Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine; they were created by Ms. J.K. Rowling. The only thing I can claim to own in all this is my imagination.
It was dreary Tuesday morning in October. Dark clouds rumbled ominously as they obscured the sun, while a slight drizzle kept most people indoors. Aberforth Dumbledore was inspecting his stock and making a note of what he needed to replenish. The Hog’s Head never did much business in the mornings and certainly not on mornings such as this one. Aberforth had just noted his depleted stock of Old Wizard Rum when there were three firm raps on his back door.
Warily, Aberforth peeked out through a convenient window to catch a glimpse of his visitor. Outside stood a young man dressed in jeans and a jacket, with a cap pulled low over his face. Breathing a sigh of relief, Aberforth opened the door and his visitor scuttled in quickly. Shutting the door, Aberforth motioned his visitor to have a seat at the table.
“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” he said, his face softened slightly by a smile, “Tea? Or would you prefer some butterbeer?”
“Tea please, sir,” said Harry taking off his cap, and running his hand through his unruly hair.
“There’s no need to stand on ceremony, Mr. Potter,” Aberforth said, as he busied himself at the stove, “You can call me Aberforth.”
“And you can call me Harry. Mr. Potter makes me feel extremely old,” Harry grinned.
“Fair enough, Harry,” Aberforth said as he poured out two steaming mugs of tea and placed one in front of Harry. Harry took a glad sip of his tea. After trudging through the cold streets of Hogsmeade, the tea was a welcome relief.
“So how have you been, Harry?” Aberforth asked, watching Harry carefully from under his bushy eyebrows.
“Not too bad,” Harry replied, not sure of how much information he could divulge. It had been difficult enough to convince Regulus that meeting Aberforth could be useful.
“There’ve been all sorts of theories about your disappearance, you know,” Aberforth continued, taking a swig of his tea while his eyes still watched Harry. Harry knew, having kept himself up to date on all the news in the wizarding world. Most of the stories about his disappearance had claimed that the great Harry Potter had got cold feet, and, unwilling to face his destiny as the Chosen One, had gone into hiding. Some came quite close, saying that he was in an undisclosed location, training to meet the Dark Lord. And some of the more ludicrous stories stated that he had eloped with a mystery lover.
They drank their tea in silence, neither sure of what to say next. Harry wanted to ask about Dumbledore and Grindelwald and didn’t know how to broach the subject. He was rather hoping that Aberforth would bring it up. Aberforth, unfortunately, did nothing of the sort. He just finished his tea, stood up and strode over to the sink.
“I see some of your friends around here now and then,” Aberforth said finally, as he loudly rinsed his mug.
So the Hogsmeade weekends were still a regular fixture, Harry thought, wondering if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Though it did help to bring a degree of normality to the school year, it also left the students open to an attack during their time in Hogsmeade. Harry remembered what had happened to Katie Price during the previous year and shuddered.
“Last week, I saw that mousey haired girl who talks a lot,” Aberforth went on, while Harry grinned at the rather unflattering description of Hermione, “She went into Puddifoot’s with some red-headed chap.”
“Ouch!” Harry yelped, his sudden start having caused the remnants of the tea in his mug to descend onto his jeans.
Aberforth waved away his apologies. “Accidents will happen, lad,” he said, “Now, since you’re finished with your tea, perhaps we can talk about why you’re really here.”
Harry was glad for the opening. Using a drying charm on his jeans, he placed the mug back on the table and faced Aberforth, who had returned to his chair.
“The last time I was here, you said that you might be able to tell me something useful,” Harry began, trying not to sound too hopeful.
“Aye, that I did, Aberforth answered, “So what do you want to know?”
Harry paused, before asking the one question that he most wanted the answer to. “How did Professor Dumbledore defeat Grindelwald?” Harry queried.
“Ah, I was afraid you’d ask me that,” Aberforth said slowly, and Harry’s heart sank, “Thing is, no one rightly knows how he did it, leastways no one, except Albus himself.”
