Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 14 - A New Map

Ron shuddered when he saw the mark on Harry's arm. In an instant he sprang away from Harry, gazing, his eyes wide, his hand held out in front of him pointing madly. "V... Vold... It's the... the..." he sputtered.

"No Ron!" Harry cried. "I knew you'd think that." If Ron was pale before, he was white now. Harry stood up holding his forearm closer so Ron could see. "Look, there's a..." but Ron took a step backward. "I don't believe this," Harry said. He yanked down the sleeve over his arm. "What was I thinking?" Harry turned to leave.

"No, Harry, stop." Breathing hard, Ron was trying to regain his composure. "It's just that," he took another breath, "well... okay..." and another breath. "Now it's my turn to be the jerk. I'm sorry." Ron, slowly took one step toward Harry. "Come on, let's..." he breathed again, "let's have a look." At first Harry was hesitant, but then he walked over to Ron and lifted his sleeve. The scar was gone. Ron was dumfounded. "But, I saw it, a snake and a knife, or something."

Harry sighed. "I don't understand either," he answered. "It was there when I first took off the bandages. I was going to show you then, but it vanished. You thought I was joking around." He rubbed his forearm. "I wish I was." Harry leaned back against the wall. "It popped out after we saw Malfoy today. You knew something was up, didn't you? I sensed you then."

"Yes," Ron whispered. "I guess I'm sorry for that too." Harry just shook his head.

"I told you, I understand."

"But what is it?" Ron pressed. "How did it get there?"

"I don't know, Ron," Harry said desperately. "Maybe it was somebody at the hospital."

"Why would they put the mark of the Death Eaters on your..."

"It's NOT the mark of the Death Eaters! It's some sort of symbol; I'm sure of it. But how, or why, I've yet to learn." Harry began to lightly rub his finger up and down against his arm. His eyes looked out into space. "... he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..." he whispered.

"What?" Ron asked. Harry looked back down to his arm.

"I think... it's about power Ron. The question is, what kind?" Ron simply looked confused. It was well past midnight and the two were both exhausted. "I better get back to bed," Harry said. "We can talk more tomorrow. Still, I'd like to hold off telling Hermione just yet." Ron looked up.

"Think she'll turn you into a lab rat do you?" Ron asked. Harry nodded. "Yeah, I understand. She knows about my back, but I haven't said anything about the voices." Ron looked very uncomfortable. "Still Harry, we're going to have to tell her sooner or later. We owe her that. Maybe when we get to school?" Harry simply shrugged his shoulders. "Well, if it pops up again, I'd like to get a proper look." Harry made his way to the door.

"Ron? When I came in... there were voices. Fred and George?" Ron rubbed the back of his neck twirling his finger around the edge of the circular scar.

"Uh, yeah... Fred and George," Ron said, looking away from Harry. "They just popped out before you came in. I think they went to say goodbye downstairs and, er, headed out the front door."

"Sure," said Harry with a thin smile, wondering what the truth was. "It's late Ron. I'm calling it a night. Sleep well."

"You too, mate," Ron answered.

Harry returned to his room to sleep, knowing full well neither of them would close their eyes for quite some time.

* * *

Over the next ten days the four Hogwarts students, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry often found themselves alone at Grimmauld Place. They spent most of their time cleaning the last vestiges of the Black household. Harry decided to keep quite a few things that he thought Sirius might want. Why, he didn't know. He saved the Black family tapestry, portraits of his better-behaved relatives, and the odd collection of golden instruments shelved in the study for which not even Moody knew their use.

Ron seemed to do well with so few people around. The voices had subsided at night. Neither of them had found it the right time to talk to Hermione. The occasional wizard or witch made their way to visit Arthur and Molly Weasley in the evenings. As before, they were not allowed to participate in the Order's meetings. Dumbledore had never stopped by; he was still overseas garnering support for the cause. From the snippets of information that Harry and the others overheard, he had been marginally successful.

