Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 25 - Out of Bravery, Fire

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The red eye stared back at Harry burning with anger, threatening and ominous. "When will we meet again Voldemort?" Harry whispered in the cool darkness. The glowing crimson orb made no reply. "You may find me a bit more mature this year, Dark Lord. But what surprises will you have for me? I know you've made your move already; I can feel it. But, what is it I wonder? Dementors? Bombs? I think not. You want me... I've heard you calling Tom... but you can't have me. You'll never have me."

Blinking, Harry pulled away from his telescope. For weeks they'd been studying clusters and galaxies, and on every clear night when they observed the stars he couldn't help but gaze at Mars as it continued to brighten in the night sky.

"Fifteen minutes, students," Professor Sinistra called out. Another astronomy class was over, and again Dean hadn't been willing to talk to Harry. He was perfectly polite, but behind the façade were cold waters. Harry knew it was about Ginny, but every time Harry tried to bring the subject up, Dean would change the direction or stop it in its tracks. When Professor Sinistra finally dismissed the class, Harry tried again.

"Hey Dean," he said with an earnest voice, "do you think you can give me a hand with these charts tonight? I'll never get this globular cluster drawn right." Dean continued to slide his perfect renditions of the same images into his case.

"Gee Harry," he replied not looking up, "I'm kinda busy tonight. Hermione and I were going to work on Arithmancy together. Sorry." Dean pulled his pack over one shoulder and started down the stairs. Frustrated, Harry shook his head and walked over to the parapet. The night sky was brilliant as the quarter moon gently lit the grounds below. He put both hands on the banister and sighed.

Every day the people he could count as friends seemed to be growing smaller. Ron and Dean were speaking more to each other than to Harry. And if Ron was found laughing in the common room with anybody it was with Hermione or Goyle. Seamus blamed Harry for Ravenclaw's utter defeat in their 'secret' attack against Slytherin. Somebody had been tipped off, and the Slytherins never went into the classroom to duel. Instead they waited for the Ravenclaw's to leave and ambushed them in the corridor. Seamus' face was still popping green puss that smelled of boiled cabbage. Even Anthony Goldstein had turned his back on Harry. Anthony was angry, not because he'd been beaten by Slytherin, but because Harry, not Anthony, had saved Cho's life. As for Dean, he seemed more distant with each passing day, while Neville was spending most of his time with Helen Hedera. Neville hooking up with Helen, however, met Harry's approval. He noticed that the coupling definitely improved Neville's confidence in all of his classes.

What bothered Harry the most was that Hedwig had still not returned. At first he was worried, but then his thoughts turned to an irrational fear that Gabriella had decided to let their paths part. After all, he'd told Hedwig to stay with her; maybe she had. Lately, his mind had turned that fear into anger and resentment, deepening his sense of isolation. Only Hermione made any effort to be friendly to Harry, but after Ron had seen her holding his hand, even she became more cautious of seeming too close.

The one loyal friend he thought he'd never lose, Dobby, had disappeared completely. Every minute Harry could spare was spent searching for the house elf. He slept in the common room, visited the kitchens, and left notes that disappeared, but were never answered. With the cool night's breeze blowing gently at his face, Harry stood on the parapet in the dark and his ears echoed Dobby's words -- touched by a Dark Wizard. But no Dark Wizard had touched him, unless Voldemort had left something behind last year... something hidden.

Below Harry, the front doors to the castle opened and Firenze jumped out onto the front lawn. He walked near the Whomping Willow, but the tree remained still. For a long time as Harry gazed at the centaur, the centaur gazed at the sky, his hoof nervously clawing at the ground. Something was clearly troubling Firenze, but when Harry looked up at the stars he couldn't tell what it was. "Could centaurs see Dark Marks?" Harry wondered. Just as the thought crossed Harry's mind, Firenze noticed him on the parapet. The centaur nodded his head in a subtle bow, and Harry waved in return. Then Firenze walked toward Hagrid's cabin and disappeared behind.

Harry looked out across the lake toward Hogsmeade. The town's lights gave a faint glow to the horizon. His mind turned to Malfoy and the soul that had been lost because of Harry's own foolishness. At least he and Malfoy had stopped dueling, directly anyway. Simple insults towards one another had become their language of choice. Much like their magic in transfiguration, their verbal sparing had become a competition of sorts. But there had been no sincere threats since Harry had returned from St. Mungo's.

