Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 20 - Aftermath

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She was laughing at him - a joyous, playful laugh that was one part teasing, one part humour, and all of it provocative. It was the kind of laugh that makes a young man smile back even when he doesn't want to, the kind of laugh that makes the tips of the ears turn red, the cheeks flush, and that little spot, somewhere near the stomach, twist into a tiny knot wondering if maybe... maybe tonight.... It was the kind of laugh that made Harry remember why he had loved her, why he had--

He was laughing at him - a giggly, unbridled laugh, as he jumped all about in the tall green grass beneath a clear blue sky and a brilliant yellow sun. It was the kind of laugh that made one want to laugh along, to dance and play. The kind of laugh that said, "I love you Dad!" and brought Harry to his knees for a hug and a kiss.

They were, all of them, barefoot, running and playing in the summer's heat, splashing through the cool stream that wound its way about the top of the meadow. Faster! Faster! They ran, giggling, to where the hill turned sharply down, stopped and looked over the edge - a smooth grassy incline that plunged perhaps twenty metres before it flattened out into another meadow bursting with golden flowers.

Jamie dropped to the ground stretched his legs straight and pulled his hands in close to his chest. Roll with me, daddy! I'll race you down! Harry grinned and fell to the grass. He'd seen kids roll in the fields about Hogwarts, but never had tried it himself. As a child in Little Whinging he never had the chance to do anything outdoors, especially if it might have been enjoyable. He pulled in his arms and began to roll.

The tall grass was soft and whisked at his face with each twirl, round and round, down the hill. He could hear Jamie laughing, louder and more boisterous than ever before. With a flash and a spin, Harry glanced at his son, seeing joy and happiness, a smile that would melt the coolest of hearts, and... red eyes.

Harry spun once round and looked again. The boy's laughter grew more shrill, high and cold, but the face looked flattened, snakelike. He tried to reach out, to stop himself from spinning, but his arms wouldn't move. They were pinned to his chest as tightly as his legs were held straight. Faster, Daddy, Faster!

It was as if a giant snake had wrapped itself about Harry's entire body; its enormous coils constricting as he continued to roll, spinning uncontrollably down a hill that had no end. The grass was whipping at his face, tearing at his eyes. He tried, but he could no longer see his son. But the high, cold voice remained. Are you dizzy, Daddy? The sky had grown dark and cold, and the world shuddered as the earth beneath Harry gave way. He began to plummet downward into the abyss.

Harry woke, each corner of the room spinning about in a different direction. His arms flung out as he grabbed hold of the linens covering his bed, clutching them for dear life, trying to steady himself and regain a sense that he was no longer falling, no longer trapped in the nightmare - the first he'd had of Voldemort since last year. Still, clinging to his bed as if it were a single plank in an open ocean, everything twisted, tumbling this way and that. He... he couldn't help it. His stomach turning in knots, he retched out onto his bed, onto the wall, onto the floor.

"Merlin, Harry!"

His body began to shake, and the nausea swelled up once more exploding out of him. He wanted to stand, to hold on to something more tangible than a flimsy bed pad, but he couldn't; he was so weak he could barely lift his arms enough to turn his head to one side. It was worse than his hangover after Duncan's last party in Little Whinging.

"The potion, by the bed, see if you can get him to take a swallow."

A hand reached out... a blue vile. Harry recoiled.

"Come on, mate, just one swallow. Marek knows what he's talking about."

"F-Fred?" Harry asked weakly. The redheaded wizard, standing in front of him, pulled his wand and cleaned the bed and the floor with a flick of his wrist.

"Damn, Harry, when will you learn that I am so much better looking than my furry brother? Besides... he drools."

"George?"

"Spot on, now take a swig."

Harry turned his head and let George pour the blue liquid into his mouth. He swallowed, and almost immediately the nausea passed. Remnants of the weakness wracking his body still remained.

"Better?"

Harry looked up at George and found a big, toothy grin. He looked over to the corner of the room and found Marek, standing near a small wooden desk, smiling. Beside him, hanging from the wall was a black cloak - Voldemort's cloak.

"Bad dream?" Marek asked.

