Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 56 - Friendship

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It was strange really, surrounded by magical objects, talking portraits, and the occasional explosion downstairs followed by raucous laughter. Had he really only been gone two weeks? When Ron entered the Gryffindor common room, his pockets were filled with free samples of Fred and George's latest concoction.

"Not yet for sale," he said, which Hermione translated into unsafe and untested. The as-yet unnamed silver chews caused the chewer's hair to stand on end, sparkle and then explode in a flash of red and green, only to have the hair reappear just as it was originally. When Ron offered Harry one, he passed. Harry had taken considerable care to use his longer hair to hide the fact that his scar had vanished, and he didn't need to turn bald and show everyone, at least not yet.

His interactions on the train ride to Hogwarts were minimal at best. Most everyone was talking to Neville or Luna, primarily asking them to describe what You-Know-Who really looked like. Odd, Harry thought. It was as if the monster he'd portrayed in Defense Against the Dark Arts was fabricated, or imaginary. Others showered Ron with dozens of questions, most asking about You-Know-Who, or how Ron saved the school during the attack. His name had prominently appeared in the Daily Prophet since Neville and Luna's rescue, one article going so far as to wonder if he would follow in his father's footsteps to become Minister one day. To say that Ron was beaming couldn't touch the fact that his face had a permanent smile attached to it. Harry wondered how long it would take for those little used muscles to lock that way permanently.

The only person who spent any time at all talking with Harry on the Hogwarts Express was Cho, and really Cho spent most the time listening to Harry talk about Gabriella. When he caught himself going on about her, he stopped and apologized, but Cho simply smiled. "I think it's wonderful, Harry," she said, holding her hand to his face. "You deserve to be happy for a change." For her part, Cho described her intense therapy sessions at St. Mungo's, and Harry noticed that they had paid off. She was walking with only the slightest of limps, and the use of her arm had completely returned.

"They'll be mad not to take you back on the team," said Harry, encouragingly.

"Oh, don't worry," she said defiantly. "I look forward to putting Slytherin in their place this term."

The strangest encounter Harry had was with Draco Malfoy: They were both ascending the steps to the second floor just after an early dinner in the Great Hall, when the staircase moved. Harry didn't notice Malfoy until a voice from behind cursed the stairs' motion. When Harry turned to see who swore, he first thought he saw a ghost. Malfoy looked awful. It wasn't really possible to say that Malfoy looked more pale, but perhaps his face was more gray. His hair had lost much of its golden yellow colour, and it too appeared dull. His steel eyes were sunken, undercut by dark rings, and his face gaunt. Malfoy was no ghost, but any less color and he would be. There was, however, something new. On each ear Malfoy wore what looked like a silver hoop earring. Harry couldn't quite make them out, and instead glanced about to make sure the two were alone.

"Hey, Draco," he said trying to muster a steady tone. "You okay?"

Malfoy just looked up at Harry, his eyes seemingly unable to focus, wandering about the portraits on the walls as if searching for hidden spies. When they finally settled back on Harry, they bore a look of disgust.

"Potter," he spat, drawing his robes more tightly about him and shivering. It wasn't the greeting Harry expected considering he'd saved Draco's father from death days earlier. When the staircase stopped, Harry moved to the next floor. Malfoy, however, turned and went back to the lower floor without saying another word. His movement down toward the dungeons was wrong. Not the graceful elegance of a cocky aristocrat, but almost a scuttle, like a spider backing away from its prey.

There was another explosion, a small shriek, and then more madcap laughter from the common room downstairs. Through Harry's dorm room window, he could see the evening's shadows stretch across the frozen fields. Hagrid's hut puffed wisps of smoke as if signaling the time was near. Before Harry left Little Whinging, he had told her of the mirrors. He had a vague idea how they might work, and they promised to try them tonight as the sun set. He held the square silver frame in his hand and wondered if she was doing the same on Privet Drive. The sun was painfully slow tonight, but finally it acquiesced, letting the earth rise up to meet it, swallowing its brightness until only a small speck of light called out, telling all it would be reborn tomorrow before finally disappearing to darkness. Harry waited no longer.

