Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 40 - The Second Battle

~~~***~~~

The two wizards beat their wings rhythmically against the cool breeze, steadying themselves high in the night sky. The mountain air was cold, but the air was clean and the stars as bright as ever - perfect for gazing. Directly above them, Mars burned brightly, a red dot that seemed to rage against the coming invader - Ebyrth. The comet was bright white with a tail that stretched out like a whip ready to strike. It was no ordinary comet and this was no ordinary evening. To the east the full moon was breaking over the horizon, the third full moon since the death of Albus Dumbledore. Soon its glow would join that of Ebyrth and bathe the ground below, turning night to day. The two wizards preferred darkness and, as the moon rose higher, one let out a low, guttural growl.

"After all this time, I thought you had mastered your fear," thought the elder wizard. His protégé understood perfectly well.

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," he responded in kind.

"This night holds the answers for which you've been clambering all these many weeks. Your fate is on the precipice, Draco. The choices you make will be your own."

"And if I fail?"

"We all fail, Draco. It's just a question of how badly and how quickly we recover."

During his time with Dakhil Barghouti, Draco Malfoy had learned many things. He had learned how to feed without killing, he had learned of the ancient magic and the spells that had long been lost, and he had learned how to control his transformation into a vampire, pushing the change to its limit - until no wizard remained and only the pure power of his new self remained. He was in that state now, hovering above the forest near Dakhil's home. There was something scintillating about being so brutally powerful, but Draco still had trouble accepting his form.

Dakhil, having been turned into a vampire centuries ago, was wolfish in appearance and, one could say, attitude. His fur was a golden brown, and black dots speckled his head and ran down his back to where they coalesced into black bat-like wings. He was terrifying and yet beautiful to behold. As for Draco, he felt there was nothing beautiful about his own appearance. His shape was human, handsome even - two strong arms, two powerful legs and two great bat-like wings that rose high above his head with pointed, razor-sharp talons at the joints. His chest was muscular, certainly more muscular than his human form, with an abdomen that rippled below. His flesh, however, was lizard-like. Every inch of his body was covered in bluish-green scales which reflected his surroundings, making him nearly impossible to see in the dark.

Yet for all this, the reason he could not bear his own image was the distortion of his face and what, or who, it reminded him of. His skull was stretched tall to a dull pointed crown. His ears pointed upwards, sharp and keen. Worse yet, his red eyes and slit nostrils resembled those of a snake, and in this regard he looked in many ways the same as Voldemort when last he walked freely upon the earth. Indeed, Draco looked very much like the Voldemort of old except for this - Draco's mouth was twice too large for his own face. It was a single circular orifice rimmed with jagged and sharp teeth with two tremendous fangs that curled down past his chin. It was a useful tool to dispatch the most difficult of prey and Draco had learned to do so without spilling a drop of precious blood. It was impossible to speak in this form, but he had learned to communicate telepathically, particularly with his mentor, and to growl his words when the mood struck him.

"I tried to walk this line before," he growled. "It didn't work."

"Didn't it?" queried Dakhil telepathically. "Your father was brought down, although not in the way you intended. Harry Potter survived."

"He hates me."

"He survived... and at this very moment prepares to battle the forces marching against Hogwarts; some which have sworn fealty to your banner."

"They march for Voldemort."

"I wonder. Magical oaths are not easily broken. For one so young, you have played your hand well. Still, your heart may be your undoing. I see it in your eyes whenever we speak of--"

"I have no heart."

Dakhil smiled, if the exposure of the long rows of razor sharp teeth could be called such. "We have trained hard on this, Draco. Keep it hidden, particularly from your Dark Lord. You know Voldemort will mention his name and your eyes must reveal nothing... nothing but hatred."

As the moon rose higher, Draco held his hand out in front of his face and considered it. The scales shimmered in the moon's light and, as he made a fist, his long claws scratched against the inside of his wrist. He had often complained to Dakhil that he wanted to leave, but he never did, though he was free to do so. Tonight, he could no longer hide; he would have to choose sides. Yet tonight, he wanted more than ever to sit down with Dakhil by the fire in his hut and simply play a game of snap.

"Something troubles you," said Dakhil.

A blur across the sky, Draco swooped away from Dakhil down to their small hut and transformed back into wizard form. His tongue swiping across the two small fangs that remained the only clue to his true identity, he took his robes off the hook by the door and slipped them on. He opened the door, only to find Dakhil inside, preparing something on the stove. Draco looked behind him and then back at Dakhil.

"How did you do that?" he asked with surprise.

"It will take many years for me to teach you everything you need to learn," answered Dakhil. He smacked his lips. "All that flying makes me hungry. As I have said, it is best to stay fed... lest we lose ourselves to our lusts." Dakhil flashed Draco a reproachful glance, reminding him of an error he had made just two nights before.

"I said I was sorry," Draco exclaimed. "I told you that I'd pay for--"

"Money will not bring back their father."

