Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 37 - Diversity of Strength

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The moon was full and so bright in the sky that observing gaseous clusters, even with magical telescopes, was impossible. Professor Sinistra had opted, instead, to lecture to the class for most of the lesson and as the evening was coming to an end she turned philosophical, speaking poetically about the intricacies and precision of the universe. She compared the creation to the cogs, gears, and springs of a giant watch that had been set in motion billions of years earlier. "Each small part in the mechanism has its place!" she declared emphatically, but Dean Thomas couldn't help but snicker.

"I think someone's forgotten to wind it lately," he jabbed, and the class laughed. But Professor Sinistra, sitting at her desk in dark, satin-blue robes was unperturbed.

"Precisely, Mr. Thomas!" she exclaimed to everyone's surprise. "The energy of the mechanism has failed. The harmony with which it operates is in discord. The gears now begin to slow and the rhythm of each tick becomes more lethargic. Where once was vitality, darkness rushes to fill the void, spreading despair across the land." She closed her text and stood from her desk. "And where does the energy necessary to operate this grand design come from?" she asked the class.

"The stars?" Parvati asked, and Professor Sinistra smiled slyly.

"The Centaurs believe so, and you would think that, as a student in astronomy class, we should first look outward. But..." she waited.

"Inward," Dean answered, almost pensively.

"Yes, Mr. Thomas?" Professor Sinistra queried. "How do you mean?"

"It's the energy within each of us," he replied, almost questioningly.

"Deeper," she said slowly, walking out onto the parapet, the moon shimmering off her robes. "You are each so similar to the Muggles we live with on this planet and yet you each have an ability to tap into something that Muggles cannot." She walked back in towards Dean. "It is arrogance to believe that the power is inside here." She tapped Dean's head with her wand. "And it is such arrogance that promises to doom those who would practice the Dark Arts. True energy... pure energy resides not within us, but rather around us all. It is the link that binds us to each other and the world we live in, and when we come to hate the world and its creatures, to hate each other, the energy that holds all living things together begins to fade. Without that energy, we grow weak." At these words, Professor Sinistra's voice seemed to crack.

"I've kept you far too long with my ramblings," she said after taking a deep breath. "I still expect two scrolls on the moons of Jupiter by next week and extra credit for how we might determine the number of planets in a cluster. Class dismissed." She strode over to her desk and sat back down, looking out across the open parapet, the moon's glow turning her face white. Harry picked up his pack and walked over to her.

"Professor," he started, interrupting some thought she was holding in her mind, "how is Professor Dumbledore?" Again, she let out a deep sigh. Everyone in the class had left, leaving the two alone.

"Harry," she said softly, "it is time you knew." She straightened in her chair, but was struggling to meet Harry's eyes with her own. Finally, she looked up and began, "Professor Dumbledore is..."

Suddenly, the earth began to rumble as an earthquake shook the grounds. The castle walls began to pitch violently, candles fell from the chandeliers and portraits fell from the walls. Students exiting the tower began to scream as they tumbled down step after step.

"Is it an attack?" Harry yelled above the rumble, as he tried to reach for his wand. But, as quickly as it began, it stopped. The only sound was the scattering of dust and pebbles as they slid down the outside of the castle walls toward the grounds, and the rustle of leafless branches in the night's breeze. Professor Sinistra was clearly agitated.

"No, Mr. Potter, everything is fine," she snapped as she reached for her cloak and strode out of the classroom. "It is not an attack... yet!" she yelled, brandishing her wand and disappearing out the door.

It took Harry a moment to find his bearings. Alone in the darkened classroom, he walked out onto the parapet and looked across the grounds. The moon shimmered brightly off the Whomping Willow, but Harry saw nothing out of the ordinary. He began to turn when the corner of his eye saw movement. Towards Hagrid's cabin he could make out the back end of Firenze and, as he strained his ears, he could make out hushed whispers. It sounded like Hagrid, but Harry couldn't be sure. Pounding his hoof, Firenze seemed to be cross. Harry strained to hear, but unable to make out the conversation he left.

As he walked back to the common room, he heard many students talk about the earthquake, but, oddly, the professors he passed seemed not to care. Only Professor Flitwick seemed rather irritated as he raced down the corridor wearing an expression much the same as Professor Sinistra. Passing through the portrait of the Fat Lady, the Gryffindor common room was abuzz with activity, everyone talking about what had just happened. Most were retelling what they saw fall from the walls or ceiling. Ron was sharing his near death experience from almost being hit by the falling portrait of Sir Cadogon the Knight.

