Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 9 - An Uncertain Future

Harry rode the motorcycle through the Dursley's maturing flower garden, shredded blossoms flying everywhere. The wheels ripped across the front lawn, gauging it with deep ruts. He hid the bike along the north side of the Dursley home, scraping the paint on their siding for nearly nine feet. For an instant he looked at the bent metal and scraped paint, then ran to the front door. Trying to focus his blurring vision across the street, he saw the lights were on downstairs. But tonight, there would be no candle flickering in the window above.

"I'm sorry," he whispered and wiped his face with his blood stained hand. He burst through the front door.

"What to take?" he thought. He was halfway up the stairs when he remembered her gift. He ran into the living room, sweeping up both the mirror and the dragonhead into his left arm; his right arm was useless. Everything seemed to be spinning. He would put everything in his trunk, and... and... he stopped. "No," he whispered. "All I need is my wand." He laid the mirror on the dresser with its twin. Next to these he put the dragonhead. On a piece of parchment he scribbled as best he could, "Soseh, I'm sorry." Blood dripped onto the parchment and spread like an expanding cloud as he set it under Gabriella's gift.

Harry turned to Hedwig's cage. "Hedwig," he said, "I'm setting you free." He took her to the window, held her with his one good arm, and stroked her feathers. "If you want, fly to Hermione. She loves you almost as much as me." He thrust her out the window, but she flew back in. "I said fly away you bloody bird!" She stood there on the windowsill, then flew back to her cage. "You'll figure it out soon enough when Vernon tries to roast you!" He kneeled down to his trunk, pulled out his wand, and slipped it into his pocket. "I need to find him, and get this over with. That shouldn't be hard at all. I'll just let him know I'm available. Malfoy's mother will know how to contact him." Nearly losing his balance, he stood to leave.

"Goodbye girl," he said to Hedwig. "I'm off to see how the bike flies." He was headed to the door when he stopped to look at the room one last time. He still had some chocolate frogs under those loose floorboards. "Childish," he thought. No sooner had he turned to go than an owl flew in through the window with a scroll. Harry came to the open frame and yelled out to the wind, "I'm not staying! I don't care what you say!" Again he made his way to the door. This time there was a burst of flame, a phoenix feather, and a howler. "There won't be anybody left to hear it," he said defiantly and proceeded down the hall. But when the howler spoke, he stopped to listen. There was no yelling, as Harry had expected, but a loud and commanding voice, a voice Harry knew well-- Dumbledore's.

"Stay where you are...;"

"Typical," Harry thought and he turned to leave.

"... she is still alive."

He stopped cold. "Alive?" Panicked, he ran to his room. "Where is it? Where is it?" he yelled. On the floor was the envelope he'd turned his back on. He tore open the letter.

Harry,

An associate of mine has handled things on the street. Your friend is fine. Please, stay where you are. I will see you at first light.

Mr. Weasley

Harry stood for a moment, holding the note, reading and re-reading it. It began to tremble in his hands. Soon his entire body was shaking. The night was warm, but he felt terribly cold. He took the covers off his bed and wrapped them around him. He went over to his window and stared across the street. Her curtains were drawn shut, and the lights downstairs were off. "How could she be alive?" he thought. His mind was spinning too quickly to put anything together. He sat by his window and continued to stare at the window across from his. As his vision failed, the street seemed to fill with fog; everything was turning gray. He was still shivering when he noted that the night was growing lighter, the first signs of a new day. Finally, exhaustion overwhelmed him, and all was darkness.

It was just a few hours later when he woke to a hand on his shoulder. The sun was just lifting over the Darbinyan home. He opened his eyes, and for a moment the sun's rays blinded him.

"Harry, are you okay?" It was Mr. Weasley; his voice kind and gentle. "Come over here, and lie down." He lifted Harry to his feet and moved him carefully toward the bed. Harry's eyes couldn't seem to focus on anything. He grabbed Mr. Weasley's shirt.