Without another word, Draco flopped down on the couch in front of the fire. He did not feel like having this argument again.

The young wizard watched the red embers glow in the fireplace. He no longer feared fire; just the opposite, daily he was growing more intrigued by fire and by dragons. And, while Dakhil normally answered every question Draco ever asked of him, he refused to say a single word about the dragons, or his work with them. Nor would he say what role Harry had in their secret society. Draco knew it was something powerful, something worth having. As he had done high in the sky, he held his hand in front of his face and made a fist. It seemed the fist of a child. He sighed, trying to understand this Jekyll and Hyde nature of himself. He wanted Harry's power and he knew that was the very reason Dakhil would not share it with him. The old man may have taken Draco in, but he was no father - he would not give Draco everything he wanted and his rules were onerous. But Draco had come to respect him, to appreciate him, perhaps even--

"Come eat," called Dakhil with his gruff, gravely voice. "There is little time, of this I am sure."

Draco's appetite was poor and, while he took a few half-hearted bites, he spent most the time watching Dakhil eat. The old man's face was lined with deep creases and the veins shown through the thin skin of his hands. As a vampire, however, he was powerful and terrifying. Dakhil looked up and caught Draco's eyes.

"Are you going to eat? Or are you just going to pick up a couple school children on your way to Britain?" Draco ignored the sarcasm.

"Why haven't you...?" Draco searched for how to ask what he'd wanted to know all this time. "The things you've done... The things I've seen... As a vampire-wizard, you could defeat Voldemort single handed, couldn't you?" The old wizard didn't blink.

"Yes," he answered, stabbing a bit of lamb with his fork and popping it into his mouth. "But there would be another. There's always another."

"But there is no other to fill your shoes, is there? Do you hate Harry? That he refused your offer to tutor him when he had the chance?"

"No. It is often the way with the most powerful of wizards. You must realize, Draco, that Harry's life is short, while yours is eternal. Does it not then make more sense to invest in turning darkness to light while there is still hope?"

"Is that what I am? Darkness?"

"So many questions," Dakhil said with a smile, but then his expression grew more sombre. "You were, Draco, but not wholly."

"And now?"

"Now? Now, I do not know. The shadows you cast move with the moon. Your choices continue to be inconsistent, even when your challenges have been small. Tonight, all that will change. Tonight--" Dakhil suddenly stopped and looked down at his right forearm. There was a mark on it, the shape of an eye, which was beginning to glow white. Draco had never seen it before, but Dakhil looked as if he had somehow expected this sudden appearance on his arm. The old wizard stood up from the table and began to walk toward the door.

He was halfway across the room when the door burst open. Instinctively, Draco drew his wand, but, seeing the intruder, stayed his hand. A short, elderly woman with black hair stood in the frame of the doorway. She looked familiar, but Draco could not place the face.

"Soseh!" said Dakhil with a slight bow. "What a pleasant surprise. Mrs. Darbinyan may I introduce you to Mr. Draco Malfoy?" Soseh entered, keeping her eyes on Draco the whole time. Her gaze was neither warm, nor welcoming.

"So, this is the boy, Dakhil?"

"Yes."

"Gabriella has spoken of him. Do you think it wise--"

"You're the seer, my dear," interrupted Dakhil. "You tell me."

She stepped toward Draco. "Give me your hand, child." She reached forward, but Draco stepped back, pulling his hand away. She stopped and turned toward Dakhil. "You realize that they've called you."

"Yes."

"Then why are you still here?"

Dakhil did not respond, but his eyes betrayed conflict.

"The attack at Hogwarts has begun. It has been an age since last I saw such darkness amass at one place. You knew of this night. You could be there already, but I find you here, having dinner with this... this..." She shook her head. "You know... H-- our Primate has brought the dragons to defend the mountains, but with such a chance to wipe so much darkness from the face of the world..." She trembled slightly. "If we do not temper his response, you know what Singehorn and Ti-Lung will do, regardless the lives lost."

"And your boy?" said Dakhil with a bit of a sardonic sneer. "The one who decimated a dozen hectares in Greece... our Primate... What will he do? Is he also ready as ever to wipe the slate clean? To demonstrate to all his true power?"

"The question is not where he is," replied Soseh, fire building in her eyes. "The question is why you're not now at his side?" She took Dakhil by the wrist and her finger pressed upon the glow of his forearm. "You... have... been... summoned."

Dakhil's eyes, thin slits, shot toward Draco and then back to Soseh. A warm smile broke out across his face. He hugged her and kissed her forehead. "Draco, if you wish to truly know the answers to your questions, do as Soseh says. There are none more wise than the woman here before you." Dakhil slipped out his wand. "If only I were a few centuries younger..."

"And a few pounds heavier," added Soseh warmly. "You don't eat nearly enough."

"And your werewolf friend does, I suppose?" asked Dakhil with a wink. He began to spin and, in a whirlwind, disappeared into the earth below. After he had vanished, Soseh let out a long sigh and wiped tears from her face. She turned toward Draco; the warmth in her eyes had vanished.

"Tonight I lose my dearest friend," she whispered. Then her eyes shot toward Draco; the sense of loss, that had been there only a moment before, vanished. "Now, child," she demanded with a tone in her voice that was far more ominous. "Give me your hand!"

