Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 35 - Light to Darkness

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Tears clouded Harry's eyes as he tried to wind his way through the rock and brush, climbing Ostrý Roháč, Singehorn's Mountain. He was cursing with nearly every step - cursing his fate, cursing his destiny, cursing his stupidity. In his haste to leave, he'd forgotten that he couldn't apparate directly to the dragons' rookery and now found himself at the foothills of the mountain. More inept was his failure to consider the weather. It had been warm near the sea, but here in the mountains separating Slovakia and Poland over two feet of snow blanketed the ground and the skies were threatening more to come. He was fortunate that he had pants and trainers, but his shirt was just a cotton gauze that covered the velveteen fabric, dressing Harry's chest wounds. He'd forgotten completely about bringing a jacket or coat. It was so cold that the tears rolling down his cheeks were beginning to freeze.

"No time," he muttered to himself, plodding through the snow and pondering what fate might have befallen his godfather Sirius just before he'd disapparated. If he'd taken the time to think things through, he could have checked on Sirius, would have thought ahead enough to wear proper clothes, would have taken a broom as George had done and would, even now, be at the top of the mountain retrieving Voldemort's cloak. Instead, in advocating the need for haste, Sirius was somehow hurt, Harry was freezing, and he was now forced to climb by foot the very path that he had taken when he first met the dragon - a process that would take half a day even in the best of conditions. And then, of course, there was Gabriella.

"Second Pravus!" he spat, thinking of her last words. "B-Bitch! I'm going to s-save the whole b-bloody world!" His teeth began to chatter as his words died in the snowy silence. Crawling through the drifts, it didn't look like he'd be able to save himself, much less the world. The way ahead was as clear as ever; there was no chance that he'd get lost. There was, however, every chance that he'd freeze to death if he didn't do something. It's just that... he didn't want to do anything about his predicament. "Pay with your pain, Potter," he whispered, his words like smoke on the wind.

Absentmindedly, he thrust his trembling hands into his pockets and his right hand caught on something sharp. He pulled it out; a pinprick of blood dripped down his finger. The firestone of Gabriella's ring had caught the flesh. The sensation only made his heart ache more. It wasn't much more than a scratch. He could heal it with a thought, but he didn't have the heart. So much blood had been spilt on his account, what did a few more drops matter?

He sniffed. "Still biting at me, Gab?" he asked the frigid air, watching the small drip of blood flow down his knuckle until it caught the ring of onyx and swirled about his finger on the stone's surface. "I deserve it." As he observed the blood pool between his flesh and the dark ring of Pravus, a burst of anger filled his heart... destiny be damned! And he tried to pull the ring from his hand - it wouldn't move. If anything, it felt as if the cold stone had tightened about the bone. He pulled once more and his hand slipped away.

"Damn you!" he cursed, yelling across the rocky mountain ridge and hearing the echoes of his voice curse him back, again and again. The clouds above were rent and the snow began to fall. For a moment he laughed, but then he fell to his knees and wept.

The snow piled up around Harry's shoulders, melting down his neck and soaking his clothes. The right thing to do would be to return to the castle, to apologize, to seek Soseh's advice and to help Sirius. But a foolish sense of pride, perhaps ego, prevented Harry from drawing his wand. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Beyond his unwillingness to return was a driving force calling him forward and he felt that, if he went back, he might never make it to Hogwarts in time. Instead, he would allow himself to be punished, to suffer his sins and climb the mountain on its own terms. Only, right now, the mountain was winning. It was with reluctance that Harry, nearly frozen, pulled his wand and cast a simple shield charm to protect himself from the elements.

The earth rumbled... violently. Stones, boulders, heaps of sand and debris began to cascade down the mountainsides from each edge of the valley pass Harry was climbing. He strengthened the charm as boulders crashed into and over him. While the shield held, the impact was jarring and he felt something give, tear. He looked down at his chest. The dressing Soseh had used to cover his wounds had pulled away just below his right collar bone and a tiny trickle of blood began to ooze out, seeping into his white shirt.

