Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 5 - Dealing with the Dragon

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Flames encircled them in every direction, and yet the stones on which they were standing remained cool. The fire of the tall grass was undying, and if anything the crimson and yellow flickering against the night sky challenged Harry forward. Harry stared at the vampire before him and wondered if the man called Dakhil would show his true self, his evil self. If he did, Harry would be ready; he didn't care if he was a member of the Votary of the Dragon or not. He took the white robes from Dakhil's hands and began to put them on over his clothes, but Dakhil stopped him.

"These will be all you wear in Singehorn's presence," he insisted. "These, your glasses, and your wand." Harry hesitated. "I'd shave your head if I didn't think it would grow back a moment later." And then Dakhil chuckled. "When the flames are done with you, I suppose it won't matter what your hair looks like."

Harry just glared at Dakhil, and Sirius wasn't sure what to say. Finally, Harry began to unbutton his shirt. A minute later he was naked, and slipped the white robes on over his head. He then made to put his boots on, but Dakhil stopped him again.

"Only the robes."

Harry looked out at the burning embers that scattered the open plain. Surely he would be incinerated the moment he stepped off the rocks, but then he looked down at Dakhil's feet and noticed that they were bare and as clean as if he'd just stepped out of a bath. Harry straightened his glasses and twirled his wand in his fingers.

"Let's go," he said confidently, and Sirius moved to join him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Black," said Dakhil with a gentle bow. "You must stay here until the appointed time. Assuming the boy fails, however, it has been a pleasure knowing you." He held out his hand to shake Sirius', but Sirius kept his wand in hand and only stared back at the vampire.

"It's a shame, Mr. Barghouti," said Sirius, "that I won't be there to see your face when my godson succeeds."

"I only wish it were true, Mr. Black. For when the boy fails, I will have lost the dearest friend I have left in this dark world as well as her daughter. Nonetheless, the very fact that I am speaking to you now offers me a glimmer of hope, however remote it might be."

"This young man will not fail," declared Sirius resolutely.

"Of course not," replied Dakhil sadly, dipping his head again in a slight bow. Then Dakhil stepped over to Harry as the flames continued to roar.

"Plebe, there are four paths that lead off these rocks. Three will take you to where your heart desires, but only one will take you where you need to be. The choice is yours." Dakhil then folded his arms and waited.

Harry looked all around, his glance passing by Sirius, who whispered, "You can do this, Harry. I may be stuck here, but remember I'm with you; we're all with you."

There was a rush of wind that whipped the flames even higher into the sky, and as it did so a swath of red appeared directly before Harry. It was almost a tunnel, or a path blazing the way forward. It wasn't that the flames had disappeared; they were instead a brilliant red. Then there was another rush and to Harry's right appeared a similar tunnel, a vivid blue. The third gust revealed a green path slightly behind Harry. There was a fourth gust that swirled about the three wizards, but the sound faded to nothingness. Neither Sirius nor Dakhil said a word as Harry pondered his options.

He stepped closer to the red path; it headed in the general direction where Sirius had pointed earlier. Certainly, Singehorn's lair would be toward the mountain peaks. Another step forward and the hair on Harry's arms rose up as if a ghost had just passed through him. He turned to the blue path and again only a few steps from the edge of the rocks he felt a cold breath that turned him away. When the same thing happened at the green tunnel, Harry stepped back to the centre of the rocks.

"Where's the fourth path?" he asked Dakhil, but the only response was silence. Again Harry looked all around: red, green, blue. There was no other way that he could see, and, in his heart, he could feel that he was losing time. The challenges had to be completed before the rising sun, or he would fail; Gabriella and all the others would be lost. He glanced upward to check the moon's position. It was directly overhead, the smoke turning its glowing face a golden sienna. He had four, maybe five hours before sunrise. "Where's the other--" He looked at Dakhil, whose eyes were fixed somewhere between the red and blue flames. Harry walked over and stood in front of him.

"It's you, isn't it?" Harry asked, glancing up at the moon and then back down. "You're the other path - up and out over the flames. The colours, these robes, they're a distraction. You can just fly me over, can't you?"

Dakhil lowered his eyes to meet Harry's. They were sinister, angry eyes that, if anything, were growing more evil looking by the instant. And then Dakhil hissed through his teeth, "Be sure about what you wish for, boy."

