The Potter Show

Even though he had been allowed to go to Hogsmeade quite freely for the last several few years, it still felt like a stolen treat to Harry. Especially since they had gotten word that dementors had been spotted in the Forbidden Forest. The trees that lined the road to Hogsmeade were not technically part of the Forest, but it was close enough that students traveling that way went in groups and bunched closely in the middle of the lane.

Harry, less worried than some, had stopped to tie his shoe. Ron and Hermione, not noticing, had gone on ahead. He could hear their voices around the bend, Ron telling Hermione that Zonko's was now carrying some of Fred and George's patented candies. "I want to get some Peppermint Sticks," he was saying. "Malfoy loves peppermint. Imagine his face when he breaks out in red and white stripes!"

Hermione was trying to sound severe. "Ron, you really ought to act your age. Making Draco's face striped-"

"Oh, not his face," Ron interrupted.

There was a muffled whispering, and then Harry could hear Hermione's shocked "Ron!"

as he straightened up.

Their voices faded as they moved on, and for a moment, everything was quiet and still. He looked around, appreciating the silence--it was a commodity hard to come by at Hogwarts--until a movement caught his attention.

He tensed; his wand was out and ready before he even had to think about it. But it was only a scrap of paper floating to the ground.

Harry frowned, going to look at it. Where had it come from? It had seemed to waft down out of the sky.

He pocketed the wand and picked up the paper. It looked like a corner torn from a book. He could make out words: "597^th printing, copyr--". He put it in his pocket and, still wondering where it had dropped from, hurried to catch up with the others.

Later that night, in the dormitory, Harry waited until he was sure the others were asleep. Drawing the hangings around his bed, he grasped his wand and breathed, "Lumos." A very faint flicker of light appeared at the tip. He leaned over to his bedside table and picked up the photo album full of pictures that Colin had taken of Hogwarts students and teachers. Colin had been so proud when he was finally able to develop his own moving photographs. Naturally he had given Harry the first scrapbook he had produced.

He paged through it. There were no pictures of her, he knew that already. They were the first thing he had looked for. Ever since Cho had transferred to Beauxbatons at the beginning of Harry's fifth year, he had been looking for a photo of her. But it was as if she had never existed. No one had any records, pictures, autographs, nothing. It was odd, especially given the strange conversation that had occurred at their last meeting. But Harry had had an idea during History class that day, and he was eager to try it out.

The enchanted photos were not happy about being cut up. Melissa Kwan's eyes stared reproachfully up at him, closing every time he tried to match them with other features. Fifth-year Rowena David's mouth pouted, refusing to smile. He persevered, however, until he had assembled a complete face. Then he studied it carefully. It wasn't her, by any means, but it was similar enough to help him remember.

He placed the picture carefully under some schoolbooks, extinguished the light, and lay back with a sigh. He ought to be content, he knew that. He had a good relationship with Ginny, and he didn't want to spoil that. But there was a nagging feeling of something--unfinished--with Cho. Something beyond a first crush.

Drifting off to sleep, he drowsily remembered the last time he had seen her...

He had been in the library, working on his Divination homework. He still didn't believe anything Professor Trelawney predicted, especially since everything she had "seen" about the war so far had been wrong. But he wanted his grades to be good enough that he could be an Auror. "It's not like it was fifty years ago," the real Mad-Eye Moody had told him grumpily, when he had recovered enough for Harry to be introduced to him. "Then, anyone could pick up their wand and blast hell out of Dark Wizards. Now, you have to have O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s..."

He had been busily making up predictions and writing them down when Cho Chang appeared and slid into the seat next to him.

He looked up, surprised. "I have to tell you something, Harry," Cho said breathlessly.

"Hi, Cho, what-"

She cut him off, looking anxiously around. "I don't have much time, Harry! Any minute now-" she broke off and gasped, looking at the entrance to the library.

He followed her gaze to see Professor Snape at the door, glaring around the room. Another man was with him, a man that Harry didn't recognize; he looked like he might be related to Cho.