The earth shuddered again, only this time an enormous boulder pulled away from the side of the mountain. Harry tried to disapparate to keep himself from being crushed like a bug, but he'd passed too far into Singehorn's lands to do so. The enormous boulder spun around and Harry closed his eyes preparing for the impact.

"H-Harry?" came a low rumbling voice above Harry's head. Harry opened his eyes and looked up. The boulder was hovering before him, only it wasn't a boulder it was a giant.

"F-Florge?" Harry asked back. It wasn't the giant's appearance, Harry had been blind when the two first met, but rather the low, rumbling voice, that was so gentle and yet so terribly frightening at the same time. The ring that Harry had cursed only a moment before, was serving to translate the giant's words so Harry could understand, just as Florge could understand Harry.

"You're still here?" Harry asked. "On the mountain?"

"Good rock," answered Florge with a broad smile that revealed rows of large, squat teeth. "And venison." Florge flopped down to sit and another avalanche of rock began to tumble down. Harry brought up his shield again, but Florge scooped the stones away as if sweeping dried rice from off a tabletop. He popped a few stones in his mouth and chewed. As he continued to speak, gravel dribbled out the sides of his lips. "No venison now though. So Florge sleeps." He smiled again bringing a large finger up to his cheek. "But one eye always open... for Talisan."

"T-Talisan?" asked Harry, his teeth still chattering. "Why n-not Singehorn?"

The giant shrugged. "Talisan asks, not Singehorn. The Great Dragons are very busy in the east." Florge leaned toward Harry. "You are cold little one."

Harry, his arms crossed tight about him, looked away and shrugged much as the giant had.

"You are hurt!" said Florge suddenly. He had seen the blood on Harry's shirt. Before Harry could blink, the giant scooped him up into his hand and began to bound up the mountain. Harry remembered the last time he'd been held in a giant's hand and the memory was not a pleasant one.

"No, really, erm... I'm fine."

"Me chatting like an old granstone," said Florge, more to himself than Harry. The climb up the mountain was astonishingly fast. "I must sound the alarm. Were you attacked?"

"No... no... I... I tripped. Just a scratch, that's all."

Primate. A voice spoke in Harry's mind. Knowing a dragon was calling to him, he looked up and there, flying almost too high to be seen was Tanwen. There was a large screech from above; she was calling for the others to prepare the gates. Talisan flew at her side. By the time Florge had Harry to the wall, the great hidden gate had been opened. A handful of people waited at its entrance. Votary. It was astonishing that they could have assembled so quickly, almost as if they'd been expecting him. Florge set Harry down by the group. The first to greet him was Katana.

"Primate," she said without much of an expression, as was her demeanour. "An unexpected surprise." She bowed to him and he returned the gesture, wondering if she had been surprised at all. She continued, saying dryly, "The lands have been quite still of late. Perhaps the weather. If we had been told you both were coming, we would have been more properly prepared. I had assumed your plans would take you... elsewhere."

Harry looked up at Florge and then back at Katana. "Both?" he asked.

The giant reached over and patted Harry's head with a thump. His vision, momentarily, filled with stars. "I go now to rest at the bottom of the mountain." He rubbed his stomach and picked at his teeth with his tongue. "Perhaps some more granite. Then a nap. Keep one eye open, Harry. One eye... always open." As Florge headed down the mountainside, Harry looked toward the sky.

"Talisan, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Can you find Florge something more suitable to eat? Perhaps a large buck?"

"Certainly, Primate." Harry watched as the dragon swooped toward the forests.

"That was kind of you," Katana said, her voice softening. Evidently, she was eavesdropping in on Harry's conversation with the dragon. Dakhil had said that she was one of the elders of the Votary, but she looked no older than Sirius or Remus. As they walked to the caves, she offered another short observation. "Florge is unique among the giants. He has been quite loyal to Singehorn and has become good friends with Talisan." It was enough to cover the facts, but tickled Harry's curiosity for additional information.

"Where is Singehorn?" he asked.

"East."

There was a long pause and Harry finally felt compelled to say something more.

