Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 65 - The Black Key

~~~***~~~

The sky was blue, the air was warm, and the sun was bright. The breeze carried upon its breath the fresh scent of just blossomed wild flowers, and Harry's ears were tuned to the birds chirping in the air... a sound of love. Could there be a more beautiful day? He leaned against the wall, folded his arms and continued to gaze upon the dark haired girl in green robes some ten paces to the fore. All was right with the world, and it would soon be--

"Well, Mr. Potter?" a voice in the distance pinged into Harry's mind. No, this wasn't a dream, but Harry couldn't count the number of times he pinched himself to be sure.

It had been a few weeks and already he was happier than he could imagine. Gabriella, having missed so much school, was placed with the sixth year students. Pucey's face reconstruction had instantly earned Gabriella a rep: Terminator. And although she had endured the occasional hexes and pranks all new students endured, since her arrival she had, for the most part, got on well with the rest of Slytherin. While her family wasn't rich, they were well off and their genealogical lines in the Wizarding world ran deep. When it was discovered that her father was the best-man at Headmaster Gillman's wedding (a wizard known to be connected in the circles of dark magic), and her mother's line stretched to the dark lord Pravus himself, none again questioned her purity or value to the Slytherin name. These small facts were presented by none other than Draco Malfoy, who now stood at her side in the small hamlet of Hogsmeade -- something that would have made Harry's skin crawl, but for the fact that at her other side stood Ron Weasley, his red hair distinctly out of place in green robes.

"MR. POTTER!" This time the not-so-small voice of Professor Flitwick pressed Harry bodily against the wall. He looked down at the wizard now glaring up at him. "Do you have an answer?" Flitwick's voice pitched higher than normal, a sign that he was irritated.

"Answer, sir?"

"Five points from Gryffindor," Flitwick chided, and the collection of red robes groaned in unison.

"Honestly, Harry," said Seamus trying to be supportive but clearly a bit knitted, "if yeh don' snap out of it soon, we're gonna lock yeh away with Lockhart an' throw away the key."

"Finnigan's right," added Dean, "even I knew the answer to that question, and I'm as thick as Hagrid is wide when it comes to Apparation."

"Leave him alone," injected Parvati -- support that Harry wasn't sure he wanted. "Harry's in love." Hearing this, Seamus just rolled his eyes and groaned.

"That's right, Finnigan" added Lavender with a splash of indignation, and then turning to Harry she said in an overly sweet voice, "I think it's sweet."

"Anyone else?" snapped Professor Flitwick. "Describe the three phases of Apparation. Come now, this should be simple review." Gabriella hesitantly lifted her hand. "Yes... yes, Ms. Darbinyan..."

"Vision, Pathway, Reconstruction"

"Yes, nicely done," he said brightly. "Ten points for Slytherin." The Gryffindor group groaned again. They were in third place for the house cup and days were running out. "Though here at Hogwarts we describe them as Vision, Channel, and Reconstruction." Gabriella nodded taking note as she flashed Harry a smug smile.

Harry could hear her voice ringing in his ears: What do they teach you at that school? It was enough to flare his temper, and he wondered if the reason Gabriella was so well accepted in Slytherin was because, perhaps, her father was a Death Eater. He stood erect hoping to put his head back where it belonged.

"Professor?" asked Harry, and Flitwick turned to face him. "It's nearly the end of the year, and we've only Apparated across the street. When do we--"

"I'm glad you asked," Flitwick interrupted. "Today we will Apparate from within the Three Broomsticks to an open area staged out on the street." There was a general murmur of excitement. To some the idea of Apparating through a wall was quite frightening and they had dreaded this moment; for others it was a thrill of a lifetime. Harry wasn't sure which camp he fell in. In theory, the wall's presence made no difference, but that was of no consolation to Harry who had disliked Apparation from the start.

First, the students went to a square area some five yards to a side set right in the middle of the street. It was always easier to Apparate to a place you'd been already. Here in the street, if their Apparations were misguided, at least they wouldn't materialize in a wall. Neville, having missed most of the first term had always felt somewhat behind. In the last class he pushed too hard and when he took his turn to Apparate across the street, he found his feet some six inches below the ground. The feeling, as he put it, was quite painful; something akin to running his feet through a meet grinder one way, then back through the other as his body kept trying to reconstruct itself. His feet recovered fully, but Neville's mettle to Apparate had diminished somewhat.

