Phoenix Intuition

Prologue

May 7, 1998

12:16 p.m. GMT

Snape spoke again. "Well, I believe that is all I have to say." He bent to one knee again, his face less than a foot from Voldemort's. "Goodbye, Voldemort." He stood, and gestured to Harry that he was finished. Recovering from his momentary surprise at finally hearing Snape say the name, Harry applied the Imperius Charm, and Voldemort collapsed, unconscious. Harry sat, and began imprinting love on Voldemort's mind.

Voldemort was unconscious, but something inside him screamed. Or, it would have, if it could scream.

The alien force had invaded before, but the entity which both shared and controlled the consciousness of the man born Tom Riddle had only needed to retreat for a short time, after which it could return. But not this time. The repellent force was taking hold in the mind the entity had inhabited. The entity would have to leave, for good.

The entity did not 'think' as such, so it was not frustrated at losing access to the most power it had ever had. It would simply have to find another. Many would welcome it, as had Riddle long ago, but it would only join the one best suited to it. As it had with Voldemort, it would seek to create the conditions under which it would continue to flourish. As would any being.

For this entity, those conditions were hatred, pain, fear, anger. In a word, evil. Some would call the entity a demon, but it did not have its own consciousness; it was more a force of nature, created and sustained by the dark side of the mass consciousness of the human race. The more fear and anger it could create among humans, the more powerful it would be. As it left Voldemort behind, it started reaching out to human minds, unthinkingly seeking darkness and power--that is, the one most like itself. It would know it when it found it.

Since it did not think, it did not know that its past host's actions had an enormous influence on its future host. If it could know such a thing, it would certainly have approved. As long as it created anger and fear--which, in turn, created it--it would always have a home.

It did not 'look' for its next host, as it did not have eyes; it was not physical in any way and did not have any senses as humans understood them. What it had was an attraction to what it sought; it was pulled, as if by gravity. Its destination was an ocean away, but it was there within seconds.

* * * * *

Leonard Drake was dreaming. He entered a tavern and looked around, feeling as though he was supposed to meet someone, but he didn't know who. Suddenly the place felt darker--not the lighting, but the atmosphere. He found himself walking toward the booth farthest from the door, and sat opposite a man whose face he couldn't see, though the man wore no hat or hood. He felt eyes on him, appraising him.

Normally not at all a nervous man, Drake now was. "What do you want?" he asked, as he had somehow sensed that the man wanted something from him.

The man's voice was familiar, but Drake couldn't quite place it. "What do you want," it responded, its tone suggesting a far more serious intent than Drake's question had. A lot depended on his answer, Drake somehow knew.

He answered as if under the influence of Veritaserum. "I want someone to pay for what happened to Dad and Rob."

The man's tone suggested raised eyebrows on his unseen face. "Is that all? Your ambition stops there?"

"No, it starts there," shot back Drake. "A lot of people across the pond, as the Brits so quaintly put it, have blood on their hands. Mainly Lucius Malfoy and Rudolphus Bright, but a lot of others. And a lot over here, for sitting back and letting it happen. That ambitious enough for you?"

"What about Voldemort?" the man asked calmly. "Isn't he the most responsible of all?"

"He's in that Ring, last I heard. Potter was going to go in after him. Only one's going to come out alive."

"Potter was successful," the man informed him. "The Dark Lord is... no more."

Drake grunted. "Fine with me. But Potter's complicit in their deaths, just less so. He's pretty far up there on the list. He's so noble, when it's convenient for him to be, which it wasn't when it came to Dad and Rob. But it's everybody. They died for no reason, and nobody cared. Nobody cares unless it hurts them. Otherwise, it's, 'gee, that's too bad. Now, what are we doing for lunch?' I want them to hurt like I was hurt. That's what I want." He squinted, but still couldn't make out the stranger's features. "Now, why do you care?"

The light suddenly changed, and Drake could see the stranger's face: it was his own, his own eyes looking back at him. But the eyes were cold; he was sure his eyes had never looked like that. "I can help you," said his likeness. "Together, we can accomplish things you would never have imagined. I have just one more question."

"What's that?"

The man paused, looking over Drake carefully. "How badly do you want it?"

Five minutes later, Drake awoke, feeling like a new man. Which, in fact, he was.