"Erm... I had hoped to climb the mountain myself," he said importantly, "but Florge thought I was wounded."

"As you are," said Katana calmly. The blood on Harry's shirt was now quite noticeable. "We have known of your injuries for some time. It is good to see you walking, but climbing the mountain alone is not wise, even in the best of times... even for one the likes of Pravus." They entered the caves, and Harry couldn't help but think that there was an edge, or purpose, to the words she'd just spoken. It was clear that the name Pravus was distasteful to Katana, but she had made a point of associating it with Harry. He dismissed the thought to his sometimes overactive imagination. There was no way Katana could know about his argument with Gabriella.

"Would that it was within his power to do so, Marek is not here to heal your wounds," said Katana as they made their way to where the injured had been treated during the battle. "There is, as I'm sure you know, one from the House of Hayk that can see to your dressing."

Harry wasn't sure who Katana was talking about. And he really didn't want to be winding his way further into the caves. He needed to get to the rookery. He needed the cloak... Voldemort's cloak. He needed to be off to Hogwarts. He needed to save Jamie from a developing darkness that was surely drawing down upon his son. He needed---

"Wait," he said, pulling his wand, "I can take care of a little bleeding." He cast a healing spell to knit the small gash that had reopened on his chest. Nothing happened. The original wound had crossed from his right shoulder to his left hip. It had been completely closed by Soseh, but now a small opening, little more than two centimetres long, had appeared below his collar bone. It had seemed, to Harry, smaller when he first felt the tear at the bottom of the mountain. He cast the spell again, strengthening it with both word and wrist movement. He could feel the warmth of the blue light, the sensation that often accompanied such healing spells, but the spell had no effect on the wound.

"Understandable," said Katana, walking once again deeper into the caves. "Your training is incomplete." She chuckled to herself, which took Harry by surprise. "It appears that, by day's end, we both will have learned something we should have known already. At least one can hope. It is fortunate that you are still bound, otherwise you might not have found your way here in time."

"Bound?" asked Harry, trying to decipher Katana's words. "To Singehorn? Yes, well, that's not why I'm here exactly. I... erm," he stopped, wanting to turn back toward the rookery, and held Katana's forearm to stop her as well. It did not appear that she appreciated the gesture and Harry quickly removed his hand. "Look, I really need to get to the rookery."

"Did you say, to Singehorn?" she asked. "You are not bound to Singehorn," she said, shaking her head. "You may remain Primate for as long as you desire, or choose your successor as did Dakhil." She started moving again. "We must be quick, before your wound worsens."

"It's fine really. I just--" Harry stopped. The wound on his chest had grown. Not by much, maybe half a centimetre, but he could see the gash had lengthened and the blood began to ooze from the wound more freely. Katana was a good ten paces ahead and still moving. Harry started after her. "Wait. Dakhil chose me? I thought--"

"You are not bound to the dragon, Primate," she said. "You are bound by the dragon, indeed by nature itself. By your own action, by your own fealty, you wear the connubial ring and that is a bond that cannot be broken except by death."

Harry was confused and the blood dripping onto his shirt allowed an inkling of worry to worm its way into his mind. He did not want to become bedridden again. "To the dragon... By the dragon... Am I missing something?"

Without saying a word, Katana cast him a look that said far more than a resounding yes, and then turned toward a cloth curtain that covered the passage to a room lit by firelight. Harry was too far back to see into the room as Katana pulled back the curtain. She bowed to someone inside. "With greatest respect to the House of Hayk, I must acknowledge that you were, in this instance, correct. I will mark it against my ignorance and thank youth for reminding me the magic of the old ways." Katana bowed again, but held the curtain open for Harry to pass within. "Primate."

Harry turned into the room. Seated on the floor with his back toward Harry was a healer, apparently a young healer, wearing a white cloak somewhat too large for him. Perhaps they were robes; it was too difficult to tell with the healer cross-legged on the floor, meditating in front of a tapestry that was not unlike the one Dumbledore had shown to Harry at Hogwarts. A white cowl covered the healer's head. As Harry stepped inside, Katana released the curtain and walked away. He listened as her footsteps disappeared down the passageway. The healer did not move, nor did he react in any way.