"They're here!" Cho whispered. Harry was bewildered. Snape was horrific enough, in his fashion, but nobody except Neville was actually terrified of him.

Cho seized his hand. "Harry, I have to tell you this. Everybody knows you, Harry. They know who you are, they all read about you, they talk about you, they write about you-"

He was still confused. "I know, I can't help it, they think I defeated Voldemort or something, I-"

"No! I mean, it's not real! None of it is real, it's all made up, and they're watching you, Harry, they're watching you!"

Snape had spotted them and was striding across the library to their table. Harry was actually rather relieved. Cho was behaving bizarrely--maybe someone should be notified. Although he wouldn't have personally picked Snape....

"This is Miss Chang's father," Snape said coldly. "He is here to take her home. She is not well."

"I'm fine!" Cho retorted, gripping Harry's hand tighter than ever. "And--my father? Think, Harry! Have you ever seen anyone's parents come here? Parents don't come to Hogwarts!"

That was a mistake. His mind immediately flashed back to the one set of parents he had seen at Hogwarts, besides the Weasleys--Cedric's parents. Maybe something was really wrong with Cho.

Cho's father grasped her free hand. "Come along, Cho," he said firmly. "It's this fever you have, you'll be fine when we get you out of this damp climate--you're hallucinating, that's all-"

"I'm not!" she cried. "You have to tell him the truth! It's not fair to him! Harry, you have to believe me-"

Snape seized Cho's other hand and wrenched it away from Harry's grasp. "Hey!" Harry said angrily, rising from his chair.

"Sit down, Potter," Snape snarled, his eyes glinting. "Miss Chang will be leaving Hogwarts now. You will not interfere."

"Leaving? But-"

Snape shoved Harry forcibly back into his seat. Cho's father raised his voice over her protests. "She's transferring to Beauxbatons. She won't be back."

"But-"

Harry was left protesting to no one, as Snape and Mr. Chang together dragged Cho out the door, still struggling...

These images were still in Harry's mind, more than two years later, as he finally fell asleep and dreamed...

He was standing on a beach, facing a rather pretty but extremely crowded bay. Night was falling; he could see the lights coming on from various boats. He strained his eyes. There were dinghies, rowboats, sailboats, rafts, tubes--every kind of nautical craft imaginable was out there, and there were people perched on all of them, stretched out in deck chairs, perching uncomfortably on the sides of buoys, draped lazily over the tubes sipping drinks with umbrellas in them. Some people were clambering about, changing crafts even as he watched. The strange thing was, they were all talking. They were yelling across the water at each other, arranging flags to send messages--he even thought he saw smoke signals coming from one craft. He caught his own name more than once. What was going on here?

A burst of music caught his ear, and he turned. Behind him was a tavern with a welcoming look to it. Someone had just staggered out of it, and he caught a glimpse while the door was open of warmth and light, and people roaring out loud sea chanteys at the top of their lungs.

It looked inviting, but he turned back to the bay. What were those people doing? And why were they talking about him?...

When he woke up the next morning, he could barely remember the dream.

Ginny had come with them into Hogsmeade this time. The four of them sat around a table, drinking butterbeer, and talking about what they would do when they left school.

"I want to be a teacher," Hermione said with determination.

"A teacher?" Ron exclaimed. "Hermione, with all that's going on, how is that even important? You know what happened last year was only temporary--You-Know-Who will be back, you know it, as soon as he gets some more Death Eaters together he'll attack again!"

"Dumbledore thought it was important," Hermione pointed out. "You remember, he refused to close the school. He thought students needed to keep learning. The more we know, the better we'll be able to fight."

They were silent for a moment, thinking of Dumbledore.

"That wasn't the only reason," Ginny said then. "He wanted the students to have good influences. Some of the students--well, you know their backgrounds--some of them have Death Eaters for parents. The school was the only positive influence they ever had-"

Someone bumped their table and caught himself on it. Harry, who was closest, stood instinctively and grasped the person's arm to steady them.
"Harry!" the man gasped. "Thank goodness I found you!"