Harry had exchanged a few letters with Gabriella. He decided to be upbeat and positive, and spoke of the summer to come. Remembering Grigor's words to him, each letter had allowed for Gabriella to choose a path that didn't include Harry: "I'll understand if you don't wait," or "Know I'll always love you wherever our futures might lead." It was his effort to let her make her own choice. It was clear to Harry, however, she had chosen to be with him. Just knowing that made facing the upcoming year bearable.

His scar had only returned twice. Once after a nightmare he had that he couldn't remember. He'd fallen off his bed, sweating, his heart racing. The pain in his arm told him it had returned. The second time was during an argument he had with Hermione. She was becoming insistent he tell someone that he could perform magic without a wand. Harry was halfway through his argument why nobody must know, when the pain shot down his arm again.

One afternoon, having just finished lunch, Harry found himself in the entryway when the door opened. It was Snape. He hadn't been to Grimmauld Place all summer and Harry never thought to ask what Snape had been slithering at. Certainly spying for the order, up to his neck in Death Eater activities. How much did he really enjoy it?

Snape took off a heavy black cloak. "Insanity in this heat," Harry thought, as Snape hung it on a rack near the door. He spun around toward the kitchen when he saw Harry. For a moment he froze, his eyes shrinking to two black dots framed by his greasy hairline. A thin false smile appeared on his face.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," he said in a sickeningly sweet voice. "I understand we'll be seeing much more of each other this year. Although, how you convinced Professor Marchbanks during your O.W.L.S. that you could mix more than water and ice is beyond me."

"I'm sorry," Harry replied in a truly sincere and apologetic voice. The look on Snape's face was palatable. Certainly this was not the response he expected.

"Sorry?" he asked. "Sorry, for what?"

"That you won't be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry said keeping his voice level and smooth. "I guess Professor Dumbledore found someone more qualified. Who is it?" The reaction was exactly as Harry had hoped. Snake's lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed.

"You'll discover that soon enough," he snapped. "I have business to attend to. Is Arthur Weasley here?"

"Why, yes, sir," Harry said emphasizing his politeness.

"Then where is he, Potter?" Snape snapped again.

"Well, Professor," said Harry, deliberately being slow, "I... I believe he's downstairs, er..." The door to the kitchen popped open. It was Mr. Weasley.

"Ah! Severus," he called. "I thought I heard voices. The meeting has started, if you can break away from Harry." The look of exasperation spread across Snape's face as he left to the kitchen, flashing a stabbing glare at Harry just before he disappeared behind the door.

"Why do you hate him so?" rang a voice from above his head. It was Hermione standing on the second floor landing. Harry looked up at her.

"Hate is such a strong word, don't you think?" he quipped. "It's more like I wish he'd never been born." He ascended the stairs. "Or maybe, it's just that I'd like to see him get a big fat kiss from a Dementor." He passed her heading to his room. "Then, I'd truly have a wonderful thought to help summon a Patronus."

"Harry," she followed, "you don't mean that."

"Don't I?" he called continuing to climb the stairs. "He hates me because my father teased him. What an adult role model! If Malfoy ever spawns some kind of vermin, let it be said now, that, as horrible as that thought is, I won't assume his kids are as evil and self-centered as their father." He walked into his room closing the door behind him. Hermione, undaunted, opened it and entered right behind him.

"He's on our side, Harry," she said trying to convince him of what he already knew.

"And this matters to me because...?" he asked rhetorically.

"Because," she started, "because Dumbledore won't be around forever, Harry."

"Okay Hermione, I'm lost. I just had a wonderful lunch and perfectly spiteful conversation with Snape, which I won I might add, and now you're getting all mystical on me."

"Who do you think is going to lead us in the battle against Voldemort? Dumbledore?" It was an odd question, he thought

"Of course Dumbledore," he said not really taking the time to think about it.