"Something like that. I thought--"

Harry gasped. A blue vile. A toothy grin. He could see Marek smiling at him. He could see George's red hair. Blinking, Harry reached up toward his eyes.

"Oh, no," said Marek, gently holding Harry's arm. "Best not to touch for a few days. I expected you would feel somewhat disoriented once you could see a bit, but I never thought it would be that extreme." Harry was silent, looking about the room - the sheets were white, stained with splotches of dried blood, and there was the wooden table in the far corner. He'd sensed that before, before the battle, but never noticed the carving on its front face - a dragon gilded in gold.

"Well, go on. What do you see? Blurs? Images? Flashes of dark and light?"

"I... I see everything. You... you are George. I thought maybe Fred... Fred! Is he okay? Is he--?"

"He's getting his things together right now," interrupted George. "We need to get him home. I think you know why." Harry simply nodded. "The boys about here say you had a pretty hefty hand in seeing my brother to safety, the pigheaded brute." The flap on the door flew open and in walked George's twin.

"Pigheaded?" he squealed. "I'm not pigheaded! I eat pig-heads for snacks. Now you, dear brother... yes, just looking at your face make's me salivate." Fred started to make lapping sounds as he stepped closer to George. Harry wanted to smile, but he couldn't. His eyes were scratchy and his vision began to blur - not because of any relapse, but because of the tears beginning to well within them. He did indeed know why George had come to fetch his brother: their mother's funeral.

"So, where's Charlie?" Fred asked. "I thought he was going to bring the portkey and check in on the dragons."

"Probably met some German witch in a pub on his way over here," answered George.

"I think his tastes lean more... French, don't you?"

"Oooh, la, la."

There was a brief silence, and then Harry swallowed hard and asked, "How'd I get here?"

"You don't remember?" asked Marek. Harry shook his head. "Well, the way Antreas described it, after he and his forces arrived at the clearing, the enemy began to run. It was as if someone simply popped a balloon. Whatever bluster the enemy had, whatever drove them to attack, disappeared.

"You began to heal the injured, Muggle and Wizard alike. Igneus saw that the battle was over and landed on the field. Everyone screamed when he breathed fire onto you, but your face didn't even turn red. Instead, it looked like you had new life and you began to heal like a madman. There were thirty near death, including Fred there, and you saved nearly every one."

"Nearly?" asked Harry, holding his hand over his chest, just above the Heart of Asha.

"I'm sorry Harry, but Mikael didn't make it. They had to pull you off when it was clear you were using up your own life force. You'd have both been dead." An image of Mikael's face flashed across Harry's mind and along with it a memory of frustration. He had to use his own life energy, not that of the stone. The stone's power may not be used for members of the Votary. It is forbidden. Harry could remember reaching further and further to find Mikael's life force, but it had passed into the next plane. He'd paused between those two planes, wondering if perhaps he could move beyond and still bring him back. You can't bring back the dead. It was the last thing he remembered, standing on a grassy plane, looking toward the light. It was just before he found himself locked in a dream with Cho and Jamie.

"How long have I been out?"

"About eight hours," answered Fred. "We just had lunch."

"Is that how all the Weasleys tell time? By what meal it is?"

"Yeah, pretty much," said George. This was followed by an awkward silence. There was now one less Weasley and, at least in Harry's mind, it was all Harry's fault. He wanted to tell them how it happened, but he couldn't find the words. Marek broke the stillness.

"Word of the battle got out as soon as the cloud of Dementors lifted," he said. "The Minister in Britain asked immediately for news of the situation and the status of his son. We told him the battle had been won, but his son was in no condition to climb down the mountain to where he could Apparate."

"A bit of a doctor's over protection I'd say," chimed in Fred.

"So George and Charlie were to come with a portkey and retrieve their brother."

"And in all honesty," added George, seemingly concerned, "he shouldn't have been that far behind me. He said he was going to take care of a few things with dad."

"Well he's not much of a climber," said Fred. "Now if there was a damsel in distress here at the compound, maybe then--" Again, the front flap of the tent flew open; it was Charlie.