As always, when Apparating for the first time in a new way, students took the hand of a wizard or witch that was already licensed. While it didn't help much with Vision or Reconstruction, it did help to create the Channel of space and time through which they traveled. Usually, there were always willing volunteers in Hogsmeade, and today was no exception.

Harry watched as student after student Apparated from the Three Broomsticks and out onto the street without incident. With each appearance of a pair, a new cheer filled the air. Gabriella had been one of the first to travel, having Apparated for some time in Lebanon without a license.

Finally, Hermione and a wizard from town went with a snap, followed by Harry who held the hand of Madam Rosmerta the shop's owner.

"Are you scared, Harry?" she asked smiling at him.

"No," he lied, but his eyes had already given him away.

"Focus on standing next to that pretty girl of yours out there, and you won't have a problem."

Harry squeezed his eyes, nodded his head, and held his wand at the ready.

"Vision..." she began.

"Channel..." Harry continued. A doorway opened, past the walls and onto the street. Harry felt himself being sucked through to the street; he imagined it was much the same sensation as being sucked out into space through a hole in a spaceship.

"Reconstruction," they thought together, and both appeared out on the street.

Knees a bit wobbly, Harry arrived to a small cheer, and waved his hand trying to look calm and collected, though his insides were still squirming.

"Very nice, Harry," said Rosmerta, patting him on the back. "Good luck on the next go."

"Next go?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Mr. Potter," said Professor Flitwick. "The class will now Apparate solo from the same positions." Harry's insides squirmed a bit more. He would much prefer flying than this. "Come on, everyone; back inside!"

A few students, such as Ron, raced to the front to be first to go; Gabriella gave Harry a little pinch for dawdling as she passed him on her way into the Three Broomsticks with Blaize. Again, Harry found himself at the end of the line with Hermione, only this time the line was moving much slower as some students were having difficulty leaving at all. Still outside, Hermione looked at Harry and nodded her head toward the side of the building, beckoning him to follow; he did.

"Ron tells me," she began with some trepidation, "that you've had no more dreams, no more voices; is that true?"

"Yeah, I guess," said Harry with a shrug. "I mean, I can still feel his anger like when those two Death Eaters were caught escorting a pair of giants westward outside of Dresden in Germany." He looked at her curiously. "Why?" he asked glancing around the corner to see students still waiting outside to get in. There was a small scream as Pansy Parkinson materialized in the street without her arms -- splinched. Professor Flitwick hurried outside followed by Nott who was carrying her arms in his hands.

"Serves her right," Hermione said with a sneer. Then she too looked about a bit apprehensive of their location.

"I think it's safe, don't you?" she asked. "Safe to tell you what I've been doing."

"Here?" Harry asked, eagerly wanting to hear everything, but knowing this was not the spot to be talking about work for the Order.

"I'm talking about you, Harry!" she snapped. "Is it safe or isn't it!"

"Yeah... yeah, it's safe, but--"

"Take my hand."

"What?"

"Take... my... hand!"

"Alright, but--" he placed his hand in hers.

"Do you remember where we first saw Peter Petigrew?" The memory was as vivid as any Harry had. Seeing the look of hatred fill Harry's eyes, Hermione did not wait for an answer as she drew her wand.

Instantly, a portal opened up before them; on the other side was the Shrieking Shack. They passed through the channel; Harry's stomach lurched as they reconstructed with a loud pop on the other side. He knew she was good, but he didn't think she could travel this far.

"You can Apparate?" he asked with surprise. "How long?"

"I decided, after Germany, that it would never happen again. I began to study some... well, a lot." For Hermione, those words meant something. "I can even Apparate quite a few yards without using my wand now." Her eyes grew a bit cold. "No one will ever hold me in their arms again, unless I want them to."

