Harry Potter and the Rise of the Phoenix

Chapter Four ~ Hope for Hope

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It may sound absurd... But don't be naïve
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed... But won't you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
It's not easy being me.
Five For Fighting ~ Superman
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Harry woke up, groggy and completely disoriented. He was walking, on top of a cliff that had a great view of the ocean. To his right, walked, or rather, floated a young couple, arm in arm. To his left, floated an older man, his black hair long and tangled. Floating in front of him was an old man, sitting mid air. The man would have reminded Harry of Peeves, if he could remember that particular poltergeist at the moment. The air was filled with tension, and Harry noticed that the woman had been crying.

Slowly a few memories came back to Harry. The names of the people around him were one of the things he remembered. The fact that he was angry with the man in front of him was another. And the fact that he could remember nothing before he arrived on the cliff worried Harry the most.

The silence dragged on, the other four staring intently at Harry. He wondered how he knew these people. There was something about them that tugged at his memories. Maybe it was some distant memory, if he was lucky. "Can you tell me anything about myself?" Harry finally asked Gryffindor, being polite.

"You're full name is Harry James Potter," Gryffindor replied with a sad smile.

"I thought we agreed that there was noth--" Harry started but stopped. Harry James Potter. The man to his right was named James Potter. And hadn't Gryffindor said that these people were his parents and Godfather? "Oh," Harry finally muttered, a few sluggish memories coming forward of Sirius and his parents. They weren't happy memories.

Harry remembered the nightmares caused by his parents' deaths. They had died when he was a little more then a year old. Killed by... Killed by someone, but he couldn't remember who. He had never met them, but everyone said he looked just like his dad, except for the eyes, which were his mother's. Harry looked up at the woman and into the tear stained emerald green eyes that were just like his.

Then there was Sirius. Memories of finding out that he had betrayed his parents and that he was Harry's Godfather flooded into his mind first. Waking up to Ron's screams because Sirius Black had slashed his bed curtains. Finding out the truth about the matter and losing Wormtail in the end, along with any chance at living with his Godfather. And then, Harry's heart tightened. The memory of Sirius falling through the Veil because Harry had been stupid enough to believe a vision sent by... sent by... someone.

"What did you remember?" Gryffindor asked with a knowing smile.

"My parents and Sirius," Harry responded softly.

"Anything else?" Gryffindor prodded.

"No... Yes, someone named Wormtail." Sirius growled at the name, and Harry looked at him surprised. He couldn't remember anything about the man beyond his name. "Who is he?" None of the adults answered, so he thought about it. Wormtail sounded like a nickname. His dad, Sirius, and Remus all had nicknames. Is Wormtail Remus? Harry thought, but that didn't sound right. Wormtail had escaped from the Shrieking Shack several years ago. They had learnt of Sirius's innocence that night and of Peter's guilt.

"Wormtail is Peter Pettigrew and Remus married Tonks a couple of days ago," Harry told the others before he had truly understood what he meant.

"Actually, they were married a week ago from the day you got here," Gryffindor corrected him.

"Where is here?" Harry asked hopefully. The old man smiled, but didn't say a word. "I need to remember more?" Harry asked, knowing the answer before Gryffindor nodded.

Thinking of Tonks and Remus reminded Harry of his dueling practices. There was a third teacher besides the couple. What was her name? The initials GM seemed to fit her, yet her name eluded him. Georgia? No. Grace? No. Ginny? No, but that name seemed familiar. Remus, Tonks, and... and... Thia! Thia Black! Professor Black! Harry smiled; he couldn't think of one bad memory of her.

So far though, Harry had only remembered adults. He had to have friends his own age. Using Thia's classes as a catalyst, Harry thought about his classmates. However, the first thing that came to Harry was the classroom: with its multi-colored walls, empty floor space with a picture of the houses' mascots, the haphazard bookshelves, his desk nearest Thia's, the map of everyone's homes, and the Wall of Loss.

"What did you remember?" Gryffindor asked, this time frowning. Harry's face had broken into a pained grimace.

"The Wall," he choked out. Harry remembered every face. He had made it his goal to memorize every one put up there, whether they were dead or alive. The majority of the dead had already been burned into his mind by his nightmares. The Carrigans, the Joneses, those who died at Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, the Thomases, the Flinch-Fletchlys, Cho's aunt, and the Zabinis. He would never, could never forget those faces.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Gryffindor sympathized, but Harry thought that there had been a bit of relief in there as well.

Those last four families had died because their children, or niece in Cho's case, were members of the D.A.; Dean, Justin, Cho, and Blaise were considered to be his followers by... someone. Yet Harry had the feeling that they were more like friends then followers. Why would he need followers, anyway? He was only a teenager. Why would someone kill some kids' families because they were friends of his?

"Who am I?" he asked, afraid to hear the answer. Gryffindor shook his head; Harry knew he hadn't remembered enough.