Halfway through Ron's story, which included some rather choice words from Sir Cadogon, Harry decided he had heard enough. Smiling to himself, he slipped his pack from off his shoulder and started for the boys' dormitory. As he walked passed a large standing lamp, Ginny saw him and her eyes lit up.

"Harry!" she cried out. "Thank goodness you're safe. I was so worried." She reached over and gave him a light hug. No sooner had her arms wrapped around Harry, than Dean appeared stepping down the stairs from the dormitory above. "I thought maybe, Voldemort... maybe he'd come." Ginny's eyes flickered with fear and Harry took her hand in his.

"Not at Hogwarts, Ginny," Harry replied with a warm smile. "He won't be coming here, I promise. You'll see; we'll take the battle to old snakeface." Dean stepped down and strode over to the two and pulled Ginny's hand out of Harry's.

"The only battle you need to worry about, Potter," Dean snapped coolly, "is with me!"

"Dean," Ginny exclaimed, "it's not what you think!"

"It never is... is it Gin?" Dean snapped back. "But he's always sliming around trying to get his hands on you." At this point, a good portion of the common room had turned to see what was going on. At first Harry felt apologetic and wanted to explain that nothing was going on, but then some sense of resentment, or jealousy began to grow like wildfire inside, and he found himself flashing to anger, and then inexplicably to hatred.

"And what," Harry said, stepping forward and putting his face directly in front of Dean's, "do you intend to do about it, Thomas?" The 'T' splattered Dean's face with phlegm.

"Harry," Ginny pleaded, but he was ignoring her now. His mind was burning with pure hatred toward the adversary in front of him. But Dean refused to back down, and drew closer to Harry, their noses nearly touching.

"Draw your wand," Dean sneered in a whisper.

"I already have," Harry whispered back, placing his right hand on Dean's chest. He leaned forward to Dean's left ear and whispered again, "Adficio Cruris!" Instantly, Dean's legs turned to jelly and he fell to the floor. Dean, stumbling around, tried to reach for his wand, but kept losing his balance. The common room erupted in laughter, but Harry wasn't smiling. When Dean finally had his hands on his wand, Harry had his own pointed in Dean's face.

"Please, Dean," Harry said loud enough for all to hear. "You've made such an ass of yourself already, perhaps I should turn you into one." Word had already passed around that Harry had turned Goyle into a frog, and for a moment Dean thought Harry actually might do it. His eyes grew large; he dropped his wand to the floor and started to use his hands to push himself backwards away from Harry, who followed him with his wand pointed directly at his face. When Dean's back ran up against the wall, he began to tremble.

"Turn him into an ass, Harry!" someone yelled from across the room. But the idea of turning Dean into an ass had past. No, Harry, or some dark part of Harry, had already decided -- Dean must die. It was the only way to truly protect Ginny. Slowly and deliberately he raised his wand.

"Harry, please stop!" Ginny yelled, and the words stayed Harry's hand. Seeing his dorm-mate at his feet wriggling with fear, he suddenly felt the anger ebb away as if a cool breeze had just passed through an open window and woken him from a strange dream.

"Deletrius!" Harry called out, removing the Jelly-Leg Jinx. He wanted to say he was sorry and reach out to Dean, but the look of fright he saw staring back at him pushed him away. He turned to see smiles around the room except for Ginny; she looked as if she didn't recognize him. He went over, picked his pack off the floor, and strode up the stairs, two steps at a time.

In the dormitory, Goyle was in bed reading by candlelight. Harry sat on his own bed and found himself trembling. He held his hands out and realized that the scar on his arm had appeared again, the familiar ache was marching its way up toward his neck.

"What was Dean yelling about?" Goyle asked calmly as he turned a page on the book he was reading. Harry remained silent. "Don't tell me you had your hands on Ginny again," Goyle said, placing the book down and rubbing his eyes. Harry again said nothing, but he looked up at Goyle and his own eyes answered. "You do know, Harry, that Dean's tremendously insecure where Ginny and you are concerned. He was just talking to me about it. He knows she had a crush on you and now all he can think about is that he'll lose her to you." Goyle sat upright. "You're quite the playboy, Harry: private flying lessons for Cho, extravagant diamonds for Hermione, and a secret rendezvous in the owlery with Ginny. The last thing he needs is to see you two touching. Which, I might add, you seem to do a lot." Goyle picked his book back up and leaned against his pillow. For a second, all was silent and then Harry took to his feet.

