Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 21 - Family

~~~***~~~

The balls Harry had been juggling in the air began to crash down to the floor. One by one, precious orb by precious orb, each and every ball was being sundered. No sooner had he plugged the dyke with one finger than a new spout of water burst forth from somewhere else. And all around, in every direction, those he loved, those who loved him were dying. Now, they had the only person he truly loved.

"I DIDN'T WANT THIS BLOODY WAR!"

Harry flung his cup of tea against the stone wall and it smashed to pieces, shards tinkling to the ground, and drips of brown liquid streaking the wall. Sirius drew his wand cleaned the mess, reassembled the cup and levitated it back down on the table in front of Harry.

"Well, that's too damn bad now, isn't it?" Sirius poured more tea into Harry's cup. "A little sugar?" he asked. Harry clenched both his fists and looked up at his uncle.

"Yes, please," he said through gritted teeth. Sirius dropped a teaspoonful into Harry's cup and the spoon began to stir by itself as he sat back down across from Harry.

"We've been over this a thousand times, Harry. There's nothing you could have done."

"You sat right there last summer, Sirius, and told me, warned me not to listen to him." Harry donned his best Sirius-like voice. "'The time will come when he asks you to do something you know in your heart is wrong. When he does, talk to me.' Well, I didn't talk to you first, did I? And now Molly Weasley's dead, the Ministry despises me, Lucius Malfoy's Death Eaters have Gabriella, and Voldemort is out there looking for my son so he can... Merlin only knows what. NOTHING I COULD HAVE DONE?" Harry's fist wrapped around his cup and he began to lift it once again.

"Ah, ah, ah!" chimed Sirius, waving his finger back and forth, and then tapping it to the table. Harry put the cup down. "You know it was your father that was always the calming influence on me." He began to smile. "Once Peter..." He paused as his eyes grew distant. "Never mind." Sirius took a sip of tea.

"I can't just sit here and do nothing," said a very frustrated Harry.

"That's exactly the attitude that nearly cost me my life," Sirius answered. "A little thought, a little patience. Cho and Anthony and Jamie will be safe here with me. No one knows there here and if they did they still wouldn't know how to get in. I think you'll make an excellent Secret Keeper, and the spell you cast on the castle to make it unplottable... Well, you didn't learn that at Hogwarts."

"I don't know," said Harry, pondering the flashes of skill that had penetrated his being since the Joining. "It just came to me."

"As for Gabriella," said Sirius, "the entire Order is out looking for her, Harry. Until they get a lead, there's nothing you can do."

"I can talk to Draco."

"After what he's done? He can cool his arse for a few more days." Harry slouched back in his chair.

What had Draco done? Had he planned the whole thing? Was he somehow behind Gabriella's capture? Did he intend for Harry to be ambushed at the Ministry? It was Draco, after all that had suggested the cloak be used as a Horcrux, but to what end?

"Two steps ahead," Harry whispered.

"What's that?" Sirius asked.

"I've only been thinking two steps ahead," Harry answered. "You were right; I need to be thinking four more. Only, I can't." Harry's fingers began to tap against the table top. "But I know someone who can." Sirius leaned forward.

"Harry, you can't go there today... not today. Besides, you won't be able to get within miles of the Borough. The Ministry will have the place surrounded. Maybe after the holiday, when they go back to Hogwarts--"

"I can't wait!" Harry snapped. "You know what they're doing to her right now, don't you? You know! You saw his handiwork with the Longbottoms! If it wasn't for Ron..." Harry's hand slammed the table and he stood. "When the three of us are together... I don't know, the fog clears."

"You can't Apparate in, and they'll have every entrance guarded," Sirius asserted.

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. He hadn't tried his skills as a Metamorphmagus since summer and he'd only done Ron twice. Catching the right shade of red was particularly difficult. Carefully, he focussed on his best friend. It lasted some five minutes - black to red, a stretch of a few inches, a bit deeper voice, and a strong need for more socks. Looking at a redheaded Harry in clothes a full size too small for him, Sirius had to smile.

"I don't suppose you're going dressed like that."

"Guess I forgot," Harry answered sheepishly.

"Yeah... you can't even think one step ahead," said Sirius rolling his eyes. "Maybe you're right after all. Grab one of the black robes out of my closet and be off with yeh." Harry nodded and turned toward Sirius' room.

"And, Harry, if you get a wild hair to put your neck in another noose, let me know before they tighten the knot, okay." Harry nodded again.

"Promise?" asked Sirius.

