Thicker Than Water: Year Six

Chapter 2 - The Boy Who Lived No More

The morning after the storm dawned sunny again, with a fresh breeze blowing away the remnants of the night's clouds. Fleur was startled awake with by the click of the front door closing. She hurriedly pulled on a dressing gown, grabbed her wand and left the bedroom.

On the sofa sat Bill, head in hands, looking worse for the wear: his hands and face were soot-blackened, robes rumpled and dirty. Fleur rushed to his side, and embraced him carefully, worried that he may have been wounded. "What happened, Bill? I didn't expect you back so soon! Have you been in a fight? Are you hurt?"

Bill looked up at her, and the haggard expression of his face broke Fleur's heart. "I've just spent the night combing through the wreckage of Harry Potter's home, and convincing muggle law enforcers that a gas leak destroyed it." He moaned, "I'm terrible at that stuff, my dad should have been the one talking to them. And now I have to go tell my family and Harry's closest friends that he's gone...."

He lowered his head into Fleur's embrace, and tears ran down her face as his words sank in. Finally Bill pulled away, and Fleur gave him a frightened look. "I have to go make arrangements, Fleur. I'll be back tonight, not too late I hope." He moved towards the door.

"No, Bill!" She called behind him, as he turned back for one more hug and then quickly walked out. Fleur sat stunned on the sofa for a moment, then tore off to the bathroom where she was violently sick.

*

The urgent ringing of the doorbell woke Hermione from her sleep. She was still stretching when her mother called to her from the foot of the stairs. Forgetting her dressing gown and slippers, Hermione hurried down surprised that anybody would be calling on her so early in the day.

Bill Weasley, looking as though he was fresh from the scene of a battle, stood awkwardly in the front hall. She stared at him in horror, comprehending that whatever he had to say was bad. Catching her breath, Hermione squealed, "What!? Is Ron...?"

Bill shook his head, and said in a measured tone, "There was an explosion at Harry's house last night."

Hermione sank onto the bottom stair, and her mother moved towards her. Bill signaled to her to stop, then continued speaking. "Mrs. Granger, if you would be so kind as to pack Hermione a change of clothes and funeral attire, I would like to take her to stay with our family for a couple of days." Mrs. Granger nodded, glanced at her daughter, and hurried up the stairs. Bill leaned in to Hermione, whose eyes were streaming tears, and whispered, "He's okay, Hermione. Please just come quickly, and I'll tell you when we get there."

She looked up at him startled, and ran upstairs to dress. Within five minutes, with an overnight bag in her hand, Hermione was ready to go. After giving her mother a quick kiss and a long hug, she reached out to the water bottle Bill held. He activated the portkey and, with a sharp tug, they were whisked away to a blind alley opposite the Order house, at number 12 Grimmauld Place.

As soon as they were inside, a sobbing Mrs. Weasley pulled Hermione into an embrace, and signaled her to quietly go into the drawing room. The whole Weasley family - except Charlie and, of course, Percy - were assembled there. She gave Ginny a hug, then walked across the room to Ron; he reached out for her hand, but averted his eyes, and she could see that he was fighting to maintain his composure.

Without further ado, Bill said, "There was an explosion at Harry's aunt's and uncle's home last night, shortly after one o'clock in the morning. The house was completely destroyed, killing his family. It appears that muggle explosives were used, since magic wouldn't work through Dumbledore's wards there."

"Was Harry killed?" George interrupted.

"For all intensive purposes, yes," replied Bill, hurrying on to silence Mrs. Weasley's sobs, "but for your ears alone, he is in a remote location, recovering from the explosion under Remus' care."

Hermione let out her breath - which she hadn't realized she'd been holding - and sank into a nearby chair. Ron moved protectively behind her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. He looked at Bill and said, "When will we be able to visit him? Can we go see him today?"

