Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.
“What do you mean, ‘he just disappeared?’ Harry wouldn’t leave like that!” Ron tried to calm himself in front of his family, Diane and Headmistress McGonagall.
“You’re right, son,” Mr. Weasley acknowledged, looking uncomfortable as Aberforth Dumbledore entered the office.
“Tell them, Arthur. And I’d like to know what it is Harry said to you before he took off,” Aberforth snapped harshly.
Blushing, Arthur answered. “He told me to tell Ginny,” he turned to his daughter. “He told me to tell you he loves you. And he would be in touch shortly.”
“That’s it?” she replied incredulously. “That’s all he said? Where did he go?”
Aberforth nodded at Arthur to continue.
“We don’t know where, sweetheart, but we know why.”
Ginny, already nearly frantic, felt lightheaded as her father’s told those present of the recent meeting at the Ministry. “During Harry’s last testimony, Milksop Garvey noticed that he didn’t mention Bill or Jimmy performing the spell to destroy the Horcrux.”
Ginny’s mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out.
Ron had something to say, though. “And you just let him go, dad?”
“Ron,” Aberforth said quietly, “he had his Phoenix with him. We couldn’t have stopped him had we wanted to.”
Ron muttered, “Bloody bird,” and shrugged at Ginny.
“Why did he take Bill with him?” McGonagall asked.
“Harry thinks that the last fragment of Voldemort’s soul is in him,” Aberforth said, looking now towards Molly who was slumped over on a large sofa, horror clear on her face.
“Well, is it?” Ginny shot back impatiently, her arms flinging out in frustration when no one said anything for a few seconds.
“We believe so, Ginny,” her father answered. “We think it has to be in one of the four present at the time. It’s not in Jimmy, Aberforth confirmed that. The same with Diane. That leaves only Bill and Harry, and knowing Harry, if it was in him he would have left by himself.” Arthur rubbed his face with his hands and then spoke to his wife. “Molly, we need to talk to Fleur.”
Ginny turned to Ron to hide the tears welling in her eyes. Ron, in turn, pulled his sister in to comfort her.
“I have to speak with Boris,” Aberforth said to McGonagall. “The chance of Voldemort returning is very slim, perhaps even impossible. When he did it three years ago he used the bones of his father in the re-birthing ritual. Back in September I destroyed the rest of them so that particular spell could not help him again if something went wrong...” Sitting, Aberforth heaved a heavy sigh. “It appears my actions were prudent. But there may be other ways to...” Then he stopped speaking.
“And that’s supposed to help us?” Mrs. Weasley cried out, the anguish plain in her voice.
“Only in that it narrows down our search. But before we do anything we need to contact Bill and Harry. Honestly, Molly, I do not expect them to simply disappear for long. Bill wouldn’t, that’s for certain. And if I know Harry as I think I do, he took Bill to remove him from the danger of the soul fragment transferring to someone else: someone more susceptible.”
“Like Fleur?” Ginny asked.
Aberforth nodded. “Yes. She might know the least about him and innocently ignore signs the rest of us would recognize. And, she’s...” Aberforth looked at Mrs. Weasley with a small smile. “Fleur is pregnant. I’m certain that will play heavily into his decision-making.”
The announcement, one that should have been made by the couple, and in more happy circumstances, only managed to make Mrs. Weasley weep harder. Mr. Weasley, who had been standing next to her, sat and pulled her to himself, offering comfort.
“As most of you know,” Aberforth continued, “I am not well. I suspect I have little time remaining so my part in this search will be token. Tré is occupied putting things back together in France and I haven’t heard from Titov lately. I would not expect them to be able to help much, either. But I do have one thing to offer Bill: I can cast a spell that will prevent Voldemort’s soul fragment from escaping him. It will prevent Bill from using Legilimancy or Occlumency, and a few other spells, but that’s a small price to pay for the safety of his family.”
Looking deathly weary, Aberforth struggled to his feet. Ron was instantly at his side. “I’ll walk you back to Hogsmeade, Abe. Is that alright, Professor?”
The Headmistress nodded absently, just as shocked as the others with the turn of events.
“I assume you have a good reason for doing that?” Bill asked testily.
Ankaa trilled soothingly and Harry’s anxiety lessened. Bill instantly looked less upset, too. The third floor master bedroom at Grimmauld Place was never used and Harry had directed Ankaa to take them there.
“Yeah. Er “ Bill, have you been having any strange dreams the past few weeks?”
Astonished, Bill took a moment to answer. “Yes, how did you know?”
“What were they about?”
“None of your bloody business,” he snapped back instantly, but then his temper abated. “Harry, how do you know about them?”
“Follow me.” Harry led Bill to the nearest bathroom and stood him in front of the mirror. “Just watch yourself for a moment.” Closing his eyes, Harry reached out for the presence of Voldemort he was so familiar with. It took him a minute, but he found it, though much degraded and little more than a small collection of malevolent thoughts. Working his way into Bills mind, Harry found himself, again, connecting with the body of another person.