"Promise," Harry answered. Once again he turned toward the corridor only this time he stopped himself and turned back toward Sirius. "Christmas," he said looking at the decorations Sirius had strung, as best he could, about the walls. "It's a time to be with family. Cho should be with her brother at St. Mungo's. I should be here with you."

"And little Jamie?" Sirius asked.

"Life is never what we plan, is it Sirius?"

"No, Harry. No, it's not." Sirius rose from his chair and walked over to Harry putting his arms about his godson. He sighed and looked into Harry's freckled face. "I think maybe, with a little thought, you might make your family's Christmas a bit brighter." He ruffled Harry's red hair. "Say, 'Hi,' to your brother for me."

For a moment Harry didn't understand, but then he whispered, "Bloody hell." He ran down the corridor his pants three inches too short. Sirius chuckled, poured himself another cup of tea and wandered down the corridor to find Cho, Anthony and Jamie.

Pulling off his over-tight shirt in Sirius' room, a cold shiver passed through Harry. It took him a minute to realize that it was a ghost, one of the many that haunted the castle. It was a young man, dressed in a tunic.

"I don't recall... wait... a disguise. You're the Potter boy aren't you?" Harry glared at the ghost.

"I'm no boy," said Harry, his eyes filled with fire. The ghost's chuckle was soft and whispery.

"Child, I have walked these grounds for over three thousand years, this castle for the last five hundred. To my eyes, to Helena's you are all children." He moved closer, reaching out his hand to Harry's shoulder. "Is it true what she says?" His hand touched Harry's bare shoulder. It was ice, but substantial, rough and calloused, and Harry instinctively jerked away.

"Ho, Ho!" cried the ghost. "Helena was right! You walk the precipice then?"

"Precipice?" asked Harry, slipping on Sirius' robe.

"The knife-edge between this plane and the next, life and... death. Some part of you has died, the rest has cheated death. The part of you that has died lingers with its living self; it has no choice. But it yearns to return to the golden light... to find its way home. Can you not feel it?"

"That's ridiculous," said Harry dismissively. He turned and found nearly a dozen ghosts gathering a round staring at him. They all were smiling as if looking at a new born baby in a bassinet.

"What are you staring at?!" Harry snapped.

"Perhaps once in an age, does one such as yourself appear."

"So?"

The gathering ghosts laughed. Then, they began to hum; it was a slow soft buzzing that built itself into a chant. Each recited a different language, but in Harry's mind they sang in unison with a common tongue that, somehow, he knew they had hummed for centuries.

The golden light shall always call

its wayward children home.

Yet those who ill chose found the fall,

remain adrift, alone.

Till comes the day a new sun born,

when dragon wakes the world

and all the darkness deep be torn,

and coming light unfurled.

We wait the day the dragon comes,

one blind who regains sight.

We wait the day the dragon comes

to guide us to the light.

"My child, those you see around you have been trapped in this plane of existence for centuries, regretting each moment the decision they made on the day of their death, each searching for the blind dragon that would lead us from our folly. Only now are we sure. Only now do we have hope. Through you, when the new sun is born, we have the chance to answer the question again... to pass into the next plane, to die utterly."

"I haven't time for this nonsense," said Harry, pulling his wand.

"Over the last hundred years, ghosts have gathered to this spot never truly understanding why, never knowing what called them. The answer has now been revealed - they have waited for you - the blind dragon that sees again."

"You're crazy and I have to go." Harry raised his wand preparing to Disapparate.

"You mustn't put yourself at risk!" said the ghost with concern. "If the rest of you were to die, there would be no hope for those here."

"Not to worry. I have no intention of dying." Indeed, he focused his mind on much happier thoughts. There was a snap - Harry had Disapparated.

When he reappeared, the air was just as moist but far more frigid. The sun was still high in the sky, casting a myriad of shadows through the leafless trees above. There was a thin dusting of snow on the ground and all about him the trees rose like skyscrapers, reaching for the heavens. He loved this countryside, he always had and having his eyesight back made it just that much more beautiful. For a moment he just looked about taking in the scenery, wishing that he could just... he reached down and made a small snowball in the palms of his hands. Smiling down at the white orb, he heard a distant snap in the trees to his left. An Apparation? A stick? He dropped the snowball and pulled his wand.

He squinted, but saw nothing. Then, he closed his eyes and reached further. Even with his mind's eye, searching for an aura of life ahead, he could not distinguish anything through the brightness of the living trees. Shrugging, he slipped his wand away and made for the road that led to the Borough. He walked for about ten minutes when he found the road. He cast a quick spell, cleaning the snow and debris from the bottom of his robes. He could see up ahead three, no four wizards certainly part of the Ministry, guarding the roads leading to the Borough, protecting the Weasley family from interruption on what must surely be a sad Christmas holiday. Once more, he concentrated on his metamorphosis, making sure that every feature was the image of his best friend, Ron Weasley.