"Excuse me... erm... healer?" said Harry, not really sure how to address the person before him. The way Katana was speaking, you would have thought he was royalty and Harry didn't want to say the wrong thing. Still, he felt kind of stupid talking to the back of the guy's head. When the healer didn't respond, Harry became a bit irritated. The guy should have risen the moment Harry had entered the room. Harry was, after all, Primate. "Hey, I don't want to interrupt your trance... er... thing-y, but I could sure use your help."

The healer took in a deep breath, seemingly a calming breath, but still he didn't move. Harry couldn't quite understand what the big deal was and then, in his own mind, he understood, at least he thought he did.

"Oh! I get it. Hey, there's no need to be nervous or anything. I mean, I may be Primate, but it's not like I'm almighty. I'm just an ordinary guy... really. You shouldn't be scared of me. I'm just a simple wizard with an ordinary..." Harry's voice trailed off. There was nothing about Harry Potter that was ordinary. He'd nearly killed Seamus last year, and had just killed his son's stepfather, Anthony. Maybe word had reached the mountain. The dragons that had assisted Harry incinerate the Dementors may have spread the news. Perhaps that's why Katana was so cool toward him, dropping the name of Pravus like so much ice.

Harry looked down at his ebon ring and could see his own distorted reflection in its glossy surface. How often had Pravus seen his own such reflection? Had he always been evil, or had he changed over time, slowly corrupted by ultimate power? The scratch on Harry's finger left by Gabriella's ring had already scabbed over, but the wound left by Draco was growing worse. Soseh's mends were becoming undone and he was now feeling the early pangs of the pain that had debilitated him.

"Please," said Harry, an edge of sadness mixed with insistence in his voice. "I won't... I won't hurt you, but you really must take a look at this cut and then I'll go. I'm... I'm kind of in a hurry."

There was another long sigh.

"Look!" snapped Harry, all patience lost. "Get off your arse and take a look at my wound! I don't have much time!"

"None of us do, Harry. If this is what you've become, none of us do."

Harry fell against the wall, all sense of strength leaving his legs. He only saved himself from collapsing completely by grabbing the edge of a tall chair carved of hickory. The healer stood and turned to face Harry, but Harry already knew who it was.

She pulled the cowl back and her long, black hair fell down around her shoulders. Her eyes, blacker still, were cold and angry. The tapestry behind her flashed bright with flame and then dimmed.

"Tell me, do you even know why you are here?" she asked Harry, who thought he might lose consciousness at any moment. "You said that you were headed to Hogwarts, that you needed to save your friends, that you were out of time. And yet, here you are as am I, both seeking the same thing I suspect."

Gabriella calmly walked over to a large stone basin filled with water and washed her hands, drying them with a simple chant.

"When I arrived," she said softly, her voice distant and sad, her eyes still focussed upon her hands as she rubbed her fingers together, feeling for some filth that she could not cleanse, "Katana told me that you were off to fight the Phantom in England, to find your glory, to exercise your power. I had not spoken a word and still she knew these things. Did you know that you were so tightly bound to the Votary? She wanted me to chase after you, to stop you, fearing what you might become. But I told her that you would travel here to the mountain. She didn't believe me. I wasn't sure myself, but I guess some magic can never be broken."

"I... you...," stammered Harry. "I Apparated just after you. How could you know and how could you reach the top before--"

"Talisan was waiting in the village when I arrived. He flew me here."

"Waiting?"

"Why do you bother with such silly questions? Your Phantom awaits. If you're in such a hurry, why don't you just leave? Are you not still out of time?"

The question was meant to be provoking and Harry responded angrily.

"People could die!"

"People, already have!"

"That was an accident!"

Gabriella glared. "It was a choice."