As much as these four friends had lost, Harry was sure they weren't his best friends. Who would those people be? Who'd be crazy enough to be his friend? Harry's face paled at the next thought: What had they lost knowing him?

He realized at that moment just how dangerous he was. Anyone who knew him got hurt. Personal loss of limb and life paled against the loss of family and friends. He was a living bad luck charm. Maybe he didn't have any best friends. People must avoid him like the Plague.

"Do I even have any really good friends?" Harry asked, slightly ashamed for feeling so... alone and friendless. For appearing so weak. For wanting to be loved.

"Why do you ask that?" Lily inquired, fighting back her own tears.

"I wouldn't want to be my friend," Harry told them, embarrassed even more by that confession. "It's as if Death follows me," he finished, waving his hand vaguely at them.

"Oh, Harry," Lily cried out, losing the battle with her tears and hugging him. This would have been an awkward hug in the real world, seeing that Harry had to keep walking. However here, Lily did not walk, but floated next to him. Then again, in the real world Harry would have been able to stop... in the real world Lily would not have this chance to hug him.

Harry could not remember the last time he had been held in his mother's arms. He had never felt safer. Not since October 31^st almost sixteen years ago, had he been held by his mother. Voldemort had arrived soon after she had finally laid him in his crib, she and James just watching him. But Harry didn't know these facts; his only information about his parents' death started after Voldemort arrived. Harry let himself cry into his mother's shoulder, letting all his worries and grief free. He knew he had only remembered the surface of the pain. Whatever life had thrown at him, for him to end up here, he knew it had been too much. Life hurts. Life sucks.

... And then you die... Harry couldn't help but add.

"Of course you have friends," Lily cooed into his ear, brushing her hand through his hair. Gryffindor shot her a dirty look, but Harry didn't see it; he was staring into space beyond the old man. Lily hugged her son for a few more seconds before releasing him. "Just think of red hair."

Red hair? A photograph with moving people in it came to Harry's mind. There were four teenage boys, a girl of about twelve, a twenty-something wizard, and an older couple that was obviously their parents. Who were these people? Harry's attention was drawn to the youngest boy. He looked the most familiar and had a pet rat on his shoulder. He knew that that rat was Wormtail and that boy was Ron Weasley.

Memories flooded Harry's mind, all of them about Ron: eating chocolate frogs on the first train ride, fighting a troll to save Hermione, talking to Malfoy as Crabbe and Goyle, flying the Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow, Ron's horrid dress robes, Ron winning the Quidditch cup, and Ron shouting his head off at him were a few of them. Two things bothered Harry about these memories: Who was Hermione and why was Ron shouting?

The first question was answered almost at once. This girl seemed to be in almost every memory with Ron. Hermione Granger, Harry's other best friend, good at quick lies, finishing essays, and Ron's girlfriend. This last revelation made Harry wonder about his own love life. What girl would be stupid enough to go out with him? And why did that make him think of Ron shouting?

Thinking about his last year, Harry realized that for about a month and a half, he and Ron hadn't been speaking, nor had Harry been talking with Hermione. He thought back to the beginning of this problem. Ron was standing just inside a room decorated for Christmas, shouting his head off. It was like watching a television program with the sound muted. Harry could tell that Ron was furious and that he was shouting, but there was no sound. He looked around the room, looking for clues. Just a few feet from Ron lay a shirt Harry recognized as his own. What was it doing there?

It hit him as Ginny Weasley moved in front of him, shouting back at her brother. Harry knew what was going on. Ron had just walked in on them snogging. He was dating someone, someone very special to him: Ginny. Last winter had been hard for Harry, but at least one good thing came out of it, his relationship with Ginny had only become stronger. And once Ron and Hermione were back, Harry knew that only death would separate them again, not a single one of them wanted to end their friendship like that again. The depression it had caused in all three of them had been immense.

"Do you remember?" Lily asked, her voice filled with the deep love of a mother.

"I do," Harry replied, his wonder tinting his answer. No matter what had happened those three had stuck with him. That was a testimony to their loyalty and their friendship. Harry couldn't help but feel like he had the best friends a person could have.

By now, he had most of his memories back. His last memory though was snogging Ginny in the cave where Sirius had lived three years ago, with the exception of Remus and Tonks' wedding. Working with that misplaced memory, Harry tried to fill in the gaps he knew he had. Harry remembered the, 'treasure hunt' the twins sent them on, looking for Tonks. They had gotten held up by a clue in the woman's restroom. Harry went to get one of the ladies, but instead Ginny left him, crying. Why had she run off crying? What had he done? Yet again, the memory was muted.

When it hit him, it hit like a tsunami. He had almost killed her! But why? When? Where? How? Slowly memories of a battle in Malfoy Manor came to the surface. Why had there been a battle there? What had he been doing there? What had she been doing there? The answer to each of the questions came to him, and these memories shut his brain down once more.

