CHAPTER TEN
–Taste me, drink my soul
Show me all the things that I shouldn’t know
And there’s a blue moon on the rise.
I had everything
Opportunities for eternity
And I could belong to the night.â€
-Make Me Wanna Die (The Pretty Reckless)
Harry Potter checked the time on the battered watch that had been Fabian Prewett’s, drumming his fingers restlessly on the gold cover. It was one o’clock in the afternoon. One o’clock, on the day of his wedding. He kept expecting the pre-wedding jitters, the cold feet, the anxiety and nagging doubts that many members of the Auror office had warned him about. Instead he felt nothing but calm, blissful certainty. A sense of impermeable rightness.
Harry turned to face the drawing room mirror to straighten his dress robes and saw the door creak open behind him.
–I told you, Ron,†he began before he could see who it was, –your mum will skin us alive if I let you read your best man’s speech the way you wrote it. Just let Hermione edit out the last bit, for Merlin’s sake.â€
But he stopped short, because it was not Ron. Instead the most unlikely pair of guests imaginable walked into his drawing room, the first rather stiffly, the second looking cautiously amused.
–Dudley?†Harry exclaimed. –Hermione? What is this?â€
–You, er, invited me,†Dudley said with a brave attempt at a smile. Harry gaped at him, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
–Winky was meant to be tailing him, just as a precaution, Harry,†she said. –But Ron stole her away to cook up some lunch. Do you know where he is?â€
–I- But-†Harry found his voice at last. –I never thought you would actually show up! No offense, Big D.†He looked from Hermione to Dudley and back, taking in the mischievous twinkle in his friend’s eye. It was a look he knew well. –You had something to do with this, didn’t you? How did you pull it off?â€
–Have a little faith, Harry,†Hermione replied. –Dudley here just wanted to see you. Don’t you think you ought to greet him properly?â€
Mastering the powerful instinct to flee from his cousin’s presence, born out of years of enthusiastic mutual dislike, Harry strode forward and extended his hand. Dudley shook it, looking relieved.
–Molly will have saved a seat for you just in case with the rest of the Weasleys, as the front table was for family,†Harry told him. As his cousin turned to leave he added, –And, er, thanks, Dudley. You know, for coming. I didn’t- well, thanks.â€
As soon as the door closed behind Dudley, Harry rounded on Hermione.
–What did you promise him?†he demanded.
Hermione flushed pink, and became abruptly absorbed in the fingernails of her left hand.
***
Dudley stood at the center of a handsome house decorated in the tasteful, if eclectic style he had come to recognize as characteristic of the wizarding community, taking in a scene which would have terrorized him as little as a month ago. Men in dresses, owls carrying letters, dozens of strange folks all with identical ginger hair, flying trays of hors-d’oeuvres, all flitted from room to room causing a cacophony that seemed to disturb no one. The portraits on the walls moved from frame to frame like film characters, chatting animatedly about the impeding nuptials of their master. Dudley approached one of the portraits and saw that it carried the likeness of a ragged looking man with long dark hair who bore the vestiges of great good looks worn away by the bitter passage of time. A caption beneath the frame read Sirius Black: 1959-1996. Odd, Dudley mused, he had always thought the proper spelling of the word was serious.
–You look lost,†the man in the portrait commented. –Come to see my godson’s wedding?â€
–Your- Harry’s your godson?†Dudley asked, startled.
–D’you know, most strangers come in here with notepads and cameras, asking all about Harry and Azkaban and other nonsense,†the man called Black replied. –Who are you?â€
–Dudley Dursley.â€
–Good Godric, really? That’s too good,†Black laughed.
–Er, how is that?†said Dudley.
–I met Vernon and Petunia Dursley once. Dreadful people. Never would have thought I’d see a Dursley in a magical home.â€
Dudley’s brow furrowed at the slight on his family, but before he could retort a loud disturbance coming from the upper landing caused both man and portrait to look up in alarm. Immediately Black leapt to the side, bounding through adjacent portraits until he was headed upstairs out of sight. Dudley gaped impotently at the wall without moving. Often events in the magical world still moved too quickly for his crowded mind to process them. In any case, Black was already returning.