~~~***~~~

"Are you getting this?" The picture jarred to the right, then steadied.

"Yes, Colin," said the announcer. "Everything's coming in clear. Do be careful." He cleared his throat nervously. "Witches and Wizards, as you can see... our worst fears have been realized. An attack of legendary proportion in now underway in Hogsmeade. Rest assured; the Ministry has the situation well in hand and are already prepared to-- Oh my.... In Merlin's name, what are those creatures?"

"I don't know," called back Colin Creevey, his voice breathless from running. "People... wizards... I can't tell. They don't have wands. All they want to do is destroy and there are only a few wizards here that know how to bring them down. Stunners don't seem to have any effect. They just fall down and rise back up again." The picture jerked again as a blast of green light jetted across the frame. "Whew, that was close." He chuckled nervously. "Erm... there are dozens upon dozens of them. I overheard one of the professors from Hogwarts call them inferior. They don't look very inferior to me."

"Inferi," whispered Hermione.

"What?" asked Ron.

"Those poor people," answered Hermione pointing to the animated figures projected by the wireless in the great cavern. "They're Inferi - people killed by a Dark wizard and then brought back to do their bidding." She shuddered. "How many have they murdered on their way here?"

"Like pawns on a chessboard," said Ron, holding Hermione's hand.

There was a collective gasp in the great hall as a fantastic fireball filled their view. You could feel the heat. Someone, from behind the lens of Colin's camera, had cast an enormous firespell. Flaming corpses scattered everywhere, many falling to the ground and turning to cinder.

"Wicked," whispered Ron.

It was a horrific scene as the few remaining animated bodies ran into Hogsmeade structures, lighting them on fire. In a matter of minutes, most the shops in town were in flames.

"I can't stay here," said Harry weakly. "I've got to go." He was standing, held in Gabriella's arms, or more accurately, being held up by Gabriella's arms.

"Harry, you can't," she said. "Maybe thirty minutes more, just till you get your bearings."

"The town will be gone in thirty minutes."