“But you’re his brother,” Harry burst out indignantly, unable to hide his frustration.
“That was Albus’ way,” Aberforth replied unmoved, “He would keep things to himself until he was ready to tell about it.”
Harry nodded brusquely, he knew that trait of Dumbledore’s, but it wasn’t helping any. “So what can you tell me which could be of any help?” he asked.
“Harry, if you want to know exactly which spell Albus used to destroy Grindelwald, I can’t help you,” Aberforth said firmly, “If you want to know how many days it took him to prepare, or how many hours a day he trained for, again, I can’t help you. I can’t help you not only because I don’t know, but also because it will be completely useless to you.”
Harry was becoming more and more convinced that he had come on a fool’s errand to listen to an old man’s ramblings. He picked up his cap and made to get up, but Aberforth gestured him to be seated.
“Don’t be hasty, lad,” Aberforth growled, “Albus was never hasty which is why he beat Grindelwald. You’re on the right track, Harry, but you need to learn that attitude is just as important to beating Voldemort as knowledge.”
“If I had attitude problems I would see a psychiatrist,” Harry snapped, “I’m sorry but I…”
“That’s your problem, boy,” Aberforth said, his face flushing red, “You’re too cocky for your own good. You think its all about how fast you can draw your wand and how many spells you can remember. And you’re afraid now, because you know that you could never be as good as Voldemort in that. You’d be right too.”
“I really need…” Harry retorted hotly, again rising off his seat.
“You think Albus beat Grindelwald because he was better than that darkest of dark wizards?” Aberforth was almost shouting now, “Boy, Grindelwald would make old Voldemort look like Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes. But Albus beat him, why? Because Albus never once doubted that he could.”
“This isn’t helping,” Harry snorted and made for the door.
“Albus knew he could win because he knew what Grindelwald’s weaknesses were,” Aberforth’s voice had suddenly dropped, “Albus was thorough; studying everything he could about Grindelwald, till he knew everything about him. He would isolate himself from everyone else and focus only on his research. And that helped him have the faith that he could win. You’ve made a beginning, Harry. The question is, can you believe that you can beat Voldemort?”
Harry had paused at the door when Aberforth’s voice had lowered. Now with the monologue ended, his mind was still whirling. He hadn’t learned anything new and he was just as confused as before. Sitting before him was a tired old man, haggard from years of work and not much rest. A man who was intensely proud of his brother, and had not got over his death. Not being able to think of anything to say, Harry quietly exited and made his way back to the isolated spot outside Hogsmeade that had become his usual apparation spot.
A few days later, Harry was still musing on Aberforth’s words. Though he was sure the trip had been wasted, he couldn’t help wonder about Aberforth’s mention of Professor Dumbledore’s faith in beating Grindelwald. Harry could well believe it, even though he had known Dumbledore for only six years, he knew that nothing could shake Professor Dumbledore. But he himself felt far from feeling that confident in his own abilities.
“Lot on your mind, Harry?” Regulus asked, setting a cup of tea down in front of Harry.
“Yeah,” mumbled Harry, massaging his forehead gently as if doing so would miraculously clear his over-burdened mind.
“Barkeep didn’t help much, did he?” Regulus queried sympathetically.
“He helped scare the dickens out of me, if that’s what you mean,” Harry grumbled, “Now I feel even more unprepared.”
Regulus let out a long sigh and then he set down his cup and leaned forward to look straight at Harry. “Listen,” he began, “Forget about the fact that Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald and that he was never afraid of Voldemort and stuff like that. It’s not really important to you. You’ve come a long way in the short time that you’ve been preparing and, believe me, I think, soon, you’ll be more than prepared to defeat the Dark Lord. But you have to stop taking every death so personally.”
