Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 9 - The Bending of Space and Time

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The rhythmic beating of Gabriella's heart lulled Harry in and out of sleep as she softly stroked the side of his head. He sighed deeply as she played with the hints of curls that wrapped about his shoulders. He forced himself to stay awake, if only to savour every moment that he was being held in her arms. Through drooping eyelids, he watched the lake vanish and reappear into view as his head rose and fell with each breath she took. The sparkling water brought to his mind the beaches of Lebanon and he visualized walking with her on the beach, watching the sea waves crash again and again against the shore. It would be a perfect place to ask her, he thought. A gentle breeze brought with it the cool breath of fall and, for a moment, he thought he could smell the cool salt air of the sea. Yes, the perfect place.

"We'll miss dinner," she whispered.

"I never want to move again," he muttered, barely opening his lips. Her hand slipped down to his shoulder and then stroked the muscles of his arms. They were sore and yet with her touch he could feel the ache ebb away.

"If you're going to keep working for Hagrid in the forest," she said more firmly, "you're going to need to keep up your strength." Her fingers slipped down to his side and playfully gave him a quick pinch.

"AYY!" he said, jumping. It was more tickle than pain, more peck than poke. "Not fair! I was... I was just going..." He closed his eyes and began to lay his head back down on her chest.

"Oh no, you don't," she said, pushing his shoulder back and sitting up herself. "I like what working for Hagrid's done to you." She slapped his stomach which held tight. "Besides, Mama would kill me if she heard I let you skip a meal." She rose to her feet. "Come on, let's get you fed." She held out her hand to help Harry to his feet. Her head was turned so that her gaze was not on Harry but on the castle.

An image of Grigor flashed across Harry's mind and a cold shiver ran down his back... He hesitated. How could she know? She couldn't. She was so much like her father, and for the briefest of moments Harry was taken back to the torture chamber at the Ministry -- the chamber where Sirius had been lost and found again, the chamber where Gabriella's father, Grigor, had held his hand out innocently toward Harry, just as Gabriella was now doing, only to bind him and prepare him for death.

He drew in a deep breath, shook the memory from his mind, and took Gabriella's hand, rising to his aching feet. They both shook away the dry leaves that clung to the bottoms of their robes and turned toward the castle. Harry could feel the sting in his legs as they climbed the castle steps. Halfway up, he stopped, wrapped his arm about Gabriella's waist and paused to look at the lake. She took it as a romantic moment and leaned her head against his shoulder. Harry, however, was too sore to step higher. Even Madame Pomfrey's potions weren't enough to remove the throbbing that worked its way into both muscle and bone. A nerve in his right thigh shot a jolt of pain up into his back and his gaze turned toward the forest.

Working for Hagrid? No. For the last few weeks, he'd been training with the Centaurs, but he felt uncomfortable sharing that with Gabriella. He had never been able to bring up a conversation with Gabriella about them without her making an excuse to change the subject. It was clear she did not like Centaurs, but she never explained why and Harry was unwilling to push the issue. Another twinge flicked down the muscle of his left calf and, recalling why his legs hurt so, he wasn't so sure he liked Centaurs either. His mind drifted back to his training earlier in the day...

"Jump, Harry Potter! Jump" cried Ronan. The red-haired Centaur fired an arrow that nicked the left heel of Harry's bare foot. "Speed is a Centaur's greatest ally. With it we can outpace the Dementors when they try to flee. Run!" he bellowed as Harry began to slow. "If one of our numbers needed aid, would you just walk to his side?"

"I'm... not... walking..." yelled Harry back over his shoulder, as he ran from the Centaur barefoot through the forest. His lungs were bursting for air and his feet were on fire. He'd already run for kilometres; Ronan would make him run kilometres more. For his part, Harry had already decided that there was nothing the Centaurs could throw at him that he couldn't handle.

"Ayyy!" he cried, slashing his foot against a jagged stone.

"Run!"

Perhaps he was wrong.