Open your eyes, Harry told Bill. Obeying, through his own eyes Bill saw a smudged image turn into his own back, as if he were looking through Harry’s point-of-view. Startled, he grasped for support. “Where am I?”
Harry eased himself out of the connection. “You were in my mind, looking through my eyes. This is a similar connection I shared with Voldemort at times.”
“What? But why did you… wait, you shared it only with Voldemort? Oh, Merlin!” Bill stumbled back to the bedroom and sat heavily on the bed. Looking at Harry he knew the answers to his questions. “He’s in me, isn’t he?” Harry nodded. “That’s what you and Aberforth were saying, wasn’t it? We couldn’t just kill the snake and be rid of the Horcrux. Damn!” Bill sat looking completely lost. “The dreams: I should have known something was wrong.”
“What did you see?” Harry asked quietly.
“Just flashes of… things… evil things, and horrible thoughts and images. Whenever I got up I wasn’t sure if I was still dreaming. And Fleur had to wake me twice this past month.” He paused. “They’re getting worse; I was saying things in my sleep, too, Fleur said. But she wouldn’t tell me what.”
“I know, Bill, I felt it in you. My headaches started around New Year when I was near you. Even now,” Harry was unconsciously rubbing his head, “I can feel him.”
Bill’s eyes widened. “Here?” he asked, pointing to his head. Harry nodded. “And we, er - you and I can share thoughts?” A shrug, another nod. Then, incredibly, Bill started laughing. “Now I can really keep a close eye on you and my sister.”
Harry sat heavily on a chair; he had to admire the man’s ability to remain level when he was just clobbered with such news. Then he sobered up again. “Bill, we have to find a way to remove… remove it from you without, er, killing you.”
“Yeah, I’m all for that. How much time do you think we… I have?”
“Probably years. What I was able to connect with was so weak I could hardly sense cohesive thoughts.” Rubbing his head between his hands gave Harry another idea. “But if either of us wants to live a normal life we need to take care of this right off. What do you say?”
“Ok, Harry, you’ve sold me. Now tell me why we had to disappear like that.”
It was not hard for Harry to convince Bill that his actions were for the best. One hint of their little ‘problem’ leaking out would, potentially, place Bill in mortal danger. If not from the Ministry’s own Healers and scientists then from the scattered remnants of Voldemort’s followers eager to find a cause to rally around.
“What about Aberforth? Why didn’t you nab him, also?”
“Two reasons: he’s in poor health and I don’t think he knows anything about what we have to do.”
Ankaa trilled again.
“How can you say that?” Bill shot back. “He and Titov are the only two who can dispel a Horcrux.”
Harry shook his head sadly. “Not exactly. Their method destroys the receptacle as well as the Horcrux; and Aberforth told me it was the only way he knew about. That leaves us with either finding another way of removing and destroying it or killing you using the known method.”
Screwing up his face, Bill nodded. “I see your point. Do you have any idea where to start?”
“I was hoping you might, you’re the curse-breaker,” Harry said expectantly.
“Yeah, I am, aren’t I? Ok, first,” Bill held up a finger, stood and went over to a large roll-top desk, and picked up some parchment, quill and ink. “Let’s review everything we know about the subject. Do you want to ask Hermione for help?”
“I thought about that, but she’s Head Girl and McGonagall just lost the Head Boy. On top of that, she’s sacrificed enough of her life helping me. If I don’t get any N.E.W.T.s I still have an inheritance to live off of. Her education is her life.”
Bill didn’t look completely convinced.
One thing they decided upon immediately was creating a cover story for the Wizarding community. And they knew they would have to take a number of people into their confidence, unlike the first time around with the Horcruxes. Alerting the Wizarding world to another potential rebirth of Voldemort could cause irreparable harm.
When Remus and Tonks returned home early that evening, Bill and Harry approached them with their little ‘problem.’ Both immediately agreed to help in any way they could. Remus offered the continued use of the third floor of Grimmauld Place as a base for research, and living quarters, if needed. They would have access to the extensive Black family library, though nothing had been found there yet, hundreds of books remained to be surveyed. Tonks agreed to keep her ears open at the Ministry for rumors, and even to spread disinformation to send people off-track.
Obviously, Fleur would have to be kept in the loop so she would not, ‘freak-out,’ as Bill would say. “She’s a wonderful woman, but…”
“You don’t want her involved? Where have I heard that before?”
Bill smiled. “Harry, I really think you should return to school… hang on, hear me out. You’re obviously in pain when we’re near each other, and that will just distract you from your… our job. But if you’re at Hogwarts during the week, we can get together on the weekends and compare notes.”
“He’s right, Harry,” Remus agreed instantly but earning himself a sour look. “And this will help dispel some of the rumors that are bound to arise.”
