Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 36 - Out of Wisdom, Blood

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The air was cold as Harry looked up at the afternoon sky, and the grass, damp against his back, scratched at the nape of his neck. There were no clouds, only a light haze that turned the sky a milky blue. A week had passed since his return to Hogwarts and still they were no closer to learning the whereabouts of Neville Longbottom. Ron and Hermione listened to Harry repeat his dreams to them all week. Each felt the descriptions familiar, but neither could come up with a location. Harry had suggested trying to reach out to Voldemort's mind again, but Hermione's protestations and Harry's promise to Dumbledore kept him from the attempt. As for Dumbledore, no one had seen nor heard from the great wizard and rumors were swirling that he was near death. Despite Harry's adamant denials that the Headmaster was well, he was losing the battle against the gossip, and students, brought to Hogwarts to be protected from the Dark Lord, were talking of how their parents were thinking to remove them.

The only bright spot was that Harry had cleared the air about Gabriella with Hermione and Ron. He had told them about his summer with her, of the accident, and about how he stunned the police officer. And, while Ron gaped and Hermione furrowed her brow, it was as if a great burden had been lifted from his soul. Hermione had been right, sharing his worries made them seem more tolerable, and his fears more faceable.

The one secret he felt they would not understand was his secret alliance with Malfoy. The blonde had yet to demonstrate anything more than arrogance and a smug attitude. In class and in the corridors, Malfoy and Harry were at each other's throats, but during the few private moments they had together, they would share their visions of a world without a Dark Lord. Unfortunately, those visions, as far as Harry was concerned, were quite different. Malfoy continued to ask Harry to be patient, that he was working on a demonstration that would permit Harry to place his faith fully into Malfoy's commitment. "You'll know when the time comes, Potter," Malfoy whispered the last time Harry asked.

Harry was growing skeptical and impatient, so Malfoy offered a small token towards their new alliance only two days before the second Hogsmeade trip. He promised to make himself scarce, allowing Harry to again enter Hogsmeade as the Slytherin. Believing Harry had concocted a Polyjuice Potion, and still disinclined to enter Hogsmeade on his own, Malfoy was perfectly happy to let Harry convince the rest of the school that the Slytherin's bravery was steadfast. For his part, Harry was determined to set things straight with Cho and the Ravenclaws. Borrowing a set of Malfoy's clothes, he went to the broom shop in Hogsmeade and bought another Caduceus, and in the Three Broomsticks he presented it to Cho as atonement for his actions. "A token from the Malfoy estate, that you might find a way to fly again," he said in his best Malfoyian voice. To his disappointment, the Slytherins, and most of the Ravenclaws assumed the broom was cursed, but back at school Harry convinced Cho that Malfoy was being sincere, if not a show off. Her trust in Harry's words was why he found himself now flat on his back in the middle of the pitch, damp from the melted snow, his eyes scanning the sky above. A streak of blue flashed by the rings on the south end of the pitch and an instant later Cho, in her Quidditch robes, was hovering above him some six feet off the ground.

"This is amazing," she said smiling down at Harry. "It's as if it's flying me!" And, in a swirl of color, she was off again. The broom's sticking charms and self-adjustment abilities, along with Cho's continued recovery, worked in unison allowing her to fly across the sky with relative ease. Harry stood up and walked over to a large leather chest in the middle of the pitch, opened the lid, and pulled out the Quaffle. Holding it in his hands for a few moments he tossed it high into the air. Cho appeared from nowhere, reached to grab it under her arm, but fumbled and it slowly fell toward the ground. She turned and made another reach, this time tucking it under her left arm and racing for the rings at the south end of the pitch. She tossed the Quaffle through the right ring and Harry let out a lone cheer.

"Score!" he yelled, and then he hopped on his own broom and raced to meet her. She had been in the air for over two hours, improving with every minute, and the smile on her face was broad. Still, Harry could see she was tired.

"I think that's enough for today, don't you?" he offered gently. "It's almost time for dinner." Cho shot down and scooped up the Quaffle just before it hit the ground and returned to him at the center ring.