He had been forbidden to use a wand, and wore naught but a thong made from strips of woven Casmen tree wrapped about his waist with a sheath for a small dagger he used to slash at vines and other vegetation that blocked his way as he ran. In one hand he held the dagger and in the other he carried a stone nearly too large to fully grasp. In battle he would carry a shield, but a stone was more awkward to handle, forcing more muscles to lift and control it. He was being trained as all colts were. In fact, there were two colts running far ahead of him already - Shahan, with a coat so dark Harry could no longer see him in the distance, and Felspar, whose bright white coat shone like a star ahead - way ahead. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he wiped his brow with his right forearm. Running blindly, he slashed wildly at a Tentacula that reached for his neck.

"You should have seen that, stripling, long before it struck at you!" cried Ronan, loping along. There was the sound of a thwwwwp and a few paces ahead, Harry saw a large spider dead near the path he was taking, an arrow between its eyes. Looking back as he ran forward, Harry tripped on a root, twisted his ankle and fell to the ground, his left knee grinding into a collection of small stones. The fingers of his left hand were crushed between the stone he was carrying and the stones upon which he'd just fallen. The dagger fell from his right hand and skittered forward, but before it came to rest, Harry reached his hand forward and, without him saying a word, the dagger returned to his grasp. There was a slight grunt from Ronan. It was neither disparaging, nor approving. It was more a grunt of satisfaction, but Harry did not look back into Ronan's eyes to see if the satisfaction was directed toward him. His knees and hands bleeding, he stood to his feet and began to run again. Now, even Felspar was out of view. He'd taken only three or four strides before Ronan called.

"Stop!"

Breathing hard, Harry turned and for the first time all afternoon, he looked up into the Centaur's eyes.

"I... I can... catch up to them," Harry heaved.

"I know you can, stripling, but do you know how?" Ronan smiled, revealing a sly grin. Harry had never seen such a look on the face of a Centaur before. It was synonymous with a riddle.

"I hate... riddles," breathed Harry.

"Shahan and Felspar have been studying for decades the essence of Earth's mysteries. It will take them decades more to achieve what is already at your fingertips." The Centaur stepped closer, forcing Harry to bend his neck upward. A muscle twanged past his right ear. Still Ronan advanced until he was only inches from Harry, who could smell the strange mix of sweat and hair emanating from the Centaur. Ronan looked skyward.

"To see without eyes, to feel without fingers, to hear without ears, to taste without tongue...," he looked back down at Harry and tapped him on the side of his nose, "...to smell without nostrils. These are gifts you have already been given, and yet you know them not; you have but to unwrap them." With a movement that was but a blur to Harry, Ronan notched another arrow and shot at a large flying... thing with large teeth that was advancing on them. It fell silently to the forest floor. To Ronan it was like little more than swatting a fly. He continued, "You must learn the power that took your sacrifice and cleansed you, the power that has no strength. What you must master, Harry Potter, what you must endeavour to achieve is to be without being." Harry scrunched his nose splotched with dirt.

"Did I say? I really hate riddles," he muttered, beginning to catch his breath.

"Take my hand, child," commanded Ronan.

The moment Harry took the Centaur's hand, the world spun upon its head. Green and brown and yellow and gold flashed past them in a swirl of colours. Then, inexplicably, Ronan was gone, and Harry was suddenly running, loping, galloping. He felt giddy, proud, arrogant, childish...

"I told you the wizard was a fake!" he cried back over his shoulder. "Ronan's an old fool!" He kicked his heals and accelerated forward, the wind whistling past his ears.

"You're wrong!" yelled a voice from behind. "He's been chosen! Ronan said so!"

"Nothing but silly Centaur fairytales from a doddering old fool!" Harry yelled back, but his eyes were steadfast forward. The flag was ahead; he could see it, maybe three or four kilometres ahead. A smile split across his face, an arrogant smile; he was going to win this race and prove Ronan wrong, prove to all of them that HE, Shahan, was the Centaur that would save them from the onslaught of Dementors that was soon to come.

A voice whispered in Harry's ear. It was Ronan's. "You see with Shahan's eyes. Where would you be, Harry Potter?"

Harry looked back. Behind him was Felspar, the dazzling white Centaur that he'd been racing. Then he noticed his own haunches. They were black as darkest coal. He was Shahan, the lead Centaur colt. But how? His head twisted forward toward the waiting flag and the gathering of Centaurs that watched to see if Ronan's prophecy was nothing more than wind and myth.

