

"You're..." Harry began. He stopped, unable to continue. After a moment of intense emotion, he finished, "It really is you. They weren't lying."

A small smile touched James's lips. "No," he answered. "They weren't."

Something was holding him back, something was keeping Harry from coming any closer. He felt his breath become more staggered, and his limbs began to shake. "Why didn't you tell me?" he said, choking a little.

James met his gaze with few apologies in his face. "Because I did not want my son to meet me as a wreck."

Harry felt his head grow too heavy to support anymore, and he looked down at his feet. He took a deep breath and began moving them forward, one after the other. James watched, half astounded that this was actually happening. When he was within arm's reach, Harry raised his head and examined James closer. Then, with a movement weak from amazement, he lifted his left hand and reached for his father.

The second time I've touched my son in fourteen years. James drew him closer and embraced him. The two were silent and motionless for a moment, almost unwilling to believe it wasn't a dream. Then James felt Harry's face contort against his shoulder, and the sound of sobs welling up reverberated in his chest. He stroked Harry's hair, comforting himself as much as his son, and then gave in and let himself cry as well.

"Dad," Harry breathed periodically. "Dad..."

Father and son stood there, alone in the room, reunited at last. "Hello, Harry," James said back. "Hello."

* * *

They talked of many things when the initial shock was over. James explained how he had survived the attack at Godric's Hollow all those years ago. Harry told him about how he'd discovered who he was, how he'd come to Hogwarts and year after year unraveled new facts about his identity. James talked about Lily, telling Harry more about his mother than he'd ever learned before. Harry told James about his friends, about Hermione and about the Weasleys and how much he thought he would like them.

They talked long into the hours of the night, long after the Halloween Feast would have ended and the rest of Hogwarts retired to their dormitories. As the evening grew late, Harry felt the exhaustion swimming through him, and his vision began to blur. There was one last thing he had to tell his father, something important about tonight...

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small wooden ring. "I'm supposed to give this to you," he said, handing the object to James. "This is how you're supposed to meet him."

James's concentration abandoned the blue light flickering through the interior of the ring. "So you know what I have to do tonight?"

Harry nodded. "I didn't think there was anything bigger, that would make you leave again."

James closed his eyes and sighed, wishing he didn't have to disappear as soon as he'd regained his dearest wish.

"It's going to become a door to someplace at midnight," Harry continued, his words becoming heavier and sleepier with every passing moment. "You... you have to close it behind you once you're through, so they can't get inside Hogwarts."

James's eyes became wide and frightened for an instant. "I hadn't even thought of that," he whispered, imagining for a terrible second what Voldemort might do if he penetrated Albus Dumbledore's stronghold.

Harry fought a yawn. "Snape told me how to do it," he mumbled. "You just run your fingers around the edge. It chokes it off. Like with pottery, when you choke off a form to make it smaller." He smiled slightly at the irony.

They were both quiet for a while, listening to one another breathe. Then James heard something from next to him.

"I love you," Harry murmured.

James gazed at his son, his eyes burning with happiness and pride. He then looked away, thinking. He reached into his robes and withdrew a photograph. By the muted light he could just make out the people inside it. It was a family portrait: himself, Harry, and Lily, all lying asleep on their couch back in the Godric's Hollow home. He watched his family, all sprawled across each other, entwined and at peace. He ached for Lily as he watched her, holding Harry close to her breast. And then he remembered what Harry told him she'd said: "Isn't he with you?"

It was just like Lily, to want them to be together. He broke away from the image and looked at Harry. He was curled up on his side, his head lying on James's lap. James smiled, and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. He brushed aside Harry's hair, and examined the scar. It was the first good look he'd gotten of it: an ugly reminder of the task he had at hand.

He thought of what his son had seen last June, and he pondered what Remus had said that morning, about Priori Incantatem and the phoenix feather. I wonder if I'll see Lily tonight, he mused, and picked up the ring again. After a moment's contemplation, he tossed the Aperio talisman away, listening to it roll around on the floor in the dark. He could still see the faint blue glow emanating from it, and he sat staring at the spot where it had come to rest.

A long time seemed to elapse. James sat on the couch, feeling the warmth of Harry's body against his own. A sound like fire flaring up and consuming dry wood interrupted his reverie. James watched as the ring, now standing on its edge, grew larger and larger, until it was big enough for a man to step through. The blue æther undulated for a moment longer, and then it died away, retreating into the wood. James felt a warm wind on his face, and as he peered through the darkness, he could make out a rolling meadow on the other side of the opening. His eyes adjusted, and by the light of the nearly-full moon, he could see a line of trees rimming the field.

So this is where Voldemort is meeting us. He steeled himself, and then gently slid out from under Harry. His son did not move: obliviously, he settled down into the warm spot James had left behind. James took one more look at his sleeping son, smiling wistfully. He then picked up the photograph again and tucked it between Harry's hands.

Taking care to be quiet, he walked over to another door that lead to an adjoining room. He opened it. Remus and Sirius looked up from their seats, and then stood. There was no need to tell them what time it was. They filed back into the room where the opening lay waiting for them.

They stood before it for what seemed like ages. "Are you wearing the namyasto?" Remus asked quietly.

Sirius nodded. "Prongs -- you got your feather?"

James nodded. He looked over his shoulder at Harry, feeling hopelessly like this might be the last time he laid eyes on his son. Sirius laid a hand on his shoulder. "He'll be fine."

James gazed, a desperate sadness threatening to manifest itself. "I'll come back," he vowed. "I promise, Harry. I promise."

The three Marauders exchanged looks. Then, one by one, they crossed the wooden threshold and left the safety of Hogwarts behind.