"Gabriella, she's okay? Your scroll, you said..."

"Gabriella's fine she..."

"Where? Where is she?"

"You've been watching her all night. She's in her bed resting. I think she'll wake up late today, but when she does she won't have a scratch." He began to take the cover from around Harry, and let out a small gasp. "Which is more than I can say for you. Merlin! What happened to you?"

Harry looked at himself for the first time in the mirror. What he saw, he couldn't recognize. The right side of his face was swollen black and blue. Blood still trickled from his right ear soaking his shirt in a clotted mess. He had to peel the bedcover away from his right arm. It had been scraped raw, or was it burned? It looked like it had been through a sausage grinder, and it was still oozing.

"I've got to see her," Harry said. He began to limp to the door. Mr. Weasley stopped him.

"No. No you don't." He was clearly agitated. "They said you were fine; that you ran in here with no problems. I thought... Harry, tell me you won't move." Harry flashed his eyes out the window. "She's fine, Harry. She won't be awake for hours. Please, swear to me." Harry nodded, and sat down on his bed. He was starting to realize he couldn't see well at all, and that the pain of his arm was nothing compared to the throbbing of his head.

"And... and the police officer? Did I..."

"He's fine. Everyone's fine, but you!" Mr. Weasley straightened his shirt and took a deep breath. "Options..." he muttered to himself. "I need options. Okay, I'll have them connect the floo, and I'll get a portkey. Damn the paperwork! We'll use whichever works first. Don't worry, Harry. We're going to get you taken care of right now. Please, stay here!" With a snap, he disapparated.

Harry put his head to his pillow; it pounded. The room was starting to spin. What had happened last night? He was certain she was dead, but he hadn't had time. And what about the policeman? He looked at his arm. Small droplets of clear liquid fell to his bed. Wincing, he squeezed his fingers to prove to himself that it still worked. "But how?" he whispered into the air. His breathing was becoming labored. "I... I saw green?" he rasped, unsure what was real, what was dream; everything was spinning.

A few moments later Mr. Weasley was back; in his hands was a box. "Harry," he said, "where's your wand?" Harry still had it in his pocket.

"I have it," he wheezed, now finding it hard to breathe.

"Okay, then," Mr. Weasley spoke, "let's get up." As Harry lifted his head off the pillow a sharp pain struck him on his right side. He groaned. "We'll never make it downstairs." Mr. Weasley opened the box to reveal a small golden sphere. "It's a portkey, Harry. A bit rougher ride than floo, but we need to go immediately. You know what to do?" Harry nodded. "On three then? One, two, three." Harry's navel was grabbed from behind and a wave of searing pain shot through his body. Traveling by portkey was disorienting at the best of times, but now Harry's head was splitting.

When they stopped, Harry fell to the ground, his face hitting the floor. "Black marble," he thought, trying to draw a breath that wouldn't come. "This must be..." But in that instant his vision failed, and all went dark.

The air was cold and crisp. It was suddenly much easier to breathe, although his head still throbbed. All was dark, very dark, except for the stars. They were everywhere. "So many colours," Harry thought. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that he was standing in a garden. There was a rustling in the bushes. Suddenly a gnome popped his head out, then disappeared. From behind, Harry heard screaming. He turned and the scene changed. He was in the street next to Duncan's house. No, he was in Duncan's house looking through the front window. On the street, a police car's lights flashed as a policeman started to get out.

"Oh no, Duncan!" a woman's voice gasped. "I think the one on the ground is dead." It was Emma, or someone like Emma, standing on the front porch and holding Duncan tightly by the arm.

"Did yeh see the bike flip over that guy's head?" Duncan replied. "He was almost flattened!"

"What... what's he doing?" Emma asked. Harry seemed to float, watching himself reach down and turn Gabriella's lifeless body over. There was a blinding green flash. "It can't be!" the woman's voice cried out, twisting into...