As he moved forward, he noticed that the wizards were wearing black, not the normal Ministerial purple that Mr. Weasley's guards would normally wear. Probably in honour of Mrs. Weasley's death, Harry thought. Believing it would look awkward for Ron to try to sneak by, Harry decided it best to simply walk forward with his head up as if he had nothing to hide.

"There," one of the guards ahead cried out, pointing at Harry. "Right there!" Two others turned toward Harry.

"It's one of the Weasley boys!" one shouted. Harry smiled to himself. His disguise was working.

"Take him down," another barked out with a gruff, commanding voice.

"Immobulus!" cried the guard nearest the Ronald Weasley look-alike. Harry didn't understand. Why were they attacking him? He had no time to draw his wand. Instead he held out his hand, hoping that if he focused hard enough...

"Áreddotu!" he commanded and the beam reflected back to the sender, freezing him where he stood. The quiet afternoon air suddenly filled with a blaze of beams from the remaining three wizards, all attacking Harry. But before even the second spell, a stunner, flew threw the air, Harry had his wand at the ready and began to deflect them as best he could. The reflected beams crashed into trees, cracking some in two and starting fires in others. Soon the nearby forest was ablaze and a black billowing smoke rose to the dusty blue sky above.

Off to Harry's left, another wizard in black robes appeared as Harry continued to press forward. A beam of blue light flew towards Harry who directed it skyward with a shield charm; it exploded into a canopy of blue sparkles like a Filibuster Firework. All of Harry's spells to this point were defensive, and then he came to the wizard that was prone on the ground, the one that cast the first spell. Dangling down around his neck was a mask - the mask of a Death Eater. Death Eater? Harry looked ahead at one of the other attackers. He too had his mask down about his neck. Evidently, they'd removed them to take in the sun's warmth on the cold, winter day.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Had Voldemort's men, or Malfoy's, taken the Borough as they had done the year before? Last year the Weasley home had been vacant, but this year... this year... his friends... his family! Harry began to attack.

He felled two almost at once with a stunning spell. Diving down low to avoid another stunner from the front, a slashing hex sliced across his left shoulder leaving a nasty gash; he screamed in pain as the wizard to his left laughed. It was the last sound he made. Harry spun and took that wizard down, leaving only the two in front of him. Pulling from the lessons he'd learned from Greg Goyle, Harry sent a broad, powerful stunner toward the pair. It blasted both backward to the ground. Harry pressed forward along the muddy roadway, wand held firmly in front. One wizard stayed down, while the other rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Incarcerous!" shouted Harry. Ropes wrapped about the prone wizard, but the other deflected the spell.

"You're too young to be the older boy," the wizard in front asserted breathlessly, his wand held at the ready. "The one that plays with dragons." He Disapparated and re-apparated to Harry's right, near the trees, casting a stunner that flew wide.

"You're too skilled with a wand to be the young one," the wizard argued wisely. Again he Disapparated and re-apparated this time back towards the road. "Incendio!" he called. Had Harry not been a member of the Votary, trained to withstand fire, he'd have most certainly been incinerated. Instead, the flames wrapped about his body like loving snakes. Harry simply pointed his wand forward, toward his adversary, and the flames flew back toward him, encircling him like snapping piranha. He began to scream and Disapparated once more.

There was a SNAP to Harry's left; this time Harry was ready, sending a particularly strong stunning spell in the direction of... purple robes. The wizard flew backward and crumpled to the ground.

"Oh, no," Harry whispered and he ran toward the fallen wizard from the Ministry. He looked down to see the wizard, a man Harry recognized from the Hogwarts Express earlier in the year - the same wizard Harry had felled during the Dementor attack.

"Oh, no."

Almost immediately, the air filled with the crackling of popcorn. Harry ignored the sound to see if the man before him needed assistance, but before he could even place a hand on the wizard's chest the air crackled and everything went black.

As he began to regain consciousness, he noticed he was being jerkily jangled about like so much loose change in someone's pocket. He was being carried; they were running. They were arguing in hushed whispers.

"I'm not the one who just blasted the Minister's son!"

"It was an accident! I thought--"

"You thought wrong! The boy sends out a distress flare and you go in wands blazing."

"Would you two just stop arguing?" It was a female voice. "Get the boy inside; I need to get the others to see if there are more of Malfoy's men than those Ron took down. Incredible! He takes out five Death Eaters and our own man shoots him in the back."