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Thia entered the hospital wing, trying to appear happy and lighthearted. The room held the stifling feeling of a room containing a deathbed. And in some ways it did, Harry still had not awoken from the second coma his body had slipped into in less then a month. The bleeding had slowed tremendously, though it still oozed out. They now only had to feed him the blood replenishing potions once an hour.

Remus sat on the bed across the aisle from Harry. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sat on the bed to the left of Harry. Those three hadn't left the hospital wing and no one even tried to make them. They slept on the beds at night and huddled on one bed gaining strength from each other during the day. Molly, Poppy, and Minerva never left his side, taking care of his hourly needs. Quirke, Zane, and thankfully, Nettle conversed in their practiced healer voices, trying to figure out a cure. Thia, however, was part of the group trying to figure out what Harry had done to himself to get him his stay in the hospital wing.

It was a complete mystery. The group consisted of herself, Moody, Shacklebolt, Snape, Althea, Vector, and Pince. Several Aurors, a former Death Eater, a Healer, and two well learned intellectuals. And yet, with all their minds bent to the task, they had no clue. What would do this to a person? Harry had always been an enigma, and it seemed that he would stay that way. Thia knew that the three working on the cure did not necessarily need to know what he had done, but it sure would help. Harry wouldn't come up with a new spell just to do himself in, would he?

No! If she was sure of only one thing, she was sure that he had not planned this. He hadn't known what he would end up doing even hours before. He had not been on the swing in the play park contemplating suicide as the Order members watched. A few people had implied as much, but Thia shot them down each time and, surprisingly, so had Snape. The man had inner strengths that only Sam had seen and morals that were stronger than Thia had ever considered.

Thia walked over to her brother, and placed a loving hand on his shoulder. He looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "Nettle?" Thia mouthed and Remus nodded. There were still memories that haunted Remus concerning the woman, none of them her fault. Thia was just proud that he was willing to be in the same room as the Healer. There had been a time not so long ago when he would storm out of parties if he saw her. And there were times before that when the two had been good friends, a friendship forged during Remus' own fight for life.

Nancy Nettle was an old healer, both in age and time spent at sick beds. She only worked on the tough cases now, on every floor and every hall, save the poison ward. When Thia had been a young child, the old witch was not so old and not so renowned. The healer had grown fond of the young, shy boy tragically bitten by a werewolf and she soon became a family friend. There had been a few times when that friendship had come in handy. Thia had gotten Lily an internship with the healer herself. Numerous times when she had been injured protecting Harry, Thia had gone to Nettle for a quick healing and no reports were filed; Thia was, after all, supposed to be dead.

There were lines that had not been there thirty-five years ago. Her wrinkled face held many laugh lines, but just as many worry and thought lines. Her pure white hair was cut short and curled around her face. Thia remembered when that hair had been pitch black with only a few white hairs. It was the woman's hands that always fascinated Thia though. They were so gentle and could do very intricate wand movements, and yet they were as strong as any Aurors, holding patients still if they started to convulse. Those hands brought healing to many, and yet at times, it also brought relief from deadly pain through death.

"Nancy, Callan, Xavier, come quick," Poppy called to the healers urgently. "He's changed!"

"Changed?" Nettle said, taking charge as the eldest and most renowned healer. "How?"

"His breathing has slowed," Molly answered. "And the bleeding has increased again."

"Get a BRP in him right now," Nettle told the youngest of the three healers. Xavier Zane nodded and then hurried to the table filled with potions and picked one out. Thia turned from him to look at the teens sitting on the bed. Ginny was staring at Harry, tears filling her eyes, but not one fell. She had pulled away from Ron and sat on her own, proud and yet heart broken at the same time. Ron was holding a sobbing Hermione, a few of his own tears slipping down his cheeks. He held her as tight as he could, trying to both comfort her and find solace from her.

Remus looked up at her, and Thia saw her own thoughts mirrored in his eyes. If they failed Lily and James yet again, what would they do? There hadn't been much that Thia could have done differently, Harry had needed preparation for what was to come, and yet his life had been so cruel. Too cruel it seemed.

Zane finished feeding the potion to him, just as Quirke and Nettle finished their diagnostic spells. Nettle was biting her lip, bringing flashbacks of other death beds. Remus' shoulder tensed under Thia's hand, and she was sure he had remembered that look as well. Just as Thia had asked then, she did now, "What is it, Nancy?" The older woman's eyes lifted to meet hers and Thia was surprised by the hope that filled them.

"I think he's coming back," she said softly, her hope filling her voice. Thia was surprised and yet found no lie in her eyes.

"How?" Remus asked, fear tinting his voice. Thia remembered a time 35 years ago when Nettle had told her parents the same thing, the same hope filling it. She hadn't lied then, Remus had indeed survived the, at the time unknown bite, though once a month he still suffered from the disease.