The garden returned, and the sound of crickets filled the air. But the air was colder now, much colder. He began to shiver when he heard a faint hissing sound.

He woke as the door to his room squeaked open, pushing the hiss to the back of his memory. He heard footsteps walking close. He was in bed, the linens pulled up to his chest. He kept his eyes shut. "Is this still a dream?" he thought.

"Well he's looking much better, isn't he?" It was Hermione's voice.

"Lots," Ron's voice mumbled. He was eating something. "I don't think he'll miss one of these, do you? I mean he's got so many, anyway."

"Ron, you're hopeless," Hermione chided. "Well, we should go. They said it might be a few more days before he wakes up."

"A few more days!" Harry sat up, the room began to spin, and he put his head back down again. "How long have I been out?"

"Harry! You're awake!" Hermione ran to his bed and touched the right side of his face. Her own face looked red and swollen, as though she'd been crying. "They weren't sure you'd..." she shuddered.

"Hey mate," Ron chimed. "You've got a story to tell if you ask me."

"HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN OUT!" he demanded. His two friends each took a step back.

"Well," Hermione said, "three days, if you count the day you arrived and not today. It's Monday." Harry surveyed the room. He was definitely in St. Mungo's. On the walls were paintings, their characters moving to see who was yelling. Across from his bed was an open window through which he could see an azure blue sky.

"What time is it?" he asked, trying to calm himself.

"Almost noon, mate," Ron answered. "Lunch will be by pretty soon... I hope."

"I need to go." Harry turned out onto the floor, holding the bed to steady himself. His right arm, which was wrapped in gauze, ached, and his head was pounding. He began to sway. His two friends quickly grabbed either side.

"Come on Harry," Ron said. "You've go to lay down, you're brain's been scrambled."

"My brain's fine!" Harry pushed Ron away. He didn't want to be here. He had chosen to leave this world behind. He certainly didn't want to see these two. "How was vacation?" he sneered. He could see immediately by their reactions that they had lied. "Off to the war without Harry, were we?" He stood and tore his arm from Hermione, but winced at the pain. "Well you can keep your bloody war! I WANT OUT!" He started for the door, and then realized he had nothing on but a hospital gown. Without looking back he said through gritted teeth, "Where are my clothes." Each word landed with a thud.

"Oh Harry," said Hermione, her voice quivering. "They were torn and covered in blood. We were going to bring you new ones. When you got better." Her voice was thin and weak.

"Come on Harry," Ron pleaded. "Sit back down, and we'll get you some clothes right now. Come on, mate."

"I'm leaving," Harry replied, "with clothes, or without." But no sooner had he turned to the door, than it swung open in front of him. It was Mr. Weasley, but no smile appeared on his face. Standing inches away, Harry realized that the lines in his face had been cut somewhat deeper than he remembered. His eyes, once so carefree, were steely.

Mr. Weasley looked around the room. "Ron, Hermione, I need to speak with Harry alone," he said curtly. They both made to leave. Harry was determined not to look at them, but then Hermione touched his arm.

"I like your hair," she smiled, and left the two of them to talk in private.

Harry's heart felt a pang of guilt, and his shoulders slumped a bit. Mr. Weasley still stood looking at him straight on. "Your friend is fine Harry. I've had someone by every day. You, lad, had it much worse. We almost lost you. The healers finally stopped your brain from swelling, but they want you to stay here for a while longer. They said the bandages on your arm will have to stay for at least a week. When you're healed, you can do whatever you want." He spoke these last words with added emphasis. "Please, lad, back to bed." This time Harry obliged. His mind was still foggy and he could feel his legs starting to give way. But, if Gabriella were okay, he would sort things out here.

"Mr. Weasley, the policeman, he's alive?" he said, pulling the linens back over his chest.

