Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 10 - Visions

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Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... Tink.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... Tink.

The silver instrument rose and fell on Dumbledore's mahogany desk as Harry stroked Fawkes' feathers, waiting for the headmaster to return. Not much bigger than a breadbox, it was a strange collection of gears and springs and Harry spent some time trying to deduce its purpose. The contraption, rimmed with winged creatures Harry couldn't recognize, reminded him of a similar device in the Black family estate at Grimmauld Place. It too had the same circular rings that ran up a notched staircase, only the Black device was golden, its winged creatures looked more menacing, and Harry had never seen it work.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... Tink.

Shot by a spring, another silver ring ran up the staircase only to reach the top, falter, and fall into a pile below. The pile seemed to be shrinking as Harry stood watching, but he could not see where the rings disappeared to, nor could he discover the source for the rings that sprung forth from the bottom. There it was - a never ending procession that seemed to have no purpose.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Unable to contain himself, Harry reached out and grabbed the silver ring before it had a chance to fall from atop the small staircase. The scene changed and he suddenly found himself on the Hogwarts Express walking toward the front of the train, two paces behind Greg Goyle. But, this couldn't be - Greg was dead. It took him a moment to realize that he'd travelled back in time. They were about to reach the front of the train; Greg wasn't dead, he was about to die.

Harry tried to speak, but no words came. He tried to reach his hand out to stop Greg, but it would not move. Unable to control his movements, Harry could do nothing but watch history unfold as it had last year. He poked his head into a carriage, telling a group of fifth years what was up.

"I've been wondering what was taking so long with the food trolley," said Ernie Macmillan. Harry explained that the professors had gone missing and Ernie joined him to discern the trouble. As Harry slipped back out of the carriage with Ernie, Goyle took the point and started toward the front of the train. Once again Harry tried to stop his friend when, through the glass doors leading to the box ahead, Harry saw a witch in dark robes suddenly appear in the corridor. Anaxarete. Harry wished he could cast a killing curse, but it was no use; he could do nothing. She glanced back, revealing a sinister smile and piercing green eyes. Harry tried to place himself in front of Greg, but was unable to pass his broad shoulders. It didn't matter; an instant later she was gone and an instant after that the front of the train exploded with a tremendous white flash.

Harry fell to the floor of Dumbledore's office, the silver ring firmly clenched within his hand. He was shaking, the explosion still ringing in his ears, when he opened his eyes and found Dumbledore looking down at him. The headmaster bent with difficulty to one knee and held out his hand.

"I take it you did not find yourself in one of Professor Binns' lectures, Harry?"

Harry took Dumbledore's hand and rose to his feet. He held the ring out between his thumb and forefinger.

"What... what is it?" he asked, still shaken. Dumbledore took the ring and placed it back atop the silver staircase.

Tink.

It fell into the pile below, which now was growing larger as Dumbledore stood and spoke with Harry.

"It is a memory book of sorts... a photo album." Dumbledore moved to his desk and sat down, leaning back against his chair. "Different for each who reads it."

Harry couldn't help but think that the greatest wizard of the age was beginning to show signs of wear. He had grown much thinner since Harry last saw him at the end of the school year, and his hands were beginning to curl in an unnatural way.

"Like a Pensieve?" Harry asked.

"Not quite, Harry," replied the Headmaster. "A Pensieve lets you store or remove your memories so that you can look them over later on. You can select the memory to remove, to examine." He leaned forward and held his hands together. "This is a Möbius Machine. It reflects a wizard's life history. It is a never ending loop that plays over and over again, shrinking or expanding to suit the viewer. Each silver circle is a ringlet of a portion of your life. While the rings play in order, there is no way, unfortunately, to determine which memory, which life experience you will visit."

A shiver went through Harry again, and for a moment he thought he felt the breath of death whisper its name against the nape of his neck.

"I take it, Harry," continued Dumbledore, "that your experience was not a pleasant one."

"No, sir," answered Harry, sitting himself. "It was... on the train; when I was with Greg, just when... just when..."

"I understand." Dumbledore sighed. He stood and walked back to the device. He waived his wand and uttered an incantation and the rings stopped running up the staircase, and fell wherever they were in the cycle. "I wish your memories could be happier, Harry. I would hate to see you as a tottering old man, sitting down in a dusty office wondering if you could risk reliving the tragedies that grasping a few rings might bring." Fawkes quietly vocalized his agreement, as Dumbledore slipped his wand away and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know you have been chosen, Harry. But you need not place yourself between the Centaurs and the Dementors; it is not your war."

