Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 17 - The Summoning

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When Dakhil left Harry at the stone steps leading to the front doors of Hogwarts Castle, Harry had pleaded that he too fight the onslaught of Dementors and Death Eaters raging against Dakhil's homeland in the Carpathians. The vampire should have been gone for only a few days, but it had been weeks and Dakhil had not returned nor had he sent word of the status of the battle. The Daily Prophet had been worthless, only reporting the difficulties that the various European Ministries were having trying to disguise the numerous atrocities as natural disasters. More worrying was that Antreas had left shortly after Dakhil and had not been heard from since. Everyone who had left to fight seemed to vanish into a great vortex of nothingness.

Before he disappeared, Dakhil had told Harry that his job was to protect Hogwarts, to protect the Centaurs of the Great Forest from a darkness within the school. Harry brushed the notion of darkness inside the castle walls aside, believing it was a backhanded insult toward Harry, but now he was paying for it. Maybe that's why they were summoning him, he had failed in his one mission. Voldemort had not only escaped, but he had captured his Horcrux and was ready to return to power. Or was he?

Voldemort had said he needed only two things in the grand hall of the Ministry - his old black cloak and Harry. He had asked earlier if there was still part of the Dark Lord that coursed through Harry's veins. What James, what Voldemort didn't know was that the darkness, Voldemort's stain, had been washed away by the Cleansing of the falls in the Great Forest. Perhaps, Voldemort was too weak without this other part of himself, perhaps--

It was hot, painfully hot - the first thing Harry noticed when he finally appeared at the summoning site - hot and dark. Not dark in the sense that there was no light, although it was that too; a lack of light wouldn't matter to a blind man. No, it was dark in the sense that Harry saw nothing. There was no life here, no life in any direction, just heat, an intense, blistering heat that appeared, to Harry, like a dull haze as he looked to the night sky and saw Ebyrth shining as bright as ever.

He had been able to Apparate across the Channel. From there he had tried once more, but couldn't make it across Germany. He was drained, unable to cast another spell, and the richness of the earth's energy, normally plentiful in this area, was parched like an arid desert. There was nothing for Harry to draw on to replenish what magical energy he could cast. Instead, he used the powers of the Centaurs to bend space and slow time, and he ran. He ran until his shoes wore through and fell away; he ran over rivers that supported his weight as if they were frozen solid; he ran past flying birds that hovered in the air like floating balloons. He ran for what felt like days, stopping only to drink from the occasional stream or brook. At one point, just outside Vienna, he had grabbed half of a sandwich from the hand of a passer-by who might as well have been a statue frozen in time. His legs ached, his lungs wanted to burst and all he could hear was the voice of Ronan compelling him forward, not to meet the call of the Centaur, but to answer the summoning of the dragon.

By the time he had begun the final ascent, his mind was blurred with fatigue. He had paid no notice to the mountain he had been climbing. Sweat burning his blind eyes, he had ignored the screams and the fires through which he had past. He didn't see the transition from life to death. He only knew one thing - the summoning site. He would not fail again, even as the last drops of strength left his being.

This... this was the spot; he was sure. Huge gulps of air splashed down his burning lungs unable to quench his thirst for oxygen. His bare feet burned. Almost forgetfully, he held out his wand, hand shaking from exhaustion and mind knowing that he would not be able to cast a spell even if he wanted to. Sweat dripped down his forehead; the heat was unbearable. He stood for a moment, wand outstretched, squinting with failed eyes into the darkness. Merlin, it was hot. He moved to take a step forward, an acrid odour filling his nostrils, when his left leg cramped and he fell face first hard into the stony ground. He didn't have the energy to pull away from the scorching stone, nor could he spit out the sand and tiny pebbles that filled his mouth and burned his tongue.

"Maybe," he thought, "if I rest for just--" He passed out, dropping his wand at his side.

