Harry Potter and the Alchemist's Cell

Chapter 2: Revelation in D-Flat Minor

Still mildly disoriented from his Uncle's punch to the jaw, Harry sat for a few minutes, idly chatting with Ron and Hermione about their summer and the events that were developing quickly. After using a few drying charms to rid themselves of most of the water they were drenched in, Ron had gone over to the fridge immediately, and had pulled out ingredients to make a sandwich. Ever hungry, he had complained about not having eaten since being on the train (which had been a mere hour ago - Ron had messily devoured most of the chocolate frogs Harry had bought). With the exacting precision of a man who was in touch with what his stomach wanted, he had made a sandwich in a minute or so and had set into it voraciously. Hermione had straddled her chair, resting her head on her arms, which in turn rested on the back of the chair. After giving an obligatory eye roll at Ron, she turned back to Harry, and stared at his forehead, much to Harry's obvious discomfort. Ron rattled on, ensconced in his sandwich.

"--And so, it's like I said, Fleur and Bill really pushed their wedding back -" Ron stopped to take a large bite. "Izza las Sa'uray ff July," he gulped, swallowing, and continuing to talk, as though Harry and Hermione had made out exactly what he said with his mouth full. "I think that's the twenty-sixth or so - they wanted to have it earlier but with... you know," he added quietly. "So we've got about four weeks, mate," Ron finished, looking up from his plate and over at Harry. Harry grimaced, having earlier been convinced by Hermione and eventually Ron to remain at the Dursleys' residence as long as possible owing to its inaccessibility to Voldemort and the protection he was afforded there. "Not that we have to spend the entire thing here. I can imagine you want to spend some time with Ginny," he added with a grin.

Harry paled. "Umm... yeah, Ginny..." he stuttered. Ginny Weasley, Ron's only sister, a year younger than the three of them, had previously been Harry's girlfriend - that was, until Headmaster Dumbledore's death. Harry had severed the relationship with Ginny at that time. Though the monster in his chest still beat strong for the petite redhead, Harry had felt too strongly enough about her and her family's safety to risk them becoming targets for Voldemort by his continued dating of her. What Harry hadn't told her was that he was fairly certain he would not be alive by the end of the year - Harry was, as the Daily Prophet, for once, accurately reported; he was the Chosen One, the one prophesized to take down Voldemort or die trying. Harry hadn't needed to tell Ginny this - as they had a very good understanding of each other, and he had assumed correctly that she knew this, despite whatever prophecy might have been made. Nevertheless, this did not make his job any easier, as he learned after Dumbledore's funeral when he had broken the news to her:

It was an absolutely gorgeous summer day, perhaps in mockery of the general atmosphere. A white tomb stood in the background against a crystal blue lake and a lushly green forest. The red-headed girl in front of him, Ginny - his Ginny - was no longer crying, though the red streaks were apparent in her eyes where tears had flown. She met Harry's gaze with the same hard, blazing look she wore whenever she was baring her soul for something, and he knew that at that moment they understood each other perfectly, and that when he told her what he was going to do now, she would not say, 'Be careful', or 'Don't do it', but accept his decision, because she would not have expected anything less of him. And so he steeled himself to say what he had known he must say ever since Dumbledore had died.

"Ginny, listen..." he said very quietly, as the buzz of con-versation grew louder around them and people began to get to their feet. "I can't be involved with you any more. We've got to stop seeing each other. We can't be together."

She said, with an oddly twisted smile, "It's for some stupid, noble reason, isn't it?"

"It's been like... like something out of someone else's life, these last few weeks with you,' said Harry. 'But I can't... we can't... I've got things to do alone now."

She did not cry, she simply looked at him.

"Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to. He's already used you as bait once, and that was just because you're my best friend's sister. Think how much danger you'll be in if we keep this up. He'll know, he'll find out. He'll try and get to me through you."

"What if I don't care?" said Ginny fiercely.

"I care," said Harry. "How do you think I'd feel if this was your funeral... and it was my fault..." She looked away from him, over the lake.

"I never really gave up on you," she said. "Not really. I always hoped... Hermione told me to get on with life, maybe go out with some other people, relax a bit around you, because I never used to be able to talk if you were in the room, remember? And she thought you might take a bit more notice if I was a bit more - myself."

"Smart girl, that Hermione," said Harry, trying to smile. "'I just wish I'd asked you sooner. We could've had ages... months... years maybe..."