"I do not touch her!" he snapped. Goyle only raised his eyebrows and returned to his book. "I mean, we're friends... that's all." Harry began to pace. "She's my friend and friends help each other out, right?" Harry was looking for affirmation, but Goyle was silent. "You wouldn't understand; it's complicated."

"I wouldn't?" Goyle asked sarcastically, not looking up from his book. Harry paused, and then strode over to Goyle. He grabbed his book and threw it to the ground.

"No! No you wouldn't!" Harry yelled. "She was possessed by Voldemort. Do you know what that's like, Greg? Do you? Do you know what it's like to lose control of yourself and have an appetite for pure evil coursing through your very being? Do you know what it's like thirsting to see people tortured, their minds ruined, and then put to death -- IF-THEY'RE-LUCKY?" Goyle's eyes began to widen and the colour began to leave his face, but Harry wouldn't relent. It was bursting forth from him now and Goyle, alone with Harry in the boys' dormitory, would hear it all.

"Do you understand what it means to lose control of your mind, your soul, and to wish for your own death just to make the pain of his presence end?" Harry leaned in to Goyle, who was now, much as Dean had done earlier, pulling himself away from Harry.

"Ginny knows!" Harry fired. He walked back to his own bed and his shoulders slumped. "Ginny understands," he whispered, and sat back down and rubbed his forehead. "It's a scar we both share and if Dean can't handle it, too damn bad!" Harry tossed himself back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. After a moment of silence, Goyle gathered himself together and got out of bed to retrieve his book.

"Potter!" Dean's voice rang out as his footsteps could be heard ascending the staircase. He entered the dormitory with his wand drawn, but the instant he stepped toward Harry's bed, Goyle grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him against the wall.

"Not in here, Thomas," he said sternly, "and not tonight; put it away." Slowly, Dean slid his wand back into his jeans and as he did so, Goyle slid him down the wall to set him on his feet. Still holding Dean by the front of his shirt, Goyle continued, "Harry's writing a letter to his girlfriend, who, you should know, isn't Ginny Weasley. When are you going to get it through your skull that they're just friends? Everybody can see that, except you." Goyle released Dean's shirt and took a half step back. "Why don't you go downstairs and come back when you're head is on straight?" Dean tried to look over Goyle's broad shoulders to see what Harry was really doing. "Take her down to the kitchens for some treacle tarts; you know they're her favorite." Dean, unable to see past Goyle, turned and went back downstairs without saying a word.

"Thanks," Harry said, still looking at the ceiling. Goyle looked down the staircase then turned and leaned against the wall.

"Harry... I've seen the fear he burned into my dad's eyes," Goyle answered in a small voice. "I guess I never thought... I never knew he... I'm sorry." Without saying anything more, Goyle went back over to his bed and began reading again. Taking Goyle's lead, Harry rolled over and grabbed his pack hoping that homework might take his mind off the remnants of anger still roiling inside him, but looking at star charts didn't help. He tossed them to the floor and walked over to his desk.

"It's time for another meeting, I think," he said out loud with a bit of excitement in his voice. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a golden coin. After a few adjustments, he slid it back into the drawer. "There," he said with satisfaction as he fell back onto his bed. Let's see what sort of showing we get now we know the Dark Lord's out to snatch Hogwarts students." He slipped off his glasses and into bed, but his eyes remained open for most of the night.

The next evening, Harry arrived early to the Room of Requirement just to ensure nothing had changed. It was exactly as he had hoped, with one noted exception. Already in the room browsing the bookshelves was Tonks. She was bent low looking at the bottom row of texts and when she saw Harry she flashed him a smile and stood, slowly stretching her back and holding her sides with her hands. She had been moving around in class without any noticeable difficulty, but her face seemed more tired than Harry had ever seen it before. This evening, she wore dark robes and short black hair that spiked up and her skin glowed pale, almost ghostlike.

"Hi, Harry," she said stretching her spine from side to side. "Still a bit stiff, but getting better," she answered anticipating Harry's question. "I was hoping you'd get here a bit early; I wanted to talk to you alone." For an instant, Harry's heart skipped. But his mind turned it toward Neville and the need to find his friend came to the fore.

