Harry Potter and the Moment of Silence

Chapter Three: Whiskey and a Portal

Harry Potter and the Moment of Silence

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

Harry had been playing with his food at the kitchen table, which pretty much consisted of a pile of eggs and a few slices of crispy bacon. He was thinking of Hallyanka, and leaving this dimension for a completely different one. But when Mrs. Weasley bellowed his name, he jerked as if someone had shot him with a Muggle gun, silencer included. Images ranging from Olean to a sprained ankle ran through his head as he jumped to his feet and barreled up the stairs. He found her in his room standing over his upturned bed. His heart was pounding heavy and deep in his chest, and the rhythm took a desperate pitch when he saw the woman that had been like a mother to him holding an empty Firewhiskey bottle. Beneath it was his bed, the mattress thrown on the floor, revealing four other empty bottles, the same brand in dark red letters running around the rectangular shape. They were all empty, except for one, which only had a quarter of the liquid left. Mal had been supplying it steadily to him since the night they'd sat in the kitchen sipping laced tea.

"What," she asked in a low growl of fury, "are you...doing...with this!" He should have expected it, but he'd been preoccupied by the arrival of the Weasleys and his friends. So he only had an instant to duck as Mrs. Weasley sent the glass bottle sailing across the room, smashing it against the wall in a shatter of crystal decanter.

"Mum!" Charlie shouted, pushing his way through his brothers and the girls to go to his mother. Mrs. Weasley, however, held up another glass bottle as a threat.

"Don't you 'Mum' me, Charles Weasley! I'm going to yell and he's going to listen!" She rounded on Harry, her eyes blazing with heat. "Everyone in this household has done everything they could to help you, Harry Potter, and what have you done? Ignored us as if we were nothing more than those ridiculous relatives of yours you hated so much! How many times have we asked what happened that day? How many times, Harry?"

He didn't need to ask what day she was screaming about. It was May fifteenth, the day he'd only marginally spoken of to Ron and Hermione. Nobody but Snape knew more than that, and the Professor hadn't even been there for the most part.

"I'm tired of trying to be there for you and then you shrinking away! I hate knowing that you'd prefer going to a Malfoy instead of me, or Arthur, or even Ron and Hermione. You sit there, and you don't say anything, and you hurt us more that way than if you'd simply stabbed us with a bloody dagger! You are not an adult, you are not a Potter, you are a Weasley and I expect you to start acting like one for once! You are a part of this family and family doesn't hurt each other!"

Another glass shattered over Harry's head, and this time he didn't even duck. A few piece of glass rained down over his shoulder, but he barely felt it.

"You don't know what happened that day," he said quietly. It was the only thing in his head, so it rumbled past his lips and didn't help him one bit.

"Only because you're being stupid and refuse to speak of it!"

"I'll never tell you!" Harry said loudly. "Never! What happened that day is mine, and I won't ever tell you or some stupid psychologist, or the minister, or the ministry, or Remus, or Malfoy, or any other bloody person who wants to know what happened that day! I don't want to talk about it, I don't need to talk about it, and I don't need hugs and cuddles! All I wanted was a few minutes from all the damn questions, all the stupid owls, all the looks and the words and the blood! I can't close my eyes without seeing Percy smashing into a wall! Do you want the details?" he asked harshly. "Do you want to know the betrayal I felt when he pulled his damn hood down and started to whip me like I was nothing more than a damn dog? Do you want to know that he spoke to Lucius Malfoy about it being an honor? Do you want me to tell you how it sounded when his bloody skull smashed into the stupid brick wall and he fell like an abandoned marionette doll beside Lucius Malfoy?"

"Harry." The voice was gently and soft and he felt Lycander's hand fall onto his shoulder lightly. That was when he realized that the ground was rolling. "Relax. Take a deep breath."

He couldn't seem to stop the fast, desperate gulps of air. He couldn't calm his emotions; couldn't stop the tears, the pain, the betrayal, the pain. Dear Merlin, the pain was inscrutable. It rolled over him, both physically and emotionally. It seemed to Harry that the mention of their happenings had the lash marks burning. Or maybe it was just him imagining it.