For some minutes, Harry stood silently trying to put all the pieces together, but the puzzle was getting too large, too complex. By the time Harry made it back to the common room, he had again found himself with far too much homework, far too little time, and no friends to help him accomplish it. Ron, Ginny, Dean and Hermione were working together by the fire. Goyle was talking to Katie and Sloper about Quidditch. He thought about joining them, but then shrugged his shoulders and headed to the boys' dormitories.

His room was empty. Harry thought about the very real possibility that Neville might be breaking curfew if he didn't get back in soon. He grinned to himself. Looking around to make sure he was alone, he walked over to his trunk and pulled out a birthday gift, Soseh's painting. For quite some time he just looked at her, wishing he could stroke her black hair and dive into her black eyes. His fingers traced her head and back, but did not touch the delicate painting. "Where are you, Gabriella?" he whispered. His words were sorrowful, but then, suddenly, his mind began to bend his sorrow into anger. "You've found someone else, haven't you?"

He examined the portrait's dying day, the orange sun plunging into the azure ocean. If anything the colours were more brilliant. Looking closely at her face, he sensed somehow sadness in her expression. How could he not have noticed before? He began to peer more closely at her eyes when he heard footsteps climbing the stairs. As he slid the portrait back, he noticed Dudley's gift and held it in his hand. The thought of clunking the head of whoever was coming up the stairs crossed his mind. When he saw that it was Ron and Goyle, the urge was palpable.

"I'm beat, mate," Ron said to Goyle, not noticing Harry crouching low between his trunk and bed. "Did you three come up with any new strategies?"

"Well," Goyle began, "we're trying to make sure we don't rely on the Seeker winning the game every time, right? Gryffindor's got to be able to win the match outright even if Ravenclaw gets the Snitch." Ron nodded his head in agreement, as he changed into his pajamas. "That means more aggressive play and faster ball handling. How Potter convinced Katie that that shrimp Creevey could play... I don't know... she won't budge."

"Potter pretty much gets his way around here, mate," Ron replied crawling into bed. "Get used to it."

"Well, you'd a thought he'd get detention for... well, you know." Goyle began to shudder rubbing his face. "As if I could really surprise the great Harry Potter! Merlin's Beard! I was just trying to get a slice of cake! I didn't even see it coming, I tell you."

"You don't get it do you," Ron sighed putting his hands behind his head on his pillow. "That transfiguration was well past N.E.W.T. level. There are maybe two guys in Ravenclaw, and maybe Hermione who could cast that spell right in all Hogwarts. If I tried, you'd be some sort of blob on the floor, pretty much like you were on the train last year." Ron began to laugh.

"That's not funny!" Goyle yelled, and then he brought his voice down low leaning down to Ron at his bedside. "A snake is what he is."

"Potter's not..." but Ron's words were cut short. Harry could take it no longer. He stood up and grabbed his pillow.

"This snake..." he stuck out his tongue and hissed at Goyle who was so frightened he fell over backwards knocking over a lit candlestick into his own book pack and starting a small fire, "...will be sleeping in the common room tonight." Then he turned to Ron. "So I'm a Potter now; is that right, Weasley?" The look on Ron's face told Harry he wanted to take the words back, but pride mixed with guilt stood in the way.

"I'll call you whatever I want to call you, Potter," he snapped back. "Enjoy the couch!" Somehow the words hurt. Harry didn't want them to, but they did. He wanted to say something, something spectacularly virulent, but his face withered and his shoulders slumped. Still holding his red, round, rock in one hand, and his pillow in the other he slouched down the stairs.

Behind him he could hear Goyle blurt out in a loud whisper, "That's tellin' him!" But there was no reply from Ron. On the way down he passed Dean and Neville.

"Hi, Harry," said Neville with a warm smile. Dean said nothing. "Going to try and catch a glimpse of Dobby again, eh?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I guess," he said grimly.

There was a first year student sitting in the couch by the fire reading a book. Harry didn't know his name... Patrick something. Not wanting to be rude, he went and got a glass of water and sat at the table rolling the red ball around from hand to hand, left to right to left... "One lone student," he thought, "and he's got to sit there." The ball was heavy, very heavy, right to left... "I should have just cracked him!" he murmured under his breath. "Potter pretty much gets his way around here," he mocked now throwing the rock from hand to hand, left, right, left... "As IF!" he spat loudly, standing and beginning to pace the room, right, left, right... "If I'm a snake, he's poison," he said to himself. "Haseth Hayaheth!" he hissed. "There! How's that for snake?" He was trying to think of what he should have said. What was the perfect retort to Potter? There were so many, too many really. He squeezed, pressing the red rock with the fingers of his right hand. Ron made an easy mark, and Harry knew anything he'd say would cut to the bone. His fingers loosened. He couldn't do that to Ron; he wouldn't do that to Ron.