"I needed to stop the Dementors! I didn't think..." He paused, realizing that he hadn't thought at all. Singehorn had warned him about fuelling his thirst for revenge with fire, that the power of the stone, imbued with love, should not be turned to hate. He had been deliberately tempted and had failed. Still, his ego would not let go. Knowing that he'd lost the argument before he started, Harry decided to press the point by raising his voice.

"It could have been worse!" he yelled. "I could have destroyed everything... everyone! I had it in my power!"

"You must be so proud," said Gabriella with disgust.

"I stopped myself. ME! I-I could have--"

"What's it like, Harry, knowing that you could cleanse the world of all its darkness? Just burn the face of the earth and start fresh. Would you be the new Noah? What ark would you have us build? Would it carry only those who worship you?"

"That's not fair! I'm not... I'm not him."

"Pravus? Or the Phantom, Voldemort?"

Gabriella walked past Harry to leave, but stopped just short of the curtain. For a moment her gaze held Harry's gash, her face grieved, but the moment was lost and the hardness returned.

"Long before our oath to the kin of Asha, has the House of Hayk watched over those of power. Yes, Harry, Hayk. It is my name as it was my mother's and her mother's before, as far back as the dust of this earth. Before Pravus, before Charlemagne, before Atilla, before Alexander, before Moses, have the women of my house watched what becomes of men graced with gifts such as yours." She reached out and touched Harry's face. His heart skipped and a sensation of love that he'd not felt for many weeks flared in his soul.

"It's not your fault, Harry," she whispered. "It's mine." Her eyes began to mist and a tear slipped down her cheek. "I've lost you. I'm sorry."

She turned and pushed through the curtain.

"You haven't lost me!" cried Harry, plunging through the curtain after her. The corridor was dark, her white cloak, in stark contrast to her surroundings, glowed in the dim light. Wiping at her face with her bare hands, she was walking toward the entrance of the caves. The corridors were deserted.

"Wait!" Harry yelled. He held up his hand and a wall of flame filled the corridor in front of Gabriella. She walked through it without hesitation. "I'm serious!" he yelled again. He pulled his wand. "I need to speak with you!"

"Petrificus Totalus!" Purple light left his wand and struck Gabriella squarely in the back, but the spell deflected off her as a ray of light striking a mirror. Undaunted, Harry yelled again, "I said stop!"

Ignoring the command, Gabriella, continued ahead, so Harry ran up and grabbed her by the arm. She spun at once, snapping the fingers in his hand and knocking his wand to the stone floor. His eyes flared red as he held out his arm toward her.

"Stupefy!"

Gabriella raised her arm as a shield. The spell struck the sleeve of her cloak, and again it was deflected without Gabriella saying a word, or lifting her wand. It returned back on its caster, striking Harry in the chest and tossing him backwards. The gash on his bosom ripped open and blood began to flow freely as he fell to the floor.

In an instant, his white shirt was soaked with blood. He summoned his wand and it flew back into his hand. Gabriella stood there, fear filling her eyes as she stared at Harry. What she was afraid of, he didn't know. Certainly she wasn't afraid of Harry. She could just as easily crush me, if she wanted, he thought.

The splattering of blood onto the stone floor was amplified by the confined walls made of rock. The wound was flowing freely now. If it kept up like this, he would surely die. Is this how it was all to end? His betrothed, fully capable of saving his life, would watch as his life ebbed away and disappeared into the ether. How could she despise him so for just wanting to help? The flickering need to show the world that he could save his friends, could save his son, flashed across his mind and in that instant an overwhelming need to cure himself by whatever means necessary became his singular focus.

"The stone," he whispered quietly to himself. His eyes narrowed and he smiled at Gabriella. He had won. He didn't need her help. He didn't need anybody's help.

"I don't need you!" he hissed, his thoughts blurring as more blood spilled out onto the floor. "I have the stone!" With a thought he summoned it into the palm of his hand. Covered in his blood, it was warm and sticky to the touch. He leaned his shoulder against the wall. Gabriella's expression was the same - frightened, but in control, as if she was watching a first class horror movie for the fifth time.

"Harry," she said sharply, her voice reminiscent of Molly Weasley scolding Fred or George, but with more caution, more concern, "you don't want to do this. You have a choice."

