Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 13 - The New Addition

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"The stream. The stream! Do you see the stream?"

"Ye... yes, Ro... Ronan. I... I see... the bloody... stream."

"Jump!"

Ronan didn't need to tell him. Harry had already started the leap.

It had been bitterly cold all day, but with all the running Harry was beginning to regret his decision to wear clothes. They were pushing the limits between physical and magical exertion and Harry's feet, well clad in a pair of trainers, were on fire. The light jacket and pants he was wearing were suffocating and felt like they weighed a thousand pounds.

Once again he was training with Shahan and Felspar. Over the last few days, the three had been put though their paces by Ronan, Firenze and others -- running, lifting logs, and shooting arrows from one side of the Forbidden Forest to the other. Harry was exhausted -- a feeling he was beginning to enjoy. If anything, he preferred to be out in nature over anything else.

Still blind, he was developing his limited ability to reach out and sense the aura of life around him. While he could make impressions about where things were at Hogwarts, occasionally very clean objects would miss his attention. A group of Slytherin fourth years had discovered this about a week after Harry had returned from hospital and had taken to conjuring marbles in areas where they knew Harry would be walking. Harry, in turn, had developed a few spells that helped clear his way. The tinkling of marbles usually meant that a Slytherin was nearby, waiting to watch Harry tumble. But since Harry could observe someone's aura, even through walls, the culprit was usually found fastened to the wall with his underwear on his head and nothing else. It was a page out of what Nott and Parkinson had done to Ron the year before and Harry didn't mind a little playful retribution.

In the forest, however, Harry felt as if his vision was better than when his eyes worked. Everything was alive and vibrant. Trees and vegetation, the largest animals and the smallest spores, Harry could see it all as if he'd never become blind.

Shahan had cleared the stream ahead and was already pulling away. Felspar came a bit short and she splashed water into the air. Harry, just a step behind Felspar, was shorter still, landing a full meter away from the bank's edge. His feet landed firmly in the water and he struggled to keep his balance so as not to fall completely into the icy water. He'd only taken three steps when he noticed the coolness around his feet. When he focused his attention downward, he sensed clearly that his trainers were gone and the bottoms of his pants in tatters. Where the splash from Felspar had hit the front of his jersey, it had dissolved away as if it had been burned by acid, the aura of his bare skin underneath beaming through.

Stepping backward as he moved out of and away from the stream, Harry focused on the running water. For the first time he noticed that its colour was different than the other streams he'd seen through the forest. The light emanating from this water was whiter, more crystalline, purer. With a great leap, Ronan, who had been following, jumped from bank to bank with ease. Harry expected to be chastised for stopping, yelled at for falling behind, but Ronan said nothing. Harry noticed that the whitish-gray of Ronan's aura warmed a bit. He'd learned, at least with his friends, that such a change meant a smile. He wondered what it meant with a Centaur.

Shahan had long disappeared in the underbrush ahead, but Felspar stopped short of the thickening trees and returned to Harry and Ronan.

"Is something wrong?" Felspar asked.

"Only one of the three has seen it," answered Ronan coolly. "I asked you not to depend on your sight and to reach out with your vision."

"But Shahan said--" Felspar began, but Ronan cut him off.

"You are your own Centaur, Felspar! You have passed these waters so often, and yet you still can not see?" Felspar stepped closer to the stream, staring down at its ripples.

"Not with your eyes, foolish one!" snapped Ronan. Felspar stepped back and closed her eyes. A moment passed before she rose up on her rear legs and spun toward them.

"The falls!" she cried with excitement. "The stream that feeds the falls!" Then Felspar stepped over to Harry, noticing his bare feet and ankles. "Harry Potter, your fetlocks are bare." She stepped closer. "But the flesh is unharmed. If ever I held doubt in the Chosen, they have forever washed away." Felspar nodded with a slight bow. Harry nodded in return and then smiled as he saw Felspar's own fetlocks.

"And I thought you couldn't be any whiter," Harry said, grinning.

"The boy is right, Felspar," said Ronan. "Your own fetlocks have grown brighter. Like the Chosen, you now wear socks." He laughed as Felspar looked down to see that indeed her white coat was glistening more brightly from the knee and hock down.