"You said it yourself, Professor," said Harry, looking up into Dumbledore's still bright blue eyes, "it's the paths we choose that make us who we are. I'm not doing this because I was chosen. I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do. Lucius Malfoy is going to use this to try and sweep the darkness back across this land, and I won't let him." Harry's own eyes were fierce with determination and defiance. "I've been training with Ronan." Harry paused. "Are Centaurs magical?"

"Very much so, Harry," said Dumbledore with a smile. "It is folly for wizards to believe they are the most powerful creatures on this earth. You know, of course, Centaurs have keen sight and are skilled with a bow, but these things are physical skills that many wizards dismiss. Ahh... not so, Harry... not so. Why do you think a Centaur never misses his target?" Harry shrugged. "Because a skilled Centaur can follow the arrow all the way to its destination, nudging its flight along the way. They can bend space and time, Harry. Even while wizards are unable to Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, Ronan can disappear and reappear wherever he pleases simply by using his mind."

"He showed me today. He taught me today."

Dumbledore said nothing. Harry could tell by his expression that he was impressed, or surprised, but the old wizard made no word of it. Instead he stood from his chair and walked over to his telescope.

"They are much better stewards of such skill than wizards would ever be," the aged wizard whispered, looking down into the lens of the telescope. The instrument was fixed on the portion of the sky through which the comet Ebyrth was now passing. Harry no longer needed a telescope to see the comet's bright tail.

"It is not your war, Harry," said Dumbledore still looking into the lens. "The Ministry can handle the likes of Lucius and his ilk." He adjusted the focus. "They have no strength in numbers, no allies for support, no sanctuary in which to hide. It's only a matter of time."

"Then why haven't they been caught?" asked Harry. "It's been months, and nothing."

"Lucius is no fool," answered Dumbledore. "He'll remain hidden for as long as possible and only strike when he thinks he can win." The wizard looked up. "He can't win, Harry." But Harry wasn't so sure. He turned his back on Dumbledore and walked over to Fawkes, stroking the bird's feathers. Harry didn't know how to bring it up, but he had to ask.

"What if... what if he had a weapon? A secret weapon?"

"Secret weapon?" asked Dumbledore, turning to face Harry more fully. "What do you mean?"

"A... A Horcrux."

The portraits that were earlier minding their own business, napping, reading the paper, or off to some other place were suddenly thrown into a tumult. The headmasters of old began complaining at once about the impudence of the young man to discuss such matters here.

"It's an abomination, Albus!" one cried.

"Lucius is cunningly evil," called Phineas, "But he would never crawl to such depths."

Dumbledore finally quieted them all by threatening to bring down a sheet of darkness. His face was grave, almost pale and the tone of his voice was filled with great concern. Harry knew at once that whatever a Horcrux was, it was dark magic, but then... did he expect otherwise?

"Harry," began Dumbledore slowly, his voice quite and sombre, "what makes you believe that Lucius Malfoy would employ a Horcrux?" Harry turned away from Dumbledore, not willing to maintain eye contact. "Certainly such news does not come from our friends the Centaurs."

"Well... I... I heard that..." He stalled and then turned back to face Dumbledore. How could he know how one employed a Horcrux if he didn't even know what one was? "Professor, what is a Horcrux?" Dumbledore walked back to the silver machine that was now quiet on the table. He tapped it with his wand and the silver rings began to roll again. He took a ring and held it in his hand for but a moment when he laughed and placed it back along its path.

"Precious," he whispered to himself. "So precious."

"Professor?"

"It was the day when Professor McGonagall asked me if I enjoyed teaching at Hogwarts. She was thinking of applying to teach here as well, but wasn't sure if her husband would agree."

"Husband?" asked Harry incredulously. "Professor McGonagall was married?"

"Oh yes, Harry," answered Dumbledore. "And very happily I might add. He was killed by a Death Eater when Voldemort first returned. She joined the Order of the Phoenix soon after. Since then, she's been our strongest ally against the darkness." This new news had Harry's head spinning just a bit. He'd always assumed.... Dumbledore turned back to the silver machine. "Can you imagine what it would be like if Professor McGonagall did not have the memory of the murder of her husband?"