"If Dumbledore was able to defeat Voldemort, why didn't he when he had the chance? Instead, at his first opportunity, he let you face Voldemort for the Sorcerer's stone, why? Why not finish him off when he came to save you?" Harry walked to look out his window. "And what about last year? Don't you think it odd that he let you face Voldemort again, before coming to your rescue, only to let Voldemort slip away again?" There was a long pause, but Harry said nothing. The sun was dropping in the sky, another warm day, but Harry felt a chill. Hermione lowered her voice and walked up close behind him. "It's you Harry, you who have to defeat Voldemort. I don't know why, but it's the only explanation." Harry's eyes searched for a cloud, but only blue sky returned his gaze. He was searching for something to say, some way to deflect her thinking, some way to turn the conversation, but every move he could make he knew would fail with Hermione. She put her hand on his shoulder. "It's as if he's putting you at risk, only to save you... I don't understand." An airplane crossed the sky, leaving in its wake a large golden contrail flaming golden-yellow against the deepening pure blue.

"Because I'm not ready; not yet," he whispered. Hermione turned him to her. She put her arms around him and he buried his face in her shoulder. She said nothing.

"I couldn't even stop Bellatrix." He began to tremble. "How will I ever be able..."

"Shhh," she whispered. "He won't let it happen until the time is right." Together, they embraced by the window as the contrail spread against the blue sky turning a bright orange above Grimmauld Place. After some time, the door to Harry's room opened. It was Ron. Quickly, Harry dropped his arms, but Hermione held fast. Then, slowly, she let go, placing one hand on the side of Harry's face. "You know, don't you? It's not just you, Harry. It never has been and it never will be." He nodded.

"Erm, everything okay, mate?" Ron asked. Harry turned to the window wiping his sleeve across his face and then, making the effort to smile, glanced back at Ron.

"Yeah," Harry said, "yeah, everything's going to be fine."

"Well, good, uh... he's here." Ron looked back over his shoulder. "And he wants to see you."

"Who?" Harry asked. But at that moment the door behind Ron opened wide.

"I think I can take it from here, Mr. Weasley." Professor Dumbledore walked into the room.

"Dumbledore!" Hermione yelped and ran to give him a hug. Harry, instead, turned to look out the window.

"It's wonderful to see you, too, Miss Granger! I hear you had an adventurous summer together." Harry took note, but continued to stare at the reddening sky. For a moment, his mind turned to Privet Drive. "I'm sorry," Dumbledore continued, "but if you two would excuse us, I have some things to discuss with Harry." His voice was kind, but the words were heavy. Harry felt as if he was being summoned to speak with Mr. Darbinyan. The evening breeze was picking up. Warm on Harry's face, it stung his damp eyes. He listened as Ron and Hermione excused themselves, and heard the door to his room shut, leaving him alone with Dumbledore. Still he faced the darkening sky.

"Hello, Harry." The words were soft and inviting, but Harry stood stoic, silently looking for the first star of the evening. There was a small sigh, and then, "I see." He could hear Dumbledore sit down perhaps in his chair, or on his bed, Harry didn't care. "And your summer, Harry? Was it eventful?" There was another long pause. "Tell me, Harry, is the Wizarding world so cold that you did not feel it would allow you to love another?" The words cut to the bone. Harry placed both hands on the bottom of the window trying to take in deep breaths. "Is there no one you can trust with your heart?" The air in Harry's lungs was gone. The visit from Snape and the thought of what he'd given up to be here was fresh in his mind. Still staring out the window, his knuckles whitened as he clenched the sill.

"Why?" Harry asked. The question was syrupy and biting. "Do I need more lessons on love from Professor Snape?" It was Dumbledore's turn not to answer. Harry continued to look out the window. "Or maybe... I could talk to Mom and Dad? Oh wait! They're dead, aren't they--killed by a wizard." Harry's lungs were heaving. "Or maybe I could talk to my godfather? Oh no! He's dead too--killed by a witch." Harry's nails dug into the wood of Grimmauld Place. "Why would I think the Wizarding world was cold, Headmaster? There's all of my classmates at school. Except they think I'm some sort of parselmouth freak with a scar. There's the Ministry of Magic, but they'd rather see me expelled from the Wizarding world then save their pitiful lives. How about the world of public opinion, the Dailey Prophet? No... they'd sooner see me in a straight jacket and carted off to Azkaban to be with those most lovely of creatures--Dementors. And I guess it would be unwise to turn to the Slytherins, or the Death Eaters, or Voldemort himself--they just want me dead!" Pain was searing down his right arm. "Why, sir... why would I think the Wizarding world was loveless and cold?"