September 11, 2001

1:22 p.m. GMT

Pausing for a moment on the well-traveled Tibetan mountain path, Luna Lovegood took a moment to appreciate the scenery. The sun was behind the mountain, but she could see enough pink and orange set against the partly cloudy sky to know that sunset was well underway. Looking behind her, she saw the sky slowly changing from blue to black; there were a few lights in the valley beyond the mountains, but not many. She appreciated the beauty of nature and the relative lack of the trappings of 'civilization,' and a part of her wished she had been raised in this sort of environment, rather than England. Then again, she thought, maybe I wouldn't appreciate it like I do if I'd grown up here.

A few minutes later, she continued her trek up the mountain. She wasn't headed for the peak, but a small cave about three-quarters of the way up. She could have Apparated to the cave, but she had been advised by the mystics that it was simply not done, and that walking was better anyway for the exercise and the connection with nature. She supposed that anyone who was that impatient to talk to the First probably wasn't ready to do so anyway, and the junior mystics would know that.

She chuckled inwardly at the word 'junior'; it was how they referred to themselves, even though many appeared to be in their fifties or sixties, a few even older. The First, she had been told, was much older than any of them. Unless he lives in the cave, he must be in pretty good condition, she thought, to make this walk all the time. Maybe he did live there, as she hadn't seen him anywhere around the other mystics' living quarters and common areas. In the four months she had been there talking to and learning from the 'junior' mystics she had heard the First referred to occasionally; not with reverence, as she had thought might be the case, but more matter-of-factly. Meetings with him were rare, occurring only when there was some particular reason; one did not request a meeting, but was summoned to one by a phoenix which visited the compound from time to time. Luna had asked who companioned the phoenix and was told that no one did. She thought to ask why an uncompanioned phoenix spent time with them, but decided not to; she had decided to try to keep questions to a minimum, with the idea that they would tell her anything they thought was important for her to know. She was curious about many things, but tried to focus on what she was there to learn.

Fifteen minutes later, she reached the cave. Its entrance wasn't immediately obvious; the mouth was narrow, and anyone much taller than her would have had to bend to get in. As she entered, she saw light ahead. Moving closer, she saw four hovering globes of energy, two on either side of the cave, providing light. Further ahead, there was a robed figure sitting near the back of the cave, on the dirty ground. The cave was not much larger than the living room of the house she'd grown up in.

The man didn't move or give any indication acknowledging her presence, though he must have heard her approach. She had decided to treat him with respect, but much like anyone else. "Hi, I'm Luna," she said simply.

The man reached up and pulled back the hood, revealing his face. To Luna's great surprise, he appeared to be a fairly young man, certainly no older than forty, and perhaps as young as his early thirties. Otherwise, he was roughly as she had expected: Asian, with shoulder-length hair and a beard. "Hello, Luna," he said. He didn't suggest that she sit, which she took as an indication that he felt she should do whatever made her the most comfortable. She sat on the ground, about ten feet from him. "Nice place you have here," she said without irony.

She saw the surprise in his eyes first, then he smiled, and chuckled lightly. "I believe you are the first person to say that. Yes, it is only a small mountain cave, but it does have a certain appeal."

To Harry especially, thought Luna. He'd appreciate the seclusion. "Not that it couldn't use a woman's touch," she added offhandedly.

He nodded. "Plants would not do well, unfortunately." He said nothing more for a moment. She had a dozen questions she wanted to ask, but he had summoned her, so she would wait to hear what he had to say. Eventually, he spoke again. "I understand the others are most impressed with you. They say you have the aspect of a true seeker."

She smiled briefly, thinking about how amused Ronald would be to hear that. "They have been very kind and helpful. I've wanted to come here for some time now, ever since Harry gave--I should say, Harry is--"

The man gently cut her off, nodding. "I know of him."

Luna resumed her sentence. "He gave us a talk about Professor Dumbledore's history, and he talked about this place. He said being here was one of the formative experiences of Professor Dumbledore's life."

Again, the First nodded. "I remember Albus well... such an earnest young man. And so troubled, for a time. I was pleased that we could assist him while he found his path. We could not do it for him, of course. He wanted answers, but the only answer we could give him was that he had to find his own answers. Each of us must find our own path." Luna listened serenely, expressionless.

The First raised an eyebrow slightly. "You remind me of him, in some ways. You do not wonder how one as youthful in appearance as I could have taught him, so long ago."

Luna shrugged lightly. "Just because something can't be explained easily, or isn't known as a fact, doesn't mean it's impossible. I've known that all my life."

