Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 34 - First of the Number

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The circle of blood spread out in an ever-growing ring around Harry's body. He lay lifeless on his side, pierced through the chest by Goyle's Nimbus 2001. Like a statue, the giant Slytherin stood frozen, dumbstruck as the red seeped around his boots. The Hufflepuff students sitting in the lower west tier were first to arrive. Taylor Smythe, a seventh year, ran to help, but when he saw the ring of blood, he wouldn't pass. Horrified at the sight, he began to step backward as the blood oozed toward him. Ron was the first Gryffindor at the scene.

"Take it out of him Goyle!" he screamed. Goyle pulled out his wand, and pointed it at the broom in Harry's chest.

"STOP!" a high voice yelled. Madame Guérir was running through the snow clutching a small box in her hand. "Don't touch anything!" She was as white as the snow, her breath heaving and billowing small clouds into the cold air. She looked at Harry, and any color she had left drained completely. "Heavens," she whispered. Quickly, she grabbed her wand. "Corpus arestum!" Blue light sprang forth, stopping the diminishing stream of blood that had been squirting in pulses from Harry's chest. "Mr. Goyle, grab his hand!"

There was a crackling, tearing sound like raw meat being torn from bone.

"Odd," Harry thought as his stomach sank and he began to rise from the scene. He found himself hovering some fifteen feet above his body, and suddenly felt warm and comfortable. On the ground, wizards and witches had encircled his corpse. From the north side of the pitch, he could see Professor Dumbledore pushing his way through the crowd. "Am I dead?" he whispered to himself, holding his hands in front of his face. They weren't white, but they were translucent, a shimmering pale blue. He looked at his chest, and where the broom had pierced through bone and flesh, a large black hole remained.

"No. Not dead, young man." Harry spun to see Sir Nicolas drifting towards him from the Gryffindor stands. Nicholas looked down at Harry's body in the snow. "Not yet, anyway."

"Sir Nicolas?" Harry asked, sensing fear for the first time. "What...." He looked down and then back at the approaching ghost. "What's happening?"

"You are between worlds, Harry," Nick replied his face grim and sad. "You have begun to leave the earthly realm. A few moments more and it will be time for your choice. Do choose wisely."

"What?" Harry bellowed. "I... I can't die now! Not like this! What about Voldemort? I have to defeat him!" Harry looked down, and noticed he'd floated further away. On the ground below, Dumbledore had arrived at Harry's body. Madame Guérir was speaking with very animated gestures as Goyle knelt at Harry's side.

"Perhaps you will return," Nick sighed. "It happens. But, seeing you like this," he held Harry's hand in his own examining it like a piece of fruit in the market, "I think you've left Hogwarts for good." Harry jerked his hand away and reached down trying to force himself back into his own body. He couldn't move.

"Everyone!" Dumbledore commanded. "Stand back!" The old wizard's face was frightened as he pulled out his wand. Save for Madame Guérir and Goyle, the group around Harry's body retreated outward. Dumbledore held out his wand and focused his eyes on Harry, the Harry lying dead on the ground. He was whispering something Harry couldn't hear. What looked like the flicker of green fire slowly emerged, not from the tip of his wand, but rather from the eyes of the Headmaster. No one on the ground seemed to notice as it poured forth like a green fog of fire spreading outward and upward in an ever-expanding sphere.

"Oh my," Sir Nicholas let out in surprise. "I never knew."

"Knew what?" Harry yelled. The green bubble of fire was fading as it moved outward. "What's going on?"

"It's not enough," Sir Nicholas sighed. "He can't reach you."

The green flicker began to fade into nothingness when Dumbledore cried out as if reaching for something just out of his grasp. The bubble surged, and was nearly at Harry's feet when he noticed Goyle on the ground taking the hand of his body and reaching for the small box in Madame Guérir's hand. Almost in concert, Dumbledore collapsed to the ground and there was a collective gasp on the pitch.

"No! Wait! Professor!" Harry screamed. Suddenly, the green bubble of fire grabbed his ankle. "Nicholas! I'm not ready! I need to help him!" he called out reaching for the ghost who seemed to be fading away down a darkened tunnel. The small white figure faded as the circle of light shrunk smaller and smaller. Soon, all was dark.

