Thicker Than Water: Year Six

Chapter 3 - Rest in Peace

In the morning, Remus coaxed Harry out of bed and down to a ground floor sitting room. Harry had no clothes to speak of, so Remus lent him a couple outfits of his own. Considering that Harry had grown up wearing Dudley's enormous cast-offs, Remus' clothing didn't fit him too badly.

"Why do I feel so terrible?" groaned Harry, lowering himself into a large chair.

Remus looked at him warily and said, "You were hit by debris from the explosion - that's probably what knocked you out. There was a gash there; Bill bound it when he found you. Albus closed it up as soon as you arrived, but you lost a good bit of blood. There wasn't any time to start tracking down a blood-replenishing potion and St. Mungo's was out of the question, so they gave you a blood transfusion. That, and a minor concussion - no lasting damage, but it will take a day or two until you feel yourself again."

Instead of reaching for the recent cut Harry had noticed on his torso, his hand flew up to finger the small scar on his arm. The memory came unbidden to his mind, of Wormtail cutting him in the graveyard to get his blood for the magic used to resurrect Voldemort. A sudden thought made Harry's head snap up and he asked Remus with a note of panic, "Whose blood did they use? For the transfusion?"

"It was.... Bill did it. He was a perfect donor-match and he was one of the first on the scene. There wasn't much time...." Remus frowned. He was somewhat surprised by the question and wondered if Harry had worked out the ramifications of accepting another wizard's blood. Remus wasn't about to bring up consequences, but he knew Harry was aware that the blood-protection his mother left in him had been weakened the night Voldemort had taken his blood.

Harry, however, didn't ask any more questions and sat in contemplative silence. It was broken when a copy of the Daily Prophet arrived, and Harry read the headline story with growing irritation.

The Death of the Boy Who Lived

Harry Potter: The boy who survived a killing curse in infancy that led to the ruin of one of this century's two most evil wizards, has finally succumbed to that evil. Death Eaters associated with Lord You-Know-Who are believed to be behind the explosion two nights ago of the home where Potter spent his vacations with muggle relatives.

A lonely voice of truth since You-Know-Who's return last year, Potter became the source of ridicule and slander by Ministry Officials who denied You-Know-Who's re-emergence after a 13-year hiatus from his reign of terror. The Ministry of Magic has been forced to accept the new reality since Potter and a handful of underage witches and wizards were involved in a pitched battle within the Ministry last month, which led to the capture of a number of Death Eaters. Witnesses there reported seeing Lord Nasty himself, who was forced to disapparate after apparently fighting with both Potter and Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It is with heavy hearts that we posthumously salute a heroic Harry Potter, symbol of hope in the struggle against evil. His passing marks the end of an all-too-brief peace, and the realization that we are once more faced with a state of terror.

Please see page 2 for details of Harry Potter's life and recent encounters with You-Know-Who. An account of Dumbledore's defeat of the evil Grindelwald can be found on page 3. How the Ministry blundered in its assessment of Lord You-Know-Who's return can be found in Editorials, pages 17-18.

When Harry finished reading, all he could do was snort in disgust, "Pretty sad to have me gone, aren't they? They weren't so kind a few months ago!" With that, he threw the newspaper down and declared he'd have Dobby use it to light the evening fire.

Dobby continued to fuss over both Harry and Remus, and supervised their breakfast minutely, until they had eaten what the house elf thought was an acceptable amount.

Mid-morning brought the crack of apparition followed by a crash from the front hall. Moments later, Tonks bounced into the room like a ray of sunshine. That wasn't a tribute to her infectious smile, but rather to her canary-yellow hair hanging in shoulder-length ringlets, which Harry thought would put the bright sun to shame.

"Wotcher, Harry!" she called out, obviously trying to keep the mood light. "It looks like I'm on baby-sitting duty for the next few hours!" Harry glanced at Remus, who rolled his eyes at her exuberance.

"Well, I suppose I should go dress for the funeral," said Remus, eyeing Harry with a concerned glance. "Do you have any messages for your friends, Harry?"

Harry thought for a moment, the shook his head and replied softly, "Just tell them I'm okay. I don't want them to worry...."