"But you've been too busy saving the wizarding world," said Ginny, half-laughing. "Well... I can't say I'm surprised. I knew this would happen in the end. I knew you wouldn't be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort. Maybe that's why I like you so much."

Harry could not bear to hear these things, nor did he think his resolution would hold if he remained sitting beside her.

He had tried to talk Ron and Hermione into leaving too, for their own protection - but they had not left him alone as he had desperately tried to convince them too. Resigned to the fact (and although very upset that they'd put themselves in danger, very glad he'd have them at his side), he had consented to them coming home with him and being by his side for the summer. He hadn't planned to tell Ron that he had broken up with his little sister so early on in the summer, but Harry's stomach was telling him again that it would be wise to let Ron sooner rather than later. However, the same stomach was doing flip-flops over telling Ron.

Ginny had been on his mind a lot lately, and he had pondered many a night, weak and weary, as to whether he had made the right decision or not. Though he had known it had to come, he still debated with himself about it. Gin seemed so perfect for him, always knowing how he was feeling, how to cheer him up when he was sad, and... damn, he thought, and what a kisser. The feisty Gryffindor soon-to-be sixth-year had entered his life like a lion, and that was one avenue that they'd explored (to the extent that Harry's lips had become nearly as numb as his brain when he was entwined with her), but in his opinion, not nearly often enough.

"Umm, Ron..." Harry started, trying to find the words. "Ginny and I - well, that is to say - I - Ginny was -" he stumbled, failing miserably to find them. "--Well, umm... Ginanmebrokeup."

"You what? Didn't catch that, Harry," Ron said, having just finished his sandwich, possibly setting a speed record for consumption thereof. Hermione, however, had heard him perfectly well - and her eyes reflected it.

For a fleeting second, Harry had thought he had seen a look of confusion, then replaced with anger, then replaced just as fast with a look of cool indifference - that seemed to Harry to be the worst of the three, knowing he had earned the displeasure of Hermione, who had taken it upon herself to be Harry and Ginny's matchmaker. Harry didn't feel too bad about this, though - he was still slightly brassed off at Hermione, who had been sceptical towards what he had been saying last year, especially around the topic of Draco Malfoy. Draco was Harry's former adversary - his school rival; it was Draco who had been plotting to get Death Eaters (Voldemort's masked minions) inside the school so they could kill Dumbledore - which, Harry had been, in equal parts upset and vindicated to note had happened. She had also been unequivocally frosty towards him regarding his Potions book. Annotated throughout by the 'Half-Blood Prince' - who had in the end, turned out to be Snape (Harry conceded this point, which was in his mind meaningless anyways with the exception that it used to belong to the greasy-haired git who had murdered Dumbledore), the book had helped boost Harry's Potions grade beyond Hermione's, which had, in Harry's opinion, been the reason Hermione had been shirty towards him the entire year.

Harry sighed; he had told Ron and Ron hadn't heard him, once again forcing him to relive his break up. Resigning himself to the physical abuse that would probably come from the redhead (Ron had always been very protective of his little sister), he took a deep breath and tried again. "Ginny and I broke up. Last week, after Professor Dumbledore's funeral..." He trailed off, biting his lower lip slightly, waiting for Ron's imminent explosion.

To his immense surprise, however, Ron grinned. This surprised Harry; he had fully expected Ron to toss him out of his own house, or for Ron to hex him within an inch of life. "You mean 'I broke up with Ginny,' I suss. I don't think Ginny would let you go, and I doubt if she won't tell you exactly where to shove your 'nobility of heart'. She was probably just ripped up over Dumbledore," Ron finished.

"Ron..." Harry's voice cracked, "I can't keep seeing her. If Voldemort were to find out -" he stopped, turning his head away and wiping the tear now forming in his eye.

"I know, mate, but you're dealing with a Weasley woman. There hasn't been one in seven generations, but I still hear stories today of the last one's temper, and Ginny isn't any exception. All I'm saying, Harry, is that whether you and Ginny stay together has no bearing on whether you want to stay with Ginny. She's made up her mind, and not even a Reducto to the head would separate you from her. You don't have a say in this, mate."

Harry frowned, feeling his emotions beginning to swell, anger filling him. He wanted, no - needed Ron to understand that he couldn't be with Ginny, no matter how much he wanted, because he needed her to be alive - she was his hope and his reason to stay alive after he killed Voldemort. He knew he would kill him eventually, but he wanted to stay alive for her and have ten children with Ginny and become an Auror and Minister for Magic and fix everything wrong with the world and - he cut himself off, and be happy. As emotion filled his body, he heard himself raise his voice at Ron, no longer in his normal voice, but in a very gruff, barking voice that was very unlike his own and he heard himself, almost removed from his body. "Ron, I can't be with her. I have to face Voldemort, I can't be with anyone."