Again, there was a crackling, tearing sound.

The next instant, fire filled his chest, while ice spread through his veins, and Harry knew he had returned to his body. He wanted to rise, to come to Dumbledore's aid, but he couldn't move. A moment later, he felt something yank at his navel -- the portkey -- shooting pain throughout his body. He gasped for air, but none filled his lungs. When the spinning stopped, his eyes opened for an instant to see Greg Goyle and a wizard in green robes looking down at him. An orange light hit him in the chest, warmth filled his body, and he faded from consciousness.

The chirping of crickets filled the night air. The stars were bright and the sky clear. Harry could hear the sound of water trickling to his side. He walked over and found a small spring bubbling clear water out of the side of a rock. It was the head of a small stream that wound its way down a gently sloping hill. There were large trees behind him, and the only way to walk was along the clearing following the path of the stream. There was something about this babbling brook; it was calling to him. He reached down to touch the water, when suddenly the scene changed.

He was in a dimly lit room, as a sharp pain struck him in the forehead. Breathing hard, Harry took a few moments to get his bearings. Behind him, the floorboard squeaked, and Harry spun to see a figure in a dark cloak step forward.

"The first of the number have been taken, my Lord." Though her face was covered, Harry knew the voice well; it was Bellatrix. "Shall we begin?" she asked.

"Begin," Harry heard his own voice rasp in a high familiar pitch. As if anticipating a delicious chocolate cream pudding for desert, Harry turned, licking his lips, and faced the far wall. There, shackled to peeling pillars, was Neville Longbottom.

"Wake-up," Bellatrix called from inside her hood as her hand slapped Neville across the face. As Neville blinked his eyes, the Death Eater pulled her wand.

"Crucio!" she cried out. Instantly, Neville screamed in agony.

"Get out!" a voice yelled from deep inside Harry's mind. "Close your mind!" Slowly, he felt his consciousness pulling away, Neville's screams echoing in his ears.

"Will you not save him?" another voice hissed in his ear. "Will you not save the others?"

"I won't play the fool this time, Tom," Harry's mind pushed back. "Once bitten, twice shy... It won't happen again." The darkness swirled and the voices faded to nothingness. Finally, Harry slept.

When his eyes opened, he was in bed, covered with white linens. Flowers and cards filled the room. 'Get well, Harry' signs were everywhere, some flashing different colors. The smell told him instantly where he was. At his side sat Hermione, asleep in a chair, while Ron stood at a table on the far side contemplating a box of chocolate frogs.

"Go on," Harry breathed. He winced as his lungs let out air. His voice was raspy. "I won't eat them." Ron dropped the box and instantly spun.

"Harry!" he squeaked, as a nervous smile broke on his face. "You know, I'm really getting sick of this place. Pretty soon they'll have to admit me. How do you feel?" Hermione heard the noise and groggily opened her eyes.

"Harry?" she whispered. "Harry!" She jumped to her feet and gave him a hug. Harry let out a small whimper. "Oh, dear, sorry" she apologized and a tear fell from her face. "They didn't think.... Can you breathe?" Harry tried to take in a breath of air, but a sharp pain stopped him short of a full breath. The door suddenly flew open.

"I heard yelling." It was Greg Goyle, wearing Gryffindor flying robes still stained with Harry's blood. "Is he... He's not..." and then his eyes met Harry's. "You're alive," he gasped. "They thought maybe today...," his voice trailed off then said, "...but you're alive." Harry held his hands in front of his own face. This time they were solid and flesh colored.

"Looks like it," Harry smirked sarcastically. Slowly, Goyle walked over to Harry's bed, and Hermione bent low to Harry's ear.

"You've been here near death for a week, Harry," she whispered. "Greg's refused to leave your side since he brought you in with Madame Guérir."

"How..." Goyle tried to speak. He was nervous. "How does it feel?" Gingerly, Harry sat up in bed and looked down at his chest. There were no bandages, just a large circular scar, four, or five ribs up on his right side. He touched it, and felt no pain.

"Okay," he said looking at the others. "Really. It's fine." Then he focused on Goyle and said lightly, "No thanks to your flying"

Goyle walked to his bedside and knelt. Even on his knees he was tall. He held Harry's arm. "Merlin, Harry. I never meant.... I would never.... I had just hit the Bludger heading for Dennis and there you were!" He began to tremble. "We could have lost everything, Harry, everything." The tone in Goyle's voice struck a chord in Harry's heart.