"You are one of the few who does, and that is one of your great strengths," agreed the First. "What prevents most from seeing the true realm is an unconscious unwillingness to do so." Luna recalled that the mystics used the phrase 'true realm' as Harry had used the words 'spiritual realm,' to describe the place where people went when they died, that all spirits called home.

He paused for a minute, then spoke again. "When I summoned you, I did not know why I chose this precise time to do so. However, I was in communion with the true realm before you arrived, and now I know why I chose this time. An event of great importance is about to occur. I do not know its exact nature, but I know that Harry will be involved. He will be tested as he never has before."

Luna winced; Harry had already been tested so much, that was saying a lot. "Is there anything I can do to help him?"

The First shook his head. "No one can help him. You are here in part because this is an opportunity to attempt seeing at a distance. You love him, do you not?"

She smiled wryly. "Most of Hogwarts does, by now," she half-joked. "But yes, I do."

"You can use that energy to find him, to see him," the First explained. "You must first focus on the true realm, then focus on him. Your love will be your path to him."

"I understand," she agreed. "How will you see him? I assume you've never met him."

"True, but I love him," the First said simply. "I love all."

Luna was curious. "Even one who would kill you?"

"Especially one who would kill me, for no one needs love more."

She found that she understood. She started clearing her mind in preparation for what she was going to do. She felt a pang of worry, and hoped he would be all right. As if reading her mind, he advised her, "Do not focus on what is happening, or on the results of the events. Just focus on love, on him. Simply know that you can see him."

She briefly wondered whether this was an auspicious time to make the attempt because of the importance of the events, whether that made Harry easier to see from a distance than would usually be the case. She allowed herself a last wish for his well-being before clearing her mind. They both closed their eyes, and reached out with their minds.

Harry was sitting in a comfortable recliner in his living room, reading a book. Normally on a weekday afternoon he would be at Hogwarts, but he had no classes after noon on Tuesdays; he had quickly discovered that one of the benefits of being the one to make the schedule was that he could make his exactly as he liked. He was still available, however; he had set a charm on his office door so that he would hear it in his head if anyone knocked, and he could appear in his office instantly if he so chose.

The charm was one of the many previously unknown spells that Harry had come up with over the past few years. In the course of defeating Voldemort, he had discovered that he had the unique ability to do anything that was possible to do by magic. Experience had taught him not to use that ability with a heavy hand, especially when it could affect others, but he had no compunctions about using it to make his life, and sometimes that of his friends, more convenient in small ways.

He was reading a Muggle nonfiction book about relationships; it was the fifth on John's list. His friend and Hogwarts Muggle Studies teacher had been urging him to become better versed in Muggle culture, and had given him a reading list and urged him to read one Muggle newspaper a day. Harry had initially resisted, as he could think of far more enjoyable ways to spend his limited free time, but eventually acquiesced partly because he knew Dumbledore had made understanding Muggle culture a priority. He found the books interesting; he was looking forward to talking to Ginny about some of the information in the current one.

To his mild surprise, the fireplace lit up. There was a small Apparation area near the living room which was usually used by those who Apparated to his home (he had used his unusual magical abilities to make his home accessible by Apparation only to those who he had already authorized, much as was the case with fireplaces), and he was accustomed to seeing unexpected visitors appearing there. The only ones who would use the fireplace were those who couldn't Apparate for whatever reason...

As the thought entered his head that it must be one of his few Muggle friends who had access to his fireplace, Dudley stepped out. Harry was about to greet him casually, but saw from Dudley's face that he hadn't just come to chat.

"Turn on the TV," said Dudley abruptly, more anxious than Harry had ever seen him. "CNN."

Harry didn't watch television often, but had long since been able to operate the television mentally, with magic. The television sprang on, and Harry was startled by the first image he saw: an airplane had obviously crashed into one of two very tall buildings, which Harry quickly recognized as New York's World Trade Center towers. There was a voice-over which Harry didn't listen to. He turned to Dudley and gave him a questioning look.

"I think it happened about ten minutes ago," Dudley told him.

"Was it an accident?" asked Harry, mortified at the thought that it might not have been.

"They don't know yet, but most of us at the office don't think it was an accident," said Dudley darkly. "I mean, come on, what are the chances?" Dudley's new job--he had just started a few weeks ago--was with the Muggle Liaison office, which liked to have some Muggle-borns on its staff, though Dudley was the first actual, non-magical Muggle to work there. Harry imagined there would be a television set to a news channel at all times.