"It's a theory I've been working on for years," Nettle said. "But the cases that it applies to are so slim and unfortunately Harry fits the profile perfectly. Mentally damaged, emotionally abused, physically broken, on the edge of death." Remus growled deep in his chest; Thia didn't like the sounds of that either. Nancy sensing their thoughts continued, "I'm sorry, that was careless of me. Quite rude, actually. But it is the truth and the truth very often hurts. But, in cases with those characteristics, odd things tend to happen, particularly if the body slips into a coma." Nettle slipped into her own thoughts and Thia knew Remus was getting impatient.

"Can you tell us your theory?" Thia asked her, trying to keep her brother from exploding. She had only seen that a few times in her life, and she didn't want to relive any of those moments. Nettle seemed lost in her thoughts for a minute, but she looked up suddenly.

"Harry had a battle at Christmas, didn't he?" Nettle asked, her voice telling Thia that she was still lost in thought.

"Yes," Ginny answered. "He was out of it for three days. Why do you ask?"

"Did he ever say anything about it?" she asked again. "It was a fight for his life, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Poppy answered. "I thought I had lost him at one point. But he came back, in the end. Why?"

"Did he ever say anything about it?" Nettle asked again.

"What does that matter?" Remus asked, his temper fraying. Thia squeezed his shoulder, wondering where Tonks was. If anyone could keep him calm at this moment it was she. And then she remembered Tonks was on Auror duty. There was no excuse for her to be gone 24/7.

"This is going to sound stupid, but I've got a good hunch and some evidence," she prefaced her explanations. "I believe when that combination of, er," she stopped, looking at Remus uncertainly. Thia elbowed him and he stopped scowling at her.

"Go on," Thia encouraged her, shooting her brother a look that told him to behave.

"I believe there's a place between life and death, where the dead speak to those who have a choice between coming back and staying there," Nettle said in one quick breath. There was a stunned silence before Snape's voice rang in the emptiness.

"I've heard the theory before," he said. "But enough with meaningless theories, I know what spell Potter used."

"Well, go on," Ron said impatiently when no one else spoke. These were the first words Thia had heard him use with anyone besides Hermione and Ginny since they had found Harry.

"He used the Killing Curse," Snape said, confidently. Thia was surprised at how silent the room had become, she hadn't thought that it could get any quieter. The silence stretched on until Remus let out a small bark of a laugh.

"He wouldn't be alive if he had," her brother said, misery and annoyance coloring his voice. "Tell me, if you're so sure, how is he still alive?"

"You have no idea, having never used the curse yourself, the amount of hatred and rage that is needed to commit to killing a person," Snape said, not letting Remus' anger affect him. "Death Eaters find one memory that creates enough hate in them and from then on they can kill whomever and whenever they must, not only those they hate."

"Would Harry have been able to kill Ginny back at the Malfoy's then?" Hermione asked. Thia noticed that Nettle's face had become lined with deep and dark thoughts, though she didn't think it was caused by Hermione's question.

"Oh, yes he would have," Snape answered, his confidence in the statement caused a few people in the room to twitch with anger. "With the ability to love greatly comes the ability to hate greatly. Miss Weasley, Potter feels very deeply for you. The thought of someone impersonating his dearly loved and departed girlfriend drove him into a deep rage. Plus, whatever was going on between Nott and him, had unsettled him. He would have killed, not you, but the one he believed impersonated you."

"What's the difference?" Hermione asked, her natural curiosity bringing her back to life. Thia was glad to see that spark back in her eyes.

"The difference is what has kept Potter alive," Snape told her. "He may have wanted to die, but he didn't hate life enough. He hated the past, maybe even the present, but not the future. Miss Weasley, I am sure he apologized for doing this, correct?" Ginny nodded. "He had been hoping for a better future, and that hope kept him alive. We must hope that his hope is strong enough to bring him back. Or else without the Chosen One, we die."

"A failed Avada Kedavra?" Nettle asked, still in her own world. Snape didn't even bother to answer; it was obvious she was thinking out loud. "Callan, go to the Hospital and ask for the Murphy file. Take this, and stay inconspicuous." She handed the woman a small medallion. "Give that to Lemon, he'll know what I want." Quirke nodded, grabbed the medallion, and started to hurry out of the Hall. "Wait!" She stopped and waited for the older woman to explain. "That won't work. Someone will see you, and that'll raise questions. Thia, you know Lemon and he knows I know you. Take that medallion and ask for the Murphy file. Tell him it's for the project we were talking about at the last function. He'll understand. Well, he should at least." Thia nodded and took the few steps to reach Quirke.

"Thanks, Callan," Thia murmured. "Just keep him alive."