"Yes, he's fine Harry. It seems he was hit with a rather severe stunning spell. Still, his bruises were easily healed, and all he'll remember is that he fell asleep in his car at the park. The neighbors who came out to look at the commotion have all been altered to remember nothing. Your motorcycle is safe, and a note has been left with the Dursleys that you're at the hospital." There was a large look of distress on his face. "Harry, you didn't have your wand with you at the accident?"

Harry looked at his bandaged hand. "No," he replied.

"Did you see anything, anyone, that might have cast a stunning spell?"

"They don't know," Harry thought. He considered explaining, but the idea quickly left his mind. "No," he said simply.

"We think someone was there Harry, but how, we don't know. It's possible they tried to attack the policeman first, so they could turn on you. The area's been monitored closely for signs of magic all summer. That stunning spell tripped all kinds of alarms. Our people were at the scene in seconds; one saw you ride off." Mr. Weasley walked to the window and let out a deep breath. "But we have you back now, don't we." He walked over to Harry and tried to hoist a smile on his face. "What is it Harry?"

"You don't have me. You don't have me at all." Harry's eyes were fixed on the ceiling above. "When I leave here, I'm never coming back."

"I understand," said Mr. Weasley his voice once again calm and gentle. He took a seat next to Harry's bed. "And where will you be going?"

"I think you know, sir." Harry's insides were churning. "I'm done. I quit." He rolled turning his back to the guest beside his bed. "You won't have to worry about Harry Potter getting in the way. Let Ron and Hermione, and all the rest keep fighting the battles. They seem to have done fine this summer. All in one piece still."

"Is that what you think they've been doing all summer?" The chair slid closer to Harry's bed. "And you've been stuck at the Dursley's again. But we thought you were getting along much better now? Were we wrong?"

Harry wanted to bury his head in his pillow, but instead turned to look at Mr. Weasley. His eyes had brightened, and his smile had smoothed the creases on his face. Harry searched for the words. "It's just that... Gabriella... she... I..." Suddenly a dawning comprehension appeared across Mr. Weasley's face. His eyes began to shine.

"Do you think you're the first young wizard who has fallen for a Muggle before?" Harry said nothing. "You know, of course, Seamus?" Harry's mind flashed to his classmate at Hogwarts whose mother was a witch, but father was a Muggle. Suddenly he wanted to know how. He couldn't believe he'd never asked. His head fell to the pillow again.

"The thing is," said Harry, "her father, he hates me, he thinks..."

Again Mr. Weasley interrupted. "I recall a young woman named Lily whose father refused to let her see the man of her dreams. I believe his name was James," he smiled.

"My father...?"

"Your father and your mother's father never saw eye-to-eye. James was a bit too much flash. Still, your father was very persistent, and in the end.... Well we know what happened." Mr. Weasley rubbed his hands to his face. He was tired. "Harry, there are ways to do this. Ways to do this right. Don't be rash, and don't be foolish. You'll see, just give it time." He stood up and stretched. "Molly will be by later to say hello." He stepped toward the door. "And for the record, you've been doing a bit more magic than those two combined." He pointed out the door. "That mirror trick." He shook his head. "I don't know how you do it." He walked back to Harry's bed and held his left hand. "Son, if you're in love with a wonderful girl who loves you back, let that be enough for now. The rest will come soon enough." Mr. Weasley straightened up and put a smile on his face. A moment later, he'd left the room. Outside, Harry could hear him raise his voice telling his friends to wait, to give Harry some time.

"I don't know how I do it either," Harry whispered to the ceiling. He was trying to sort things out properly, when he realized he forgot to ask what Gabriella knew. She was okay, but had they wiped her mind too? How much? Suddenly, Harry had visions of returning to Privet Drive as a stranger to Gabriella. "What if she doesn't recognize me?" he thought.

The flapping of wings filled the silent room. Perched on the window was Harry's snowy owl. "Hedwig!" he called. "What are you doing here?" She flew to his bed, a letter tied to her leg. It was a regular white Muggle envelope, and on the front was the name "HARRY" spelled out in large handwritten script. He slipped open the letter to reveal two things: a plastic card with his picture on it, and a light-yellow paper resembling his own parchment from home. His heart skipped. It was from Gabriella.