"Makes sense," agreed Harry, still shocked. "I assume all the people in the plane are dead."

"Have to be," said Dudley. "And a fair number in the building, too. But what they're worried most about is that the building could come down. Those planes are heavy, there's bound to be a fire, with all that jet fuel... once that plane starts falling, it's not going to stop."

Stunned, Harry watched the images on the screen. "I don't believe it... who would do this?"

Dudley sighed, as if unable to believe Harry was this ignorant. "Arabs, of course. There've been a few terrorists who weren't Arabs, but most have been. It has to be them."

Harry thought to ask why, and decided not to. He knew that Dudley, though knowing more than Harry, was hardly an expert on international affairs; he would ask John later.

They watched and listened in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly, a live shot of the towers revealed another plane approaching from the right. Knowing what was about to happen, Harry leaped to his feet. To Harry's surprise, Dudley quickly shoved him back into the chair. "You can't do that!" Dudley shouted. "You know better--"

The plane crashed into the building; Harry gasped, then bowed his head, emotion rising. "That's another couple hundred people, not to mention the ones in the building--"

"And you could have saved them," finished Dudley. "Most wizards can't move objects anywhere near that big, but you could have shoved it to one side or the other, made it miss the building. And blown wizarding secrecy to smithereens."

Harry looked up at Dudley angrily, but looked away after a second, because he knew Dudley was right. "They just said there could be as many as twenty thousand people in those buildings," he muttered. "How many lives is wizarding secrecy worth?"

"A lot," responded Dudley to Harry's rhetorical question. "You know what would happen. Panic, wizards rounded up, maybe wars... I got this big lecture on it when I joined the office. After all, that's the whole point of the office in the first place, to make sure Muggles who don't already know don't find out."

Harry was only half-listening to Dudley as he watched the screen. "You think those buildings are going to come down?"

Dudley nodded. "I'd be amazed if at least one didn't, and at this point if one goes down, it could easily take the other with it. I hope people are getting out of there fast, they don't have much time."

Maybe I couldn't stop the plane without it being noticed, thought Harry, but I can do something about the people in those buildings. Making a decision, he stood. "Harry, don't--" started Dudley, but Harry vanished.

Dudley sighed and turned his attention to the television. He watched for another minute, and decided to get back to the Ministry. He had taken a step toward the fireplace when he heard a popping noise. Turning, he saw Kingsley step into the room.

"Where is he?" asked Kingsley, glancing at the screen.

"There," responded Dudley, gesturing at the television. "He just left."

"Damn," exhaled Kingsley, though he clearly was prepared for the possibility. "I hope he knows what he's doing."

"He'll save lives," said Dudley. "Beyond that, it's hard to say what'll happen." He paused. "I'd better get back."

Dudley stopped again on his way to the fireplace to respond to Kingsley, who asked, "Dudley... will you keep this under your hat for the time being?"

Dudley nodded; he would have anyway. "Sure." He returned to the Ministry, intending to follow the news even more closely.

Harry appeared on the roof of a ten-story building five blocks from the World Trade Center towers. People were running away from the towers; he could hear many sirens, some very close. Fire trucks stopped in front of the buildings, and firemen rushed inside. Looking at the towers themselves, he could see many people getting out. He fervently hoped the buildings would last long enough to allow everyone to escape, but he realized that each plane had hit about ten floors below the top of the buildings, and the people on the upper floors were probably trapped.

He looked up, and used his magic to look at the top floors through the walls, zooming in. Some were running through the halls and offices, looking for stairs that weren't blocked by the wreckage below. Some were on their cell phones, having a last conversation with their loved ones. A few were praying. Having a basic plan in mind when he left his home, Harry suddenly realized that he couldn't save anyone who was on a phone; someone outside the building knew they were there, and their disappearance couldn't be explained.

He focused on a blonde middle-aged woman on a floor two floors above the plane's impact in the second building. Suddenly she was standing a few feet in front of him. She gasped and looked around, still panicked. Harry cast a spell, and she immediately calmed down. "It'll be all right," he assured her. He then cast a Memory Charm, including in it the false memory that she had been late to work that morning and hadn't reached it yet when the planes struck; he mentally instructed her to unconsciously construct details supporting the story that seemed most plausible to her. Finally, he teleported her to a nearby street, placing a charm on her that would make her invisible to those who happened to be looking in her direction at the time; she would become visible to them only after they looked away and looked back. It was less than ideal, but Harry knew he only had so much time, and couldn't find isolated spots to send everyone.