Harry began to say something but Regulus held up a hand to stop him. “I’ve seen you, Harry. Every day, when you read the papers,” he continued, “Your eyes moisten up and your hands clench the paper more tightly every time you read about the Death Eaters having murdered or tortured someone. Harry, those aren’t your fault. If you have to blame anyone, blame Voldemort. He’s the one behind these deaths. And you will stop him when the time comes. Prepare for that time, Harry, and forget about everything else.”
Harry nodded slowly, though his mind was beginning to wander again. A dull throb had begun around his temples and nothing seemed to ease it. Regulus watched him with concern before speaking again.
“Harry, you’ve been working nineteen, twenty hours a day for the last week,” he said, “Maybe you need to take a break again. Why don’t you make another trip to Hogwarts?”
“NO,” Harry yelled. Then, noticing Regulus’ look of surprise, he dropped his voice a few decibels.
“Not right now. It’s… it’s… hard every time I go,” Harry continued, and then he lay his head down on the table with a sigh. What he really wanted to do was to fly again. That had always been his release. But now with the increased need for secrecy, that was impossible. Or was it?
Harry’s head jerked up as he thought of this new possibility. Could there be a way by which he could get to fly and not be seen. After all, the previous summer, he and the Weasleys had played Quidditch in a wood near the Burrow and they hadn’t been seen. Perhaps the idea was crazy enough to work. Harry debated on whether to tell Regulus but then decided against it. Regulus would most probably say it was insane, and Harry wanted to go ahead with the plan before he himself had second thoughts about it.
“Uh, Regulus,” Harry said, “Maybe that’s not a bad idea after all. I think I will make a quick trip to Hogwarts. See how everyone’s doing.”
“Ok,” Regulus answered, looking slightly suspicious at this sudden change of heart, “But be careful alright.”
“I’m always careful,” Harry smirked, as he rushed out of the kitchen. In the back of his mind, Harry heard a small voice telling him that this was madness. But Harry had been desperate to break free of his rigorous daily routine and was in no mood to listen to small voices.
An hour later, after consulting a few maps, Harry found the place he needed to go to. With his broom in tow, Harry exited Grimmauld Place again, heading for his usual disapparation point. Checking that no one was watching, Harry focused on his destination, felt the similar stifling apparation experience and opened his eyes to find himself near a large wooded area. The trees were sparse enough to fly around them while being dense enough to provide some cover from prying eyes.
Kicking off from the ground, Harry immediately experienced the same rush of adrenaline that he always got when we was on his broom. Harry laughed with pure joy as he felt the wind in his face again. Slowly, picking up the pace till he was darting among the trees at tremendous speed, Harry almost forgot that he was on a kill-or-be-killed quest. For the moment, he was just another teenager having fun without a care in the world.
Soon, tiring of having to fly among the trees, Harry rose higher and higher, climbing past the leafy canopy into an expanse of cerulean blue. He had chosen an area that was far enough from habitation to allow him some freedom of movement. Closing his eyes, Harry let his mind run free. He imagined himself after an imaginary snitch, darting this way and that, suddenly diving then rising again. Time flew by and the sun began to dip towards the horizon, and still Harry zipped around like a bird that has just learnt to fly.
Presently, the air around him began to get colder and the sky started to darken alarmingly. In his state of excitement, Harry didn’t bother with these trivialities, assuming that a storm was on its way. And if he hadn’t executed a sharp change of direction, he may not have seen the approaching danger. Three black-hooded figures were rising towards him and they were coming fast.
Dementors, Harry’s mind screamed and at the same time, instinct took over. Even though he was already tearing through the air towards them, Harry turned as hard as he could. For a moment, he feared that he would lose control but years of training stood him in good stead, and he managed to right himself and speed away in the opposite direction. However, the turn had taken precious seconds and now the Dementors were even closer.
