Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 58 - Darkness Returns

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He could hear the slow steady splat of water as it pattered onto the ledge beneath the common room window. For the last few days the rain had been light, but steady. The grounds were beginning to warm, and the rain seemed to awaken many of the buds in the trees, and revitalize the lawn, which was shaking off its golden mantle for a new green. It was late, and only he and Patrick were still studying. The first year seemed to take pride in working side-by-side with Harry though he rarely said a word, which suited Harry, who still appreciated the company. Since midnight, Patrick had asked only one question about a wand movement for levitation, and Harry worked with him for a moment, if only to rest his mind from his own studies.

"You'd think I could levitate a feather," Patrick complained. "James can do it in his sleep."

"Ask Seamus about his first time in Flitwick's class," said Harry with a smile and showing the young boy the proper wrist motion. It wasn't long before Patrick was levitating feathers and sheets of paper. With this success, he chose to retire for what was left of the morning's darkness. Soon, the rest of Gryffindor would, themselves, be rising. As the young boy started to put his books in his pack, he looked up at Harry hunched over two sheets of parchment and making notes.

"Is it due tomorrow?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" said Harry, blearily pulling himself away.

"Your assignment, is it due tomorrow?"

"What? This? Er... no," Harry answered. "Something I let slip away from me last year."

Patrick raised his eyebrows, nodding his approval of Harry's tenacity. "Well, goodnight," he said and ascended up the staircase. Harry returned to the riddles before him.

"Blend the three and turn the key," he whispered to himself for the hundredth time that night. For weeks he had tried to engage Tonks about the riddles, and for weeks she had rebuffed him with excuse after excuse about how she needed more time, and how it was better that they slow down to do it right. Since she had been no help at all, Harry elected to deduce their meaning for himself. It was strange really, as if she was waiting for the stars and planets to realign, and Harry would often use Tonks' reticence to demonstrate to Hermione that there was no way the young professor was in league with Voldemort. He sighed, shaking his head. He did not want to start his thoughts down that path again... it was mere distraction and always led to more irritation. "Focus," he thought.

He and Tonks were sure of one thing... one of the ingredients was Lucius Malfoy's blood, it had to be. "...saved from death by hated foe..." was just too perfect a connection. The second ingredient was simply the golden basin, secretly cast by the Black Family for this very purpose... to return the condemned from behind the Curtain of Phenolem.

It had been Hermione who relayed the history lesson from one of Professor Binns' classes. The great chamber in the bowels of the ministry was once used as an execution hall. Originally the condemned, often enemies of the state, were executed... put to death in front of hundreds of witnesses on the large dais that now stands there. To prevent their graves or ghosts from becoming gathering sites for enemies, the bodies were disposed of through the Curtain of Phenolem, a tapestry magically woven to entrap the essence of all that entered, allowing no spirit to escape its confines.

Eventually, the early Ministry discovered that even the living could be thrown through the curtain, saving the trouble of the ghastly execution altogether, although it was endlessly debated which was more cruel. Long after the entire process was banned for being inhumane, Sirius Black's great grandfather Ogmius Black, the first son of Phineas Nigellus, developed a technique to bring those he summoned back from the curtain. Cruel, dark wizards, sentenced to death centuries before were returned whole and ready to terrorize again, ever loyal to the wizard that set them free.

"Harry, don't you see?" Hermione pleaded. "Your rescue of Lucius Malfoy is what gave Voldemort the idea. He believed, with your blood, he had all the ingredients, but he was wrong. And now he's using you through Tonks to find out how to set them free."

"That's rubbish!" Harry argued, but his heart wasn't in it. What he meant to say is, "You're probably right, but I don't give a damn, because I'm bringing out Sirius, with or without a new army for Voldemort. Do you want to help?"

"Damn!" Harry hissed to himself for letting his mind wander again. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, trying to concentrate once more. The rain sprayed against the common room window, driven by a sudden gust of wind. He turned and watched the sheets of water run down the panes of glass on this moonless night. If only he could think of what the last ingredient was, but it was pointless. His mind was fogged, and continued to wander. With a heavy sigh, he rolled his papers, and went to bed.