"Why can't you see?" he spat. "They need me!"

"Do you really believe it's about what they need, Harry. Or is it about what you need?"

"Are you mad?"

"It's been seven weeks! Seven weeks without their saviour, Harry Potter, and everyone at Hogwarts is fine. Cho and Jamie are hidden safely within the forest, Ron and Hermione are healed, and preparations are underway for the induction of a new Headmaster."

"Remus," Harry muttered.

"Not everything is what it seems, Harry," cautioned Gabriella. "Does the darkness approach? Yes. Is Snape possessed, gathering Death Eaters to his side? Yes. But no one's calling for a hero, Harry. You need to set your own affairs in order first. If you try to destroy this evil now on your own, to destroy because you can, you will have failed. Please, Harry, if you fall to the temptations of the stone, all will be lost."

"This?" Harry yelled, holding the stone high in his shaky hand. "This is all that stands between me and death. You know the prophecy! If I die, Voldemort wins! I won't let that happen!"

Even as Gabriella shook her head in disagreement, Harry held out the stone. Before she spoke again, he called out, "Bravery, Wisdom, Love!"

Even as his own words echoed in his mind, the familiar antechamber of white appeared before Harry, waiting for his command. What were, in this chamber, the possibilities? He had never really explored them before. While he had no corporeal self in this realm, he sensed a tingling at the tips of his fingers and he was suddenly disappointed that he had not explored all that he could do with the stone, that he had not explored its true powers, powers for him to control, to wield. But then the eagerness, perhaps even giddiness, with which he wished to use the stone, was tempered. Another voice crept into his mind. It was Gabriella speaking the incantation that she had inscribed on the base of the dragon statuette she had given him last year: "Out of bravery, fire. Out of wisdom, blood. Out of love, true power."

Out of love...?

For a moment, his mind was conflicted. From the distant recesses of memory came another voice that penetrated his thoughts, this time Molly Weasley's. Lifted from the page of a crumpled piece of parchment that even now was with him, tucked inside his pocket, came the words: "You faced death but did not strike, and in so doing brought light to darkness, life to death."

Swooning he yelled, "HEAL!"

The problem was he hadn't said a name. He wasn't sure why he didn't say, "Heal me!" or "Heal Harry Potter!" But, he hadn't. Without guidance, the stone presented options before him. Swirls of colour, mixes of black and white, virtuous alternatives and self-serving ones, each offering paths that Harry could take. All that was required was the thought and will to make it happen.

He was at the Ministry; did he want to heal his relationship with the great wizards of power? They would serve him well in his glory. He was over a battlefield secluded within some vast jungle; did he wish to heal the bodies littered upon the ground, crying out in agony? They would be forever grateful. He was at a bridge in a major city, dozens of cars flowing across it in each direction as its girders began to crack; should he seal the growing seams, not unlike the wounds upon his own chest? He would save countless lives. He was in a desert, the faces of sick children, begging for food. Should he heal the children or the parched earth? Nature and its creatures were in need. All over the world appeared the cries of dying men, women and children. And beyond that was the earth itself, calling him to come to its aid.

In this churning of choices the stone made no distinction, no judgement as to which Harry should select. That is... nearly. There was one distinction. Those alternatives that Harry felt as good and noble presented themselves in swirls of colour, while those he knew in his heart to be corrupt were a mist of black and white. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of images flashed before him, too many to endure. He was about to scream for it to stop when there at last appeared to Harry two quite distinct scenes.

The first was that of Sirius, on a red pad lying on blackened earth, a small patch of checkerboard it seemed. There was a Healer bending over him and at his side knelt, of all people, Professor McGonagall in dark blue robes. The healer whispered, "The bones are repaired, but the internal injuries are great. I don't understand why he's not healing properly. It appears that your plans and precautions may have been for naught. If this continues, I'm afraid--"

The scene changed to that of Harry, pale and slumped against the stone wall, blood dripping down his chest onto the floor. Gabriella stood motionless over him. But this last scene, in stark contrast to the one with Sirius, was in black and white. No colour filled the image. Gabriella's robe was radiant above all else, while the blood dripping from Harry's chest was black as darkest coal.