"Perhaps you should jump in wholly," suggested Harry.

"No," said Felspar immediately, backing away from the water. "I would not place the purity of my heart at such a standard. Indeed, if I had known these were the very waters..."

"Felspar," said Ronan, "catch up to Shahan if you can and tell him that we are done for the day. He has, once again, failed the test. You are fortunate that you stopped to return. In these times we must remember to think of the herd before our own interests." Felspar bowed.

"Shahan will not be pleased," Felspar said to the ground.

"As I am not," retorted Ronan. "For three straight days Shahan has failed to comprehend the lesson. Firenze says Shahan did not even bother to search for Ebyrth. The Centaur is of no use to the heard if he refuses to learn our ways. I care not that he is young." Then Ronan stepped closer to Felspar; his posture becoming rigid. "You would be wise not to listen to Shahan's thoughts, Felspar. That your coat should change colour at all is not a good sign. Your mother has raised you better." Then Ronan's demeanour changed back to one of teacher.

"Focus your mind on where you need to be, Felspar." He said nothing more, but Felspar turned toward the portion of the forest through which Shahan had disappeared. A moment later in a streak of white she was gone.

"Is that not an Apparation?" Harry asked.

"One cannot Apparate on these grounds, Harry Potter. The earth is too filled with magic. A Centaur can bend space and slow time so that distances travelled can be covered far more quickly than on hoof alone. You have accomplished this already. What's more you have learned to leave your mortal body and travel with the other living spirits of the forest."

"You helped me... when I was with Shahan."

"Yes," answered Ronan. "But I need not show you again; these skills are yours to command. Do you sense the Bowtruckle staring at us from across the stream? Perhaps he can help you see what you've thirsted for. Reach out to the creature's mind."

When Harry did reach out, he found it far easier than he first expected. The energy of the forest seemed to imbue him with added insight, guiding his thoughts as he became focused on the creature, leaving his own self, releasing his corporeal form behind and melding into the essence of a stick. In a flash he was one with the woody Bowtruckle. His eyes blinked. Ahead, across the stream were a Centaur and young man with tattered pants and no shoes. Harry tried to step forward, but the creature would not respond. It was as if he were simply eavesdropping. Suddenly, he felt quite hungry. Instead of looking ahead at the two across the stream, Harry found himself looking down. There was a rather large stink worm wriggling its bulbous head between two leaves. He bent down, sniffed the foul thing and pulled it up out of the soil grinding gut and earth between his teeth.

"Yack!" said Harry, returning to his own body and spitting out what wasn't there. Ronan remained expressionless.

"Well done, Harry Potter. It has been less than a year since the Cleansing, and already you have learned the Centaur Arts. It will take much more time to master them and many years to understand their true nature. It is..." Ronan paused looking toward the western sky. "...unfortunate that we have so little time." His hoof pawed at the ground. "It does not go well for our brothers in Eastern Europe. Wizards have joined the Dementors and brought a new ally to the war." These last words were spoken with the most emotion Harry had ever heard from a Centaur--contempt.

"Vampires," said Harry quietly. "It's the work of Lucius Malfoy."

"It is the work of Ebyrth. Malfoy is but its tool."

Harry could feel darkness falling, and for the first time he was beginning to feel cold. Ronan sensed this at once.

"It is time for you to return to the castle, Harry Potter. I have been training you far too hard and far too fast, I'm afraid. So it is with Shahan and Felspar. You are all learning before your ability to comprehend. If we were greater in number..." Ronan let out a long sigh as Harry turned to face him.

"Why wage war," asked Harry, "simply because Ebyrth has returned to the heavens? How is it that this solstice is any different than last?"

"That is not a question for the Centaurs, Harry Potter," said Ronan defiantly. "It is a question for the Dementors. It is not our war; it is theirs. It is not the Centaur herds that are destroying the villages of Eastern Europe. That is the work of the Dementors and their ilk. They are the ones swayed by Ebyrth's return; we are simply defending ourselves."

"I read that in the Battle of the Fifth Age the Centaur herds nearly obliterated Dementors from the face of the earth."