*

Ron was pacing back and forth across his room for a good half-hour before Hermione came knocking at the door. When he grunted a reply, she opened the door and peaked inside.

"Ron! Aren't you planning to dress for the funeral?!" she exclaimed, surprised to still see him in a t-shirt, jeans and trainers. "We have to leave in 10 minutes, and you're not even ready!"

Ron looked at her in mute panic, and continued his pacing. Finally, he spat out, "How can I do this, Hermione? I know we're not really burying Harry today, but I just can't..... I mean, isn't it too weird going to your best mate's funeral? And he won't even be there! And I'll just keep thinking that he could have been!"

Then Ron resumed pacing, gnashing his teeth in an attempt to hold further emotions at bay. Hermione felt herself getting misty, and answered back softly, "Yes, he could so easily have been there today, and then.... But he isn't! And we'll get through today, alright? Maybe they'll let us see him soon?

A silence fell between them, as they each retreated into their own thoughts. Then Ron nodded, and strode over to his bed where a black robe lay waiting. He pulled it on, without bothering to change the grungy clothing he wore underneath. Hermione thought it was disrespectful, but bit her lip and kept comment to herself. Ron walked over to where she was standing near the door.

"Alright," he said, reaching for her hand. "I'm ready to go."

*

The graveyard was a crowded place, with Daily Prophet reporters and curiosity seekers jostling with grieving friends and Ministry officials. The Ministry had set up portkeys to bring people to this small graveyard near Godric's Hollow, where Harry's parents had been buried nearly 15 years before. Although the funeral was to have been a contained event, someone at the Ministry had leaked the location. Hundreds of people had arrived to bid farewell to Harry Potter, both for his near-legendary renown and for the hope he had inspired to the wizarding world now that Voldemort's return was openly acknowledged.

Bill Weasley had been put in charge of organizing the funeral, and felt like he was putting on a three-ring circus instead. With Voldemort's return and Harry's hero-status restored, many officials in the higher echelons of the Ministry thought it would be prudent to attend, even if many had not met Harry in-person.

Minister Fudge had shown up with a large contingent of security wizards, and with a flustered looking Percy in tow. Bill scowled as he approached Percy, and told him which corner had been reserved for Cornelius Fudge and his crew. As the only member of the Weasley family to speak with Percy - and then only at need and on business - Bill hardly relished the contact, and thought that he would need to take a strong pain-potion for his splitting headache by the time the funeral was over.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, was delighted by the crowd as he surveyed it from his position near the glossy mahogany coffin. The coffin had been provided by the Ministry and had already been filled. The more attention this funeral received, the less chance that Voldemort or his Death Eaters would see through the ruse.

Fleur stood off at the side, not too close to the Weasleys, but not too far either, in the hope that Bill would come by. She was still not at ease with his family, and did not feel it was appropriate to share her grief over Harry's death with them. Scenes from the Triwizard Tournament came back to her: how she had initially treated Harry with disdain for his youth, but then later come to respect him for his bravery and abilities. The memory of her sister held captive by merpeople in the Hogwarts' lake, and Harry's daring rescue of her, brought tears streaming down Fleur's cheeks. And the knowledge that he had been present at Voldemort's return at the end of the Tournament, and then vilified for it... The truth had only been recently acknowledged by the Ministry and the wizarding world at large last month, though Harry had shared it publicly in that Quibbler article.

In her misery, she hardly noticed the specter that floated through the crowd and linked her arm in Fleur's. In surprise, Fleur turned to see Luna Lovegood, whose pale hair and skin and milk-white robes made her look like a ghost. Though Fleur remembered that in some cultures, white was considered the colour of death, Luna certainly attracted attention and stares form all quarters.

"I thought I'd come see how you're holding up," the younger girl looked up at Fleur earnestly. Although they had only met once, Fleur felt a flood of relief for her sadness and was sincerely glad to see Luna there. She also caught a glimpse of Luna's deep, tearless sorrow in her eyes. Fleur squeezed her hand in reply.