"Xavier! Did I tell you to do that?" Nettle asked, turning back to Harry. Zane had been about to unwrap a few of the bandages around Harry's head. Thia shook her head and left, accompanied by the scolding voice of the old healer, yelling at the younger man.

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When Harry came to the next time, it was slowly and groggily. Memories filtered past his mind's eye, trying to put themselves in order. Memories that Harry had thought he had forgotten forever had a harder time fitting in. The memories from the last summer when he had dealt with his grief over Sirius' death and the Prophecy found their slot. He watched as he told his friends about the prophecy. Memories of his desire for revenge and his acceptance of the role he must fill were remembered. All were memories that brought peace to his mind.

Yet, along with the peace came a cold dread. He had remembered the someone. Voldemort. The man had caused so much pain and suffering in Harry's mind and body and life. No, not a man, he was a monster. He wasn't human. But, if he wasn't human, could he die? Harry sure hoped so, in the end only one of them would survive. How did this monster die? What was his weakness? There was none that he could think of, had ever thought of.

Along with the memories of the past month and a half, along with the pain and suffering, came the one memory of how he had arrived here. Everything made sense now. The dark looks on his companions' faces. The heavy feeling of pain that seemed to overwhelm him. The immense longing to sit in the shade of the nearest tree. The thorn bushes discouraging him from going to the right and off the cliff.

Harry looked up and into the miserable face of Gryffindor. They knew that he had remembered how he had gotten there. They also seemed to understand, even if they were a bit disappointed in him. Harry opened his mouth to apologize, but closed it. In the end, he wasn't sorry that he had. Whichever way he chose to walk, whether to the right or to the left, Harry knew he would be the better for it. Finally, they couldn't ignore his pleads for help, that is, if he returned. Harry wasn't so sure he would.

"We need to have that chat now, Harry," Gryffindor informed him, but it wasn't a command. It was a request that had urgency to it. There wouldn't be another chance to have it. And if Harry chose to stay... There would be no need to chat at all.

"What did I tell you the first time you were here?" Gryffindor asked.

Harry turned his gaze away, not wanting to think about that first time. Slowly and unbidden, that memory arose. "Be careful with your choices these next few years. Remember that you'll see many paths and the only paths worth walking are difficult and hard. Don't succumb to the easy paths. Walk the straight and narrow." Harry knew the easy path was staying, and yet, didn't he deserve some rest, some peace?

"Of course you do, my little one," Lily answered having seen the look of longing and desperation on his face. "You more then anyone. No matter what he says," she went on, looking at Gryffindor angrily, "you may stay if that's what you want. Do not let him guilt you into this. Good things done for the wrong reasons are not good things at all!"

Harry nodded and thought about it. There were so many reasons just to give up. Harry wanted that peace so much. He needed that peace. There wasn't much that could override that need. Those thorn bushes were thick. There were things that pulled at him, but could he overcome the intense longing to stay in the shade. The heat was getting to him, but it seemed to affect only him.

"Why is it so hot this time?" Harry asked.

"You're in immense pain," Gryffindor answered. "You really did a number on yourself."

"How did I survive?" Harry asked; he had used the one spell he couldn't think of a loop hole for. "Shouldn't I have died?"

"You're something else, kiddo," Sirius told him with a sad smile. "You never quite follow the rules. You're truly a Marauder's son."

"Mmm," Harry mumbled. "I'd much rather follow the rules. You don't get hurt as often."

"Not necessarily," Gryffindor replied. "Sometimes you get hurt one way or the other. Think of the innocents that have died." Harry grimaced.

"What makes one person an innocent and another not?" he asked, challenging Gryffindor. "Wasn't I an innocent when my parents died? Wasn't I an innocent when Quirrel tried to kill me? Wasn't I an innocent when the dementors tried to take my soul? Wasn't I an innocent when Voldemort took my blood and tried to kill me? Wasn't I an innocent when Voldemort possessed me? Wasn't I an innocent when I was captured and tortured day in and day out? Tell me, when do you move on from being innocent?"

"You were never an innocent," Gryffindor replied frustrated. "Maybe when you were one, but every time after that you chose to be in the middle of things!"

"How did I choose any of this?" Harry asked, letting his temper get the better of him. "What was I supposed to do, let Voldemort get the stone? Let Ginny die? Let the dementors suck my soul? How did I choose to go to the graveyard? Was I supposed to let Sirius just get tortured in the Ministry, whether or not he was really there? Let Ginny, Ron, and Hermione die? How did I have a choice in any of this! I want my choice! Screw bloody fate!"

"Harry," Lily scolded. "Watch your mouth! You're as bad as your Godfather!" Sirius and James laughed, but Harry only looked at her briefly. "Harry dear, you did have a choice, in all of that. You didn't have to go to the rescue! And most anyone that grew up the way you did would have chosen not to. I'm sorry that you can't see the choice in that. Well, actually I'm not. That means your heart is so... pure that you can see no other choice." Harry slumped a bit, but kept on walking. He had learnt a long time ago to spot logic when it was staring him in the face; Hermione had done a good job at that.