"I... I suppose she'd be happy."

"But she is happy, Harry. Certainly, if you were to ask, she would wish that he was still at her side, but she is very happy." Dumbledore's hands squeezed the wooden table and he drew in a deep breath. When he turned to look back into Harry's eyes, his face was grave and his own eyes stern. "What I'm about to tell you, Harry, is not supposed to leave this room." Harry glanced toward the door as if there might be someone there. "Harry, I know with whom you would like to share. You should know that it is forbidden. I would not even speak of it with you, had you not brought it up first. Do I have your word?"

"Yes, sir," replied Harry, his voice smaller than he thought it should be. He began to wonder if he should have ever asked. Dumbledore stepped close.

"Imagine for a moment that I could split you into three people. Not copies mind you, but three distinct parts of your very essence... your soul. One would stay with the body you now possess; the other two would be put away for storage you might say. If you, the part of you that inhabits the body you now have, were to die, one of the other parts would seek out another body to inhabit... to control. You, part of you, would live again."

"Part of me?"

"The part that you hid away." Again Dumbledore turned to the machine on the table. "The pile of rings that you see in front of me here, Harry, is larger than your was. Why?"

"You have more memories, more experiences."

"Precisely! But a split soul would only take with it portions, shadows of the memories the original soul carried. Imagine, my boy, if you had to choose... what portions of your soul would you carve away? What part of you would remain? There are many choices. You could carve out the bad memories, perhaps the death of Greg Goyle, and go on believing that he had never died? But then, what would happen if you were to die, and the Horcrux storing only the bad memories was released? What sort of soured soul would remain?

"Then there are those wizards who believe that it is the tragedy of a wizard's life that drives him forward? Such a wizard might keep the tragic memories at the ready erasing all joy and happiness, such as, perhaps, the day you first arrived at Hogwarts?

"And it's not just memories, Harry. It's also the essence of who we are, what we have become, both good and evil, darkness and light. A wizard must decide how to separate each slice of joy and sorrow into tiny pieces, sprinkling a little bit of everything into each portion of your soul, splintering all you ever were into shards of fogged glass that can never really be made whole again. Tell me, Harry, what choice would you make?"

"I... I wouldn't choose such a life, sir," replied Harry, horrified of the thought.

"No, Harry, nor would I." Dumbledore's shoulders drooped slightly as if a large weight sat square upon them. "Thankfully, most wizards and witches would refuse to choose it as well. Fewer still know that there is such a path one can take; and only the most powerful of those would be able to take it." Suddenly looking quite tired, Dumbledore returned to the chair behind his desk and let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes. "The Horcrux is simply the storage vessel... it could be a rock, a cloak, a cup--"

"But Lucius--"

"Think, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted. "It might even be a book..." There was a long pause. Harry could hear a number of the portraits on the wall mumbling to themselves. Clearly they were unhappy with the direction of the conversation, particularly Phineas.

"The diary?" Harry finally answered, his voice more certain than uncertain, and with each new question the uncertainty vanished. "Tom Riddle's diary? That was a Horcrux? Voldemort used a Horcrux."

"Lucius is cunning, ruthless and evil, but I have seen deeply into his eyes. He could not master the Horcrux even if he desired to."

"But I saw Voldemort die," said Harry. "There was nothing left."

"Yes," said Dumbledore, nodding. "You also saw Tom Riddle die in the Chamber of Secrets. I had always assumed he had divided himself in two. Who would risk fracturing themselves more than once?" Dumbledore chuckled to himself grimly. "Who indeed?" Then he turned back to Harry. "This news palls the horizon with a new darkness. Tell me, Harry, why you believe that someone is employing a Horcrux because, if someone is, Voldemort is most certainly behind it."

Again, Harry found himself turning away. He didn't want this news. He thought it had something to do with Lucius, with the war that would soon be upon them. He didn't want to believe what he had felt all summer, what he had felt since returning to Hogwarts, that Voldemort was somehow still alive. But where? How? Harry, his eyes sincere, looked back at Dumbledore.

"Sir, I... I can't. I gave my word." Dumbledore's eyes narrowed and then, quite naturally, he smiled back.

"Well, I suppose if you told me, then your promise to keep our conversation of the Horcrux private would mean nothing."