The service began, with Dumbledore saying a few words about the explosion that had torn Harry Potter from their midst, and the very real threat that all wizards faced from the evil that was Voldemort. Many people gasped and cried out when they heard his name. Dumbledore's words were brief, then Cornelius Fudge stepped up importantly before the crowd.

"Today, we bury a young man of strength and of valour," Fudge recited. "Harry Potter was a symbol to us all of the fight we had years ago - and now have ahead of us again - against the violence and madness of Lord What's-His-Face. Harry was our salvation from the reign of evil many years ago, when he was still an infant. His heroic deeds since the return of - You-Know-Who - should serve as a pillar of strength to us all, as we strengthen our homes and fortify our institutions..."

Standing near his family, Ron snorted in indignation; Hermione tuned out the blithering Fudge, as her eyes strayed to Harry's mock-coffin. She suddenly let out an audible gasp, and pulled at Ron's robe sleeve. Pointing towards Dumbledore, she indicated what had caught her attention. Ron noticed Dumbledore comforting Professor McGonagall, while Remus Lupin stood on one side of his and, a few paces behind, Professor Snape.

"Snape! What's he doing here?!" hissed Ron. "Does he plan to dance on Harry's grave, the slimy git?!!"

Ron continued to watch the potions teacher mistrustfully as Fudge waffled on about new measures designed to keep their community safe. Fudge spoke confidently, but with frequent glances over his shoulders to where his security wizards stood flanking him. He finished his speech to worried murmurs from the masses of people at the graveyard. This was the most extensive speech about Lord Voldemort's return that the Minister had issued since the events at the Ministry of Magic in June.

Meanwhile, Ron noticed that Snape exchanged a few words with Dumbledore. The old Headmaster seemed to be explaining something, and Snape nodded then turned and walked out of the graveyard. Ron whispered hurriedly to Hermione, who narrowed her eyes as she watched the potions-master's retreat.

"I wonder what he's up to?" she whispered. Ron said, "He's probably going to report in to You-Know-Who, so they can both gloat and have a good long laugh about the funeral!"

At that point, to a hushed crowd, the Minister pointed his wand towards the coffin and levitated it towards the hole that had been dug in the ground. The coffin was left hovering above the hole for a minute, as Fudge called for a respectful silence to honour Harry. As he lowered the coffin into the earth, a sudden sneeze by a security wizard caused Fudge's hand to jerk up, and the coffin could be heard falling with a loud thud into the ground.

Before Fudge regained his composure, Dumbledore made a swift move to the side of the hole. He bent down and murmured a spell which cast a pearly mist that settled in around the coffin. Hastily retreating, Dumbledore lifted his eyes to the now-steady Fudge, and nodded that he should proceed.

Fudge said, "Rest in peace, Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, dead on the 16^th of July, 1996, at the age of 15. We wish you a speedy reunion with your deceased parents."

People all around sobbed, some not so quietly, and Mrs. Weasley appeared to be inconsolable, as an alarmed Ginny stood with her arms around her mother. Fudge caused a stream of earth to rise from the mound beside the grave and fill the hole until the entire coffin was buried.

From his place in the Minister's entourage, a pale Percy Weasley watched his family in despair realizing that they, too, had put themselves in danger fighting a Voldemort he hadn't believed was back. One day, one of them could be lying in the coffin, and he had spat in their faces.... Percy was crushed by an intense self-awareness and in his devastation, he tottered and fought a sudden wave of nausea.

Shortly after, people began to disperse. The Weasley family gathered together, and got in line to catch two portkeys back to the Ministry. Molly Weasley had stopped crying, but both she and Hermione wore devastated looks on their faces. Ron held on tightly to Hermione's hand and - even though he had been assured of Harry's survival - kept saying to himself, I never thought I'd see the day where I'd be standing at my best mate's funeral.

*

When Remus returned to the Manor mid-afternoon, Harry and Tonks both gave him inquiring looks to which he replied with a shrug. "I defer all inquiries to Albus. He should be here soon." With that, he went upstairs to change into his ordinary clothes.

Dumbledore swept in a half hour after that, and they gathered in a large, formal dining room to talk.