"But..." Harry stopped, unable to form words for his request. He didn't want war; he didn't want to be the pivot this war hinged on! He wanted his choice for peace! Why couldn't he be yet another innocent victim of this war? Why couldn't he just die?

"Harry," James said over Lily's auburn head, his voice causing Harry to put up defenses against whatever argument his father gave. "Son, what do you want?" Harry almost stopped, stunned by the question. What did he want? He wanted peace.

"Just peace for yourself?" Lily asked, her gentle hand brushing back some hair from his forehead. Harry was forcefully reminded of Ginny. No, he wanted peace for her too.

"Just peace for you and Ginny?" Sirius asked. Harry knew where this was going now.

"You couldn't, oh, I don't know," Harry said suddenly. "You couldn't go float over there or something. I need to think, alone." Lily smiled at him and gently led James off to the side, Sirius following. "You too, Gryffindor. You're as dangerous as they are combined." Gryffindor pulled a sour face but floated over to join the others.

Harry finally realized what this place was for, or what it was like. He selfishly wanted peace. Yet, it seemed that Gryffindor had known that he would show up when he did. And hadn't one of them complained that Gryffindor hadn't let them watch over him during that hour when he had needed them most?

So... If he stayed, would he really get peace? Sure, he wouldn't have to fight, but could he watch as Ginny, Hermione, and Ron fought? Would he be able to watch, unable to help as Mrs. Weasley, Thia, Remus, and Tonks fought? What about if and when He attacked Hogwarts and all the students? Would that really be peace? Would he be happy with the peace just for himself, if that is what it would be?

Of course not! He understood why he had tried to kill himself. Harry was still glad he had done it! Now people like Dumbledore wouldn't be able to say that he was coping just fine. He wasn't and now they knew. But Harry couldn't just stay here and watch as each of his friends joined him on this side of death. There was only one person that would be able to defeat Him and that was himself. Harry Potter. Harry James Potter.

He looked up and over at his family: Lily watching him, a tear running down her cheek; James watching him, understanding shining from him; and Sirius watching him, a fierce pride filling his eyes. And then there was Gryffindor who watched Harry with calculating eyes. They knew his choice; he didn't even have to tell them. They knew what he'd choose the second he asked for some alone time.

Slowly the other four floated back, and joined Harry again, Lily and James in between him and life, Sirius in between him and death, and Gryffindor in between him and his future.

"I barely remembered this place last time," Harry informed them. "Will I this time? And what about those memories that I had buried, will I still remember them?"

"Yes," Gryffindor replied.

"You made the Prophecy about me and Him, didn't you?" Harry asked, this abrupt thought coming out before he had realized it. "You did, through Trelawny!"

"Yes," Gryffindor answered solemnly.

"Why me?" Harry asked, trying to figure out why it had to be him.

"Because," Gryffindor replied. "And I can't answer more then that. It would ruin the surprise. Lily, do not give me that look! I cannot tell the boy!"

"He's no boy!" Sirius growled.

"True," Gryffindor conceded. "In that case, I cannot tell the young man."

Harry nodded; he had guessed that that would be the answer. Some things should not be known, and he agreed that this should be one of them. He agreed even though he wanted to know desperately. Harry looked past his parents and at the overgrown thorn bushes.

"How do I get through these bushes?" he wondered out loud.

"You want to go back?" Gryffindor asked, and Harry glared at the man. "Do you want to go back?" he asked again.

"Yes!" Harry replied exasperated by the man. "If I didn't want to go back would I have asked how to get past them?"

"Do you want to go back?" was Gryffindor's answer.

"Yes, I want to go back!" Harry yelled, his patience gone. The thorn bushes disappeared just as quickly as his temper.

"Sometimes this place has a hard time reading thoughts," Gryffindor replied as if that made the most sense in the world. "So you have to speak up and tell it exactly what you want. Now, here's my advice for the moment, stay here 'til the heat dies down."

"Why?"

"Because, young Harry, the heat represents the pain your body is in," the old man explained again. "When the heat is gone, your body is ready for your mind to come back. You've never been this close to death before, hence the heat and the thorn bushes and the lush landscape. I want you to realize that the last two have been replaced with something a bit more fitting for a mind that wants to go home.

Sure enough, the meadow was gone, replaced by the old barren sickly landscape. The heat though was unbearable and the only place Harry saw for some relief was the ocean far below the coast. There was nothing in between Harry and that relief, except a jump off the face of the cliff.

"Harry, I want you to remember a message for me," Lily said, pleading with him. "Tell Severus that Sam sends her love, but she's too busy with Shylah to tell you herself."