Looking over his shoulder again, Harry could see the Dementors splitting up, with two of them now coming up aside while the third sped straight towards him. They were closing the gap fast, so Harry frantically began to swerve to try to buy himself some time as he struggled to extricate his wand from his pocket. When he finally got his wand out he turned around as best as he could. He tried to think of a happy memory, and yelled “Expecto Patronum”. Perhaps the stress of the chase was getting to him, because only a thin wisp of smoke emerged from his wand. Desperately, Harry went into a dive while trying to think of a happier memory. His failed attempt had lost him even more time and now the Dementors were almost at his elbow.
Finally, Harry fixed his thoughts on the Weasley wedding which had been the happiest time for him in the recent past. Concentrating as hard as he could, Harry turned again and found to his astonishment that only two Dementors were following him now. Swiveling forward, he found himself looking into the dark chasm of the Dementor’s open mouth. As he felt the all happiness being sucked out of him, Harry clung to the memory as hard as he could. He struggled to lift his wand arm that seemed to weigh a ton. He felt weak, his head swam and his other hand began to slip off the broom handle. With all his remaining strength, Harry belted out an Expecto Patronum again, just as he slid completely off his broom.
With a flash of bright light, Harry’s stag patronus shot out of his wand and, seemingly unimpeded by the fact that it was a mile up in the air, proceeded to joyfully take the Dementors to task. Though Harry had always enjoyed watching his patronus in action, this time he had more important things on his mind, such as the ground rushing up to meet him.
Harry thought hard for any spell that could help him, but he came up blank. Fighting down panic, Harry stretched his brain to the maximum for something, anything that could save him. But it is at moments of extreme stress that the simplest solutions are forgotten. Harry was only seconds from colliding with the trees when the answer came to him.
Accio Firebolt, he hollered with all his might, hoping that he wasn’t too late. The next moment, he felt his broom at his fingertips and he grabbed it. Racing against the clock, Harry mounted in mid-air and began to try to lift the broom up and arrest his free-fall. Unfortunately, the time he had lost trying to think of alternatives proved critical. Just as it seemed like he would be able to get it up again, the broom clipped the top of one of the trees, causing Harry to lose control and throwing him clear of his broom again.
As Harry fell, he tried to grab something to hang on to, but nothing would stick. To his fevered imagination, it felt as if he hit every single branch of the tree on the way down. Once his bruised body cleared the branches, the relief was short-lived and he landed with a sickening thump. Luckily for him, the few seconds on the broom as well as the branches had slowed him down, which probably was the only reason that the fall didn’t kill him. The sky seemed to sway like an inebriated dancer for a few moments before he finally blacked out.
Harry didn’t know how long he had been out. When he came to, the sun was in its final moments, and the gathering darkness matched Harry’s general outlook. Gingerly, he sat up and then collapsed again as searing pain shot through his left arm. Grimacing, Harry felt up and down his arm and found the break between his elbow and his wrist, cracked during his descent through the foliage. Cradling his arm, Harry sat up and then forced himself up to his feet. Giddy with pain from the broken arm and the hundreds of cuts and bruises, Harry stumbled and leant against the tree and took on a few deep breaths. Out of the millions of conflicting thoughts filling his mind, the one that was foremost was amazement that he was still alive, but that wasn’t the only one.
Idiot, idiot, Harry furiously berated himself, why did I do something so foolish? Everyone’s counting on me and I go and nearly get myself killed. What was I thinking?
With the pain in his arm increasing, Harry decided to head back to Grimmauld Place and have his injuries looked at by Regulus. As he straightened up again, his arm shifted and hundreds of white hot needles seemed to pierce his skin. In spite of himself, Harry cried out, and then he froze. Hours of training for the final battle seemed to have done him some good, because even through the haze of agony he had heard the slightest movement. Some sort of sixth sense told him to move fast and he did, diving behind some nearby bushes, just as a blast of green light destroyed the tree he had been leaning against a moment earlier.
Unmindful of his pain now, Harry was back on his feet in a second and he dashed away at a half-crouch. He could hear furious voices behind him now and every now and then a blast of light would illuminate the forest around him. As he zig-zagged, trying to use the trees as cover, Harry’s mind raced. Obviously, the Dementors had alerted Voldemort to his whereabouts, and he had sent some of his Death Eaters to capture him.
