Thicker Than Water: Year Six

Thicker Than Water: Year Six

Chapter 1 - The Coming of the Storm

It was a dark and stormy fight, the words slamming into her like a biting wind, with the gale force of a raging pandemic. A snap of the wrist and a flick of the tongue, she hurled her nastiest lexicon in a soaring arc, aimed directly at his heart.

As the sudden end of a cloudburst and the melting of an ice cap, they both dissolved into torrents of tears: first he, sinking to his knees and clutching desperately at her meridian; then she, the breeze of her apologies rustling through handfuls of his hair. They sank into the depths of one another's regrets until they were soaked in sweat, gasping sweet incantations into the night.

The morning light, reflected by a fountain in the courtyard, leapt lightly upon them. It crept up their toes, danced ticklishly upon their knees, then warmly blanketed their torsos.

At this point, Fleur's eyes snapped open. She was suddenly, irrevocably awake. Their argument of last night sat heavily in the pit of her stomach, the dark and hollow aftermath of a sob. Bill's hair fanned out around his head, his mouth half open with the steady breathing of deep slumber.

How am I to let him go? her heart asked her mind. Her index finger answered by twisting itself around a long lock of hair. She quietly sighed the spell, desperately forming an ethereal bond to cleave him to her while he was away. Where will his path lead in this thankless war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Will it be ill wind or fair that blows him back to my arms?

The sunlight continued its lazy journey across the studio floor as they lay entwined, he in the last peaceful morn before the battle, she clinging to the vestiges of hope for their future life together.

*

The afternoon air was hot, descending on Diagon Alley with a thickness that choked residents and shopkeepers. The clouds had started to amass midday, and the air was static with the promise of a thunderstorm by the evening.

Fleur, clutching folders of charts and mathematical tables, stepped out from the cool interior of Gringott's Bank and felt herself sag in the heat. She cast her eyes unseeingly at the store windows on her way back to the flat. Bill had left that morning, and Merlin knew when they would see one another again. Stopped by a sudden cramp, Fleur leaned against the window of Flourish and Blotts, and surveyed the books on display.

"That's an excellent book on myths and magical beasts," said a low, soft voice beside her. Fleur turned quickly to see a slight teenage girl with long dirty-blond hair and large eyes, gazing into the bookstore.

"I know you," the girl continued, turning an unblinking stare at Fleur. "You're Fleur Delacouer from Beauxbatons."

"Yes," replied Fleur impatiently, "but I'm no longer at school. I work at Gringott's now. And who are you, girl?"

"I'm Luna Lovegood, and I'm starting my fifth year at Hogwarts in the fall. I saw you at the school when you competed against Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory. All the boys at Hogwarts were quite taken with you, you know."

"The hazards of being a part-Veela, of course!" snorted Fleur to herself. Then she turned resolutely to the teen and said, "Look, I'm wilting like old lettuce in this heat. Why don't we go get an ice cream and sit down for a bit?"

The two young women were soon seated at Fortesque's ice cream parlour. Luna ordered a rainbow swirl ice cream, and Fleur asked if they had any mint-olive sorbet. Florean Fortesque raised an eyebrow in surprise, and Fleur muttered, "Never mind, I'll just have plain mint!"

Fleur asked Luna about the teachers and some of the students she had met during the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts. Then Luna began to talk about a trip she and her father were taking next week, to Sweden. When she mentioned that they were searching for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Fleur got very excited.

"My grandmother told me all about them. She said that Snorkacks had not been seen by people in several hundred years, but that the Veela still know where they live, in the northern tundra!" She then went on to share some of her grandmother's lore on so-called mythical beasts, and described the Veela to Luna. After a long and interesting conversation, Fleur insisted that she should get home before it rained, and wished Luna the best of luck on her trip.

Luna smiled and returned the sentiment, "Best of luck to you too, Fleur - when are you expecting the baby?"

Fleur, who had been getting up to leave, sat down hard and gave Luna a shocked look. "What...! How...! How did you know I'm pregnant?! I haven't even told Bill yet...."

Luna patted Fleur's arm supportively and whispered, "It's okay, I'll keep your secret! Sometimes I just see things that other people miss..." They were interrupted by a clap of thunder, and suddenly, Luna sat up very straight, her eyes wider than ever and her hands clutching the bottom of her chair. She gasped, "Something... something bad is coming! Something is going to happen... tonight I think!"