He entered the boys' dormitory to find it silent, save for the rhythmic snoring of Seamus Finnigan. It was the one thing about Seamus that Harry didn't miss while he was gone last term. He slipped off his clothes, patted the stone of cinnabar now hidden on his desk by the Invsitata spell, and crawled into bed. He might, at least, get an hour's rest. Only the rhythm of Seamus' snores and the pitter-pat, pitter-pat of rain against the dorm window remained, as the fog fully filled his mind. There was a dull ache at his temples, probably from reading too much he thought. He turned over on his side, cleared his thoughts, and fell asleep.

The next morning his mind was weary, his eyes watered, and his body ached. He felt quite ill, but went to class anyway. In Care of Magical Creatures he sneezed violently, squeezing a fire toad too tightly and causing it to blast a jet of flame over Ron's arm. Hagrid sent them both to see Madame Pomfrey, Ron for his arm, and Harry for his cold.

"It don't get yeh outta doin' yer homework now! Neither of yeh!" Hagrid called after them as they left for the castle.

Turning the corridor to the hospital wing they ran into Malfoy who was just leaving. Well, it was Ron that really ran into him. Their shoulders collided as each tried to negotiate the turn too quickly. Both had their wands at the ready in an instant. Malfoy's two snake earrings seemed to sneer as they glinted in the sunlight streaming through the upper windows. Ron sneered back, narrowing his eyes at the blonde. Malfoy's health had steadily been improving since his detention with Harry nearly three weeks before. His clothes and appearance were far better, but his temperament was as bad as ever.

"Don't tell me your wand backfired again, Weasels," Malfoy drawled, as he looked from Ron's eyes to his burnt arm.

"How 'bout I try it on your face," Ron snapped back. "Oh, sorry, that's already scarred for life." The words made Harry wince, and he grabbed Ron by the sleeve.

"You two... just cut it out!" ordered Harry, pulling Ron down the corridor toward the Infirmary.

"Next time, Malfoy," Ron called after the Slytherin. "Next time!"

"I didn't know red-headed garbage dwellers could tell time!" Malfoy howled back with a sneer. Ron lurched, but Harry held fast and pulled him into the hospital wing.

Ron was the first to be treated. Madam Pomfrey carefully examined his arm and, as always, shook her head. "I just don't understand why every time the door to the hospital wing opens I expect to see Ron Weasley, or Harry Potter. Imagine my surprise to see you both wander in today." Her voice was seeped in sarcasm as her eyes rolled to the ceiling.

"Job security, Madame Pomfrey," said Ron brightly. "Job security."

"I don't think I need to worry about that, Mr. Weasley," she said darkly, as she sprinkled a white powder on Ron's arm and then bathed it in blue light with her wand. "The healers have been stretched thin this year, I'm afraid." She let out a sigh. "Although it has been quiet lately."

Harry winced. A sharp pain pulsed at his temples, then faded. Madame Pomfrey looked at him with concern.

"You're not just an escort, Mr. Potter?" she asked, finishing up with Ron's arm, which was now only showing a light sunburned appearance. Still, she wrapped it in light gauze.

"He's got a cold," Ron answered.

"A cold?" Madame Pomfrey scoffed, looking at Harry closely. "Let me see." She stepped over to Harry as he sat on the gurney next to Ron's. "Take off your glasses, please." Harry did so, and she moved her wand in circles about his head while holding a silver disk. "There's no sign of..." and then she noticed the scar was now absent from his forehead. "Merlin, child, what have you done?"

Up until now, no adult had noticed the disappearance of his scar, or if they did, they said nothing about it. Perhaps a handful of Gryffindors had seen a normal forehead, maybe Cho. Other than that, very few paid it any attention. Hermione, to the contrary, was convinced there was something more, and as in all things plunged into the library to learn all she could. Over the last two weeks her search had led to nothing new, and Harry noticed her trips to the library begin to dwindle to a mere three or four a day. But how to handle Madame Pomfrey? Harry chose the tried and true method--ignorance.