Where would I be?

"The flag," Harry whispered to himself, to Ronan, to the nothingness. He focused again. He knew how to get there with a wand: Vision, Pathway, Reconstruction -- Apparation. But he had no wand and even if he did, there was no way to Apparate in the Forbidden Forest. The flag, a red beacon in the distance, was now maybe two kilometres ahead of Shahan and probably five kilometres from where Harry's body stood breathless back in the forest with Ronan. He'd been practicing wandless magic all summer. What if...?

Harry willed himself from the eyes of Shahan and back to his own body. There was a snap - he had returned, his lungs still gasping for air and Ronan still at his side. Harry closed his eyes and his mind imagined the flag that was ahead; he envisioned being there. Space and time began to collapse, swirling itself, revealing itself. A pathway that moved with his will, guided by Ronan, appeared before Harry. He took in a deep breath and stepped forward onto the path. The great span of distance between himself and the red flag suddenly collapsed. Felspar was just out of reach, Shahan appeared to be only a few paces in front of her, and the red flag appeared as just a few tens of metres away. Harry began to run. The colours of the forest swirled by him, as if everything stood still, including the two Centaurs. He ran past Felspar and then Shahan and, in an instant, he appeared only inches from the flag that marked the end of the race. He was surrounded by Centaurs of every colour, each with fierce eyes marked by only the slightest astonishment at his arrival. As he came to rest, he saw, in the distance, Shahan and, only a few strides behind him, Felspar. They were both galloping like the wind, swallowing up huge swaths of turf with each stride. They would be upon him soon.

Harry felt it was, somehow, a cheat. Could all Centaurs bend space and time? His eyes caught Shahan's in the distance, and the once confident, defiant gaze turned to one of near horror. He galloped faster, as if possessed, but it was no use. With one hand, his bloody left one, Harry reached up and pulled the crimson flag from its standard. There was a collective cheer as Harry held the flag over his head, spinning to show it to the gathering. It was then that he saw Ronan, standing in the centre of the group of nearly one hundred Centaurs. An instant later Shahan, pulled up at Harry's side, his breath heavy, his coat lathered with sweat.

"That's not possible!" he cried. "He... he used his wand!"

"No," answered Ronan, stepping forward from the others. "He used the skills you yourself may one day master, Shahan." Ronan turned to the other Centaurs. "He has been given the gifts." With this there was a general murmur and buzz of surprise and approval from the Centaur herd. Facing the others, Ronan flanked Harry, nudging him forward just as Felspar arrived, also out of breath, a gash upon her right front flank.

"I foretold of the coming star," Ronan called to the gathering. "And yet you did not believe. I sought out the Sacrifice against your will, and the waters returned him to us. Only once before has this ever happened, and when that battle was won so too began the Great Age of Centaurs!" Harry expected a cheer, but none came. Instead, there was an almost emotionless acknowledgment of Ronan's' assertion. "This," he pointed toward Harry, naked and bloodstained, his lungs still craving for more oxygen, "this is our Sacrifice. Cleansed and returned, he shall lead us to victory!" Again there was little more than nods and stomps of the Centaurs at the gathering. No one refuted Ronan's claims.

"You're hurt," said Harry, approaching Felspar and looking carefully at the wound.

"It was a Bearwicken," said Felspar quietly.

"He's a fraud!" cried Shahan in a tone that was more animated than any Centaur Harry had ever seen. He stepped forward, pushing Harry aside, but Harry ignored the rudeness and focused his attention on Felspar. "He's no leader! He's a wizard! It's trickery I tell you."

"Let me help you," whispered Harry as he held his open hand a few inches away from the gash on Felspar's flank. Harry closed his eyes and muttered the incantation that he knew would work with his wand, and then something caused him to extend further, to reach beyond. His hand had not touched the Centaur, but he could feel the blood, slippery wet, between his fingers. He reached out without moving and willed the gash shut, and the gash obeyed, closing as if a curtain had been pulled shut tight about the wound.