Unconscious on the sweltering earth, swirls of smoke and light coalesced in his mind forming a scene of darkness and despair. Even in his dream the smell of burning flesh was unbearable. Yet, in his dream he could see - his vision, his sight was as good as ever. The smoke and the smell cleared and he found himself at the falls, the falls where Gabriella lay face down in the tall grass, an arrow sunk deep into her back. In the air was sadness. No... more than sadness - there was anger. It was Ron, screaming, screaming....

"NOOOOOOO!"

The earth shook.

"Take him! Take him now! Hurry!"

The scene changed. He was flying... flying in the air. Bounce. On a Hippogriff. Bounce. Harry felt a jarring pain against the side of his ribs. He blinked. The blindness had returned, but he could sense that there was a light beneath him. Bounce. A person.

"Hurry!"

The voice... he knew that voice. The darkness was clearing from his mind. He was waking. He was being carried. A group of five was climbing up the side of the mountain. One had Harry over his shoulder. Weakly, Harry began to struggle to free himself.

"Easy, Harry," the young man holding him said gently, but with some urgency in his voice. "When we get you back to the stronghold, we'll take a look at the burns. Praise Asha you're a member of the Votary, or you'd be dead."

"An-Antreas?" Harry muttered. He hadn't heard the voice of Gabriella's brother since the summer, but there was still no mistaking the undeniable intonation that was the exact replica of Antreas' father, Grigor. "What... What's going on?"

"There will be time for answers later!" cried another voice. "Run!" Harry knew at once the other man speaking. He also recognized the aura; it was Dakhil. Troubling was the sense of concern, even fright in Dakhil's voice. He'd never heard that before, even when they were being attacked by vampires last summer. What was more troubling, however, was something that had bothered Harry since his last lesson with Ronan, something he had seen in Dakhil ever since the vampire first taught him to see without seeing. The aura of Dakhil faded from red to purple and back to red again. There were two personas present in his aura. For the first time since he'd arrived at the Mountain of Singehorn, Harry felt cold.

They continued to rush up the mountain. Occasionally, Dakhil or one of the others would cast spells back in the direction from which they came. Harry could not see, nor could he sense what it was they were firing upon. Curiously, there were no spells cast in return. Soon, he began to notice trees, vegetation, life. After a few minutes more, the band came to a large stone wall. One of the men cast a spell and an entrance appeared. They passed through and the opening in the stone sealed behind them. The entire troupe sighed with relief once they entered the compound.

"What... what's going on?" Harry asked weakly. "Where are we? Who were you firing at? What--?"

"Slow down. Slow down," cut in Antreas. "Let me see your face." Antreas lifted Harry's chin up and examined the left side, the same side that fell unconscious into the scorching earth. He reached up and pulled the glasses from Harry's face, glasses he continued to wear in the hope, or perhaps as a symbol to others, that one day he might see again. There was an unmistakable tearing sound, and Harry could feel the plastic rims pull away from the skin on his face. When he reached to take the glasses out of Antreas' hand, he could tell that the left half of the frame was nearly melted away. He didn't want to think what his face must look like. It didn't hurt. Harry moved to touch it but Antreas grabbed his hand.

"No!" he snapped, half trying to quell the distress in his own voice. He chuckled, but not convincingly. "It... it's nothing, Harry. It's just best if you don't--"

"See that he has his own Healer's tent at once!" ordered Dakhil to one of the other men that were in the group. The man began to slowly limp away. "Hurry," Dakhil yelled. "Hurry before there's nothing left of his face to put back together!" If Antreas had tried to calm Harry's nerves, Dakhil had served to dismember them. "You two," Dakhil continued pointing at two men they had passed as they entered into the compound. "Help carry the boy into the cave. I won't lose another one tonight!"

With Antreas' help, they carried Harry further up the mountain. Dakhil followed, but was unwilling to assist. Typical, Harry thought. There was a small outcrop of rocks off to the side and they turned toward it as Dakhil continued upward. Antreas stopped.

"If Singehorn is unable to call the others in time," he said, "we'll have to send for the Centaur you spoke of."