Bill shook his head sadly, "I'm sorry. None of us will be able to see him for a long time. He has been badly injured, and needs some time. We will also be notifying the Ministry and the Daily Prophet that Harry has indeed been killed in this latest attack." Bill held up his hands to silence the many protestations that erupted around the room. "This is being done very much by Harry's choice, and Dumbledore thinks it's a good idea. Given the violent nature of last night's attack, he thinks it's better if Voldemort thinks Harry is gone. We will have to do our best to pretend it's true."

"What can that man be playing at?!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, "Dumbledore ought to know better - he's left Harry alone too often and now - instead of bringing Harry here, to recover with people who care about him, he's decided it's better to let Harry play dead?!!"

Bill interrupted before Mrs. Weasley hit her stride with a full-scale tirade. "Mum, the order will be meeting here this evening. Dumbledore will explain a lot more to you at that point. Dad, there are some things Dumbledore needs you to do," and Bill motioned to his father that they needed a private place to talk. He turned with a final warning to the rest of the family, "I know this isn't going to be easy, but we MUST NOT tell anybody that Harry is still alive. Even the Order will be kept in the dark, with the exception of a few members. You can rail all you like against the injustices of staging Harry's death, but please keep in mind that Harry's well-being depends on this plan in more ways than one. We'll be holding a funeral tomorrow."

Bill glanced back at Ron and Hermione, and said softly, "Please notify his other friends from school. We'll talk about this later." Then Bill and Mr. Weasley left the room.

In the stunned silence that followed Bill's departure, Hermione looked desperately at Ron. Mrs. Weasley suddenly became aware of her guest, and asked Ron to take Hermione up to the room she had stayed in last summer. The Weasleys had been spending a normal summer at their family home, the Burrow, when Bill had summoned them to an urgent meeting at Grimmauld Place, headquarters of the Order of the Pheonix.

Given the attack on Harry and whatever was to come in the following days, they would have to take up a hurried residence at Grimmauld Place. Mrs. Weasley looked around in distaste, before dispatching Fred and George to Diagon Alley with a list of supplies to purchase. She and Ginny then headed to the kitchen, to floo back to the Burrow and pick up the family's personal effects for a prolonged stay.

"Ron," choked Hermione when they were finally alone in the drawing room.

"I know, Mione," he replied grimly, taking her hand in his. "This shouldn't be happening to Harry after all he's been through this past year." Then he led her up the stairs, towards her bedroom.

*

The late afternoon sunlight filtered in through a narrow window made up of thick, small panes. Harry opened his eyes, and looked up at the strange room in confusion. Remus was standing beside the bed, saying his name.

"Harry. Harry, it's time to wake up now." Harry sat up straight, and looked around him as the memory of the previous night made its unwelcome return.

"What - ? Where is Dumbledore ?" Harry asked groggily.

"He's at the Ministry of Magic now. Within a few minutes, he will be making his announcement publicly. He wants to know if you've changed your mind," Remus replied. Harry was still sluggish from the day's deep sleep, as he went over last night's arguments in his mind.

"No," he finally said. "No, tell Dumbledore I still want to go through with it." At least I might finally get a break, even if it's a temporary one, thought Harry. Remus nodded, and left the room for a few minutes. When he returned, he was holding a small goblet with smoke curling from the top of it.

"Here, drink this down, it'll help you feel better," said Remus. "By the old man's orders!" he added. Harry was about to ask if it would put him to sleep, but then realized that he didn't really care. He quickly threw back the steaming liquid, grimacing at its medicinal taste.

A few moments after drinking the concoction, Harry realized that he wasn't in the least bit drowsy. He noticed Remus' exhausted sag and wanted to ask how he was doing, but something in Harry's throat caught and strangled the question. Instead, he blurted out, "What is this place?"

"It's an old Black family manor, in Wales. Sirius left it to you." Uttering these words, Remus seemed to withdraw even more than usual into himself. Harry turned away, tears glistening in his eyes at the unexpected mention of his deceased Godfather. Then Harry realized something, and looked up suddenly at Remus.

"Why didn't Sirius come here when he was on the run? Why was he at that miserable house at Grimmauld Place all year instead?"