He next found a young man near the top of the first tower, and repeated the procedure; after the first five, he started doing two at a time, as fast as he could, always choosing from the floors above where the planes hit. He hoped against hope that the buildings would hold long enough for everyone below the planes to get out.

He had gotten out perhaps a hundred when, looking for the next two, he saw the top of one of the buildings start to crumble. No! he screamed mentally. If I just had that device, the one that Hermione has that we got from Voldemort, the one that stops time--

It happened very suddenly. He knew that he could do anything that was possible to do by magic; since the device made time stop outside a certain radius magically, he could therefore do it. In that instant, the building stopped collapsing, all sound ceased. Time had stopped, except for the area around him.

Harry's heart sank again, as he realized it wasn't that simple. He could save everyone still alive in the buildings, but that too would shatter wizarding secrecy. Many had escaped while he had been working, but there still had to be thousands of people in the buildings, and it would hardly go unnoticed that so few died when the towers came down. I could save some, he thought. Yes, you could, he replied, but when to stop? Another hundred? Five hundred? Two thousand? No matter how many you save, you'll want to save them all, and every one you save increases the chance that what you do will be noticed.

What if I could save five hundred more, and not have it be noticed? If I don't, that's five hundred who'll die who I could have saved.

Yes, but you don't know where that limit is, he reminded himself. You could have exceeded it already, for all you know. This is what's supposed to happen. You can't do everything. Let it go.

I can't let those people die when I could prevent it, he thought desperately.

They're already dead, he told himself. Hermione was right, this is your saving-people-thing. You start, and you won't be able to stop. It's like an alcoholic saying he'll just have one more drink. Stop now. There'll be a worldwide focus on this afterwards, and if you do something that gets magic noticed, there's no turning back. You can't risk it.

He gasped for breath, starting to accept the inevitable. If I start time again, it's like I'm holding thousands of people, then just dropped them...

He knew it was an emotional reaction, but he couldn't help it. After a few more seconds of agonizing, he did what he knew he had to do. He let time run again.

He sat heavily on the roof, his head in his hands. He heard the awful sound of the tower collapsing, then glanced up, and saw through the smoke that the other one was starting to go. Unable to stand it any more, with a thought, he was suddenly back in his living room, sitting in the same position on the carpet. He started to sob, crying for the families of the people he'd wanted to save, already second-guessing his decision.

There was a flash of light, and Hermione let go of Flora and sat on the carpet next to Harry, pulling him into a hug. He held her and cried on her shoulder. She sent him love and reassurance through the mental link that Fawkes and Flora had given them before their final encounter with Voldemort. Her feelings told him that he had done the right thing. It was too risky to do any more than he already had.

A part of him knew that she was right, but he continued to sob anyway. She held and comforted him, knowing that he could do nothing else.

Thousands of miles away, the First opened his eyes, and a tear rolled down his cheek. "I weep for him," he said to Luna quietly, "because I know exactly what he is feeling. I have been in the same situation, too many times."

"I didn't see all of it, but I saw enough to understand what happened," she said. "But when you say that you've been in the same situation, do you mean..."

He nodded. "I am the First. He is the Second." He let Luna digest that for a minute, then continued. "It is partly because of temptations such as that that I live in near-isolation. For those who wield such power as he does, as I do, it is too easy to use. I feel it is best not to."

Luna was thoughtful. "You said he would be tested. Does that mean he failed the test? He shouldn't have done what he did?"

The First shook his head. "There is no right or wrong to this. By 'tested' I meant that he would have to make a choice, a very difficult choice."

His manner suggested to Luna that he was telling her things that he didn't often reveal. "As you have guessed, I have the same magical abilities that he does; I can do anything that can be done by magic. I prefer to 'see' distant events through the eye of the true realm, as we just did; however, I can do as he did, see any spot on the Earth I choose by using magic. I quickly learned not to do so. I have seen men tortured and killed, women raped and maimed, too many atrocities to count.

"In the beginning, soon after I found this power, I saved many. But it did not take me long to see where it would lead. Should I save all within my field of vision, when my field of vision encompasses the entire world? And if not, how should I choose whom to save and whom to allow to die?

