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The Time of Destiny | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP, Buried Gems Characters:All Genres: Action/Adventure, Fluff, General Warnings: Death, Sexual Situations, Violence Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 503 Summary: Sequel to "The Refiner's Fire." Harry Potter returns to Privet Drive for the last time, prior to his Seventh Year at Hogwarts. Much to the Dursley's surprise, Remus is going to stay with him due to a head injury Harry received on the train. The Dursleys are not happy with this situation, as you can well-imagine. This fic covers both the summer before Harry's seventh year, and his entire last year at school. Canon-based with some OC. Ships, for those who care: H/G, R/H, R/T Hitcount: Story Total: 508973; Chapter Total: 18670 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Author notes: You may find it odd that Mr. Ollivander seems distressed by destroying something he’s made, but I can tell you from experience that many artists and craftsmen put their hearts and souls into their work. Destroying something beautiful you’ve created can be heart-breaking. I’m an artist myself, and if a piece of my work gets damaged or doesn’t turn out well, I have to ask my husband to destroy it — I can’t do it. I see the same kind of artistic heart in Mr. Ollivander — if he didn’t truly love his creations, why would he be able to remember every single wand he’s ever sold? That’s an artist’s heart, right there. I named this new healer Polly Grener because she’s talkative (“Polly” as in “parrot”) and “Grener” means “scars” in French. The other new healer’s name, Healer Litteken, means “Scar” in Dutch. His first name, which you’ll see in Chapter 6, is “Adelfried” which is Old German meaning “who protects the descendents.” Many thanks to Kelpie, my brilliant Brit-picker, and to Blakevich, Starfox, Iris and Asad for beta reading! You can join the Yahoo! Group for this fic at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HPR efinersFire “Death Eaters?” Ron said, aghast. “How do you know?” Harry gave Ron a look and then touched his glasses casually. “We saw them in Diagon Alley, remember? I caught a glimpse of them before I warned you.” “Did they see us?” Ollivander asked. “No, I don’t think so,” Harry replied. “Let’s just Apparate out of here,” Ron urged. “There aren’t enough of us to take them on.” “I can’t Apparate right now. Remember my stupid head injury?” Harry grumbled. “I’m staying. I want to know what they’re up to.” Ron sighed. “I’m with you, mate.” “Mr. Ollivander, if you want to leave, it will have to be soon or they’ll hear you,” Harry urged. “I’ll stay with you boys. I’m getting old and my Apparating is rather noisy these days.” The old wizard held his wand in a steady hand, not looking at all frail at the moment. “Shhh,” Harry warned as the Death Eaters came into sight. They were pushing an elderly, hunchbacked man ahead of them. “G’wan, you. I’m sure you know where they went!” one of the hooded men snarled. “I don’t, I tell you I haven’t seen Harry Potter for almost a year now,” said Mr. Verre, the opti-wizard who had made Harry’s glasses the previous summer. “What was he doing on Diagon Alley? Was he coming for a check-up?” the man drawled in an insulting way. “I tell you, I don’t know! I haven’t seen Mr. Potter since last summer, when I made his glasses,” Mr. Verre said, his voice shaking as he trembled before the six angry men. Ron and Harry looked wide-eyed at each other over Mr. Ollivander’s head. Why were these Death Eater’s after Mr. Verre? Now that Harry was working at the twins’ shop on Diagon Alley, he wasn’t hard to find. The boys shrugged at each other and turned back to the scene playing out before them. “Calm down,” one of the Death Eaters told the others in an oily, familiar voice. “Potter isn’t our mission today, although finding him is always of interest.” Harry and Ron both stifled shocked gasps. Snape! Snape turned his hooded face to the elderly man cowering before him. “Our master needs new eyes since those phoenixes pecked his out. You will make them for him.” “I don’t make magical eyes, I’ve told you and told you. I don’t know how. I only make glasses, that’s all.” “You made glasses for Harry Potter. We’ve seen your ads all over Diagon Alley,” another Death Eater snapped. “And inside the Knight Bus, as well!” said a third. “Rumour has it that you can give special powers to people’s glasses. What special