The Human Condition

Chapter Six: The Offer

Three men whom Harry had seen only in passing came into his apartment. Harry smiled politely and offered them coffee or tea; they declined with somewhat casual hand gestures. Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets, signaled to Hermione and Ron to sit, then engaged the men in conversation.

They skipped over formalities, telling Harry that he knew why they were here. Harry informed them that he knew about the Minister for his friends, who he acknowledged by glancing at them, had just enlightened him. Then the choppy interrogation commenced.

"Where were you when the murder occurred?" one of them asked. He whipped out a notebook and quill, not unlike Rita Skeeter's. Harry looked directly into the man's blue eyes and spoke.

"I don't know when it occurred, I only just arrived." The man scribbled down the information. "We could do this sitting down," Harry mumbled, walking over to his couch to sit next to Hermione, who instinctively took his hand - Harry didn't protest this time.

Two of the men, the blue-eyed man as well as a bald wizard, moved closer to Harry, but did not sit.

"He appeared in his residency fifteen minutes ago, murdered," the bald one told Harry.

"Oh," Harry said with a sigh of relief. "I was on my way home."

"You drive the Harley Davidson parked in the garage?" the bald wizard asked.

Harry nodded then looked for the third wizard. The third, a tall, lanky man, was investigating the kitchen with Dobby on his heel.

"He'll be looking around your apartment," the blue eyed wizard said, answering Harry's unasked question.

"What for?" Harry asked. "Wait, you can't think I had anything to do with Wilson's murder, can you?"

The two exchanged meaningful looks. "We're talking to everyone who saw him today, Mr. Potter. This is routine."

Harry started to rise out of his seat, but Hermione squeezed his hand and kept him down. Harry let out a breath and bit his lip. "What are your names?" he asked pensively.

"Curtis," said the bald one. The other identified himself as Michaels.

"Well, Curtis and Michaels, is it routine to search an apartment with no justifiable cause? I'm one of your own, but I'm sure you know that." Harry looked at them over the rims of his square glasses, keeping his voice even and calm. "I'm not a suspect, am I?"

"Can anyone attest to your whereabouts while you were allegedly driving?" Curtis asked, his quill poised.

"'Allegedly'?" Harry said, his voice now rising steadily. "I suppose Muggles on the road. Look, why wasn't I called into the murder scene like I have been with all the other Black Order murders?"

Curtis and Michaels exchanged another glance. Harry was beginning to get annoyed.

"How is that you're the only one saying it's the Black Order?" Michaels asked suspiciously.

"Because they're the ones who stabbed me through the heart, remember? All right," he said, mastering himself and attempting to relax and remain calm, "I suppose you're questioning me because of the argument I had with him this morning, right? Okay," he said in acknowledgment to their head nods and murmurs. "So you're simply following orders from a higher-up in questioning me about that conversation. I understand that. But you need to understand that I wouldn't harm anyone just because he docked my pay. I mean I was late this morning and the Minister, as my employer, has every right to do that. I just didn't expect it, you can understand. I mean, until recently the Minister has been pretty- well- easy to push over. Don't tell me you hadn't noticed."

Harry was pleased to see that they had; they tried to keep from smiling. "I would like to help you with this case," Harry continued. "There are a string of murders just like this one and I'm in charge of the investigations. This is my case, guys," he said calmly.

Curtis and Michaels seemed to slowly get the message. That was until the third investigator came back and whispered in their ears. Harry took the opportunity to smile at Hermione and Ron who looked edgy.

"What's locked in the cabinet?" Curtis asked after minutes of deliberation with his comrades.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "The cabinet?" he asked.

"Yes. What's in the cabinet inside your small library full of Dark Arts volumes?"

"And defense against them!" Harry hissed.

"Yes," Michaels said with a growing smirk. "What's inside that cabinet?"

Harry hesitated and chewed his lip. "I don't have to tell you," he said to them and he felt Hermione tense. "I don't have to allow you to search anything in here. I know our laws, being an enforcer myself," he said coolly.

"And is that your worn punching bag in the main bedroom?" the third asked.

"No," Harry said. "No, it's my house elf's. He likes to put himself on a stool after a hard and frustrating day and give it the ol' one two. He's very strong, Dobby is." He frowned at them. "Of course it's mine. Since when is it a crime to own such a thing?"

"Have you had some problems with anger management lately?" the third asked again.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man. "I'm sorry," he replied with a fake laugh, "who the hell are you?"

"Blair," he answered, hands on his hips.

"Blair," Harry echoed with a head nod. "No, Blair, I haven't had a problem with my 'anger management' lately. In the past, absolutely, but lately, no. Mind you I am feeling a little anxious by sitting here and answering your accusatory questions, defending myself against your ridiculous expressions which only represent your obvious ignorance and stupidity." Harry stood up, Hermione still gripping him tightly. He was pleased to see that he was as tall as Blair. "Now, why don't you come back with a) better attitudes," he said while counting the fingers on his free hand. "B) substance behind your accusations, or c) a bloody apology!"

Curtis and Michaels looked ready to leave, but Blair, hands still on his hips, smirked at Harry. Then he turned to his two partners, nodded, and made his way for the door. Blair opened it and ushered the other two out then made to follow. Just before he shut the door, Blair added, "Watch your step, Mr. Potter, someone may be watching you." He closed the door.

Harry made a rude hand gesture at the door.

"You shouldn't have lost your temper," Hermione whined wearily, still clutching Harry's hand with both of hers. He wiggled it out and marched to his library. He checked the lock on his cabinet, assuring himself that it was still secure, and then sighed with relief.

"What's in there, anyway?" Hermione asked. Harry put a finger to his lips and withdrew his wand from his coat pocket. He then pointed it to each of the corners in the room and waited. Little glowing blue dots issued from his wand and began zooming around the room, knocking small red dots from behind books. Eventually, the blue dots rounded up the red ones into Harry's palm. He aimed his wand at them and they disappeared.

"They bugged me," Harry said. "Check the rest of the apartment," he told the blue dots. They flew silently out of the library as commanded. Harry faced Hermione again. "I collect weapons, antiques mostly, and keep them in here," he said, tapping the cabinet. "If they had opened it... I could easily be framed and I don't need that when someone already suspects me."

Hermione and Ron frowned at him.

"Who would?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged his shoulders but didn't meet Ron's eye. Truthfully the only person who popped into Harry's mind was Arthur. But, after Harry pondered it for a few minutes, it seemed very unlikely. Arthur may hold a grudge but he wouldn't frame Harry for murder or suspect him of it. What disturbed him more, as it did everyone else, was that the Minister of Magic had been slain as easily as the others.

The previous killings had seemed sporting and worthless, but the Minister of Magic as the latest victim might offer something they had missed, possibly a motive.

Harry spent the next few long days looking into and researching Harvey Wilson's records and life. After he came up with nothing he examined the legislations Wilson had passed, vetoed, or sponsored. But Wilson hadn't done much, certainly not anything huge or potentially offensive.

Ron often dropped by Harry's cubicle to swap ideas and theories about the case, but neither of them could make neither heads nor tails of any of it. To make matters worse, Blair, one of the Criminal Investigators who was, as Harry later learned, a nephew of the Minister, often popped his head into Auror Headquarters to spy on Harry. He would simply glance at him and leave and make a second appearance later in the day. Harry would grin at him, sometimes he would wave or yell out loudly to him, as if he wasn't bothered. But as the weeks passed and Blair didn't abate with his nosy and intrusive behavior, Harry found it much more difficult to seem impassive.

