Our Fathers

Part Two: Home for the Holidays

"'Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed,' said Mr. Weasley. 'The terror it inspired... you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside...' Mr. Weasley winced. 'Everyone's worse fear... the very worst...'"

-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, page 142 (1^st ed., hardcover)

Chapter Seven - Worry

According to Ron Weasley, life came in two colours: black and white. For his first fourteen years, everything could be categorized nicely. Black and white, good and evil, right and wrong. Slytherins were black and Gryffindors were white. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was evil and weak. Harry Potter was good and strong. Malfoys were wrong and Weasleys were right. Hogwarts was safe and Knockturn Alley was not. Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers had a terrible secret, Snape was an uncaring Slytherin bastard, and everything fit snugly into the correct niche.

Then, however, things started to change. Malfoys acted against the Dark. Snape shocked the students by rushing to Draco's side and acting like his father; like a human being for once. Harry wasn't so strong anymore - his Light seemed to be slowly fading away. Things were tense between Ron and Hermione as they fought over how best to help their friend, the boy who was starting to spend more time in the infirmary than Professor Lupin. The first piece had moved - Malfoy fighting for the Light - sending Ron questioning his very notions of the world.

All in all, Ron was very much looking forward to the Christmas holiday. Harry was coming to celebrate at the Burrow for the first time, Bill and Charlie had managed to get a break from work to spend the holiday with their family, and Hermione would be joining the Weasley clan with her parents for Christmas dinner. Even Professor Lupin and Sirius Black were invited, though Mrs. Weasley had plans to secure Percy in his room if he tried to turn Harry's convict godfather in to the Ministry. Food, friends, family, presents, food, and a chance to iron out the wrinkles in the fabric of his dichromatic reality.

However, as the day before the Christmas dawned, things took a very abrupt turn for the worse. "Where's Harry?" Ron demanded, throwing himself into the seat across from Hermione and quickly filling his plate with food. Harry would be late for Divination if he didn't show up soon.

"No good morning? Some friend you are," Hermione scoffed, glowering over the top of her Arithmancy text. "He's in the Hospital Wing. He had another seizure out in the hallway. Sent the Fat Lady into a fright. It was a triple homicide, he said. Well, three dead, he actually said, but they were certainly homicides -"

"Who?" Ron asked quietly, cutting her off.

"Do you remember Gareth Montegue? He was on the Slytherin Quidditch team, same year as Percy? He refused to join You-Know-Who, I guess, and so he was killed, along with his father and sister." Hermione sighed and closed her textbook. "I gather You-Know-Who is trying to recruit as many Slytherin graduates as he can find. Malfoy's parents... Gareth Montegue... Bethany Henrys and her family were killed last week..."

Ron stopped shoveling food into his mouth and set his fork down quietly. "I suppose a lot more have been giving in, though, right? I mean, lots of Slytherins work for You-Know-Who."

Hermione shrugged. "Some do. Some don't. Don't forget that Pettigrew was a Gryffindor. I really don't think they're all as evil as you think, Ron."

Glowering, Ron was about to launch into a tirade on the merits (or lack thereof) of Slytherin House when Harry entered the Great Hall. Ron knocked his cup over in surprise at Harry's haggard appearance. He hadn't been paying much attention to the changes in his best friend, but they were suddenly overwhelmingly noticeable. His eyes were shadowed by deep bags, his face was pale and hollow as Sirius Black's had been right after he escaped from Azkaban, and his robes hung off of him like Dudley's old clothes. He looked terrible - barely alive. "Harry, are you alright?" Ron asked softly.

"Fine," Harry shrugged. He slipped into a seat next to Ron and snagged a piece of sausage from a plate, though he didn't load up his plate with anything else. "They can't do anything for me in the Infirmary anyways. Just gave me the potion again. At least I'll sleep tonight." The words were spoken almost mechanically, as if Harry hadn't a clue what he was saying.