The anger began to ebb away, and Harry took a deep breath. The stone ball seemed somehow lighter in his hands. He looked down and admired the intricate red and black patterns on its surface. He walked over to the first year to ask if he could use the couch.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but do you mind if I..." He looked at the first year to see a shaking white wisp of a thing staring back at him. The child's eyes were wide with fear as his eyes darted from Harry to the table. Harry looked back to see that his glass of water was steaming. What water he had was now nearly all boiled away. "Oh, that...uh yeah. It's probably one of the ghosts playing tricks again. Maybe you'd best be off to bed, eh?"

Trembling, the first year closed his book and headed toward the staircase facing Harry all the while. Harry walked over, grabbed his pillow and tossed it onto the couch. "See ya!" He waved as the first year finally passed up the stairs and out of sight. He flopped himself onto the couch and tried to clear his mind. At first, it was impossible. Angry, self-pitying thoughts kept flashing into his head. As he rolled the ball around in his hand, he began to relax, and finally his thoughts began to drift away. Before long he was asleep.

There was a thud and Harry woke abruptly reaching for his wand. He was still by the fire in the common room. A glance out the window confirmed it was still night. The fire seemed to have more logs on it than he remembered. He sat up for a moment rubbing his face, looked around, and seeing nothing lay back down to sleep. Suddenly, he realized that his stone was no longer in his hands. He looked to the floor--nothing. He was still a bit groggy as he swiveled off the couch and crouched low to see where it might have rolled. Finally, he saw that it was in the fire nestled among the glowing embers. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

"Damn," he cursed, looking for some way to get it out. "Your wand stupid," he said to himself. Half asleep, and without really thinking he called out, "Accio stone!" Instantly the stone flew toward him, and instinctively he reached for it like a Snitch. Before the ball hit his palm, his mind realized he'd made a mistake, but it was too late. The fiery stone struck his flesh.

He gave out a small shriek and dropped the stone to the floor. But, something was wrong. His half-sleeping mind was trying to fit the pieces together. He'd felt no pain. He looked at the palm of his left hand, and there was no blister. He bent low and kneeled next to the stone on the floor. He held his hand over its surface. He felt no heat. With one finger he touched the red surface. It wasn't hot; it wasn't even warm. If anything, it was cool. He held it in his hand, perplexed.

With his wand, he levitated it into the hottest part of the fire and set it there. He went over and refilled his glass of water taking a drink and waiting. After a few minutes he levitated the stone out of the fire and slowly let it sink into the glass of water. Instantly the water sizzled as it struck the stone's surface. Steam poured out. Again, Harry repeated the experiment; only this time, without fear, he dropped the ball into his own left hand, fully expecting to hear the same sizzling sound. But none came. The stone felt cool. He shook his head. What was going on?

"Very brave!" a voice rang out breaking the stillness and silence. Harry dropped the stone on the floor again and spun on the sound, wand in hand. "Very brave, indeed Harry Potter, sir!" It was Dobby. There was a smile on Dobby's face, but the house elf looked ill. He was thinner, if that were possible, and his colour looked... well, off.

"Dobby!" Harry called. Seeing the house elf in front of him looking back with the first smile that had faced him in over ten days, Harry reached down and hugged Dobby. Then, with one knee on the floor, he held his shoulders looking at him closely. "Are you okay? You're ill!"

"Not ill, Harry Potter, sir... not ill." Dobby smiled, a bit overwhelmed by Harry's hug. "Dobby has been busy, very busy." Harry picked Dobby up in his arms and carried him to the couch by the fire. His eyes were clearly exhausted, and his clothes, which of late had been so new, were tattered. There was the slightest tremble as he held Dobby in his arms, as if the house elf was cold.

"Sit here Dobby, rest," he said laying the house elf on his pillow and covering him with a quilt.

"You are a great wizard, sir," Dobby said trying to sit up, "Dobby must stand." But Harry held him down.

"You'll stay there Dobby," Harry insisted. And the house elf, truly unable to push back, gave in and put his head against the pillow. "Why have you been busy Dobby?" Harry asked. Dobby lifted his head slightly off the pillow.

"Is it safe, Harry Potter, sir?" he whispered. Harry looked around the room and nodded. Exhausted, Dobby put his head back down. "Dobby has been traveling sir, looking. But Dobby has failed. Dobby has failed Harry Potter!" Dobby began to bang his head with his hands, and Harry grabbed each with his own.