The floor rolled harder. Vaguely, he heard a high-pitched scream -was that Ginny?- and then something hit him in the shoulder. Something crashed onto the floor, close to Mrs. Weasley, and he saw Charlie pulling her out of the room. Was she crying? he wondered distantly.

He just couldn't stop it. Lycander pulled him around so he could see Harry's face. The green eyes had gone brilliant, like a dim light was shining out of the orbs. They were glassy. Muttering obscenities to himself and to Harry, he took Harry's right hand and held it, almost like he was going to shake his hand, but that was the least thing on his mind. In fact, the moment he stopped muttering and started chanting Harry collapsed to his knees, the world that had just about misted now swirling like a kaleidoscope.

"Stop," he muttered to Lycander, who got to his knees with Harry. But he wasn't weak. Harry's power swirled into him, making his blood run with the adrenaline rush. "Stop it." Too weak to shout or push, he half-heartedly tried to pull away.

"Close your eyes, Harry."

For a moment, he actually considered it. And then he realized that everything would calm down, and he didn't want that. He wanted the roof to cave in, to rip open his head, his heart, and kill him as he'd killed Percy. The house trembled even more; lamps and couches crashed into things, the floors, the walls, the windows shattered, and all of it because of the ferocious amounts of energy spiraling around the room.

"Harry! Stop it! Please!" Lycander shouted desperately over the noise. His hands were wrapped around Harry's single one, and yet it didn't matter. Harry was sucking the energy back into himself, out of Lycander, but the older man gave one large tug, chanting even louder than before, and then it was silent. Harry lay cold, pale, and still as death on the floor. The house was silent and still, but Lycander knew it wouldn't be for long. That much magic would get them both in trouble, in both dimensions.

The Qaiul put a numb, burning hand on Harry's cheek. His skin was slightly translucent, which he knew was just an amazing side affect of the Mage powers. Such power, he knew, in such a young, hurting boy was bound to be bashed back into their faces. Lycander was sure both he and his Qaiulee would prove that to the High Counselman before a Geyesh week was up.

* * * * * *

"He's still sleeping, Mum."

Ron fell into a chair beside his mother, who sat rigidly in her own cushioned one. Lycander and Dumbledore were the only people allowed to visit Harry so far in the Chamber Room, as Dumbledore had called it when he'd walked in. It felt strange, being at Hogwarts when it was so silent and empty. It wasn't even that that made him feel uncomfortable, considering Ron, Harry, and Hermione had often traveled under the Invisibility Cloak together in the midst of the night. Then Hogwarts had usually always been like this, empty and silent with the illusion of abandonment.

Ron knew Hermione was only in the Gryffindor Common Room, keeping an eye on an upset Ginny and a brooding Malfoy, but he wished for her now. Wished he could just hold her to his side as they awaited word from his father and the Order of the Phoenix. After all, Harry had nearly made #12 Grimmauld Place fall apart at every hinge.

"Mum, come on. You didn't do anything wrong." Following a habit of Harry, he pushed a hand through his hair and wished he'd never met Harry Potter. And then he was ashamed because it wasn't Harry's fault his family had been tossed into this turmoil. "If he was getting drunk nightly, it was his own fault and he deserved it. You did nothing wrong," he repeated.

His mother turned to him. She reached out, brushing back a strand of his red hair. "I'm so proud of you, Ronnie," she said tearfully, smiling at him. "I'm so proud of the way you've turned out. And I don't want you to be angry with him."

Ron was a little puzzled at the subject change, and surprised at the amount of affection in her voice and her movements. They weren't too rare, but they nonetheless surprised him near every time. But what she spoke of angered him. "How can you say that?" he hissed. "He's ignoring us, treating us like we're his old relatives. He isn't like he used to be. He's changed, Mum."

A tear streaked down her plump cheek. She smiled a little, still stroking his cheek as she remember the small, little boy who used to be so unhappy and lonely. He was still unhappy, but he wasn't lonely anymore.

"So have you, my love. So have you."

* * * * * *

The darkness swarmed around him like a dark, wool blanket. Of course, he loved it in the darkness because he was all alone. No one wanted him dead, no one wanted questions. No one wanted him. Maybe that was why he enjoyed the darkness so. In a world of bright slashes of red, violent brushes of yellow, and the vivid of blue, the darkness was a relaxant instead of a stimulant. It just let him lie there. It let him have the illusion of sweet, desired peace and, of course, death.