"Like all wizards, he'll kill us all when we turn our back!" yelled Shahan again.

"The Chosen heals!" asserted a large, female Centaur from the gathering. She had a chestnut coat, but bore no bow about her shoulder. Her gait was proud as she stepped forward from the others. Harry did not need to be told that there was some importance about her. "Did the waters teach you these gifts or is this wizardry?" The last word was disparaging and even evoked some hisses from the others.

"Mother!" cried Felspar. "He's the Chosen. How dare you question his gifts!" Felspar, wound healed, turned to Harry and bowed low on one knee. "As long as Ebyrth shines, I am in your service. Only death will cheat us of time."

A number of other Centaurs followed in kind, each bending low to one knee and bowing their heads. Ronan approached Harry, nodding his head and bending to one knee as well.

"You still lack strength and endurance, Harry Potter, but these things can be learned. Now, it is time to rest." He held his hand to Harry's eyes. "Return to the forest's friend." Harry's mind immediately thought of Hagrid. "Run!"

The vision of Hagrid's cabin firmly fixed in his mind, Harry willed himself there. Again a path opened up and he took off running. Moments later, he found himself where he had begun the day, seated on Hagrid's chair next to the burning fire, Fang laying at his side and Hagrid singing some song in French. The logs on the fire cracked as Harry, still naked, looked at his Gryffindor robes that hung from a hook near the door. The way they were draped over the hook they almost looked real - lifelike, as if they contained some spirit all of their own. Harry's stomach churned just as Hagrid turned, surprised to find Harry in his hut.

"Harry?"

"Harry? Shall we go inside?"

Gabriella had spun around to face Harry, whose eyes were distant and bent on the far horizon above the lake. Her voice snapped him back from reliving the memory. He had learned something great today, and he'd learned it from the Centaurs.

"Harry? Are you okay?"

Harry looked down into her eyes and smiled. He was sore and tired; dark rings hung under his eyes. The thought of going inside to face three scrolls on the healing plants of Kirkcaldy was almost too much to bear.

"They're not that bad you know," he whispered. Her eyebrows furled in confusion. "Centaurs," he added.

"Look, you're tired and it's time for dinner," she said, deliberately changing the subject. "We can talk about the stars later." Harry nodded silently and together they entered the castle and began to walk to the Great Hall.

Near a large suit of armour, Harry noticed Patrick talking to James Chang. James was leaning against the stone wall, his arms crossed as well as his legs. He was either extremely bored, or he didn't like what he was hearing. Still, Patrick was quite passionate about it; his arms were swinging wildly about and more than once Harry heard him raise his voice.

"It's gone I tell yeh! There nothin' there but dust. And there's no way I'm--"

James noticed Harry and Gabriella and stood straighter, stopping Patrick's story with a motion of his hand. Harry smiled and waved, and James returned the gesture with a smile of his own. Patrick turned to see who James was looking at and when he saw Harry, his face bore an expression of great concern.

"No wonder," Harry thought, "I feel like I'm going to blow chunks. I must look like hell." As he and Gabriella continued toward the Great Hall for dinner, he felt more and more nauseous.

"Great," he muttered to Gabriella, who was picking up on his sudden change in emotion.

"I'm taking you to Madame Pomfrey," Gabriella insisted. "Something's wrong." She turned him to the staircase.

"I can't climb those."

"I'll levitate you if I have to."

Patrick followed James into the Great Hall just as Ron and Hermione appeared from Gryffindor tower. They were headed, arm in arm, into the Great Hall when Ron noticed Gabriella trying to help Harry toward the staircase that led to the hospital wing.

"Harry?" called Ron. Quickly, he came over to Harry and helped Gabriella support him. Hermione was right behind him.

"What happened?"

"I'm fine, really," answered Harry, and in fact he was indeed beginning to feel better, although the floor was still a bit unsteady under his feet. They walked him over to a long bench beneath a large portrait of a great ninth century battle scene. Harry hated it there, he always had; the clang and crash of sword against armour was always deafening when the combatants weren't sipping tea together, discussing whose strategy was superior in the last battle. Ron noticed a bruise beneath Harry's collar and leaned in close to Harry's ear.