Hermione stepped over to bolster Gabriella's position. "Nearly every wizard in the region is out there right now, Harry," she said. "Hundreds have come from around the world to fight the darkness descending upon Britain. The Aurors... the professors... they can handle it." After a moment's hesitation, Harry nodded reaching his hand toward the arm of a chair so that he might sit down.

Suddenly, the whole cavern shook. Dust and bits of rock fell from the ceiling.

Colin's voice could be heard calling out, "Giants! To the west, giants! Those can't be ours... ours are... erm, that's top secret." His camera swung around and, after a moment, focused in on about a dozen enormous giants, towering over the train station. Each carried a club and they strode forth crashing through the station as if it were made of twigs. There were streaks of light raining down on them from on high. "There... do you see them, Smitty?" Colin called to the announcer. "On their brooms."

More jets of light struck one of the lead giants and he fell to the ground, roaring in agony. There had to be two dozen or more wizards flying by broomstick. There was a flash of someone's robes, black and white.

"That's a Magpie!" cried Ron. "There's another! Crimey it's the whole bloody team!" Without another word, he hugged Hermione tightly in his arms.

"I- I- erm... stay safe," he muttered. Then he turned and began to run out of the great cavern.

"Where are you going?" she asked, quickly following behind.

"To get my broom!"

"Ron!" She ran after him, the two disappearing down the corridor that led to the secret entrance of the castle. Harry groaned.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "She was nearly dead an hour ago. I'll bet a galleon to a knut she'll be firing spells in Hogsmeade in less than an hour from now."

"Well, she is a Gryffindor, after all," said Gabriella warmly, stroking the side of Harry's head. Harry tried to sit up, the small motion made the room tip on one side.

"I don't understand it," he gasped. "It's never been like this before. Has the stone lost its power?"

"You've never walked so close to the abyss before, Harry. You heard the Healer; she was beyond hope. If but a few moments more had passed, we would have lost her." Gabriella's eyes furled. "We would have lost you both." She kissed his forehead. "Rest, just a little while longer."

Her voice was warm, and her touch soothing. Harry's eyes closed and he began to lower his head against the back of the chair, when the whisperer returned.

"She, who you love, is soon lost."

He froze opening his eyes wide, only to see his love looking back at him with warmth and compassion. A chill ran down his spine like never before.

"They're talking to you again. Aren't they?" she asked.

He had told her of the voices, the voices that he could hear before death came, voices that followed him since Greg Goyle had nearly killed him on his broom, voices that whispered in his ear since the day he once crossed over, the day Dumbledore risked his own life to save him. The ghosts said a little piece of him had died that day. Sensing his feelings and knowing the events playing out, she knew what was wrong. She always knew his heart, sometimes before he knew it himself.

"There's death all around, Harry. Of course they're telling you about it. Many will die tonight. Many already have."

Harry held her shoulder and lifted himself to his feet. "This is different," he said nervously, for it was different. He'd never been told about individuals - never been told specifics. It was always, soon, or tonight. Why suddenly now was he being given a mini prophecy? How had things changed? "I... I can't wait here. I've got to fight. They can't reach you."

"You're speaking gibberish. No one can reach us down here. Ten minutes, Harry," she pleaded. "Just ten more minutes."

He shook his head to clear his mind and tried to straighten his robes. He gathered in a long deep breath and let it out slowly. There was another gasp from those gathered around the wireless. Something exploded on camera, sending debris into the room.

"Bit close for comfort," he could hear Colin broadcasting. "I've never seen so much wandfire. Wizards are starting to find it difficult to Apparate. I'm pulling back to the lake while I can."

"Promise me you'll stay here," Harry said emphatically, pointing at the ground. "Right here."

"Sure, if you stay here with me," she answered.

"I can't. You know I can't. I have to stop this before... before it's too late."

"Jamie's safe, Harry. They both are."

"That... that's not what I'm talking about and you know it." Harry slowly shook his head. "I won't have more die on my account." Suddenly, his face got all screwed up and his eyes became accusatory slits. "You did burn Voldemort's robes, didn't you? Talisan torched them with all she could?" There was the briefest hesitation before Gabriella answered.