Ron nodded, and smirked again in a manner that caused Harry's blood to boil. "You don't have a choice, mate. She's going to be all over you," he said as he turned to Hermione. "Five Sickles on him not making it in the front door of The Burrow before he's tackled."

With those words, Harry felt himself snap. The pent up anger and rage he had been keeping since Dumbledore's funeral manifested and Harry felt himself rising, fists clenched in anger, ready to strike Ron, to wipe the stupid grin off of his face. The monster in his chest roared, taking his anger and refining it into a sword with which he would stab Ron with, with which he would pummel Ron with and show him the truth, the harsh unavoidable truth that he and Ginny would never be because he was destined to take out Voldemort and most likely die. The anger, however, never got to leave him, as he stood up, and felt his head give a dizzying turn as he fainted, knocking his head against the table on the way down.

---

Harry woke up to Hermione.

She was leaning over him, hand on his forehead, eyes whirling with an emotion Harry thought was a mix of concern and anger. She had not noticed his eyes were open; or if she had, she had gotten lost in his, staring into him, trying to find what had affected him to make him so angry. She was staring at him, and for the second time that evening, Harry had the very uncomfortable feeling of trying to be read. In fact, it made him altogether too uncomfortable, and he felt his cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

"Ouch," he quietly intoned, hoping to startle Hermione from her reverie (but also very honestly; his head ached). It worked; she sat up quickly, and looked Harry over, then looked across to Ron, who was on Harry's other side looking concerned before her eyes flitted back down to him.

"No sign of a concussion," she said to Ron, before turning back. "Harry!" she said, anxiously. "Are you alright? What happened? Was it your scar? Did you just stand up too fast? We should write Sir--" She paused. Dumble--," she began and stopped just as abruptly, interrupted from her pre-programmed response as she remembered that neither were no longer around to write to. "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm perfectly fine, Hermione. My uncle just pounded in my head and I bashed it into a table when I passed out. Hermione, I have a pounding headache, what do you think?" Harry responded, briefly annoyed at her question when he was clearly not all right.

She frowned at him, and then pulled her wand from her jeans, still damp from the storm outside. With a quick flick, she calmly intoned a spell (Caputotium!) and tucked it back into her back pocket. Harry's head instantly felt lighter and thought returned again, the dull pounding in his head vanishing although the dull imprint of table still remained. He sat up, not feeling dizzy at all, and accepted Ron's hand up.

"Where'd you learn something like that, anyways? That's a bloody useful spell!" he asked, as Hermione jumped up with Ron's help, giving him a quick squeeze around the waist as she stood.

"Honestly, Harry, if you just paid attention you'd know so many more spells. That was the second charm Professor Flitwick taught us last year. As I recall, you and Ron were too busy talking about Quidditch to pay attention." At this, Ron grinned cheekily at Harry, who frowned. How many times had his scar bothered him before? If he had known this, he might have stood a better chance against Voldemort in the graveyard of his fourth year the night Voldemort was reborn, or against Voldemort in the ministry two years ago, when Voldemort had appeared and tried to kill him again, after Harry had foiled (by accident, but still foiled) his plan to retrieve a prophecy about Harry and himself. Harry was now affronted that no one had thought to tell him this spell, and turned to Hermione angrily.

"Before you even ask Harry - and yes, you are that predictable, you think very visibly - it only eases physical head pain, so nothing like your scar aching or Umbridge's blood quill would be affected, nor the Cruciatus, legilimenically-induced pain, or typical spell damage. The theory is quite fascinating - instead of blocking reception of pain impulses at the hypothalamus like traditional Muggle medicine, it stimulates the release of long-lasting endorphins at the point of contact. Magic isn't affected by endorphins, so any magical trauma requires more advanced spells that are usually only taught at healer level - or so says Flitwick, but I have a theory on some of the higher-level neurological spells that -" Hermione said, before being cut off by Ron:

"You're way too smart for your own good, you know that, Hermione?" he smiled, hugging her tightly. Harry chuckled, and even Hermione smiled.