"Hermione and I were talking at lunch," Harry said eagerly. "We were thinking they might be hold up at the old Riddle house. Maybe you could..."

"We've been watching that dilapidated property and the surrounding farmland for months, Harry. It was the first place I suggested we look." Tonks walked over to Harry and held his hand as they stood together among the stacks of books. Her touch again quickened Harry's heart, but he didn't know why. "I wanted to talk about you, Harry," she said softly. "You seem distracted in class... more than usual," she said gently. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

Harry's heart began to race and he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. He unexpectedly felt very warm and he was sure she'd notice. His thoughts were swiftly swirling. She seemed, somehow, more beautiful tonight, more fragile, more desirable. Harry hesitated at first and then he felt compelled to tell her all he had kept secret these past few months. He'd been aching to confide in someone who would truly understand, and he somehow knew she would.

"Tonks," he started, "you should know that..." A flash of pain streaked up his right arm, and his face winced. He knew the scar which was absent at breakfast had returned, only this time the pain seemed to drive a dart through his skull. Harry staggered backwards feeling as if he were under attack.

"Harry, what is it?" Tonks asked reaching her hand to his arm. But, Harry instinctively pulled his arm away, backing further. He reached up, took his glasses off, and rubbed his face with his hand. The pain began to recede just as the door to the room opened and in walked a number of students from Ravenclaw including Luna, Cho and Anthony. Anthony had his hand on Cho's arm as they stepped through the door, and seeing the two together Harry felt a faint pang of jealousy.

"I'm fine, Tonks, really. Er, thanks," he said over his shoulder, and he started over to talk to Cho, but Luna cut him off.

"Hi, Harry!" she called with an exceptionally loud voice. She was only a few feet from Harry and continued to scream out. "What's the plan for tonight!"

"Why are you yelling, Luna?" Harry asked, his eyes on Anthony and Cho as they walked over to speak with Tonks.

"Clearing out the Fenticulitis!" she continued to yell. "Dad says to clear them out once a month, or they'll become unmanageable!"

"Clearing what?" Harry found himself yelling back for no reason.

"Excellent, Harry! Exactly!" Luna screamed as the door opened and more students began to flood in. Harry shook his head and smiled. Luna was an extraordinarily different person, but then, who at Hogwarts wasn't? They were each unique in their own way and as he watched more students pass through the door he realized that it was their differences that would make them strong. Voldemort demanded conformity to his will and, for the first time, Harry saw a weakness he could exploit and a strength he could develop. He weaved his way to the center of the open chamber and began the meeting.

"Today," he called out, "I want everyone to concentrate on the one thing they're really good at. Concentrate on turning your greatest strength to its greatest benefit. Pair up, one-on-one, or in groups and come up with your own ways to put your strengths to use." Everyone began to murmur, but nobody seemed to move. Finally, Tonks called out.

"Goyle!" she hailed, pointing her wand at the largest student in the group. "Your stunner is the most powerful in this whole room, but you're lucky to hit the side of a barn. Go over to the forest and have a large group come at you. Rather than attack them one-by-one, see if you can stop them all in one go!" Then she turned to Ron. "Mr. Weasley! You seem to have a knack for anticipating your opponent's next move. Take two groups to the town and help defend your group as they're attacked by the other group in door-to-door combat."

"If you're having trouble coming up with ideas," Harry added, "Tonks and I will be walking around to help." But, before long, Dumbledore's Army was running on autopilot. They were using the entire room for the first time and while they were working hard there were also a lot of smiles. By the end of the meeting, everyone was talking about how it was their best practice ever. Tonks left early with Madame Guérir whispering to Harry that they needed to talk more later. Ron and Hermione stayed after to help finish cleaning up.

"That was a blast, mate," Ron said, flying cushions back against the far wall.

"Absolutely! A great idea tonight, Harry," Hermione commended. "I think it's the first time everyone seemed to be performing as one."

"And they were all doing something different," said Harry, happy it had worked. He reached down, picked up a book, and slid it into the lower shelf; his mind turned to earlier in the evening. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Hermione replied.

Harry told the two of them about what had happened with Tonks and how he had reacted. "I don't know why I reacted that way. But..." he hesitated. "It wouldn't be the first Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that turned sour."

"Hey, mate," Ron grinned. "If she held my hand that way, I'd turn three shades of red too. She was looking pretty hot tonight if you ask me."