"And tell Snape that I'm sorry for being a bully back at school," James said, a repeat from last time. "He's proven time and again that he didn't deserve the way we treated him."

"If you see Nott, kick his sorry arse for me," Sirius told Harry, all playfulness gone. "That man has done a million and one things that do deserve the way we treated Snape."

"You're telling me!" Harry said vehemently. "But no more killing for me, particularly the Killing Curse itself. I've learnt my lesson."

"I sure hope so," Lily replied. "Harry, I want you to understand something about this Prophecy. You can turn your back to it and walk away. I don't think Voldemort would let you, but you can make that choice. You aren't stuck with this unless you want to be stuck with it."

"I want it," Harry said solemnly. "I never truly didn't want it. I just wanted a break and I think I've gotten that."

"I think so too," Lily replied, brushing that one lock of hair back out of his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Albus was wandering the halls of his school late at night exactly one week after Harry's suicide attempt. Where had he gone wrong with that boy? Everything seemed to look so perfect on paper. However, in real life, it had failed miserably. Was there one thing that had put it so far off track?

In the long run, he had realized that everything had been wrong. Well, everything from one view point. Harry should never have been put through the abuse at the Dursleys' home. He shouldn't have had to fight Voldemort at eleven. He shouldn't have been the only one around to save Ginevra Weasley. He shouldn't have found out about Sirius the way he had. He shouldn't have had to go through the horror of the third Triwizard Task. He shouldn't have been so alone throughout his fifth year. He shouldn't have had to bargain his life for his friends'.

And yet... he should have. Harry had needed this preparation for his task. He couldn't have been coddled in some loving family, growing up to be a spoiled brat. If Albus had sugar coated Harry's six years at Hogwarts, the boy would have no chance in surviving the fight that would come sooner then any of them wanted.

Albus sighed deeply; this task of preparing Harry would be much easier if the boy wasn't so easy to love. He had never married, didn't have any nephews or nieces, in fact it seemed that this would be the last of the Dumbledore line. But Albus had started to see Harry as a grandson, something that made his task so much harder. How different these last few years would have turned out if he didn't view Harry as such. The Prophecy told at the age of fourteen instead of fifteen. It would have changed everything.

There was another boy that was worrying Albus at the moment: Draco Malfoy. Not that he doubted the boy's disloyalty to Voldemort. Draco would not serve Voldemort, this he was sure of. The boy saw the pointlessness of serving the monster, but Dumbledore was afraid that some of Harry's words to Draco would come back and bite them in the butt.

"I would think that a person of your aptitude and intelligence would at the very least want to become the next Dark Lord and rival and eventually overthrow Voldemort." Albus wished with his whole soul that Harry hadn't started the boy on the wrong path. It was such a touchy subject with Slytherins. You give them a good idea to gain power and they run with it. Even Severus was a bit worried about the boy, though he didn't let others see it.

Albus opened the door, but turned at hurried footsteps coming from behind him. Thia rushed past, a huge folder in her arms. Dumbledore followed in slowly, this was the first time the old man had entered the room since Harry had returned. The first time Albus had seen the boy. He was covered in bandages, head to foot. It appeared that Nancy Nettle, Callan Quirke, and Xavier Zane had all been trying to remove and replace bandages, but now they were talking with Thia, hope easily read in their expressions.

The old man sighed when he saw the extent of the boy's injuries. "A failed Avada Kedavra," he said right away, stunning everyone. It seemed that no one had noticed him, not even Thia; she had been too excited about what she carried.

Severus nodded and turned back to the conversation he was having with the healers and Thia. Nancy stared at him. "What do you know about it?" she asked trying to find out everything she could about it.

"That's about it," he replied. "This has only happened a handful of times, each one an attempted suicide."

"What of Voldemort?" Hermione asked from a bed next to Harry's. Ron had his arms around both her and his sister.

"That, Miss Granger is a different story entirely," Albus replied. "What do you have, Nancy?"

"Lemon and I have been trying to figure out how Voldemort survived the rebounded spell," she replied. "We both are very interested in this young man," she said motioning her head at Harry. "What have you been up to? I've been here a week and this is the first time I've seen you, Albus. That's very unlike you."

"Harry gave me many things to think about," Albus replied, sinking back into his deep and depressing thoughts. Did he really use Harry as a pawn? Not willingly, that's for sure. If he could figure out a way to keep Harry's childhood intact and yet have him ready for the upcoming battle, he would jump and use that plan in an instant. Yet there was no other way. Not unless they wanted this war to continue for years after Harry graduated. "I do believe I have a slim volume on the past failed Killing Curses. Would you like it?"

"I would appreciate that, Al, greatly," Nancy replied, her face showing concern for him. They were old friends; they had been in the same year at Hogwarts.

"I am fine, Nan, just fine," Albus said with a tired smile and answering the unasked question. "Worry about the boy, not me."