"Done?" he asked blankly.

"To your forehead! Your scar... it's gone. How?" She leaned in closer, but Harry turned to Ron.

"How's the arm, Ron?" he asked. "Ready to get back to that homework Hagrid was talking about?"

"Er, yeah," Ron quickly stammered. "Right... homework."

"Don't start that with me!" Madame Pomfrey snapped. "Potter, there's nothing wrong with your head except maybe some sneezing from the new blossoms, and probably this." She tapped his blank forehead with her wand making a dull thunking sound. Harry continued to look at her as if he was confused. Finally, she handed him some Pepperup Potion. "Very well," she sighed. "Take a half dose now, and a half dose tomorrow morning. If the headaches don't stop by lunch tomorrow, you are to return here before dinner, understood?"

Harry nodded.

"I don't detect any subcutaneous incantation, but if this is some sort of magic to hide your scar--"

"Gee," interrupted Harry, gulping down the potion. Steam began to billow at once out his ears. "Thanks, Madame Pomfrey." He sniffed in a deep pull of air through his nose. "Ah... already feel better," he lied. "Let's go, Ron."

They were halfway to the Great Hall to eat lunch before either of them said a word. It was Ron who broke the silence.

"He's back, isn't he," he said darkly, looking down at the stone floor as they walked. Harry said nothing; he didn't have to. Ron let out a deep breath. "A lot of fame for a lot of nothing... so much for vanquishing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. What a waste." He let out another long sigh. Harry stopped, and grabbed Ron by the arm.

"Waste?" he snapped. "You think it was a waste to save Neville and Luna? Was it a waste to show the Wizarding world where Voldemort's men were hiding out? Was it a waste to bring Neville's parents back into his life so they could truly have something wonderful to celebrate for the New Year?" He turned to face his best friend, and whatever jealousy Harry still held to vanished. "It was you, Ron Weasley, who made that happen. You made a difference that matters... Voldemort be damned!"

Ron tried to offer a smile, nodding his head, but his heart wasn't much in it. There was comfort to be had having Harry Potter as your best friend, and it didn't stem from his wealth or his fame, but rather from his heart and undying loyalty.

"How bad is it?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged. The pain was different, but somehow he knew it was an omen of Voldemort's return.

"You know how you could hear everyone's thoughts seeping into your head uncontrollably?" Harry asked as they walked along, neither looking at the other. "I've only ever heard one voice... Voldemort's." This time, Ron didn't cringe hearing the name. They walked a little further. "The thing is... this time... it's different somehow." He held his hand to his forehead. "Something's changed." They were nearing the entrance to the Great Hall, and others were converging. Ron caught sight of Hermione and waved with a half-smile. She jogged over to greet him with a kiss, but could tell there was something wrong.

"What's the matter?" she asked, as her eyes glanced down to see his bandaged arm. "Are you okay? What happened?" Ron shook his head.

"One thing's certain," Harry continued as if Hermione never appeared. "He's mad." He looked out and seemed to scan the air with his eyes as if reading a book, or thinking about something quite distant. And then he nodded his head. "Furious." A thin smile creased Harry's lips at the understanding. "Let him stew in his failure."

Hermione knew at once what they were talking about, and her face turned ashen. "He'll retaliate! Harry, you know he will." Her face grew stern. "He's like a spoiled child who can't get his way. He'll throw a bloody tantrum, and people are going to die!" Her words were a bit loud, and turned the heads of some hungry passersby. Ron pulled her aside, and Harry followed. They looked very conspiratorial, huddled by one of the statues at the Great Hall's entrance.

"Okay," Ron started, "he's going to strike. But, as always, the question is where and when?" Both he and Hermione looked at Harry as if he might have the answer.