Harry went into shock. "Professor Dumbledore," he said numbly. "But you-"

"I'm not dead, Harry. It's all right."

They were all on their feet now. Hermione shrieked, "You are dead! I saw you! Harry, it's a trick!"

Ron pulled Harry away. "Get away from him, Harry, he's dead, you know he is!"

Dumbledore--or the wizard that looked just like him--reached for Harry. "No, Harry. It was necessary for you to think so. You had to fulfill your destiny. I'm sorry. But I wanted to tell you it's all right--I'm all right-"

There was a flash and a soft bampth of air exploding outwards, as three wizards Apparated into The Three Broomsticks. They were wearing sunglasses. Harry knew who they were: Enforcers from the Ministry of Magic.

"Stand aside, Mr. Potter," the lead one--a pale man with a widow's peak--said in a cold, drawly voice. He raised his wand and pointed it at Dumbledore.

Harry was only certain of one thing--he wanted to find out what this was about. "No!" he shouted, and darted in front of Dumbledore, just as bright light burst out of the wands of the Enforcers.

Harry's eyes opened slowly. The ceiling of The Three Broomsticks swam into focus, to be shortly obscured by three heads bending over him.

"What happened?" he asked, trying to sit up. "Where did he go?"

Ron pushed him back down. "Be still, Harry."

"You got hit by the Stupefy that they aimed at that--that man," said Ginny, shuddering.

"They arrested him, and serve him right," said Hermione sharply. "They think he was using Polyjuice potion."

"To impersonate Dumbledore?" Harry asked, wincing at the light. Ron backed off and let him sit up slowly. "But--why? Why would anyone want me to think-"

"He was nuts, Harry," Ron said firmly. "Anything to get close to you, right? You're the famous Harry Potter, right? Hey, I bet he escaped from St. Mungo's!"

Harry stood up slowly, dusting himself off. Ginny looked at him worriedly. "Try not to think about it, Harry," she advised. "To take Professor Dumbledore's form--knowing he was dead--it's horrible." She shuddered again.

Harry found himself with his arm around Ginny, comforting her, instead of tearing out to owl the Ministry for answers, as he wanted to do.

That night, he dreamed about the bay again. This time it was different, though--there were not nearly so many small craft out. They had docked, all of them, and the crews were hard at work taking down the sails and battening down the hatches. The tavern was empty; the former roisterers were lined up filling sandbags and tossing them in a ragged line up and down the beach. Only a few, very large, cruise ships still floated in the water. But...the people working on the boats, the people tossing sandbags...they were all still talking. He couldn't make out all of it, but he heard references to the coming hurricane, and his own name again. He heard the words "Godric's Hollow", and looked around swiftly, but couldn't tell where it came from.

Harry looked out to sea. The sun was setting over the bay. It would have been a beautiful picture, except for the stormclouds building up. It looked like it would be a rough night.

He awoke with little more memory of the dream than the previous time, but he did remember wondering what all those people had to say to each other. And he remembered Cho saying, "They're talking about you...they're watching you, Harry!"

It was some while before he remembered the reference to Godric's Hollow. When he did, he thought about it for some time before mentioning his idea to his friends. When he did so, they exploded.

"You can't go to Godric's Hollow!" Hermione said. "You know you can't leave the grounds of Hogwarts! You-Know-Who is out there, Harry--you have to be careful-"

"I'll ride my Firebolt and take my dad's invisibility cloak," Harry said reasonably. "There's nothing that can catch that broomstick, even if anyone could see me."

"There are wards up all around the castle," Ginny pointed out. "You can't get out without someone knowing."

Ron's eyes were huge. "Harry--if Professor McGonagall found out--you know she'd kill you! You're the only hope we have of stopping You-Know-Who--you can't go out and get yourself killed!"

"I passed my Apparation test," Harry said stubbornly. "I'll Apparate there and back--McGonagall will never even miss me."

Hermione looked exasperated. "How many times do I have to tell you? You can't-"

"-Apparate and Disapparate out of Hogwarts," everyone chorused with her.