"I told you I would, Harry," she answered smoothly. "I've never seen Talisan's breath burn brighter."

"Good," he said, nodding to himself. "Good. One less thing to worry about."

He began to walk away, weaving his way down the corridor that led to the forest entrance. He was so week, so unsteady, that Gabriella was able to get in front of him and, walking backwards, she tried to convince him to stay.

"You know... I could push you over with a feather!" she cried. "This is suicide! Are you crazy?"

Harry's eyes were glazed and just looked passed her. "Yes."

"What good does it do anybody, if you go and get yourself killed?"

He remained silent, pressing forward, clutching at the stones on the cavern wall every now and then for support. It took some time before they made it to the outer perimeter and passed through the hidden entrance. In that time, his strength began to return. His balance was steadier and, at least, the ground had stopped shifting beneath his feet. Gabriella still paced in circles about him and there was nothing he could say to stop her. Finally, they stepped out into the forest and both were surprised by the level of light. Ebyrth raged above and, just above the horizon, the full moon shone bright. Harry grabbed her by the shoulders.

"You swore you wouldn't follow me!"

"I haven't been! I've been one step in front of you the whole time!"

"You have to go back to the caverns. You can't come with me!" he snapped. "So help me, if you... I'll..."

"I'd like to see you try!"

There was a crack, a rustling of leaves. Gabriella didn't notice, but Harry did. Quickly his head turned toward the sound and, instinctively, his mind reached out. There were four Centaurs moving quickly in their direction. Two, Harry knew at once; one was Ronan. A moment later they were at Harry's side - an energy and nervousness in their demeanour that Harry had not seen since he first stepped into these woods. He placed his fist over his chest and bowed.

"Ronan," he said solemnly. "What news?" The Centaur was flanked by Shahan and two others that Harry did not know. He was certain they were new to the herd. All returned Harry's bow, all but Shahan who deliberately took a step back so the others would not notice his breach of etiquette.

Ronan stepped toward Harry and Gabriella. "The hour is near at hand, Harry Potter," he said. He glanced again to the night sky and Harry followed his gaze, trying to decipher for himself what it was they were looking at. There was something hopeful, he thought, in that the glowing night sky diminished the red planet. Perhaps it was an omen. Harry said as much, but Ronan pointed toward Hogsmeade. The town was on fire and the billowing smoke was floating over the forest, blanketing the sky.

"You let the veil of smoke cloud your vision," said one of the other Centaurs.

"One does not need to look to the stars to see that there is a devil among us!" snapped Shahan. "Behold! Even as we speak, his minions gather."

Harry wondered what he was talking about, but only for a moment. A number of ghosts began to swirl about, shimmers of light fading into and about the trees and canopy of the forest. Men, women and children, all walking dead. Not Inferi, but rather unbound souls trapped here on their own accord, with the free will to do all they wished save for one thing. They could not return to the light.

"They whisper his name!" said Shahan, pointing his finger at Harry.

"Ronan," said Harry, "they follow me, because they believe I can deliver them to... Merlin, I don't know where. Heaven, I guess. They're waiting for the birth of a new sun. It's rubbish!"

The look on Ronan's eyes was anything but dismissive. His front hoof pawed at the earth and he turned to consider the swirling spirits. He was about to say something when the forth Centaur spoke out.

"They are not the only troubling signs," he said. "More dragons continue to assemble on the northern mountains; more than you had originally told us of. You say they follow you, but they seem impatient, wishing to join battle."

"I've told them to guard that pass," said Harry, "however impenetrable it might appear to be. The dragons and I are of one mind in this regard; you have my word. They will not join the battle of wizards who now all fight upon the front lines in Hogsmeade."

"Then it is as I have said!" cried Shahan, glaring at Ronan as if to prove a previously argued point, his eyes wide and defiant. "Our time is at hand! No one now guards the castle. Ronan, it is our chance to regain what was taken from us! To take back that which was ours before these pests invaded. To control the magic of the forest for ourselves!"

"Control?" yelled Ronan. Harry had never seen him yell like this before. "Are you so arrogant that you believe you have any hope of controlling this forest? You have as much hope as standing upon the highest hill that you might touch the lowest star."