"Don't look at me," he shrugged again, sending up another billowing cloud of steam from his ears. "I might just have allergies."

"You don't suppose..." Hermione started holding her hand to her chin and squeezing her eyes till they looked like she was in pain. Ron rolled his eyes, waiting for what was next. It was Hermione's dramatic pause for someone to offer an idea so she could say no and correct them. Ron stopped biting, long ago. "Could it be the Magpies?"

"What?" Ron scoffed.

"Well, I mean, it's odd enough that you're both invited to tryout for a professional team..."

"What?" Ron's pitch ran higher.

"... and now only two days before you're supposed to leave Hogwarts, Harry's scar starts hurting again."

"It's not my scar..." Harry corrected, "not really." The problem was he didn't know what it was. The mark on Harry's forehead that had linked Voldemort to Harry had been washed away, and with it the darkness that seeped into Harry's soul, but there still seemed to be a connection, however faint, with all that was good in Tom Riddle. Gone was the piercing pain in his forehead, and in its place was a dull ache that ran throughout his body in a slow wave. It made him feel that if he could just sleep for a day, he'd be better. Harry sighed, maybe he was just sick.

"Why is it odd," Ron continued, "that the best Seeker, and the best Keeper I might add, Hogwarts has seen in decades happen to attract professional attention?"

"Decades?" challenged Hermione, now taking a turn to roll her own eyes. Harry sighed, and started for lunch. He was hungry, and although Dumbledore had given his permission for the two to travel with appropriate guards, Hermione had a point. Suddenly, it didn't seem like such a great idea, but there was no stopping Ron, and because of that, there would be no stopping Harry either.

Ron and Hermione were still bickering at the entrance, when he sat down for lunch. They had moved off subject to proper studying habits... a topic Harry had come to learn never ended happily. He tried to eat quickly before he found himself caught in the middle again. It reminded him of the fights that Grigor and Soseh had over the summer. The memories immediately turned his thoughts to Gabriella, and his heart began to sink a bit. He had hoped it would be easier this term, using the mirrors to communicate, but it was only that much worse saying goodbye. It was clear, to Harry at least, that Gabriella was unhappy with what was happening at home, and there was nothing Harry could do about it. He felt helpless.

"Are you going to eat your dessert?"

Harry awoke from his daydream to find Neville sitting across the table from him. Harry looked over to the entrance, and saw both Hermione and Ron storming in.

"Er... no," Harry sputtered quickly. "You eat it. I need to go." Harry sat up and started for the exit.

"Harry!" both Hermione and Ron shouted in unison.

"Sorry guys!" Harry held out his hands apologetically in a wide gesture. "I'm late for an appointment." They both looked a little put out, but that was better than the alternative.

It wasn't long before Harry was in the boys' dormitory getting ready for Intermediate Apparation with Professor Flitwick. This term, they would attempt to Apparate on their own, if only across the street, trying to avoid re-appearing with their feet under the ground. The steam now only fizzled from his ears. He was slipping his wand away, when another wave of nausea passed quickly over his body, and then disappeared. It was something akin to having a ghost pass through you, only much deeper, and much colder. The feeling that remained was one of anticipation. He leaned against his bedpost regaining his composure. Blinking his eyes, he glanced up at the portrait Soseh had painted, and noticed another change in the oils. While the people in magical portraits moved, this painting was very much the Muggle type with one exception... it changed. At least that's what Harry was coming to realize. It reflected the way things were in the present. The portrait had corrected itself and vanished away the scar on Harry's forehead. It had displayed the new earrings they now both wore since Christmas. Now it had transformed again. In the distance, beyond and behind the figure of Gabriella was a shadow, or puff of smoke. It didn't make sense, and it seemed quite out of place... unnatural. He began to worry that something was wrong. He reached over and tapped his invisible statue with his hand. He took solace in knowing that the look the two gave each other in the portrait was one of love, but he couldn't help but see a greater sadness in Gabriella's expression.