"Nobody's asking you," Hermione shot with a steely glance and Ron found he didn't need to hold Tonks' hand to turn a deep shade of red. Then she turned to Harry and said softly, "You're over-thinking, is all, Harry. Tonks just wants to help; she's always had a soft spot for you." Hermione looked at Ron. "But not in that way."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Harry answered, and the three left the Room of Requirement not speaking of it further.

Chatting about the meeting they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room, but the mood was instantly spoiled when their paths crossed Draco Malfoy. He was seated lengthwise on a bench, his boots up on the cushions, and his back against a pillar. He was reading a scroll of some sort and he raised his eyes for only a moment to look at the trio and then continued reading. Hermione grabbed Ron's shirt and tried to keep him moving, but he couldn't remain silent.

"Spying again, Malfoy," Ron sneered stepping toward the bench. "Are you worried? We're getting more Slytherins to join every meeting and your watching in the outer corridor isn't going to stop that."

"Just reading a letter from home, Weasles," Malfoy drawled. "It appears that the Ministry's growing concerned about that tottering old fool of a Headmaster. If he isn't better by next term, it looks like they're going to replace him."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "They wouldn't dare."

"Oh, but they would," Malfoy sneered with a twisted smile, turning to sit straight on the bench. "Not that a mudblood would understand the ways of true wizards." Hearing the words, Ron pulled his wand.

"No!" Harry yelled, stopping him. "Let me!" And Harry pulled his own wand.

"Three on one," Malfoy drawled again, "just your kind of odds, Potter."

"Let's take it outside, then," Harry challenged with contempt in his voice. "Alone."

"Harry, no," said Hermione, reaching for his arm. "You know you shouldn't be out at..."

"Afraid of the dark!" Malfoy laughed, and Hermione realized she had said the wrong thing.

"You two can go," Harry said sternly. "This is between Malfoy and me. It's time we finally settle this." The blonde stood to his feet and with one hand pulled his wand, while the other hand stroked the scar on his face. Hermione looked at Harry and then to Ron.

"Let's go," she whispered.

"But..." Ron began.

"Let's go!" she repeated, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him down the corridor.

"The side door's this way, Draco." Harry said quietly, still holding his wand in hand. The two didn't speak until they had made their way out onto the castle grounds. The air was cold, and the night sky dark and starless. The two stood under a torch at the castle's side entrance, each chilled, and then Malfoy slipped his wand back into his robes.

"Well, Potter," he began, "is it time to shake things up a bit?" Harry was silent, but slowly, with trepidation, he nodded. Malfoy smiled like a child at Christmas. "I believe we agreed... you owe me a sign of your own," he challenged. "The earring... is it from Chang? Granger?" Harry held his hand to the silver dangling from his ear. He was not ready to reveal Gabriella to Malfoy, not yet, perhaps not ever.

"Something better, I think," Harry said quietly. Malfoy looked intrigued and stepped closer.

"Well?" he asked with anticipation. Harry reached down and pulled up the sleeve of his robes. The constant throbbing of his right arm all through the DA meeting had been calling to him, reminding him that the scar was still there and now, even by torchlight, the sword and the snake were clearly visible, raised and red against Harry's forearm.

"We share something more than a common hatred of Voldemort," Harry whispered. Malfoy reached forward and took Harry by the arm, looking at the scar intently.

"You did this to yourself?" Malfoy asked in disbelief. "And then to me? Why?"

"I wanted you to understand what it means to be different, Draco. What it means to be stared at... an outcast of your own people. You search for ways to belittle any who don't match your perfect world."

"Perfect world?" Malfoy howled. "Potter, you know nothing of what it means to be truly different. Scars bring stares and silent whispers, but still the Slytherins gather to my side and the Gryffindors gather at yours. Only someone like your pal Lupin understands what it means to be reviled for what you truly are." He squeezed and his fingers dug into Harry's forearm. "You... you have no hope of understanding what it means to be... that I'm..." he stopped, watching the scar on Harry's arm slowly fade before his eyes.

"What trickery are you trying to pull, Potter!" he spat, thrusting the arm back at his nemesis. Harry raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders almost apologetically.

"Mine fades," he said without blinking at Malfoy and rubbing his arm. But Malfoy's eyes were disbelieving. "I swear!" Still, Malfoy was having none of it. Harry searched his mind for another demonstration and then he grinned to himself. "Truly different, Draco?" asked Harry as he reached over and picked a hair off of Malfoy's shirt. "The trips to Hogsmeade... it's not Polyjuice potion." Stepping from torchlight into the darkness, Harry transformed into the very likeness of Draco Malfoy, who stood dumbstruck staring at his own face.