"If it does exist," Harry said anxiously, "we have to find it before it's too late."

"Harry," said Dumbledore with grave concern, "such waters are filled with Grindylows and Inferi." Harry looked at Dumbledore, confused.

"Inf--?"

"It's far too dangerous for you to begin some journey to search the world for a Horcrux. Voldemort's been to the edges of the globe and beyond; it could be anywhere. More likely, it has already been activated. No, I will speak with the members of the--"

"Sir, you can't. I swore that I'd--"

"Relax, Harry, there will be no need to mention your involvement. In fact, it's more to our advantage to keep your name completely out of the picture."

Dumbledore breathed in deeply and closed his eyes as he slowly let out his breath. "Yes, I think I understand. He didn't just split himself in two. He may not have stopped at three. There's no telling." He walked over and stroked Fawkes' feathers, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "I despise secrets, Harry, but if Voldemort has reanimated he may, once again, have agents working within the school walls. I'm sure Lucius does. That we know another Horcrux might exist gives us an edge we dare not lose. Do you have any idea--" The chimes of the great clock struck twice.

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore. "I've made you late for class." He paused, struggling for the briefest of moments about what to say next. "You best be on your way. We can continue this later. Tell Professor Barghouti it was all my fault and I'll confer with him about it later."

"But--"

"Go on, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore.

Harry sighed, grabbed his books and started for class. Just as he was about to wave his hand across the large brass doorknob, Dumbledore stopped him.

"Harry, there are those that we can trust--long-time friends and soul mates. I understand that you may be compelled to seek assistance. If you must discuss this, keep the conversation within the walls of Gryffindor." Harry paused for a moment, taking in the headmaster's words.

"But that means--"

"You know what it means. Now, be on your way."

As Harry walked down the corridors toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, his mind was spinning with the new information and trying to digest everything that Dumbledore has shared with him. Within the walls of Gryffindor. Even though this year students were free to enter the Common Room of any house into which they were invited, Harry knew exactly what Dumbledore meant; he shouldn't trust Gabriella. He pondered how he would keep Gabriella out of any discussion he might have with Ron or Hermione concerning the Horcrux. Maybe he was better off not saying anything to anybody. His concerns about Gabriella faded quickly, however, when he arrived late to class and Professor Barghouti took ten points away from Gryffindor for Harry's tardiness. He wouldn't let Harry say a word about where he was or who he was with.

Normally, Harry arrived early to class so that he could sit in back. He, like the majority of the class, wanted to sit as far away from Professor Barghouti as possible. For most students it was because their professor was a vampire; Harry simply didn't like him. Every time Harry looked into his eyes, he felt that he had to prove himself worthy; that he was somehow lacking when it came to the Votary. Now, having arrived to class late, Harry had to sit in front next to the only other students who would: Hermione and Gabriella. Harry took his seat next to Gabriella who offered him a supportive smile after he was chastised by Barghouti about time management.

"Now, as I was saying," said Professor Barghouti with a bit of a drawl that reminded Harry all too much of a cross between Snape and Malfoy, "before we were so rudely interrupted... Occlumency is more art than learned, more nature than nurture. Nonetheless, even the most inept wizard," he looked at Harry, "can learn to repel at least rudimentary attempts to penetrate the mind. Fortunately, most of you are sorely lacking as Legilimens." Barghouti stared once again at Harry.

"I want each of you to find a partner and while one tries to penetrate his partner's mental defences the other will use the techniques you described in last night's homework assignment. For those of you who found the assignment too tedious and chose instead to practice Quidditch," again he looked at Harry, "expect to spend the evening with Madame Pomfrey as she treats your headache."

"But, Professor," complained Hermione while raising her hand.

"Yes, Ms Granger?"

"What if people don't want to have their minds read? It is, after all, a violation of personal space."

"True, Ms. Granger; it is a violation. But then, so is the Killing Curse and we've learned to defend ourselves, as best we can, against such an attack. Would you prefer to have your thoughts read freely by Lucius Malfoy's spies? Have them know your plans so that they can kill you or your loved ones when you least expect it?"

"But--"

"Pair with someone you trust," he interrupted. "We'll talk of this no more."

Hermione's lips pursed as she crossed her arms. Harry knew that look. Still, he didn't think that it was such a big deal. Instinctively, he paired with Gabriella. Ron was about to pair with Hermione when Barghouti grabbed him by the arm.