"Gabriella," he called to the square frame. "Gabriella can you..." Before his eyes, the mirror filled with smoke which faded until a shadowy image appeared, slowly coming to focus. Her face, confused, and calling his name, came into sharpness in the glass before him, and then suddenly smiled as it became clear she could see him too.

"Harry!" she said with a grin. "I can't believe these work! Was the train ride better this go?"

"Hi," said Harry dreamily, not really listening to the question. It was as if she were there with him, and suddenly the snubs on the train, the attention for Ron, and the dull anger festering in Malfoy's eyes no longer mattered. "How are you? Did you tell him?" he asked. Gabriella bit her lower lip, and looked away. Merlin, she was beautiful.

"I know I said I would, but I didn't," she said nervously. Harry's heart completely melted. There was something about the look of fear, or anxiety, on her face that so contrasted with the normally confident and secure woman he knew. He'd seen it in her eyes only a handful of times, and he loved her for it just that much more.

"Take your time, Gab," he said softly. "You've got to be ready, but don't take too long," he encouraged.

"I won't. I swear," she said, in her best Harry inflection.

"Now that's not fair!" He laughed, and before long they were talking a lot about nothing in particular. When they finished, she asked to try the mirrors again tomorrow night, but Harry had to push back his next call to the weekend. Gryffindor's first Quidditch practice was tomorrow night. Katie was insistent about it on the train, reminding Harry three times that they needed to get ready for Hufflepuff, and warning him not to get into any detentions.

When he had said goodbye for the last time, Harry gently placed the mirror back in his trunk, and noticed the portrait Soseh had made. He pulled it out, admiring the colours of the sunset and the glow of Gabriella's brown skin. He decided he would mount it above his bed and levitated it against the wall, placing a sticking charm on it. He heard footsteps climbing the stairs when he noticed his own likeness in the portrait. His forehead no longer bore the single bolt of lightning above his right eye. "That's not possible," he whispered. He was about to look closer when his dorm mates appeared through the door.

"Hey, Harry!"

"Harry."

"Hey, mate!"

Seamus, Neville, and Ron all came in together. Seamus flopped onto his bed, which to Harry still felt like Greg Goyle's in many ways.

"Has Ron told ye abou' him seein' Voldemort?" Seamus asked. "Says he was carried out on his back, he was. Do ye figure he was dead?"

"No," Harry answered immediately. "He's not dead."

"I don' know, Harry," Seamus challenged. "Luna says he buckled over in a right fit."

"Look," said Harry calmly grabbing some parchment and a quill, "I promised Katie we'd get some plays together for tomorrow's practice. Besides, Ron led us all back into the Burrow. He saw. I'm sure he can tell you everything." Harry cast an unnecessarily cool look at the redhead. "Right, chum?"

"Er... yeah, I guess so," Ron said, puffing out his chest.

Harry was about to leave when he turned to Neville. "It's good to have you back, Neville."

"It's good to be back," he replied. Neville looked as happy as he had ever seen him. Between he and Ron, Harry thought, the room might burst with teeth. Looking at Neville, no one would know that for over a month Voldemort himself had tortured him. The first hint of concern crawled into Harry's mind. Had it been too easy?

"I'd like to talk some later, if you don't mind," Harry asked.

"Sure," Neville nodded.

Harry went downstairs, and out through the portrait of the Fat Lady, to an imaginary meeting with Katie Bell. He simply dropped the quill and parchment on the floor, and wandered down the corridor. There was some time to kill before curfew. He thought of the library, or the Great Hall, but he didn't feel much like talking to other people. Finally he settled on a visit with Tonks. He was near her office by the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom when he heard a rustling noise in an alcove behind two suits of armor. The candlelight was dim here, not lit for traffic at this time of night. He looked back down the corridor noting that he was alone. He pulled his wand, and quietly, slowly, stepped around the first suit. Barely visible in the corner was a figure holding a small flask and drinking lustfully. A pebble cracked on the floor under Harry's weight and the figure spun stepping into the light and brandishing a wand. Harry was about to strike when he saw who it was. His heart actually skipped in fright.