"Catch!" She laughed hurling the Quaffle at Harry, who grabbed it fully in the stomach winding him for an instant. "What's the matter? You're not getting tired are you?" she teased, but an instant later the features of her face hardened. "You've been laying on the grass for most of the afternoon. Frankly, I'm not sure why you're even out here." She turned her broom to make another run to the rings on the north end. "Why don't you go to dinner? Believe me, I'm fine without you." Her words had an unnecessary bite to them.

It had been Harry's hesitant suggestion after breakfast that they come out and fly together, and after Cho had finally mastered the basics, he had chosen to relax and simply watch. She was correct on one count. He was tired, very tired. He had still not caught up with his studies after having missed a week of school, and most his spare time had been spent trying to come up with a way to find out where Neville was. Helen was certainly no help, and the few leads he and his friends had went nowhere. Harry sighed and nodded his head dejectedly. He dipped his broom low and started for the castle, but Cho was at his side before he hit the ground.

"Harry, wait!" she called, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. You're right... I am tired, and I get grumpy when I'm hungry." The two landed on the ground, Cho taking a moment to find her balance. When Harry reached to help, she slapped his hand away, but in so doing twisted backwards and fell to the turf. She rolled over and sat dropping her face in her hands, and she began to cry. "Just... go... please... leave me alone!"

Harry stood with his Caduceus in one hand trying to decide if he should try to help, or obey her wishes. He took a step toward her.

"Go away!" she yelled staring up at him with red eyes and a wet face. Harry dropped his head and started up for the castle. Just before he entered he looked back to see Cho still sitting on the ground, still crying, alone. For a moment he hesitated, and then he turned and passed through the castle doors.

When he entered the Gryffindor common room to change for dinner, he found it crowded with activity. Ginny and Dean were again seated together on the couch by the fire, Dean helping her write a scroll on various sleeping draughts. Ron and Hermione were at the large table at the back of the common room and, for a moment, Harry thought to sit with them and ask if they'd come up with any new ideas. But he knew they'd ask him about Cho, and just thinking about that was exhausting. Instead, he started up the stairs and soon found himself prone on his bed, staring at the round ball of cinnabar in his hands.

As he rolled the red rock around in his fingers, his mind again turned to Little Whinging and Gabriella. Christmas was a month away and he suddenly realized that he needed to get her a present and perhaps something for her parents. He might even buy a gift for the Dursleys he thought smiling to himself, perhaps a book on yard maintenance, or home décor. Looking at Dudley's gift in his hands, he told himself that he would buy something special for his cousin, something with meaning. The room was quiet as he sat up and looked at Neville's empty bed.

"I'll bring you back, Neville," he whispered. "Just hang on. I swear... I'll bring you back." He stood and placed the ball back in the mouth of the black dragon, reading once again the inscription on the mahogany base. Out of bravery, fire. Out of wisdom, blood. Out of love, true power. "Gabriella, I hate puzzles," he said rubbing his temples and then running his fingers through his hair. He changed his clothes and started for the stairs when he stopped.

"I wonder," he breathed. He turned to his desk and sat at his chair, placing the dragonhead squarely in front of him. Slowly, he extended his finger and pricked the tip on one of the dragon's teeth. A small red drop appeared and he lifted his hand and watched as the droplet grew and then dripped from the tip of his finger on to the cinnabar stone in the dragon's mouth. He looked and waited for something, anything, to happen. He let another and another droplet fall to the stone and still there was no change.

"Hey, mate," Ron called from behind. "We're headin' for dinner, do you want to come?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said nervously, quickly wrapping his finger with his other hand. "I'll meet you down in the Great Hall."

"Everything okay?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I just got a parchment cut is all. I'll heal it and be down in a second."

"I hate those. They never do seem to heal right away." Ron started on down the stairs. "We'll save you a spot," he called back.

"Stupid," Harry hissed. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!" He took his wand out and bathed his finger in blue light. "What were you thinking, Potter?" he muttered to himself. "It's some sort of Muggle puzzle, so start looking for a Muggle solution." The blue light faded, but the prick on his finger remained. "What?" he whispered. Again, he waved his wand and this time spoke the incantation forcefully, but the small slit on his finger would not vanish. "Great," he spat, "I get to go to Madame Pomfrey with a paper cut." He grabbed a sock and dabbed the blood and, before his eyes, the wound sealed. His brow furled in confusion and he shook his head taking the sock over to wipe off the red ball of cinnabar. But, when he lifted it in his hand, he found it clean and polished. He rolled it in his fingers, but nowhere could he see dried blood on its surface. Had he cleaned it already? Again he shook his head and slowly placed the ball back in the dragon's mouth. For a moment he stood there, staring at the gifts on his desk and at his finger, trying to put the pieces together. His stomach growled and the thought of dinner filled his mind. He sighed, tossed the sock on his bed, and started for the Great Hall.