Harry took to shutting himself up in his room where he would thrash his punching bag in minutes, repair it by magic, and repeat the process for hours every single night. Dobby would voice his concern that Harry was getting too angry and should relax instead, but Harry didn't listen. He was too livid, to vexed to relax and simply nod off. By the time March rolled around, his insomnia began to show.

Hermione would make disapproving and concerned noises whenever she saw him. She would tell him to seek help, take some sleeping potion, or ease up on his work. "You'll get yourself sick and wind up in the hospital again!" she would say, tugging at his wrists. But she didn't understand. She had no idea. She didn't know what it was like to be trapped on all sides.

Then as the first week of spring approached, Ron came bounding over to him with news. Harry rubbed his bloodshot eyes, yawned, and laid his head back as he told Ron to tell him.

"I did it," he whispered, showing Harry a small paper. "I found out where she lives!"

Harry sat up and shook his head at him. "Found out where who lives?" he asked a little more roughly than he wanted to sound. But Ron didn't seem to notice or care.

"Vanessa Deverauex! The girl from the library. Remember you told me to find out where she lives a while back? Well I did it, Harry! Ha!"

Harry allowed himself a smirk. "Good for you, Ron," he yawned again. "So now what are you gonna do?" he asked. Ron's face dropped a little.

"Now?" he asked. "Uh- I didn't think about that. What do I do now? It was your idea."

Harry perched his head on his erect hand and shut his eyes. "You should go and talk to her," he said tiredly. "Tell her about yourself. Talk about horses," he said quietly, his heavy lids closed comfortably around his sore eyes...

"I don't know anything about Horses," he heard Ron say, somewhat distantly. Harry meant to respond, but his mouth didn't really feel like moving and his brain didn't enforce it.

Ron shook him.

"What?" Harry asked rudely.

"You need to rest tonight, mate," Ron said.

"I'm fine. So. Vanessa and horses. Good stuff. Hey," he said, a thought coming to mind. "Hey, shouldn't they be selecting a new Minister by now? Hasn't it been long enough since Wilson died?"

"Yes."

"Good, I think. A new Minister should be good." He let his head fall on his hand again.

Ron shook him once more saying, "Harry, go back to your apartment and rest! Dobby's been telling Hermione what you do. We know you just work yourself up even more and don't sleep. Why are you doing this to yourself? It's been quiet recently; no one has been murdered since the Minister. So take this time to relax."

"Yeah," Harry murmured to himself. "I should," he said. "I wish that damn bloody numbskull would get off my case!" he said through gritted yet smiling teeth as Blair popped his head into Headquarters.

"He's Internal Affairs and Wilson was his uncle. He'll leave eventually- hopefully," Ron whispered to Harry.

"I hate my uncle. Why can't it always be like that?" Harry said silently.

"I hope it isn't," Ron said at once.

"Oh," Harry said, suddenly remembering that uncle-hood was a strong and definite possibility in Ron's near future. "They'll like you. It'll be nice to have even more members in your family. Mathematics really works in your favor. You start out with a lot and then it multiplies." Harry stood up, feeling alert again, and then gathered his things.

"Harry," Ron said cautiously, "you know we think of you as part of ours."

Harry laughed as he pulled on his coat. "Thanks, Ron. But there are some things that can't be overlooked. Anyways..."

"Hey, that reminds me!" Ron said, pointing his finger at Harry. "We're having a huge lunch this weekend. Bill and Fleur are going, so is Charlie, the whole gang, even Hermione. You should go. It's at the house."

"I suppose its regulation," Harry told him. "Internal Affairs can't get on my case about it, can they? Count me in," he said with a tired grin. "Now I'm calling it a night. Tell Hermione that I'm turning in early; that should buy me some free nagging time."

As Harry walked out of headquarters and headed for the elevator, Blair caught on beside him.

"You're not looking so well," he told him with half a grin. Harry ignored him and entered the golden lift.

"Up or down? It's your choice," Harry said to him, his hand on the button. Blair remained just outside the lift doors.

"I've found out some interesting facts about you, Potter," he said.

"Have you?" Harry asked, unconcerned. "Is that why you're referring to me by surname only? Working on your menacing edge, are you?"

"Having had an uncle as a Minister can be useful," Blair responded casually.

Harry nodded routinely and drummed his fingers. "I'm sure it is. Now, in or out? I'm trying to get the hell out of here for the night so please make up your mind."

Blair stepped inside and Harry pressed the Atrium button, crossed his arms, and leaned in a corner of the lift.

"You do have a history of violence," Blair said as the lift rose.

"What's your first name?" Harry yawned.

"Columbus. I've talked to some of your classmates from your Auror training as well as some of your instructors." He smiled to himself, his tongue pushing out his lower lip.

"Columbus? Not a very good name is it?" Harry said first looking to the ceiling of the lift, then letting his gaze slowly drop to Blair. "'Course you're probably named after the discoverer, who actually discovered nothing. Contrary to popular belief it was Leaf Erickson, not Christopher Columbus, who discovered the Americas. And he did it hundreds of years earlier. Just thought you should know that Columbus was a bit of an idiot and didn't know what he was looking for or what he was dealing with," Harry said coolly, leaning forward for emphasis.

But Blair did not back down. "You caused a fight on your second day of training, didn't you?" he asked.

Harry smirked slightly. "I never caused, started, or participated in any fights during training. You must have talked to someone who knew a different Potter. Perhaps it was my twin." The lift doors clattered open but neither of them budged.

"Not during training, per se. The pub which was only open to second and third year students, however, reported a first year entering and dueling, the Muggle way, with some of the students who opposed his presence. They named the student, and I'm afraid it was you. Then of course there was your combat class... Quite an interesting nickname you picked up there,Thrasher," he said.

Harry grinned now and drew very close to Blair, mere inches from his face. "And did my instructor for my combat class tell you what a person's worst mistake was?" Harry whispered.

Blair stepped back slightly. "Yes he did."

Harry smiled and backed off. "Good. More powerful wizards than him or yourself have fallen victim because they made that mistake. Keep it in mind when you come lurking past me, will you? Now, I'm leaving." Harry clapped Blair on the shoulder and walked across the wood floored Atrium to the visitor's elevator. He did not turn to look at Blair.

The cool wind on his face only invigorated him as he drove back to his apartment. The stars were unusually bright this night, especially against the lights of the city, which stained the blackened sky with an outline of golden pink.

A booming car pulled up alongside Harry as he waited for the light. He could hear the music growing louder as the driver rolled down his window.

"Hey!" he bellowed unceremoniously.

Harry looked at him in the side of his eye.

"So how fast does that trike go?" he asked. Other sheer morons in the car laughed at the joke. Harry ignored him. "What, 'fraid I'd pass ya? C'mon, man."

Harry looked at the cross street and watched the light turn yellow.

"You're scared, aren't ya?" the driver persisted.

Harry slowly turned to face him, fully aware that his eyes were glinting with malice. He felt a twinge of sick pleasure to see the driver and his three passengers pull back and stare at him, deeply afraid. The light turned green and Harry, his eyes still glowing as he glared at the young drivers, sped off through the intersection, leaving everyone else behind.

He parked in his usual spot in the underground lot and meandered up to his apartment.

Since he was early, Dobby was still preparing dinner. He beamed when Harry entered. He wore his usual attire; too many clothes. Harry gave him a weak smile, walked over to his liquor cabinet to pull out a bottle, then walked back to his room and shut the double doors.

He clicked on the music by simply pointing his finger at the radio and uncorked his liquor to take a few gulps. He screwed his eyes shut as the alcohol traveled downwards, already beginning to take its affect. Harry set the bottle down on the ground.