The light and shadow played tricks on Harry's eyes making Malfoy's face appear even more sunken and sallow. He looked like the living dead as he held his wand only a few inches from Harry's face. "Potter," he spat, spraying whatever liquid he was drinking all over Harry's glasses. The smell was foul. "You son of a bitch. I... I should kill you right here, and be done with it!"

"Draco?" Harry asked with sincere concern. "Are you feeling alright?" Malfoy wiped his mouth roughly with his sleeve. As on the staircase, he was most certainly un-Malfoy like. He was almost hunched, motioning Harry against the wall with his wand. Harry obliged. "Draco, what's going on? I thought--"

"You thought wrong!" Malfoy sneered. He threw the bottle in the corner and it shattered sending a sharp echo down the empty corridor as the shards splashed across the stone floor.

"You've been drinking, haven't you?" accused Harry. "What is it? Firewhisky?"

Malfoy let out a sound as if to laugh, but the muscles on his face didn't oblige the look. Instead they twisted and distorted his face into something akin to a dried tomato. "How half-blood of you, Potter," he drawled. "As if I would bother with something so pathetically benign." He still held his wand in Harry's face, but Harry could tell Malfoy's eyes were losing their focus.

"Draco, what's wrong? You shouldn't be drinking that stuff. You're not thinking straight."

"Oh, I've got it straight. Do you see this? Do you see it?" he yelled, holding his finger to the scar on his face that Harry knew all too well. Harry simply nodded. "Well, after You-Know-Who's people got walloped in their attack of the school, he didn't take it too well." Malfoy pressed the tip of his wand to Harry's throat, and sneered clenching his teeth. "It wasn't enough that you ripped my father's arm off. You had--"

"I didn't--"

"Shut up!" Malfoy screamed, his wand hand shaking enough to rub the skin under Harry's chin raw. He took a breath, and then spoke very calmly. "It wasn't enough that you ripped my father's arm off. You had to leave me with this mark, already garnering me more attention than I needed." Malfoy stepped closer. "He decided it was bad luck. Can you imagine? 'Lucius, remove the mark.' And so father tried. Envision having the flesh ripped off your face over and over again. That's what it felt like, Potter. All night father tried, until he was too weak to carry on. Finally, even the Dark Lord gave it a go." Malfoy dropped his wand and turned. "Every night, he would try something new, every night he would fail, and every night we would BOTH curse your name. I would have willingly died, Potter, begging him to stop. The only thing giving me the will to go on was father's potions, and..." he spun like a cat, grabbed Harry by the throat with his bare hands, and pressed him against the wall, "...devising ways to make you pay."

The thought of ruining the sickly wizard before him flashed for only an instant across Harry's mind. He hated Draco Malfoy, he always had, at least parts. But this... this thing standing here was not Draco Malfoy. For some reason, Harry felt something quite different than hate coursing through his veins. What it was, he couldn't quite lay his finger on, but it wasn't hate. Then he noticed the earrings. They weren't silver, but white gold. And they weren't simple hoops, but each was the shape of a curled snake with ruby red eyes that glowed in the darkness.

"Where's he gone?" Harry asked, but Malfoy didn't answer. "We can win, Draco. He's ill, he needed help. Where did they take him?" Malfoy was silent, his grip tightening, but whatever potion he'd swallowed was starting to take effect. "Draco, I need you." The words had an immediate impact. The grip about Harry's neck softened and relaxed completely, and for a moment Malfoy's eyes appeared to clear. They darted back and forth between Harry's own green eyes, as if searching for the meaning behind Harry's words. And then Malfoy's eyes rolled up in his head, and he began to fall backwards against one of the suits of armor. Harry caught him in his arms, and slowly lowered him to the floor.