Ron couldn't remember Harry complaining of sleepless nights, though more than once Ron remembered Neville shaking him awake and demanding help in getting a seizuring Harry down to the Hospital Wing. Hermione didn't seem to know even that much as her jaw dropped in surprise. "Harry... how long have you been sleeping badly? Here, eat some more - have you told Madame Pomfrey -?"

Harry gave a snort. "Of course I've told Madame Pomfrey. She's got me taking a stronger version of the Dreamless Sleep potion - I found the recipe for it, I was wondering if you could help me make some over the holiday, Ron? - but they won't let me have it every night. I feel like I'm some sort of news bulletin for them." He dropped the uneaten sausage on his plate and stared at it. "Right, I don't mean to complain. I'm just fine, really. It's time for Divination, right, Ron? Or is it Charms? I can't remember what day of the week it is."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried look. "It's Wednesday, Harry. Divination. Hermione's got Arithmancy right now. We can walk at least to the second floor together. Do you have all your books?"

"Can I read off yours?" Harry asked. "I could run back to the dorms, but I'm a little tired -"

"You can look over my shoulder. We're just doing those stupid tarot cards in Divination, anyways - shall I stack the cards to predict your untimely death at the tentacles of the giant squid? I don't think we've used that one in a few months," Ron offered with a grin.

Harry gave a tired laugh and rubbed his eyes. "Go on ahead, I'll catch you up. I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore quickly."

"Right," Ron replied, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He motioned for Hermione to follow and started talking as soon as they were out of Harry's earshot. "Merlin's Beard, Hermione, he looks like... like the living dead. Blimey, I hadn't realized how bad it was."

"That potion he was talking about - do you think they're only giving it to him once in a while for a reason?" Hermione asked. She wrung her hands, looking worried. "There are some Muggle medicines, especially sleep aids, that will make a person addicted to them if he takes them too often. This potion - what if it's like that -?"

Ron broke in, shaking his head. "Come off it, Hermione. This isn't the Muggle world, after all, and Madame Pomfrey wouldn't give him something if it were dangerous. If he hasn't been sleeping, he needs to sleep, and if this potion will let him sleep, I'd ask Snape to tutor me until I got it right, if it was too difficult to make."

Hermione gave a low sigh and nodded. "I guess you're right. I'm just so worried about him... he's so very ill. I'm afraid of what will happen to him."

"He's got the entire holiday to get better." Ron did his best to put on a cheerful grin. "Food, presents, food, my family, more food... and Sirius and Professor Lupin might be coming to Christmas, too! He'll be fine, you'll see." He patted Hermione's shoulder.

"Well, I've got to turn here for class. If he falls asleep in Divination, you shouldn't wake him up," Hermione suggested.

Ron put on a fake look of shock. "Hermione... did you just suggest that Harry should sleep through a class? He's not ill, you are!" She stuck out her tongue and turned the corner, letting Ron jog off to Divination before the period started.

Harry managed to slip into the classroom and collapse onto a pouf beside Ron just before the class began. Ron tossed over a deck of Tarot cards, blatantly ignoring Professor Trelawney as she shuffled to the front of the class in a cloud of stale perfume. She was wearing red and green for the occasion, though not at all tastefully.

"Do a reading for your partner... the Fates have informed me that Tarot cards will appear later on this year, so you will need this session to review what you know. I'll be around to see if your Inner Eyes are attuned to the vibrations of the room... Neville, dear, when you are in the Hospital Wing later today, please remember to do the homework I will be assigning you." Neville whimpered at Trelawney's pronouncement, peering around for the source of his future injury.

Ron rolled his eye. "Neville's going to fall down the stairs again, isn't he. I wish the old bat would leave off scaring him so much. Should I go first, or should you?"

Harry went to open his pack, but the pair instead found themselves facing the flamboyantly dressed Divination professor. "Let me," she practically oozed, snatching the cards from Harry's hand. Ron fought back a groan - the last thing Harry needed to hear now was a prediction of his own death, false though it was sure to be.

Trelawney pulled over a pouf and flipped the first card. "The past... hmm, two men, brothers. They haunt you. Here, the present... an enemy grows closer. And... You can no longer ignore the sickness burning in you. It tears you apart. Others start to notice."