"Would that we had," said Ronan coolly. "Their darkness has no purpose other than destruction. Near the end of that war, only a handful escaped into the swamps and bogs through which we could not travel. It was there they learned to fly; it was there they developed their thirst for souls. Now, from a scattered few, their progeny have multiplied. They outnumber the Centaurs two to one. For that we can thank the Wizarding world and the world of man whose greed has consumed the earth and produced sustenance on which the Dementors feed.

"No, Harry Potter, you fight on the side of righteousness, as the Centaurs have for centuries. But, I am afraid, virtue alone will not be enough to lead us to victory. We will need your strength and more."

"It doesn't help that I'll never see again," said Harry, rubbing his arms with his hands to bring some warmth to them.

"It is the will of Ebyrth. There is a reason and you will discover it. Already your blindness has taught you to see many things."

"Yeah, right," said Harry a bit sarcastically. "I see that everyone's their own pretty colour. If I had a few centuries I might be able to recognize everyone's particular hue."

"It is a window to the spirit that lies within. This vision you have goes beyond external appearance and penetrates the essence of the creature before you. My people hold their emotions well, so they appear gray or white. Have you noticed that house elves are nearly always--"

"Green. Er... greenish. Yeah, I noticed."

"Goblins, whose natures are always angry, are almost always flush with red. While wizards and witches carry the colours that suit their nature, colours the trained Centaur mind can discern. It does not take long to recognize the given hue."

"Or hues," added Harry.

"Excuse me?" asked Ronan. "What do you mean?"

"Well, when they have more than one colour. You know, say green that sometimes turns blue." Ronan was staring blankly at Harry. "You know, the guy's kind of blue sometimes, kind of green other times... right?"

"Unless there is a phenomenal transformation, a spirit carries but one hue, Harry Potter. It may brighten or darken, but the hue remains the same. Unless..."

"Unless what?" asked Harry. Ronan stepped back from Harry and scanned the forest about them.

"Do you see this in many?" he asked cautiously. Harry had to think for a minute.

"No, not really, now that I think of it. Just a handful... in the school." Ronan stepped closer.

"There are ways you might see two hues, Harry Potter. Some wizards or witches are known Animagi. The creature inside can represent a different hue, although even among the Animagi it is rare. Usually, the creature reflects the nature of the witch or wizard." There was a long pause.

"And the other?" asked Harry.

"It can be the work of a fractured spirit, someone who is really two people, or possibly under the control of another."

"The Imperius Curse?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps. Such is the way of wizards and my knowledge falters there. I hope this is not someone close. Someone in your confidence?"

"Erm, no... not really," Harry lied. "I've got to go, Ronan. Thank you for your teachings today." Harry's mind was clicking of the list of names. He focused on bending the space between where he was and Hagrid's hut. "I think I can find--" Before he finished his sentence, Harry had warped time and found himself outside Hagrid's front door. He'd covered the distance, some miles, in little more than the blink of an eye. Still, in so doing he'd exhausted what little resources of strength he had left. His clothes shredded, he was about to knock on Hagrid's door when he sensed that someone was hidden in the trees behind the garden. Harry reached for his wand and held it at the ready. Barefoot, he began to step silently toward the spy. It was one technique taught him by the Centaurs and for the fleetest of moments Harry thought he'd prefer a notched arrow right about now.

Stealthily, Harry moved closer. The figure, with a bright emerald green aura, didn't move. Its position continued to rest against the tree. Just a few yards away Harry's nostrils took in the smell of smoke, a distinctively aromatic smoke.

"Draco!" Harry hissed quiet and low. This close, Harry could see the figure, still leaning motionless against the tree, bring his hand to his mouth. He was taking another drag on his cigarette. Harry could hear the exhale, long and slow.

"Damn, Potter," Draco said, pulling himself away from the tree and turning to face Harry. "I thought you'd never get here." Draco took a step closer. "Merlin, what the hell happened to you?"

"Draco, you can't be here. Do you know what will happen if--"

"You don't know yet, do you?" said Draco in a long low drawl. He liked knowing more than Harry and didn't mind showing it, if only for a moment. "How long have you been in the forest? All day?"

In the darkness from far up the hill Harry could hear the front doors of the castle open with their characteristic crack. What he didn't expect to hear next was Ron Weasley's voice.

"He should be there by now, I'm sure."