As Harry passed the front doors to the castle, he saw Draco Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe hiding in the corner. He stopped and watched as Phillip Pacer, a Beater on the Hufflepuff team, passed by. Malfoy held out his wand and cast a spell hitting Pacer in the back. He stopped momentarily, rubbed his neck, shook his head, and continued on his way. Crabbe snickered as the two stepped out of hiding and started for the Great Hall. Malfoy looked up and saw Harry staring down on them. He whispered something to Crabbe who was busy watching Pacer. Instead of joining Crabbe to the Great Hall, Malfoy went to the front doors. When Crabbe disappeared, Malfoy looked up at Harry and beckoned him to follow outside.

The sky was growing dark as a full moon lifted its head above the horizon in the east. Two minutes behind the Slytherin, Harry made his way down the steps from the castle entrance and watched the stars spring out across the evening sky, the cold air biting at his face. Stopping to admire the sight, Harry sighed and his breath billowed up before him. He saw a figure with blonde hair walking toward the lake and then disappearing behind one of the leafless trees. When he caught up to Malfoy, he found him sitting at the base of the tree, looking out across the lake, and smoking what appeared to be a sort of cigarette.

"Hello, Harry," he drawled taking a puff and blowing a large plume of acrid smoke. "I hear things didn't go so well today with your girlfriend. Did you think if she could fly again, she'd fall in love with you?"

"You know nothing of love, Draco."

"No... no, I suppose I don't," he replied flatly, crushing the burning ashes into the frozen ground and rising to his feet. By the light of the moon, his skin seemed even more pale and the scar on his face more stark. For a moment, Harry felt a pang of regret, then quickly shoved the feeling to a dimly lit recess of his brain. Malfoy stepped close to him, his steel eyes, unblinking, met Harry's gaze. "But then, there's a lot about me, Potter, that you don't know," he breathed, his voice like ice. "Time will tell."

There was a small splash out on the lake as the two stood eye-to-eye, neither saying a word, nor moving. And then, unmistakably, Harry noticed Malfoy's scar begin to fade ever so slightly. It was clear even by moonlight that the sword and snake on Malfoy's face had diminished, but Malfoy seemed unaware of the change. Instead, he let out a deep sigh as if removing a tremendous weight from within.

"It's time for your demonstration, Harry," he whispered still transfixed on Harry's green eyes. "The moment you, we, have both been waiting for." Malfoy turned and began to walk slowly toward the lake. Wary to follow, Harry began to look around, wondering if this was a trap. Malfoy stopped and laughed at Harry's hesitation. "I think this warrants your bravery, Gryffindor." Irritated, Harry stepped forward and followed Malfoy to the lake's shore.

"What is it, Draco?" Harry snapped in a hushed voice. "I've got better things to do than..."

"You have NOTHING better to do!" Malfoy shot back. "It was you that wanted this to go slowly, Potter. But, we don't have time for slow. He's coming to Hogwarts and you don't seem to see that, do you? The bombings and attacks around the world, all mean nothing to him. That's being done by someone else's hand, but you don't see that either. Do you, Harry? There's more evil in this world than just Voldemort."

"I can think of one family in particular," sniped Harry.

"Power isn't evil, Potter, nor is knowledge. It's what you do with them, isn't it? Their ultimate master and his apprentice have gone insane. Their eyes are bent on one place, one person... Harry Potter, and they'll kill us all just to get to you and I don't intend to wait for them to try!"

"Very eloquent, Draco," Harry replied smoothly, "but your words are shear speculation, a mere theory, and hardly a demonstration of your commitment to our common cause. I need..."