Harry had to sit down. He learned from Dumbledore that she'd been helping develop... "Apparation tracking?" he asked. "For the Order?" He sat on a broken and dusty chair in the corner of the room.

"Well, I've been showing some members how it's supposed to work," Hermione answered. "But only Dumbledore and Ron know that I can fully Apparate. And only Dumbledore knows that I can track an Apparation better than anyone, at least as far as here to London."

"London!" Harry gulped.

Hermione nodded her head, in that really it's no big deal sort of way.

"So... so you HAVE been working for the Order," accused Harry. "All summer? Where do they--"

"No, Harry, not the Order," cut in Hermione. "I'm not old enough, at least I wasn't. Besides, you're not working for the Order when you're investigating one of their members."

"Tonks," said Harry sharply without hesitation. The name carried with it a tinge of anger -- anger fully directed at Hermione.

"I was asked because she's given everyone else the slip, Harry." His eyes were glaring at her. "She's not the youngest Auror in Britain for nothing."

"And she's not a Death Eater!" he shrieked; Hermione remained calm. She needed to tell him, to show him, and she didn't have much time.

"Harry, she's been meeting with Mr. Darbinyan since the summer. First, on Privet Drive and now... now in London. I think he has her under his control. He's the one that provided her the clues to work the golden instrument, and she's been using you to help her. I don't know what he's after, but I know he could care less about freeing Sirius. He's probably trying to help Voldemort release the criminals behind the curtain." She took a step toward Harry as he sat with his head in his hands refusing to look her in the eye. "He's probably a--"

"Snape's been to the Darbinyan's!" Harry yelled looking up at her. "Does that make him a Death Eater too?" The words landed on the floor, and the two left them there not sure where they should go. Finally, Hermione spoke.

"Harry, I know you want to save Sirius, but you can't trust Tonks, and you can't trust Gabriella's father." Harry narrowed his eyes at Hermione.

"So I shouldn't trust Gabriella either, is that what you're saying?"

"I didn't say that," said Hermione, her voice raising more than she wanted. "Look, let's work it out together. Just tell Tonks... tell her you quit. Then the Order can work with you to get Sirius out, you'll see." Harry stood from his chair, seeing all too well.

"Tell me, Hermione, will the Order try to kill a few of Voldemort's followers so I can bring them back from near death?" She looked at him quizzically. "No, I didn't think so. But that's what it will take to bring my godfather back." He looked at the spot where Peter Petigrew begged for his life, the spot where Harry had made a decision he now... he now regretted. He would not make the same mistake; he would not let such an opportunity pass again. "If the Ministry gets their nose into it, do you think they'll give the green light to cut open Death Eaters and watch them bleed so I can use their blood to save Sirius?" A smile split his face... a smile of irony. "We all do so want to save Sirius Black, don't we? I wonder? I wonder what the papers would say, if he could come back from the dead... friend or foe?" The words were directed squarely at the girl before him, and she took them for what he meant.

"You know the answer to that, Harry. At least, I hope you do."

Harry wondered. He didn't mean to, but still he wondered. Was his friend trying to talk to him right now or someone... someone he didn't even know? He turned to the blackened window deciding to drop all his cards. He would see where her loyalties lay.

"Tonks has Malfoy's blood. It's an ingredient I... we need to bring back Sirius. Without Tonks, it can't be done. If she's under the Imperius Curse why not have Dumbledore--" he stopped cold. If there was ever any doubt about Tonks being under the Imperius Curse, certainly Dumbledore or someone from the Ministry would have cured Tonks months ago. He spun back to face Hermione.

"Why don't you want her cured?" Now, Hermione looked away. This time the gears in Harry's mind turned. "She's a link to Darbinyan..." he began, "but you want the link to Voldemort." Harry shook his head at the idea; it made no sense. With Snape, the Order already had a link to Voldemort. He walked closer to her. "Who is it, Hermione? Who is Darbinyan going to lead you to with Tonks' help?"