"Stop it Dobby!" said Harry. "You haven't failed me. I... I've failed you. I had no reason to be so cruel to you. I'm sorry, Dobby, truly sorry." He held Dobby's thin hands in his own. "Can you forgive me?" Dobby's eyes began to fill with tears and he reached down and blew his nose in his tattered shirt.

"Dobby tells them," the house elf began, "Dobby tells them all, and each year the stories of Harry Potter grow greater. Dobby has friends, sir, many friends. They won't admit it sir, but Dobby tells them of your greatness, sir. And now it is not just Dobby telling the stories. Your name is known, sir." He took Harry by the right arm. "And so Dobby searched sir. Dobby traveled to all his friends. And Dobby's friends asked more friends." The house elf's voice grew quiet. "There are many house elves Harry Potter. And many friends work in dark places," he whispered lower. "Dobby asked who could leave such a mark on the great Harry Potter. But Dobby failed sir. There is no Dark Wizard in all of Britain that could do such a thing, at least not one known to us."

"Dobby," Harry said quietly, "what Dark Mark? Please, tell me. What can you see?" Harry rolled up his sleeve to show the smooth skin on his right forearm. "Is it this? Is it the mark you saw here?" To Harry's surprise, Dobby shook his head, no.

"It is a charm, sir," Dobby spoke as his eyes cleared. "House elves can see it, but wizards can't. Dobby can see it all around you." Again, Dobby held his hand to Harry's face but did not touch, stroking an invisible layer Harry could not see. "It is Dark magic, Harry Potter, sir." Dobby shuddered as he pulled his hand away.

"A charm?" Harry asked. "A charm, or a hex? Do I have a curse set upon me Dobby?"

"Dobby can not see its purpose sir," Dobby said shaking his head, "only its nature. It is old magic, very old. It is a charm, I think, not meant for a wizard." Dobby tried with all his might to pull his head off his pillow, but he couldn't. He began to speak again, but Harry stopped him.

"Shhh," Harry breathed with his finger to his lips. "Later Dobby. You need to eat and rest. Let me carry you downstairs." Dobby's eyes began to fill with tears again.

"He cares more for Dobby than... than to know..." Dobby sniffed and blew his nose in his shirt again. "Truly, Dobby's greatest friend! There may be other places, yes? Other elves Dobby has not spoken to?" Dobby's eyes began to focus elsewhere. "I will return, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby must discover the cause; I must not fail!"

"Dobby, no!" Harry yelled. "You've got to rest... to eat." But Dobby raised his hands, smiled and disapparated before Harry's eyes. Harry flopped back onto the pillow that Dobby had just left. He pulled his right sleeve up and looked at his arm.

"What mark is it Dobby?" he spoke to the fire. He had so many questions, but Dobby looked ill, very ill. And now he was gone, not to rest, but to search for more answers. Harry noticed the red orb at the front of the fire again, and levitated it toward his hand. Again it was cool in his palm.

"Where did you get this, Dudley?" he breathed, looking at its bright orange crevices, and its crimson depths of smoke. Harry thought of Mad-Eye's words. It could be cursed, or some sort of orb to track Harry's whereabouts. Perhaps it was listening to every conversation he had. Harry sighed. What other kids had to worry about their gifts being bewitched. "It's just a rock," he told himself, and holding it with both hands on his chest, he relaxed and watched the flames reflect off its surface. Finally, his mind drifted off to sleep.

He woke, his eyes still closed, to the touch of someone stroking his hair. "It's long, isn't it?" Ginny whispered.

"Yeah," Hermione replied softly. "I don't know. I think I liked it shorter."

"Oh, no. I think it gives him a more edgy look. He'll need that." There was concern in Ginny's voice. "When, do you think?" she asked wrapping a finger around a half curl of Harry's black hair.

"I don't know, Ginny. I don't know. But we'll all have to be ready when it happens." He could hear Hermione walk around the couch. "Harry," she whispered rocking his shoulder. "Harry, it's time to wake up." Harry opened his eyes, blinking.

"Hello, sleepy head," said Ginny, grinning over the back of the couch. "You'd best get ready." The morning bustle of students preparing for class was filling the common room.

"Yes, Harry," said Hermione grabbing him by the shirt. "Get up, or you'll miss Potions."

"Wouldn't that be awful," Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. The tremendous number of short people filling the room made him think, for some reason, of Gringotts. "Tell me we weren't that small," he said. Hermione just smiled. From behind, Ginny was still fiddling with his hair.