"My father and Augustus Rockwood are hiding in Belvaird Castle just east of Glenfarg. They just arrived last night and they won't stay more than a day or two." Malfoy reached down and picked up a rock, reminding Harry for a moment of Ron. But, instead of throwing it out across the lake, he rolled it over in his hand, rubbing its muddy surface in his fingers, and then tossed it to Harry who caught it in his hands. He stepped over to Harry and with the same muddy hand reached up to examine Harry's earring with his fingers, but Harry grabbed his wrist.

"What's going on Malfoy?" he sneered.

"What's the matter, Harry? Don't you like to get a bit dirty?" Malfoy smiled. "This bit of silver hasn't left your ear all year," Malfoy said, withdrawing his hand. "For a little prat that can afford anything, it's clear that this token means something. I'll know we're even, when you tell me the truth about the earring. I want to know what's in here." Malfoy placed his muddy hand on Harry's chest, turned and briskly strode toward the castle. At the base of the steps he turned and yelled, "Only one day, Potter! Make it count!"

Harry stood in disbelief. Malfoy had just betrayed his father, or knew of an elaborate trap for those that would come to take him away. The question was, "What to do with the information?" The night was growing colder as the moon rose in the sky. Harry made his way to the castle doors and heard, or felt, a deep rumble that seemed to emanate from the very ground itself. He was about to lose his footing when the rumble suddenly stopped, the air still and silent save for the gentle sound of waves splashing on the shore of the lake. He looked around; only a billowing smoke from Hagrid's hut made any movement in the night air. Finally, he made his way to dinner.

When he arrived in the Great Hall, he found Hermione and Ron just finishing with dinner. At the head table, Professor McGonagall had ended her meal, but was speaking with Professor Flitwick in what appeared to be a very deep conversation.

"Hey, Harry," Ron called, "I don't know what your definition of a minute is, but mine ended about an hour ago."

"Yeah, er," Harry glanced back to the head table, "sorry. I ran into..." Professor McGonagall rose from her table. "...homework's crazy and I needed to..." She made her way to the exit. "...Quidditch, and... er, excuse me, be back in a minute." He turned to catch up with Professor McGonagall as she left the Great Hall. Ron simply shook his head, pondering if he should have another desert while he waited.

"Professor!" Harry called to the Gryffindor Head-of-House. "Professor, wait!" She turned to see Harry running after her.

"Yes, Mr. Potter," she replied. "What is it?"

"I need to speak with you," he cast a glance left and then right, "alone."

"Really, Mr. Potter, I don't have time for..."

"I have a message for the Order," he interrupted in a whisper. Professor McGonagall cast a look around and with a hint of resistance beckoned Harry to follow her to her office. Once there, she waved her wand and all the portraits vacated.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," she said sitting behind her desk and straightening a small stack of papers. "What is it?"

"I know where Lucius Malfoy is," Harry answered. Professor McGonagall's eyebrow raised above her right eye as she looked at Harry over the top of her reading glasses. "He's with Augustus Rockwood at Belvaird Castle, east of Glenfarg." Her eyes widened.

"The Headmaster told you specifically to shut your mind," Professor McGonagall snapped. "Do you have any idea what sort of tricks he could be playing in your head?"

"I know what I know, Professor. He's there, or it's a trap. Either way, we can't let the opportunity pass; they'll be gone by tomorrow night." She took her glasses off, tossed them on the desk in front of her, and stood from her chair.

"Albus," she whispered to the air. Her face had turned ashen, almost frightened, but in a flash the fear had washed away with resolve. "Very well, Mr. Potter, I'll pass the word on one condition." Harry tilted his head waiting for her words. "You will shut your mind to that beast, no matter what he tries to tempt you with." Harry nodded his head to reassure her.

"I'll do my best, Professor. You have my word."

"Very well, be on your way; there's much to be done. I know someone in Fife that might be able to help check things out. We'll only get one chance though. She moved toward the back door of her office. Harry had never been behind that door and always wondered... "I said, be on your way, Mr. Potter!"

He went first to the Great Hall in hopes of getting something to eat, but the doors were shut. He thought maybe Ron would have saved him a bite back in the common room, but instead of returning to his room he turned toward the kitchens. The thought of Dobby entered his mind. It had been weeks since he'd last asked and perhaps there was some more news.