"Geesh," he said with a winded gasp. "There you are." His face was flush and sweat was dripping from his brow. "I didn't see you the whole way up. I was only a few minutes behind. Why didn't you wait?" he asked George, and then his eyes narrowed. "You don't seem too winded, having just climbed for an hour." George bore a mock look of surprise, which instantly drew a scowl on Charlie's face; he knew a rat when he saw his brother. "There's no WAY you apparated here; it can't be done."

"OH! That's right," George said. "We were going to hike together from the lower perimeter. I... I guess I forgot." George stood, reaching to the corner behind him and grabbing his broom. "I thought it might be easier if I just flew up." Charlie looked like he was ready to explode. "Sorry. I didn't think you'd want to hitch a ride."

"Why you little--"

"Now, I'll have none of that in here," interrupted Marek. Charlie stopped and pulled his wand back, giving Marek a courteous, quick nod of the head.

"Right, sir." Regaining his composure, the older Weasley wiped his forehead, but still gave George a look of pure fire. Then his eyes fell on Harry who immediately looked away.

"Hi, Harry," said the elder Weasley. "Good to see you're well." Harry said nothing in return. He was afraid that if he spoke it would all dribble out in a blubbering mess.

"Gents," said Charlie, "do you mind if I have a word with Harry alone?"

Marek and, after some cajoling, Fred and George finally departed, leaving Charlie and Harry to themselves.

"So... I see your eyes are better," Charlie began. Harry blinked, still not able to hold George's gaze.

"Yeah," Harry answered quietly with a thin sigh, "a bit better." Charlie pulled up a chair next to Harry's bed.

"Once I get Fred back, there's going to be a service for Mum - with full Ministerial pageantry. Dad never wanted to be Minister; I think maybe because he knew that the day would come when... one of us... Well, we can't always have peace, can we?" George wiped his eyes with his sleeve and took a deep breath. "There's... there's a part of Dad that doesn't want you within ten kilometres of him..." Harry nodded that he understood, "...and a part of him that wants to hold you closer than the rest of us." Harry looked up and George took his hand; both their eyes were wet. "Harry, you're a member of the family. You were as much a son to Mum as I was and we want you at the service."

"We?" asked Harry pointedly, but Charlie dodged the question.

"Look, if Marek says you're well enough, will you come with us? The portkey can take us all." Harry shook his head.

"I... I don't think that--"

"Damn it, Harry! Don't be as stubborn as... just say yes. We'll figure out the rest later."

Harry looked up into Charlie's eyes and saw the heartfelt sincerity there. Since his accident on the pitch, he'd missed that ability, the ability to look into the windows of a wizard's soul and know if the words and the emotions matched. Reading auras he could discern, to some extent, truth from lie, but the subtle shades of desire, the intricate patterns of joy and sorrow, those were hidden in the eyes. He could see them all playing about Charlie's face and knew that he should join them.

He was about to say he'd go when he remembered the battle, the green smoke, his son.

"Cho," he whispered suddenly, almost in a panic. "I- I've got to see Cho."

"That's where we're going first," said Charlie. Harry was confused; why would they be going to France? Charlie continued.

"I just saw her this morning with Anthony Goldstein at St. Mungo's."

"Anthony? Is he--?"

"He's fine. He's in the same room with Ron. Ron should be released today and from there we can Apparate to the Borough. Anthony should get out in a few days, hopefully before Christmas." Charlie continued to sit as Harry sat up with some urgency and put his legs over the edge of the bed. Charlie smiled. "Cho was holding a baby boy. I guess the two of them... well, you know."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry standing up and slowly walking over to his clothes that were folded on the table.

"Then we're on?" asked Charlie.

"We're on."

Harry dressed and then folded the black cloak over his arm, as the two went out into the large cavern. Harry had expected to see it filled with injured, but there were only a handful of wizards and the few of them were simply standing about talking. Katana was speaking with Antreas and other members of the Votary. Visually, she was more striking than ever. Dakhil, however, was no where to be found. When she saw Harry, she walked over to greet him. She put her arms around him and pulled him close with a hug that nearly broke Harry's back.

"Well done," she said simply. "I now understand." Just as she let go, Antreas who was only a few paces behind her embraced Harry about the shoulders, thankfully less forcefully.