Followed by his father's.

"I should hope so, Ron. I don't have much more time and this is quite important."

Harry spun to see three figures walking their way down to Hagrid's hut. One he didn't recognize, but was sure was Mr. Weasley. The other two were Ron and Professor Dumbledore.

"I thought the old man would be dead by now," said Draco with a matter of fact tone as he pulled what was left of Harry's jersey toward some thicker underbrush. Harry acquiesced and the two withdrew deeper into the woods as Ron, Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley made their way to Hagrid's hut. When Hagrid answered the knock he was livid.

"Yeh should have been here an hour ago!" he called from inside. "I don't care what Ronan tells yeh; the forest ain't safe after dar--. Er... Professor Dumbledore, sir. Erm... Minister. I... er... I wasn't expectin' company."

"I take it," said Dumbledore, making his way into the hut, "that Harry has not yet returned from his time with the Centaurs?" A moment later and the door shut leaving Harry alone with Draco once again.

"What's going on, Draco?" said Harry not holding the proper line of sight with Draco's eyes. "I thought you were going to use Blaise to--"

"So it's true," said Draco, waving his hand in front of Harry's face. "You're blind." Able to see the glow from the life-forms that clung there, Harry grabbed Draco's arm.

"You can read!" said Harry dismissively. "It's been in every paper I can think of." Draco ignored the crack, reached up and touched the side of Harry's face.

"Does it hurt?"

"I'm too cold to feel anything right now," said Harry rubbing his arms again. "What's up with Blaise?"

"Blaise has been... compromised. He and I have a magical catch phrase that we use to ensure the other is mentally free from any... tampering. For the last two weeks, Blaise has tried to contact me without using that phrase. He's someone else's now." Draco took another long drag on his cigarette. "How father found out... I don't know." His words were deeply troubled. It was an emotional shift in Draco that Harry had rarely seen. "We were careful; more than careful. You need to know that there's a spy in the castle. I thought maybe Nott, but he doesn't have the skill to cast the Imperius."

"You're r-risking your life to tell me there's a spy?" asked Harry incredulously. "There's p-probably a dozen!" His teeth were beginning to chatter as the cold set in.

"And you're supposed to be our saviour? We're screwed." Draco flicked his cigarette into the air and it vanished. "Here." He took his cloak and wrapped it around Harry's shoulders. "You know, aside from being scratched bloody, having essentially no clothes, and looking like you were just run over by the Hogwarts Express, you're in pretty good shape. Maybe if you stopped running around the forest butt naked--"

"T-Training," Harry interrupted.

"Right, like that's going to save your sorry ass. I don't know what potions you've been taking, but you better wake up and see what's going on around here."

"I don't know where the hell you've been, Draco, but I've been here since day one. I think I know what's going--"

"Cho and Goldstein are going to be married over Christmas. Did you know that? A secret wedding."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I've been here since day one," Draco mocked Harry. "Yes, you're so in tune, so enlightened. Hell, Harry, that's not even the interesting news."

"Married? Goldstein?"

"Not even her little brother knows they're getting married. Quite scandalous." Draco chuckled to himself and then sat cross-legged on the ground. "But I suppose you, all knowing oracle of the blind have insight into that." Harry said nothing, but sat down next to him crossing his arms and legs under Draco's cloak.

"Come on, Potter," drawled Draco once again. "Surely you can guess why Cho and Goldstein would want to... no... would need to get married secretly." Again there was a long pause and Harry pulled Draco's cloak tighter about his shoulders. He was feeling a pang of jealousy and he had no right to. He had loved Cho and he would always love her, but their paths were never meant to travel together. His path was and would forever be entangled with Gabriella's. It wasn't perfect, but the attraction was strong and the love firm and the uncertainty of any given day that kept Harry forever on edge tickled a very Slytherin part of his spirit that wriggled deep inside him. Finally, Harry breathed.

"Cho's pregnant," Harry whispered. "That explains why they've been meeting secretly for months. Goldstein won't say where."

"France," answered Draco with a sly smile. "Don't tell anyone, Harry, but Goldstein's guardian may be their chaperone by day, but at night he's a Death Eater in my father's service. It's a tryst of little consequence to my father and it pays the bills for Henry, the chaperone, but I knew you might have a special interest."