The house elf opening the door to the kitchen bowed low when he saw who it was. "An honor, sir, an honor. Might the lowly Tellus get the great Harry Potter something to eat?" Before Harry could say turkey sandwich, he was seated and surrounded by house elves serving him dinner.

"Please, that's enough, really," he begged. "I have plenty."

"Harry Potter's deeds grow greater with each passing day, sir," said Caesar, the house elf Harry assumed to be the head cook. He was certainly larger than the others and they all seemed to pay him deference as he walked past. "Anything Caesar can do for the great Harry Potter, shall be done." There was a general murmur of consent around the kitchen as pots and pans continued to clang away while the house elves cleaned up after the evening's dinner.

"Have you heard from Dobby?" Harry asked.

"Caesar has heard of Dobby's quest, sir," Caesar said quietly while slowly passing his hand about Harry's head just as Dobby had done. "The mark is here, but from where..." Caesar shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "It is foreign to all of us."

Harry finished his food, learning little more about the magic that surrounded him than he knew before. A "dark mark of protection" they all called it. "Ancient magic." The one thing new, according to Caesar, was that the aura that surrounded Harry seemed to be tightening around him. Caesar had never seen this before, and only shook his head when Harry asked if that was a good thing. As Harry left the kitchens he bowed to Caesar.

"You are a great cook Caesar and a great friend to me. If Dobby returns, you'll send me word?" Harry hoped the compliment might help and it seemed to as Caesar broke out in a great toothy smile.

"You have Caesar's word, Harry Potter, sir," Caesar replied bending so low his ears touched the ground. "It is true, what they say. Harry Potter is a very great wizard." Harry turned to leave. "But the greatest wizard of our age should know... Caesar is no cook." He bowed again and closed the door.

That night, Harry again said nothing of his pact with Malfoy to Hermione or Ron. When they asked why he rushed off to see Professor McGonagall, he lied and told them it was to ask about Dumbledore. When they asked how the Headmaster was, Harry told the truth and said not well. It was something in the way Professor McGonagall had called out the name Albus that told him that something deeper was wrong. Her face was white and whereas before she would have spoken first with Dumbledore, this time the decision she had made was clearly her own. The Headmaster was ill... very ill.

At breakfast, there had been no word of anything unusual happening in the Wizarding world, but when the three Gryffindor friends entered the Great Hall for lunch that same afternoon they found the room filled with commotion. The Daily Prophet had arrived with a special edition and emblazoned on the headline was "Death Eater Re-Captured". Hermione grabbed a paper on the Gryffindor table and began to read it out loud.

The Ministry of Magic brings one back after Arthur Weasley himself goes on the attack. Early this morning in a brilliant move, the Ministry re-captured You-Know-Who's right hand man, Augustus Rockwood. Found hiding outside of Glenfarg, Rockwood was taken without incident. Mr. Weasley with the help of six other Ministry officials found Rockwood in his sleep.

Rockwood, who had just escaped Azkaban with Lucius Malfoy, was one of the top ten most wanted wizards by the Ministry. "The rest will soon follow," said Thomas Snively, one of the Ministry's spokesmen. When asked if there was any sign of Lucius Malfoy, Mr. Snively assured the Prophet's reporters that the area had been "completely cleared of all dark wizards."

Hermione glanced up from the paper to find Harry looking across the hall at the Slytherin table. Crabbe was patting Malfoy on the back, offering some sort of assurance, or congratulations, Harry couldn't tell.

"Harry," she called, "I know you hate Malfoy, but it's not worth it. They'll capture his father, you'll see. It's unbelievable that the Prophet doesn't know that Lucius is Voldemort's right hand man."

"He may have slipped through this time, mate," Ron chimed in. "But, you can bet he's running hard now. He'll be living like a wild animal, which for a Malfoy is pretty much normal, I guess."

"Yeah," Harry answered weakly, "I guess." Neither Professor McGonagall, nor Tonks were at the head table.

"Well, they got one of the bastards!" Anthony Goldstein yelled out from the Ravenclaw table. "They'll catch the other snake soon enough!"

"Oh, no," Hermione murmured. "He's going to try and provoke them." Malfoy remained seated, but the Slytherins around him instantly rose to their feet scraping the bench against the stone floor behind them. Immediately, the sound of benches scraping across the stone floor filled the Great Hall as the Ravenclaws stood in answer. Then, Great Hall fell silent.