–A ghost frightened some house elves upstairs,†he threw in Dudley’s direction before flitting through more portraits towards the drawing room. –Have to go warn the groom. Nice to meet you, Durlsey.â€
Dudley marveled for a moment at the fact that he had just had an entire conversation with a portrait without any reference to the strangeness of the situation. Then he made his way out to the backyard to look for Parvati under the enormous marquee that covered the reception area. He had offered to take a train to Godric’s Hollow with her, but she had refused owing to the need to accompany her stepfather to Harry’s house, as the elderly man disliked Apparting on his own. Several more laughing red-haired individuals were already seated on spindly golden folding chairs in the front row near a raised dais, but Dudley spotted Parvati several rows back, helping her family into their places. Her eyes lit up when they found his, and she followed him to the front where chairs labeled –Dudley Dursley and Guest†had been reserved in the middle of the row.
–Parvati,†one of the red-haired men nearby greeted them politely as they sat down. –And... Blimey, is that Dudley Dursley?â€
Dudley realized, too late, that this was one of the twin gits who had fed him tongue-mutating toffee when he was fourteen. What was more, when the man turned to face them full on, Dudley saw that he was missing an ear. A gruesome, gaping scar was all that remained on the side of his head where the appendage should have been, and it was all Dudley could do not to gag.
–Hi George!†Parvati greeted the man, beaming. –Dudley is here as my date. How are things?â€
George eyed Dudley strangely but engaged Parvati in conversation, leaving Dudley free to observe his surroundings to asses them for potential threats. Several more early guests were beginning to file in through the garden. Dudley saw a woman with greying hair and an eye patch; an extremely short man with long, knobbly fingers and unnaturally dark eyes who looked suspiciously like a goblin; a woman with a pale face and bubblegum pink hair; and finally, a round-faced young man with protuberant ears carrying a bulky package under his arm and looking mutinous. The latter stalked through the rows looking all around him, though it appeared that he did not find what he was looking for. Just as the man turned on his heel, Parvati exclaimed loudly over the arrival of a new member to their party.
–Hi Ron!â€
The man called Ron dropped into the chair next to Dudley without looking at him and pressed his palms to his temples dramatically. Dudley vaguely recognized him as a friend of Harry’s, too.
–Parvati, nice to see you again,†he muttered. Then, turning to George, he said, –Merlin, I’m hungry. Hermione’s been hounding me to change my best man’s speech all day. She’s not here, is she?â€
–No,†George replied. –Haven’t you just been off with Winky for a late lunch, you prat?â€
Ron shook his head. –Couldn’t find her. Looked everywhere- What?†he added, for George had nudged him and gestured towards Dudley. –Whoa, Dudley Dursley? What are you doing here?â€
Dudley, who was growing tired of this constant refrain, was prevented from snapping that the last time he had checked he was invited only because his eyes kept wandering back to the horrible sight of George’s missing ear.
–Dashing, isn’t it?†George said, noticing his interest.
–That’s not- I wasn’t...†Dudley flushed in embarrassment. –I just would have thought you could have fixed something like that with, er, with magic.â€
–No magic can reawaken the dead,†Ron told Dudley, while George looked suddenly bitter. –You can mend a recent injury in a trice, but once cells have died and your body’s healed over there’s nothing to be done. Why do you think Harry’s always worn glasses instead of just fixing his eyes with magic?â€
Dudley felt a chill go over him at these words, though he could not at first identify its cause. Then, as his mind ground into motion and Ron’s explanation reverberated in his ears, he jumped to his feet, his fists clenching and unclenching.
–What is it?†Parvati asked, looking concerned.
–Going to the loo,†Dudley said through gritted teeth, practically sprinting away without a backwards glance. He threw open the back door to the house and thundered from room to room until he found her: Hermione was sitting in one of a cluster of high-backed armchairs by the fireplace in the library with the round-faced man Dudley had spotted earlier, poring over a book with an acid green cover. She was scowling, but, Dudley reflected, this was as nothing to how she would look once he was through with her.
–So!†he nearly shouted, startling Hermione and her friend, who dropped the book onto the floor.
–This really isn’t a good time-†Hermione began, but Dudley ignored her.
–I’m curious,†he spat at her, –how were you going to mend my shoulder once this wedding was over? You know, what kind of spell, exactly?â€
Her face grew paler by a fraction, though she did not look nearly as disturbed as Dudley felt the situation required.