powers did you give Potter’s?” the first man said. “Special powers? All I did was put a prism in for his astigmatism, and the only other thing he needed was correction for nearsightedness,” Verre replied, trying his best not to snivel in fear. Harry gulped. The man was in danger of dying because he had Memory Charmed himself into forgetting that he’d put every magical power he could in Harry’s glasses. Snape shoved the man roughly to the ground. “You. Will. Remember.” he said in a dangerous voice. “And you will make magical eyes for our master.” “I cannot make magical eyes for anyone! And even if I could, they only function properly if there’s one normal eye that works. You can’t replace two blind or missing eyes with magical ones, it just doesn’t work, not as far as I know, anyway,” Verre insisted. The old man’s hands were shaking badly. It was obvious he knew what danger he was in, but he could only tell the truth as he knew it. “Who can make these eyes, if you can’t?” another man asked. “I don’t know! There used to be a man on Diagon Alley who did it, but he retired years ago. Moved to New Zealand, he did — said he wanted to be able to get a suntan on Christmas Day instead of freezing his arse off. He’s been gone now for five years or more. He could be dead by now, I don’t know.” Verre held his shaking hands imploringly in front of his face as one of the men raised his wand at him. “Temper, temper,” Snape warned, sounding exactly as he did when he was warning Harry not to fly into a rage. “Don’t damage him until we’re sure we know everything he can tell us.” ”There’s no need to damage me at all!” Verre cried, cringing on the ground. “I’ve told you everything I know!” “If that’s true, then Avada Kedavra,” said one of the hooded men. A bright green flash later, Mr. Verre fell to the ground, dead. Harry and Ron covered their mouths to stifle their gasps of surprise. Mr. Ollivander dropped his eyes sadly, having just lost another old friend. “You. Bloody. Fool!” Snape snarled at the man who’d killed the old opti-wizard. “I wasn’t through with him!” “You are now,” the other man sniggered. “Been wantin’ to try that spell ever since I learnt it.” Snape slapped the man with his open hand. “You are a fool, Mitchell, a complete and utter fool.” He glared around at the rest of the men. “You bunch of sodding idiots. We came up here to have privacy so I could interrogate this man while training you in interrogation methods as well. And now you’ve cost us a valuable source of information,” he spat with disgust. “You new, so-called ‘Death Eaters’ leave a great deal to be desired. I shall be sure to so inform our master,” he sneered. With that, Snape Disapparated, leaving five men standing around Verre’s body. “Well, now what do we do?” one of them asked uneasily. “Dunno. There’s nobody here to boss us, is there, lads? We could have some fun with this ‘un,” Mitchell said, nudging the still-warm body with his toe. “Fun? With a corpse? And not even a woman’s,” one man said in revulsion. “You lot are barmy, you are,” he said, then Disapparated. The men who remained by Verre’s body started poking and prodding the old man’s corpse, then levitated it, spinning it around and aiming it toward a tree. The body never hit the tree, because Harry did a wandless Aresto Momentum on it, then gently lowered it to the ground. The four Death Eaters immediately started firing spells in all directions. Harry still had his new wand in his hand. He pointed it at one of the men and poured his fury into the wand. The man vaporized, leaving nothing but an oily smear where he’d been standing. The other three screamed and started to run, but Ron and Ollivander Stunned them, and then Ron shot ropes out of his wand that tied them up. Harry stood looking at his wand in horror, his face a ghastly white. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he gulped, after taking what felt like hours to start breathing again. “It’s all right, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander said calmly. “It was self-defence, and you haven’t learned how to control that wand very well yet. You just used too much force, that’s all.” He looked at the beautiful new wand in the boy’s hand. “I knew it was going to be a powerful wand, but I had no idea exactly how powerful. You have a magnificent weapon there, Mr. Potter. Use it wisely.” Harry’s mind was growing numb with reaction to what he’d done. He listened carefully to Ollivander’s words, not understanding one of them. He