"Dobby!" the old Headmaster said. The house elf appeared, and he ordered tea for them. When it arrived, there was a platter piled with cookies and small pastries as well.

"Master Dumbledore must keep up his strength too," Dobby said pointedly to Dumbledore, who gave a smile and sighed in reply, "Dobby certainly takes care of that! Dobby, as a paid employee, I release you from my services and suggest you find yourself formal employment with young Harry here. That way, you can keep his secrets and best serve his interests. Are we in agreement?"

Dobby drew himself up proudly and promised to serve Harry with all his magic. Harry, for his part, realized that some sort of commitment on the elf's part would give the goings-on at the Manor the extra security of Dobby's service-bound secrecy; he, too, nodded at the proposal. A well-trained servant, Dobby retreated to discuss that commitment at a later time.

"So, Dumbledore, how did the funeral go?" asked Tonks eagerly as soon as Dobby had left.

"Oh, Minister Fudge put on a nice show for all, not to worry!" smiled Dumbledore, with a gleam in his eyes. Remus snorted, and added, "Yes, dropping the coffin was a nice touch indeed!"

Tonks cocked her head hoping for some details, but Dumbledore turned to Harry instead, "Now that the world has absorbed the news of your parting, we must start making plans for the next few months. It is imperative that you learn occlumency, and that you learn it quickly; Voldemort will leave nothing to chance, and I expect he will try to probe your mind to see if it's still there, very soon. I am leaving a potion for you to take, every morning and before bed. It will leave you completely impervious to any sort of mental attack. I warn you, however, that the potion has side effects, as well as being mildly addictive. The sooner you can protect your mind yourself, the better."

Harry looked at the table in sadness and dismay, feeling the burden of the prophecy: Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... Relief by the self-imposed death Harry had chosen seemed short-lived.

Dumbledore continued, "I have placed a powerful enchantment on the coffin that will keep its contents.... undisturbed. The Weasleys, Miss Granger, and Alastor Moody are the only ones who know Harry is still alive. It is absolutely imperative that we keep this secret, especially in the short-term. Harry's demise will set the board for Voldemort's next moves. Especially now that his return has been publicly acknowledged, I expect him to engage in serious offenses.

"Harry, Professor McGonagall informed me last semester that you had expressed interest in becoming an auror. I want you to spend your summer preparing for the appropriate sixth year courses required for auror-training. I suggest you pay particular attention to potions, so as not to draw unnecessary attention to yourself at school this year. Remus will be teaching you advanced defensive spells, dueling, whatever you feel it's necessary to know. You will start working with Bill Weasley on your occlumency tomorrow."

Struck dumb by the Headmaster's latest words, Harry had a hard time finding his own voice, spluttering, "How... I mean, I can't... go to Hogwarts?!"

A broad smile spread across Dumbledore's face as, with twinkling eyes, he turned to Tonks. "I believe Nymphadora has some skill in concealment and disguise. Nymphadora, please discuss the possibilities with Alastor, and see what you can do for Harry. I'm afraid you're not free of school just yet, young man!"

With that, the old man rose to leave. Harry remained rooted to his seat, wondering what exactly the possibilities were.

*

Harry awoke the find a steaming potion beside his bed, and a cup of tepid tea. Recalling the bitter aftertaste of the potion from the night before, he screwed up his face and downed it as quickly as he could. Thankful to Dobby for the tea, he drank that down to clear his mouth of the bitterness.

After washing and dressing in Remus' hand-me-downs, Harry went downstairs. He found Remus seated at the kitchen table staring thoughtfully into space, though the newspaper lay open in front of him.

Remus jumped up when he entered the kitchen. "I was wondering when you'd be up. Imagine me forgetting that youth can sleep to all hours, while I was up at the crack of dawn!"

Dobby appeared with Harry's breakfast on a tray, but Remus suggested they take their food in the library. "I thought we could go through what's left in your trunk."

"My trunk?" asked Harry, surprised. Remus explained that it was the only thing in Harry's room at the Dursley's that had survived the explosion, probably due to good fire-retardant spells.