Harry knew at once what Dakhil meant. To fly over the flames, Dakhil would need to transform into a vampire, and Harry would be at his mercy. Harry would have to trust his fate to Dakhil's good graces, and Harry doubted very much if there was a grace to be found in the creature's soul. Without blinking, Harry looked up into Dakhil's eyes, eyes that were already transforming because they knew Harry's choice.

"I hope you're not hungry," Harry said, trying to muster a smile, but failing miserably.

Halfway in his transformation, Dakhil only growled back, and Harry wasn't sure if it was a laugh or perhaps the vampire's stomach. He also wasn't sure what to expect. He'd read that vampires took on different shapes and characteristics, but the only live vampire Harry had seen up close was the one that had attacked him and Gabriella near the village.

Harry watched as Dakhil's eyes began to glow yellow, his ears began to lengthen, and his fangs became more pronounced. What surprised Harry though was the fur. Dakhil was looking more like a werewolf with each passing moment. His fur was a golden brown, and black dots speckled his head and ran down his back to where they coalesced into black bat-like wings. Soon all that was Dakhil Barghouti had vanished, and in his place was a wolfish face with fangs to draw blood and a Basilisk-like tongue to slurp it up. Sirius took a step forward, but Harry held up his hand to stop him. He wasn't sure how fragile the alliance he held was, and he didn't need Sirius to become the night's main course. Instead, Harry turned his back to Dakhil and held out his arms.

When the vampire grabbed Harry from behind, it jarred his broken arm and he winced in pain. There was a large swoosh, and they were off the ground, swoosh , climbing quickly over the flames. Harry could see the red, blue and green tunnels extend outward from the circular pad of rocks in the centre. They seemed to reach across the horizon, and the higher Dakhil and Harry rose, the further out the arms extended. He wondered when they would start toward the peaks, but they didn't. They kept climbing higher and higher. Harry watched the arms of colour begin to twist about the centre like an enormous pinwheel. They spun faster and faster until the red, blue and green united into a sheet of white; at its centre was a dark black disk that looked like a large eye staring up at Harry.

Just as Harry was about to ask where they were going, the two began to fall back down toward the rocks. His stomach jumped into his throat.

"But I thought--"

"You thought wrong!" Dakhil growled.

The closer they came to the ground, the more Harry realized that there was no ground. The disk was not the rocks from where they'd left, but a black hole that reminded Harry of the crevasse that had trapped Sirius. He couldn't help but close his eyes as they plunged into the darkness. The sensation was akin to poking one's finger into a large soap bubble; a similar coolness splashed across Harry's face. In this space, there was no roar of wind rushing past Harry's arms. He also felt somehow lighter, and, when he opened his eyes, he realized that he was floating a few inches off the ground. The next thing he recognized was that Dakhil had vanished; Harry was alone.

Slowly, his feet descended to the large square stones beneath him. It was no longer dark, but light. The sky was a dusty blue, streaked with thin white clouds. The air was warm and the horizon in every direction reminded Harry of the desert terrain in Lebanon. All was flat, dry and brown, and the sun's heat rippled upward off the parched earth, distorting his view. All was flat, that is, except for the large stone pillars that loomed large before him. Four sets stood on each side of huge steps that rose upward between them, as if leading to a great Asian castle that no longer existed. Each set of four was capped some ten stories high with a great dome that ended in a long spire that reached toward the heavens. He felt, very much, as if he had returned to the Middle East, but how?

Harry had started up the steps toward even more pillars and domes when he noticed that, near the top of the first collection of steps some eighty feet away, a man stood holding a lantern in his hand that shone bright against the light of day. Wearing robes of brown and green, he stood motionless, waiting for Harry to approach. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Harry reached for his wand; it was gone.

"Dakhil," Harry hissed under his breath. He looked around once again at the desert terrain. Clearly, this was the only way to go, and so he stepped upward.

As he approached the man, he noticed that he was black, perhaps from Northern Africa, Harry thought. He was tall, his shoulders were broad and he wore a thin smile that kept his teeth hidden. As Harry drew closer, he saw that the man's eyes were not brown, as he expected, but red -- bright red. With Harry only a few steps away, the man finally lowered his lantern.