Trying to focus his will, he reissued the command, charging, "Heal..." And again he faltered. Heal who? Heal what? Am I so much more important than all the rest?

Pondering the countless possibilities, of which his own wound was only one, he realized that, even with the stone, he would be unable to mend the world of its woes. It was beyond him. To truly make a difference, he would need the help of others; he could not accomplish it all on his own and that included going to Hogwarts to save Jamie.

"Out of love, true power. Light to darkness."

The words penetrated his mind, his soul. Perhaps Harry's earlier statements were true. He was an ordinary wizard, no better and no worse than any other. He had been cursed and blessed and had led a life of wonder and woe as had all wizards, each in their own way. Take away these few trinkets and he was not so unique. Gabriella, her mother, or others of the Votary would find someone more worthy to wield them. Brought back to strength, Sirius would be able to enlist the help of others to fight back Voldemort, to protect Hogwarts in a way Harry felt was somehow entwined with his godfather's destiny.

Prophecy be damned! Harry would not take the first easy step down a path to serve his own needs, for each next step would be just that much more simple, explainable, justifiable. If he started down that path, he would never selflessly serve the needs of others again.

"Heal... Sirius," he whispered. "Heal the land that now lies cursed by my hand."

There was a swirl of colour about Sirius's castle, a breath of fresh, clean air, a flower reaching up through the crusted soil, and all flashed black. He was back in the cavern, a pool of blood about his feet, blood that did not stain the bottom of the white robes before him. By comparison, only a small patch upon the sleeve of his white shirt was unstained, a white that matched the colour of the skin protruding from it.

As all strength left him, the stone fell from Harry's hand and rolled across the floor. A hand, copper brown, reached down, clasped the stone and lifted it from the floor. Slumping against the stones, Harry's head tilted up to gaze upon the face of his love before he died. The dark black eyes glistened in the torchlight. She was smiling.

Harry gasped, and in so doing realized that there was no pain. He looked down at his chest. The skin was still bloody, but the wounds had vanished; he was healed.

"Since the passing of Asha," Gabriella whispered, choking back the tears, "only twice has a wizard held the stone within his hand and discovered its true power. You, my love, are the second."

Again, Harry took in another breath, trying to fathom it all, trying to understand what had just happened. "Is it over then? Are Sirius and the land about the castle healed?"

"The castle is still not complete, but all else is well. Help Sirius finish the castle and you will have but one task remaining," she replied. "It is, perhaps, your most difficult, but you owe it to her, to your son to tell the truth. If you can set right this last darkness upon your heart, then it will be over and your true quest shall begin."

With a waive of her wand, the blood vanished. Harry's shirt was white again, but he was still weak. It would take time to regain his strength. Gabriella reached down and lifted him from the floor. Slowly, the two made their way down to the healer's chamber. Neither said a word until Harry sat upon the edge of the bed. Finally, he looked up into her eyes again. There he found love, and faith in what he might become. That morning, she had dropped the ring at his feet, knowing that they were not bound by metal bands, but by something far more enduring. And now, he would return it to its rightful owner. His hand trembling, he pulled the ring from his pocket and held it out to her.

"I'm not... Pravus."

She took the ring from his hand and wrapped him in her arms, kissing his neck and holding him tight. He could feel warmth returning to his heart, strength to his bones. Energy radiated from her body and passed to his as she wept softly.

"I'll do it," he whispered in her ear. "But before I return to Sirius, before I go to Hogwarts, I need to--"

"You seek the cloak... Voldemort's cloak," she snapped, abruptly pulling away. He expected to see anger, but instead a sly smile danced across her glimmering eyes.

"You... you knew?" he asked. He'd only mentioned the cloak to one person, Antreas, whom he'd asked to conceal it in the dragon's rookery. Antreas had sworn not to tell Dakhil, but not his--

"Knew?" she interrupted. "Harry, I'm wearing it."