Harry brushed his hair out of his eyes irritably. He knew that, of course he did. He'd just forgotten--again. "There has to be a way," he said, nearly to himself.

"Why do you want to go there, anyway?" Ron asked. "There's nothing there, Harry. Just--ruins, that's all."

He couldn't answer that. He didn't know why he wanted to go.

Seventh years were allowed to go to Hogsmeade quite frequently, especially since there had been a lull in the war since the end of last year. Hogswart students were not allowed to go anywhere else unescorted, so McGonagall gave them all the freedom she could manage. She considered a village full of wizards to be a fairly safe place--for the moment, anyway.

Harry bided his time until they all went into Zonko's Joke Shop. He found his chance when he saw that Draco Malfoy and his cronies were there. He set off a Dungbomb under Ron's nose, making it look like it had come from Malfoy's direction. Ron grabbed his wand angrily and sent a wild hex in Malfoy's direction. In the ensuing confusion, Harry slipped out.

He darted behind the Joke Shop and set off for the forest. Outside the bounds of Hogsmeade, where no one would see, he should be able to Disapparate. Sirius had shown him Godric's Hollow on a map once. He thought he could find it. And maybe--maybe there would be some answers there. Some answers to the bizarre things that had been happening to him since fifth year. Now that he started to think about it, the bizarre things that had been happening to him since he was born.

He was only a few feet into the forest when he felt a freezing cold grip his insides. He looked around quickly. He knew that feeling. Robed, hooded figures were gliding into view. He heard their rattling breaths, felt the chill overtaking him...

He gripped his wand and shouted, "Expecto patronum!" A small stag cantered out of his wand and toward the dementors. It wasn't moving very fast. When it saw more and more figures emerging out of the forest, it turned and ran.

Harry cursed under his breath. He hadn't been able to produce a proper Patronus since that one night, when he'd known he could because he already had. The dementors were coming towards him, slowly, now....

Harry, like the stag, turned and ran. When he got back to the Joke Shop, panting and disheveled, Zonko had just kicked out the whole lot of students. Evidently Harry had missed an excellent wizarding brawl. Nobody had even noticed he was gone.

Harry sat by the fire, re-reading his History essay which was due for Professor Binns the next morning. He was the last Gryffindor in the common room; the others had gone to bed hours ago.

The fire flamed up suddenly. Harry looked up, startled. The head and shoulders of Sirius had appeared in it. "Harry!" Sirius said, looking relieved. "I hoped I'd find you here. Are you alone?" He looked anxiously around the common room.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "What's going on? Are you OK? I haven't heard from you in a while--"

Sirius grinned, but his face was tired. "I'm fine--for now. I have to talk to you. It's important, Harry."

"I'm listening," he said. What did Sirius mean, he was fine for now? He had been on several spying missions, first for Dumbledore and then, once the Ministry of Magic had cleared his name, for them. Was he about to go on another one?

"I have to go, Harry," Sirius said. "They've got another assignment for me." His image looked around behind itself, to a room that Harry couldn't see. "I don't know--I don't know how it's going to end up."

"What do you mean?" Harry said anxiously, rising to his feet. "Sirius, where are they sending you?"

"I don't know just yet," Sirius said. "Harry--listen to me. I know you're not going to understand, but it's going to be all right. A lot of people--a lot of people think I'm going to die."

"Who?" Harry demanded. "Who? Why are they sending you out again if-"

"I told you you wouldn't understand," Sirius said wearily. "It's all right, Harry. You'll be all right. It's all about you, don't you see? You're going to be OK. I just wanted to let you know--if I don't come back-"

"No!" shouted Harry, his voice rising. "Sirius--whatever they want you to do-"

Sirius looked around again. "I have to go, Harry," he said urgently. "They're coming. If I make it--Godric's Hollow, Harry--you can do it, you can get past the dementors-"

His image vanished from the fireplace, and Harry was alone again in the common room.