He quickly removed his leather trench coat and his buttoned shirt, then strapped tape to his knuckles. The music was loud and obnoxious, the kind Aunt Petunia would curse under her breath while her ear drums cracked. It was perfect for his mood and his purpose, however. Harry walked closer to his punching bag hanging from the ceiling, which easily weighed in at ninety pounds. He squared his feet and raised his fists, now clenched. He struck at it with his left-it quavered slightly. Then he saw Blair's face flash before his mind. Columbus Blair... Grinding his teeth, he hit it with his right, a potent electric sensation pulsating through his body- the ninety pound bag swung to the ceiling, cracked it, and swung down.

"'History of violence,' he says," Harry mumbled to himself while continuing his attack. "It's lucky for him that I have a ruddy conscience." He whirled around and kicked the sack; it flew to the ceiling again. Harry was glad he had reinforced the large chain which it hung by with magic. In the past, the sack would fly off its hinge each time Harry struck it.

As the night progressed, his strength magnified under his frustration and anger. The punching bag kept rising to the ceiling and dropping back only to be whacked again as Harry beat it more fiercely. The music pounding in his ears, he kicked at it and pummeled it with his sore hands so relentlessly that the skin of the bag finally tore and the insides flowed from it.

Harry's arms fell to his sides and his shoulders dropped as he watched the endless flow of beans fall, spreading all over the room, rattling on the hard floor. Normally Harry would clean it up with a wave of his wand, but tonight was different.

He heard the pattering of small feet coming behind him.

"Harry Potter has ripped it again, sir?" Dobby asked.

Without turning around, Harry nodded.

"Should Dobby clean it up?" he asked, trotting into the room to look up at Harry. "Harry Potter might slip."

"I'll clean it, Dobby," he said gloomily. He retrieved his wand, waved it around, and the bag was repaired. Dobby ran and jumped on a chair so he could be more level with Harry.

"Why is Harry Potter so sad, sir?" he asked.

Harry began un-taping his hands. He could feel the cold air from outside freezing his sweat on his face and chest. His glasses were fogged with heat; he took them off and rubbed his weary eyes. Funny colored shapes appeared as he pressed against them; the beating of his second heart drummed loudly in his ears; his sweat soaked hair parted as his quaking fingers passed through it, pulling the skin on his face.

Dobby silently removed himself from the chair and retreated to a more secure location.

But Harry did not explode into a raging temper as Dobby expected. Instead he scratched the back of his neck, closed his eyes, and heaved a great sigh. Then he bent down to grab his bottle and meandered back into his living room to crash in his chair. He heard Dobby's socked feet scamper back into the room.

"Would Harry Potter like his dinner now?" he asked with a cheerful smile.

Harry drank some more, feeling more tired by the second, then nodded. When Dobby trotted off to the kitchen, Harry noticed his door glow blue; a friend had come. He didn't bother Dobby; he pushed himself out of his chair to answer it.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said tenderly with a very gentle smile.

"I promise I'm going to bed soon, so please don't-" he started wearily.

"I didn't come here to lecture," she said. "I promise I won't." She smiled more widely at him. Harry opened his door fully and stood aside; she strode through. Hermione didn't say much as she stared at him.

"Hello Miss Hermione," Dobby said graciously when he saw her.

"Hi, Dobby," she replied. She glanced at Harry with worry and walked to him. "Ron said that Internal Affairs guy is starting to get to you," she said mildly, stopping before him.

"Ron's right," he whispered with a steady nod. "How can he think I would kill anyone?" he asked. "Why would I kill..." He removed his glasses and rubbed his face. He sensed Hermione walk closer to him then he felt her warm arms around him. He sighed again and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, resting his head on hers.

"I know you had nothing to do with any of it," she whispered in his ear, squeezing him.

"Thank you," he said back.

She pulled away so she could look in his face, resting her forearms on his chest. "You'll get through this. You've been in much worse circumstances before," she said encouragingly. "It's not as if this Blair is any worse than Umbridge."

Harry felt his lips turn into a smile. "No," he said, "he's certainly not that bad." Hermione smiled again. A bit of her curly hair was falling into her eyes as she looked upon him. He brushed it away with the back of his hand. "I'm going to have dinner then bed. I need to sleep before I shut down completely," he mumbled.

"That's what I've been saying, but-" she stopped when Harry dropped his head. "Sorry," she whispered. "I promised I wouldn't, and I'm sorry. You go have dinner then sleep, like you said." She began to leave but Harry held her back.

"You want to stay for dinner? I'm sure Dobby's made enough," he said. "I don't like eating alone," he added.

Hermione checked with Dobby, who nodded, then glanced back at Harry and took his offer. She set places for them, told Harry to sit down, then sat beside him. Dinner, as it turned out, surprised Hermione very much. Dobby served Harry toast with peanut butter on top, a glass of milk, and apple wedges. Hermione's questioning expression made Harry laugh.

"I was introduced to peanut butter a while back, during training. I kinda fell in love with it so I've been importing from the States ever since. It's hard to find otherwise," he explained.

Hermione laughed quietly. "You put it on apples, too?" she said, watching Harry spread peanut butter on the apple slice. "That's a bit strange."

Dobby came back in with a regular sandwich for Hermione. Harry waited until she had taken the first bite before he began his meal. They ate in near silence as Harry was beyond exhausted; he had to lean his head on his hand to stay awake.

"So I guess Ron has an interest," Hermione said, setting down her glass of water.

"Interest?" Harry said, shaking his head.

"This Vanessa woman the two of you met at the Library a few months ago," she told him. Harry thought he sensed mild hostility in her voice, but he ignored it.

"Oh, her. What did he tell you about her?" Harry yawned, rubbing his eyes.

"He said she was beautiful mostly, and that she conned you, which I think he found attractive. He also said she was smart and likes horses. Uh, he asked me what he should do about her, seeing as how 'I'm a girl.'"

Harry smirked at her. "And what did you say?" he asked, folding his hands on the table.

"I said he should see her first, get to know her a little, start off as friends. When I left him he was pacing around the room with a green face, talking himself into it," she said with a grin. Harry laughed. Ron hadn't had much luck with dating lately, primarily because he would freak out and work himself into a state about the possibility of rejection. Harry could imagine Ron looking into a mirror as he practiced his introduction and conversations with Vanessa. He would probably stay up all night working on it.

"That was nice of you," Harry said, his eyes lids falling. "So Ron's having this picnic thing on Sunday, right? He said you were going."

"Yes, I am going, and you are too." Harry nodded. "Good. I think you should work on the friction between you and Mr. Weasley, Harry. I mean everyone knows it wasn't your fault. He's being ridiculous about the entire episode, carrying it on for years after. Ron told me Arthur might be selected as Minister," she added somewhat cumbrously.

Harry's eyes popped open. "Come again?" he said.

Hermione spoke carefully, folding her napkin with her fingers. "That's what Ron told me. The Lieutenant Minister, who's been acting as the Minister these past weeks, brought up Arthur's name as a possibility. There's much more to the process, of course, but he's been nominated for the position. Some of me would think it quite ironic that it could be him, considering Fudge's attitude toward him."

Harry pulled out his chair and stood up. Hermione did the same. "I need to get to bed, Hermione. Thanks for staying with me; it was really nice of you," he mumbled. "So I'll see you on Sunday?" he asked.

"Yes. Harry you know that if you ever need to talk to someone, anyone about anything, you can trust me," she said, grabbing his wrist.

Harry looked at her momentarily and nodded very slightly. He pulled his hand free, took up their plates, and carried them to the kitchen. Hermione hugged him once more, bid farewell to Dobby, and departed. Harry told Dobby to leave after everything was cleaned up, then he walked to his bedroom, pulled off his t-shirt, shoes, socks, and pants then fell on his bed. The moment he pulled his heavy covers over him, he drifted off...