Tonks looked sincere as she echoed her fiancé’s advice, “Please think about it, Harry. We do have time, Voldemort, or whatever it is that’s inside Bill, isn’t going anywhere any time soon. You yourself said that.”
It was difficult to argue with the logic and after a short deliberation Harry agreed, providing they could convince McGonagall to accept his weekend absences. Bill and Remus assured him there would be no difficulties.
So following a somber supper, Harry, Remus and Tonks Floo’d to Hogwarts and Bill returned to the Burrow after notifying Fleur to meet him there. Both parties met resistance, but not much. After speaking with McGonagall, Remus contacted Aberforth to cast the spell on Bill that would prevent the Horcrux from leaving his body, while he was alive. He had to renew the spell weekly but it gave Bill much needed assurance that Voldemort’s soul would not, somehow, escape and try to take over someone else. The only immediate ill effect from this imprisoning spell was that Bill’s nightmares became more intense and frequent, and he was not able to use certain mind-oriented spells. But he felt it was a small price to pay for his own life and preventing the soul fragment from escaping.
Ginny, Ron and Diane were in the Head Girl/Head Boy lounge revising with Hermione when Harry arrived near midnight. No one expected his return after the conversation in McGonagall’s office hours earlier, and he found great amusement with their expressions of surprise. At second glance, Ginny wasn’t studying - she was nodding-off into her Potions text. Crookshanks had taken the opportunity to rest his ginger-colored head in her lap, probably planning something mischievous involving a long braid of Ginny’s red hair dangling in front of her face.
Ron held up a finger to his lips. “Shhh, she just got to sleep.”
“I’ll take her to her room,” Diane said, quietly gathering her things together. Harry collected the rest of Ginny’s books and put them in her bag. Then he kissed her forehead gently.
“Harry, Hermione, look the other way,” the American said with a crooked smile on her face, standing with her and Ginny’s bags of book.
“Why?”
“Because I’m probably about to do something that breaks school rules.” With that enigmatic comment, Diane touched Ginny’s shoulder and both disappeared.
“Bloody… We’ve got to get her to show us how to do that,” exclaimed Ron.
Harry plopped down onto the spot where Ginny had sat a moment before. “Don’t think she can. She told me it wasn’t like Apparating.”
Hermione spoke up, too. “Well, it couldn’t be, could it? No one…”
“…can Apparate inside Hogwarts,” Ron and Harry finished together in a sing-song voice, earning them both a smile from their studious friend.
“What brings you back so soon, Harry?”
“How much do you two know about why I left?”
Ron told Harry that they knew everything, and how McGonagall had called them together earlier in the day.
“Good. I don’t think it’s as bad as I first thought. There’s definitely something of Voldemort in him but it’s far weaker than any other presence I’ve felt.” Noting the visible look of relief on Ron’s face, Harry continued. “Bill convinced me that we could pursue this while I finish school. He’s heading back to Fleur right after a quick stop at the Burrow.” Harry clearly was not telling them everything, but both also sensed a level of comfort within Harry that prevented further prying. “Remus and Tonks are in the Headmistress’s office; I have to see McGonagall and let her know I’m back. I’ll see you two later.”
And as quickly as he’d arrived, Harry left to see the Headmistress.
“Had enough revising for tonight?” Ron asked Hermione, stifling a yawn.
“I suppose. Here.” Hermione handed Ron’s Transfiguration essay back to him. There were only a couple scratch-outs. “You’re a good writer, Ron, when you put your mind to it.”
Blushing slightly, Ron rose, collected his things and headed out. He stopped at the door and looked back to his friend. “Thanks, ‘Mione.” The door closed quietly.
Hermione sighed. “Your welcome, Ron.”
Hi Billie (and the rest of you twerps reading this over her shoulder or when she’s off to class.)
Greetings again from Jolly Ol’, the country of Paul McCartney, Mr. Bean and the world’s worst food. Actually, Hogwarts is in Scotland, but that’s close enough “ and the food here is great. Sorry for the long delay, let me explain.
I thought about telling you how busy I was, but that was a given when I left. Our English cousins are so far ahead of us in spell organization and finesse it’s laughable. Like I told the gang here (Harry, Ginny, Hermione & Ron “ who’s now back from some mysterious self-imposed exile, and Luna) more was covered in the first few weeks of one class here than I covered in three years at Salem. Not to sound pedantically obtuse, but I’ve been put to shame. We still hold a significant edge in pure strength and power, but the things these ‘blokes’ do with a wand are astonishing.
Harry’s probably the only one here with as much raw power as, ahem... me. But he’s the exception. Harry’s girlfriend, Ginny, is also quite powerful, but with a wicked streak of ferocity. (Must be her red hair.) I’ve never dueled her, really, and don’t particularly want to.