"Walk with me, young man," he said in a deep, scratching voice that made Dakhil's own tone seem sweet. He turned and stepped upward toward a large landing; Harry followed only a step behind, constantly glancing back behind him to ensure this wasn't some sort of trap. At the top of the landing were two benches, intricately carved in an elaborate pattern and made from what looked to be crystal. The man held out his hand, motioning for Harry to sit, but Harry waited. The man chuckled.

"You may stand if you want, but my old bones are far too weary to stand about all day, and we have much to talk about." He sat with apparent difficulty, as if lowering a tremendous weight, and Harry wondered if the crystal bench upon which he sat might not shatter beneath the burden.

"Forgive me, sir," Harry said, sliding behind the second crystal bench, still preferring to stand. "But, who are you?" The question brought a look of disappointment in the man's red eyes as he considered his answer.

"You can call me Singehorn," he finally replied. "Master, is far too formal."

"S-Singehorn?" Harry stammered. "But... I... I thought... Where is this place?" At this, the man calling himself Singehorn smiled.

"Inquisitive. Yes, Soseh said you tend to lead with your nose at risk of having it snipped off." He shifted his weight on the bench and it creaked. "And it has been snipped more than once I understand."

"Soseh?!" shot Harry. "Do you know where she is? Is she okay? Have you seen her? And Gabriella? What about--"

The man began to laugh deep rolling huffs of laughter that shook the earth. The reaction brought fire to Harry's eyes, and again he reached for the wand that wasn't there. The movement only amused the man more.

"Tell me, child," said Singehorn, "I have introduced myself. Perhaps you could provide me the same common courtesy. "Who are you?"

At first Harry hesitated, wanting to know about the fate of his companions, but there was something in the red eyes that made him finally answer, almost apologetically. "Harry, Harry Potter, sir."

"Only Harry Potter? Or Harry Potter: Parselmouth, Guardian of the Stone, Champion of the Age, Sacrifice of the Centaurs, Victor over the Dark Lord Voldemort, and I hear soon the youngest wizard ever to receive the Order of Merlin."

"I won't accept," said Harry quickly.

"And why is that?"

There was a long pause, and Harry held Singehorn's red eyes with his own. They were penetrating his thoughts, he could feel that now, but he didn't care. He sensed somehow that in here, wherever they were, time was held still.

"They think the darkness is gone, but it's not. I... I don't know how I know, but I know he's not gone; I know it is not gone. I've failed to protect wizards and Muggles alike, but no one will believe me."

"I do." Singehorn shifted on the bench and leaned his massive frame toward Harry. "And there are others. Now you tell me, where is this place?"

Singehorn moved his hand slowly along the edge of the white marble bench, and then rubbed his fingers together examining the dust at the tips; his nails were long and sharp.

"This place is you," answered Harry wisely, and Singehorn appreciated the young man's insight.

"Very good, Harry" he said, slapping his hands together to wipe the dust clean. "This place is where you can always come to speak with me." A gentle smile broke across his face. "You might note that dragons do not speak, and that's true. But here..." he held his hands wide and swept them in every direction, "here we have created a place where ALL members of the Votary can come to discuss the dangers that face the world."

"And what does it mean to be a member of the Votary?" Harry asked.

"What do you want it to mean, Harry?"

"I need help, help to fight against enmity and division. Lucius Malfoy and his Dementors are only one such hatred. The undead darkness seeps its lies into every corner, every weak mind that will listen. And these minds spend their time being hateful because of the ways we all are different, instead of searching for the ways we are alike."

"Very good, Harry," answered Singehorn. "And those who turn to darkness use such differences to build hatred not just among wizards, but among all living things. It is this hatred that upsets nature's balance and threatens to doom us all." Singehorn clasped his hands together.

"But my challenge..." Harry began.

"The challenges have already been faced and met: unwillingness to sacrifice another; recognition of defeat in the face of hope; willingness to trust the word of ones you love; and an unflinching will to turn away the darkness." Singehorn's eyes were proud, but then he raised one eyebrow. "We cannot always win, Harry. Failure cannot be our nemesis; it must be our teacher. You can no more win every battle than you can bring Greg Goyle or Cedric Diggory back from the dead."

The faces of his fallen friends flashed before Harry's eyes. They were painful memories, but he was more disappointed that he hadn't considered their sacrifices for some time. Again the gravely voice of Singehorn reverberated.