He was lying in the wet grass again- birds were flying over head in the bright blue sky. Harry turned over on his stomach and pushed himself off the grass. He was standing somewhere vaguely familiar to him; trees and hills surrounded him. When he took his eyes away from his surroundings and brought them level to the ground, he found the lion again. It had the exact shape of a real lion only it was a shimmering silver with a glowing red heart beating inside it. It was pacing around him.

"What the hell is this?" Harry asked, watching the lion tread in a circle. The lion paused to peer at Harry, who kept eye contact. "Well?" he asked.

Then the lion walked forward, leaving Harry behind, but he followed it. It lead him to a thick, stumpy tree which appeared to be quite old. The lion observed him once more, then cocked his head at the tree. He jumped up on it as if stretching, but then sat down beside it, watching Harry.

"Now what?" Harry asked it.

The lion shifted his silver eyes to Harry's hand.

Harry slowly dropped his gaze at it, too. There, in his palm was the Dagger of Ithaca, positioned as if Harry were to wield it as a weapon. He brought it forward so he could examine it. The translucent edges of the blade scintillated in the sunlight while the handle felt hot in his hand.

The lion roared at Harry to get his attention. When he broke his stare with the dagger, Harry saw a thin line appear down the center of the old tree. Harry's mouth opened as he walked toward it, his hand holding the dagger that suddenly rose. When his foot hit the tree's trunk, he plunged the blade into the top of the thin line- the dagger suddenly became very heavy and pulled Harry's hand down the line the tree. Once it hit the bottom, the tree split open, but instead of falling to the ground, a vortex unfolded- bright light poured out of the fisher and warmed Harry faster than a bonfire. There was singing- beautiful, haunting singing- he could smell, almost taste the ocean as he stood there- he wanted to walk inside, but as he opened his eyes he found himself staring at his apartment ceiling, the sunlight blinding him.

Harry sat up quickly, noting once more that the dagger was clutched tightly in his left hand. He dropped it on the floor where it landed with a numbing thud. Harry pulled the covers off him, leapt out of bed and ran into his bathroom. He braced his hands on the edge of his sink then looked in his mirror.

What had he seen? Why did a silver lion with Harry's heart visit him in his dreams? What had he opened in that tree? What did the Dagger of Ithaca actually do? Somehow during his intense musing, Harry managed to shower and dress but he didn't feel rested; quite the contrary, he felt more exhausted than he had ever been. But even with his mind as tired as it was, it still found the energy to ponder the dream. He was sure that the dagger which was plunged into his own heart served a greater purpose, as Vanessa Deverauex had said. But he didn't really know what that purpose was.

It was a bright spring day without a single cloud in the sky. Harry pulled on a light jacket, ate a small breakfast, and Disapparated. He appeared on a pier to await a ferry. He could see the dark outline of Azkaban just ahead of him.

After the ferry pulled up, Harry boarded, sailed to the prison, and then jumped off the ship before it came to a complete stop.

Haden, the lead security guard, approached him. He asked why Harry was there, but he didn't answer specifically, only that he wished to question Draco Malfoy once more. Haden led Harry to Draco's cell, which was one of the most heavily guarded in Azkaban.

"Would you like my wand?" Haden asked Harry.

"No, I don't need it," he mumbled. Harry entered Malfoy's cell. It was musty and dim inside, only a small patch of broken light hit the dirty, black granite floor. Draco was huddled in a corner of the cell; his blonde hair was longer and quite tangled. Harry cleared his throat; Malfoy snapped his head up.

"What do you want?" he snarled. Draco had since grown a bit of a beard and had lost a good deal of weight and energy.

"I know about the Black Order," Harry told him calmly.

Draco turned his body to face Harry but he remained in his corner. "You think you know," he drawled. "You're still in the dark."

Harry drew closer to him. "Tell me about Ithaca," he commanded.

Draco raised his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth. "Ithaca?" he said. "My father must have given you the message," he sneered. "I wish I could have seen you fall to the ground and suffer. Did it hurt a lot, Potter? Please tell me he tortured you with it."

Harry narrowed his eyes but did not rise to anger. "That was planned?" he asked.

Draco nodded slowly, his eyes locked on Harry's. "She wanted to get your attention," he explained. "I see that she has."

Harry stepped even closer and crouched down to be level with Draco. "Who wanted my attention?" he asked, his heart rate accelerating. "Who, Draco?"

But he only sneered.

"Tell me," he insisted. "Tell me, who is the leader of the Black Order?" he asked, seizing Draco's shoulders.

"A powerful sorceress," Draco answered slowly as if trying to keep it locked inside.

"Where is she?" Harry pressed on. "How do I find her?"

But Draco kept his stiff, false smile and would not answer Harry.

He left Malfoy's cell without another word to him or anyone else in Azkaban. Once back on the pier away from the prison, Harry Apparated to the library in London and ran to isle 47. He pulled down the book he had wanted before and skimmed its pages.

But Vanessa had been truthful; the book provided no answers. But she knew. She knew all about Ithaca and the dagger. He shut the book and placed it back in its slot. She wasn't surprised to see you... who is she really? Harry Disapparated again and appeared in the Ministry. He walked briskly to Headquarters and started filing through residential names until he came upon the one he sought: Deverauex, Vanessa. Harry was correct; she lived in the country.

Harry Disapparated once more and appeared just outside a small, white cottage. A stable was adjacent to it where three white horses looked at him curiously. Harry approached the main door of the house and knocked. He thought he heard a man's voice inside, then he heard footsteps gradually getting louder- the door opened.

"Well if it isn't Harry Potter," Vanessa said. "What a pleasant surprise," she said cheerfully, her smile widening. Harry was just about to respond when Ron came to the door looking perplexed.

"Ron?" Harry asked.

"Harry?" Ron said. "What are you doing here?"

"I was- I came to ask her some questions about Ithaca," he said. He didn't ask Ron why he was there.

"I told you everything I knew. It's mythical, remember?" Vanessa said. She opened the door to allow Harry in. "You could look to Homer for more information. I have a copy if you would like to buy it," she suggested, her eyes widening slightly.

"No," Harry said. "I want some questions answered for free. Like how did you know it- well- why weren't you surprised to see me? You acted like you knew who I was."

"I do know who you are," Vanessa answered as if she was already bored by Harry. She backed away from him and walked to a bookshelf.

"No, it was different," Harry explained. "Most people react when they meet me. You treated me like I was a friend or something."

She pulled out a photo album and started back to Harry as she flipped through it. "You don't like people treating you like a friend?" she asked. "I would think you would. I suppose you came here suspecting me of something, then?" she asked.

Harry glanced at Ron, who's expression was difficult to read, then back at Vanessa who's expression was clear; she appeared quite perturbed.

"Not suspecting really. More like curious."

She nodded curtly then flipped the photo album around so he could see it. Harry took it from her to examine an old photograph. There, smiling and waving up at him were three of four people he recognized. His father, who was holding his mother closely, was dressed in a fancy suit and she in a white gown. Her wedding dress. Standing next to them was Sirius, looking handsome and happy. He was holding onto a young Asian woman who closely resembled Vanessa. "She's my mother," Vanessa said, pointing to her. "She was Lily's Maid of Honor. They were best friends since their first year at Hogwarts. She still talks about her sometimes, always highly. Does that explain a few things?" she asked, her arms crossed.

Harry suddenly felt rather guilty for suspecting Vanessa of any foul play. He turned a few pages to see more pictures of Vanessa's mother, many of them with Sirius and a few of them with a small baby that Harry recognized as himself. She appeared to be very kind with him; a few pictures showed her kissing the baby.

"Is she still alive?" Harry found himself asking.