This time it was Hermione's turn to sit on the dusty chair. Setting her own cards out on the table, she said quietly, "It's rumored that a witch came with Mr. Darbinyan to London -- a very powerful witch."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Soseh doesn't have an evil--"

"Not his wife, Harry, someone older than Voldemort himself. Many thought her long dead, but the killing sprees around the world... they're the same as centuries ago. Whole villages wiped out for no reason, innocents killed for no purpose. She kills for pure pleasure, and she's returned to England to be at Voldemort's side."

"That's rich, Hermione," said Harry with a quiver of uncertainty in his voice, "but it's a rumor, nonetheless. How on earth can you tie together an astronomy professor to a centuries old murderous dark witch?" He was thinking Hermione was talking about the black haired girl now in Hogsmeade, and his pulse began to quicken. Was it possible that--

"They think Grigor was the best man at her wedding to Headmaster Gillman," said Hermione. At these words, Harry remembered to breathe again. But now he was more confused and Hermione could see it in his eyes.

"She disappeared only weeks before the Headmaster was found murdered. They think she was the black death of Al Bsahri." Harry glared at Hermione with a look she knew to be disbelief. "I know it's a stretch, Harry, but that's why we're watching. Snape tried to watch, but Tonks caught on. With me... well she doesn't know I can track her when she Apparates." Hermione took Harry by the arm. Her eyes were filled with concern and, Harry knew, friendship. "I only want you to be safe, Harry. I swear!"

"What... what's her name?" Harry asked. "What's the name of this... this dark plague?"

"She has many, Harry. Professor Dumbledore tells me that about the world she's known as Anaxarete, but when she was last in Great Britain, watching the green of Ireland turn brown, she was called Ana... Ana Slate." Harry fell back in a chair, and a cloud of dust filled the room. He tried to breathe in, but the dust only made him cough.

Harry sat silent, breathing in the stale air that only a moment ago had smelled so sweet. He had wanted the truth; now, could he handle it? Thoughts and dreams which floated like separate facets of a large jewel began to coalesce in Harry's mind: Duncan's words, "...pure magic. Ask Em! She's special too. Eh, Em? Well, Em knows. We're bound by thorns..."; piercing green eyes; no body found, "It's sick is what it is."

Still, it was too far fetched to think that Emma, Emma Slate was responsible. Surely Gabriella would know, but then perhaps not. A witch older than Voldemort would have many ways of disguise. Gabriella had not used her gift to read Harry's mind because she swore an oath not to use her magic; nor would she have used it on Emma. The jewel in Harry's mind was more quartz than diamond; his thoughts were not that fast, but the girl sitting across from him could spin her ideas faster than Aragog could spin a web.

"Hermione," he said watching a spider at his side weave a web around a freshly caught fly, "this summer in Little Whinging I met an Emma Slate. She was close with Gabriella. She was killed, at least we thought she was, in the explosion in Paris."

"Harry, I doubt--"

"Tell Dumbledore that she may have been in Little Whinging all summer."

"Maybe she came first, and the Darbinyans followed," conjectured Hermione.

"I need to think more about this," Harry cut in standing from the chair and dusting himself off. "We need to think more about this. On the train, before the explosion, I thought I saw her."

"The witch... with the green eyes?" Hermione asked with surprise. Harry nodded.

"We need to get back before we're missed," Harry said as he held out his hand. "Thank you for telling me."

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Hermione, taking his hand, but Harry did not respond.

As the vision of the Three Broomsticks came to view and the channel was opened, Harry whispered, "Tonks is not a Death Eater; I know it."

A moment later, they were back at the side of the Three Broomsticks. When they came about the corner, they noticed that Pansy Parkinson was put back together and that most the class had Apparated to the target square. Neville suddenly appeared, fully above the ground, and was greeted to a warm cheer. The first thing he did was look at his feet firmly planted above the earth's surface. Professor Flitwick poked his head out the door.

"There you are!" he called. "Come on, you're next."

Hermione Apparated to the target with ease; Harry's stomach, however, was tied in knots. Finally, he cast the spell only to find himself some two feet above the earth when he reconstructed. He fell hard to the ground to the sound of cheers and laughter, but he'd twisted his ankle and it hurt. He cursed at the dirt beneath him as Gabriella came to his side and helped him to his feet.