Bravely, she stood so that they faced one another, and the truth was written plainly in her eyes.
–Er...†the man with the book began, but Hermione held up a hand to silence him.
–You found out,†she said, and it was not a question.
–You were never planning on healing me,†Dudley said in a hollow voice. –Because you can’t.â€
She gave an apologetic nod.
Dudley pointed an accusatory finger at her. –You tricked me!â€
–I am sorry for deceiving you,†Hermione said. –But it’s a matter of perspective. In just a few short months you’ve allowed Harry, one of your family, back into your life. You’ve started seeing Parvati. You’re standing up for yourself for the first time in your life. I prefer to think I lent you a much needed helping hand. Can you honestly say you would have allowed any of these changes in your life if you didn’t think there was something in it for you? That I wouldn’t heal you?â€
Dudley heartily wanted to respond with a defiant –Yes,†but in all honesty he was not certain that it would be true.
–This is all very interesting,†said a voice from behind one of the high-backed armchairs, the last voice Dudley wanted to hear just then. Harry emerged from behind the chair and came to stand at Hermione’s side, his eyes boring into Dudley’s with frightful intensity. Not for the first time Dudley fully appreciated that this could be the man other witches and wizards spoke of with awe, with reverence and a little fear.
–So that’s why you agreed to come,†Harry continued, his tone light. –I knew you must have promised him something, Hermione.â€
–I didn’t just...†Dudley gulped. –I wanted to see you.â€
–To see me?†Harry repeated. –Or to see the results of your work?â€
–What?†Dudley stared at his cousin, bewildered.
Harry pointed at the floor by way of response, and Dudley’s eyes fell upon the book which the round-faced man had dropped. It was open at a page bearing a moving photograph of what appeared to be a fifteen year old Harry sitting in a dark courtroom.
–Neville brought this to our attention just now,†Hermione explained as Dudley picked up the book and examined the cover, which bore the title Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lied. –Rita Skeeter’s new book. It came out this morning, the date being no coincidence, I’m sure. Your interview is featured quite extensively.â€
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Dudley rifled through the pages until he came to an early chapter, the first page of which detailed a young Harry’s –scandalous†and –possibly evilly motivated†attack on his cousin at the reptile house using a fully grown python. Skeeter had made it sound as though Harry had been trying to fatally harm Dudley. His mouth had gone dry, his throat working mutely to form some sort of explanation. But anything he could come up with would sound hollow, empty.
–I told Harry Rita blackmailed you,†Hermione added hastily. –No doubt you had no idea what she would make of the stories you gave her.â€
It was the truth, Dudley knew, but still Harry looked impassible and said nothing. Would the truth be enough to convince Harry in the face of Dudley’s revelation that he had only shown up at the wedding to achieve his own ends?
In his distress Dudley did not hear the footsteps echoing out in the hallway as he attempted to explain, –She’s right, I didn’t know. I mean, I never thought Rita Skeeter would twist up everything I said. I was trying to help, I didn’t say a thing about your personal life, you know, about your parents and all that. I only talked to her in the first place because she said if I didn’t she would tell Parvati that I hadn’t really been obliminated. I had no choice.â€
Dudley stopped then, because an odd tension had filled the room and he could not understand why. He also did not understand why the third man, Neville, looked so uncomfortable, or why Hermione cringed. But when he turned to glance self-consciously behind him and see the origin of their discomfort, his heart plummeted right out of his chest and far, far into the ground.
Parvati, perhaps wondering why Dudley had failed to return from the bathroom, had followed him to the library and was standing still as a statue, staring at Dudley with tears shining in her eyes.
–Oh!†Dudley gulped, reaching feebly in her direction, but Parvati shook her head and stumbled back, exiting the library with her eyes still fixed on his. He thought that he had never seen such shock or betrayal in anyone’s face as he did just then, and with a great effort he forced his body into motion, chasing after her down the hall, but it was too late. Parvati had already made it out the back door and he saw through a window as she ran to a point just beyond the backyard and disappeared into thin air.
–Damn, damn, damn!†Dudley shouted at the empty hallway, punching out at a wall and realizing a moment too late that it was made of stone rather than plaster. The pain in his fist blinded him temporarily, so he stumbled into the nearest room and fell into the first chair he found, suddenly weary beyond belief and unable to summon the energy even to rage at his surroundings.