"Do you not see what is happening?" retorted Shahan. "The signs?" There was a long pause - no one spoke. "You know of what I speak, Ronan. Tell your precious colt who Mars really is." Shahan stepped forward, between the other Centaurs and came before Harry.

"Mars is not some half-wraith of a wizard, struggling to bring himself back to life. Mars holds the power to destroy us all. When he swallows Ebyrth we will all be decimated. Who, Harry Potter, holds such power? Who would swallow it?" He drew an arrow from his quiver. "Or have you not already?" Shahan held the arrow in his hand and pointed it at the Stone of Cinnabar hidden in Harry's chest.

"YOU are Mars, Harry Potter. YOU, holding the stone of blood, have come to destroy us all!"

Shahan lunged forward, his arrow pointed straight at Harry's heart. Before Harry could react, a shield of shimmering light suddenly appeared. The arrow struck it and snapped in Shahan's hand. Harry stepped back only to discover three ghosts had appeared between him and his attacker.

"That's not possible," whispered Harry. He reached out and touched them. They were substantive, solid, but in the next instant they faded into smoke and disappeared.

"Shahan!" yelled Ronan. "Have you lost your senses?"

Shahan's eyes were on fire, his teeth grinding so loudly they all could hear. He was ready to strike again, when a tremendous screech came from overhead. Harry looked up, half expecting to find a dragon, but instead there were a dozen spirits, diving down to attack. Shahan considered them for a moment and then turned and ran, disappearing into the dense foliage, the spirits chasing him the whole way.

"Ronan," said Harry apprehensively, "is what he said true. Am I Mars? Is that what you believe?" He looked at the others. "Is that what you all believe?"

"What I know," said Ronan, stepping forward, "is that you are the Chosen. As for your purpose..." His eyes lifted toward the heavens. "We will know soon."

Ronan looked at his companions. "Come, let us find him before he is lost to us forever." In a blur they were gone.

For a moment, Harry wanted to follow, to find out more, but then Gabriella took his hand and reached about his waist.

"C- Come on, Harry," she stammered, her voice strangely unsteady and shaky.

In all the commotion, he'd completely forgotten about her apprehension, her fear of Centaurs, of the vision that foretold her death. Harry was certain that Shahan's actions did not go far to dispel those fears. She pulled him back toward the entrance of the caverns.

"Let's go inside," she said, preparing to re-open the secret door.

"I can't. I have to do what I can."

He could see fear in her eyes, but now, looking more deeply into the pools of black, he wasn't sure the cause. Perhaps Centaurs; perhaps something more... What, exactly, was she afraid of?

"I'm not a monster," he said quietly, almost unsure himself. "I... I've learned. I swear. I understand now."

She reached her arms about him and held him close, resting her head upon his shoulder.

"I'm cold."

He stroked her back. "It's okay," he whispered. "I promise. I--"

It was cold - suddenly cold, as if an icy wind had just appeared from the north. It was a bad stench, from a garbage pit in which Harry had grown accustomed to working.

"Dementors," he hissed.

He turned, brandishing his wand. Overhead, one Dementor after another passed above the trees, headed toward Hogsmeade. There were dozens. They had circled around and were going to come in from behind on the wizards protecting Hogwarts.

"I can't blast them," said Harry, cursing. "They're too bloody high." He shot a patronus upward, but it faded too soon. The Dementors took no notice, or if they did, they ignored the threat in preference to their primary mission.

"The dragons," he whispered.

"Harry... no," cautioned Gabriella. "Keep them away from the fight. You have to understand... Singehorn... You can't."

Harry wasn't sure what to do. "I have to warn them, Gabriella. I have to. Please, go inside."

"But--"

"Go inside!" Clutching his wand tightly, he kissed her squarely on the lips. "I promise... I won't--"

There was an incredible flash of light that filled the sky. Not fire... more like lightening. There were screeches and then the night lit up again with explosions, almost like fireworks. Someone was casting a spell above the treetops. The second time, Harry heard it.

"Siad Adumai!"

Again the air filled with light, followed by screams and then an explosion of multi-coloured sparkles.