"Soseh, as always, is right. I see no reason why you should not be the guardian of the Heart of Asha. I am certain Asha, were she alive today, would approve. You are certainly the first to find so unique a hiding place; it will suit what awaits you. You have learned to charge the stone with fire, and that is notable, but now it is time to charge it with something far more endurable -- love."

With a deep groan, Singehorn rose to his feet.

"As I said, you may visit me anytime you wish, Harry. Dakhil can show you how."

The look on Harry's face soured and Singehorn took notice.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

Harry wasn't sure what to say. Yes, there was a problem. Dakhil was a blood sucking, hate mongering...

"No. No, sir. There's no problem," Harry lied.

"Young Mr. Potter," said Singehorn, his eyes flashing a deeper red, "whatever your skills are they most certainly do not include the art of deception. You wear your heart on your sleeve." He took in a deep breath and let out a long sigh. "Which makes my decision that much easier."

At these words, Harry was crushed. They had spoken of love and acceptance and he had won the dragon's confidence. But with one insult to the leader of the Votary, Harry was sure what Singehorn's new decision would be.

"But my friends!" he cried. "You can't let them die! I don't care what you do to me, but let them go free."

Singehorn, the man, began to laugh a deep hearty laugh, slow and rhythmic... "Hah... hah... hah!" It ended in something akin to the cough of an old man that had smoked cigarettes since childhood. He turned his back to Harry and held on to a hand railing with his two hands wrapped around the large stone beam much like an eagle's talons. "We live by one precept and one precept only: Bravery, Wisdom, Love. Tell me, Harry, what do these three words mean to you?"

"You have to let them go!" yelled Harry. He grabbed the man by his thick, heavy arm and tried to spin him around. What faced him was the fanged face of a dragon.

"We will work on wisdom." A blast of fire erupted from the dragon's mouth and engulfed Harry. Everything turned to flame. As he felt the intense heat surround him, his feet gave way beneath him -- he was falling.

"Bravery, Wisdom, Love, Harry Potter. I have made my decision. Good-bye."

All was fire... falling... crunch. Solid stone met Harry's face and he felt his arm give way once again with a sharp snap, but the pain was nothing compared to the pain wrapping itself around his heart. How could he have come this far only to let it all slip away? His glasses fell from his face and he reached with his good hand to retrieve the broken remains. He was disoriented, nauseous, and fire still filled his field of view. His hand missed the glasses, and he crumpled to the ground, tears welling in his eyes.

"Let me help you."

Harry rolled from his stomach to his back. The voice... but it couldn't be.

"Occulous reparo!" said a different voice. "Here, Gabriella. It won't be the last time, trust me."

"If I had a Galleon for every broken bone..."

There was a bright blue light and a sense of warmth ran up his arm. Then there was the chant, spoken in a language he was only now coming to understand. His arm was healed.

"You... you're okay?" said Harry, looking back at Gabriella as she slipped his glasses over his face. He touched her right hand just to make sure she was real. It bore the ring of woven gold he'd given her the year before and, as he touched it, the rubies glowed - she was real. Behind her stood Hermione, the light of bright flames flickering off her face.

"I don't understand," Harry said. "How did you--"

Gabriella just smiled and held him in her arms. Harry sat up on the stones and realized he was on the same outcropping of flat rocks where he had left Sirius behind. The flames still roared all around, only now the rocks were filled with people - wizards and witches wearing various colours of formal robes. To one side stood a group of men and women, Centaurs and House elves, goblins and fairies, all wearing red robes - the Votary. He looked back over at Hermione, first noting the hands that were wrapped around her waist and then, moving his eyes upward to meet hers, he saw the shock of red hair belonging to the man standing behind her.

"Ron?"

He too was smiling. "Hey, mate!"

"I've missed you." Gabriella kissed Harry hard on the lips, but her eyes still bore a look of concern. "They wouldn't believe me, Harry, that you were doing this for yourself and not for me. They thought that you'd change your mind if I was removed from your side. But I knew... I knew... Do you hate me?"

Harry was stunned, but narrowed his eyes into the black pools that twinkled back in his; he pulled her close and held her tight. Again tears sprang into his eyes, but for a wholly different reason.