nodded mutely when the man finished speaking, sensing he was waiting for a response of some kind. Harry’s ears were filled with a shrieking wall of sound he couldn’t seem to get beyond. “What should we do with them?” Ron asked Harry. When his friend didn’t respond, Ron touched him on the arm. “Harry? You all right?” Harry nodded. “What should we do with these blokes?” Ron repeated. Harry fought against the shrieking sounds in his ears, the whirling blur of thoughts in his mind, and tried his best to come back to reality. “I don’t know. I can’t think.” After taking several deep breaths to try to calm down, he could finally place one coherent thought after another. “We. . .we need to. . .um. . .talk to Dumbledore.” Work, brain, work, dammit! he growled inwardly. “Um. . .he said he had meetings with the Ministry this week, so I can’t send him an Adfero. . . .” Harry knew better than to chance revealing the Order’s secret message system to strangers. “Merlin! Merlin, I need you!” The phoenix swooped down to Harry’s shoulder from his perch high in the trees. “Could I use a bit of your parchment?” he asked Mr. Ollivander. He took the offered parchment, quill and ink from the old wizard and wrote a note, then handed it to the phoenix. “Take this to Dumbledore. I have no idea where he is, but bring him back here right away, all right? And be careful if you see Snape — don’t trust him.” He didn’t really think Snape would meet Dumbledore at the Ministry, but with Snape, it was hard to predict what he would do. If he was as trustworthy as Dumbledore always said he was, then he would report to the headmaster soon. But no matter what Dumbledore said, Harry simply didn’t trust him. Merlin crooned a soft note, then leaped into the air and disappeared in a flash of light. Mr. Ollivander was kneeling by Mr. Verre’s body, his shock giving way to grief. Harry went over and knelt beside him. Ron stayed by the prisoners, his wand steady and his eyes furious. If they moved, he’d nail them to the ground, quite literally. “I’m sorry,” Harry said, not knowing if he meant it for the living man beside him, the dead one in front of him, or both. Probably both, when he thought about it for a minute. “He was a dear, dear friend, one of my oldest,” Mr. Ollivander said sadly. “It’s simply dreadful that he had to go this way.” Harry put his hand on the old man’s shoulder, comforting him the only way he could think of. They sat quietly for a long time. “Harry?” Ron said after a while. “Yeah?” “I should send a message to my parents. It’s getting late, they’ll be worried. D’you think there are any more Death Eaters around?” “No, I don’t think so,” Harry said, after carefully invoking the power of his glasses so Mr. Ollivander wouldn’t notice, and then searching the area as well as he could. “Yeah, go ahead and send the message. Send one to Remus for me, would you? I just can’t do it right now.” Harry’s mind was back in a swirling fog. He blamed himself for the old man’s death, although he knew it wasn’t truly his fault. Still, his name had been brought up, and somehow, he was involved. One more death to add to the burden he bore. After a while, Ollivander sighed, then glanced apologetically at Harry. “Would you mind helping me up? My knees aren’t what they used to be.” The young man stood and carefully helped the old wandmaker to his feet. Ollivander removed his outer robe and draped it over his friend’s body, then turned to face the boys. “I think we’ll just destroy these extra wands now,” he said, pulling the box out of his robes, along with his notes. “I don’t want to leave you boys here alone with those prisoners, and I don’t want anyone else to get their hands on these wands, so destroying them here is best.” The boys watched Mr. Ollivander create a small fire pit in a cleared area of the path. He levitated large rocks to surround the area of bare dirt, then took the wands out of their boxes, spreading them in a single layer at the bottom of the fire pit. He tore the boxes into shreds, inserting the shreds among the wands, then did the same with his notes. He put a Screen Charm over the fire pit so not one particle of the wands would escape as flying ash, then pointed his wand at the pile of handsome, brand-new wands and sighed deeply before saying, “Incendio!” A nearly smokeless fire erupted around the wands, the parchment curling up rapidly, its edges blackening, the scrawled handwriting on it seeming to turn to flame itself before the parchment fell to