Ron, her brother, makes up with - I guess you’d call it brains, though not in the classic studious sense - what he lacks in brute force. Head to head, Harry beats him every time, but if you pit Ron against Harry and one or two others, Ron wins as often as not. Very odd. He’s sort-of sneaky, but in a calculating way, and only when dueling. Outside of magic he’s a typical 17 year old male. I think Hermione is interested in getting back together with him (I told you they broke-up, didn’t I?) but Ron’s having nothing to do with it. Can’t really understand why, they work together perfectly on assignments, though I hear this was not always the case.
Hermione is “bloody brilliant,” as Harry tells me often. And she is, book-wise. More than anyone else I’ve met here, though, she is determined to bring a part of her non-magical heritage into the lives of those she associates with, whether they want it or not. I sometimes overhear Ron and Harry talking behind her back about something called ‘spew.’ I’m not sure what it is, but it sounds a little gross. Harry’s warned me off asking her about it, but I think I will anyway.
The big disruption here recently was the inquiry into that Voldemort guy. I listened to five days of Harry’s testimony: I nearly hurled every day. What he went through is beyond belief. The pure evil Voldemort inspired sounds like it came right out of Nazi Germany. Harry even mentioned some vague connections with that group of merry men. (I’ve sent along some clippings that give a general picture what Harry’s been through the past few years.) There’s a quite strength to him, almost frightening. Ginny has, from what I can tell, done a lot to calm him over the past 10 months they’ve been dating. But the sessions really took a toll on him and he returned mid-last-week looking tired and pale. There’s more to that than I can say; I promise to fill you in on it as soon as I can.
Let me see, what else? Next month Harry’s... um, best ‘adult’ friend, I guess you’d call him, Remus Lupin, is dragging Harry off to London to check out his family ‘vault(s).’ He’s pretty ‘rich’ from what I hear, but he inherited the money from his murdered parents and godfather, so he’s not keen on making a fuss about it. Not that he would anyway. I told him I’d go with him if he wanted and he said he would think about it. I’m sure he’d rather hold out for Ginny’s presence than mine!
Oh, yeah! Get this: I had a ‘date’ with Ron and Ginny’s brother, Fred. He’s one of the clones I told you about. He and his brother, George are the original Doublemint Twins, except instead of (now think of that corny tune):
Double you pleasure,
Double your fun,
With Double-fresh,
Double-good,
Doublemint gum.
I was treated to a double-date with Fred’s double and a nice girl named Verity who had, apparently, dated Fred until recently. But with those two you can never be certain. They wore the exact same clothing and even Verity, who works with them, couldn’t tell who’s who. It was a little unnerving, which I suppose was Fred’s idea... if it really was Fred I was going out with. You get the idea.
Anyway, I met Fred, George (or George & Fred?) with Verity in Hogsmeade for dinner and a stroll around the village, which really is quite nice with all the snow. Of course, between the wind and the temperature, which hovered around -20, ‘quite nice’ has a slightly warped meaning. I finally figured out which was Fred, and noticing a spot of soup on his cheek (which I told Verity not to point out) I could keep him properly identified. When I made it clear to the twins that I knew which was which they proceeded to test me, but ultimately gave up and even began to act normal, as much as they’re able.
We ended the evening at a cozy lodge-like spot on the side of a mountain overlooking the village. There was a large fireplace and lots of squishy chairs with real leather cushions (you know, the kind I hate b/c they make my rear feel sweaty) and assorted beverages. I learned that Harry had given the twins a bunch of money to start their business a couple years ago; Fred and George clearly like Harry, except for a couple not-so-amusing comments they made about Harry dumping Ginny last summer.
I’m sure I threw Fred off as we said goodnight by giving him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. (He knows about me.) But it really was a fun evening.
As to your question about Luna, she’s doing fair. I’m glad you had the chance to meet her last summer, if only for a short time. We’ve gone out a few times and she was a bit of a wreck until then, mentally speaking (though it’s hard to tell with her at times.) Like Harry, she keeps things bottled up too much, but unlike Harry she didn’t have anyone she felt comfortable speaking with until she opened up to me. Her relationship with Neville (the guy she was with at Salem and who was killed by Voldemort) was interesting to say the least.
You know about Harry’s Prophecy, right? Apparently Neville had figured out that it was he who had to die, not Harry or Voldemort. He kept all that to himself until Luna dragged it out of him at the end of their last school year. Then Luna went off, had some heated argument with her father, withdrew her life savings, and disappeared with Neville most of the summer. A few weeks of steamy one-room motels and carnal knowledge of each other distracted Neville enough to keep the poor guy sane. (And I don’t say ‘sane’ lightly. One of Voldemort’s buddies tortured both his parents to insanity.) She admitted all this to me just before the big goings-on at Hogwarts in September.
Luna’s quite the brain, too. Maybe even as smart as Hermione, but she stores everything inside that brain of hers and only reveals enough to get by. I discovered this when she was helping me study for a test (or exam, as they are called here.) She would rattle off questions, I would answer, back and forth, nonstop, until I noticed that she had her eyes closed and didn’t even use my notes. When I nudged her she smiled sheepishly and told me she has a photographic memory. People like that disgust me!