"Let go," Malfoy said, flailing his arms. "Get away from me!" He pushed Harry away, but there wasn't much effort in it. "I... I... got to get back to Slyderin," he slurred. He took a deep breath and miraculously managed to make it to his feet. He took a few steps staggering down the corridor toward the dungeons. Harry made an effort to help, but Malfoy pulled his wand again. "Back away. This isn't over, P-Potter. Don't... don't think for a s-second that..." He turned, never finishing his sentence, and continued to stagger down the hall.

Harry watched until he was out of sight. When Malfoy turned the corner, Harry rubbed his neck, and then ran his fingers through his hair. In his heart there was more hope than hate, more concern for Draco than derision. If Malfoy was acting strangely, Harry had to think that so too was he, only he no more noticed his own change in behavior than the fact that his hair had grown another inch while he was away on vacation.

Harry barely made it back to the Gryffindor common room before curfew. He was unable to find Tonks, and with Malfoy's distraction had little time to look about the castle. Thankfully, things had quieted down. A few students were already studying for tomorrow's classes... miniature Hermione's Harry thought, while the rest had retreated to their dormitories. He headed up the stairs himself when he spotted the orphan, Patrick O'Riley, asleep in one of the chairs by the fire. Harry walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, Pat, I'm not a prefect or anything, but you can't sleep in here unless you're studying."

Patrick blinked his eyes. "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, Harry," he blinked some more, sitting taller in the chair. "I won't... Wait. What'd yeh say?"

"Best get to bed," said Harry ruffling the first year's hair. "It'll be a long day tomorrow. The professors always try to be hard noses the first day we're back from vacation. Get some proper sleep."

Patrick took to his feet, rubbing his face with his hands. "Yeah, I guess yer right." He started up the stairs, as Harry took the seat he vacated. "Did yeh have a good vacation, Harry?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I guess. You?"

"The Changs were great," said Patrick with a smile, and Harry smiled back nodding. "See yeh tomorrow, Harry."

"Goodnight, Pat"

Harry sat in the chair and just gazed into the fire. It would be a hellish day tomorrow, but he knew it was early enough they'd still be talking upstairs. He realized that, except for sleeping on the train, he hadn't spent any time just sitting quietly and thinking all vacation. He leaned back closing his eyes, let out a slow breath, and almost instantly his thoughts turned to the vivificus stone, now hidden by the Invsitata spell on his desk upstairs. Ideas of Grigor and who he was swam by, and then all thought landed squarely on the riddle to get his godfather back. "Welled from source of endless magic," he whispered to himself. "Obviously not me. I wonder--"

"Hi," a kind voice said, tapping him on the shoulder. It was Hermione. She was dressed in pajamas, but she wore the diamond necklace Harry had given her for her birthday. Harry hadn't seen it on her since the day he gave it to her. "Mind if I sit down?" she asked with a lightness in her voice that told Harry their conversation was about to be anything but.

"I thought you were a starlet now," Harry said in an all too snotty tone. "The girlfriend of the famous Ron Weasley. Surely you don't have time..." Hermione turned and began to walk away. Harry watched her take a few steps and called her back. "Wait! I'm sorry. It's just all been too weird, you know?" She turned back and nodded. Then she sat in the chair next to Harry. "Did you just come from upstairs?" he asked, hoping for some information.

"Yes," she answered. "The boys are getting ready for bed. Ron's voice is essentially gone, and his face muscles have started to cramp up he's been smiling so much today." They both laughed and Hermione caught Harry looking down at her necklace. She rolled it between her fingers and then ran her hand across the diamonds. "I figured his ego was boosted enough he wouldn't mind. I do love them you know."

"Good," Harry said, a bit indifferently. "That's what it's all about... boosting Ron's ego."

"I can't believe you're jealous!" shot back Hermione with a high voice.