"In addition, as I communed with the true realm I began to realize that it was not my place. Horrible as the events of any life may be, as desperately disadvantaged as anyone may find himself, it all happens for a reason; hardship is how we learn. I cannot interfere with that, much as I might wish to."

"But we help people all the time," protested Luna. "If I saw someone on the street being attacked and I could help them, I would."

"Indeed," agreed the First. "It is different only for me, for the world is my street, and there is no limit to my ability to help. You can see only so far, help only so much, and you may take a risk in doing so. I should not do as a normal human does, because I have power far beyond that of the most powerful wizard."

She thought it over. "But so does Harry. You don't think he shouldn't have done what he did today?"

He shook his head. "He found this ability only three years ago, when he defeated the wizard known as Voldemort; this is still new to him. He tries not to use it, except for small things such as conveniences for himself and his friends. He understands that he should not attempt to change the world. He tries not to look too far over the horizon, and resists the urge to look for people to save. The crisis today was simply of such a magnitude that he found he could not ignore it. We learn by our experiences, and he will learn from this. We all must make our own choices."

"You know a lot about him," observed Luna.

"I have been keeping an eye on him, as you say, through the true realm. No doubt I will meet him one day. If he desires my counsel, the true realm will direct him to me. He may be pleased to know that there is another like him." The First gave a wry, slightly sad smile. "When he first discovered this, he hoped to teach his friends. After today's events, he may decide he would not wish it on them."

Luna understood that she shouldn't tell Harry, or anyone, about the First. She thought to ask why she in particular had been summoned, but she had a feeling she wouldn't get an answer she understood.

* * * * *

George Sheldon sat at the wheel of his car, crying. His wife had just died.

There was no proof; he knew there never would be. She had called him twenty-five minutes ago, however, from her office near the top of the first World Trade Center tower. They'd had a brief, desperate conversation which both knew would be their last, but tried not to admit it. She said before getting off the phone that she was going to join some people who were looking for a clear way down. Five minutes later, the building she was in had collapsed. He knew that she couldn't have gotten out in fifteen minutes, much less five. She was dead.

He'd run out to the parking lot, not wanting to break down in front of his co-workers. He'd been crying for the past ten minutes. How was he going to tell the kids? Both were in school; he hoped the classrooms weren't showing live coverage of what had happened. What a horrible way to find out your mother died... but then, is there really a good way...

His cell phone rang. His first impulse was to ignore it, but then he realized that it could be the kids' school. Summoning all his will to stop crying, he took a deep breath and answered the phone. "Yes?"

"George! I'm glad I got you. Did you hear about what happened?"

It couldn't be... it was impossible... "V- Vicky?"

"Yes, it's me, I'm sorry I didn't call sooner, I've been in kind of a daze... I just wanted to make sure you knew I was all right. You must've been so worried..."

George was stunned. "Vicky, I don't believe it! How did you get out of there?"

"I was never there, thank God. Usually I would have been, but today on the subway I got really bad cramps, you know how I sometimes get, and so I called the office, told them I'd be an hour late, and sat at a Starbucks to wait for it to ease up. But I'm just devastated, all the people in the office, they must be dead..." A pause. "George, are you there?"

George found he could barely speak. "Yeah, I'm here... I'm just... so happy you're alive, I was sure you were dead." He decided he'd wait until he was with Vicky in person to tell her his version of the morning's events. A part of him wondered if he was hallucinating this whole call, that his mind was refusing to accept her death. "Honey, how soon can you get home?"

"I'm not sure, I don't know what's happening with the trains. But I'll get home one way or another."

"I'll head in, see if I can pick you up; the traffic to the City might be tied up too. We'll keep in contact on the cell, but if you can get a train, do it."

"Okay," she agreed. "I'll call the school, have them tell the kids I'm okay. I can't wait to see you, I just want to be with you."

"Me too, honey. I love you." They hung up.

He suddenly burst into tears again. What in the world had happened? Could he have imagined one of the two phone calls? Right at that moment, he didn't care. Vicky was alive, that was enough. On a sudden impulse, he dialed her cell again; they exchanged only a few sentences this time, but he needed to be reassured again that it was actually her. He started the car and headed for New York City.