"It's only a game," said Harry smiling back and patting Goyle's shoulder, but knowing full well Greg had meant much more. "Did we win?"

"We re-started an hour after they took you and Dumbledore from the field," Ron said.

"Dumbledore? Is he okay?"

"Tired is all, Harry," said Hermione. "It's the best way to put it, very tired." She stood up and Goyle took the chair. Walking over to Ron she stroked the redhead's hair. "Ron was really shaken after you'd left; and without Greg, our Chaser's were having a lot of trouble."

"They started scoring on me at will," Ron said gloomily. "They were up fifty points when he caught the Snitch."

"You lost after Bowers took the Snitch?" Harry asked dejectedly.

"No," said Ron grinning. "We won after Sloper grabbed it!"

"Sloper?" Harry asked, hardly able to believe his ears.

"He substituted for you," Hermione joined in. "Ravenclaw was demolishing us when the Snitch appeared below Bowers' broom. Sloper saw it and in a flash, we won!"

Harry leaned back against his pillow. "Brilliant." Goyle began to nod off in the chair.

"Okay, Greg," Hermione said kindly. "You've seen him alive and well. You can go back to school now. We can look out after him for the weekend." At her words, Goyle straightened in the chair.

"Yeah, er, listen, guys," Goyle said wearily to Ron and Hermione, "you've been great. I'd just like a couple minutes alone with Harry. Okay?"

"Sure, mate," Ron said, a hint of concern in his voice. "Take all the time you want. We need to go tell the healer he's awake anyway." When Ron and Hermione left the room, Goyle wrung his hands together trying to find the right words.

"They didn't want to tell you, not until you're back," he began in a whisper, constantly glancing at the door. "But I think you should know."

"I knew it," Harry snapped. "Dumbledore. What's wrong? Is he..."

"No. Not Dumbledore," Goyle interrupted. He slid the wooden chair closer to Harry's bedside, and stole another look at the door. "It's Neville; he's gone." Harry's heart skipped.

"Gone? I... I don't understand. How do you mean?"

"Ron told me. The night after the match, he never showed up in the common room. Ron had seen him leave the stands with Helen, and thought maybe he was breaking curfew with her and let it slide. But the next morning both Neville and Helen missed breakfast. That's when Ron went to McGonagall. They searched the whole castle and found nothing. Only..." Again he glanced at the door. "Helen was found wandering the greenhouse. Her mind's a mess. It sounds like the Imperius Curse to me," he whispered. With each line in the telling of Goyle's story, Harry's heart sank lower.

"He's taken Neville," he exhaled. His eyes darted this way and that looking at nothing and everything. "But where, damn it? I know I've been there before." Finally, Harry focused all his energy on Goyle. "Greg, you need to get Ron and Hermione in here right now. We can't wait a minute more."

"You can't tell them I told you, Harry."

"You don't understand!" Harry breathed. Then he paused and spoke very deliberately. "Greg, Voldemort's taken Neville."

"You can't know that," Goyle replied somewhat agitated. "Maybe Helen dumped him, he cursed her, and ran for it." Harry was torn. There were only a few who knew the reality of his special connection with Voldemort. He wouldn't share it with Malfoy, but what about Goyle? He adjusted his pillow trying to sit up higher in bed and grimaced in pain.

"Where are my clothes?"

"No way!" Goyle snapped. "There's no way you're ready to leave. I..." Once again, Goyle knelt at Harry's bedside, one massive hand gently holding Harry's shoulder down. "I killed you Harry. By rights you should be dead. It was Dumbledore who somehow brought you back, at least most of the way. Even with all his help they never thought you'd live." The door swung open and a healer in green robes entered followed by Ron and Hermione. He was tall, with a pointed black goatee, and had his wand at the ready.