"I said it was--" There was a pop and she was gone. Harry, still looking like Ron Weasley, began to stir. His head was pounding, his left shoulder aching.

"Hey, I... I--"

"Stay still, Ron; there's a good lad."

"Yes, son, best not to speak."

Harry opened his eyes. They had just passed the wooden fence that skirted the front of the Weasley home. Harry had never seen it in such good repair. They headed up the front steps, when another wizard in purple robes opened the front door. Behind him was Hermione Granger. For an instant, Harry met eye to eye with her, and in that instant he revealed one of those eyes as a flash of green. She gasped, covering her mouth.

"What's going on?" asked the wizard.

"It's the youngest Weasley boy," replied one of the men carrying Harry. "He was ambushed just down the road. He took down a few Death Eaters with him by the looks of things."

"Ron?" questioned the wizard at the door. "I just saw him not twenty minutes ago... upstairs in his room reading a--"

"Erm, he left for a walk," interrupted Hermione. "All the stress... he needed to get away."

"He should know better. Wait until his father finds out." Harry noticed Hermione quietly slip away.

"He was hit with a neuropathy jinx," said the wizard that had struck Harry from behind. "Best that we get the cobwebs cleared before he--"

"How can you be so sure? That's a very complex spell. Besides yourself, only a very few--"

"Look, I know okay!" the wizard snapped irritably.

"Yeah, you know all right," muttered the other.

"Let's just get him inside, okay?"

As they moved him into the house, the sound of wand fire could be heard off into the distance. Evidently, Harry had stumbled across only one group of what was to be a combined attack. Once inside, Harry was taken to a small room just off the kitchen. His legs began to tingle. He didn't remember this room being here before. It was a small medical suite used for treating minor injuries. He was placed on a tall, hard bed and the wizard that had greeted them at the door began to examine him.

"That's a nasty gash." He bathed it in blue light, and then reached into one of the cabinets. "Here, drink this." He handed Harry a potion and, though his hand was shaking badly, Harry drank it down. The tingling in his legs stopped as did the pounding in his head. "It's good they got you here while you could still drink. Potions always treat neuropathy better than spells." Harry began to sit up, but the wizard pushed him back down.

"Best if you rest a bit, Ron. I'll go get your father." Harry dropped his head back down as the wizard left the room. Half a heartbeat later, Hermione slipped in quietly and walked over to his side.

"Harry?" she asked uncertainly. He smiled, shakily.

"Not quite how I planned it," he said using his own voice.

"Your eyes... one's turning green again." She touched the side of his face which was still grimy from falling face first into the mud.

"I needed to see you guys," said Harry, rising to a seated position. "I couldn't wait and I thought--" The door opened and in walked Ron.

"What in Merlin's-- whoa!" Ron yelped, seeing his own likeness. Slowly, he closed the door behind him, and then stepped over for a closer look. "Harry?"

"Who's that?" exclaimed Harry, grasping Hermione by the hand. "What have you been doing behind my back, Hermione?"

"I... I didn't know, love," said Hermione, clinging to Harry's arm.

"You can't be serious," said Ron. The two just stared at him blankly. "I mean... I'm Ron, right?"

Harry and Hermione began to laugh and Harry transformed back into himself - Sirius' robes growing large for his smaller frame.

"You!" Ron snorted, poking Harry on his good shoulder. "I should--"

"We've got to get him upstairs," interrupted Hermione. "Quick, swap clothes."

"But--"

"Just do it!"

The two swapped clothes, Ron's jeans dropping down about Harry's waste. Hermione ruffled Ron's hair and wiped some mud from one of Harry's boots onto his face.

"Pretend you don't remember a thing," said Hermione.

"I don't know what you're talking about," complained Ron.

"Perfect," asserted Hermione. She spun toward Harry. "Now... erm, do you think you could become Percy? He didn't want to be here for Christmas."

"I... I don't think so," stammered Harry nervously. "I can't really copy someone I haven't... someone I don't know well. Not exactly."

"Here then," she grabbed a large blue towel and put it about his head and shoulders. "Just pick some other face then... well, other than yours, and let's get you upstairs. There have been all sorts of folks through here, paying their respects. But the guards have been told to keep a special eye out for you." She sighed, saddened. "Ron, I'll be back in just a minute."

The commotion outside the house had drawn all those inside to the front door. Even Ginny was plastered against one of the front windows wondering what was going on. Quickly, Hermione and Harry made their way up the stairs to where Ron's room was. She sat Harry down on the bed.