"Thank god," he whispered. Through clouded eyes he saw Remus and Soseh, ans so many others. There was Sirius and Neville and--

"Stand up," said Dakhil Barghouti in a sharp, stern voice. Slowly, Harry took to his feet and stepped over to Dakhil, Gabriella at his side. It wasn't until he was standing that he realized just how many people surrounded them; or should he have said peoples? How had they all gotten here? When Harry reached Dakhil, the vampire held out his arms wide and everyone quieted. "Present yourself, Harry Potter, to those who would call you friend!"

Half wondering if it was the vampire before him that had forced Gabriella's rebuffs, Harry stood dumbstruck as to what to do next.

"I've never heard of so many at Joining before, Harry," whispered Gabriella into Harry's ear, as she squeezed his arm. "Just copy his every move." And then she stepped away. Harry spread his arms and held his hands out, his sleeves slipping down his arms and revealing the outline of a dragon on his right forearm. Dakhil brought his hands together in something resembling a prayer, and Harry did likewise. Dakhil bowed his head low, and so too did Harry.

"Bravery!" cried Dakhil. There was a sudden cheer from everyone present. Harry wanted to turn to see, but dared not move from his bowed position. There was a tremendous SWOOSH - SWOOSH that filled the air from all sides. Dakhil stood straight and when Harry did so too, he saw them - over a dozen dragons filled the sky, flapping their enormous wings and churning the air about the rocks so that the flames swirled in a giant circle upward like an enormous tornado of fire. Then someone touched his shoulder. Neville - he was sure it was Neville. He sensed something, something powerful pass into him - a loyalty to his friends. Then he felt it again, only this time the sensation of bravery was somehow different. It was the hand of Luna. Then he sensed Ginny, then Arthur Weasley, Fred and George. With each touch a sense of warmth and a unique presence of power passed into his very being. The Centaurs: Bane... Magorian... The names went on until--

"Wisdom!" cried Dakhil, holding his hands high in the air, and so too did Harry. This time Sirius stepped forward and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. It was followed by more individual sensations running through to Harry's mind, flashing like snapshots and providing him with insights he never knew he had. Remus and an understanding of werewolves, Soseh and the intuition of the Votary, the loyalty of McGonagall and then... Dumbledore. Scenes from over one-hundred forty years filled Harry's mind. He could feel energy flowing into his essence, a power being drawn in like never before. Last year he had drawn Voldemort's power away, and vomited it forth. But this... this was pure energy given willingly... true energy.

"Love!" cried Dakhil, now stretching his arms outward. Harry stretched out as well and felt the touch of Gabriella, strong and passionate. Then came Hermione, Ron, Hagrid... more people were joining the circle with each passing second; some touched Harry directly and others he felt through their connection in the long train of hands and, as each continued to join, infusing a piece of themselves with Harry, Dakhil called out, "Do you commit yourself to these precepts! Do you swear your allegiance to the Votary?"

It was almost too much for Harry to comprehend. It was a tremendous celebration in a sea of friends, and yet it was all coming so fast and furious. There was the touch of Dobby... Winky... Grawp...

"YES!" Harry yelled out to the swirling smoke above, and the sound of roars filled the air.

Dakhil stood and looked closely at Harry with his stern eyes, and, still holding his arms open, he said, "Welcome, my brother."

For the briefest of moments, Harry hesitated, but then stepped forward and wrapped the vampire in his arms. Still, the procession of his friends continued upon the crowded rocks. He felt the touch of Bill... Fleur... Gabrielle... Dean...

Dakhil Barghouti turned Harry and had him face the crowd, all holding hands as the fire continued to roar upwards toward the circling dragons above. He sensed the touch of Charlie... Frank and Alice Longbottom... Harry saw Singehorn flying high above all the other dragons, his red eyes glowing like two stars circling in the night sky.

"I present," shouted Dakhil to all present, "Harry Potter: Protector of the Innocent, Guardian of the Heart, Emissary of the Votary!"

Harry noticed that the robes that draped his body were no longer white, but now crimson red. Faces continued to flash across Harry's mind, and he began to blur the distinction between whom he saw and whom he felt infusing their energy into his heart and soul, each with their own distinct voice. They were all a blur... all but for the last face, a face he would never forget, for it caused him to shudder slightly as he sensed his energy, cold and stabbing, enter him. It was the face of Draco Malfoy and the one word he carried with him that Harry had never heard: Horcrux.