"Brought me back?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Mr. Potter," the healer replied with a French accent. "It's called resuscitation, and there are few better than Albus Dumbledore. Although to catch a soul at such an advanced stage..." he paused almost amazed at listening to his own words, and clucked his tongue. "Well, let's see, shall we?" The healer held his wand over Harry's chest and a greenish light emanated down. "We had to do a lot of soul stitching in your case. You are fortunate that I was in Britain." For a moment Harry had a vision of Gilderoy Lockhart. He hoped this wizard at least knew what he was doing. "How do you feel? Can you breathe?"

"I'm fine, really. Never better."

"I see," the healer replied. "Tell me, does this hurt?" He pointed the tip of his wand at Harry's side, and the light turned from green to blue.

"STOP!" Harry screamed out. Deep within his chest, it felt as if his someone had just poured molten lava. The healer's light turned red, and the pain vanished with a cool splash.

"Never better, eh?" he asked rhetorically, looking at Harry with sharp eyes. "Your ribs are fine, but we're still growing lung tissue, and that will take at least one more day. You also lost the top portion of your liver. Growing liver is far more complex, and much less necessary. The rest of your liver will suffice. Perhaps, this summer, the good healers here will admit you and take care of the deficiency then." He slid his wand into his jacket. "Until then, you need rest, and no distractions. Now that you're alert, I believe the vigil can end. Your friends will have to wait for you at Hogwarts." He looked at the three huddled at the end of Harry's bed. "You have ten more minutes, and then you really must go." And with that, the healer left the room.

"Ten minutes!" Ron called at the shutting door, and quickly opened up another chocolate frog. "Just doesn't seem right if you ask me," he complained, stuffing the frog in his mouth.

It was clear that Goyle was not going to leave without the other two, and Harry was desperate to tell them without alerting Goyle. He laid his head on his pillow and exhaled, closing his eyes and concentrating hard.

"Ron!" he called with his mind. "Ron! If you can hear me drop the vase." Nothing happened. "Ron! If you can hear me drop the vase." Suddenly the vase of flowers crashed to the floor.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione chided, "I swear...." She pulled out her wand and began to clear the broken glass.

"He's taken Neville," Harry called to Ron with his mind. "I've seen it in a dream. Voldemort has Neville. We have to find out where. Perhaps a farmhouse." Harry paused. "Say something!"

"Er... erm... S-Sorry Hermione," Ron muttered weakly.

"Well you could be a little more..." Hermione began, but looking up saw him pale and shaking. "Ron, you're white! What's wrong?"

"We, er... we need to go," Ron said. He put his arm around Hermione and started toward the door. "Now!" Hermione, a bit confused, looked back to Harry.

"Relax, Harry! Get better," she called.

"I'll be out soon, don't worry," answered Harry. "Believe me staying here is," he paused and looked at Ron, "torture." Ron winced and shuttled Hermione through the door. Goyle held back and held Harry's eyes with his own.

"You know, I never meant to..." Goyle began.

"I know, Greg," said Harry sincerely. "I don't know why, but I know." Harry was by no means a mind reader, nor was he terribly adept at reading people's intentions. He thought of the imposter Mad-Eye, and how Harry's trust in him had led to Cedric's death. He thought of Kreacher, and Sirius' fall through the black curtain. He believed Goyle, but he wasn't going to place his life on it.

"They think I tried to kill you," Goyle murmured.

"Who?"

"Gryffindor," Goyle said with a grim face. "I was going to ask Dumbledore if I could stay, but after this.... Everyone was waiting for it to happen, and it did."

"You know what, Greg," Harry said brightly. "I know a couple of things, and one of them is how Gryffindors think. They have a soft spot when it comes to loyalty, and when I get back I'll set them straight. Don't you worry." Goyle smiled, bent low, and shook Harry's hand.

"You're all right, Potter."

"You know what else I know?" Harry smiled as Goyle made for the door.

"What?"

"Hangin' around a hospital for a week in bloody racing robes makes you stink. Get back to school and take a shower man. Whew!" Harry started to laugh, but winced as Goyle opened the door. Before the door shut, Goyle turned to the kid he'd killed.

"Be careful, Harry," Goyle said in a solemn voice, but then his face brightened. "I want you back up flying. When I return to Slytherin and we play this spring, I want to be able to knock you off your broom with a nice fat Bludger to the brain."

"You wish," said Harry with a grin. They waved and Goyle let the door click behind him.