And no, Luna and I are not ‘together.’
One last thing before I close out. Would you please ask your father about date discrepancies on official documents? My birth certificate says my birthday is December 25th, but I know it’s the eleventh. He might have an idea about how that happened and how to fix it. Thanks.
Back to Goblins and Ghouls. Give my love to everyone, Billie. I’ll probably stop by for a day or two over Easter break.
Love,
Diane
“Brown-noser!” Harry said out of the corner of his mouth to Ron as they left Defense class late one Friday afternoon in mid-February with Hermione and Diane.
“Am not,” he chuckled back.
Hermione heard the exchange and added her own. “Suck-up!”
Another laugh.
“Teacher’s pet!” Diane said in a squeaky voice making everyone crack-up.
“You’re all just jealous because we’re on a first-name basis.”
That evoked more laughter.
“Ron, you have to admit, she does like you, and a lot more than the rest of us,” Hermione said seriously.
“Can I help it if I’m so bloody charming, ‘Mione?” They exchanged a quick glance; Hermione smiled shyly.
Diane ran in front of the others, pulled out her wand and waved it mysteriously in Ron’s general direction. “Hang on, I have an anti-big-head charm here somewhere.”
Ron roared in laughter.
From the far end of the corridor they all heard Ginny shouting, “Just be sure it’s only his head you shrink!”
“That’s my little sister, always watching out for me,” Ron uttered sappily.
Harry dropped back to greet Ginny as the others headed towards the Gryffindor common room. “Hi, how was class?”
“You know Binns; I caught up on some sleep… well? What did McGonagall say?”
Harry cringed. Ginny read his expression and frowned. “She said if you want to go with me we have to wait until the Easter break. So let’s do that.”
“She’s a real witch sometimes, and I don’t mean that in a complimentary way, either,” Ginny spat out. “Go ahead and go, if you want, Harry.”
“Nah, I’ll wait; it’s only another month. And I have to update Bill tomorrow, anyway. Want to go with me? I’m sure the witch will let you walk me to Hogsmeade.”
“It’s a date. What will you two be looking at tomorrow?” Ginny said, trying to pry a little more information about their research from her boyfriend. Though it had only been a week since the inquiry, all of Harry’s free time was spent alone in the library in the restricted book section. None of his friends had seen much of him outside of class.
“I found a few references to soul-binding curses that sound a little like the Dimidium Curse Martin used. I’m going to ask Aberforth about them.”
“How old are they? Did the book say?” Ginny noticed that Harry was heading to the library, not to the Gryffindor tower.
“Only one,” he answered. “It’s about two-hundred years old.” Seeing Ginny’s look of frustration, he asked what the problem was.
“I was hoping you might have found something from around the time of Grindelwald. That witch Martin told us about might have invented Horcruxes.”
“Yeah, I thought of that, too. But Dumbledore… eh, Albus Dumbledore told me last term that he didn’t know for certain when the first Horcrux was created.”
Ginny looped her arm in Harry’s and pulled him to a stop. “Harry, let’s go ask his portrait, he might have more information.”
Feeling a bit stupid, Harry cursed mildly. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Wanna come?” Ginny nodded.
Five minutes later Harry and Ginny found themselves in front of Dumbledore’s portrait. McGonagall was standing to the side and the late headmaster was snoring peacefully.
“Professor Dumbledore… sir?” Harry said quietly. The portrait’s eyes opened.
“Goodness! Harry and the lovely Ms. Weasley, what a pleasant surprise.” Dumbledore rubbed the weariness from his eyes and sat up straight.
“Sir, last year you told me that you didn’t know if anyone besides Grindelwald and Riddle had created a Horcrux.”
Dumbledore nodded his head gravely and glanced quickly at the nearby portraits. “That is right, Harry, in essence. But what I actually said was that I knew of no one other than Grindelwald and Riddle who had had a Horcrux created for them.”
Harry nodded, having noted the subtle difference in the two statements.
“Did you ever learn of anyone else, sir?” Ginny asked. “Anyone else who had made a Horcrux.”
“No, and we can safely assume it is not a common practice or we would have heard more about it through history. Even the Sorcer’s Stone, an exceptionally rare item, had rumors flying about for decades before its existance was confirmed pulically y a young lad at this very school.” McGonagall cleared her throat and Dumledore peered at Harry through the bottom of his glasses. “Why the sudden interest in Horcruxes again?”
After a brief hesitation, Harry told him the story of Bill and the Horcrux in Nagini. The portrait looked aghast but Harry quickly explained how it had happened.
“Most unfortunate, but it sounds like my brother did the right thing, trapping it in his body.”
Ginny bristled at the late Headmaster’s cavalier attitude. “That’s easy for you to say, sir.”
Harry pointed out their predicament. “We can’t destroy that Horcrux without killing Bill so we’re looking for other ways. We are hoping to trace the magic back to when the first Horcrux was created, but we have no idea where or when to look.”