He was also used to losing that world of calm and waking back up to the painful colors of a painting. His power was drained to right below the point of a squib. For some odd reason, he knew that before he even opened his eyes. At first, he just stared at his Qaiul's grim face.

"What did you do to me?" he asked Lycander. His head thrummed in beat with his beating heart. No, he realized, his heart wasn't beating; it was galloping away from him. He could feel his skin pound with the rhythm of it. "What did you do?" he repeated, and wished for just one ounce of strength so he could sit up and strangle him.

Lycander seemed to sense his rage. He made no move to reach out or touch Harry. Instead, he simply watched him.

Dumbledore spoke for him. "He drained you of every Mage power you had, Harry. Well, actually, he binded it, but that means he has it held in his blood."

"You stole my powers?" Harry croaked.

"It won't work," Lycander said the instant Harry fisted his hand and tried to form fire.

"You bastard," Harry hissed. "Get out." Lycander stared at him a moment, then turned to leave when Harry started to shout.

"Harry-"

"Go to hell!" he bellowed at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore's mouth thinned. "I will not be spoken to like that, Harry. You know me better than to think that I would."

"I don't care what you want, I don't care!" He could barely lift a hand to slam it against the bed. "What else do you all want from me? What else in hell could you possibly want from me now?"

He couldn't stop the tears anymore than he could have put a stopper to immediate death with a piece of wood. "Merlin, just leave me alone."

Dumbledore did leave, but Mrs. Weasley replaced him. She walked in, chin jutted in the air like her daughter would, but then she let it fall when she saw the tears.

"For Merlin's sake, everyone just needs to go away!" he shouted furiously. "Just go...away. Please."

Begging got him nowhere. Mrs. Weasley sat down on the bed and pulled him up by his shoulders. And hugged the life out of him.

"Let me go." He would have pulled back, he would tell himself later, if he hadn't been weak as a newborn babe.

"I'll never let you go, Harry," she whispered. She loosened her grip, but didn't release it.

* * * * * *

The Seventh Year dorm was not currently occupied by its normal occupants. Harry and Ron kept their usual beds, while Charlie, Bill, and Malfoy found ways of splitting themselves up and taking their own. Harry watched his blonde haired friend curiously, wondering what his reaction had been before when he'd first walked into Gryffindor Common Room.

At the moment, however, it was just Harry, sitting straight up, Hedwig on his knee, staring out at the Hogwarts grounds just as he had as an eleven year old boy. He could remember that night. He'd been in a new place, seemingly a new world with different rules and a different way of life. It was sort of like that now, except that he'd been there for a while. It wasn't a sudden change. He'd been leaving that Harry Potter, the mild, quiet one with Muggle relatives, for over six years. Had he been aware of the change, he wondered, without knowing why? Had he known that this world would eat him alive and not even spit out the leftovers?

No. He hadn't known. At least, not until last year, maybe even the year before, with the Triwizard Tournament. Even if he had known so many years ago, it wasn't as if he'd have been able to change it. Things had happened that had changed him. Cedric had been killed, he'd seen his parents, Sirius had died, and he'd fought Voldemort on a yearly basis.

And who the hell was Harry Potter without Lord Voldemort? Who was he? The Boy-Who-Had-Killed-Voldemort? The Boy-Who-Followed-the-Dark-Arts? Was he even still Harry Potter, or had Harry gradually disappeared as this new Romane began to take shape?

He didn't know. Well, he figured, confusion had become a constant companion these last several months. It wasn't as if he didn't know how to handle it. The only thing he could do was move on, keep his shoulders up, care for himself. Merlin, he wanted a glass of Firewhiskey. Or the unconsciousness; something he could sink into and forget who he was for a little while. Hell, he'd take anything that would help the pain, the betrayal, the way life worked.

And he knew it wouldn't ever go away.

"Harry?"

He didn't turn. Instead, he continued to pet his owl and stare out the window. It was late. Undoubtedly, the boys would be up for bed in less than an hour.

Ginny pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and sat on the opposite wall of the window alcove. She pulled her legs close to her chest and wrapped her thin arms around them.