ash. The gleaming wands took longer to burn, and sent out sparks of protest as they caught fire and went from beautifully polished wood to grey ash, and finally, to dust. When the fire burned down, he Vanished all the ashes, then Levitated the rocks back where he’d gotten them. Soon there was no sign there had ever been a fire. “What a waste,” Ron muttered. “I’m sorry you had to go to so much trouble, Mr. Ollivander. Please let me pay you for this wand. I know you put a lot of work into them, and now they’re all gone,” Harry said, feeling miserable. Watching the old wizard’s face as his handiwork had burned had been difficult for Harry to bear. Ollivander took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “No, dear boy, I told you my reasons for making them at no charge. Don’t go telling your friends, or everyone will want a free wand,” he said with a bit of his customary twinkle in his eye. With a flash, Dumbledore and Merlin arrived. “What’s happened?” he asked Harry urgently. “Your note was very cryptic.” Noting the boy’s troubled eyes, he added, “Are you all right?” Harry took his headmaster a good distance from Mr. Ollivander so they could talk privately. “Snape and some Death Eaters were here,” the young wizard snarled quietly. “Snape said they were a new batch of Death Eaters. They were trying to get Mr. Verre to make magical eyes for Voldemort, and when he said he couldn’t, one of them did the Killing Curse before I could stop him.” “Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore reminded him as he mulled over the boy’s words. “Did they know you were here?” “No, we were hiding in the trees. We were up here so I could try out the wands Mr. Ollivander made for me. I sensed someone was coming, and saw hooded figures in the distance. I thought hiding was better than confronting such a large group. There were six of them to start with.” Dumbledore looked at the three trussed up men on the ground. “Where are the others?” “Snape. . .Professor Snape,” Harry growled between gritted teeth, “and one other man Disapparated. Then I tried to stop one of them and. . .um. . .vaporized him somehow,” he admitted, hanging his head. “I had my new wand in my hand. I’m not used to how powerful it is. I didn’t mean to kill him. I was just trying to Stun him.” “I see. Don’t worry, dear boy, you won’t get in any trouble for it,” Dumbledore assured him. “I won’t?” the boy said, a small light of hope glimmering in his eyes. “Most assuredly, you will not. I can promise you that.” “Thanks,” Harry muttered after a moment. He dropped his eyes and added, “That doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty about it.” “I know that,” Dumbledore rumbled kindly, patting the boy on the shoulder. “Your heart is what makes you such a wonderful person, as well as a powerful wizard. I’m glad you set so much value on anyone’s life, but you do not need to add this man’s death to your list of things to blame yourself for. It was an accident. It could have happened to me if I’d had a powerful new wand I wasn’t used to yet. Don’t blame yourself, Harry. You don’t need to bear that burden.” “It was the bloke who killed Mr. Verre anyway,” Ron put in sagely. “Saved the Ministry the cost of prosecuting him.” He was still guarding the prisoners, but had cocked an ear to listen to Dumbledore’s and Harry’s conversation. “And that’s a very practical way of looking at the matter,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Now then. I need to arrange transport for these men, and have them questioned.” He stood thinking a moment, then held his wand up and drew a small circle in the air. An Adfero message flew from his wand tip toward the south, another to the southeast, a third toward Hogwarts, and a fourth to the north-northeast. “That should do it.” “Who did you contact?” Harry asked. “Kingsley Shacklebolt and Miss Tonks and a few Order members. I believe we need to have Aurors involved to deal with the Ministry. They will come take these men into custody and question them, then lock them up.” Dumbledore walked over to Mr. Ollivander, who was standing over his friend’s body. “Are you all right, old friend?” Dumbledore asked kindly. “I’m so sorry about Mr. Verre. He was a good man.” “Yes, he was.” Ollivander sighed. “I’m fine, Albus, thank you for asking. If you don’t need me any longer, I’ll take him back to Diagon Alley so his family can arrange a funeral.” “Thank you, that would be very helpful,” Dumbledore agreed. “Would you like some