Harry turned to face Dumbledore. Tears were streaming down his defiant face. Dumbledore was seated in the chair by his bed, facing away. Harry pressed on, "I've left my heart and soul on Privet Drive, and I've come back to Grimmauld Place to kill or be killed. That's all there is to it. And the sooner it's over and done, the better." He leaned against the wall and slid to the floor hiding his face in his crossed arms. He was spent, an empty shell. For three weeks he'd been going through the motions with Ron, Hermione and all the rest, but that was all. His mind had always been turned to two things: Gabriella, and how it would end. Not thinking, he rubbed his right arm.

"No Harry, I think you've brought your soul with you. And, I'm afraid, you wear your heart on your sleeve." It was Dumbledore's turn to walk to the window. "I've been all over the world this summer, Harry, and I must admit you may be right. I did not find much warmth." The curtains on the window fluttered in the breeze as Dumbledore's shoulders slumped. "Most of those coming to our aid do so for their own selfish reasons. Very few, I'd say, feel they need to stop Voldemort to secure the safety of others. The safety of non-magic folk, of course, is their least concern, and yet for me it is our highest priority." Dumbledore walked back to the chair, turned it to face Harry, and sat back down.

"So, what are we to do then, Harry," he asked, "you and I? Should we leave it as it is? Should we let Voldemort have his way with the world? Is the world so hopeless it should be wiped clean again?" Harry's mind turned to the people at his birthday party... a rainbow of colors all getting along, willing to help those less fortunate or in need. He looked up at Dumbledore for the first time, and shook his head no. Dumbledore leaned back in the chair.

"I wouldn't be so hasty," the old wizard said with a sigh. His eyes were off somewhere, Harry thought, and they looked old, very old. "Do you really think there's good enough in the world to try and save it? Good enough in the Muggle world? Good enough in the Wizarding world?" His eyes returned to meet Harry's.

Harry paused and then whispered, "Yes." Dumbledore shook his head and held up his hand.

"Harry, until the day comes when you can open your hand to those you despise the most, when you can open your doors and admit those who you'd sooner shun, Voldemort will have won." Again, Dumbledore stood and walked to the window.

"I see by looking into your eyes you've been practicing. On your own?" Harry was tired. He simply nodded his head. "Of course you have," said Dumbledore, his breath on the wind. "This afternoon, I met with Professor Snape downstairs. He holds tremendous hatred towards your father and has transferred it to you. We spoke of this last year. It's quite simple, really. He's not evil. He's not deceitful. He simply had a miserable life as a child and thought Hogwarts would make it all better. But Hogwarts, in many ways, made it worse." His words were remorseful, and again he returned to the chair. It was almost as if he were pacing back and forth not sure where to go. "Tell me, Harry. You know Professor Snape's faults. You've seen them first-hand for what they are. Is it not possible to forgive them?" Harry's head snapped up, only to see two kind, light-blue eyes return their glare.

"Forgive them?" he choked. "Forgive Snape?"

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore returned quietly.

"And what kindness, what reason does he give me to forgive him?"

"None," Dumbledore said flatly. There was a smile on his face and a warmth in his eyes that was melting the ice around Harry's heart. For some moments the two sat there, eye-to-eye until Harry rose to his feet and walked behind Dumbledore.

"Yes," he whispered and then stronger, "I can forgive him." Dumbledore stood to face Harry.

"It is easy to say the words, Harry. It is harder to put them into action. Consider all those around you that you despise." Dumbledore paused as Harry's mind began to turn the words over in his mind. And then Dumbledore began, "The Dursleys, Wormtail, Malcolm Smelt, Kreacher, Mr. Darbinyan, and perhaps even Draco Malfoy." Harry stood stunned at the list of names. "None of them deserve your hatred, Harry. What's more, the day will come when we will need many of these people, and more, to help us in the fight against Voldemort." He walked close to Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Would it be possible to forgive them all without being asked?" He didn't pause for an answer. "When you can," he walked to the door, "you will have accomplished that which I could not. You'll have tapped into the true power that lies within each of us. On that day, you'll be ready, Harry, and you'll know it." As he opened the door to leave, he turned and faced Harry. His face was troubled.