He picked up the tray, and they went to the library. His trunk lay at once side of the room, certainly looking worse for the wear: it was dented as though it had been thrown across a room; the outside was unevenly burnt, but generally still intact.

Prying open the lid, Harry peered inside while Remus sat at the edge of his seat nearby. Harry looked in to the nearly empty interior of the trunk. In his rage and grief over Sirius' death, he had spent the first two weeks of vacation living like a slob, oblivious to the mess he had made of his room in the Dursley's home. Unfortunately, that meant that most of his possessions had been strewn about instead of neatly stored in the trunk.

Reaching in, Harry pulled out his most valued belongings: his dad's invisibility cloak, and the family photo album Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year. He held them gently - almost reverently - in his lap, so thankful that they had survived the explosion that tears came unbidden to his eyes. The few tenuous links he had with his long-deceased parents were represented by these two items.

Harry finally set them aside, and rummaged through the bottom of the trunk. He found a couple of textbooks that he no longer needed (Unfogging the Future from Divination class brought back memories of his first seeing Sirius, as a great black dog), an old sweatshirt he had inherited from Dudley's as well as a pair of Uncle Vernon's socks. Dobby's Christmas gifts were also in there. Wedged into a bottom corner of the trunk was a haphazardly wrapped package; inside, Harry could feel the broken mirror that Sirius had given him for emergency communication.

He didn't unwrap the mirror, but looked up at Remus suddenly, panic-stricken. "My broomstick! My Firebolt... is it gone?"

Remus shuddered and looking devastated, said, "I'm sorry, Harry, they found the remnants of your Firebolt - it was quite badly singed. Albus collected the slivers and modified their weight; he used what was left of your broom as filler inside the coffin for the funeral. He has ordered a new Nimbus 2001 for you, in its place."

The loss of his Godfather's present, and the burial it received where Sirius had had none, left Harry stunned and he relived the pain of Sirius' loss as though it was fresh. Remus, too, could not contain his feelings and they both needed a few minutes of silence to regain their composure.

Then Harry said in a quiet voice, "The Marauder's Map - Remus, it was on my desk..."

Remus shook his head and replied, "I don't think you need it anymore, anyway, Harry. I wouldn't recommend too much traipsing about when you return to school, at least if my opinion as your unofficial guardian counts."

"Unofficial guardian?" asked Harry. Remus gave a bitter smile and said, "I can't be your official guardian: the Ministry would never accept me - a werewolf - or you for that matter, a deceased person."

As Harry considered this, a tapping at the library window caught his attention. To his shock, a tired-looking Hedwig sailed in when he opened the window. She landed on the table beside him and hooted dolefully. She must have been out hunting when the explosion occurred.

"That's an amazing bird, Harry! I can't believe she found you here," exclaimed Remus. "What's that tied to her leg?"

Harry looked down, to see a Hogwarts letter in her possession. Quickly opening it, he smiled at the irony that his owl had been carrying OWL-results thus escaping the attack at the Dursleys. He glanced at the scores and gave a satisfied grunt, then remembered Dumbledore's comment the previous night about brushing up on his potions. "I just hope I can still get into potions with this mark!"

Remus looked at the paper, and congratulated Harry, "Eight OWLs is something to be proud of!"

"How did you do in school?" Harry asked. Remus looked perplexed, then answered, "I honestly don't remember exactly how many OWLs or NEWTs I received."

He gave a deep sigh, but his voice had a harsh edge when he continued, "We were all so brilliant, your father and Sirius with their near-perfect scores, my book smarts, even Peter managed to scrape a few good grades! And look where it's gotten us all..."

Staring at the library rug, Harry shuddered at Remus' embittered statement, and wondered if he would even survive his school years. What would become of him when the unwelcome prophecy eventually asserted itself, and brought Harry to the brink of his survival or Voldemort's? Which of his friends would sit, many years hence, and remember Harry Potter's eight OWLs, lamenting that they weren't enough to save him when the final battle struck?

With those visions in his head, Harry found he couldn't meet the eyes of the last surviving Marauder. He got up and exited the room, leaving Remus wrapped up in the misery of his recollections.