"I'll worry about all of you in this war," Nancy replied. "After all, I'm the one healing your cuts and bruises, old man." Nancy smiled warmly and he returned it as best he could. "This young man is going to need to be helped from the pit he's fallen into. Are you prepared to help him?"

"If he'll let me," Albus replied. "We have many things in common." Nancy nodded a sad reminiscent look on her face. They were indeed old friends. "Have you seen my brother recently? I floo-ed his residence and he wasn't there."

"That's 'cause I'm right behind you, Al," a slightly limping man said behind Albus. He turned around to see his younger brother walking down the length of the Hall. "I was getting worried 'bout you and I promised mum that I'd look after you! I probably left right before you floo-ed."

"Yes," Albus replied with a thought, "that is probably what happened. What do you think about the boy?"

"An odd case indeed," Aberforth said, imitating Albus' voice and gestures. "But, alas, we'll find no answers here."

"Abe, please be serious about this," Nancy said, trying to keep the smile off her face, but failing to keep it out of her voice. "Do you know anything about this?"

"Only as much as Al does, dear Nan," he said, sweeping over to her and bowing over her hand. "It has been too long since we last spoke," he finished, kissing the back of her hand. Nancy hit him over the head just as she had done for the past 140 some odd years.

"We saw each other not two days ago, Abe, so quit it or I'll kick you out of here!" Nancy turned back to her patient. "Callan and Xavier finish with the bandages. Try to minimize the damage to the tissue as best you can. You were going to get me a book, weren't you, Al?"

"Of course, of course," Albus replied. "Aberforth, why don't you come with me?"

"Stop calling me Aberforth!" his brother complained as they started walking toward the door of the Hall. "You don't call Nymphadora Nymphadora."

"That is because I call her Miss Tonks, and if that's what you want me to call you, I will," Albus replied to his brother.

"I'd love it if you called me Miss Tonks," Aberforth joked. They exited the door and it closed behind them. "It's a bit... depressed in there, though it seemed that the hope was returning. Whatcha been up to, Al? Lost in thought somewhere... or... somewhen?"

"Not now, not here," Albus said softly, walking towards his office. They walked in silence the rest of the way to his office. He could tell that Aberforth was anxious to get his questions answered. They walked quickly, trying to get there as fast as possible without running. It seemed, by Aberforth's next statement, that he had thought of that as well.

"Not running through these halls as we used to, are we Al?" he asked.

"No, not anymore, Abe," Albus said thoughtfully. "Remember when Strouff put us in four weeks detention for running up and down the main staircase from the Entrance Hall?"

"How could I not, we did that all day!" Aberforth replied, laughing at the memory. "He was trying to figure out some way to actually punish us, because we were fully within our rights to do that!"

"Too bad he realized that we had skipped a full day's worth of classes to annoy him," he said, that had been a good time. "It was worth it!"

"Of course." They fell back into their silence and walked the remainder of the way without another word. Albus gave the password to his office and led the way onto the ascending stairs. He opened the door to his office and petted Fawkes' wing. Ignoring the portraits' angry sniffs and tuts, Albus led the way into his personal rooms.

"Privacy, it's just the two of us, Abe," Albus told him once the door was shut. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," Aberforth replied.

"There is too much to say in so short a time," Albus countered. "Not to mention where to begin."

"Start at the beginning and it's not like you can't ignore the world for one more day," Aberforth argued back. Albus nodded his head; that was good logic.

"I can't believe I drove him to do this," Albus said, sinking into his chair. "After Hezzad did what he did, I swore I'd never do that to another human being."

"You didn't have a choice," Aberforth said, trying to comfort him. "You've been thinking 'bout then."

"Yes," Albus replied slouching more in his seat. "How can I not?"

"True," Aberforth said with a nod. "You recognized the wounds right away then."

"Of course," he sighed. "They were just as you described. Only worse, because I was the one to put Harry in that situation. No wonder Hezzad felt so badly about it."

"He was never quite the same again. You really did a number to him with that note," Aberforth finished thoughtfully.

"Harry did the same," Albus said, getting up and searching a drawer for a piece of paper. "Here, read it." He handed the letter to his brother and watched as Aberforth read it slowly.

"'How do you sleep at night?' Gees, a bit harsh there, isn't he?" Aberforth said, whistling softly. "The package was filled with fingers, correct?"

"Yes," Albus replied sadly. "I don't sleep anymore," he said softly. "I haven't for a very long time. Not since Hezzad and Grindelwald. Not since long before that."

"Nan never knew 'bout that, did she?" Aberforth asked after a bit of silence.

"No," Albus answered. "Everyone agreed that it was best kept a secret. All of it. She knew about it, but none of the details."

"That was probably for the best," his brother replied.

"It was and is," Albus replied. "Though it's about time I leveled with Harry. I think I owe him that much."

"You just might."