"That's our Hermione," he responded, but couldn't quite hide being quite impressed with her large knowledge of spells and magic overall. That's what I need to be like, he thought to himself, reminding himself silently of the battle he would have to fight with Voldemort and trying to avoid reminding himself of how poorly prepared he was to hunt down and destroy the remaining Horcruces - the items that Lord Voldemort had sealed parts of his soul in to ensure his immortality, and the items that Harry had to destroy before he could square off against Voldemort himself. While Harry was far from jealous of Hermione, Voldemort had fifty years experience that Harry did not and Harry could not help but feel (slightly) that he had squandered the past few years of his magical education.

"I should try to learn some of those higher-level healing charms; my mind really hurts after Voldemort or Snape uses legilimency. And to be honest, it wouldn't hurt after I've fought one of them, I always come out with some cuts or some sort of headache after running into one of them," he finished. "I reckon I've got more scars than Professor Moody does now." Professor Alastor Moody was the grizzled ex-Auror who served as their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor in their fourth year (although it had not technically been him, but rather an impostor). Moody was covered in many scars as a result of fighting dark wizards for most of his life.

Ron frowned. "I know you've got the basilisk scar, and the one on your forehead, but what other scars do you have? And it really doesn't make sense, why would you always have headaches?" he asked.

"Well, I've got the one on my forehead and from the basilisk like you said," Harry replied. "Had a headache when I fought Quirrell, and then in fourth year I've got the scar one from the Horntail," he said as he paused, gesturing at his shoulder. "One on my knee from the Spider just before Voldemort came back, the cut on my arm from where Pettigrew took my blood, and I had a horrid headache that time... and then again when I met Voldemort after I duelled Bellatrix in the Department of Mysteries, oh - and Umbridge's blood quill. There's a small one on the back of my skull from when Dudley hit me and I gashed my head on a brick, a couple more on my back and stomach from various games of Harry Hunting and other mishaps - oh, and I had a headache when I duelled Snape after he killed Dumbledore."

"You duelled Snape?" came the surprised reply from both Hermione and Ron.

"Of course I did," Harry replied exasperatedly. "I told you all about it four days ago!"

"No, mate, you didn't," Ron replied, with one eyebrow raised in scepticism. "You've hardly told us anything these last few years, let alone days."

Hermione looked at Harry and then at the ground, and in a very quiet, nervous voice, she spoke: "You came with Ginny to the hospital wing, Harry, and just told us that Snape killed Dumbledore. You didn't tell us at all how you knew anything, we don't even know where you went while trying to find that Horcrux. What happened that night, Harry?" Her eyes were telling a different story than her voice were - sparkling angrily, clearly showing her passion to have more knowledge of the happenings.

Harry sighed, and sat down. "Bit of a story, I guess. Dumbledore and I went to the cave," he spoke, pausing, Ron and Hermione's faces flashing recognition at the mention of the cave Voldemort had discovered as a boy. "Dumbledore drank a potion that was covering the locket, and it really weakened him," he said, letting out a sigh at his recollection of those events. "You know, this is ruddy hard to get out. How much d'you reckon a Pensieve would cost?" He looked up inquisitively at them. "I think I have enough bad memories for one brain; it probably wouldn't hurt to have a second one to store some in." He caught Ron shuddering out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't like brains," said Ron, quietly, his eyes clenched shut and taking very deep breaths. "Please, let's not talk about brains," he added a moment later, as Harry recalled a much-confused Ron summoning one during their fifth year, inside the Department of Mysteries. The brains had left welts that still showed on Ron's wrists, and Harry knew Ron had only pushed the memories of the incident out of his mind due to the events that had occurred the last year.

"Harry, perhaps you could show us your bedroom and where we'll be staying," Hermione said, changing the subject quickly, "then we'll think about the Pensieve."

Harry nodded and stood up slowly, making sure that he wasn't going to pass out again, before he began walking towards the stairs, pointing things out as he went. "Well, obviously this is the kitchen, and that's the dining room, and to the right there is the veranda. This here is was my cupboard," he said, as he rapped it smartly with his knuckles before continuing on. "There's the living room -" he said as he was cut off sharply by Hermione.

"What do you mean, your cupboard?" she asked, her voice pointed and not unlike, Harry noticed somewhat amusedly, not unlike Mrs. Weasley's voice when she had found something out and was rooting for more information. "Harry, what do you mean, your cupboard?"