“I see,” Dumbledore said, putting his fingertips together and looking pensive. “Last year I did much the same thing, Harry. Might I suggest that you broaden your search a bit? I found that what little information was available in books was seldom even remotely accurate. And do not limit your search to only those like yourself.”
In a move that left all three present taken aback, Dumbledore sat back into his chair and returned to sleep.
“He’s doing it again,” Harry said, turning on Ginny and McGonagall. “Come with me.”
Slightly perturbed at the Head Boy’s order to leave her own office, McGonagall simply nodded and followed Harry and Ginny out into the corridor.
“Mr. Potter, what is this about?”
“Professor McGonagall, haven’t you noticed that Professor Dumbledore’s portrait speaks vaguely about things he knows but is not allowed to share with us?”
McGonagall looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “I have noticed him holding back.”
“It has to do with his existence in the portrait. Shortly before Riddle was destroyed, Ankaa took me into his world and I experienced, er… it’s hard to explain. It’s a place between our existence and the afterlife. Only creatures with a special ability can come and go between that world and ours. House Elves can, Owls and Phoenix, too. Professor Dumbledore told me that beings who reside there permanently, like the echoes of people we see in portraits, can see things we can’t see here.” Harry led Ginny and McGonagall a few steps down the corridor to a bench so they could sit.
“But he is also prohibited from directly revealing in death what he didn’t know in life. Tonight he dropped some hints, but I have to put them in my Pensieve to see them again and make sense of what he said.”
McGonagall nodded thoughtfully. “Then I would think Albus’s abrupt departure was a signal that, had he continued, he might have broken that rule.”
Ginny remained silent while Harry and the Headmistress sat in quiet thought.
“Harry,” McGonagall finally said, “I hope you won’t keep us out of this like you did with the first Horcrux search.”
“No, Professor, Bill and I already discussed it. But we do need to keep some parts secret. If the Wizarding community discovered that Voldemort might not truly be gone, again…” Harry didn’t have to finish.
“Very well. I agreed with Remus and Tonks to allow you much more latitude on weekends, but please remember you also have a responsibility to this school. If you find yourself unable to meet these responsibilities I want to hear it from you first, NOT from another student.”
With that, McGonagall stood and walked briskly back to her office.
Harry turned to Ginny, holding out his hand. “C’mon, let’s go look at this memory and see what Dumbledore was trying to tell us.”
It had been nearly forty years since Michael Allen had hiked the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of northern New Mexico as a young Boy Scout. He would never forget the unparalleled beauty of the colorful mountains as the sun set, and experiencing the “purple mountains’ majesty” first-hand. The dry, thin mountain air had built up his stamina and muscles in that care-free youth. But that care-free youth lived decades ago.
The mountains... the hills of Wales would not have registered, set against the might Rockies, but they felt like Mt. Everest now. Dragging his tired and worn body up one more of a successive succession of partially paved back roads not far from the accursed town of Godric’s Hollow, Michael Allen took grim pleasure in the fact that he had survived on almost nothing for weeks. Nothing but a drive to make the discovery of a lifetime.
It was absurdly simple, really, he told himself looking back on the quaint villages he’d visited. Knowing exactly what you are looking for makes seeing it all the easier. And his senses had been honed by thirty years of investigative reporting and poking his nose into other peoples’ business. So, once he had truly convinced himself that the lot he and Billy had witnessed was real “ that magic actually existed “ everything else fell into place.
A person disappearing from sight after rounding a corner would be ignored by virtually everyone. Allen, however, sometimes noticed the person’s coat sleeve or elbow as it seemed to move in an awkward manner, just as they vanished from view. He surmised this person was spinning, just like the man in his apartment had spun before disappearing with a soft “pop.” It had only happened three or four times, but it was enough. If he dashed down the alleyway and no one was present his suspicion was confirmed; he knew that no ordinary person could have vanished that rapidly.
With a natural disguise provided by two months growth of whiskers, a weathered, reddened face, and the general odor of a vagrant, Michael Allen was ready to start hunting for more evidence of magical people in the village of Godric’s Hollow. Every week Allen had made a brief call to Billy to assure the young man that he hadn’t been forgotten. Fortunately, Billy had not lost his job after his early winter disappearance, though he told Allen it would be difficult to get any extended time off for a while yet. But Billy was assured that, as long as he kept his mouth shut there should be no problems for him.
Now, with spring just a few weeks off, Michael Allen limped back into the village of Godric’s Hollow. The limp was real, too; he’d worn out his best trainers and earned himself a nasty blister for all his effort. Approaching what he knew - from his last visit to the town - to be a church sympathetic to the homeless, he begged a meal and some minor first-aid for his foot. The idea of spending a night on a cot was appealing, too, and he took up the offer for shelter along side a number of truly homeless souls.