assistance getting him there, or can you manage?” “I can manage, thank you.” Ollivander stood looking down at the body for another moment, then glanced up at the headmaster. “By the way, your idea worked brilliantly.” Dumbledore’s face creased in a smile. “Which idea? I have so many, I’d enjoy knowing which one actually worked!” he said with a chuckle. About young Potter’s wand. I made ten wands — we’ve already destroyed the ones that didn’t suit him, don’t worry. The one he chose has his own hair as the core. It’s rather amazing. I’ve never used a wizard’s hair as magical core material. I honestly didn’t think it would work, but this is an extremely powerful wand.” “I can imagine, if a simple Stunning Spell accidentally vaporized the person it was aimed at,” Dumbledore said with a droll smile. “Exactly. He’ll need to practice in remote areas with whoever is with him well-shielded for protection until he gets used to the power of this wand. Get him to tell you about his Sphere Shield Charm.” Ollivander’s eyes glowed at the memory. “Oh, I’ve seen it. Quite remarkable, isn’t it?” “Ask him what he did with it today,” Ollivander said with a wink. “You’ll be amazed.” “Wonderful!” Dumbledore replied. “By the way, I will keep your name out of today’s incident, for your safety as well as Harry’s.” “Thank you.” With a soft pop, Remus appeared. He saw Dumbledore first. The headmaster excused himself from Ollivander and started walking toward Remus. “Where’s Harry?” Remus asked anxiously. “Is he all right? I got a message from Ron. . . .” Dumbledore held out a calming hand. “He’s fine, Remus, if a bit upset,” the headmaster assured him. “He’s over there.” He nodded to the edge of the woods, where Harry knelt behind Mr. Ollivander, next to a covered body. As they watched, Merlin flew from Harry’s shoulder to the body on the ground, grasped it in his talons and flashed out of sight. Ollivander Disapparated with a loud POP soon thereafter. “Harry?” Remus called. “Are you all right?” Harry stayed kneeling with his head down, tension obvious in his body. “Yes, I’m fine,” he replied quietly. “What happened? Who did Merlin carry away?” Remus asked as he crossed the clearing toward his godson. The boy looked up at Remus, his eyes sad and weary. “It was the opti-wizard who made my glasses, Mr. Verre. He died because he made my glasses, I think.” “What do you mean?” Remus asked in confusion. Just then, Aurors and Order members Apparated all around them. “What happened here?” Kingsley Shacklebolt said sharply. “Your message was awfully cryptic, Albus.” “There’s been a murder,” Dumbledore said quietly. Harry froze in shock. Dumbledore and Ollivander had both assured him he wouldn’t be charged with that man’s death. Dumbledore sensed Harry’s fear and looked at him gravely. “Mr. Verre, an opti-wizard from Diagon Alley, was brought here by several Death Eaters. They were trying to force him to make magical eyes for Lord Voldemort. When he said he couldn’t, they murdered him. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley witnessed the events.” He gazed steadily at both boys, and they understood — Mr. Ollivander’s name was to be kept out of things, to protect the secrecy of Harry’s new wand. “What were you boys doing up here?” Shacklebolt asked Harry as the boy got to his feet. “Um. . .we came up here to have some fun after work. You know, experiment with some spells where we couldn’t do much damage,” he said with a shrug. The best lies were based in truth, in Harry’s experience, and this one was the best he could come up with on short notice. “Is that true, Mr. Weasley?” Shacklebolt said, turning to Ron. “Yes. We were messing around with spells. Then Harry noticed these Death Eaters approaching and we hid in the woods,” Ron said. “Why didn’t you Apparate out of here?” one of the Order members asked. “Harry’s not allowed to Apparate yet, because of his head injury on the train home from school,” Ron replied. “He flashed here holding his phoenix’s tail.” “Even if I could have, they were close enough to hear us leave, so we thought it best to hide,” Harry added. “And I wanted to see what they were up to. We’d seen them in Diagon Alley earlier today. It just seemed odd they’d be here too. I thought they might be following me, so I wanted to see who it was.” “And who was it?” Tonks asked kindly, seeing the tension in Harry’s body. “The only name I heard was Mitchell,” Harry replied, knowing without being told that he had to keep Snape’s name out of it. “Is