"You should talk to Mum, Harry. She's real upset."

Still not looking at her, he said, coolly, "I've got nothing to say to your mum, Ginny."

"She didn't do anything wrong," Ginny said quietly.

Harry's head whipped around. "Yes, Ginny, she didn't do anything wrong. I did everything wrong. It's all my fault. I deserve to be killed and my spleen placed on a platter. Once again, Harry Potter saved the world and ruined yet another hapless day. You can leave now, because I already know everything you're going to say."

A blossom of fury made Ginny's cheeks tinge red. "Besides turning into a Mage, you are a mind reader now? Drinking was a stupid idea; one that I have no doubt was sponsored by Malfoy. It's disgusting, vile, and it'll kill your immune system if you keep it up. It'll kill you."

"Olean could come right now and cut my heart open with the twitch of a finger," he retorted. "Every day, a million things could happen to me and it won't matter because most likely they won't. Anyone can die at any moment, by pretty much anything. Doesn't mean I'm scared to walk outside."

"Maybe you should be." Ginny jumped to her feet to pace. "Maybe you should be afraid to open your mail, to go outside, to close your eyes, to let your friends go on a walk around the lake alone. Maybe you should. Maybe -just maybe- if you were scared enough, you wouldn't walk right into one of his traps like you did in May."

"Just because I'm not tricked, Ginny, doesn't mean I won't get trapped anyways." He gentled his voice because he could hear the tears coming in her voice. And Harry hated it when women cried in front of him. "What will happen, will happen. It doesn't matter what we do, Gin. Fate has ways of making sure we're where we're supposed to be when we're supposed to be there."

"Fate can go to hell for all I care!" she shrieked.

When her pacing became just a little too desperate, her breathing a little to sharp for normal, Harry stood. Her shoulders shuddered when he gripped them in gentle hands. Even now, he didn't want to hurt her. She was too precious to hurt.

"I'm fine now. Just calm down and relax. Everything will be okay."

Everything will be okay. When was the last time he'd said that? both of them wondered instantaneously.

Everything will be okay.

"But what if it isn't, Harry? What if it will never be okay ever again? Will we still be like this in ten years, wondering how much longer you're going to live? Are we always going to be so alone?"

Alone. Loneliness. Destined to be lonely...

Grimly, Harry used his thumbs to wipe the tears off her cheeks. "No, Ginny, it'll get better." He laughed, although a tone of hysteria could have been detected beneath his calm facade. "It has to."

Forsaken. The word echoed in his head like a stone being thrown into an abandoned cave.

Forsaken.

* * * * * *

Lycander ordered Harry to bring absolutely, positively nothing. He sulked and, although he'd never have admitted it personally, whined. The Gray Dimension was a barbaric fantasy -no, nightmare- that seemed to have seeped into reality. No matter where Harry looked, there were no hideouts or secret hiding places for him to curl into.

He was leaving his friends, his family, his life, his world, for brand new ones.

It was, understandably, a little disconcerting.

The morning that Harry would leave was rainy, damp, and humid with ninety-degree heat. But, of course, the inside of Hogwarts was much cooler and less musty, but Harry wished he was outside in it, with the tiny breeze ruffling his long, slightly curled hair and feel the heat rejuvenate his bones. That was the something to awe about, he knew, the fact that he could walk straight into fire and not even feel pain, or the heat.

The heat, the fire, the flames, were already a part of him, and Harry didn't mind that. What he did, mind, however, was being restricted from going outside, from staying in his home world. He didn't want to go, but he knew, without asking or even mentioning anything, that it wouldn't matter what he said or did or wanted. Once again, all he was considered to be was another helpful tool to be passed on between the first two worlds.

"Harry! The Portal's ready!"

Lycander's voice was loud and vibrant with nerves. After almost a year, Harry could discern almost anything from his Qaiul's voice, while Lycander could nearly do the same with Harry. It was a bond that constantly annoyed him, but it wasn't all that bad. When he had to say something that a teenager shouldn't, or an opinion that wouldn't be taken seriously because of his age, Harry could simply open his mind, let the sentence flash, and then Lycander would say it in his place. That hadn't happened yet, but Harry imagined it would be especially helpful in the near future, or whenever he and Olean battled.