The following morning, Saturday, March 3rd, he changed the dressing on his foot and headed back into the village. There was a thick, damp fog over the village that gave Allen a shudder when he passed the old cemetery next to the church. Do wizards die? he mused. “There’s one way to find out, Digger,” the professional reporter answered himself aloud. Concocting a story came easy to a man such as he, and in seconds Allen had reversed his steps and re-entered the church office. In just minutes he had the address of the village records office and he was, again, on his way.
Approaching the archive an hour later, Allen was relieved to note that there were no physical impediments to his research. The crippling headaches his recording had mentioned were absent, but then, he was not looking for Harry Potter, either. Greeting the clerk at the reception desk, he was ushered into a small side-room where he filled out the forms necessary to retrieve the death certificates of James and Lily Evans Potter. Ostensibly searching for his family history made the job all the easier and Allen was able to strike up a conversation with the clerk who retrieved the records for him.
Aside from the date, there was little of value on the death certificates. But an off-hand comment by the clerk led Allen to a small Episcopal church just a few blocks from Flower Lane. Again, feigning interest in his family history, Allen asked for the location of the Potter graves, but this time his efforts were dashed.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Michaels, there is a record of the service but apparently interment was not in our cemetery.”
“No mention of a location?”
“No, but that’s not uncommon. The few families that lived here for generations often buried their relatives in family plots. The Potters had homes here for many generations; maybe they had their own location.” Shrugging in helplessness, the elderly lady sat down and asked Allen if he had any other business she could help with.
“Did you know the Potters?”
“Oh, yes. Everyone in the neighborhood knew the family. When James and Lily died their son disappeared; they were the last of the Potters in this area. Oh!” The woman winced, placing a hand to her forehead.
Allen’s eyes widened. “And their son? No one ever found him?”
“I’m afraid not, Henry... no, Harry was his name.” She winced again. “They lived down the street from me, and I frequently saw Lily and James walking, holding young Harry. It was so tragic.” The clerk, Marylyn, as her nameplate identified, had a sad look on her face punctuated with pain.
“Do you know where their old house is?” Allen asked.
“Surely. Just walk out the door and turn right onto Tudor Street. Follow it three blocks and take a left onto Flower Lane. What’s left of the house is five blocks on the left. You can’t miss it.”
“Ah, but no one rebuilt the house?”
“No. There were a few interested parties over the years but none took out a contract. Rumors always flew about the area and I guess it scared them off.”
I’ll bet! Allen thought. “Thank you for your help... Marylyn. Have a nice day.” As Allen exited the front office he turned and saw the woman take out a bottle of a pain reliever.
Allen followed the directions to Flower Lane, all the while focusing on James and Lily Potter. As he approached the lot which Marylyn described Allen saw little but a raised mound of grass and mosses; the only evidence remaining that a house once stood there.
Back at the records office, Marylyn waited a few minutes for the pain in her head to subside. When she no longer felt nauseous, the receptionist picked up her phone and dialed a number she had been sent the month before.
“This is Marylyn Eccles from the Godric’s Hollow village records office. May I speak with Inspector Trent? Thank you, yes, I will wait… Inspector, a man came by a few minutes ago asking about the Potters. Is that what you wanted to know? Yes... yes... he’s heading there now. Very well. Cheers, bye-bye.”
It was a long-shot, but Inspector Trent would make every effort to get to Godric’s Hollow before the stranger disappeared. Following directions, however, before he left he placed a call to 14 Downing Street in London. When a man answered, Trent read the list of words, code, obviously, to the man. “Oscar “ Oscar “ Bravo - X-ray.” Before he could formulate a thought or question, the line went dead. “Bloody Secret Service,” he griped, running out of the office and to the car park.
Rehabilitation exercises had become a habit to Charlie Weasley and were, he discovered, a superb way to clear his mind and plan the day. The six and a half kilometer circuit around the town, down to the Seine, back up to the Mellanson vineyards and over two small hills left him panting slightly and in much need of a shower. And to his mother’s chagrin it also left him thin and tired looking. Or so she told him on her monthly visits.
At 175cm he was the shortest Weasley male, but he’d kept trim and lost much of the extra ‘bulk’ he’d become used to. Tré’s encouragements, also, had made it easier to change a life-long habit of limited physical activity. Their growing love had, at times, seemed like a reward (or incentive) to keep him active. But Charlie knew in his heart that she was only playing with him and that her love was as real and unconditional as his was for her.
Unfortunately the French Ministry of Magical Affairs was not so accommodating in their acceptance of the English wizard.
It had been a month since Tré told Charlie he would have to leave Paris. He hated it. Tré hated it, and groused endlessly about the double standard in the Assembly, but someone’s perception of you was too important to ignore. Charlie knew Tré wanted to make politics a career so he stood up and offered to leave that evening. It was the only time he had feared the French woman would hex him. Tré pulled him back down and told him he was only going as far as Vernon where he could complete his rehabilitation in the quiet country. She had already spoken to her parents and they were expecting him that evening!