"You hurt your ankle; can you walk?" she asked. Harry took a few steps; the ankle was fine, but he hobbled pretending to fall and she caught him. In her ear he whispered, "Tonight, at eight." Gabriella nodded as she dusted his robes with her hand, a bit too forcefully for Harry's taste, but it garnered some smiles from the Slytherins.

The students followed Professor Flitwick back to Hogwarts on foot, practicing Vision along the way. About halfway between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts the ability to see a place to which they could Apparate became more and more difficult. Just outside the front gates it became impossible.

"It was Gryffindor who selected this part of the country over a thousand years ago," began Professor Flitwick. "First, because of its remoteness from Muggle eyes, and second because of the tremendous magical forces that emanate from the nearby forest. The forest holds untold magical creatures and its source of magic is so intense that even at this great distance the ability to Apparate is rendered impossible. So it is with the electronic instruments that come from the Muggle way of life; and since Muggles have become so dependent on their gadgets, they rarely venture into these environs -- a bonus that not even Rowena Ravenclaw had envisioned.

"The Forbidden Forest," Flitwick continued, "is forbidden because of the great and dangerous creatures that live there." Ron cast Harry a knowing look. "It is also forbidden because of the strange and sometime unpredictable effects it can have on the magic cast inside. Mr. Weasley's father's car still roams the forest at night. Sometimes you can see the glow from its headlights flashing from the treetops.

"The Centaurs are the only civil creatures that dwell within the forest. Perhaps, they are unaffected because they choose not to draw the energy required for magic from the environment in which they live. Instead, they use it in its raw form: arrows made of magical wood, bows strung with magical plants, and spells cast by drawing energy directly from the earth through all four of their feet. It is a closer bond to nature than wizards, goblins or elves have... perhaps a better one." He shrugged his shoulders as they continued on their way to the castle. "You'll never see a Centaur on concrete."

They arrived just in time for dinner. Hermione went to ask Ron if he wanted to join her after, but he couldn't.

"Quidditch practice and all," he said.

"Quidditch?" both Hermione and Harry cried out simultaneously for very different reasons.

"Well, it's keeping me alive. They want me in as Keeper, and I said--"

"I thought you'd finally have your evenings free," complained Hermione.

"But," said Harry scandalized, "Slytherin plays Gryffindor this term."

"You think I don't know that?" Ron shot back, looking over his shoulder. "But I have to play well, or the scouts will think... Argh! It's bad enough I have to wear green, that I had to give up my house signet, and that I have to listen to the constant, pointed complaints about the Minister. But to fly with Crabbe and Malfoy out on the pitch... it's ruined the only thing I ever loved."

Now it was Hermione who was scandalized. Her eyes narrowed, but Ron was unable to take in what was wrong. "Well!" she huffed, spun on her heels and headed away. Ron looked at Harry.

"What? What did I say?"

"The only thing you ever loved?" Harry asked.

"And? Oh. OH!" His eyes widened. "Hermione, wait!" he yelled, and ran off after her, his green robes billowing in the breeze behind him. Harry turned just in time to see Gabriella on a sliding staircase with Pansy Parkinson as they made their way to Slytherin. She looked back at him and held up eight fingers.

Through dinner and after, Harry kept count on his own fingers until it was time to raise the eighth. When Gabriella walked into the classroom, she saw more fear on his face than happiness. It was an expression she had not been expecting.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I know you and Hermione haven't really been on the best of terms," Harry began. He took in a deep breath. "You were right; she's been following me and she's been following Tonks all year. I don't know why, but Tonks has been meeting... with your father."

"What?" asked Gabriella incredulously. "I think I would know if--"

"Let me just tell you what Hermione said," Harry interrupted. When it's over... let's talk, okay?" Gabriella agreed, and Harry began telling the story that Hermione had told him, and adding what pieces he knew, like believing he saw Emma... Emma Slate on the train before it blew. When he finished, Gabriella was mortified.

"That... that's not possible," she said, not sure she believed her own words.

"Gabriella," said Harry, holding her hand close and not really sure he believed his own words, "she was wooing Duncan to be her next sacrifice, that's how she gets her kicks, that's how she's lived all these years... by killing Muggles to take their life energy."