"You were brave today, my son," said Dakhil warmly. "It is clear your father is with you. Your mother would be proud. Keep the boy safe and see what the Healer can do with what remains." He turned to continue upward then stopped. "Singehorn, I'm afraid, was not able to call for our friends, not tonight." He sighed with a deep mournful breath. "Still we must stay with the plan; it's our only hope. More may arrive before the moon's rise tomorrow."

Facing a stone wall, one of the men carrying Harry said something in a language he thought might be Russian and again an archway appeared where before was only rock and stone. Just before the rock face closed behind them Antreas called back to Dakhil who had followed them most of the way

"And the Centaur?" he called.

"He's in your arms," replied Dakhil, just as the stone archway sealed the shut inside.

"Crazy," said the Russian, referring to Dakhil. "He'll kill us all." There was a wand at his neck in an instant; it was Antreas'. Harry felt like he was about to be dropped.

"There are so many injured here," said Antreas with a heated voice, "I'm sure no one would miss you. The next time you speak of the Votary, take care to choose the words carefully. I may have to excise the offending tongue." The Russian said nothing as Antreas pulled the wand back and the grip on Harry became more sure. They turned a corner and the cave opened out into a great hall filled with injured. To Harry, it looked as if a hundred lights had been spread across the floor. Almost immediately a murmur rippled across the large cavern.

"Is that him?" "The Chosen!" "My god what happened to his face?" "Dragons." "It's just a boy." "That's not him; some Muggle must have been caught in the crossfire." "He's the Chosen!"

"Marek!" cried Dakhil. "Marek! This is a priority!" Harry noticed an orange colour on the far side rise up from the ground. Marek was busy treating another patient and as he stood, Harry could tell that he was a large man.

"They're ALL priorities!" he called back. "Have one of the others--"

"Damn it! NOW!" yelled Antreas. This was not the same Antreas that had waved good-bye to Harry and Gabriella as they began their summer vacation. That Antreas was still trying to perfect his wand work, and his confidence interacting with people was shaky at best. While he made a passable neighbour on Privet Drive, he was an absolute mess around other wizards. This Antreas, however, the one standing before Harry, was more than just a foot soldier in this mountain battle. He was clearly someone of import.

Disgruntled, but acquiescing, Marek began to cross the hall as the three moved Harry into one of the tents that were set up along the side of the large chamber. He was placed on a bed, firm, but more comfortable than a blanket on the stone floor outside. Once he was down, the two men left Antreas alone with Harry. For some time neither spoke and Harry noted his friend's discomfort.

"What is it Antreas?" Harry asked. As he spoke, Harry noticed that the side of his face didn't seem to move correctly. Still, there was no pain.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Antreas replied. "If I had known... We were losing ground and... Dakhil must have thought it would be safe. Our outer perimeter was half a mile down the mountain when he must have asked Singehorn to summon you. But then, they came so fast."

"Who?"

"The Dementors. They've been swarming the mountain for days. They've grown so thick they can blot out the sun and when that happens it gives their allies, a band of about thirty wizard vampires, free rein to attack during the day. This wasn't our war, but ultimately the dragons had no choice. The Dementors were moving in on their rookery. Half a dozen dragons left to scorch the earth and leave no life behind. Not even a member of the Votary could survive such fire. We had no way of letting you know, no way of knowing ourselves when... that you'd..." A big burst of air shot from Antreas' lips.

"Dakhil had Singehorn summon me?"

"Harry, there was no way of knowing. You passed out right in the centre of the incineration. It had to have been over two hundred degrees. One of the sentries saw you first, but it was too hot. Only the Votary could get in to retrieve you." Harry remembered Dakhil walking through the burning flames just before the Joining; he understood these words. "The Joining helped you to survive, training would have been better. Your face... you've been burned... badly burned."

"But it doesn't hurt," Harry said. He was feeling more tired by the minute.

"That's because there's nothing left to hurt. Your flesh is--" Marek pushed through the opening of the tent.