"Goldstein!" Harry yelled, taking to his feet and walking toward the Ravenclaw table. In the eerie silence his voice seemed to echo off the stone walls and all eyes turned to him. "Who's your money on this week? Hufflepuff or Slytherin?" The two teams were scheduled to play the following weekend and already banners had been going up around the school. With Goyle off the Slytherin team, Hufflepuff was the heavy favorite to win. Anthony looked at Harry with a puzzled expression. "As for me," Harry continued with a smooth, but loud voice, "my money's on Slytherin." There were some murmurs from around the hall and some outright snickers from Hufflepuff. The smattering of laughter seemed to spread out across the Great Hall in a wave and soon many, other than those at the Slytherin table, were laughing. The tension that was in the air evaporated into nothingness, but Goldstein stood defiantly.

"I have two-hundred galleons," Harry pressed on, now standing nose-to-nose with Anthony, "that say Slytherin wins Saturday." There was a collective gasp, and the murmuring began in earnest.

"Harry!" Hermione called out, but he ignored her.

"That assumes, of course," Harry continued, "Slytherin's starting team actually plays on Saturday." Harry wore a bright, broad smile, but his eyes were cold as they held Goldstein's in their gaze. Then Harry looked up and down at the Ravenclaws still standing before him. "Surely, there are enough Ravenclaws standing here to take the bet?"

For the smallest of moments the room was quiet, waiting for Anthony's reply. But he made none. Then someone from the Hufflepuff table started with "Take the bet." Soon it was repeated and a low rumbling chant began. "Take the bet. Take the bet. Take the bet." Finally, Goldstein could bare it no longer.

"You're on Potter!" he yelled, and the Great Hall erupted in cheers. All except for the six Ravenclaws standing, who now looked at Goldstein as if he were insane. Everyone sat back down except for Harry, who walked over to where Malfoy was seated eating nothing more than a green salad.

"Do you think you can keep from falling off your broom, Malfoy?" he sneered in his nastiest of voices.

"We don't need you to fight our battles for us, Potter," Malfoy snapped back.

"I'm looking to make money, Malfoy," Harry replied shrewdly. "After the match, they can stomp you all to smithereens for all I care." Standing there in the light of day, he noticed that the scar on Malfoy's face had indeed faded from the day before. "It's all about catching your prey, Malfoy, and all you need to do is... catch the Snitch."

"Yeah, you did a great job of that last match, Potter," Crabbe chortled. Harry took a quick step forward and Crabbe recoiled.

"Pathetic," Harry whispered.

When Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table, Ron was the first to be critical.

"You just blew two-hundred galleons, you do know that don't you?"

"There's hope," Harry said weakly.

"Are you kidding?" Ron called back leaning forward on the bench. "They lost two Chasers, Warrington and Montague to graduation and their best Beater plays for Gryffindor. I've been listening to their new captain, Sykes, and his strategy's out of the stone age." He sat back down shaking his head. "Two-hundred galleons."

"The point is Ron," said Hermione while looking around the Great Hall, "everyone's just eating their lunch. Five minutes ago, the hall was about to erupt with wands again. But, look now. No one's fighting or shooting off their wand, are they?" She turned to Harry. "Well spent, I say."

"I can't buy peace forever, Hermione," Harry answered, spearing a potato with his fork. "It's a festering wound just beneath the surface, ever ready to rise up and pop." The potato shot into his mouth. "If we can't bring the houses together in some meaningful way..." he shook his head and speared another potato.

At the Slytherin table on the far end of the hall, Malfoy sat erect and ate his salad, slowly slicing a tomato and placing it in his mouth with his fork. His eyes looked up at Harry and, for just a moment, the two spoke silently across the room. Malfoy reached for a cruet of oil and vinegar, held it up in a hidden toast to Harry, shook it violently, and slowly poured it across his lettuce leaves. Setting the mixture down on the table, Malfoy speared a purple leaf and thrust it in his mouth. Harry lifted his own glass from the table and while no one was watching tilted it in Malfoy's direction.

"Oil and water," he whispered. "Oil and water."