Ron held his breath, looking to Harry for a reaction. If anything, he looked more weary than before, more ragged. In constant pain. What if Trelawney was right?

"The future," she continued, not glancing up. She flipped over three more cards. "This one is loss. Someone you care very deeply for will be lost to you forever. This path has been set in motion, and cannot be stopped. This one is the enemy - the mortal enemy comes once more and puts your life at risk. This path presents two options, either one likely: the enemy may kill you and triumph, or you may escape with your life once more. And here again is the sickness. It will grow worse. The sickness is connected to this path, the one of your enemy, but is not in his control. Here again are two options, though one is much more likely than the other. Unless a cure is found, it is this sickness which will claim your life - not the enemy."

Flinching, Ron glanced around the room. Lavender and Parvati were watching Harry with something akin to pity. Neville looked ready to burst into tears. Seamus' hands were trembling and he dropped his cards across the floor even as Ron watched. Dean met Ron's eyes and looked away in shock. And Harry himself, instead of laughing or rolling his eyes as he usually did, had his gaze locked on the final card. Ron looked at the cards too - he certainly wasn't an expert at reading Tarot cards, as he tended to stack the deck to make an impressive homework assignment, but it seemed like she was reading the cards right. Ever since she'd predicted Pettigrew's return to the Dark Lord's side during Harry's Divination final in their third year, Ron had been a great deal more wary of the truth behind her readings -

Suddenly, a drop of blood fell to the table, staining the enemy card. Ron looked up at Harry in shock, just as Harry lifted his hand to stop the blood flowing from his nose. A loud gasp echoed through the room as Harry's lip split and started bleeding as well, right before their eyes. Professor Trelawney let out a squeak and fainted dead away while Dean and Seamus dashed over from their table. "Harry?" Ron asked, grabbing a shabby handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to his friend, "Are you alright?"

Harry took the cloth and dabbed at his lip. A bruise seemed to be forming on one of his cheeks and his nose was bleeding heavily. Most frightening of all was his scar - it was pitch black, burned across his forehead as if he'd been cursed that morning rather than fourteen years earlier. "I'm alright," he muttered quietly, giving a warning glance in Seamus' direction. "I need to go back to the infirmary."

"Tell Professor Trelawney that I've taken him to the Hospital Wing, when she wakes back up," Ron commanded, helping Harry to his feet. When his friend protested, Ron gave a scowl. "Don't start, Harry. You look like hell."

Seamus' help was waved off, but Harry allowed Ron to half support and half carry him down the stairs winding up the North Tower. As soon as the trapdoor was closed, Ron gave a strangled laugh and a half-hearted grin. "All that stuff about a mortal enemy - 'course you have a mortal enemy, we've known that for years! And what was that about brothers haunting you? I haven't seen any ghosts floating about. She's mad, Harry, and you shouldn't listen -"

"She's right," Harry whispered. He let out a humorless laugh. "Thank God for this potion. At least when I've taken it, I don't see the visions - I suppose Gareth Montegue's mother is finally dead. I should go to Professor Dumbledore, he needs to know -"

Ron broke in with another scowl, halting Harry's progress forward. "What do you mean, she's right? You're not sick, you're just seeing a lot of visions. You're twice the Seer she'll ever be."

Harry gave another laugh, slumping against Ron's shoulder as if he hadn't the strength to stand on his own. "I'm dying, Ron. I overheard Madame Pomfrey talking to Professor McGonagall this morning. These visions I'm having - they're because I'm connected to Voldemort. With each vision, the connection is getting stronger. It's killing me."

"You aren't dying, that's ridiculous," Ron snapped. "Don't you think they'd be doing something to stop it, if you were? That's not what you heard, obviously. You were just asleep."

"Ron..." Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Let's just go see Professor Dumbledore. He needs to know about Mrs. Montegue."

"You aren't dying!" His voice cracked, but he didn't care. "You can't die, you're Harry Potter!"