Harry smiled wanly as he climbed slowly up the stairs, replying acerbically, "It was my room. I slept in it and kept all my things in it from the time I was one-and-a-bit to about a week before my eleventh birthday." He noted the indignant look she wore, and instantly regret mentioning it; pity was about the last thing he wanted right now. He spoke again: "You guys knew I didn't have a great life with the Dursleys. Let's just ignore it, please?" he asked, reaching the top of the stairs and silently pointing out the sole small bathroom of the house as they continued down the hallway, turning the corner and standing outside the bedroom on the far left. "That's Dudley's room." He gestured across the hallway - "Probably best to stay out of it, the smell isn't pleasant. That's the guest bedroom," he said, as he waved at the room beside his, "but my Aunt and Uncle would flip if we used it. It's virtually exclusive to Marge.

"Finally, that's Vernon and Petunia's room. Another good one to stay out of; I don't know a strong enough memory charm if you should happen to walk in on something." He turned and opened the seven locks on the outside of his door before turning the knob and stepping inside. "And welcome to my humble abode, which is really more of a box than a room," he said, letting them in before closing the door.

"Harry," Hermione said, her eyes somewhat red and her voice ragged, as Harry silently swore under his breath knowing that she wouldn't leave it alone until he let her get it out, turning around slowly. "Harry, how did you live in a cupboard? How would you fit in it? Where would you put your toys and things?" she asked, obviously not willing to let it go

Harry stayed silent, turning back away and walking over to his bed, not really wanting to answer the question, having seen her begin to tear up already, and Ron looking around awkwardly, not quite willing to meet Harry's eyes - Harry had the feeling that Ron was feeling pretty lucky for the childhood that he had had, albeit with hand-me-downs and altogether too many siblings. He sat down on the far side of the bed, staring out the window silently, as he felt the springs depress gently behind him and he smelt the telltale soft scent of what appeared to be a cross between some sort of flower and treacle tart that indicated Hermione had sat down beside him as a small hand was put lightly on his shoulder.

"Harry..." Hermione began, slowly, obviously trying to prevent herself from crying, "why didn't you tell me - why didn't you tell us? If we'd known, we never would have let you come back here each year." She let out a little sob, obviously incapable of holding it in any longer. "Harry... please, show me the scars? Show me the scars they gave you?" she asked quietly, giving his shoulder a light squeeze.

Harry sighed, and took his head out of his hands, pulling off his shirt obligingly and setting it in his lap, resting his head in his hands, and wincing slightly at Hermione's stifled gasp and Ron's 'Bloody hell, mate!' that came from across the doorway.

"There's so many," Hermione said, obviously in shock, as Harry felt a cool finger run up his back, tracing them slowly and lightly. "I can't believe they did this to you, Harry, I can't believe it."

Harry gave another sigh, and then spoke quietly, not at all comfortable with being pitied and cried over. "It was only Dudley. It was 'be fast or get punched.' I'm used to it, really. Probably good training for the rest of my life, only now, it's 'be fast or be dead.' Anyways, we have things to do." He stood up, and made to put on his shirt, only to find himself impeded by arms around his waist and a mass of bushy hair clinging to him tightly.

Hugging her back lightly, he pried her off of him, and brushed her tears away lightly, looking up into Ron's sympathetic eyes, which showed the exact worry that Hermione's had before she had latched onto him. "Really guys, we've got things to be doing. I don't even know where we're going to keep you. This isn't a big house."

Hermione rolled her eyes, the puffiness of her crying still there. "I seem to recall a young Harry saying something to the effect of 'Are you a witch or not?'" she spoke, as she drew her wand and waved it, tracing the lines of the room and extending them a large amount before flicking her wrist once more and lowering her wand. Harry felt his jaw drop as the room slowly expanded, although he was sure the actual dimensions had not changed.

"Nice work, 'Mione," Ron quipped, looking around in awe. "I reckon that one would come in handy with my backpack during NEWT year," he said as he watched her as she quickly conjured sleeping bags and pillows on the newly vacant floor space.

She let out a quiet laugh, the melancholy still there. "Now, about a Pensieve: didn't Dumbledore have one, Harry? Do you think Professor McGonagall would be willing to loan it to us?"

Harry let out a smile, just thinking about going back to Hogwarts, despite the recent events that happened there. It had always been his escape from the world that was Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, and the amount of knowledge, fun, and magic stored in those walls always made him smile every time he returned. Looking at Hermione, he nodded. "I'm sure we could even ask Professor Dumbledore himself," he added, thinking about the portrait of the elderly headmaster that had appeared after he had passed on. "I just hope he's awake..." he smiled.

Hermione and Ron both brightened at Harry's smiles, and moved closer to him, Hermione offering her arms to each of them, and looked up reassuringly at them as they disappeared with a crack.