"A Metamorphmagus!" he breathed. "It can't be." For a moment, Malfoy stood motionless and then, slowly, he put his hand to the scar now on Harry's face and traced it with his fingers; Harry didn't move. "So this is what it looks like," Malfoy whispered. His touch was soft, but his fingers cold as they ran their way down the shape of the sword hanging from Harry's left eye. Harry stood in silence as he looked back into Malfoy's stunned face. "Does it burn?" Malfoy asked, already knowing the answer.

"When it flares onto my arm it does," Harry drawled and hearing his own voice, Malfoy stepped back. Then, unexpectedly, his steel eyes smiled.

"In class... your red eyes... of course," he whispered. Malfoy held Harry by the arm. "We can use this, Harry. Yes, we can use this. Who else knows?"

"Tonks," Harry said in a distorted voice as he transformed back; the name bothered Malfoy. "Tonks and..." he hesitated. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Don't tell me... Weasles," he groaned. "What you see in that..."

"Loyalty," Harry cut in, "and friendship. Don't forget, Draco, I've been you. Tell me who you have to compare, because I haven't seen them."

"Bl-... nobody," Malfoy said flatly, and then he leaned in close. "You say you've been me. That's only partly true. You've been the part of me that everybody sees. Tell me, Harry, when you walk into a crowded store, what happens?" Without waiting for an answer, Malfoy answered himself. "The crowd splits apart, that's what happens. That's called respect, Harry, and I'll take that over friendship any day."

"Fear is what it is, Draco, and when your father's back in jail and Voldemort's destroyed who then will they fear? Who then will they... respect?" Without hesitating, Malfoy answered.

"The two Hogwarts students that vanquished the Great Lord Voldemort, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter," breathed the blonde in a cold voice. "Malfoy and Potter." The words sent shivers down Harry's spine, shivers that remained with him as he tried to clear his mind that night before falling asleep.

He remembered his first trip to Diagon Alley, passing through the Leaky Cauldron. "Bless my soul. Harry Potter... what an honor," they said. "So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud," they praised, bowing their heads in deference. How much lower would they bow knowing he had defeated the Dark Lord again? Only now, he would soon be of age and possibly capable of destroying any who would oppose him. At least, that's if he lived. Harry's heart quickened, as his mind began to slip into a fog.

"Come again, Mr. Potter, come again," the clerk said, bowing low to the ground as Harry gathered his goods. "It was certainly my pleasure." Harry turned to leave the crowded store and as he did so the sea of people parted to let him pass. A small child ran to take his hand in gratitude, but Harry shoved him aside.

"Kindness is a weakness," he thought. "Draco taught me that." He strode forward and pushed open the shop door, but instead of emerging out into the street, he walked onto a patch of green grass. At his feet, flowed the water of a small stream that wound its way around a hill and Harry, borne by an urge he did not understand, began to follow it. The air was cool and the day bright, but the shade of the surrounding trees cast a dim filter over all he saw. His pace was quick and his breath billowed from his mouth in large plumes. Unexpectedly, he came to an immense cropping of stone blocks, which seemed unnatural, almost hewn, into which the stream plunged and disappeared. A voice, ancient and wise, began to grow, emanating from the stones or perhaps his own mind, until it erupted with an unexpected power.

"No!" Harry yelled. "It is not a weakness!" His words disappeared into the stillness of the surrounding trees. He fell to his knees watching the cool clear water flow by. "What have I done?" he whispered. "What evil has taken me?" And, without reason, Harry reached down to splash his face with the water that passed into nothingness. Instantly, the crack into which the water disappeared grew to the size of a large crevasse. He lost his balance and began to fall into the gaping fissure.

With a start, he woke and found himself drenched in sweat on the floor next to the bed. The room was cool, dark, and quiet; the side of his head ached from hitting something hard on the way down. His dorm-mates made no sound, oblivious, Harry thought thankfully, to his nightmare. "But, what was the nightmare?" he wondered, as he crawled back into bed.

"This isn't the way," he whispered, as his damp body began to shiver again in the cool air. "This can't be the way."

"It's the only way," a cold voice whispered in his ear. "The only way."