Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 39 - Somewhere Between Life and Death

~~~***~~~

The castle was quiet as Ron, Hermione and Harry made their way up the staircase of Gryffindor tower. Something was making Harry anxious and he didn't know what it was. Certainly, it wasn't the silence that disquieted him. No, it was something else, something in the colour of candlelight, the odour of musty paintings and the dampness of the rising humidity clinging in the air that was somehow out of place, disjoint. It was as if he was walking in a separate reality, wholly different from the life he once lived when first he passed through the doors of Hogwarts. Had it been so long?

In the passage of time, what once was so familiar was now foreign and distant. His two best friends still walked at his side; the chandeliers, floating in air, still flickered in the same way; and the creaking staircases still swung and locked into the same positions. But Harry felt as if he was stepping into Hogwarts for the first time, and the grand castle was not welcoming him as it had when he was a first year. Nothing had changed, yet all was different. Dumbledore was dead, the remaining students were huddled at night in the caverns below the school, and an impending doom had set its eye squarely upon the doors through which they had just passed. Even the portraits, framed caricatures now sleeping, seemed somehow paler, diminished by the coming darkness.

"Harry, watch out!"

Too late. Harry's foot fell through the broken step on the staircase. He fell down to his thigh, his foot dangling six stories up in the air. How often had he skipped this step as he climbed these stairs, without thought or worry? He had never fallen through, not even as a first year.

Ron pulled him up through the splinters with surprising ease. "You alright, mate?"

Harry's face was flush with embarrassment. The rescuer already needed rescuing. Had he come to help, or just make things worse? "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine," he answered brushing the debris from his legs. "They'll be on us now, what with all that racket."

"They? No one's in the castle, Harry," said Hermione, reaching for his hand to help him over the step. Harry's initial instinct was to jerk his hand away; he could step over the damn thing. But, in the end, he took his friend's hand and they continued their climb upwards. She smiled at him and, for a moment, his mind remembered an earlier, happier time. "You don't think they'd let Filch guard anything of value, do you?" she asked.

Ron chuckled, but the question began to gnaw on Harry as they continued their ascent. He was irritated at himself for not considering Filch's counterfeit role. It was obvious and he had missed it. Surely, everyone of import was out in Hogsmeade as part of the first line of defence. The castle would be left empty as it had been last year, during the attack on Hogwarts. The memory tickled a thought.

"Where's Professor McGonagall?" he asked.

"Tonight, Hogsmeade," said Hermione.

"Tonight and every night, you mean. She has a bet with Flitwick over who will have the first kill."

"Kill?"

"Metaphorically," said Hermione.

"Yeah... metaphorically," said Ron with a lilt on the last word.

As they came upon the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry looked down on the carpet. There were still a few dark splotches here and there. Most students passed over them without notice. Harry never did and the echoes of what he'd done here sent a shiver up his spine.

He stopped, looking down at the spot where Professor McGonagall had fallen, fending off dozens of Dementors. "Siad Adumai," he whispered to himself. There was a cold breeze that brushed against his cheek and twirled within his ear.

A breathless voice whispered, "Soon."

"What?" asked Hermione, stopping just before the portrait.

"You heard that?" asked Harry with surprise.

"Yeah," said Ron. "Some spell? Erm, Seeyad Adaboy?" Harry took in a deep breath; they had heard only his words, not the voice that, Harry was now beginning to realize, foretold of coming death and was now whispering in his ear more than ever. He wasn't sure, but he was coming to think that it was a voice of spirits, of the dead, of those trapped in this world, unable to make the crossing.

"Siad Adumai," he corrected. "It..." he shrugged unable to really explain, "...it blows up Dementors."

"Blows them up?" asked Hermione. "I've never heard of---" Harry brought his hands together.

"Kerboom!" he whispered, throwing his fingers outward. "Like a Filibuster Firework."

"That's one I want to try," said Ron with a wicked smile, but it soon flickered. "My patronus sucks."

"Peppermint Stick," said Hermione sharply. The Fat Lady roused, but just barely. "I said Peppermint Stick!" The woman in the portrait, her eyes still shut, lifted a finger and the portrait opened.

"As vigilant as ever, I see," snapped Harry.

"Harry?" the portly woman's voice called as the three entered the Gryffindor common room. "Harry Pot--" The door closed shut.

They walked over to the fire, its flames as bright and warm as they ever were. Harry began to sit in front of it, but stopped, offering the small couch to Ron and Hermione instead. Ron sat, but Harry was surprised to see Hermione wander over to one of the tables to take a seat. Clearly, the two were in the midst of another argument. They must have been trying to work things out down by the lake, when Harry interrupted. Now he felt more uncomfortable than ever.