"I'm not!" snapped Harry. "It's just... well... it wasn't Ron that put Voldemort on his back, was it?" Harry asked, not really wanting an answer. "If that hadn't happened, Luna and Neville would still be chained to his wall. Nobody seems to realize that little part, do they?" He folded his arms tight around his chest and glared at the fire. He wasn't jealous... he wasn't! If there was anyone who hated extra attention, it was Harry Potter. He just wanted... what did he want?

Hermione silently watched him as the emotions rose and fell across his face. She was used to the twists and turns, only this time, perhaps, she saw something a bit different... something new and she liked it. Finally, she spoke with a soft voice.

"Is it really so terrible that Ron have the limelight for awhile?"

Harry sighed and shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Of course not." He took another breath, unfolded his arms, and looked at Hermione with a smile. "Helping Neville's parents was bloody brilliant. He deserves a medal for that one." Harry's smile was tinged with concern. "Certainly you've seen him without his shirt on. Have you checked the scars on his neck? Have they gone down?" Hermione blushed in the firelight.

"They were pretty bad, but Madame Pomfrey's worked out a new spell, and a healer from St. Mungo's has him taking a regular potion. They're getting better." Hearing the words, Harry slowly nodded.

"Good," he said firmly. "Only two weeks until Hufflepuff. We need the Keeper fit."

"You're not seriously only concerned because of Quidditch?" Hermione howled. Harry just looked at her with a sly grin, and she shoved him on the shoulder. The two sat and stared at the fire, listening to the crackles and pops. Eventually, they were the only two left in the common room. Hermione looked around and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The move did not go unnoticed by Harry, who feigned a yawn, stretching his arms wide.

"I really should get to--"

"Did you see Tonks tonight?" Hermione asked innocently.

So they were going there, Harry thought to himself. It only took a bit over an hour, but at least he knew why she was there. Perhaps, he'd known all along. She was there not to be a friend, but to gather information. He had hoped she would want to discuss Malfoy, or perhaps to divine a new strategy for studying this new term. Instead, she was going to stick her nose in and ruin everything.

"I'm really tired, Hermione," he said with his best tired voice. "I'll see you tomorrow." Rubbing his face, he took to his feet to leave.

"Harry," she started again, "I really need to know. Did you see Tonks?"

He didn't want to be angry, it just welled up from inside. Some part of him was trying to cool the fire kindling in his veins, but he'd have none of it.

"Wasn't it bad enough you had to nose your way in and listen to me talk to Tonks in private at Grimmauld Place? No! You had to go and try to butt your way in between Gabriella and me!"

"I wasn't--"

"Is this how you get your kicks now? Or has the Order given you the job to spy on Harry Potter and report back whatever you see and hear?

"I am no spy!" yelled Hermione, now taking to her feet and facing Harry head on.

"Then why ask what I'm doing? Why ask who I speak to? Why follow me around like a lost puppy searching for scraps of information, if not to spit them back up for the Order?" Then Harry's eyes narrowed. "Or is it the Ministry?" he sneered, as if he detested the word. The memory of the Ministry's invasion of his home came rushing back.

Hermione stared silently in defiance, her jaw set in denial, but her eyes betrayed her.

"It is! I don't bloody believe it!" Harry howled. "You're working for the Ministry of Magic. Do you know how many Ministry officials Voldemort has under his thumb?

"Not Ron's dad!"

"NO?" Harry spat. The anger had fully engulfed him, and he was going to win this argument with Hermione on all fronts, and at all costs. "Bloody convenient the way he came swooping in at the last second to save the day right behind Fudge who was killed. Only, Minister Weasley doesn't get so much as a scratch!

"I can't believe you'd think that!"