"Of course," Vanessa responded. "She lives a few miles from here with my dad and my younger sister and brother. They're still in Hogwarts. Mum gave me the album because she didn't want to have it in the house. She says it makes her sad to look in it, but she didn't want to get rid of it. You see, she and Sirius Black, well, they were engaged until... you know what."

Harry looked up at her. "Engaged?" he asked.

"Yeah. Luckily for me it never happened, I mean imagine the world without me in it," she said with a slight smile. Ron laughed, his ears turning red.

But Harry didn't join in the laughter. He kept staring at the woman holding him as an infant. "She's a good person, is she?" he asked, now looking at a photo of her playing with baby Harry.

"The best. She's got this wall in her studio, she's an artist, that has all of our hand and foot prints on it. I remember doing it when we were still little. She says she can never move out of the house because of them," she said with a reminiscent smile. "Yeah, Mum's great."

"You have a sister and brother," Harry whispered.

"Yeah. Are you all right?" she asked, taking the album away from him.

"I'm sorry I bothered you," he told her, keeping his eyes cast downwards. He started to leave.

As Harry was turning the knob2 to her door, fully aware that she and Ron were watching him closely, she said, "Mum told me she asked for you, but Dumbledore said no. She does not speak highly of him."

"Oh," he said to himself, not looking at Ron or Vanessa. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ron." He opened the door and Disapparated before anyone could ask him another question.

******

Present

******

Harry paused. "I'd like some water," he told Marc. "We're reaching the climax you know." He smiled and drummed his fingers on his knees.

Marc nodded, looked to the wall, then back at Harry. "Vanessa Deverauex was telling you the truth. Since your stay here she's come to ask about you, so we did some background on her. Her mother, Jade Yang, graduated in the same class as your parents and Sirius. She was also engaged to him, like Vanessa said, but she was never appointed as a godmother to you."

"I figured that out for myself," Harry told him shortly. "But that wasn't exactly an issue, was it? Dumbledore wanted to keep me safe from Voldemort and his supporters. He wanted to keep me alive," he said. Marc thought he detected a slight bitterness in Harry's tone.

With a great whoosh someone entered with a tall glass of water and handed it to Harry. He drank the entire glass in one sitting then lay back on his pillow.

"You wish Dumbledore would have allowed Jade to care for you, isn't that right?" Marc asked. "She would have raised you well?"

Harry shut his eyes and clenched his fists. "He wanted to keep me alive," he hissed, his eyes screwed shut. "He actually had the nerve to say he cared about my happiness," he continued. "But he didn't give a damn about my happiness, only that I would live to save the damn world."

There was certainly bitterness now. Marc jotted down a few notes on his pad but kept watching Harry. "I thought you admired Dumbledore," he said. "He's very fond of you."

"It's because of him that I-" he started, but cut himself off. He opened his eyes and looked at Marc.

"Because of what?" Marc asked, curiosity pumping through him.

"I'm... like this," he said simply. "It's because of Dumbledore. I'm like I am because of him."

Marc raised an eyebrow but didn't pressure Harry. He had a strange feeling that Harry meant something else by his angered statement. "Oh," he replied. "Do you not like the way you are?"

Harry considered the question for a moment. "Let's just say I'm amazed I still have friends. Sometimes I don't understand why they keep coming back. I suppose that has changed, though, since I hurt her..." He peered at Marc and sat forward. "I didn't mean to hurt her," he explained desperately. "She's the only one who's always stood by me; I wouldn't ever want to hurt her, you have to understand," he said. "I didn't mean to."

And for the first time Marc saw something of sadness and remorse in Harry's face, an emotion he nearly assumed he didn't possess. He felt himself feeling sorry for Harry as he sat there, trapped.

"I know you didn't," he said. "I talked to Hermione a few days ago and she knows you didn't mean to hurt her. She knows."

Harry sighed with relief. "Good. So we're almost done here," he said, smiling genuinely now. Marc smiled back.

"You're right. Is there anything you would like to tell me before you finish the final heat?" he asked kindly.

"Only that I had nothing to do with Minister Wilson's death. Columbus Blair seems to have it in for me, but I swear I had nothing to do with it."

Marc smiled again. "I don't think you did, Harry. I'm sure you're innocent of that. I know that even if you tend to come off scary at times, you have good intentions somewhere inside you."

Harry smiled more greatly. "So you're not going to commit me for life?" he asked.

"That was never the plan. I think you have some issues, mainly regarding your childhood which you don't want to discuss with me, that need to be resolved in some way. It's the most important time in all our lives. It determines many of our behaviors and actions. But there is no excuse for violent behavior, do you understand that?" he asked, looking at Harry. "There are explanations, certainly, but never an excuse."

"I know," Harry said.

Marc knew that the only reason Harry was behaving appropriately was because he wanted to end on a high note, but he wouldn't forget what Harry had done or said to him...

"Fine," Marc replied, pulling out a new piece of parchment. "How about we finish this tale? The sooner it's completed, the sooner I can file my report."

"Yes," Harry said with another sigh of relief. "I desperately want out of here."

*************

March 21, 2004

*************

The first day of spring lived up to its name. The sky was clear and spectacularly blue; not even the smog of London seemed to conquer over it, which it usually did. The breeze that wafted through Harry's open windows was crisp and pleasantly cool. Harry poured himself a cup of coffee and shuffled out to his balcony to enjoy the morning.

As he looked down into the city he noted many people attending church today, as it was Sunday. They were dressed in their best, their cars were clean, and most of them were with their families. Harry sipped his steaming coffee and checked his watch. Ron hadn't said what time his pow-wow was so Harry decided he would pull up around noon, though he was dead tired. In the meanwhile Harry thought it would be a good idea if he worked on relaxation rather then putting himself through tension. He sat outside on a lounge chair and stared at the sky trying to relax his mind.

Only he couldn't. The silver lion would cross over his thoughts and lead him to that tree even when Harry would concentrate on something completely different. By the time the clock struck ten, Harry found himself both angry and frustrated, his mind too full and busy with theories, hypotheses, and scenarios. He abandoned his morning meditation and walked into his bedroom to change into running apparel. After a brief stretch, Harry ran down stairs to the street to continue his run.

He heard numerous cat calls from women as he raced by, his feet pounding on the pavement. He tried, for once, to be part of the city scene and involve the everyday noises and visuals into his mind. It helped somewhat but eventually the lion prowled again. He suspected the reason he couldn't completely block it from his mind was the same reason he couldn't stop a dementor right away; some part of him was deeply curious about the lion. But a nagging voice would always tell him: The stabbing was planned. Draco knows about it... he probably knows about the dream as well. He wants you to follow it. If your enemy wants you to see something, perhaps you shouldn't be so anxious. Remember the Department of Mysteries...? Yes, he would think. Then he wondered if he was being paranoid...

Harry returned to his apartment shortly before twelve. He showered, dressed appropriately for the spring weather, and started out- he stopped before he reached his door. Take it with you. Harry whirled around and snatched the dagger from his counter; he pocketed it.

It was a forty five minute drive from London to Ottery St. Catchpole, so Harry didn't reach the Burrow until well after noon. Supposedly the entire Weasley family would be here, but Harry only saw Ron, Fred, George, and Hermione. They all welcomed him with smiles and cheerful words.

"Glad you could make it, Harry!" Fred said. Harry saw that he had many more freckles than the last time Harry had seen him.

"How's the ol' ticker?" asked George, pointing to Harry's chest.

"It's working," Harry replied. "Thanks for seeing if I was all right that day," he said, referring to the day Harry awoke back in December. "It was really nice of you."

"Don't get all mushy on us, Harry," Fred said with a scowl.