Fleur's face went white as she remembered the work Bill was out doing, and her stomach clenched in knots. "How do you know?" she frantically asked the younger girl. Luna looked earnestly at Fleur, and said, "I can just feel it in the air, like a premonition...."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Fleur was quite taken aback by Luna's revelation, which seemed to mark her as some kind of seer. She was puzzled by the girl: though she certainly appeared to be quite odd at first glance, Fleur was struck by her quiet maturity. Luna also talked about very interesting things - myths and older magic - which most wizards were uncomfortable with, or uninterested in talking about. Growing up, Fleur had heard so many stories from her grandmother, a Veela, which painted the world with extraordinary tones that wizards just didn't seem aware of. All in all, Fleur decided she liked Luna's company, and proposed they meet again before Luna left on her vacation.

Luna agreed, and then added, "Don't worry, Fleur, I'm sure he'll be all right!" They shared a knowing look, and Luna reached out to squeeze Fleur's hand reassuringly. After a quick hug, they went their separate ways, hurrying for shelter before the rains began.

*

The same thunder claps which kept Fleur from her slumber that night were also disturbing the sleep of a grieving teenage boy. The stormy night enveloped the house at number 4 Privet Drive in blackness. Inside, Harry Potter inhabited the smallest bedroom on the second floor. This year, it was devoid of the locks and window-bars which had in previous summers made the room his confinement, and the Dursleys, his jailers.

Nonetheless, this was cold comfort for Harry, who had spent the first two weeks of summer vacation completely ignored by his relatives, save when they presented him with a new list of chores every couple of days. Harry had gone about his work and, later each day, his neighborhood prowls in a state of numb disbelief. No amount of hard work or letters from friends, nor visits from Mrs. Figg with her small offerings of cake, had been able to penetrate the guilt and sadness that Harry carried with him.

This night was no different: his nightmares focused on the loss of his Godfather in June. Each flash of lightening outside his window translated into the flash of curses flying at Harry and his friends in a circular chamber deep in the heart of the Ministry of Magic. Tossing and turning, Harry mumbled "Run, Ron, take Hermione...." and "Sirius! NO!!"

A loud clap of thunder brought Harry to his senses, scrambling to untangle himself from the sheets and shove his glasses onto his face, wand already in hand. He was sure that, despite the background rumble of thunder, he had heard the distinctive crack of apparition.

Harry stumbled over the mess of books and clothes that had been strewn about the floor since the start of summer vacation. Still in his night clothes, he crept cautiously down the stairs, and opening the front door an inch, peered into the night. In an instant he saw a cat run out from under the hydrangea bush and, without thinking, ran into the yard calling out, "Wait!"

Barely six paces from the door, and coinciding with a particularly loud thunderclap, an explosion behind him threw Harry face-first across the lawn. The moments after that were a blur: he tried to roll over, and found himself coming to with the sounds of apparition around him. After a time, he saw the frantic face of Bill Weasley looking down at him, though Harry could not hear what he was trying to say. Somehow, Harry had been moved farther from the house and was lying on the wet ground beside the front gate. He vaguely saw the Dark Mark shimmering in the stormy sky above. Then he lost consciousness again.

When Harry opened his eyes again, he found himself in a warm, dry bedroom, fairly dark except for a couple of bedside candles and the crackling blaze in a large fireplace. Standing above him was Albus Dumbledore. Harry looked up at him with shock and grief, and the old Headmaster returned a look laced with deep concern and sorrow.

"Oh Harry, thank Merlin you're all right!" Dumbledore bent over to peer into his eyes, and said quietly, "I'm afraid the same cannot be said for your aunt, uncle and cousin. The explosion leveled the whole house."

"But... but I thought... you told me that He couldn't get to me when I was in my aunt's home!" Harry said, his voice cracking.

"It is true, Harry, that no magic wielded by Voldemort or his supporters would have gotten through the wards we set up there." Dumbledore let out a deep sigh. "However, the wards were no match for muggle explosives. In the end, that's what they resorted to using: simple muggle explosives."

Harry turned his head away, and tried to absorb the news. His head was still throbbing from falling in the yard, and his body ached. Dumbledore kept talking, telling Harry how they had quickly secured the area, and no Death Eaters had been caught. Then he asked how Harry happened to be out of the house when the explosion occurred. Harry's brain registered the question, but he found he did not have the energy left to answer it.

At that point, the bedroom door opened and Bill Weasley stepped in. "We found nothing at the house, no wand signatures to identify who did this. In fact, there was no evidence of magic at all, only the Dark Mark and the empty shells of explosives," he quickly informed Dumbledore. "Harry, I'm so glad you're awake! It's a miracle you got of the house in time. We were able to salvage your trunk - it must be flame retardant - but I'm afraid we got little else." With a penetrating look from Dumbledore, Bill nodded at them both and hastily left.