* * * * *

To Harry's lack of surprise, his actions--reported in the September 12^th Daily Prophet--ignited a firestorm of controversy in the wizarding world. His standing, still high three years after Voldemort's defeat, was such that no high-level Ministry officials attacked his actions directly, but pointed questions were raised, and it was the main topic in the Prophet for the next few days. Harry sat for questions from Minister of Magic Bright and the undersecretaries, who afterwards pronounced themselves satisfied that Harry's actions posed no danger to wizarding secrecy, but admonished him to avoid such actions in the future. Harry heard that many wizarding families had debates on the issue, which he supposed was a good thing.

Harry had no plans for Sunday the 16^th; he looked forward to spending a day relaxing, unwinding from the stressful week. James, whose first birthday party had just been two weeks ago, was at the Burrow with his mother and grandmother. Harry planned on joining them later, but was happy with solitude for the moment.

He was thinking about popping over to the Burrow for lunch when Fawkes appeared, mentally sending Harry unusual information. Another phoenix companion apparently wanted to talk to Harry, and had asked her phoenix to give Fawkes the message. Harry got an image of a woman in her late fifties, plain-looking, hair mostly gray. Interesting, thought Harry. I've been bonded for how long--almost exactly five years now, and it's the first time this has ever happened. Noting through their link Harry's willingness to meet the woman, Fawkes flew into the air, hovering above Harry. There's another thing I haven't done for a long time, he thought, use Fawkes for transportation. Haven't needed to.

He reached for Fawkes's tail, and soon found himself outside. The weather was sunny and warm; a glance told him he was in a park. It had to be a park for wizards, though, much like the one in Hogsmeade, as a phoenix was perched on the back of a chair at a nearby table.

The phoenix's companion rose to greet him, smiling warmly. "Professor Potter, I'm Aubrey Schmidt. Thank you for accepting my invitation, and for responding so quickly. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The translation charm rendered her words in accentless English; he had an idea from her last name where he was, but he decided to confirm it. Shaking her hand, he replied, "Pleased to meet you. This is... Germany, right?"

She nodded, impressed. "A suburb of Munich. How did you work that out so quickly?"

"I used my... I think of it as a 'remote eye,' it's the phrase Headmistress McGonagall used when I first told her about it. I visualize the spot where I want it to be, and I can see the view from that spot. Just now, I put it five miles in the air above where we are now."

"Fascinating," enthused Schmidt. "I could be here for an hour asking about all your abilities--I know you went into considerable detail in the International Wizarding Journal, but you've probably found more since then--but I'll spare you, since that's not why I invited you. It's actually not I who would like to talk to you, but this gentleman," she said as she gestured to an old man getting up from his chair. Short, slightly stooped, bald with white hair along the sides of his head, he looked every bit of what Harry assumed were his eighty-odd years.

The man's voice, if nothing else, was strong and healthy. "Professor," he greeted Harry, with as firm a handshake as his age allowed. "I'm Erich Reinhardt, and I too thank you for coming. Aubrey is an old friend of the family, and I decided to impose on her, as she's one of the only two phoenix companions in Germany."

She smiled at Harry. "I remember a time when England only had two, one of which was Albus. Now you have... eight, is it? And the most recent six all use the magic of love that you discovered. Phoenixes do indeed seem quite taken with it." Harry still used the phrase 'energy of love' to describe his discovery, as that was what he had always called it, but he understood why some chose to use the more poetic phrase 'magic of love'; he had to admit it sounded better, and had a very pretty double meaning.

"Yes, they do," he agreed, happy that his influence had pleased the phoenix community. "We thought that might be the case when Flora chose Hermione, but I've been surprised at what's happened since then. Winston, Cassandra, Beth, Professor Sprout, then Pansy just last month." He smiled at the recollection.

"Yes, I read about that," said Aubrey. "She got Red, didn't she?"

Harry nodded. Red, he had discovered soon after Pansy had been chosen, was an unusual phoenix in that he had only ever chosen Healers as companions. "We were joking with her when it happened, saying that Red chooses Healers because he cries a lot and wants to put the tears to good use; right after she was chosen, Pansy was crying a lot of the day because she was so happy. We were saying, see, Red's influencing you already."

Aubrey and Erich laughed. "I can imagine," she agreed. "Please, let's all sit. Erich has a story he'd like to tell you."

Harry regarded the old man with interest; Erich cleared his throat. "First of all, this is something I've never told anyone before; you'll understand the reason by the time I'm done. Even Aubrey is hearing it for the first time. You'll also understand the reason I'm telling it to you. I thought of sending you an owl, but it occurred to me that you must get them all the time from people you don't know, making requests, offers, and so forth. I suppose you've gotten more than normal over the past few days," he added wryly.