"And then, right after the rescue, he comes to search my house, MY HOUSE, as if I'm a criminal," he raged. He wasn't really listening to what he was saying; it was just that he wanted Hermione to leave him alone. He needed to make this about anything, about anybody, besides Tonks. He pulled his wand flicking popped embers back into the fire. "And... and Mrs. Weasley... she hates me so much for ruining her precious sons, why doesn't she move out of Grimmauld Place and go back to the Burrow? Hell, the whole lot of them can run back to that dump if they think I..." He turned to see Ron at the bottom of the stairs. In is hand was a jacket Harry knew to be Hermione's. The three stood there staring at each other for a moment. Harry could feel the sizzle in his soul hiss as the cool waters of the moment doused his emotions. He took a step toward his friend. "Ron, I--"

"Hermione," said Ron, stepping down past Harry and holding out the jacket. "You left this upstairs. I thought I'd catch you down here reading, but I guess..." he stopped, casting a sullen glance toward Harry, and then sighed. "Anyway, goodnight." He kissed her on the cheek, and walked by Harry and back up the stairs without saying a word.

Harry watched in silence as Ron returned to the boys' dormitory. When he disappeared, Harry cried out, rounding on one of the common room's study tables. "Arrrgh!" he yelled, flipping the table over with his hands, and then holding out his right arm, he called, "Diffindo!" to sunder the table in two. Only, nothing happened. Frustrated, he kicked one of the upturned table legs with all his might, hurting his foot in the process. "Damn it!" he cursed, hopping on one foot.

"Here," Hermione said gently, taking him by the shoulders and helping him back over to the chair by the fire. "Let me have a look." She took off his boot, and examined the foot. "I don't think it's broken," she said. "Does this hurt?" she asked, grasping his big toe and giving it a yank.

"Ayyy!" he yelled. "Yes. Yes, it hurts."

"Good!" she snapped, pulling and twisting it a bit more as Harry screamed. Finally she cried, "Serves you right!" She grabbed the boot and smacked Harry's head and a red welt immediately appeared above his left temple. "Ron Weasley is the closest thing you have to a blood brother, Harry Potter, and you have the audacity to smear his family's name? The same family that only ever treated you as their own son? For the last six months he's called me his girlfriend, but all he ever talks about is you. Everything he does, he does for Harry Potter. He'd lie for you... he'd die for you, and all you can do is complain he has more lines in the bloody newspaper!" She glared at Harry, whose own eyes were, at the moment, empty, then shook her head. "I don't care what you think about me, Harry, but don't ever insult the Weasleys again, or I'll hex you so bad you won't walk for a week!" She grabbed her jacket, and started for the stairs.

"Hermione," Harry said softly, sadly, not turning, but rather staring into the dieing embers of the fire. He could hear her footsteps stop to listen. Harry smiled to himself as tear rose up in his eyes. She would always stop to listen. "Would it be so bad to try?" he asked. "He's my godfather, after all." He could hear her steps return to the back of the chair, but his eyes remained fixed on the orange glow before him.

"Harry, have you spoken to Tonks today?" she asked.

"No," he answered quietly. "I ran into Malfoy instead. He looks half dead if you ask me. Some sort of potion he's taking, and it's messing with his mind." Again there was another long pause, and Harry felt compelled to ask again. "Would it, Hermione? Would it be so bad to try?"

"What's it worth to you?" she finally asked.

"Everything."

"Really? Would you hand the keys of the world to Voldemort, just to bring back Sirius?"

"She's not working for--"

"Yes she is, Harry. And you know it."

An ember popped from the fire, and before it hit the ground Harry had his wand out and repelled it back into the fire. "I can't do it without a wand, anymore," he said flatly.

"I noticed," she said, moving to the chair at his side. Harry took in a deep heave of air, and exhaled it in a long slow sigh.

"I'm such a jerk," he muttered, shaking his head.

"You know," she said kindly, "it'd take the courage of a true Gryffindor to climb up there and apologize right now." She reached over and gave Harry a hug. "I think we can save talk of Voldemort and his minions for tomorrow, don't you?" Harry smiled back.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Some things are more important." Gingerly, he slipped on his boot and limped on up the stairs, leaving Hermione to read a book by candlelight. He would worry about his wounded foe tomorrow... the foe whose darkness even now shadowed the castle walls. For the moment, he would turn his attention on what was important-- bravery, loyalty, and friendship.