He worried as he laced his trainers. He worried as he headed for class. He worried all day long, fretting at every opportunity. He consistently failed the wand movements in Apparation and lost five house points from Professor Flitwick. The first time that had happened in years.

That night, an hour before curfew, he sped the entire way to the owlery to speak with Gabriella. Over the last few weeks, Harry had been showing her different parts of the castle every time they used the mirrors to communicate. She was particularly impressed with the observatory, and with Firenze's inside-outdoor classroom.

"Papa would love to teach there," she had said longingly, and then her face broke into a deepening sadness.

Unfortunately, her father had been home less and less. His appearance and demeanor were deteriorating upon each return, and as it did, her desire to tell him the truth about what she had done in retribution for her brother's death waned. Duncan and Todd had taken to making regular visits, and perhaps the most enjoyable thing for Harry was the absence of any jealousy in his heart. He loved her, she loved him, their portrait was proof of that, and that was enough.

With Hedwig perched on his shoulder, he called her through his father's mirror. She was, as always, beautiful. Her hair was worn loosely about her shoulders, as she sat by her bedroom window. He could see past, across the street, to his own bedroom window. To some this might bring a pang of homesickness; to Harry it was just another window. His eyes gazed into hers and he saw tears.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's the matter?"

Gabriella bit her lower lip trying not to cry, but the tears welled up and flowed freely down her cheeks. Her breaths were quick, jerking and shallow, and she was having trouble gathering herself together.

"Gabriella, what's wrong?" Harry pleaded. "Is it the Ministry? That's over with now." He had never seen her so upset, not even after Emma's death. He wanted to Apparate right now... to be at her side, to hold her. He could feel the frustration building within, but he took a steadying breath and asked again as calmly as he could, "It's okay, baby. Just tell me."

"I... I told him," she sniffed. "I told him everything." There was a long pause. He had urged her to tell Grigor what had happened after her brother Antreas' death, and he knew it would be difficult, but if her father's love was strong...

"And?" he asked with caution.

"He's gone, Harry. He's gone!" she cried out, and burst into tears hanging her head.

"But he's left before," Harry offered truthfully. "He'll be back."

She cried for a moment longer, and then suddenly stopped, wiped her face, and slowly raised her head to look directly at Harry through the mirror. Her eyes were black stones, cold and intense. It was a look of courage and resolve that he had often seen, but now, like this... a cold shiver slithered up Harry's spine. "What happened, Gabriella?"

"It was after dinner," she began. Her voice was slow, steady, and uncharacteristically distant, almost detached. Her expression was frozen into a death masque that felt no pain. Harry had seen only flashes of this part of Gabriella before, but he knew all too well of the results... a murder in Lebanon for the torture and killing of her brother.

"It was after dinner, and for the first time in a long time Papa chose to smoke a cigar in the living room, and read the paper. I finished helping Mama with the dishes, when she said she was tired and wanted to lie down. I can't remember when the last time Papa and I spent more than five minutes alone together. 'Now or never,' I thought, and I took a seat on the couch across from him. He looked over his newspaper and smiled. I wonder if he'll ever smile at me again." Her eyes wandered up and over the mirror, to where... Harry could only imagine.

"And so I told him. I told him that I had learned what had happened to Antreas at Al Bsahri. I told him of the great gathering of sixteen at the altar. I never learned the reason for the ritual, but I had learned the result. They had killed Antreas and the poor old woman. And then... and then I told him of the Headmaster, of how... of how he paid with his own life at my hands." She stopped, staring blankly past, or through Harry, as if she were looking back once again at the greatest horror of her life.

Now more than ever Harry wanted to be at Gabriella's side. It was clear she needed him there, but his only connection was through this mirror. At least it was better than owl, he thought, looking about the collection of birds flying around and overhead. Hedwig, tired of waiting to be summoned, flew down and lit on Harry's shoulder. The sight broke Gabriella's trance of silence, and for a brief instant she smiled as Hedwig pecked in annoyance at Harry's ear.