"A bit," allowed Harry, in a tone that made the understatement clear.

"Not surprising. Well, to the story... I was born in 1919, to Muggle parents. Had a rather hard childhood; you may or may not be aware that the '20s were a hard time for Germany. Turned out I was a wizard. I went to Durmstrang; though it wasn't very Muggle-friendly, I got by. I was glad to be a wizard, for more reasons than one: I turned eighteen in 1937. I hope you know enough history to understand the significance."

John had given Harry (and the other teachers in the staff room, but Harry knew it was mainly intended for him) a few informational lectures about World War II, saying it was a crucial turning point in Muggle history. "You would have been drafted by the Nazis."

Erich nodded. "Fortunately, as you probably know, records for all Muggle-born wizards are erased from public records by that country's Ministry, so as far as the Reich knew, I never existed. Now, my father, he was a scientist, a physicist. He was placed on the team that was trying to develop the atomic bomb for Germany. He wasn't a key member--not important enough for the Americans to spirit away after the war--but a member, and he knew what was going on. Of course, he wasn't supposed to talk about it at home, but he did. Not in detail--neither my mother nor I would have understood the highly scientific aspects of it--but enough that we knew what was happening.

"My father wasn't a rabid Nazi; he considered himself loyal to the country and people of Germany, but he didn't believe in the master-race ideology. He did what he did for his country. In the meantime, wizards were becoming aware of the extermination of Jews; using magic, it was easy enough to find out. My father didn't want to believe that it was happening; he was very disturbed by what I was telling him, but he knew he couldn't escape his work even if he wanted to. The policy of the German Magic Ministry was one of strict non-interference, but a few of us defied the regulations now and then, and saved some Jews who otherwise would have died, got them out of the country." Harry felt he was beginning to understand why Erich was telling him this story.

"As you know, by 1944 things were starting to go against Germany, but at the same time, real progress was being made in the atomic research. I won't bore you with the technical details, but in May they thought they had it, and a test was arranged. Not an actual bomb test, but the kind that would confirm that they had the ability to build a bomb that would work. It would still need to be tested, of course, but this was a major step.

"I knew more from my father by this time; I knew what the test involved, how it was to be done. I was also repelled by Hitler and the Nazis, what they were doing. Most wizards were able to ignore it, focusing on the wizarding world only. As a Muggle-born, I couldn't do that so easily. In any case... the night before the test, I Apparated into the laboratory and sabotaged the experiment." Harry's eyes went wide, as did Aubrey's. "They had been sure it would work, they couldn't understand why it hadn't. It set them back months, and by the time they got close again, it was too late. The war was over."

Erich gazed at Harry solemnly. "I interfered with Muggle events in almost the grandest way possible; I would have been locked up for years if anyone had found out. Every wizarding ethic says I shouldn't have done what I did." He paused. "But think about what the world might be like if I hadn't."

Harry found he didn't have the imagination to do so, but an awed Aubrey did. "Hitler would have ruled Europe... at best, England would have retained nominal autonomy only, and been made to pay Versailles-type reparations. Stalin probably wouldn't have surrendered, and Germany would have bombed Russia flat, once they got enough bombs... the ramifications are enormous." She stared at Erich. "All this time, you never told anyone..."

Erich shook his head. "Not even my father knew; I didn't know how he would react. But I've often thought I should tell someone before I die." Still looking at Harry, Erich continued, "When this happened, it seemed clear that you were the one I should tell. It's not the same situation, of course; it would be more analogous if you had somehow found out about the terrorists that morning and stopped them. But my point is that interfering with Muggle affairs doesn't have to be a bad thing. I happened to be in a position where what I did might have had a massive impact. Yours had a smaller impact, but still a very positive one. The next time anyone tells you we should never, ever interfere in Muggle affairs, remember this story. Each situation should be judged on its own. I did what I thought was right; so did you.

"One last thing. Go to New York. Find one of the people you saved, someone with a spouse and children. Make up some pretext, disguise yourself, and visit them. See what their life is like, imagine what it would be if you'd done nothing. I think you owe that to yourself."

Ten minutes later, Harry was back at his home, thoughts of going to the Burrow gone. He suddenly had a lot to think about.