"And what's this priority?" he said wearily. "Another case of damn Dementor frost-- Oh... Oh, my." He cast Antreas a glance. "One of the civilians?" he asked, not recognizing the young man he'd met over the summer. "A Muggle caught in the fire?" Assessing the large stature of the man before him and listening closely to his voice, it was Harry who first made the connection. It was the same Marek that had taken in Ron, Hermione and the others after the vampire attack.

"Marek?" Harry asked hoarsely, finding it more difficult by the minute to move his jaw. "It's me, Harry... Harry Potter. I could... I could sure use a glass of water."

"Yes... I remember. You've put on a few pounds. Physical training?"

"He's joined a Centaur heard in England," said Antreas.

"So this is the one Dakhil spoke of. That would explain things. Yes, that would explain a lot." Marek reached into his robes. "I haven't had to deal with one of these for years," Marek whispered, "but with dragons about, such burns are not uncommon. Praise Asha you're Votary." He leaned in close to Harry. "What happened to your eyes?"

"Glass," Harry replied, wearily. "Lots of glass."

"Hmmm. Well, let's get started. Harry, lie back." Harry obliged. "I have something far better than a glass of water." He watched Marek raise his wand over his burned face. "This should only take a few hours."

"Hours?" Harry said, bringing up his hand to grab Marek's wrist. "I won't take you away from helping the others just because I buggered it again."

"It's not your fault, Harry," said Antreas. "There's no way you could have known."

"Yes, admirable qualities, Harry. But as Antreas has said--"

"I am NOT a priority! I won't--" Blue light erupted from Marek's wand and before he could say another word, Harry was asleep on the cot and Marek began his work. The last thing he remembered was a crackling sound and Marek's sombre voice.

"That'll leave a mark."

Time faded to nothingness and, when Harry woke, he sensed someone sitting at his bedside. "Gabriella?" he asked groggily.

"You wish, mate!"

"Fred? Fred is that you?"

Slowly, Harry began to regain consciousness. He tried to lean up, but someone pressed gently back on his shoulder. His eyes closed, Harry sensed that there were two people in the room. Shaking the cobwebs free, he finally recognized the aura of the other person.

"Remus?"

"Yes, Harry," replied Remus Lupin, "Fred and I are both here. We have been for about three days."

"Three days!" Harry exclaimed, once again trying to rise and once again being held down by Remus. "I've been here for three days?"

"No, ditz," Fred laughed. "We've been here for three days. You've been here for about, er, fourteen hours."

"We came as soon as we heard you had arrived," Remus added.

"I swear, Harry," said Fred, leaning forward. "Can you ever do anything the easy way?"

While Fred was talking, Harry realized there was something on his face. He reached his hands up and felt the bandages wrapping his head.

"An interesting look, if you ask me," said Fred. "Kind of a turban gone mad. All in all I'd say it's an improvement. The great thing is, Harry, they gave you a whole new head! Moody volunteered his." Fred laughed again and this time Remus joined him. A cold shiver passed through Harry. It had suddenly sunk in that Fred... Fred Weasley, was in the same room and if he'd been here for three days, he might not know....

"Why aren't you home?" Harry asked. "Where's George?"

"I'm flying solo, mate," said Fred. "George is minding the shops."

"No one can travel in or out," said Remus. "Apparition is impossible. It's a miracle that you made it alive. I'm sorry that--"

"What about messages," Harry interrupted. "Can messages get in?"

"Not for two days," said Remus. "The Dementors have the whole mountainside surrounded. I tried a Patronus. It passed through a few dozen, but there are just too many."

"Then you don't know," Harry said with urgency. He sat up and this time when Remus moved to push him back down, Harry flicked his arm away. Harry tried to face Fred, but. Fred only laughed.

"You look like a walking ice-cream cone, Harry."

"Fred," Harry began, muffled by the bandages surrounding his face. He tried to muster up the courage, but in the last moment it failed him. "W-Why are you even here?"

"Tonight, we go on the offensive. We're through sitting back and letting Lucius Malfoy and his army of darkness decide when and where to strike. They're mostly vampires and Dementors with a handful of Death Eaters sprinkled in for good measure. Last we heard Lucius may have let himself get turned."