he one of these?” Kingsley asked, nodding toward the trussed up trio on the ground. “No, he’s dead,” Harry replied in a dull voice. “Harry killed him in self-defense,” Dumbledore said promptly. “The man was attacking.” He carefully left out that the man was attacking a dead body that Harry had decided to protect. “Where’s Mitchell’s body?” one of the Order members Harry didn’t know asked. “It’s, um, gone,” Harry replied. “I vaporized him by accident.” “What?” the Order member said in shock. Harry’s temper flared. “I told you! That smear over there is all that’s left of him. His name was Mitchell. He’s the one who killed Mr. Verre. He did the Killing Curse and laughed about it, saying he’d wanted to try it ever since he learned it.” He was panting now, rage pouring through his body. “He just killed Mr. Verre for no reason at all. Then he was going to slam the poor man’s body into a tree. I stopped that spell, and tried to Stun Mitchell, but . . . .” He dropped his head, still angry with himself for what had happened. “Harry has a new wand he was trying out,” Dumbledore put in suddenly. Harry’s eyes widened in shock. He’d thought they were trying to protect the secrecy of his new wand. “His old wand is stuttering a bit,” Dumbledore lied smoothly, “so he got a new wand today and was trying it out. He doesn’t have a good feel for it yet, so he simply used too much power and . . . well, you can see the results.” “That much less work for the Ministry,” Tonks said cheekily. “But a lot more paperwork for us,” Kingsley said darkly. “We’ll do what we can to minimize Harry’s involvement when we write our reports,” he told Dumbledore. “Thank you,” the old headmaster said with a smile. Kingsley looked at Harry seriously. “You can’t use your old wand anymore?” “I can still use it. The new one’s going to take some getting used to, that’s all,” Harry replied honestly. “I’d suggest you stick with the old one until you have total control of the new one,” Kingsley said. “I will,” Harry promised, meaning it most sincerely. “Right then,” Kingsley said after a moment’s thought. “Are these all of the others, or were there more? Do we need to search the area for them?” “There were two other men, but they both Disapparated after Mitchell killed Mr. Verre. I heard one of them say the new lot of Death Eaters was worthless, or something like that,” Harry replied. “He said he was going to tell that to Voldemort.” He tried to ignore the shudder that went through the Order members and Aurors gathered around him when he said the name. “Anything else you can add?” Kingsley asked, looking at each boy in turn. When they both shook their heads, he went on. “We have your statements. We’ll take these prisoners with us. We may have more questions later.” “I quite understand,” Dumbledore said amiably. “Thank you for your help.” Shacklebolt picked up a rock and made it a Portkey, then laid it on the three Stunned men lashed together on the ground. He counted down quietly, “Three, two, one,” and the Portkey activated, taking the prisoners to Azkaban. “I guess we’ve finished; that’s it, then. Nice to see you, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. Take care.” He smiled at the boys as they said goodbye, and then Disapparated. Tonks moved to stand next to Remus, waiting until the other Aurors and Order members were gone before taking his hand, standing on tiptoe and kissing him. “How are you, sweetie?” she said with a warm smile. “I’m fine, but I suspect Harry isn’t feeling too well right now,” Remus said, watching his godson closely. The young wizard was standing quietly, his hands dangling loosely at his sides, looking a bit lost. Ron was talking to him, but Harry didn’t appear to hear him. Dumbledore bent down beside the smear on the ground and examined it. “Harry? Come here.” Harry squatted next to his headmaster. “What do you see?” “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “I see a smear on the ground,” the boy said, revulsion in his face. “I see the residue of an extremely powerful spell,” Dumbledore said. “I tried to Stun him. What did I do wrong?” “You were angry, you said. I suspect that, in your heart, you were so angry with him that you wanted to, shall we say, ‘vaporize’ him, but your logical mind said to only Stun him. Your wand listened to your heart instead of your mind. That’s an interesting thing to know about your new wand, Harry.” The boy looked at his headmaster in confusion. “I don’t understand.” “May I see your new