"I think not, Mr. Weasley. I understand you're quite gifted in this area. Today, you can be my partner." Barghouti offered a rare smile and both Ron and Harry expected to see his fangs, but all that appeared was a straight row of bright, pearly teeth.

Harry turned his desk about and sat opposite Gabriella. He had let her into his mind many times before. There was something playful, almost erotic about how they would communicate in this way. While she had become quite adept at curling herself around Harry's thoughts, she never went deeper than Harry offered. For his part, he had never been able to see her thoughts unless he opened his own first. They always had to play in Harry's mind, and he had never tried to push her away. She was smiling at him, a twinkle in her eyes, as she took his hand in hers. It wasn't until their hands touched that his heart skipped. Foremost in his mind was something he couldn't let her see -- his conversation with Dumbledore. His hand pulled away; he couldn't stop her from sensing his emotions, but he could stop her from reading his mind.

"Harry," she asked, sensing immediately his emotional shift, "what's wrong."

"Erm... N-nothing," he answered evasively. "I... I mean we already know you can get into my head. How 'bout I try to get into yours first?" She said nothing, trying to put his words in alignment with the feelings she was sensing. "That's okay, isn't it?" he asked.

"Sure," she said slowly. She reached out her hands again, but Harry placed his own in his lap.

"Erm... Let me give it a go without contact."

"You know you can't."

"I can try," he shot back with a bit of defiance. His voice was heated for no good reason, and he knew she'd sense that as well. If he stayed flustered, she'd be right; there would be no way for him to come close to reading her mind.

Around the class some students were having better success than others. Most attempts were fairly weak and were being met by immediate repulsions. This resulted in more than a few students being knocked backwards out of their chairs. Ron was plopping down on to the ground more times than you could shake a wand at and Barghouti was taking great satisfaction in being able to repel Ron's advances. Just behind Harry, Hermione had teamed with Neville who, at the moment, was trying to penetrate her mind. Avoiding Gabriella's eyes, Harry took a deep breath.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Go tiger," said Gabriella with a smile.

Harry began to focus as best he could on Gabriella's thoughts, but all he was sensing was the back of his eyelids. Squeezing his eyes closed more firmly, he heard another large thump that he took to be Ron's arse once again striking the slate floor. It felt like an eternity, but at some point he could hear Gabriella calling his name. Not with her mouth, but with her mind. Instead of pushing him back, she was trying to coax him in. Even with the help, he was finding it extremely difficult to push his way through the darkness to her thoughts. Not aware that he was now grabbing the edge of the desk with his hands, he redoubled, tripled his efforts to push his way in. Slowly, he open his lids and their eyes met.

Suddenly, there was a jolt from behind. As she was trying to penetrate into Neville's mind, Hermione had been repelled backwards and fell against Harry. She grabbed his shoulder and began to pull him backwards. Without thinking and still focused mentally to penetrate Gabriella's mind with all his power, he reached out toward her. She grabbed his hands and when she did the scene in Harry's mind changed. The sound was sucked out of the room and all was darkness. He had penetrated Gabriella's mind; but what was this... her memory or something more?

The commotion of the class had disappeared and an eerie silence surrounded him. He then heard a rushing of water, a drip-drip-drip, a rustle of leaves and then crying... Then the air filled with a musty, wet scent of pine and loam... The Forbidden Forest, he knew at once. Slowly, a brightness began to open up before him and he realized that the crying came from the baby he was holding in his arms. This was no memory; Harry was himself in this vision. He found that his robes were soaked. Both he and the young child, still less than a year old, looked as if they'd just come from the lake. The baby, glistening wet, was wrapped in dark folds of damp cloth, dripping on his boots. A hand touched his shoulder from behind.

"You'll have to take care of him now, Harry." It was Hermione, her voice seeped in sadness. "She'd want it that way."

A blast of fear began to pour over Harry. He was cold, shivering, teeth chattering, the child in his arms continued to cry out for its mother, but Harry knew that it was a cry that would never be answered. He wanted to scream, to run, but when the child looked at him his heart warmed and his resolve strengthened. Slowly, Harry's finger brushed the child's cheek.

"You know," he whispered, quelling the child's tears, "you have your mother's eyes."