"Everybody dies." Harry paused, taking in Ron's shocked face. "Damnit, I wasn't going to say anything. I've still got a while. And if we manage to kill Voldemort, it'll cut the connection. Well, cut the connection or kill me outright. I'm not dead yet, anyways."

"You aren't going to die," Ron snapped. "They're wrong." Ron practically dragged Harry down the hallway to the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. The door was open, as if he'd been expecting the two of them. "Can you walk up there?"

Harry straightened, hobbling through the doorway. "Go back to class, Ron. If I'm not at lunch, I'll be in the Infirmary again. And please... don't tell anybody?" He turned and was gone, the gargoyle sliding back into place.

Ron fumed - of course he was going to tell somebody. Hermione would know what to do. Hermione always knew what to do.

"What do you mean, you don't know what to do?" Ron snapped, glaring at Hermione over the top of a potted Wolfsbane plant. "Haven't you been reading up on visions and such? You're never out of the library!"

"Harry asked me to figure out what You-Know-Who wants with the books Lucius Malfoy stole from the Ministry archives. Professor Dumbledore can't decide why it's important, or so Harry told me. I've been helping Harry defeat You-Know-Who - what have YOU been doing with your time?" Hermione demanded, lowering her voice as Professor Sprout gave a disapproving glance in their direction. "I think I'm on the verge of figuring it out. I don't think it was the book itself he needed, I think it was a verse in one of the poems."

Ron dropped the plant. "Poetry? You-Know-Who reads poetry?"

"No, of course not!" Hermione hissed. "It's a book of 19^th century poems about the Founders. The poet's introduction mentions older sources, and I think I've found one of them. It's a book from only a few decades after the Founding - well, a copy of it, of course - about the tragic love affair between Slytherin and Ravenclaw. He used to go sneaking around the castle to meet her in her room. The Ravenclaw dormitories are in the same location as Ravenclaw's rooms, you know. The Slytherins used to be in the South Tower, where Slytherin's rooms were, but the tower collapsed in 1573 -"

Ron crossed his arms and scowled, breaking into her historical tirade. "So? Why should I care if Cho Chang is sleeping in Rowena Ravenclaw's master bedroom? Makes no difference to me. How does this help Harry?"

"I... I don't know," Hermione admitted, averting her glance. "I just know the answer is there, but I can't figure it out. Maybe I'll take a break on this one, and look at some of the others... there's an Egyptian one, a Veela one, and a French one, about some monks."

"And meanwhile, Harry's dying," Ron snapped.

Hermione's lower lip quivered as her eyes widened. "Wh-what?"

He hadn't meant to break it to her that way, but it was too late now. "He heard Madame Pomfrey telling Professor McGonagall. The visions are killing him. We have to find a way to stop them!"

"Mr. Weasley?" Ron glanced up in surprise, dropping his plant again. Professor Sprout was approaching from across the greenhouse, with Dumbledore trailing close behind. The Headmaster slipped in front of Sprout, beckoning for Ron to accompany him. "Would you step outside with me for a moment? Don't worry, you aren't in trouble."

"I'll be right back," Ron mouthed to Hermione. He set aside his gardening gloves and followed on the Headmaster's heel. "Is it about Harry?" he asked as they passed the door. "Is Harry alright? He can still come to my house for Christmas, right?"

Dumbledore nodded. "He certainly can. This has nothing to do with Mr. Potter. A few minutes ago, your father floo'ed me. There was an accident. Charlie was attacked by a Norwegian Ridgeback and a Peruvian Shortsnout as he was attempting to separate the fighting dragons."

Ron's breath caught in his throat. "Is... Is Charlie dead?"

"He's been brought to St. Mungo's," Dumbledore said softly. "They can't do anything to help him at the Romanian hospital, and the best burn staff are here. He's in very serious condition."

"Is he going to be alright?"

A pause stretched out. Dumbledore finally sighed. "They don't know."

Ron slumped against the wall of the greenhouse, staring blindly at his worn-out shoes.