Harry waited a moment, and then sat by the fire next to Ron. His leg was more sore than he wanted to let on and, at the moment, he didn't much care that they were having a squabble. He cupped his hands about his face and rubbed his eyes. "Is it bad?" he whispered to Ron. "You and Hermione?"

Staring at the fire, Ron nodded. Then he tilted his head toward Harry and whispered, "It's getting better. We held hands tonight."

"Held hands?" said Harry, a bit too loudly. "You're engaged for Merlin's sake!" He turned to Hermione. "You do know, that it wasn't his fault don't you?" Harry stood. "If you should be angry at anybody, it's... it's me." He poked at his chest.

"You don't understand," she said softly with dismissive eyes.

"I don't understand?" snapped Harry. "I understand plenty! You know... you both know. I've had the bastard coursing through my veins."

Ron stood behind him. "But he didn't take over you, did he, Harry?" Ron took Harry by the shoulder and turned him so that they faced each other. "You were able to defeat him."

"It's not like that. It was diff--"

"I tried," said Ron. "I tried and failed." Ron's eyes fell on Hermione. "Right here... here in front of the fire. He played me like a fish and snapped my defences like a twig. I was worthless."

"Yeh weren't worthless!"

Everyone turned their attention to the top of the staircase leading to the boys' dormitory. There stood Patrick in black robes, his hands gripping the railing tightly. Ron and Harry had their wands drawn at once, but Hermione stepped forward, her head tilted up at the young Gryffindor above her. His face was pale, his eyes flickering from the fire behind her.

"Patrick," she said softly, moving slowly toward the staircase, "all students are to be in the caverns after hours. You should be down with your friends."

The boy's eyes were steadfast, still focused on Ron. "When he was... in me, yeh almost broke 'im. He was frightened; I could feel it. Fer a moment he thought he might fail." Patrick rolled his grip back and forth over the banister, as if he were starting an imaginary motorcycle. "I tried teh stop 'im, but I... I--"

"You couldn't," said Ron, finishing Patrick's words. The redhead slipped his wand away and Harry followed in kind. Hermione had made her way to the top of the stairs and took Patrick gently by the wrists, trying to pull his hands away from the rail, but the second year resisted. It was then that she noticed streaks of blood coating the wood Patrick was clutching.

"I wanted to tell yeh," said Patrick, now rocking against the banister, "but I couldn't... not until he came." He tilted his head toward Harry. "I only have... a moment." His voice was beginning to pitch higher and his motions more frantic, but still he would not release the banister.

"Patrick, let go!" Hermione insisted.

"One... thing... teh say," sputtered Patrick. "But first yeh need teh know.... Ron... yeh can win. Yeh can defeat-- Ayyyy!" Patrick cried out in pain and suddenly his body went rigid, and his gaze fell upon Harry.

"Patrick!" cried Hermione. She pulled on his arms, but his grip would not release the rail.

"You have returned," said Patrick to Harry, his voice thin and high, "as I knew you would. The boy, then, is here. You should know that there's nothing you can do. Soon he will be mine."

"That's Voldemort's voice," whispered Ron to Harry.

"You'll be dead before you come close!" yelled Harry.

Patrick's eyes remained fixed, unblinking. "Do you miss your dead friends, Harry? Are you now truly alone?"

"We're right here!" called Ron.

"He can't hear you," said Hermione. "It's... it's some sort of pre-recorded message."

"Are we so different, Harry Potter, you and I? I think not. It's a shame we won't meet again, but fitting you should die with another orphan."

Suddenly Patrick's hands began to role about the railing again. His breathing became labored and, for a flash, his eyes turned toward Hermione.

"Run!" he breathed

"Patrick!"

The wooden rail began to glow, first yellow, then white. The room was filled with light and Ron and Harry had to shield their eyes.

"Hermione," yelled Harry, "it's a trap. Get out of there!" Ron began to run up the staircase.

"Ron, no!"

"I won't leave him here to die!" yelled Hermione as she grabbed Patrick's right hand and tried to pry off his fingers. "Patrick, let go!"

"I can't... stop... please... run!"

"I'm not going to let you die!"

They could all feel the heat now; the rail glowing like a white hot bar of blazing steel. Harry couldn't see a thing until he closed his eyes. He reached his mind out and, for a moment, his vision was overwhelmed by the energy within the wooden banister. It wasn't normal. The wood was dead, but somehow it had been infused with an energy force. Ron was nearly to the top of the staircase. Hermione was at Patrick's side, and that's when Harry noticed. Patrick's life-force was diminishing, draining into the railing, giving it his energy. Hermione pulled one hand free.

Once more Patrick went rigid. "Good-bye, Harry. Vesco!"

The room filled with a crackling sound.

"Get down!" cried Harry, even as Hermione worked to free Patrick's second hand. Ron made it to her side and had his arms about her when the world exploded. Heat and pressure filled the Gryffindor common room. In a giant explosion of flame, Harry was lifted from his feet and sent crashing against the stone fireplace, his head slamming hard against the stones. All was dark.