Several weeks had passed since Sirius' unexpected appearance in the Gryffindor common room fireplace, and Harry hadn't heard back from him. The night before the next Hogsmeade weekend, he took out the hidden picture he'd pieced together and looked at it again. The pictures had evidently forgiven him for cutting them up; the mouth smiled up at him, and one eye winked. It was as if she had spoken to him, encouraging him. It stiffened his resolve for what he had already decided to do.

The next morning he brought his Firebolt out with him, ignoring the looks and questions he got from the others. "I'm getting it serviced," he told Professor McGonagall when she questioned him at the gate of the castle. "You know it came with a service package--every two years or 2,000 miles, they'll do a full tune-up."

"All right, Potter," she said finally, waving him through. She looked at him sharply over the rim of her glasses. "But be careful." She looked at his friends. "All of you."

They were nearly at Hogsmeade when Harry pretended to get a rock in his shoe. "Go on, you lot," he said good-naturedly. "I'll catch up with you. Save me a seat in The Three Broomsticks."

Ron and Hermione exchanged suspicious glances.

"I'll wait for you, Harry," offered Ginny, smiling sweetly up at him.

He lost patience. "No, you won't! Go with them!"

Hermione stood her ground, glaring at him. "We're not going anywhere. I know what this is about, Harry."

"What do you think it's about, Hermione?" he shouted back at her.

"You're going to try to leave. That's why you brought your broomstick. You're going to try to get to Godric's Hollow."

"You can't get past the dementors, you know that, Harry!" Ron said in disbelief.

Ginny's eyes welled up with tears. "But why, Harry!"

He was suddenly angrier than he'd ever been. "Why? Maybe to find out what's going on. Maybe because I want to know what really happened to Dumbledore. And--other people. Maybe because I feel like, my whole life, I've been set up for something. Maybe because everybody here is lying to me!"

"Nobody is lying to you, Harry." That was Hermione, using her "reasonable" voice. "Just calm down. Don't you know us?"

"I don't know you. I don't know any of you." He looked at Ginny, still crying. "You don't love me. You just--happened to be unattached, and I--I needed a romantic interest." He didn't know where those words were coming from; they were bursting out of his mouth as if a dam had been unstopped. He looked at Hermione. "You think you know everything, and you don't. You don't know anything. There's so much going on, and you think you can explain it all away logically, and you can't. There's more going on than you could ever imagine." He looked at Ron, who was standing with his mouth open, last. "You. If you were really my friend, you'd want me to find out what's going on. You're in on this, too."

Ron closed his mouth finally and stepped closer. "Harry--I'm not in on anything. There's nothing to be in on. I know you're upset about that guy who looked like Dumbledore-"

Harry stopped listening. He was through with explanations. He turned and mounted his Firebolt swiftly. He kicked off, and was in the air so fast that even Hermione didn't have time to try to stop him.

As soon as Harry was over the trees, he saw the dementors coming out from under them, their heads tilted up. Even though he couldn't see their eyes--if they had eyes--he knew somehow that they were watching him. Waiting--waiting for him to fall off his broom--he felt that old familiar chill starting in his gut. He whipped out his wand. "Expecto patronum!" A thin silver mist issued from the tip of his wand. The cold was burning now--he could hear voices, on the edge of his consciousness...he tried the spell again and again, and nothing was happening. The cold was paralyzing him now...the broomstick was faltering, going lower, it was dragging the treetops...

Harry half rolled, half fell off his broomstick as it neared the ground. He saw through dazed eyes the hooded figures approaching, one of them reaching for its hood to pull it back, to perform the Kiss...happy thought, he thought hazily, I need a happy thought... and unbidden, Sirius' last words came back to him. "Godric's Hollow, Harry...you can do it, you can get past the dementors..." Sirius believed in him, Sirius was going to meet him at Godric's Hollow...

With his last remaining strength, Harry pointed his wand at the dementor bending over him and croaked, "Expecto Patronum!" A huge silver shape blasted the hooded spectre out of existence. Then it circled round and headed for the other black figures.

Harry immediately felt strength returning to him. As the stag chased down the many dementors that had closed in, he re-mounted his broom and kicked off again.