"I never thought that Goldstein and Cho would--"

"Oh, but I'm not done, Harry. Cho Chang spends her days in France, in a little villa just north of Marseille, a town called La Mure. She and the--"

"When's she due?" Harry asked. "Do you know how far along she is?" At this Draco smiled.

"Witches can hide that fact until the very day of delivery, Harry. Some like to show, some don't. Have you ever seen Lisa Turpin's mum pregnant? She's had three more kids since we came to Hogwarts. Nobody's supposed to know, but everyone does. She pops 'em out just like clockwork though. Forty weeks... pop!" Harry knew that Lisa had a newborn brother just a few weeks ago, and he'd seen her mother at the Weasley's over the summer, but she didn't look pregnant. And then he remembered that he'd seen Geoffrey Hooper's mother just a few weeks before her baby was born and she looked no different than the year before.

"Forty weeks?" muttered Harry, distractedly calculating something in his mind.

The door to Hagrid's cabin opened and the giant stepped out for just a moment looking toward the forest. "Should be any moment, sir," he said to the folks inside. "Any moment." Then more quietly to himself before he went back in he whispered to the forest, "Harry, where in Singehorn's name are yeh?" Harry began to stand, but Draco pulled him back down. For a flash, Harry was irritated, but caught himself.

"You know, Draco," Harry said gently, "if we walked in there right now, together, Dumbledore and the Minister would take you back. You'd be--"

"Dead in about two days," cut in Draco. "Not by the Ministry's hand, but by its dark underbelly."

"Then why are you risking your life right now? It's not to gossip on about some girl and guy you couldn't give a damn about. What's so important that--"

"They've found it," Draco interrupted. "Months ago I asked you to find it first, and you didn't even try. Now they have it." He flicked a twig into Harry's face. "Blaise risked his life and you did nothing. Now he's been found out." Draco leaned over and grabbed the cloak about Harry's neck. Harry could feel the cloth tighten, not by Draco's hand, but by some other force. "You're going to get it back, my dearest friend, or I'll kill you myself." The cloth tightened further. Harry reached for his wand, but found the cloak held his hands tight.

"Draco," he gasped, "I don't know what you're--"

"Save it for someone who gives a damn." He leaned over Harry who was gasping for breath now. "Funny thing... magical cloaks. They can hold so many enchantments." He pressed Harry firmly against the sodden ground as the Gryffindor desperately tried to gather air. "Understand, Harry, I don't want it and I sure as hell don't want my father to get his hands on it. But he will if they have their way. Get it out of the Ministry before it's too late."

All of a sudden, the cloak released Harry and he began to cough, heaving in as much air as he could. Draco took to his feet and wrapped the black cloak about his shoulders, his long blonde hair starkly white in contrast. Still coughing, Harry stumbled to his feet and pulled his wand. Draco ignored the gesture and turned to leave. But then he stopped as if suddenly remembering a forgotten thought. The door to Hagrid's hut opened and Ron stepped out. He'd heard Harry coughing.

"Harry?!" Ron called to the darkness.

"Oh, and Harry," Draco said, looking Harry in the eyes even if the glance was not returned. "Cho isn't pregnant." He turned to leave. "It's a newborn baby boy. Well, not so much newborn any more. You'll never guess the birthday... it's the same day as yours."

"Harry!" Ron called again. This time, by the tone of Ron's voice, Harry knew they'd been seen. He focused his attention toward the hut to detect if others were watching; none were. When he turned back to Draco, the Slytherin was gone.

"A baby boy? That's not possible," he whispered at the emptiness. The sound of footsteps came charging up from behind and Harry could hear the commotion on the front porch of Hagrid's hut. A hand touched Harry's shoulder.

"Was that who I think it was?" Ron asked quietly. Harry simply nodded. "That can't be good," Ron muttered.

"No. No, Ron, it's not."

"Harry? Is that you my boy?" Arthur Weasley called from the hut. "Harry, come inside. Get out of the cold."

"I told you, Arthur," Dumbledore said gently from within the hut, "nothing to worry about. Come in and let's finish our tea."