"Yeah, it's not as if you were all together normal."

"Damn funny, though," Fred said with a reminiscent smile.

"Did you really see Sirius while you were conked out?" George asked.

"Weird stuff if you did."

Harry didn't respond. He was glad Hermione greeted him with a strong hug and a smile. Ron looked anxious about telling Harry something, which he assumed had to be concerning Vanessa. They informed Harry that the picnic would take place in the backyard where they had dinner once in Harry's fourth year.

Ginny was expected around one, Charlie was arriving shortly, Bill and Fleur were held up with wedding plans, and Percy, to Harry's dismay, showed up just after he did.

"I should think Father would make Minister, seeing as how I have quite an influence in that office," Harry heard him say as Percy rounded the house corner and walked to the table. "He's really rather busy at the office today, naturally, with it being so chaotic. He informed me, however, that he would try to make it for lunch." He sat down directly opposite Harry apparently not noticing him.

"Columbus Blair, my friend in Internal Affairs, says the investigation into Wilson's death is going quite well. He's already gathered a list of some suspects and he believes he'll apprehend the perpetrator in good time," he said. No one else responded to Percy. Hermione, who had been aiding Fred and George with the lunch, came and sat next to Harry.

"When will those two grow up?" she asked, vexed. "They were fighting with tongs and nearly poked each others eyes out," she told Harry. Then Percy rounded on him.

"I didn't know you were coming," he said to Harry, his eyebrows lowering into a scowl.

"Harry has always come to our family events," Ron said, sitting on Harry's other side.

"I just haven't seen you for so long, Harry, not since your graduation. You've grown up quite a bit, I see." He smiled condescendingly at him.

"Age has a tendency to do that," Harry replied trying desperately to keep his cool. He realized that, with Percy here and Arthur expected to arrive in a few hours time, attending a family event where he wasn't entirely welcome was a disastrous mistake. "But you haven't changed at all," he told Percy.

Percy didn't waver. "Anything new with you, other than internal investigations into you?" he asked Harry.

"No, actually. Nothing new," he said, his eyes boring into Percy's. Fred and George came and sat down, their hair smoking slightly.

"What happened?" Hermione asked them.

"Pardon?" Fred said.

"What happened to your hair?" she asked, pointing to Fred's singed hair tips.

"Hair?" George said, looking taken aback.

"Don't play stupid with me," Hermione replied, slamming her fist on the table. "You two were playing with fire, weren't you?"

Fred and George exchanged looks, and then George replied. "You know, Hermione, we're adults now; you can't boss us around."

"Yeah, you're not Prefect Hermione anymore."

"Can't dock house points anymore either." Fred stuck his tongue out at her.

"Did you or did you not make sport with fire?" she asked threateningly.

"If we did, what would you do?" George asked.

"Yes, I'm curious about that as well, Hermione," Percy piped in. "It's not as if you can tell Mother about them, seeing as how she's been dead for eight years. Only she would have cared about Fred and George's delinquency. I'm positive she wouldn't think too highly of your attitudes toward life. But I wasn't with her when she was murdered so tragically," he added with a glance at Harry.

Fred, George, and Hermione stopped bickering. Harry felt Percy and the twins look at him, but he tried concerning himself with an imperfection in the wood table.

"What was the last thing my mother said, Harry?" Percy asked him. "I mean, it was you she was killed over. Did she say anything to you?"

Fred and George focused on Harry's reaction.

"There wasn't much time for farewells," Harry said, working hard to keep his voice even. He felt Hermione's hand on his under the table. She clutched on and squeezed.

"Of course," Percy continued. "It was a futile question. She would have only said something meaningful to one of her children, and Harry, you never were."

"That is uncalled for," Hermione snarled at Percy. "I happen to recall that one of her sons disowned her because she was fighting evil. And during that time, Percy, Molly considered Harry as her own. So why don't you take your arrogant, vengeful accusations away from Harry and place the blame on Voldemort, the wizard you denied even existed for a year, and whom Harry killed once and for all so no one else will lose family members."

"That's right," Ron said on Harry's other side. "You were the one who abandoned us. You only came back after mum died because you couldn't and still can't admit you were wrong. Harry killed You-know-who single handed."

"You're absolutely right, Ron," Percy said, still staring at Harry. "Harry did kill him single handedly. But that's all he can do, isn't it, fight, fight, fight? What else are you capable of, other than a predisposition and strong aptitude for violence?" he asked.

Harry rose out of his seat, laid his hands on the table, and leaned over it. "How about saving this ungrateful world?" he whispered sinisterly. "You are not the only one who lost someone, Percy. I know for a fact that my fatality count is much higher than yours." He pulled back entirely, left the table, and started toward some wooded area.

"Harry wait," he heard Hermione behind him. He stopped and whirled around. "Percy's an arrogant prat, okay? Ron, Ginny, and I all know-"

"I'm tired of being blamed by him and his damn father for something I couldn't help!"

"I know," she said gently. "I know."

Harry felt his eyes burn. "Please leave me alone," he said turning his back to her. "I'm tired of talking about this. I'm going for a walk."

"Harry you can't run away from it," she called after him.

"I'm not running. Please leave me for a while, all right?" He made his way through the trees without her response. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, mumbling to himself. He felt the dagger in his left pocket; he clenched his hand around it.

He picked up his pace, replaying Percy's words in his head. He was so distracted, though, that he caught his foot on a rock, which caused him to trip. Harry tried catching himself, but the hill wouldn't allow it. He tumbled down a few feet to the bottom of the grassy hill, landing on his back. He could feel the wet grass soak the back of his shirt. A few crows flew over his head, squawking as if mocking him.

"Shut up," Harry mumbled. He flipped over, feeling the Dagger of Ithaca in his left hand, and pushed himself off the ground. But when he lifted his head to look forward, his breathing stopped; his heart pounded in his ears.

The tree- the tree he had dreamed of stood before him. Harry looked at the wet grass below him, the blue sky above him, then saw the dagger in his left hand poised for a strike. He had to finish his recreation. Why, he had recreated most of his dream accidentally, might as well complete it. Harry realized he was moving toward the tree, his left had raised. One of his feet collided with the trunk.

His heart quickening, Harry plunged the dagger into the tree; it slid in easily and gained weight which pulled his hand downwards.

A blinding light poured from the expanding fisher in the tree, accompanied by a warm, wet breeze which smelled strongly of the ocean. Something inside Harry told him to walk through it; but he didn't need the voice- he wanted to go through it. Something on the other end was enticing him, luring him inside. Before his logical self could debate this decision and desire, Harry stepped inside.

He was no longer standing on grass or firm ground. Harry was waist high in warm ocean water. Frowning, he turned around; he could see a sliver of trees and grass slowly disappear, just to be replaced by more ocean and blue sky. He passed his hand through the spot he had just walked through- it was only air.

"Don't panic," he told himself, slowly pivoting around in the warm water. "Don't panic," he told himself again as he kept viewing endless ocean. "You have this under con-" but he silenced himself when he had completed an a hundred and eighty degree turn. His mouth fell open in shock while his gaping eyes took in the site which stood before him.

Carved out of an immense cliff side, which seemingly hovered above a magnificent cascading waterfall, was a beautiful and shining palace complete with great pillars, beauteous statues and sheer paramount size which dwarfed any building Harry had seen.

For a moment he waded in the water and stared, but then his logical side finally caught up with him; he slowly began the journey for it.

The water became shallower as he drew closer to the palace. The cascading waterfall pounded the large boulders below it. Harry stopped and looked around, searching for some clear entrance.

"Over here," an enticing voice whispered from his right.