He had flown for many hours before he recognized the landscape that Sirius had described to him so long before. He was surprised that no one had come after him; maybe they had all truly believed he wouldn't get past the dementors. He was bone-tired, hungry, and disoriented. He still didn't know exactly why he was doing all this. But there had to be a reason, and he was convinced he would find it at Godric's Hollow.

He landed at a small driveway off a back country lane. The lane looked like it hadn't been used for years, and the driveway...the driveway was overgrown, barely even visible from the ground. If he hadn't been in the air, he would never have spotted it.

He fought his way through the weeds, looking around for any sign of life. He arrived at the ruins without even realizing it. He had been picking his way through brambles and thorns when he stumbled over a chunk of concrete and fell, sprawling.

He picked himself up. He could barely make out an outline. It looked like a foundation had been here. He could still see the slab where the house had stood, and a few pipes sticking out of the ground forlornly. He felt foolish, suddenly. What had he expected to find here?

"Harry," a man's voice said quietly behind him. "You made it."

He spun around. Sirius was there, looking as tired as Harry felt. But he was smiling.

"Sirius! You're alive!"

"Yeah," he agreed. "They didn't kill me off. Not yet, anyway." He sobered. "There's something you have to know, Harry. And--it won't be easy to hear."

At that moment, a huge, thundering voice spoke out of the sky. "Harry." It was a woman's voice.

Harry looked around swiftly, but saw no one. Sirius was shaking his head; he wouldn't meet Harry's eyes. "Who--who are you?" he demanded.

"I am Jo. I am the writer of a series that brings hope and comfort and joy to millions of people."

"Then--who am I?"

"You are the star of the books."

He thought about everything he had seen and heard the past few months, and his dreams of people watching him, talking about him--reading him, he thought wildly--and knew that it was true. He looked at Sirius.

"I wanted to tell you," Sirius said unhappily. "I brought you here to tell you. I didn't want you to find out like this."

Harry looked at the ruins, and his fury erupted. "You!" he yelled at the unseen owner of the voice. "You killed my parents!"

"No, Harry," the voice said soothingly. "You-Know-Who killed your parents."

"Only because you made him! And Dumbledore--you made me think he was dead--all for your plot! Because I had to be the hero, right? I had to be left alone, on my own!" He turned to Sirius. "I'm leaving. I've had enough. I won't be a--a character anymore. I want a life of my own."

For the first time, the voice in the sky sounded uncertain. "You--you can't leave. You have a destiny! You have to finish out your school year--you have to win the war against You-Know-Who--millions of people are counting on you!" The voice was hysterical now. "I have a contract!"

Harry gazed up at the sky. "Was nothing real?"

There was no answer from the voice.

"You were real," said Sirius quietly. "Cho was real. And-"

Harry looked at him, waiting, but Sirius had stopped. "What about you?" he asked roughly.

Sirius looked steadily back at him. "I am your godfather, Harry."

Harry couldn't smile at him, not yet, but the weight that had landed on his chest when the voice first spoke seemed to lessen a bit. He turned away and picked up his broomstick. "Come on, then," he said, his voice still rough. "I think this thing will carry both of us. Do you know where we could find Cho?" He swung a leg over the Firebolt.

Sirius grinned suddenly. "How do you think I got here?" he asked, and whistled shrilly. A motorcycle rolled out from the woods surrounding the ruins and approached him lazily. He patted its seat absent-mindedly and mounted it. "I think we can find her."

The voice spoke suddenly, no longer hysterical but definitely panicky. "No, Harry! You can't leave! I created you! You have to finish the story--you have to kill You-Know-Who!"

"Kill him yourself," Harry retorted. "You created him, too." He kicked off and felt the wind picking up, whipping at his hair. Sirius' motorcycle roared as it rose off the ground also, both of them hovering in mid-air.

Harry looked over his shoulder. "And by the way--it's not You-Know-Who. It's VOLDEMORT."

The Firebolt accelerated so fast that he became a blur. The motorcycle whipped after him, Sirius' laughter floating back on the breeze.

And then there was nothing in Godric's Hollow except the silent ruins.