~~~***~~~

"Harry. Harry, time to get up."

"Get out of bed yeh lazy arse!"

"James!"

"Lilly, you've spoiled the boy for seventeen years and now we're reapin' the rewards."

The clouds filling Harry's mind began to thin. There was something unnatural and yet very comfortable with the sounds he was hearing. They were fighting... again. They were always fighting. He rolled over in bed and pulled his pillow over his head.

"I said get up!"

A jolt of pain sparked up Harry's backside and he sat bolt upright. He rubbed his eyes and looked over to see his father standing in front of him with his wand drawn. His mother, at the door, shook her head and walked away.

"That's better," said James. "You may think the Wizarding world whirls around your wand, young man, but it doesn't. You've forgotten, haven't you? Today's your big day, or should I say your last day." His father turned toward the door, stopped and looked back. "Arthur Weasley is bending every rule in the book, considering your marks, to get you a job in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. By Merlin's beard, if you screw this up, you're out. I don't care what your mother says. Now get some clothes on and... and do something with your hair." He left, shutting the door with more emphasis than was necessary. Harry was accustomed to the ceremony.

He looked around his room. It was littered with dirty clothes, Quidditch trading cards and various magazines he rarely read. A snake slithered on a dead branch suspended in the air just above his bed. Harry yawned, reached for his wand on the table by his bed and conjured a mouse, levitating it to the snake which struck, swallowed and then closed its lazy eyes. Harry sighed and fell back down upon his bed. He'd been a failure all his life. Surely he would fail today. Who cared about Muggles anyway? Never mind their stupid artefacts.

By the time he made his way downstairs, his father had already left for work. Still barefoot, Harry padded over to a plate of bacon, snatched a couple slices and then took a quick look out the front window to see about the weather.

"Your hair's a mess, love." His mother came up from behind and started smoothing it down.

"That won't help you know."

"That's never stopped me from trying... you know. To dream the impossible dream. Your grandfather--"

"--loved that song," he finished. "Yes, I know."

"Then dream a little yourself. It wouldn't hurt... you know." She kissed his cheek and slipped on her coat. "I'm going to go to the bakery to owl your sister a cake and then I'm off to the shop."

"You never sent me a cake at school," he said, watching a grey cloud pass overhead; it looked like rain.

"You never had your heart broken like this, Harry."

He turned to look at his mother as she got ready to leave. "So Dad still won't let her see him?"

"He doesn't see a future with Patrick. He is an orphan, after all."

"An orphan?" asked Harry incredulously. "That doesn't make it right. He's twice the student I was at Hogwarts and he's not bad with a concealment charm." Harry smiled. "If I could pick a younger brother, he'd be the one. Well, as long as he wasn't a Gryffindor."

Lilly waved her wand; the dishes flew into the sink and began to clean themselves. "I really must go. You can take it up with your father this evening, if you'd like. But, if you want him to listen to you, you'd best come back with good news from your interview this morning." She started out the door. "One can dream."

"Bye mother," he said glumly.