He wanted to shake himself, crush himself into a pulp. He wanted to take it all back and start over from the day he had first met Parvati at Grunnings. He wanted to disappear from this house, from under his cousin’s judgment and the disappointment in his eyes. To be anywhere else, anywhere at all, would be bliss.
Opening his eyes, Dudley saw that he was in a small study, and further that there was a fireplace in the corner. A glass jar filled with emerald powder sat atop the mantelpiece, and Dudley was struck by sudden inspiration. He had seen this powder used before, on the day of the tongue-mutating toffee. Every detail of that horrible experience was etched permanently in his memory, much as he wished he could erase it all, and so he knew that the powder could be used to transport people to the destination of their choice.
Recklessly, Dudley walked to the fireplace and seized a handful of the powder. He flinched a little when he threw the powder into the grate and it burst into seven foot tall green flames, but the stress and anxiety of the day had numbed him enough that he was able to shrug and step into the fire. The swirling ash choked him and stung at his eyes, so that he was momentarily confused and said the first thing that came into his head.
–Charing Cross Road!â€
Through a mouthful of ash it sounded more like a series of garbled swear words, and as Dudley began to spin uncontrollably he wondered whether he had failed. Perhaps he had insulted the fireplace and it was now trying to kill him. But just as soon as it had begun the swirling stopped and Dudley was thrown unceremoniously onto a cold stone floor, spluttering and dizzy and covered in ash.
There was a scream and Dudley hastened to right himself and brush the soot off his clothes. In a day already filled to the brim with unpleasant surprises, Dudley received yet another shock when he looked around and saw that he was nowhere near Charing Cross Road. Instead, he was standing in a dingy barroom filled with only a handful of patrons. Through the one grimy window he could see that the ground outside was covered with a fine layer of snow like powdered sugar. Where in the world had he landed himself now?
–S- Sorry,†he stammered, looking around at the patrons and the glowering barman. –Got, er, lost.â€
–Butterbeer?†the barman grunted. Dudley had no idea what this could mean, but nodded hastily.
The little old woman who had screamed when Dudley had made his entrance sat down, appeased, and Dudley could think of nothing else to do besides sit down. It was indeed a tremendous relief to find himself far away from his troubles, and he was not eager to leave this safe haven, gloomy as it might be. He dropped into a free chair next to a surly looking blond man at the bar and continued to shake ash out of his hair until the barman returned with a dusty bottle of some warm liquid Dudley did not recognize.
There was a little wizard gold in his pocket, which Parvati had exchanged against muggle money at a wizarding bank called Grim-bots for him earlier that week in case he should need it in some emergency. This he passed to the barman without counting out the exact change, so that the man’s eyes widened in surprise and he looked fractionally less irritable as he walked away. Dudley proceeded to examine the bottle with a suspicious eye, turning it this way and that without opening it. The blond man next to him, who had been throwing him cold sidelong glances, snorted.
–Dim, are you?†he drawled. –It’s just butterbeer.â€
Parvati had mentioned butterbeer, once, but the thought of anything to do with Parvati was too painful at the moment and Dudley had no wish to recall what she had said. Cautiously, he pulled out the cork and took a swig from the bottle. The liquid inside was delightful, warming him and seeming to soothe away a small portion of his troubles. Dudley nodded to the blond man and noticed the same acid green book Hermione had held in the library sitting on the bar next to him with a note lying on top of it. He read the note surreptitiously.
Draco. Remember the good old days of the Tri-Wizard tournament? Thought you might like a sneak peek at my new masterpiece. Send an owl my way if you’ve reconsidered my offer. Cheers, Rita.
–D’you mind if I have a look at this?†Dudley asked.
The blond man shrugged, continuing to stare moodily at a patch of dusty counter and nursing his drink, and Dudley picked up his copy of Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lied, setting aside the note. He flipped to the table of contents and examined the chapters in order, his dismay growing with each line.
Chapter Three - Childhood: The Fugues and Fatal Mistakes (HOW did ten year old Harry Potter, supposed defender of Muggles, engineer a deadly python attack upon his hapless cousin?)
Chapter Five - Hogwarts: The Parselmouth In the Grass (WHY was no Ministry investigation ever launched over the petrification of half a dozen of Potter’s classmates, for which he was the prime suspect?)