"You went out again today, didn't you?" he whispered. His tone was more angry than concerned.

"CHHHHT," shot Harry with a blast of air between his clenched teeth, trying to quiet is friend. Seated between a mind-reader and an empath, Harry had little hope of keeping anything secret, but he didn't want to discuss his training with the Centaurs in front of Gabriella.

"You said you'd take me," complained Ron. "'The next time I go,' you said." Ron crossed his arms. "I thought maybe this year would be different." Harry opened his mouth to explain.

"Ron," injected Hermione, "they'd just as soon skewer you as anything else. Harry's just trying to protect you."

So, Hermione knew. So much for Ron's sworn oath that he wouldn't tell a soul. Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head knowing that Hermione was only partially correct. She was right about the skewer part, but Harry knew at once Ron would take the protect part the wrong way. He did.

"I don't need Harry's protection! We're at war!"

"Ron," Harry began, holding up his hand, "the thing is--"

"Skewer you?" asked Gabriella. "What are you talking about? Was Hagrid making you work with Stabbing Snapspiders again?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed on Harry, whose own gaze darted away to look at Ron who was ignoring Gabriella's question and was now standing in a huff and about ready to storm off. Harry stood too, the dizziness he was feeling all but gone.

"Ron," Harry said, taking hold of Ron's arm, "I said you would go with me the next time I could. This morning I asked you know who, and they said I had to go by myself. I had a test... of sorts."

"Test?" asked Ron, now with more interest than anger.

"They?" asked Gabriella, taking to her feet.

"This morning you were supposed to help Professor Barghouti's second year class for their DADA lesson," scolded Hermione, also rising.

"What kind of test?

"Who are they?"

"Didn't you hear what happened to little Nolie Langston from Slytherin?"

Harry feigned dizziness again and tilted in toward Ron who grabbed him by the shoulders. "I think I need to eat," he muttered, and then leaning closer he whispered to Ron, "Saturday." Gabriella knew he was feeling fine; she could sense that. Hermione knew he was feeling fine; she'd read the Harry Potter book long ago. Both women just glared, while Ron was steadfast.

"Can't you see the man's exhausted? He has to eat!" he exclaimed. "Blimey! Give him a break for Merlin's sake." He put Harry's arm about his shoulder. "Come on, mate. Let's get you a bite and then we can go over the weekend's practice schedule. I know Ginny's been playing fine as Chaser and all, but I think if...."

In the Great Hall, Dumbledore had the houses sit wherever they wished for breakfast and lunch, but for dinner each house ate at separate tables from the others. It was a compromise between the vision of the future and a respect for tradition. Tonight, Harry was grateful because it meant, for a while at least, that he and Gabriella would be separated. As they entered the Great Hall she kissed him on the cheek, holding his left hand. He toyed with the golden ring he'd given her the year before on Valentine's day. There was a twinkle in her eyes and a sly smile upon her face.

"You will tell me later?" she asked, but the tone was more suggestive of a statement than a question.

"You know already. You just won't talk about it." His smile had a tinge of sadness as their fingers let go of each other. Her twinkle faded and her eyes would not hold his gaze as she turned away. Harry did not look back as he followed Ron to the Gryffindor table.

Lavender and Parvati were having an animated conversation about the meaning of a large stain on the tablecloth. Parvati had spilt her drink and it had left a dark, twirling outline of something resembling, at least to Harry, a large toadstool. He sat down realizing he did, very much, need to eat.

"It's a Celtic spiral," said Lavender, her finger tracking the outline of the top of the toadstool.

"A Crane," countered Parvati, pointing at the long crooked neck of the toadstool.

"That makes no sense," said Lavender. "No, it's a Celtic spiral and," she pointed to some dark inner spots, "with these here it would represent eternal life."

"No. See this here? The way the whorls dissolve away? Not eternal life... life, death, and rebirth. It's clearly a crane," Parvati said, pointing out the bird's features. "Here are the eyes, the curled neck, the long legs." She grew more confident with each description.

"Then you're both right," chimed in Hermione. The two young ladies looked up, stunned expressions on both their faces. "The crane represents longevity. Eternal life... longevity... same thing." She shrugged her shoulders and took a bite of dinner.