"Hey, Ginny!" Dean called, a hint of irritation in his voice. "Are we going to breakfast or what?" Ginny quickly let go.

"Yes, Dean," she replied in a kind voice. "Just trying to wake Harry up."

"Harry's a big boy now," said Dean, adding a bit of acidity to the irritation. "He certainly doesn't need my girl to get him out of bed."

"YOUR GIRL?" Ginny shot back adding a level of indignation. "Your girl can get whomever she wants out of bed!" Ginny yelled, her voice filling the common room, which suddenly fell silent as everyone stopped and stared. Dean glanced around, embarrassed.

"Fine!" he yelled, stomping off.

"Oh dear," Ginny said biting her lower lip. "I didn't mean it like that. Excuse me guys, I... I better apologize." She left calling Dean's name down the corridor. Harry stood and looked at Hermione. A grin broke across his face.

"Happy Birthday," he said giving her a hug.

"You remembered," she said with a smile and a blush, as she tried patting his hair down in what was sure to be a fruitless battle.

"Of course I remembered. Will there be a party?" Hermione's ears turned scarlet.

"I don't think so," she answered, pulling her hand away. She started looking around, avoiding Harry's eyes. Harry's heart drooped a little.

"Well," he said gently, "I have a gift for you anyway. I'll get it to you today sometime." He looked as everyone headed out the portrait of the Fat Lady. "I better get going." He stroked her face with his hand and darted up the stairs to prepare for the day. When he got to his dormitory, everyone else was already dressed. He met Ron's eyes for an instant, but they each turned and looked the other way unwilling to say a word. Harry rolled the red stone in his fingers thinking of last night. If Ron hadn't come when he did, Harry would have slept in bed and, perhaps, Dobby would have gone to eat and rest.

Harry sat on his bed tossing the stone in the air and catching it with the other hand. It was certainly not any bigger than a Snitch, just a bit heavier maybe.

"What's..." Goyle began but the look Harry shot him instantly told him to be quiet. It wasn't long before Neville, Ron and Goyle were set to head downstairs. Before they left, Harry spoke up.

"Hey, Goyle," Harry called. "You're friends with Malfoy, right?" Everyone stood still. Goyle, one foot on the stairs to the lower level, was a bit confused by the timing of the question

"Yeah," he replied, "I guess, why?"

"You and Crabbe, right?"

"What's your point, Potter?" asked Goyle impatiently.

"You... you're friends with a Weasley now. What does your friend Malfoy think of that?"

"I can be friends with who I want," Goyle charged.

"Can you?" Harry pushed. "I know Malfoy's seen you being chummy with Ron. He knows you're playing Quidditch for Gryffindor. In class, I'm forced to speak with his disfigured face almost every day. But, he hasn't said one word, Goyle, not one word about his good friend palling it up with, next to me, his least favorite wizard in the world. Why is that do you think?"

"Yeah! Why is that?" Neville repeated. Goyle glowered over the top of Longbottom, and Neville simply started down the stairs.

"The way I figure it," Harry continued, ignoring Goyle and looking straight at Ron. "He either wants you to be Weasley's pal, or he doesn't care. You, Crabbe, and Malfoy... six years at Hogwarts, spending nearly every waking minute together... and he doesn't care. Unlikely, don't you think?" The question was aimed fully at Ron. "But why, I wonder, would he want you to be Weasley's friend?"

"Come on Greg," said Ron. "Let's go." And the two left without another word.

By the time Harry had showered and dressed, it was clear he wasn't going to have time for breakfast. He was sitting on his bed, lacing his trainers, when the red stone he'd left there rolled over next to his thigh. He picked it up and set it down on the table next to his dragonhead. The table, or the castle floor, being not quite level, the ball began to roll off the edge. Harry grabbed it and searched to put it somewhere. He looked down at the small Snitch-like ball of crimson in his hands, then up to the black dragonhead before him. Its eyes... its eyes were... red. Slowly, side-by-side, Harry compared the stones of the dragon's eyes and the stone in his hand. They were, by all accounts, identical.

The mouth of the Horntail was open, waiting for something to bite. A blood red moon? Gently, Harry set the stone into the razor sharp teeth of the Hungarian Horntail. The fit was perfect. He waited, but nothing happened. "Well? What were you expecting, Potter," he said to himself, "fireworks?" Staring at his two birthday gifts, he couldn't help but think they looked right together. Finally, shaking his head, he grabbed his book pack and headed off to class, leaving his future behind.