"Turned?" Harry asked.

"The scouts were out early this morning, Harry," said Remus, moving over and sitting next to Fred. "We've seen him off and on in these parts for weeks. Only this morning... this morning they say he looked more vampire than wizard."

"He let himself be bitten, I tell yeh," added Fred. "Just to achieve immortality."

Harry felt as if he was going to be sick. If Lucius was here that meant Voldemort was here. Were they looking for him? For Harry? His heart began to race. There was too much to do and too little time. He needed to tell someone, but whom? His breaths quickened and Remus took notice.

"Harry... you need to--"

"He's alive!" Harry shouted. "He's still alive!" There was a short pause. Remus knew almost immediately what Harry meant, but wasn't sure if his words were the result of some sort of side-effect from one of the potions. Fred didn't understand.

"What do you mean, Harry? Who's alive?"

"Voldemort," gasped Harry, taking in a great breath of air through the bandages covering his face. He walked over to the side of the tent and held the fabric in his fingers. To his mind, it had a dull orange appearance, probably spores of some sort. He didn't want to say more; he couldn't. But he had to. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest - it hurt. His breathing grew laboured, weighed down by the burden of what he was about to share.

"Somehow... I don't know... I don't know how, but he took control of James Chang, Cho's younger brother. He's been inside James, controlling him all year at school. He was waiting for something... something important. Then I heard that they had discovered Voldemort's old cloak. It had survived even though he was destroyed. It was there... what he wanted... at the Ministry. They brought it back out of the ashes of his demise. They dug deep, your father dug deep for what should have been left to the depths."

"Yeah," said Fred cautiously, not really sure what to think about Harry's ramblings. "Mum and Dad were all excited. It was supposed to be a big deal. Sorry we had to pull you away from the award ceremony to be in this hellhole. I'm not supposed to tell, but Dad's lined you up for Order of Merl--"

"It was a Horcrux," hissed Harry through gritted teeth. Remus understood and gasped, but Fred still didn't grasp what Harry was saying. "Can you believe it? Lucius wanted it for himself - maybe to extract whatever essence Voldemort had left of himself in it." Harry madly grabbed Fred's robes. "Don't you see? I had to destroy it... to destroy the cloak."

"Calm down, Harry," said Fred slowly, his eyes glancing toward Remus with concern. "Everything's okay."

"No it's not!" yelled Harry, turning from Fred and leaned against the bed. "We just wanted to take it, Ron, Hermione and me... only they showed up... and then... when we got inside... your Mum was there... and then James... I thought it was an Imperious Curse. I thought I'd be able to control him." He breathed hard again. "But I couldn't. It wasn't a curse, it was Voldemort. I couldn't stop him. I tried--" He turned back to face Fred. "He... Voldemort used the Killing Curse, Fred. I tried... I swear on Merlin's grave... I tried."

"What are you talking about, Harry?" Fred's words were quiet, nervous and unsure.

"Last night, before Singehorn summoned me, in the grand entrance hall of the Ministry, Voldemort... Voldemort killed your mother." Short gasps of air burst from Harry's lungs and he fell on his knees in front of Fred. "She's dead... she's... dead." Clutching at the bottom of Fred's robes, Harry began to heave great sobs. His voice was weak and thin. "She's dead." Fred pushed Harry away and took to his feet.

"Stop saying that!" he yelled. "She's not dead! She's not! I just saw her before we came here. She was going to... she was going..." He slapped his hand against the bed. "You're just messed up... the potions. You... you were dreaming... that's all. A- a- a- hallucination or something!" He turned to Remus.

"Remus! Tell him! Tell Harry it was just a dream... a bad dream, that's all." Remus was quiet, stoic. He didn't speak and he didn't move. Fred pulled his wand and held it in Remus' face.

"TELL HIM!"

Remus held his arms out wide and, slowly, shook his head.

"No." Fred whispered, shaking his head vigorously in reply. "No, it's not... it's not... oh god."