"NooOoo," both Parvati and Lavender harmonized in a rather long and melodious tune. "It could mean deception if--"

Deliberately, Harry accidentally spilled his tea onto the stain, covering up any discernable detail. The liquid began to pour off the edge toward Parvati and Lavender and they both took to their feet.

"That looks like a murky pond to me, Harry" said Ron, chewing on a stick of bread. "See the large ripples flowin' down the table."

"Honestly, Ron," sighed Hermione, whisking out her wand and vanishing the tea and stain together.

"HERMIONE!" cried Lavender.

"How could you!" scolded Parvati.

"ME?" queried Hermione, clearly flummoxed. "But they--"

"Come on, Lavender." Parvati spun on her heals and took off, Lavender right behind her, but not before she shot a scathing glare at Hermione. No sooner had they left the table than Ron let out a snort, a piece of bread shooting from his nose.

"Ronald Weasley, I should..."

"Honestly, Hermione, Harry just wants to eat. You can't begrudge the man his peace after all he's been through today." Ron took another bite of bread and looked at Harry's plate. "Are you going to eat those?" he asked pointing at some chips. Harry just glared back. Ron shrugged and took another bite of bread.

"And as for you," Hermione continued, now turning to Harry, "you better tell Gabriella straight away what you're up to, or it'll spoil what you both have." Setting down his fork, Harry looked up at her.

"Oh, right, and you two are the poster couple for honest and open discussions."

"Harry," said Hermione without losing stride, "you know there's something bothering her. You need to find out what it is."

"Don't you think I've tried!?" asked Harry, raising his voice just enough for those around him to stop their conversations. He knew he hadn't, not really, but he also knew that Hermione didn't know that. Her eyes simply looked into his, probing, her expression calm. The look was unnerving because he knew his own expression was giving him away. "Well I have," he insisted, pushing his plate away for good measure.

He wasn't sure the drama was having the effect he wanted. Ron simply nipped one of his leftover chips and Hermione only let out a long disapproving sigh. Past the point of return, at least for this argument, Harry stood up and left the Great Hall in as foul a mood as he could muster. His mind focused on the Gryffindor table, he didn't notice the Slytherin that stood as well and followed him out of the Great Hall.

Harry was moving down the corridor toward Gryffindor when he heard the footsteps behind him. He stopped and turned; only no one was there. He looked over past a suit of armour and then behind a pillar - still no one. Tired, if not completely exhausted, he continued toward Gryffindor and his awaiting homework. He was nearly at the portrait of the Fat Lady when there was a tap on his hand and a whisper in his ear.

"Your days grow short."

Harry felt the note appear on his palm and spun at once.

"Blaise?" he whispered back, but there was no answer.

Harry unfolded the piece of parchment. "They think it's at the Ministry. Is it?" was all it said. The portrait swung open and Harry quickly moved to hide the note, only he didn't have to. It flashed in a puff of smoke and disappeared. Neville stepped out of the Gryffindor Common room followed by the most unlikely of faces - Severus Snape. Strangely neither took much notice of Harry. Beyond a slight head nod by Neville, it was as if he didn't even exist.

"The thing is, Professor," Neville was saying as he walked past Harry, "if the two roots are to have the effect you want, they'll have to be grown to exactly the same length."

"Quit restating the obvious, Longbottom," replied Snape without so much as a nod toward Harry as he went past. "The question is, can you do it?" Neville scratched his chin as they disappeared down the corridor.

"I think so, with the right light. If I can borrow some..." and the conversation faded away.

Amazed, Harry shook his head and turned toward the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Password?" she asked with a smile.

Just before he answered, Harry paused, scratching his chin much as Neville had just done. What was at the Ministry? The Horcrux that Draco had mentioned? Whatever that was.

"Erm, sorry," said Harry, "changed my mind." He turned and headed back down the corridor, wondering if his secret note giver was still nearby. As much as he hated the thought of climbing back up the staircase, he had to go down and speak with Dumbledore. Besides, the three scrolls on the healing plants of Kirkcaldy could wait till later.