Surprised, Charlie did the first thing he could think of: he kissed Tré. With that the arrangement was settled. Tré would stay in Paris during the week and join Charlie and her family on the weekends. Charlie could complete his rehabilitation and he would also have time to consider the job offers he had received. He could also clearly think through the most important issue, aside from his health: Tré. Or more precisely, asking Tré to marry him.
Oddly, the thought of marriage had not been foremost in his mind as the couple fell in love over the past six months. Part of that was the war and the uncertainty associated with it. Part of it was the cultural differences and the realization that they would have to live in France for Tré to further her career. But since leaving Paris Charlie had come to the conclusion that he wanted Tré for a wife. And he believed she felt that way towards him, too. Charlie’s most significant hesitation, however, was the desire to raise a family. With Tré in her late thirties any childbearing would have to start soon... and, again, what would that do to her career?
This Friday morning in early March found Charlie cooling down and stretching behind the winery. As he lay on his back pulling a leg up over his head, a face appeared above him, startling him to the extent that he let his leg snap back, nearly taking off Tré’s nose in the process.
“What are you doing here?” Charlie asked in surprise. He started to stand but Tré, who was looking uncommonly casual for a work day, waved him down and sat next to him.
“Do I need a reason “ besides you?” she replied. “Give me your leg.”
“What?”
“You are not stretching it far enough. Lie back.” She playfully pushed him down on his back.
This had been their routine in Paris when the physical therapy had started in earnest. If Tré thought he was not stretching enough she would sit next to him and help. The one time Charlie’s mother saw her do it she cried out that Tré was going to, “Snap his leg clean off!”
“There. Does this hurt, mon cher??”
Charlie glanced at her, opening his eyes wide. “Not when you do it,” he replied in a false dopy voice.
Tré laughed, put the one leg down and raised the other.
“Enough! That one’s still stiff. I need more of that cream Dr. What’s-his-name gave me.”
“You, my love, are hopeless.” Leaning over Charlie she kissed him then hovered over his face. “His name is LeVasseur. Are you still having trouble with those memories?”
“Nah, I was just kidding you.” They both knew otherwise.
“Charlie?” Tré said in a more serious voice.
“Ok, ok, yeah, I’m still having problems. It’s like his name is right in front of me but I can’t read it. Bloody frustrating, it is.” Throwing his sweat-soaked headband away in disgust, he rolled on his side. “And don’t think I don’t know that you sent me here because of the town’s name.”
Tré frowned. Since awakening from the emergency surgery her sister had performed on Charlie to save his life, the Englishman had been confused every morning about his location, believing they were in Vernon, not Paris. Truthfully, it was part of the reason Tré had sent him to her family home.
“I just don’t want to remind you every morning, it might seem like I’m nagging you. It will pass, I promise.”
“Doctor Mellanson, is it now? You’ll give Nettie a run for her money.”
Tré barked out a laugh. “Never!”
The momentary tension between them passed and they lay back on the cold ground. The sun was just topping a small hill in the east, warming their skin and dispelling the chilly late-winter air. The ‘patient’ was drinking the last of his water.
“Charlie,” Tré started, turning on her side to look at him. “Will you marry me?”
After nearly choking on his water, Charlie looked at Tré and said very simply, “Of course I will.” They kissed long and gently. “I’ve been working up the nerve to ask you myself, but... Well, yeah, that would be marvelous. Mum will have a cow with two French daughters-in-law, but what the heck!”
Then, very seriously, Tré turned and opened Charlie’s hand. A braided gold ring fell from her hand to her fiancé’s. “Henri Paul gave this to me years ago. He said if I ever got married I was to give it to my husband. Try it on.”
A little flustered at receiving what amounted to an engagement ring from a woman, Charlie started to complain that it was too small, but Tré insisted. (He then noticed Tré wore one also.) As he slipped it on the band magically resized to his finger. “It’s... I don’t know what to say.”
“You already said ‘yes,’ that’s enough for me.”
“I love you,” Charlie whispered, caressing her face. “Are you sure this won’t affect your career?”
“And I love you, too… Yes, I am quite certain this will affect my career. But that’s not our concern right now. I believe the Assembly should take a lesson from our friend Harry Potter and recognize the power of love.” Tré turned a way for a moment, causing Charlie to wonder, a look of concern had flashed across her face. He placed a hand on her shoulder to turn the French witch back towards him.
“Tré?”
She pulled Charlie into an embrace. “Charlie, I received an Owl from Molly last night.”
More than anything else, this sobered Charlie up immediately. “And?” he prompted.
“It’s your brother, Bill, my love. He’s not in any danger, or hurt. But something has happened.” Tré withdrew Molly’s letter from her pocket and handed it over. The French woman had been touched that the Weasley matriarch trusted her to bring her son the ill news.
Mrs. Weasley’s distinctive handwriting was not as clear as it usually was. Without hesitation, Charlie jumped up. “I have to go, Tré. You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I wish I could go, too.”