"How is Singehorn?" Harry asked. "And Talisan?"

"Fine," Antreas said with a smile. "They are both fine. Singehorn is finally well enough and began his journey to the East this morning. Creatures around the world, not just Dementors and Centaurs, are using the return of Ebyrth to ignite old hatreds. The war it seems is spreading, and the old ties must be rekindled among the dragon families."

"And Dakhil?"

"Resting. For the first time in days the sun is shining brightly. We are, all of us, somewhat tired."

"Just one more thing left to do," said Harry. "I need this stored in the rookery, against the west wall where it will be safe."

"The rookery?" Antreas asked as Harry handed him the cloak.

"Conceal it near the corner to look like the large black granite stone."

"I know the one, but--"

"It's important that it stay safe, that it stay hidden. The dragons will guard the rookery until the last of their fire fails. And Antreas... don't tell Dakhil." Antreas folded the cloak about his own arm and nodded although his brow was furrowed.

"Very well, Primate," he said with a nod. He glanced at Charlie and then back to Harry. "You're leaving us then?" he asked and Harry nodded.

"Yes, Antreas, as you say there are other battles to be won." A grin split across Antreas' face.

"Perhaps you face one with my sister for risking your neck again."

"And yours," added Harry with his own smile.

"It is good to see the gleam in your eyes once more." Antreas stepped closer and put his arm about Harry. "I have to say that your healing work was miraculous at the base of the mountain, choosing to heal all rather than just your own soldiers, even those... Muggles. Mother was right to bestow upon you the stone. Your passion for life... well, it was something my father was once known for; he would have been proud. And if one day the stars so choose, I can think of no other that I would rather call brother." He smiled as Harry's face reddened.

"Well," said Charlie, "the family's growing bigger by the minute." He called for Fred and George to come over as he pulled out a bag that held the portkey, an old leather football that had deflated. Before they all took hold Harry looked back at Antreas.

"Whatever the future, Antreas, we will always be brothers."

With a tug and a flash they were whizzing their way to St. Mungo's. The way things were spinning, Harry almost wished he hadn't had his eyesight back, but before he could regret it too much it was over. They landed with a thud on a dark marble floor veined with flecks of gold; Harry had come to despise that stone. Harry fell to one knee while the others remained on their feet.

"Thank Merlin! I was beginning to worry. Is he... Harry!"

Harry looked up to find Hermione looking back at him.

"Your eyes!" she exclaimed. "You can... can you?" Harry nodded as he stood up. Hermione wrapped her arms about him in a great hug, a sad chuckle whispered across his ear. "The darkness and the light. Oh, Harry, it's been madness."

"What do you mean?"

She pulled him away from the others. Still whispering she said, "Arthur's got Draco locked in some Ministry prison, and he aims to see him tried for the murder of his wife."

"That's ridiculous! You were there. Didn't you tell him? Didn't Ron--"

"Yes! But he won't believe us. He thinks we were too stunned to remember properly. Maybe with time we could change his mind, but Draco's confessed."

"Confessed? Confessed to what?"

"To killing Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said miserably. The three Weasley brothers came over to console Hermione.

"It's alright, Hermione," said Charlie who evidently knew already what was afoot. "They'll straighten it all out in the trial."

"What trial?" snapped Fred. "The ferret confessed."

"Draco didn't kill anybody!" yelled Harry. "I was there, remember?" His mind moved back to the scene and his voice grew quiet. "Her hands... her hands were on my shoulders." He reached up as if grasping for the memory of her touch. "I tried to stand in time, to shield her with my body, but... she tried to save me." Harry smiled sadly in warm admiration. "I felt her last breath against my cheek and she died in my arms, crumpling to the floor." Harry began to shiver. "Draco didn't raise his wand against a soul.

"Voldemort killed your mum," he said, looking directly at Fred, "and saying it was a worthless wizard like Draco is an abomination to her memory. Molly Weasley could eat the likes of Draco Malfoy for lunch and spit him out before supper. I've never seen a woman use a wand the way... the way..." He couldn't finish.