As the room fell silent, Harry began to contemplate his options. He tried to take a breath, but the pain was intense. He needed to get back to Hogwarts, but he had no portkey. He wished he could create his own like Dumbledore. No matter, he thought. The first step was to get out of this room. Slowly he straightened himself out onto the floor. The stone was cold beneath his feet as he walked over to the large cabinet against the wall.

"You heard what the heeler said," an elderly witch chastised him from a portrait on the wall. "You need your rest."

"What I need is clothes," Harry shot back. He opened the cabinet doors to see his trainers lying on a shirt and a pair of jeans. "Perfect," he whispered. He heard a deep, throaty cough from the hall outside and froze looking back at the door. He slipped off the hospital pants and reached for the jeans, when he heard the cough again, louder this time. The sound was somehow familiar he thought, reaching for the shirt. He wasn't able to bring his right arm up so, with shallow breaths, he stopped to gather the strength for another attempt. The door burst open, and Harry dropped the shirt, spinning to see who it was.

"You still have that thing in your ear I see, Potter." At the door, Mad-Eye Moody stood, his magical eye spinning to either side. "You don't think it had anything to do with you're accident I suppose." Harry took a breath to speak, and the pain struck him in the side.

"Professor Moody," he rasped his heart pounding. "They've..."

"First things first, Potter," Moody snapped. "Back in bed." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Moody held up his hand. "Back in bed. And drop the 'professor' business." Furious, Harry changed back into his hospital pants and climbed back into bed. By the time his head hit the pillow, however, he was dizzy and his breaths rapid and shallow. He was glad he didn't have to find a way out of St. Mungo's tonight. Moody sat in the wooden chair.

"Okay, Potter. Spill it."

"They've taken Neville Longbottom," Harry breathed. The scars on Moody's face contorted into something resembling a grin.

"And you're going to go save him are you?" Moody queried. The Auror pulled in close to Harry's bed, and with his wand flashed a yellow light at the single portrait hanging on Harry's wall. The witch screeched and ran off. "The wall's have ears boy, don't forget that. He'll be trying to listen to anything you say."

"I saw, sir... the imperious curse... Voldemort..." Harry was trying to say it all, but his trip out of bed had made the pain worse, much worse. Moody held his arm.

"Slow down, boy. Slow down." His eye began to spin and then came back to Harry. "We know they've taken him, Potter. We don't know where. The Ministry and half the Order are out searching for the lad."

"And the other half?" Harry couldn't help ask. Mad-Eye simply patted the boy's arm.

"We need to get you back to Hogwarts and that means you need to heal." Mad-Eye started to stand.

"Wait," Harry rasped again. "I know where." Moody's eyes narrowed. "It's an old house... near farmland. Inside, the paint is peeling." His eyes focused into space. "Rural, with a great field in front." He looked back at Moody. "It feels familiar."

Moody patted Harry's arm again and smiled. He'd come to learn that Harry Potter's words were never to be dismissed lightly. Still, narrowing it down to an old farmhouse was not much help.

"Good work, Harry," he said. "That helps a lot. I'll pass the information on." Moody turned to go. "And you need to get better. We'll take it from here," he said closing the door behind him. Knowing that the Order of the Phoenix had his information, Harry's angst began to subside. His breathing slowed and his chest relaxed. Finally he was able to clear his mind, and soon he was asleep.

He woke to the morning sun streaming through the window, and a hooting at his bedside. Harry reached for his glasses only to find Hedwig with a morning post.

"Hedwig?" he asked, confused. The sound of his voice was stronger. He took a small breath and then a larger one. There was no pain. Harry sat up and stroked the owl's white feathers. "You're amazing girl." Smiling, he took the white envelope in his hands. For the first time in ages he felt rested, and there was something warming about the golden sun shimmering on the walls of his room. And now, even at St. Mungo's, with a letter from Gabriella, everything seemed right with the world. He slipped his finger under the flap, tore it open, and pulled out a pink sheet of paper wondering what Gabriella would think if he bought her real parchment for Christmas.

Harry,

I've begun counting the hours until you come home. I miss you dearly. For the last few days, I've spent each night looking at the photo Emma took of us at your birthday party. It seems so long ago -- I miss your smile. When you come home for vacation, I'm having her take a hundred more. I want you all over my walls. Although, I'm not sure Papa likes the idea. He's been dropping stronger and stronger hints that I should be seeing other boys. Not that it really matters; Papa's rarely home. He can't seem to look at Mama anymore.