"There," she said, "no one ever bothers to look up here. Only Mrs. We--" She stopped herself. "Hey, are you... alright?" The expression Harry gave her was the one she'd expected. He was not alright; he was in pain and not from any physical injury. "I understand. Look, just rest a bit and I'll get Ron up here as soon as I can." She started for the door, then stopped. "Are you hungry?" Harry shook his head, no, and Hermione nodded. "It won't be too long," she said softly and left the room, gently closing the door behind her.

Harry let out a long slow sigh as he looked about the room. It hadn't changed much from the first day he came to visit the Borough. He remembered arguing with Ron about Quidditch. Somehow, life seemed simpler then, but really it wasn't. Life had never been simple for Harry, nor had it ever been simple for those near him. He stood and walked over to a photograph that hung on the wall near a Cannons poster. In the frame, the family was trying to stand for the photographer, but Fred and George had smoke billowing out of their ears. Mrs. Weasley was furious and kept trying to smack them to stop. She missed every time. Harry smiled as a tear ran down the right side of his face. He wiped it away with his hand and noticed the scar on his right forearm - the mark of the dragon. Staring at the mark, he turned his back to the wall and slid down to the floor.

"What good have I been?" he asked defiantly. "A magnet for death everywhere I go. Why me, Soseh?" He dropped his hands to the floor and wrapped his fingers around a pile of dirty clothes laying there, squeezing them tightly in his fists. He looked over toward the open window. The sound of wandfire had silenced. Whatever threat there was had been defeated. Harry continued to whisper to the mother of his girlfriend, trying to find the meaning of it all. The back of his head banged against the wall with a thud.

"They've all died because of me, and now your daughter's in Malfoy's hands. If she's even still alive." He looked around the room, his eyes misting over. Near Ron's bed was a picture of Ron and Hermione glaring at each other and then suddenly breaking out in laughter followed by a kiss and an embrace. "Why am I here?" Harry muttered, his heart beginning to beat faster. He was putting them in danger once again. It was all a mistake, every bit of it - a grand, cosmic error in the machinery. He had to leave.

Harry stood to his feet and tried to Disapparate. Vision... Pathway... He couldn't create the pathway. Something was blocking him. "Of course it's blocked," he chided himself. "I'll need to leave the--" The door opened and in came Ron and Hermione. Ron had a bottle in his hand filled with some sort of potion.

"Hey, mate," he said, holding up the bottle.

"Hey. Erm, I'm... I'm sorry," said Harry. "This was a mistake. I need to go." Hermione looked at Ron, and he at her. Was Ron reading her mind? Then Ron looked back to Harry.

"Not so fast," he said. "They wanted me to drink this, but I expect it's best if you--"

"I'm fine," Harry cut in sharply. "I just need to--"

"You're a bloody crank is what you are. Well... at least that's normal." Harry glared back at Ron.

"Go on, Harry," encouraged Hermione. "Drink the potion; your brain's been addled and the neuropathy hex requires two doses." Ron held it up again and this time Harry took it.

"This is stupid," Harry said, shaking his head and offering the bottle back, "I shouldn't have come here. You... you need to be with your family." Harry's voice was shaky and he could not hold Ron's gaze. "I... I need to go." Ron did not take the bottle in return.

"Look, Harry," he said, "just drink the gunk."

"If you have to go," added Hermione, "it'll help you keep your wits along the way."

Harry held up the bottle containing a brown, burping liquid.

"Did they have to make it look so vile?" he asked with a squeamish face.

"Go on," said Hermione. "It's the only way I could get them to let Ron come up to his room. I have to show them he's drunk it down, or they'll be up here snooping around."

"Fine. I drink this... I go... you have a Happy Christmas... or at least... I mean... ah, crap." Harry gulped the thick liquid in one swig and then handed the bottle back to Hermione. "There you go," he said. "Tell them Ron finished his medicine and is feeling f--" The room turned a bit and Harry reached out, taking Ron by the arm.

"What is it, mate?" Ron asked with a bit of slyness in his eyes.

Harry tried to speak. In fact, he was speaking; only the words he was saying didn't make any sense. Even Harry knew he was speaking gibberish. He pointed to the bed, but it was too late. He collapsed to the floor. Ron took one side and Hermione the other and they lifted Harry onto Ron's bed. Everything was growing foggier and foggier - the sounds in the room more distant. Before everything faded to nothingness he heard Ron say...

"You were right, Hermione; he was going to bolt. Blimey, it's Christmas, Harry. It's a time to be with family. Don't you get it? You're right where you need to be."