Running for his life while trying to identify where the Death Eaters were, Harry nearly ran plumb into one of them. Expelliarmus, Petrificus Totalus, he yelled in quick succession, and the Death Eater collapsed in a heap. A moment of relief, and then the realization hit him. He didn’t have his wand! In his mad scramble to get out of the way of the killing curse, he appeared to have dropped it. The fact that he had just performed wandless magic didn’t even register in his mind. All he could think of was getting his wand back. Unfortunately, his outburst had alerted the other Death Eaters who were now lumbering towards him.
As the light faded, Harry doubled back as best as he could to where he had lain initially, all the while avoiding his pursuers. Many of the curses were coming dangerously close, and Harry was despairing of ever finding his wand again. Then, he came across the damaged tree, and he dashed towards it happily, only to have to pull up short as he noticed a Death Eater approaching nearby. Harry dropped to the ground, and slowly, using as much cover as he could, he crawled around towards the bushes he had dived behind. Just as his sharp eyes noticed the wand, the Death Eater stepped in direct line between him and his wand.
Accio wand, Harry said instinctively, just before realizing that he needed the wand to cast the spell. And then to his astonishment, his wand shot through the air straight towards him. The Death Eater, who had turned towards him on hearing his shout, watched wide-eyed as the wand flew straight into Harry’s waiting hand. As the realization of his wandless magical abilities sunk in, Harry petrified the amazed Death Eater and made a run for it again.
The next few minutes were the most nightmarish of Harry’s life. Avoiding curses flying at him, stunning and petrifying any Death Eater he saw, Harry stayed one step ahead of his assailants. He knew that he needed to apparate away as this deadly game of cat and mouse wouldn’t go on much longer. His arm was killing him and he was already exhausted, operating on adrenaline alone. Moments later another Death Eater loomed to the side, and this one had spotted Harry. As he made a slashing motion with his wand, Harry threw up a shield charm but his reflexes had been dulled. Though the shield took much of the curse it didn’t take the full brunt and a large gash opened up on Harry’s right thigh. Harry stumbled and almost fell but forcing his mind to focus, he managed to stun the Death Eater even though he was off balance.
The situation was now one of extreme urgency. With a broken arm and a badly bleeding cut on his leg, Harry’s reserves of strength were fast running out. Dodging more curses flying around him, Harry’s mind was now moving sluggishly, and his body refused to obey him. Taking cover behind a slightly thicker clump of trees, Harry tried to think of twelve, Grimmauld Place. But it was proving too difficult in his enfeebled condition. His injured leg gave out beneath him and he fell to his knees, the force of the fall knocking off his glasses. With as much will power as he could muster, Harry picked himself up and concentrated as he had never done before, on the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Just as he began to apparate, he saw a Death Eater off to his side. Harry heard the Death Eater’s yell of anger and then he was flat on his back, looking at the night sky.
Without his glasses, Harry could only see blurred shapes in front of him. He could make out what seemed to be a man running towards him but he no longer cared whether he was friend or foe. Strong arms took hold of him under his armpits and helped him up and began to guide him towards one of the houses.
“Harry, are you alright?” Regulus’ voice broke through the haze fogging Harry’s mind, “What happened? Can you hear me? Harry… Harry….” As it happened, Regulus had just returned for replenishing their food stores and had been on the point of entering the house when he had heard the crack of Harry disapparating. Lady luck seemed to favour them as the street happened to be deserted and no one else had observed Harry’s sudden appearance.
Harry’s legs moved as if they had a life of their own. As he floated in and out of consciousness, he could feel himself going up a flight of stairs. Then he was being laid down on the most comfortable bed that he had ever been in. Now incoherent, Harry could only think of one thing.
“Did… wandless… magic,” he rasped in his loudest voice. Then, he let the blessed darkness engulf him for a second time that day.