"She's bored," said Harry, offering her a small treat from his pocket. "Since we have the mirrors, her only chance to fly is when I write to Fred and George, and that's not far at all."

"I think she's getting fat," scolded Gabriella. Hedwig hooted, and puffed out her feathers, but the effect was not a handsome one.

"Would you like her to come for a visit?" Harry asked. "I know she'd love to see you again." Gabriella began to smile, but then her face fell.

"I don't know, Harry," she whispered.

"I guess... I guess your father was pretty mad?" asked Harry. "He stormed off then?"

Gabriella waited for a moment and then shook her head no. The tears began to well up again, and her look was one of confusion. "No," she rasped, "not angry... I don't know... sad, maybe... disappointed." She drew in a deep breath and finished her story. "After I told him what I'd done, he folded his newspaper and placed it at the side of his chair. He crushed out his cigar, and set it in the ashtray. He came over to me and held me in his arms. I began to cry." She cursed, wiping her face. "I never cry in front of my father." Gabriella took the mirror in both her hands, and swung it around. The motion made Harry a bit dizzy. She set the mirror on her night table, and lay down on her bed looking up at the sky. Then, chewing at the edge of one of her nails, her voice took on the tone of her father. "He said he was sorry. He said he was a fool, and had ruined everything, had lost his children, but that he would fix that. He said that he had the key to return all that he lost. He said... he said... 'Gabriella, she won't get away, I promise you. Antreas will return.'"

She rolled over onto her elbows and looked into the mirror. "Harry, it doesn't make sense. He told me to watch after Mama and that one day I would understand. He told me he loved me, and always would, and then... he Disapparated." She paused, looking into Harry's eyes. Black locked with green, they both wanted the same thing very much. "He left with a puff of smoke," she said, weakly trying to smile. "He used to perform magic shows for Antreas and me when we were children. I think it may have been his last true happy memory."

"He'll come back, Gabriella. I know he will."

She shook her head and rolled over onto her back. "Mama woke up about an hour ago. I think he's been controlling her mind all this time. She knows something, but can't or won't bring herself to say. All she did was hold me, and tell me that Papa, as he is, would never return to this house, and Mama is never wrong."

Harry didn't know what to say, or think. He had half believed Grigor was in league with Voldemort, but now he just wasn't sure. Still, what kind of father would abandon his family? "I'm sorry, Gabriella. It's all my fault. I didn't think--"

"Shhhhhh," she hushed, holding a finger to her lips. "I'm the only one that's sorry. I should have told him straight away and maybe none of this would have happened."

"But then we might never have met, and my life would be... you know... empty without you. I wish you were here," he whispered. And she nodded, wiping at her face again. "Listen," he said brightly. "I know we can't be together next week for Valentine's and all, but I thought I'd send you a little something." He held up a small package in the mirror. "It's just chocolate from Honeydukes, but--"

"It's wonderful, Harry," said Gabriella warmly. "Thank you." They paused looking at each other, as they always did when it was time to say goodbye, only this time there was a sense of unease.

"You'll keep me informed and tell me how your mother's doing? Ron and I will be flying with the Magpies tomorrow night, but we can talk Sunday, okay?"

"Oh, that's right," she said with embarrassment, covering her mouth with her hand. "Your chance to join the pros and all I've been doing is prattling on about--"

"Family's more important, Gabriella. It's always more important." Again they held each other's eyes, and she nodded.

After Harry wrapped the mirror and slipped it back into his cloak, he tied the small box to Hedwig's leg and sent her away into the clear, dark night. There was no moon, only the intense flickering of stars in the heavens. On such a night, he cursed as his mind wandered to where it must. If Grigor was a Death Eater, and he had left to finish whatever he had started, then something would surely happen soon. He watched as Hedwig's white feathers were swallowed by the darkness, and then, rubbing his temples, turned to leave. It was time to speak with Dumbledore about the Magpies.