Harry sat up. Ron's bed was mussed, much as his hair was probably still at this moment. Malfoy's was as neat as a pin, a dark green quilt displaying the Slytherin covers. Mrs. Weasley had made it especially for him since he was stuck living in his most disliked house for an unknown amount of time. Charlie's was as messy as Ron's, and a picture of a dark brunette was standing upon his bedside table. Bill's bed wasn't exactly messy like his other brothers, but the folded bed was wrinkled. A set of old robes were in a pile beside it.

He was going to miss this. He was going to miss staying with his friends, or family, if they insisted he was a part of theirs. Hell, he didn't want to go.

"Hey, the Portal's ready to go." Ron had stuck his head in the door, but when he saw the look in Harry's eyes, he came in and closed the door quietly behind him.

"It's only a month, Harry. You'll be fine."

"Would you want to go to a place you've only heard about, but sounds like an English townhouse in first century monarchy? Ron, I really don't want to go."

Ron sat down cross-legged alongside Harry. "I can tell you don't, but I don't think you have much of a choice."

Harry turned his head to steady him. His friends had changed so much because of him. They'd lost their innocence because they'd befriended Harry Potter at the age of eleven, and it had completely destroyed their lives.

"I'm sorry, Ron. So bloody sorry. Your family's all in an uproar because of me and my problems, and I'm sorry. If I could -or if flaming Dumbledore would let me- I'd go somewhere else. I'd never want to hurt you and Hermione and your families. I honestly didn't mean to."

Ron followed suit, studying his brothers and Mal's bed. "I didn't figure you did, Harry. You haven't done anything that I probably wouldn't have done in your place. I wish you would have come to me and Hermione to help you study the Dark Arts, but I guess I can see your point in not wanting us to know. It hasn't changed our opinion of you, if that's what you'd been worried about when you went to him. We would have understood. Eventually," he added after thinking about it.

"Which was exactly the point. I didn't have eventually. I had no clue how much time I had before Voldemort would somehow come after me. For once, I shouldn't have run off without talking to Dumbledore, or even Lycander, about the vision. It was pretty much identical to the way Sirius had died, except Mack didn't come and try to save me."

"She was so tore up when you were kidnapped, Harry." Ron's face paled as he remembered. "She was in tears the entire day and locked herself in her room. It was her fault you'd gone outside and gotten ambushed. Mack knew that, but she couldn't handle it. I don't know what she would have done if Voldemort had killed you."

"I don't care. She abandoned me!" Harry shoved a hand through his hair. "I don't do well with abandonment, if you haven't noticed."

Ron gave a grave smile. "I've noticed. We should probably get downstairs. Lycander was pacing like you, which was a little abnormal, considering it is one of your trademarks."

"I don't have trademarks," Harry disagreed, a little surprised.

Ron snorted. "Yes, you do. Brooding, pacing, yelling, and silence. Oh, yeah, don't forget the distancing yourself from everyone in the entire bloody world."

Since he'd said it in a friendly matter, Harry didn't take offense, but he did wonder. And he did feel the guilt, which wasn't that much of a new admission to him.

There was quite a group huddled in the Gryffindor Common Room. It looked like the entire Hogwarts staff, excluding Snape of course, had shown up, along with a good proportion of the Order. When Harry came down the stairs behind Ron, he whistled quietly and whispered over Ron's shoulder, "Guess everyone got all excited at the prospect of me leaving."

Ron snorted in laughter, than cut through the crowd until he was in the midst of family.

"You've got a couple of minutes, Harry, but that's all. We only have a small time slot that they'll be opening the portal for us."

It was actually pretty emotional, which surprised Harry. Fred and George were disarmingly quiet when they shook his hand, and, unknowingly to their parents and Lycander, placed a small goody bag in his robe pocket. Ginny hugged him breathless for an unknown amount of time, until Hermione got impatient and shoved her away.

"You be careful," Hermione whispered against his neck. She gave the best hugs, Harry realized, and smiled at her gently when she pulled back a little. "And behave." She put a hand on to his cheek, then grimaced. "And shave. You've got little furry things on your chin. Very unattractive."