"Oh, such a sourpuss! You do realize how much he loves you, don't you?" Her eye grew wistful. "He was about to leave me... when you came into our lives. If it hadn't been for you, Harry...." She smiled sadly. "The things father's do for their sons. I think... I think, for you, he'd do anything. Destroy the world, if he had to." She let out a long breath and shook her head. "Now, be a love. Just a little effort in that lair you call a room of yours, might soften my heart as well." She smiled and shut the door behind her. There was a bang and all the air and light left the room. The rain clouds began to swirl about Harry's mind and he suddenly began to feel the floor fall away from his feet. He was plummeting downward into an abyss.

~~~***~~~

"I'm not sure there is anyone to notify. He is an orphan, after all. As for the girl--"

"Really? An orphan? How sad... Were they close?"

Harry opened his eyes. He looked up to find stone - wet granite; the ceiling glistened with moisture and the air was musty. He was in the caverns below Hogwarts - the hospital ward. He turned toward the voices. The left side of his head was throbbing, and there was a faint ringing in his ear.

"I'm... I am not an orphan," he stammered. "My mother's right-- Mother? What's going on?"

"Harry, lie back down." A hand touched his shoulder and pressed him back to his sheets. He turned, ready to protest, but the fire left his throat the moment he saw who it was. "G- Gabriella? What... You can't be here. It's too... Who?"

"It's okay, Harry. You'll be fine." She kissed his forehead.

"Here dear, take a drink of this." Madame Guérir handed him a small goblet. The liquid smelled foul and tasted worse, but as soon as he had his first swallow the ringing in his ear vanished and the clarity of what had happened rushed back into his mind.

"Patrick!" Harry shot upward. "Where's Pat--" The second year was on a cot, just across from Harry's. The boy's hands were folded upon his chest. His face was white, his eyes shut and his body still. Harry had seen death too many times not to know the look. "PATRICK!"

He jumped out of bed and grabbed the dead boy by the arm, shaking him violently.

"PATRICK!"

Gabriella pulled him away.

"It's too late, Harry," she cried. "He passed three hours ago."

"It's not too late!" he yelled, his eyes widening. "I can save him. I can... the stone. I'll use the stone!"

"Harry! He's gone." Gabriella pulled him close and whispered in his ear. "There's nothing you can do for him."

"But--"

"It's Hermione who needs you now."

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "He doesn't deserve to die! If I just--" She turned him about to face the cot on the other side of his. Kneeled at its side was a redheaded wizard, wearing a scorched cloak. His sooty face streaked from tears, Ron looked up at Harry blankly, his eyes bruised and swollen.

"He killed her, Harry. The bastard killed her."

"Ron," said Gabriella calmly, "she's not dead. Not yet."

"She's slipping, Gabriella. Just like Patrick. She was burning hot and now she's turning cold."

A grey-haired healer that Harry didn't recognize walked over to Hermione's side and passed his wand over her head, bathing it in orange light. He shook his head. "I don't know what it is, but it's the same as the boy," he said. He looked at Harry. "Your friend there is right. If you know her, son, it's time to say good-bye."

Harry reached for Hermione's hand; she was freezing. He looked back at Patrick. Would it be possible? He'd always been told that he couldn't bring back the dead, that it would kill him instead. Could he save them both? He let go of Hermione's hand and took a step toward Patrick. What if--

"No, Harry."

Harry stopped. The voice was whispering in his ear again, only this time it was familiar. It couldn't be. He stepped toward Patrick again.

"Yeh can't save me, Harry. I ain't there no more. Close yer eyes and see; there's nothin' there teh bring back."

Harry spun about looking for the prankster. The others seemed oblivious. Gabriella took his arm.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Didn't you hear him?"

"Hear who?"

"Patrick!"

"Patrick?" she asked, looking down at his dead body. "Harry, I know you're not feeling well, but Hermione needs you. There isn't much time. Do it now, while I distract this new healer." She turned to Madame Guérir and the healer at her side. "Excuse me, sir..." Taking him by the arm she began pointing at something at the end of the hospital ward. Soon, the three of them were well away.

The voice echoed in Harry's ears once again. "Ferget about me. You've got teh-- Oh no! I can see her! Hurry!"