He stepped up onto the stone platform and broke off into the direction the voice came from. It led to an open crevice on the side of the waterfall. Harry sidestepped into it and found himself in a dark yet warm cave; he could feel his clothes begin to dry. Shortly up ahead was an immense marble staircase. Taking a deep breath and withdrawing his wand, he moved forward.

The moment he emerged from the cave's darkness, a white light shone on him from above. Squinting and shielding his eyes, he cast his head skyward. Great gaps in the stone, purposely carved out by the looks of it, were allowing the unusually bright sunlight to pour inside the palace. Harry continued up the stairs until he came to the top where a familiar creature stood in his path.

A sphinx paced the entrance of the palace, marching to and fro from great pillar to pillar. When it saw Harry, it smiled and sat before him. Like the last one Harry had seen, this sphinx had the face of a woman with almond shaped eyes.

"Er," Harry said unintelligently in hopes it would pose him a riddle to solve. She opened her mouth.

"Reflections bend against you. Mirrors tell of lies. But this parallel dimension Is only for the wise. For men of your world are shallow, Faithless and untrue. But my lady of this realm Knows the real value of you. Enter not as conqueror, Hero, or sovereign man; Go to her with fear And listen to her plan."

Harry's eyes widened. "Parallel dimension? Do I have to solve anything?" he asked.

The sphinx shook her head and stood aside, allowing him to enter. He wet his upper lip with his tongue and walked inside. It seemed like he was walking in shadow for several minutes before he came upon a very large and tall room with glass and silver statues on the walls and ceiling, which depicted several mythical creatures. The floor was an illuminating white; the tall ceiling sparkled like ice. To his right a spiraling staircase descended from the towering ceiling, and to his left was an equally large hallway.

Then he heard it again- a beautiful and seductive voice which sang to him and him alone. Harry's eyes closed and he sighed blissfully as her voice washed over him. But the singing was interrupted by a soft footfall. He opened his eyes.

The silver lion, the lion with a red human heart beating within him, stepped down the stairs. Harry readied his wand but stopped himself when he saw a fair white hand slide down the banister.

Harry's eyes moved up the long fingered hand to the smooth arm, a bare shoulder, and a spectacular face of a woman. He could hear his heart beating inside his ears while he took in her entire figure.

She was draped in a shimmering silver robes, only they looked more like a gown. Her silver white hair was pulled back into a bun, which was held to the top of her head with some kind of jewel. Her eyes were a misty gray, which in some light appeared silver. Her nose was small but straight, and her open lips were a soft pink.

As her foot landed on the bottom of the staircase, she pulled her gaze from her lion, which she stroked absently, to Harry's face. Her singing ceased and was replaced by a momentary silence.

"So you have found me," her seductive voice rang as her glistening grey eyes rest on his.

Harry suddenly found himself breathing again; apparently he had paused as she descended the steps. Her white skin glowed wonderfully as she smiled benignly at him.

He took a small step back and gripped his wand, but did not raise it.

"Yes," he whispered to her, hardly blinking.

She continued to pet her lion, still staring at Harry. "I had confidence you would succeed in discovering me. Curiosity is inborn within your searching soul."

"Sure," Harry replied questioningly, eyeing her with great suspicion.

She smiled again and took a small step forward. "Your fear is appreciated. Long has it been since you have beheld such a mystery as I. Your thoughts are spoken by the doubt and concern upon your face."

Harry took a few more steps back and raised his wand.

"You need not concern yourself with the magical instrument. I will not bring you physical harm. Unsheathing your weapon will only lose us time," she said, sweeping her hand across the air.

Harry didn't lower his wand. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I am the one you seek, Harry Potter," she explained quite calmly.

Harry stepped back again and shook his head, squinting into her silver eyes. "I wasn't looking for anyone," he told her.

She tilted her head slightly. "There is no necessity to withhold the truth. You have sought the power which sunk my dagger into your vigorous heart. I am such a power."

Harry gasped but relaxed his grip on his wand. "You're the leader of the Black Order," he muttered, staring into her haunting face.

Her eyes sparkled when she smiled at him. "The Black Order are my pawns. It was I who selected them to execute my trivial bidding, but I am not their leader. I bequeath upon them my lesser powers. Generally they carry on with their meaningless lives wreaking disorder for their own primitive amusement. That is not my purpose." She laid her hand on top of the lion's head and stroked his mane.

Harry frowned. "And just what is your purpose?" he asked.

"Only to attain my worthy position," she answered evenly.

Harry stared at her then rolled his eyes and laughed. "You want to rule the world? Is that all? You want to be queen of all you see, eh?" He shook his head at her. "Well, princess, you may have noticed that people keep trying for that position, but it never happens. Voldemort tried that, too. His downfall will be just like yours," he said, glancing quickly at his wand.

This time she laughed. "Voldemort was a fool. He was careless, rash, and constantly referred to himself in third person. He knew nothing of human beings and their innate nature. He cloistered himself within his wallowing self pity and expected prime results. And he spawned more enemies than allies; he broke the rules of leadership." She stepped closer to him.

"You can't rule the world," he told her seriously, but smirking. "No one can. It's impossible. It's been tried for thousands of years but never achieved. You're wasting your time."

She turned her back to him and strolled out towards a garden Harry hadn't noticed when he first arrived.

"I did not state any notion of ruling the world," she said, peering at him. She disappeared from view, the lion by her side.

Harry sighed then followed. The botanical garden they entered was full of plant species he had never seen or heard of in his life. There were great flowers the size of plates, whispering willows which swayed as he passed them, and racing lily pads that chased each other in a stream. The lady sat gracefully next to a small pool of water with her hand inside it, swirling her finger around.

"Don't want to rule the world, you say?" Harry asked with a smile.

She took her eyes from the pool and raised them to Harry. "Who said I wished to rule the world? Have you not learned that assumption is a dangerous pastime? Your assumptions will lead you to great sorrow."

Harry's face dropped from amusement and took on a troubled frown. "Who do you want to rule?" he asked.

She grinned now. "The magical race, for that is where true power lies." She twirled her finger in the pond; a vortex formed. One racing lily pad was pulled under.

Harry suddenly felt cold, even though the air was humid and pleasantly warm. "You can't do that," he told her, his voice shaking. "I won't let you rule my race."

Her mouth twitched; she gazed back at her vortex which grew with power. "That is the reason I summoned you," she said.

"You summoned me?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Surely you cannot believe you found me out of your own mastery. It was my dagger which led you here; the dreams I planted within your over-kinetic mind. I can only be found when I desire it. Ithaca is untouched by your treacherous world and will always remain so. That is why I am invisible and unattainable. But your concerns have merit. Of all the wizards of your world, you possess superior strength. But as the Black Order demonstrated, my power is supercilious to yours."

Harry was confused; he scratched his head and sat down. "What then?" he asked. "Why did you bring me here? Who are you? What are you trying to do? Answer my questions!" he yelled, the anger he had pushed down for weeks finally reaching the surface.

She continued quite calmly. "I am Leucosia, caretaker of Ithaca and guardian of this parallel realm. I have summoned you to offer a partnership, one that shall not be taken lightly by anyone who crosses our path."

"A partnership?" Harry asked, his eyebrows now fully elevated. "You want to offer me a partnership?"

"Yes. Together you and I could rule them like no other. No one could stop us, no one could conquer us. With our leadership and supreme influence we could better the world," she replied enthusiastically.

"Oh so now you want to 'better' the world, do you?" he asked sardonically.

"That was always my ambition. Human beings require a leader to rule them. They are witless children in need of a forceful parent to command them. Your governments are flawed and riddled with controversy. But it can be cured of this plague. The wizards are wiser than those of non-magical origins, obviously. I cannot have wizards to act the hero, however. Rebels will not be tolerated in my kingdom. You, Harry Potter, would call them to revolt against me. I cannot allow that to befall."