wand?” Dumbledore asked quietly. “Here,” Harry said, handing him the wand. “Ah. Mahogany and holly. A beautiful combination. And Mr. Ollivander went to the trouble of carving griffons and phoenixes around the handle. Really lovely work.” “Yeah. I hadn’t really noticed the carving that much. All of them had some kind of carving on them, but I didn’t pay that much attention to those,” the boy replied. “He’s given this wand additional power by including these talismans that are important to you as a wizard. The griffon, since you are a Gryffindor, and the phoenix, because a phoenix came to you, and phoenixes have helped you when you needed it.” Dumbledore examined the wand carefully, the pointed it down the long, empty meadow. “What spells did you try with this?” “The Levitation Charm, Hover Charm, um, I can’t think what else right now. I moved that boulder near the far woods a lot. The first wand I used felt shaky and overly powerful to me — turns out it had Merlin’s tail feather in it. That boulder shot probably two hundred feet in the air when I tried to Levitate it with that one.” “Let me see,” Dumbledore said, aiming carefully at the boulder Harry had used. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he said in a firm voice, and the boulder shot up from the ground, heading for space. “Oh, dear!” the old wizard said, then said “Aresto Momentum,” and got the boulder under better control. “It works better if you speak softly, I found,” Harry said, a smile tickling the corner of his mouth. “Ah. All right,” Dumbledore replied, then whispered various other spells, making the boulder do aerobatics of various kinds before replacing it where it had come from with a resounding THUD. The old man chuckled. “I seem to have a problem controlling your wand, Harry. That’s very rare — and quite a bit of fun, I might add!” “It’s fun as long as nobody gets hurt,” Harry agreed, smiling at the apparent glee in his headmaster’s eyes. Dumbledore immediately sobered. “You’re right, of course. This is an extremely powerful wand. If anyone else tries it, they could very well get hurt,” he said with a warning glance at Ron, who’d been watching their activities avidly. “I know better than to play with that wand,” Ron asserted. “I saw what happened when Harry tried to use the ones that weren’t right for him!” “Lesson learned, Mr. Weasley?” Dumbledore acknowledged with a smile. “Yes, Professor,” Ron said in his best schoolboy voice, then cracked a grin. “I didn’t think any wand would be difficult for you to use.” “This is a highly unusual wand, Mr. Weasley. I think Mr. Potter and I are in for some interesting training sessions as he learns to use this. Remus?” “Yes, Albus?” “I think Harry would benefit from your help with this wand until school begins. I will be tied up with Order work for quite a while, and will only be able to visit Grimmauld Place occasionally. It would be wonderful if Harry has some control of this wand before school begins again.” “I’ll be happy to help him,” Remus agreed. “I believe a Possessio Charm is in order,” Dumbledore said suddenly. “What’s that?” Harry asked. “The Possessio Charm will allow no one but the rightful owner to use it. No one — not me, not Remus, not Ron . . .not Lord Voldemort. If it falls into someone else’s hands, it will not perform any magic at all,” the headmaster explained. “Why do you think that’s necessary?” Harry said curiously. “In battle, sometimes we have to use someone else’s wand when we lose our own, or it gets damaged or something.” “Precisely. And in anyone’s hands but yours, this is a very dangerous wand, Harry. It’s dangerous in your own hands right now, isn’t it?” he said gently. The boy nodded, his eyes grave. “Well, then. Imagine if some other student picked it up and tried to do something with it. Their magic isn’t as powerful as yours, granted, but this wand simply won’t perform properly for them. Someone could be hurt quite by accident.” Harry’s eyes widened. “I wondered about that,” he said quietly. “And if Lord Voldemort tried to use it — well, let’s just say that he’s powerful enough.” Dumbledore pulled out his own wand. “Hold your wand out as if you were going to cast a spell,” the headmaster instructed. Harry did as he was told and Dumbledore passed his wand over and under the young wizard’s, muttering a long, complex incantation. “There, how does that feel?” “The wand’s sort of. . .vibrating. It’s making my hand tingle quite a bit,” Harry replied. “The feeling runs on up my