Harry,

I feel so foolish trying this. If Hedwig comes back with this same letter tied to her leg, I'll just die. Dudley's home alone, and has let me into the house. He says you're okay, but in the hospital. He won't say where. Your Aunt came home Sunday night and saw the garden torn to shreds. She screamed for fifteen minutes until they finally pulled her into the house. Your provisional license came in the mail today, now you can crash legally, well sort of. I guess you won't have me to keep an eye on you. All I remember is the accident, and waking up in my bed. How did you get me home?

I'm worried about you Harry. You were possessed that night. It wasn't like you. Please write and tell me you're okay. Everyone's asking about you. Mama keeps telling me not to worry, that you're fine. She's never been wrong before, but my heart hurts. I miss you dearly. You said you didn't have time, Harry, but you do. I'll give you all the time in the world.

I love you,

Gabriella

Much as he'd done with his father's mirror, he traced her handwriting with his fingertips, trying to feel her breath on the paper. Was she sitting on his bed when she wrote this? Was the sun red over Little Whinging? He thought of what Mr. Weasley had said. Was love enough for now? Only Harry and Dumbledore knew the prophecy. If Mr. Weasley had known, would he still think that love was enough? "The rest will come, alright," Harry thought, "and I can't put her in any more danger." He had to write back, but how? "Ron!" he called out. "Ron!" Ron burst through the door with his wand at his side looking for trouble, Hermione one step behind.

"What, Harry? What is it?" Looking at Ron there, ready to defend him, wand set to strike, Harry began to laugh. Sheepishly, Ron lowered his hand and put the wand away.

"A lot of attacks here at St. Mungo's are there?" Harry jibed.

Ron smiled back. "Well, it could have been a Devil's Snare, right? You wouldn't be the first, mate."

Harry sat up in bed. "Listen, both of you, I'm sorry for being such an arse a minute ago. I'm really glad you're both here, and I promise to tell you everything soon." He paused. "But right now I need some paper. I've got to write a letter."

Hermione stepped forward opening a book and pulling out a loose sheet of parchment. "Here Harry, you can use this. And here's a quill."

"Who's the letter for?" asked Ron.

Harry looked up. "Honestly, you two have been really fantastic. But what I need right now is some peace and quiet."

Ron looked at Hermione. "I think we've just been given the old heave-ho wouldn't you say?"

"I think you're right, Hermione. Harry, do you think we could join you for lunch?" Harry nodded and the two left the room.

For a while he stroked Hedwig's feathers thinking about the summer. His mind slipped back to the events of the last year. He thought of Cho and the Valentine's Day fiasco. He felt much older now, perhaps too old really. He remembered Sirius and Cedric, and thought hard about how they died. He would not feel sorry for himself. He would not deny his destiny. And he would not deny his love for Gabriella. He began to write.

Gabriella, my love...

I'm so sorry, forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. I've let you down. I've let you all down. My own selfish desires put you in danger. It will never happen again.

I'd give everything to have you in my arms, right now... to look into your eyes and stroke your hair. But that is not my destiny. Instead, I've been put on a solitary path. For a shining moment our ways were aligned, and I was happier than I've ever been, or ever will be. But it's time I travel to my uncertain future. I know you won't understand, but those who travel at my side do so at their peril. I see that now. It was ordained when I was born.

Before I go, I leave you with two things--my heart, and my soul. Keep them with you, safe in Little Whinging. I won't need them anymore. I can't ask you to wait, I may never return. But always remember, I make my choice because I love you.

I'll always love you.

Harry

He rolled the parchment, and tied it to Hedwig's leg. "Take it to her girl," he whispered, "and stay there. Watch her for me." He wiped his face as his owl leapt toward the window. "Goodbye," he choked.