Harry gave a chuckle. "Over there, five-year-olds probably have moustaches and goatees."

Then he moved on to the older Weasleys. He let Mrs. Weasley give him a gut-wrenching hug, but he didn't stand around to talk. He wasn't particularly mad at him, but he wasn't in the best of moods at the moment.

Merlin, he didn't want to go.

He shook a lot of hands when he hit the Order, and received a bunch of shoulder slaps that made his healing wounds thrum particularly painfully. Moody clasped a craggy hand on his shoulder and pulled his face closer.

"Don't let your guard down. Remember that Olean is a Mage, too, and he can get into that world. He knows you're vulnerable in a different dimension, especially without Dumbledore and your friends there to protect and watch out for you. This is a tough situation; CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Harry was glad he'd hissed it instead of yelled it, as his imposter had done constantly when Harry was in Fourth year.

He came out of the line and stood there. The Portrait Hole had opened, and Dumbledore stepped in. Remus looked ready to collapse. He seemed to shudder and shiver as if in convulsions, and his face was so pallid.

And then he remembered that the night before had been a full moon, and it was barely nine in the morning.

A large lump filled his throat as the two men approached him, then he launched himself at Remus. It was a quick hug, since Remus looked ill and more than a dozen people were watching, but Harry made it count.

"Thanks for coming, Remus. I know you'd rather be sleeping or something."

Remus's cheek twitched when he gave a small smile. "Actually, I don't think I could sleep even if I tried. Adrenaline rush. So, are you ready to leave us all behind and go on to another of your amazing and near death adventures?"

Lycander frowned. "I highly doubt anyone will try to kill him."

Moody grumbled from somewhere in the Order area.

Harry grinned. "I haven't thought of it as an adventure; more of a chore, maybe, but definitely not an adventure."

Remus gave a weak smile. "Maybe you should have. For all you know of that world, you might just have fun. Think of it as a vacation where you all stand in lines and do yoga."

"Yoga?"

Harry's old professor shrugged. "All I could think of."

"And I'm sure we'd all like to hear about it as soon as you get back, so don't forget about anything." This from Dumbledore, who had a mile-wide grin on, but his eyes weren't twinkling as they usually did when the Headmaster smiled. "Do you still have that necklace I gave you last year?" he asked in a quieter, hushed tone.

Unconsciously, Harry reached up with his right hand to feel the imprint of the serpent under his shirt and robes. Dumbledore took it as a positive answer. "It'll still work," Dumbledore told him. "If you're in grave danger, those of us with matching pendants should feel the resonates and be able to alert the High Counselman."

Harry nodded, although he already knew Lycander would rarely let him out of his eagle-eyed watch. Then he turned back to Remus when the werewolf twitched again.

"I won't be here when you get back, Harry," Remus said. His left hand was clenching and unclenching. Did Remus know he was doing that? Harry wondered, fascinated.

"How come?" Curiously, Harry lifted his gaze to Remus's face.

"I've gotten an offer to head some school for lycanthropic children over in Ireland. It's a branch school; the one in Scotland is the first of over four other schools. It was an amazing offer, but it should eat up a lot of my time for the next couple months. You can come and visit me during Christmas Break, though, if you'd like."

Harry smiled. "Okay."

"Harry!" Lycander barked. "We've got to go!" he said impatiently.

The crystals and the powder were already aligned in a perfectly symmetrical shape. Three crystals were six feet apart from the other three, while the three line intersecting were close, and yet equal in distance.

The powder began to crackle loudly. After a minute, the lines burst into the sort of familiar green flames. The surrounding groups of people gave an instantaneous intake of breath, but it didn't matter since Lycander gripped his elbow in a vice grip and hauled him into opposing shapes, separated only by the intersection of the three lines that connected all six crystals.

It felt like using the Floo system. The flames licking at his skin were light, not warm, but any normal Muggle or Wizard would probably have been burned. Harry was curious and made a mental note to ask Lycander about that specific detail.

And then the flames turned red. Harry tipped and swayed as the flames, now red, disintegrated, but Lycander grabbed his elbow again to sturdy him.

And then, once Harry looked up, the realization that he was in a completely different reality, or world, finally hit him in the chest and knocked him figuratively flat on his arse.

* * * * * *