"You're right about that," he said viciously. "I will rebel against you. We may not be perfect but we certainly don't need you to come and clean up after us or boss us around."

Leucosia gave him a malicious grin. "But you do not know them as I do," she whispered. She pushed herself up elegantly and stood before him. "Come with me, Harry, and rule by my side. Together you and I could exercise such magic, such power the world has never seen. They would bow down and worship us for the masters that we are!"

Harry shook his head and took several steps back. "You're insane," he said through clenched teeth. "I will never rule over the world. You can't know me at all if you think I would do that."

She kept up her grin. "Your assumptions, Harry, are dangerous. I know your people better than you could hope. They look at you with tears of admiration; their inferior lips bombard you with high praise; they regard you as a hero of epic standards. And inside of you, buried under all of your apathy, you know they should. You have saved them from a perilous evil which scoured the earth. You have sacrificed a scrupulous life for them. They sleep safely in their warm beds knowing you are protecting them from greater evils. But what, may I humbly ask, have they done for you?" she asked, her mouth still open slightly. She paced toward him, though he continued to recede from her.

"Have they repaid you for your losses? Have they thanked you or given you what you desire? Have they not only come to regard you as a simple celebrity?" she asked.

Harry swallowed but did not reply.

"Do you know how they regard you? You are the 'evil fighter,' the hero who can illuminate the darkness, the one who will always be around to fight. But I fear that is all. They do not see you as an equal man, only a heroic savior."

Through his tightly clenched teeth and fists he replied, "Then they have the right idea."

"Yes," she said with a grin, "they do. But how quickly opinions can change. Consider my offer, Harry, for it will only be raised once more. It will be a simple decision once I am finished with you. I can make your lonely, pitiful existence hell."

Harry forced out an angry laugh. "Really?" he asked her. "You can't scare me. There's nothing you can do to make me join you or even consider joining you. Nothing at all."

"That is what you think," she said with a straight face.

"Is it?" Harry asked snidely. "What are you going to do, kill everyone around me? I can survive that. I've done it before. I'm prepared for it now."

One corner of her mouth rose. "Do I look like a killer to you?" Leucosia asked.

"Malfoy does," Harry answered shortly, indignation rising in his chest.

"Malfoy is a waste of my time. He thinks of himself as pure evil and terribly cunning. He is useful but he cannot even bring himself to save his own son. He seems to think of Draco as competition. I will deal with them in good time; but I will not kill anyone around you; it is much too cliché. Only weak wizards are left with that option."

Harry crossed his arms and let out a bored sigh. "So what will you do?" he asked.

She gave him a satisfied face. "I will make them abandon you of their own free will," she said simply, stroking the lion's mane. "I have that power."

"Fascinating!" Harry said with a fake smile. "And just how will you manage that?"

"You have already seen a demonstration of my power," she said, tapping her temple with her index finger. "I can turn them on you with the snap of my fingers. It really is not difficult; you have seen them do it before. They will abandon you out of fear, out of... their own survival." She smiled greatly as she watched his face.

"You can't do that," he said, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Oh but I can. It is the human condition, Harry; surely you must be somewhat aware of the simplest of principles. Each human being is concerned only with his or her sole survival when danger ebbs near. Even after all you have done for them, even after the sacrifices you have made, they will abandon you and persecute you the moment they feel remotely threatened. Why, you have already been witness to such an experience. I will make it happen again."

Harry felt sweat on the back of his neck. The rage was rising in his chest each minute he stood before her, listening to her go on and on...

"In the end, Harry, I will win. Whether your people lock you up forever or you join me, my wishes will be met."

Harry shook his head violently. "No," he said, his voice quivering.

"You are fearful," she said with a note of deep satisfaction and a smile to match. She walked to him, grinning evilly. "You know I can. I have the power to invade your mind; you have already seen it done. I have a band of followers who have pierced your heart and easily ripped it from your body. I have instilled doubt about you into many." She got within striking distance of him; Harry could hear her breathing. "In the end I will conquer you!" she growled.

"NO!" he roared, the anger in him boiling over. He saw her laughing face shine before him. He socked her with all the power he had. "I won't give in! You're wrong! You won't win!" he screamed, beating her with all his might. She was pleading with him to stop, her voice lessening as he struck her more and more. He pummeled her stomach, then her face and began kicking her against the wall when something strange happened.

Hands roughly grabbed onto his shoulders, his chest, and the back of his head. He tried to resist them so he could attack and kill Leucosia, but they wouldn't let him go. They didn't understand how evil she was, what she was planning against them...

Harry lunged for her once more, his eyes screwed tight in concentration. "Let go!" he cried, opening his eyes. But Leucosia was not before him; Ithaca did not surround him- Harry paused.

Crumpled on the floor, beaten, bloodied, and unconscious was not Leucosia but- "Hermione."

Harry felt as though someone had taken all the air out of his lungs, as if his entire body was deflating. He tried to reach out for her, but the hands restraining him became rougher and they threw him away from Hermione and onto the ground.

One of the hands hit Harry dead in the face. Harry pushed himself up but he was hit again.

"You sick son of a bitch!" he heard Ron scream at him. Ron struck Harry's stomach. "How dare you hurt her!" he cried, tears of anger and pain in his eyes. "How dare you!"

Then Harry heard a woman scream. He looked around but then he felt himself being lifted off the ground by two sets of hands; Fred and George. Ron came after Harry again and kicked him in the rib cage; Fred and George did nothing to stop their angered brother- Harry let out a grunt of pain.

Then he saw Ginny hovering over Hermione, whose entire face was swollen.

"Hermione!" Harry called for her. He struggled against Fred and George to get to her, but Ron whipped out his wand. There was a loud bang, then Harry found himself bound by tight ropes. Fred and George let him fall face first to the grassy ground.

"Who knows the anti-Disapparation jinx?" Ron asked as he yanked Harry from the ground and dragged him into the house.

"Ron," Harry said frantically, straining against his ropes. "Ron, I didn't mean to hurt her, I saw the leader of the Black Order, Ron! I know who she is and what she's up to!"

But no one listened to him. Percy Weasley came running from downstairs to see what all the commotion was about. Ron quickly explained. Percy tapped Harry hard on the head and mumbled something, and then he ran outside with the others. Ron kneeled down next to Harry and raised his fist, readying himself to punch Harry again.

"I saw Ithaca, Ron, I saw it! I saw this woman, Leucosia, and I know what she's trying to do!" he explained wildly but it didn't stop Ron's fist. Harry released another grunt of pain.

"You son of a bitch!" Ron cried, moving his hands to Harry's throat. Harry felt his best friend squeeze and tighten his grip, strangling him.

"Ron, STOP!" Ginny yelled, pushing her brother away. Harry coughed and breathed again, but not for long. In seconds a dozen men, Hit Wizards, Apparated all around him and seized him. Harry tried fighting them but before he could do anything, one of the wizards removed his glasses while another blindfolded him.

"NO!" he roared, trying to pull away.

"Silencio!" someone said, and Harry was voiceless. He heard the Weasleys applauding as the Hit Wizards drug him away; he heard more popping as Healers, most likely, appeared to tend to Hermione; then he heard a door open, felt himself being vaulted inside, the doors slam, and he was being driven away.

******

Present

******

Harry stared at his knees. "Then I was questioned by Law Enforcement, who filed a report you have read. And then they locked me in here. So," Harry said silently as he moved his gaze up to Marc, "here I am."

And while staring into Marc's horrified face, a sinister and seductive voice whispered in Harry's ear, "Yes, just where I said you would be..."