"My god, Albus!" cried Arthur as Harry and Ron returned to the cabin. "Look at the boy!" Harry was still barefoot, what remained of his clothes in tatters, his face covered in mud and now sporting a thin red line that wrapped about his neck and showed through the grime. As he climbed the steps with Ron's assistance, his teeth once again began to chatter.

"Yes, yes," said Dumbledore, dispassionately. "I see they've been working you rather hard today, Harry." The statement was more question than anything. "A lot to think about?" Harry just nodded and walked through the door. "Well, it's not going to get any easier, young man."

"Get o'er by the fire, lad," said Hagrid, offering a blanket. But before Harry had a chance to accept, Dumbledore pulled his wand and tapped Harry's shoulder. The grime disappeared and a Hogwarts robe covered his body. The thin red line about his neck and the aching muscles, however, remained.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, "perhaps some tea and some..." Harry tried to catch Dumbledore's eyes to tell him to stop, but found, as it had been since his accident, he could no longer effectively communicate silently with his eyes. "...stone cakes."

Warming his muscles by the fire, sipping a bit of tea, and pretending to enjoy Hagrid's rock-hard stone cakes, Harry was beginning to feel himself again. He assured Arthur Weasley that he was fine and that his dishevelled appearance was all in a day's work, training with the Centaurs in the forest; but the Minister was none too convinced.

"Your clothes were in tatters, Harry, and it still looks as if you've been strangled."

"Just a little work with Devil's Snare is all, sir," answered Harry, rubbing his neck with his left hand and sipping some more tea with the other. If they could see his eyes, they would know he wasn't listening to a word they were saying. Draco probably thought his little show would centre Harry's mind fully on some Horcrux that the Ministry had no doubt just found, but Harry's mind was anything but centred. After a bit more banter about school, regrets about Harry being blind, and news about the battles raging in Eastern Europe, Arthur Weasley finally got down to the purpose of his visit.

"You know, I'm sure," he began, "that we have been excavating the collapse that occurred at the Ministry last year, beneath the... erm, chamber."

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "Why?"

"Well, to try to recover the bodies, Harry," answered Mr. Weasley, surprised somewhat by Harry's reaction. "Many Aurors lost their lives that evening and their bodies have never been found -- at least, not until last week. Since the collapse we tried for months to find the bottom with no success. We encountered one magical portal after another, and the workers were none too inclined to accidentally stumble across the Curtain itself."

"You recovered the Curtain of Phenolem?" cried Ron. "Why? Why in bloody--"

"No, Ron," interrupted Dumbledore, "the Curtain and the dais were destroyed in the fall. No, just the bodies, bodies from both sides, have been returned to their loved ones."

"Well, yes, Albus," added Arthur with some nervousness. "Most of them, anyway. We have yet to find Draco Malfoy's remains." Ron began to cough.

"Hagrid," he asked, clearing his throat once again, "do you have any more stone cakes?"

"Why sure, Ron," said Hagrid with glee. "Come on in teh the kitchen." Ron stood and followed Hagrid, patting Harry's shoulder on the way.

"I don't really see what any of this has to do with me, sir," said Harry. "I mean... well, I've put that behind me now. Haven't I? There's another darkness we need to stave off, isn't there?"

"Yes, yes, absolutely, Harry, absolutely." Arthur patted Harry's lap. "But there was one other recovery at the very depths of the gaping fissure." All at once, Mr. Weasley's aura faded and Harry knew the following words were a lie. "They pulled it up today, just before lunch. I looked for you earlier, Harry, but you'd already left for the forest." Arthur Weasley stood from his chair and looked out the window facing the castle, the colour returned to his aura. "I was thinking we could have a dedication of sorts. You could come to the Ministry as we put it on display. It would certainly remind the people in these dark times that we can vanquish darkness."

"I'm sorry, sir, but what did you recover?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry, Harry," answered Arthur. "I've wanted to discuss our search since you and I spoke on the train. I never knew taking care of the Ministry would consume so much of my time." His eyes wandered for a moment and then returned to meet Harry's. "No matter," he whispered. "In our search, we recovered the cloak. The black cloak of... You-Know-Who. The only remnant of his darkness and a symbol to all of his defeat."

"Voldemort?" snapped Harry. "You have Voldemort's cloak?" Harry turned in his chair. "Burn the damn thing. Destroy it!"