"Harry," he asked, "at the accident in Little Whinging, you didn't have your wand?"

"No, sir." Harry felt his face redden, but the words were honest. Dumbledore's face fell further.

"It may be that the charm we spoke of last year is fading. I would not have thought it possible, but Tom has his ways. If that is the case, it would be wise for you to return here next summer." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore interrupted. "We will have time enough to discuss this further. I know where your mind is turned, Harry." His eyes twinkled and a smile splashed across his face. "We will find a way, son." And he left.

Again, Harry found himself alone. But no sooner had the thought of isolation entered his mind, it was thrust aside as the door to his room slammed open. Ron was first with Hermione and Ginny close on his heels.

"Well, mate," he panted out of breath, "what did he say?" Harry couldn't help but smile at the bounding energy that had just burst in.

"Come on, Harry," chimed in Ginny. "Out with it, and don't say he met with you alone to talk about your class schedule!"

"That's right, Harry," added Ron. "Blimey, he's never even met with any of the Order one-on-one." Suddenly a thought crossed Harry's mind.

"Are they still here?" he asked. "Is the meeting still on?"

"Well, yes," said Hermione. "Dumbledore left just now, and a few are still in the kitchen. It's just that..." But Harry was already out the door.

He raced down the steps, hearing the front door slam shut. From the lower landing he saw Mr. Weasley. "Who just left?" called Harry. Mr. Weasley looked up to Harry.

"Alastor, why?"

"No reason," Harry said. His pace slowed as he walked toward the kitchen. "The meeting's over?"

"Yes," Mr. Weasley responded gazing at the three others on Harry's trail. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Mr. Weasley," answered Harry. "What's for dinner?" Mr. Weasley was wise enough to be suspicious and curious enough to play the game.

"Molly's making meatballs," he said. As the words left Mr. Weasley's mouth, Harry entered the kitchen closely followed by all of them. Ginny, one eye and ear on Harry, offered to help her mother. Ron was at her side. At the table, Tonks was reading some papers. Harry expected her to fold them up as Hermione approached, but she didn't. Instead she turned them so Hermione could have a better look, and the two women began talking in hushed whispers. Remus and Snape were standing in the far corner speaking amicably, but seemed to stop as Harry walked over to them.

"I don't mean to interrupt," he said, "but I thought the meeting was over."

"You are and it is," said Snape shortly. "Remus, we can finish this discussion later, I must be getting on."

"Won't you stay for dinner, sir?" The words were Harry's and in as normal a tone as he could make them. He made every effort to be sincere. Snape glanced at Mrs. Weasley at the stove and then back to Harry.

"I think not, Potter," he replied. Almost as if someone had given Harry a new map to Professor Snape's face, he could see from his expression that he would rather stay. "Some of us have work to do," he quipped and left the kitchen.

Harry alone followed him to the front door. His insides were churning over what to say, or how to phrase it. It seemed hopeless to say anything that Snape would not take as an insult. Parts of him wanted to spit in his face for how he'd treated Harry all these years, while others wanted to apologize for what his father had done to Snape when they were students. Snape reached for the handle on the door when Harry finally opened his mouth.

"Sir?"

"What is it now, Potter?" The voice was filled with vitriol.

"You... you forgot your cloak, sir." Harry walked over to the rack by the door, took the cloak from off its hook and handed it to Snape. Suddenly, Snape became very uncomfortable, at a loss for words.

"Yes, well, thank you, Potter."

"You're welcome," said Harry with a warm smile.

As Snape left, Harry smelled the wonderful aroma of meatballs and turned to hear the laughter of family and friends. The smile on his face remained as he walked back to the kitchen and whispered, "One step closer to being ready, Tom."