"Harry," whispered Hermione, "it gets worse. I need you to come over here and sit down." Harry hesitated. "Please?" George slapped Harry on the shoulder.

"Go on," he said, giving Harry a slight push. "We want to hear this too." Harry acquiesced and sat next to Hermione on a wooden bench. She took him by the hands. In the corridor just outside the Welcoming Hall, wizards and Healers were walking to and fro. Some greeted each other with hugs of joy, others with tears of sorrow. Here death and life battled daily with one another, a delicate balance that had been tossed on its head upon the return of the Dark Lord.

"Now, try to stay calm." Her words were anything but calming.

"Yesterday, Cho came with the baby to visit Anthony," said Hermione. "Everyone believes..." She glanced at the Weasley twins. "Erm... everyone thinks they have a beautiful child."

"Yes," said Harry dismissively. "I don't care what people think. I do need to see Cho right away. Is she still here?" Hermione nodded, gripping Harry's hands a bit more tightly. Fred, George and Charlie were trying to take in Harry's rather rude statement.

"When she arrived at the hospital, she asked where Gabriella was. Evidently the two were to meet here, hoping that they might find you or at least discern your whereabouts. Only, the thing is, Gabriella never showed. She hasn't been seen since she left Cho and Anthony's house in La Mure." Harry moved to stand, but Hermione held firmly to his hands.

"We just got word about an hour ago," she continued. "Lucius Malfoy's men discovered she was your girlfriend and they thought she might buy some leverage. They've taken her and are holding her hostage."

"Where? What do they want?" Harry's words were sharp, tense.

"We don't know where yet," replied Hermione, "but we do know what they want." She paused.

"Well, what is it?" asked Harry. "Give it to them!"

"They want Draco Malfoy." Harry laughed, as a wave of relief passed over him.

"That's easy. He's innocent. Just let him go."

"He's confessed to murdering the Minister's wife."

"This is insane!"

"Dumbledore was here a little while ago," she said. "He met Mr. Weasley in Ron and Anthony's hospital room. I don't know how, but I think he's convinced Mr. Weasley to go ahead with the exchange."

"Then why haven't they--?"

"Draco refuses," cut in Hermione. "He swears he's guilty and must be punished. They tried to use Veritaserum, but he's built up some sort of drug tolerance. It won't work." She took a deep breath.

"Then wrap his arse up and send him to his father with a red bow!" snapped Harry.

"They can't," answered Charlie. "It's Ministerial law. In any prisoner exchange, the prisoner must go willingly. It's to protect those who would go back only to be punished."

"He's not going to be punished!" cried Harry. "His father wants him at his side, or... or..." If Voldemort thought that Draco had set him up for convincing him he needed a third Horcrux... a Horcrux of goodness...

"Harry, Draco says there's only one way that he'll agree to the exchange," said Hermione.

"What's that?" Harry asked, his mind distracted by the possibility that Draco might actually be in trouble.

"He demands to see you."

"Then I'll see him!" Harry snapped. Hermione looked down.

"You can't. The Minister won't allow it, not yet anyway."

"What is this? A madhouse?" Harry yelled. He began to curse, so much so that Fred and George began to clap at some of the more choice words. "YOUR FATHER!" he screamed, pointing a finger at them. "Where is she? Where is Cho?" He started to move down the corridor calling out Cho's name. He'd only gotten a few yards when a security guard noticed the commotion. The guard cast a prettification spell. Harry deflected it with a wave of his hand. "I want to see CHO! CHO!" he called down the corridor.

From behind, another spell came his way, only this time it was too quick, too accurate for him to deflect it. His legs locked and coils of rope curled around his arms, making it impossible to cast a spell. As he fell to the ground, his entire torso turned and he realized who cast the spell.

"Sirius?" he asked in disbelief.

Harry's godfather came and stood over him, one hand wrapped about a large red apple with a singular, toothy bite taken from the middle and the other holding his wand. His eyes were stern, like a father staring down at an unruly son. "Sorry about that, Harry," he said quietly, chewing intermittently on his apple. "But you need some time to get your head on straight. And we don't want to trust that to the gifted Healers here at St. Mungo's now, do we? Nope. I do believe it's time for you to come home."