Chapter Eleven - Horcruxes: (WHEN was Harry Potter planning to reveal to the wizarding community that he carried within himself a fragment of the Dark Lord’s soul?)
Chapter Sixteen - Hermione Granger: (WHAT exactly happened between Potter and ex-girlfriend Granger during the many months of 1998 when Ronald Weasley traveled to Paris to assist his brother in expanding a line of joke shops?)
Dudley gaped at the last line, aghast and somewhat impressed, before remembering that Rita Skeeter had likely invented the whole thing and Harry had never had an affair with Hermione. He would never, ever speak to this Skeeter woman again, no matter what form of blackmail she employed. This brought to mind the note addressed to the blond man presumably called Draco.
–Listen, mate, you should know about this Skeeter woman,†he began in his most helpful tone. –If she’s writing you notes and all, it can’t be good. She’ll twist everything you say.â€
The man turned slowly to face him, his eyes traveling over Dudley’s scuffed blue jeans and the formal black jacket he had donned for the wedding. Dudley could not tell whether it was the blatant Muggle-ness of his apparel or the fact that he was covered in soot that caused the man to sneer at him and turn away, tapping the counter and calling, –Aberforth, another bourbon. Neat.†It was not until the blond man had drained half of his new glass that he looked at Dudley again. –I don’t know who you are, mate, but I have an idea you don’t know much of anything yourself, so shove it.â€
A sneaking suspicion connected the man’s hostility with the words Remember the good old days? in Rita Skeeter’s handwriting in Dudley’s mind, and he frowned at the blond man.
–What does she mean, anyway, about reconsidering her offer?†Dudley asked aggressively, glorying in the familiar feeling of venting his frustrations on someone else. He did not stop to consider the fact that he was the only one in the pub who did not have a magic wand. –Did you help Skeeter write this muck about Harry?â€
The blond man sighed heavily and pressed a fist to his temple as if praying for patience.
–Dimwitted indeed,†he said. –Try and apply your tiny brain to the situation at hand, whoever you are, and think about the question you just asked. Would Skeeter have asked me to reconsider her offer to help her write the book if I hadn’t first refused it?â€
–Oh.†Dudley pondered this for a moment and then looked down, embarrassed. The blond man was already calling for another drink.
–Do you know Harry well, then?†Dudley ventured. It was plain that this man had no wish to converse with him, but Dudley wondered whether with a little help from one of Harry’s potential friends he might not be able to get back in his cousin’s good graces. Now that his initial panic was beginning to fade away, Dudley realized that he wanted to go back, wanted very much to return to Harry’s wedding, because... Because there was something he badly needed to do.
The pieces were falling into place now. Dudley could not stop the memories from crowding in: the first time he had met Parvati and the nightmarish week when he had not been speaking to her, and had ended up at the Leaky Carton Inn with the voices coming through the walls of his room; the day she had come to his room in her apple-green coat and told him of the ghost that haunted her; the portrait at Harry’s house this morning and the disturbance of house elves and ghosts it had reported; Harry’s friend Ron’s insistence that he had not seen any house elf. Hermione Granger would have known what it all meant. Dudley was not a great thinker, he had never done well in school or even excelled at his work. But Dudley had changed these past few years since he had come out of hiding, and he had changed even more since meeting Parvati. He was no longer the slow-witted, pampered boy clinging to his mother’s skirts. And all of a sudden, he knew what it all meant, too.
The blond man scowled at Dudley’s renewed interruption. –It’s always about precious Scarhead Potter, isn’t it?â€
–Er...â€
–Yeah I knew Potter,†the man snapped. –What’s it to you?â€
–I was at his wedding, and I sort of need to get back there as soon as possible, but I don’t have any more of that Floo powder stuff,†Dudley explained.
The blond man looked at him as though he were a particularly dense toddler.
–So Apparate,†he said. –The sooner the better, so I won’t have to, you know, talk to you anymore.â€
–I, er, don’t know how,†Dudley muttered, flushing furiously. Was it customary for all wizards to know how to vanish and reappear? Had he just blown his cover as a Muggle?
–Shame,†the blond man drawled, not sounding as though he cared much one way or another.