Remus Lupin, whom Harry hadn't even realized was in the room, walked over to the bed opposite Dumbledore, and placed a hand on his shoulder. His wan face was etched with grief, and the bags under his eyes told of his exhaustion. Dumbledore, despite pleading looks from Remus, continued to address Harry. "I know you've had a terrible night, and more loss to deal with. But I will have to meet with Ministry of Magic officials very soon, and tell them what happened tonight. I must, once again, ask how you got out of the house?"

Harry mumbled that he had been having a dream, and had then heard what sounded like an apparating wizard. When he glanced out the front door, he had seen one of Mr. Figg's cats and thought that perhaps Mundungus was there again, underneath an invisibility cloak. "I just wanted to ask if everything was alright - if I had known, perhaps I could have woken them up...." Harry's voice tapered off, as he stared vacantly into space.

"No, Harry, no!!" came Remus' voice vehemently. "Had you lingered even a moment to wake your family, you would not have made it out of the house in time! You have to thank your lucky stars that you heard whichever wizard planted the bomb arriving and went down to look, otherwise you would have....." Remus twisted away abruptly, wearing an agonized look on his face.

Dumbledore sighed again. "We expected something from Voldemort, but with few really trustworthy Death Eaters in place, not this level of violence, and not this soon. This will change our plans, and we'll have to mobilize the entire Order of the Pheonix as well as any Ministry departments that will join us. Voldemort must be contained! But I promise you this time, Harry, you'll be informed and involved in any decisions we make."

Harry jerked up and shouted at Dumbledore, "I want no part of it!" Dumbledore and Remus both started to talk, but Harry interrupted with a sob, "I've had enough! He's taken all that's left of my family - first Sirius, now the Dursleys, for what they were worth! I want no more of this!"

The accumulated grief of the past month's events, beginning with the battle at the Ministry of Magic, the loss of his Godfather, the cruel revelation of the prophecy, and the fresh loss of his remaining family, overwhelmed Harry completely. Remus knelt down beside him, taking his hand. Harry's body convulsed with sobs.

"What do you want?" the Headmaster asked softly of the crying boy. Harry turned and spat out bitterly, "I just want to go to sleep and not wake up to this again! Instead of waiting for him to kill me, I just wish I were already dead!"

Remus gasped, and Dumbledore moved away with the saddest smile and not even the hint of a twinkle in his eyes, "Death, Harry, is that what you really want? Do you know what would happen with Voldemort if you were dead?" And then he started telling Harry about the war that would ensue, explaining that Voldemort had seen Harry as a major threat and his very existence hindered Voldemort's actions. "You see, even without knowing precisely what the prophecy said, Voldemort has figured out that his fate and yours are somehow linked. He has time and again been unable to kill you, and the night of his resurrection - when your wands connected - has placed him at quite a disadvantage. All his Death Eaters viewed that spectacle and it shook their faith in him, perhaps even his faith in himself. You drove the point further when you were able to repel him in the Ministry lobby, and painfully too, I might add."

"I also wanted to die then," Harry whispered.

Dumbledore observed him and opened his mouth to speak; he halted and shook his head as though to dispel a nasty thought. Finally, speaking aloud but to himself, Dumbledore went on. "Voldemort is a man of power, and with Harry dead, he could flaunt his power to get and retain supporters. Your death, Harry, would be just the thing to draw Voldemort out prematurely, when he's still vulnerable. But there's still the prophecy...."

"Please just let me rest," moaned Harry. "I don't want my scar burning with his feelings anymore. I don't want the Ministry and Daily Prophet abusing me one minute, and singing my praises the next, people staring at me every time I move! I don't want to wake up tired, thinking that each day might be the day I have to face Voldemort again, and try to survive!"

Then Dumbledore talked at length of a new plan, in the eventuality that Harry had indeed died that night. He spoke of the toll his loss would take on his friends, and on the wizarding community. He told Harry what one person could do, and what it meant if he disappeared, and many other things about possibilities and about the choices a man must make. Remus squirmed uncomfortably, hearing the cavalier way the older man spoke of Harry's hypothetical death, but he said nothing at all.

Harry listened in spite of his tears, until the Headmaster finally stopped. Then, with a weary voice and the weight of his burden on his words, Harry sighed, "Just let me go already!" and Dumbledore replied, "If that's really what you want, Harry."

Handing him a goblet, Dumbledore simply said, "Sweet dreams." Harry drank deeply, and was thankful when the darkness finally took him.