"Ron?" Harry muttered to himself. A dark figure with great wings swept across the sky. It was so large, as it passed in front of the moon, Harry thought briefly that it might be a dragon. There was another flurry of spells followed by fireworks. Then, everything fell silent. Harry was going to say something to Gabriella when a great gust of wind swirled about them and, only a few yards in front of the couple, there appeared Dakhil Barghouti, wearing dark robes and smoking a cigar.

He stepped toward them, took in a long draft on his Cuban import which flamed orange, and let out a long billowing plume of smoke. Smiling, he gave Gabriella a hug.

"Hello, my dear," he greeted her warmly. "I didn't expect to see you in Centaur country." He cast a scathing glance at Harry and then puffed on his cigar to gather his composure.

"I'd offer you a cigar, Potter," he said, not looking at the wizard, "but I've only got two left and I believe I'll need them both this evening."

"Was that... you?" asked Gabriella, pointing at the sky.

"Well, your mother stopped in and said that I should be here at Harry's side fighting. You know how she can be. I didn't expect to find you hiding in the trees."

"We're not hiding!" snapped Harry.

"Having tea perhaps?" said Dakhil, his words dripping with sarcasm. "Though I don't see any of those little crackers you people seem to enjoy so much."

"I'm headed to Hogsmeade right now," said Harry, his jaws clenched.

"Sure you were, er... are. And you're planning on leaving Gabriella here in the forest, alone are you?"

"Listen!" Harry yelled. "She... YOU... Argh!" He threw his hand out and a bolt of red light erupted from his palm cracking the trunk of a tree in two. The expense of energy dropped Harry to his knees. Gabriella fell to her own and offered him support.

"Curious," said Dakhil, stroking his chin. "You should have sustained that spell." He stepped around the two like a shark circling its prey. "Your robes are clean; you haven't been fighting. What's going on?" For the first time there was a sense of concern in his words.

"I don't understand it," said Gabriella nervously. "He should be better by now."

A ghost appeared, standing in the middle of the fallen tree. "He has died a little more," said the spirit with a smile. "More of his soul is turning toward the light. It is better than I had hoped, better than any of us had hoped." Dozens of ghosts appeared in a large ring surrounding Harry, staring at him expectantly.

"Get away from him!" cried Gabriella as she helped Harry to his feet. The ghosts faded away. "He used the stone," she said to Dakhil, "to save Hermione Granger. I think... I think he went further than he should have."

"What are you talking about?" asked Harry indignantly. "Should I have let her die?"

"No... that's not what I meant."

"I did exactly what needed to be done. And... I... I am perfectly fine!" he cried, snapping his arm from her grasp. Briefly, he remembered that he had considered joining Hermione in her walk toward the light, but he shook his head and quickly dismissed those thoughts. He walked over to Dakhil. "Keep up... if you can old man." Just as the Centaurs had done, Harry vanished in a blur towards Hogsmeade.

Gabriella gasped. "He's not ready to fight."

Dakhil took her by the shoulder. "My dearest Gabriella, he's been ready all his life. To win this battle, he doesn't need his wand. He doesn't need magic." He kissed her forehead. "Now, be a good girl. Stay in the caverns; you'll be safe there." Instantly, he transformed into a vampire and flew up above the trees, disappearing into the night, leaving Gabriella alone.

The night was still. The crickets chirped and the breeze blew lazily through the trees, rustling the leaves and, as they waved to and fro, the sound of the ocean filled the air. Gabriella closed her eyes and was transported back to the beaches of Lebanon. Wave after wave swept up onto the sandy shore, occasionally crashing with a boom upon the rocks. She could see the colours of the sunset, rippling in the waves. It was beautiful.

There was a Centaur, walking across the white sand, its dark coat wet and foamed with perspiration. He had travelled long and hard to find her. He notched an arrow in his bow, focussing on his target, slowly pulled back the string, and let if fly with a distinctive thwang!

Gabriella opened her eyes in horror. Her hand shaking, she pulled her wand and began to run through the forest, crying out Macleta's name. How could she have been so wrong?