Remus looked up at Harry. "Well, Sirius spent a bit of time here when he was on the run, but not much. The manor has a large property, and it's very isolated. At first, he wanted to be closer to you, and preferred to stay near Hogsmead. Last year, he stayed at Grimmauld Place because that's where the Order of the Pheonix was and - though he was stuck inside - at least he was in the center of things there. At least he got to see other people. After Azkaban, he wasn't going to voluntarily put himself in isolation again."

Remus fell silent, and Harry miserably studied his own fingernails. Finally, Remus cleared his throat, and said that he ought to be getting Harry some food from the kitchen, that Dobby had been preparing a "healing stew" especially for when his dear friend Harry Potter awoke.

Harry looked up in surprise. "Dobby's here?" he asked. Remus smiled, and said, "Yes! Dobby was quite eager to do you some service this summer, and Dumbledore obviously wasn't going to let him near Privet Drive after his last visit there -" Remus suddenly stopped when he remembered the night's explosion. Harry had tensed up when he mentioned Privet Drive, and was staring blankly towards the window.

Remus lingered at the doorway, as though uncertain if he should speak. Finally, he walked out, and Dobby appeared minutes later with a tray piled high with tasty morsels to tempt the boy. Harry only poked at the stew with his spoon until, at Dobby's high-pitched insistence, he managed to get down half a bowl.

Remus returned to sit with Harry throughout the evening. He told him a little bit about the house they were staying in, which had been built in the sixteenth century by a Black ancestor, and partially rebuilt a couple centuries later after a house fire ravaged much of the interior. Sirius had inherited it from his Uncle Alphard, and had hoped to one day offer it up as a home for Harry to share with him. Given that Uncle Alphard had scorned the attitude of the rest of the Black family, the house was blissfully free of the dark momentos that had blighted Grimmauld Place.

Much of the evening was spent in silence. Though Harry felt physically better, he could only muster enough energy to visit the bathroom before throwing himself back into the bed. Remus looked wan and depleted, and only consented to eat a small dinner when Dobby returned and insisted he eat.

At one point, Harry asked if Dumbledore would return the next day, and Remus nodded absentmindedly. Then Remus quietly explained that the next day, they would be conducting a funeral for Harry. "Though I don't know how I let you agree to this lunacy, Harry," Remus muttered.

Suddenly, he cracked a devious grin. "I'll have to attend the funeral, of course. Maybe we could sneak you in, in cognito?"

The idea sounded extremely morbid to Harry, until the possibilities of being disguised at one's own funeral began to trickle into his mind. A smile tugged at his lips, but he shook his head anyway.

"Remus?" Harry asked, solemn again. "What about my aunt and uncle, and Dudley? Will there be a funeral for them?"

Remus shrugged. "I believe so, tomorrow or the next day. Miss Marjorie Dursley has been notified of their accidental death following a gas explosion. She'll be making the arrangements."

"Can I attend their funerals?" asked Harry softly, feeling some small amount of guilt and regret that they had never been a real family to him.

"I don't think that would be a good idea. In her grief, Miss Dursley said some nasty things about you, including that you were probably responsible for the explosion," answered Remus, gritting his teeth. "She didn't exactly show remorse when she was told that you were dead as well. A nasty woman, from what Bill said! Anyway, it's best if you don't go to their funerals, even in disguise."

Harry finally dozed off, just after 10:00 pm. At one point, nightmares disturbed his sleep and he began to toss and turn. A soothing voice called him out of his dream, and he promptly fell into a more sound slumber. When he awoke hours later, he found a sleeping Remus Lupin slumped over in an easy chair beside the bed, still holding his hand.

Silently, so as not to wake him, Harry watched the even rise and fall of Remus' chest, and thought about his parents and about Sirius, about the Dursleys, whose lives had all been cut short through the careless machinations of a crazed, power-hungry Voldemort. Watching his dad's remaining friend in his vigil at Harry's bedside, Harry thought of all his losses, and let the tears flow freely, silently, down his cheeks and onto his pillow.