Suddenly, somehow, Harry knew. Without hesitation, he summoned the vivificus stone. While Ron had his head buried at Hermione's side, Harry whispered the incantation. "Bravery. Wisdom. Love." All went white.

It had been so long since he'd used the stone, he wondered if it still was charged as Singehorn said it would be - charged by the ever enduring love of his friends. He would soon know. His mind turned to Hermione. At once colour began to fill the scene. "Heal her," he whispered. "Heal Hermione!"

The colours before him began to swirl about and a scene began to take shape. He expected to see Hermione, ill in her bed, surrounded by grey granite. But instead, the colours shifted from grey to green, green to grey, unable to settle on where they should be until finally they decided green. The vision of a forest glen appeared and in its centre was Hermione, dressed in white and walking, her face bathed in the brilliant warmth of the sun.

"Hermione?" he called. At first she didn't respond, smiling as she walked toward the sunlight. He called again. She turned.

"Harry?" she asked, her eyes squinting against the light. "Harry!" she ran over to him and hugged him, kissing his cheek. "I thought for sure you would have made it." There was a tinge of sadness at the corners of her eyes, but they soon brightened. "Will you walk with me?" She took his hand and pulled him toward the sunlight, but he stood fast.

He understood this place. This was not his doorway, but Hermione's. For a moment he wondered what would happen if he did take her hand and follow her to the other side. In fact, he was already sensing a warmth and happiness, if anything a yearning to walk with her through the glen.

"Hermione," he said softly, "we need you back. This... this isn't real. I need you to go back the way you came."

"Are you mental?" she asked. "It's freezing back there."

"Here," he held his arms out wide, "let me warm you up." She hesitated, but his own welcoming smile drew her in. She wrapped her arms around him and he closed his eyes, reaching his mind inward, searching for her life force. It took some time, but soon he found it - a white light with what looked like a reddish twinkle encircled by an arc of icy-blue that was squeezing more tightly with each passing moment.

Harry wished that the dragons were at his side so that he could draw from their power. But then, just as the thought came into his mind, the scar on his arm began to burn, glowing white. He smiled. They were there with him. They were always with him. He focused his thoughts on the circle of blue light.

"Incendiamos!"

Flame and heat filled his vision - a great firestorm. Red, yellow, gold swirled about as if being vacuumed into a giant bottle. There was a snap and all went green. He was in the glen again, but Hermione was no longer in his arms.

"Hermione!" he called. He began to run toward the sunlight. "Hermione!"

"Harry, stop!"

He turned to see Patrick, not so much standing in the glen as floating. Instead of forest behind him, there was a dark, tumultuous cloud. He looked thin, papery, a mere projection of the real boy.

"Yeh did it," said Patrick with a smile. "She's safe." For an instant, Patrick's eyes darted toward the sunlight, but settled back onto Harry. "It's time yeh returned. We got a lot teh do, eh Harry? A deal to the end."

"But, Patrick--"

The black cloud began to envelope the boy. As it wrapped about his torso, Patrick's eyes looked back longingly upon the light. But his jaw was set, and his mind determined. He looked back at Harry and with his voice fading into a whisper he said, "I'll watch yer back, if yeh watch mine." Soon, the mist had taken him.

Harry reached out for him, but the ground beneath his feet fell away and all went white. A second later, he found himself on his knees, one hand steadied on the cold, rock floor, the other clutching the stone. He vanished it to its hiding place, and looked up only to see Hermione looking back down at him. She was seated in bed, Ron holding her tightly, her face radiant and her eyes clear.

Gabriella knelt down to Harry and pulled him to his feet. "Come, have some water."

As he stood, he asked Hermione, "How do you feel?"

"Fine. I don't know why everyone's doting over me. Look at Ron! He's a mess!"

Harry began to laugh, took a step and suddenly tilted a bit, his knees giving out from under him. Gabriella caught him just in time and steadied him. He was dizzy and the room wasn't holding still.

"You're weak," she whispered. "You need to eat."

"Patrick," he said with a sigh, "he didn't cross. Out of loyalty to me... I think he's a--"

A tremendously painful screech filled the air, followed by three short, loud howls.

"What in Merlin's name is--"

"It's Hogsmeade!" said Gabriella, her voice suddenly tight and panicked. "The attack's begun."