"Emma's dead, Harry," said Gabriella, but wavering with uncertainty in her voice. Harry squeezed her hand warmly, and pulled her close.

"Gab... I think she's the old witch that was at the altar. I think she killed Antreas to take his life force." In Harry's hand, Gabriella's began to tremble. "Your father didn't come to Little Whinging because of me, Gabriella. I think he came to Little Whinging because of Anaxarete, Ana Slate... Emma Slate." Gabriella said nothing trying to search her mind for any hint of truth to what Harry was saying. And then something crossed her face and she held her hand to her mouth in a small gasp.

"What?" Harry asked.

"The arguments," whispered Gabriella. "Sometimes they would argue about silly things like cleaning up about the house... but other times... they would argue about the Heart of Asha, the paths of the dead, and the black key... ways to bring back trapped spirits. Mama refused to let him have the stone and it infuriated him. He swore he'd find a way, but I never understood what he meant." Her eyes looked up to Harry, tinged with fright. "He's a Death Eater?" she asked herself out loud. "Could he have wanted to give the Heart to the Dark Lord?"

"Then why Tonks?" Harry asked shaking his head. "She never once asked me about the stone. It doesn't make sense. All she wants is...." Harry stopped himself short. "A key? They argued about a black key?"

"Yes," answered Gabriella. "A key father took from Al Bsahri, fabled to open the path to the dead. Mama would yell he should send it to the depths."

One by one, the cogs in Harry's mind began to lock into place like tumblers on a Gringotts vault. She had given it back to him to study the engravings on its side in hopes that he would have more to go on. She had dismissed the falls in her own mind, but Harry knew that was where the answer lay, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest at the break of day. Even now Tonks held little hope of success, while now, more than ever, Harry knew she was wrong. He slipped the gold tube, his Christmas present, from his pocket and held it in front of Gabriella.

"This key?" he asked, hoping the answer would be no, but knowing otherwise. The look on Gabriella's face stood somewhere between shock and horror as she staggered backwards, supporting her weight against one of the desks so that she wouldn't fall.

Gabriella had calmed by the time Harry had explained the riddle and the basin, and the special key that fit the golden instrument in the Black family study.

"I always wondered," she whispered, "why they would call it the black key. I thought because of its black magic." She almost smiled to herself, but stopped short. "Papa wanted to release the dead for the Dark Lord."

"And somehow discovered Tonks had access to the Black family instruments," added Harry.

"And has held her under his spell, to do his bidding."

There was a long pause before Harry shook his head, no, still not wanting to believe Tonks was under anyone's spell. "If that were true, then he came to Little Whinging because of me," he said, "because I would be surrounded by wizards and witches with access to the Black estate. But he didn't. I know he didn't. He truly believed I was a Muggle." Harry thought back to the handful of times he met with Grigor. "And I know he isn't a Death Eater, Gabriella." She looked up curiously at him. "I just do."

"Are you going to tell Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, fearful of the answer that would make her father a criminal.

"I'm sure he already knows," Harry said. "They don't want your father, Gabriella. They want Anaxarete. As much as Hermione tries to stop me, the Ministry wants this to go ahead. That's why Dumbledore hasn't mentioned it to me. They want the next move to be played."

"And what move is that?"

"To open the curtain," said Harry taking to his feet, "or at least to try." It was getting late, and they would need to return soon. "But to do that, I need to get to the falls without being seen, and I think I know the perfect time."

"But if Hermione's right and it's all a ruse to release criminals back into the Dark Lord's service--"

"Grigor is not a Death Eater!" Harry said emphatically. "And neither is Tonks!"

Without saying another word, Harry extinguished the candles in the classroom and pulled her close. Normally in such an embrace both would close their eyes, but not this night. Tonight there eyes were wide, fearful in anticipation of what would happen to their loved ones. They kissed goodbye in the darkness before he opened the door to the corridor... a warm, tender kiss filled with sadness. In a moment they would separate, each heading a different direction. Neither of them could see the way ahead clearly; neither of them could predict the future. But they knew one thing: they had each other and, for tonight at least, that was more than enough.