She has not improved. Every time we think she's getting better, she falls back into forgetfulness. We can't seem to talk about anything important anymore. Her mind wanders off and I can't bring her back.

Now and then, Duncan stops by to visit. He talks more about Emma than anything else. I must say he's a bit obsessed, but then he probably says the same thing about me, since I always talk about you. Still, here in the house I feel so alone. I've met so many people in Little Whinging, Harry, but all are missing something you have. I'd like to say it was your heart, or your bright green eyes, or the way you smile when somebody tickles your side, but it's something more. Before she fell ill, Mama said there was something special about you. I want her back in the present, but I look into her eyes and I see her fading further into the past.

As the walls here seem to close in around me, you're the one bright light that still burns in my heart. I'm sure you're terribly bored at school, and these awful letters don't help much, but I've enclosed Emma's picture of us. I just want you to know, I think of you every day. Stay safe, and write soon.

Love,

Gabriella

P.S. I'm glad to hear your friend is doing much better. I can tell your heart is lighter. With you at his side, I'll bet he'll be walking in no time.

Looking at the photo of himself with Gabriella beside a car tire filled with spiked punch, Harry couldn't help but smile. He put the letter down and scratched Hedwig under her beak. Suddenly, his heart had a sliver of ice in it. "She's been seeing Duncan," he said with a bit of irritation in his voice. "How often is 'now and then', Hedwig?" He dropped the photo on his bedside table and set his feet on the floor. "Go on girl," he said, sending Hedwig on her way back to Hogwarts, and then he went over to put his clothes on. As his thoughts turned to Soseh, the ice began to melt. "They'd take care of her properly if she were here," he thought looking at the walls. "How many Muggles have died because of an injury like mine?" He slipped on his pants and felt the circle on the right side of his chest. "If only we could share," he whispered. There was a knock at his door. "Come in," he called. The door swung open and in limped Cho Chang. In her hand was a small bag. Seeing Harry only half dressed, she half-heartedly looked away.

"Oh... sorry, Harry," she stammered, but with a bit of a grin. "I didn't mean..." Harry grabbed her in his arms.

"You're walking on your own!" he cried out. "No Marietta? Excellent!" It was a hug Cho hadn't expected, and she held her head against Harry's chest and squeezed him tight holding his flesh to hers and clinging to the moment as long as it would last. "They let you out on your own?" he asked.

"And why wouldn't they?" Cho replied defiantly. "St. Mungo's sent word you were to be released today. Since I had to stop in for an exam, Professor Dumbledore suggested that I escort you back."

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yes, why?" Harry paused for a moment, searching his own thoughts. Perhaps he was worried for nothing.

"No reason," he finally replied. "It's great to see you." He gave her a gentle kiss as her hand met his chest. She let out a light breath and looked down.

"Is this it?" she asked. Her finger traced the six inch scar on his chest just below his right pectoral. Harry nodded.

"Amazing isn't it. A week ago you could have put your fist clean through." The words turned Cho white. "Did anybody see it happen?"

"We all saw too much, Harry," Cho said as her voice quaked. "The sky cleared, and there you were in a bath of blood. I've never seen the professors more frightened. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you too." Harry kissed her cheek, and smiled.

"Well, I'm here now," he said trying to lighten the mood. Let me get dressed and we can get out of here. He walked over to the dressing cabinet, and with his back toward Cho, he started putting on his clothes. "You know, I don't really blame Goyle for what happened," he began. "You could barely see the end of your own broom, never mind the other flyers." He started to recount the entire story of the game. As he started lacing his trainers and telling her how he almost had the Snitch, Cho's voice interrupted him. It had an odd tone, a tone Harry had never heard in Cho's voice.

"Harry?" she asked. "Who is Gabriella?"

Hearing the words, Harry missed the knot on his last trainer, turned, and looked up. Cho was sitting on Harry's bed. In one hand was a white envelope; in the other was a pink sheet of paper. Her hands were steady and her face stern. Her brown eyes waited for the answer, as Harry looked up at her over his shoulder.

"G-Gabriella?"