"I knew you might feel this way, Harry," said Arthur with understanding. "That's why I came myself. You must realize what an icon you've become in the Wizarding world. Just one picture of you, perhaps wand drawn, next to the cloak of the evil you destroyed would mean so much to--"

"It's insane!" said Harry, rising to his feet. "Do you know what that might be? It could--"

"Harry," said Dumbledore sternly, silencing Harry's rant. "I think it would be wise for you to take some time to consider what all the implications are. Time to consider what's best for... everyone involved." Harry expected to see the warmth of anger build in Dumbledore's aura, but if anything his light dimmed with a coolness of concern.

"I... I'm sorry, sir," said Harry, cooling his own temperament. "Yes, that's what I need Minister... time."

"Please, Harry, you needn't call me--"

"Excuse me, sir. I need to go. It's just... I'm really tired is all." Harry reached out his hand to shake, and Arthur Weasley took it. "Let me get my head together, and I'll get back to you. Just a day or two."

"Certainly, Harry, I understand. Until then, we'll keep it safe; I can assure you." Harry started for the door. "Here, let me walk you to the castle."

"I got it dad," said Ron, dropping one of the stone cakes on the table with a thud. "Finish your tea and have some more... er, cakes." Ron ran to the door next to Harry's side. Staring at the cake and then Hagrid, Arthur was about to say something when Dumbledore spoke out instead.

"Excellent idea, Mr. Weasley," he said to the younger redhead. "Please find Harry safely back to the castle."

"G'dnight, Hagrid," said Harry to the giant still in the kitchen, baking up another batch of cakes for his guests. "Thanks!"

"Sure thing, Harry," called Hagrid. "Anytime." Then he turned to Mr. Weasley just as Harry began to shut the door. "Minister, try another one, hot out of the oven!"

By the time Harry and Ron were at the castle steps, Harry had answered most of Ron's questions.

"I just don't get it, Harry," said Ron shaking his head. "It's just a piece of cloth. You killed him."

"Ron, you saw my clothes tonight. They were burnt away because I fell into the magical stream that feeds the falls. Remember when you fell in last year?"

"Pulled in you mean," said Ron, rubbing his right wrist. "Yeah, I remember. My clothes disappeared."

"They didn't disappear," corrected Harry. "They were burnt away. Clothes are unclean. They can't survive the purity of the water."

"That's a Centaur tale," said Ron dismissively.

"Tale or not, the water destroys cloth. I doused Voldemort in nearly ten gallons of the stuff. It was enough to dissolve every evil bone in his body, but the cloak... Damn! I should have known when I saw it then. The cloak survived. But why?"

"So you think it's the..." Ron's voice dipped low, "...the Horcrux Draco was talking about?"

"I don't see how it can be," answered Harry. "If it's part of Voldemort, it should have been destroyed." Harry sighed. "Maybe Hermione will know." Ron shrugged and nodded in agreement as he reached to open the castle doors. Ron heaved on the heavy handle just as Harry's hand stopped him and shut them again.

"Ron?" he asked. "You have a lot of siblings. Erm... how long does it take to... er... for a witch to... you know... have a baby, after... you know." For a second, Ron just stared at Harry, and then reaching ever so slightly to the thoughts on the tip of Harry's mind he understood.

"Oh! How long does it take for a baby to be born after conception?" he asked.

"Yeah... yeah, that's it."

"Well my mum's always going on how I took longer than most... 'Forty two weeks, and in the middle of the war!' she'd say.

"So... figurin' my birthday, what would you say... you know... for my folks to...er--"

"Do the nasty?" said Ron with a smile. Harry simply nodded. Well, Ron thought for a moment, touched his fingers and counted backwards, and then a glow of a grin crossed his face once again.

"Pretty damn near to Halloween, Harry." He poked Harry in the ribs. "Do you think they were wearing costumes?" Harry didn't react in the way Ron expected. Instead, he leaned his back against the castle doors and slid down to a sit on the stone landing.

"Oh, Merlin," he whispered in a sickly sort of voice. "Oh, bloody, fucking, Merlin."

"What? What is it, Harry?"

"Ron... I think... I think I'm a father."