His hands fell limp at his sides and his wand dropped to the floor, tinkling and then rolling in the silence. Fred shuddered, fell into Lupin's arms and began to cry.

They stayed like that for some time, Harry on the floor, Fred in Lupin's arms, all three of them crying. Until now, Harry hadn't had the chance to mourn Molly's death. The pain was deep and biting. In the tears and silence, Harry wished he could take it back. His actions had cost another life and the anger in Arthur Weasley's voice echoed within his mind.

His thoughts turned to the others who had been murdered in the battle and he wondered if James had made it. "I may never know," he whispered to himself.

As the sadness began to subside, he mulled over how Fred and Remus had described the scout's sighting of Lucius. If the reports were true and Malfoy had returned to the mountain, then Molly's murderer was within reach. Harry's pain began to turn to anger. The flap on the tent furled open and in walked Marek

"Remus, I-- What in Merlin's name is up with you three?" he said with a rather gruff voice.

"We just found out. Fred's mother has been killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," answered Remus calmly.

"That... that's not possible," said Marek, half believing the words to be true. Fred turned, wiping his eyes.

"I've got to see if I can get home," he said. He started toward the exit, but Marek took him by the arm.

"Fred, we're surrounded."

The redhead pulled his arm free.

"I have to go home."

"It'd be suicide, Fred."

"I don't care."

"Don't you think your mother would!" chided Remus. "AND your father. What do you think it would do to him to lose you both?" Fred said nothing. "If you're going to put your life on the line, Fred, make it count; make it matter." Remus stepped toward him and held Fred by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes.

"Tonight," he said with confidence and surety. "Tonight, you'll have your chance, Fred."

"Why tonight?" asked Harry.

"There are about sixty of us, Harry," said Remus, "counting me and Fred. Tonight the moon turns full. We'll attack with the dragons, a few dozen Centaurs, and--"

"Full moon?" asked Harry. He picked himself up off the floor and stood. "Full moon? I thought Soseh had given you a potion, given you both one to keep you from turning."

"She did, Harry," answered Remus. "But we haven't taken it during the cycle. There are few creatures on earth that can challenge a vampire. Surrounded by Dementors as they are now, even wizards have little hope of conducting an effective attack. They're a werewolf's natural prey; Dementors and Vampires share a darkness that... How can I put it? Is tasty for a werewolf."

"Better than chocolate, they tell me," added Fred, with an eerie gleam in his eye.

"Besides the dragons," added Remus, "only one creature can break through both defences. Dakhil discussed it with me some time ago and we both agreed - we needed a werewolf army. I couldn't convince most, but I've convinced enough."

"Sixty doesn't make an army, Remus," said Harry, stepping closer. "Sixty is a snack."

"What you say is true, Harry - werewolf blood is prized among the vampires. Still, I think our adversaries will be surprised," said Remus with quiet confidence. "Yes, we could have more in our number, but even with Arthur as Minister, the distrust of my kind runs deep."

"Our kind, Remus! And they'll be more than surprised," snapped Fred. "They'll be bloody petrified!"

"Well," said Harry sardonically, "bloody anyway."

The bandages wrapping his face were hot and heavy and he was only just able to resist the temptation to rip them off so that he could scratch the itch that was growing stronger by the minute. He placed both his hands flat against the firm bed, curling the covers in his fingers as they balled up into fists. Without looking up, he took in a breath and swallowed.

"Remus... Fred... You need to understand everything. Lucius Malfoy isn't a vampire. The scouts... what they saw down on the mountainside this morning... It may have looked like Lucius, but it wasn't. Yeah, he's been taken over alright, but not by a vampire. His spirit has been consumed by Voldemort. Lucius is Voldemort." He turned to face them. "Sixty werewolves, sixty dragons, sixty of anything... it won't be enough." Hearing Harry's words, Remus stepped forward and placed a hand warmly about Harry's neck.

"No, Harry," he said. "No, it won't be enough. But then, it never was. That's why we have you."