–Look, he might be in danger!†Dudley exclaimed, losing patience as the man ordered yet another drink. –There’s this thing with a sword and a werewolf and ghosts and elves and... Forget it, I’ll walk back to Godric’s Hollow if I have to. Bloody hell, aren’t you lot supposed to care about Harry, with him being all famous or something?â€
The man’s head had snapped up at the mention of a werewolf, and though he scowled at Dudley his eyes were suddenly alert. He rose, still remarkably steady on his feet, and threw a handful of gold carelessly onto the counter.
–You must be the Muggle cousin,†he said, not without a small smirk.
–Yeah, I suppose.â€
–If you ever tell anyone what I’m about to do, I will find you, I will hex you into a pile of mouldering jelly, and then I will magic you back to yourself just so I can hex you again, got that?â€
Dudley gazed apprehensively into the blond man’s snarling face, noting that his hand was fisted in the pocket of his robes where his wand was likely hidden.
–Why?†was all Dudley could think to say.
–Potter saved my life,†the man said, and it seemed he was talking mostly to himself. –But there are bloody limits. Go outside, now.â€
In the face of the man’s newfound attitude it did not occur to Dudley to disobey, so he hurried out of the pub into the chilly air of the quaint village street outside. The man followed him and they stood side by side for a moment in the snow, with Dudley wondering what he was about to get himself into now.
–Well, hold on,†the man snapped, rolling his eyes. –I’m not going to go with you into the Chosen Wedding, but I can take you by side-along.â€
Understanding that the man meant to disappear into thin air with him as Rita Skeeter had done, and he reached out to grip the man’s left forearm.
–Not that one,†the man hissed, suddenly furious, and Dudley recoiled. –And don’t touch my hand, either, I’d never be able to wash off the filth.â€
Dudley might have bristled at the obvious insult, but he had more pressing matters on his mind, so he merely gripped the man’s shoulder and stepped for the third time in his life into the paralyzing, horrifying sensation of Apparition. He did not even scream or vomit.
The outline of Harry’s house appeared before him at the end of the street a moment later, and he felt his feet hit firm ground. Dudley let go of the blond man’s shoulder at once and muttered a quick –Thanks.â€
–You had better do your job and go take care of this wolf threat, or whatever,†was the man’s response, and Dudley turned away, already dreading his return to the house. Before he could leave, however, the man added, –Listen.†He spoke quickly, and it sounded as though he were choosing his words with great care. –If this is something to do with a werewolf and a sword, then according to the Prophet odds are Greyback will be involved.â€
–Fenrir Greyback?†said Dudley. –That’s what Hermione thought.â€
–Granger?†said the man, and though the name sounded faintly distasteful to him he shrugged. –Of course if anyone was going to figure it all out it would be Granger. Anyway, most people outside of a certain... circle don’t know this, but Greyback is allergic to snidgets, so if you need to subdue him, that’s the way to go. He wouldn’t see it coming.â€
–I- Wow, thanks!†Dudley exclaimed, heartened by this secret weapon. –Thank you, really.â€
–Save it,†the man retorted, already turning away. –And remember, not a word.â€
He vanished with a pop before Dudley could say anything more. Perhaps it was a side-effect from all the magic, but Dudley felt at once as though he had been doused in cold water, and through the bright sunlight a haze passed over his vision. He thought he could see the faint outline of a man shimmer a little ways ahead on the road.
–Hello?†Dudley called.
Without warning, a crushing blow hit Dudley in the back of the head, and he crumpled, unconscious.
The Phoenix Or The Flame by GinnyRULES
Chapter Notes: Ninja speed updating, right? It's okay, I know I'm amazing, but you can tell me anyway. Guys, this chapter is massive, weirdly so compared to the others, but I just felt that it worked as one unit so I didn't want to break it up. I know it may seem like I'm just throwing in random guest appearances by all these side characters, but there's a method to my madness I swear and it's all part of the plan. Tell me about your theories, your comments, your dream ice flavors, your opinion on Newton vs. Liebniz, in the reviews. Cheers!
Chapter Endnotes: Sorry, I know I'm cruel. Also, it might seem odd to have Draco sitting in the pub of the man who's brother he tried to kill, but for some reason I felt it was fitting. Like maybe Aberforth would recognize something of himself in Draco, the perpetual screw-up, and take pity on him, though he would never show it.