arm.” “Excellent. That means it worked. Right, then, let me try your wand again.” Harry handed the wand over. “Now, everyone, stand well back,” Dumbledore warned. “I haven’t cast that spell in years and I want to be certain I didn’t make any errors.” With that, he brandished Harry’s wand at that boulder again, muttering incantation after incantation, louder and louder. The boulder sat there complacently, basking in the sunlight, not budging one millimeter. “Good!” Dumbledore said, then handed the wand to Remus. “You try it.” Remus tried a wide variety of spells, but the wand was about as useful as one of the Weasley twins’ trick wands. “Harry?” Dumbledore said as Remus gave up on the wand. “Your turn. I want to be certain it will still work for you.” Harry took the proffered wand from his godfather, then pointed it at the uncomplaining boulder and Levitated it, made it dance in mid-air a bit, then dropped it gently back in place. He smiled at his professor. “I seem to be getting better with it.” “Excellent, Harry, excellent!” He patted the young man on the shoulder. “I’m looking forward to our lessons with this wand. I hope you and Remus make good progress with it until I’m able to join you in exploring its powers.” “Thank you, Professor,” Harry said with a smile. “Well then,” Dumbledore said, “I must depart this most agreeable company and get back to a very boring committee meeting. I’m sorry you had trouble today, boys, but I must say, Harry, I appreciate your allowing me to try your wand. I haven’t been that entertained in quite a long time!” Harry just smiled at him and pocketed the new wand. “Thanks for coming to help us, Professor. I’m sorry to have disturbed your meeting.” Dumbledore leaned toward Harry and winked. “It needed to be disturbed. That bunch of boring bureaucrats can’t see their navels for their noses being stuck so high in the air. Pathetic, really. I’d much prefer to be here watching you try out your new wand!” Harry grinned at his headmaster’s playfulness. “I thought the Ministry was doing better under Madam Bones?” he said quizzically. “It is. I was meeting with a Muggle government committee. Most of them seem to think I’m an ‘aging hippie,’ whatever that is,” the old man said with a smile. “The rest think I’m senile. I may need to ask you to accompany me to a meeting to help prove my points. They seem to think the films on the Omnioculars are simply Muggle entertainment films. I’m having a great deal of trouble convincing them otherwise.” Harry gulped. He didn’t really want to meet with any politicians, but if his headmaster needed him. . . . “Whatever I can do to help,” he offered bravely. “Spoken like a true Gryffindor!” Dumbledore said with a smile. “I must be off. Goodbye!” As soon as Dumbledore left, depression settled back over Harry like a dark cloak. Ron and Remus looked at each other, then back at Harry, not certain what to do to help him through this hard time. Merlin returned in a flash and settled on Harry’s shoulder, crooning comfortingly to him. “It’s nearly dinnertime,” Ron offered. “Why don’t you two come home with me? Mum always makes far too much food for us.” Harry snorted. “That’s because she’s seen you eat, Ron,” he teased his best mate, then quieted again, his eyes unfocused as he withdrew into his misery. The quiet moment went on for a long time before Remus broke it. “I think Ron had a good idea. Would you like to go?” he asked Harry. Harry looked up at him, his eyes still unfocused, as if he was looking at something far beyond Remus’s face. Finally, his eyes snapped back to his godfather. “What?” “Do you want to go visit the Weasleys for dinner?” Remus repeated patiently. “Or we can go home. Whichever you want.” “Ginny will want to see how you are,” Ron prompted. He knew that, if Harry went home, he’d sit quietly in his room and be miserable. If he went home with Ron, he’d at least be distracted for a while, and they might be able to cheer him up a bit. Harry still hadn’t responded to their questions. Ron poked him gently in the shoulder. “Harry?” “What?” “What do you want to do? Do you want to see Ginny? I know she must be worried about you,” Ron said quietly, his brow furrowed in concern for his friend. “How about a Cheering Charm?” Remus offered. “No, thanks. I’m fine,” Harry said quietly. “You’re nowhere near fine,” Ron said. “C’mon, let’s go to my house.” “OK,” Harry agreed finally. Ron and Remus Disapparated, reappearing in front of The Burrow. Harry, gripping Merlin’s tail, appeared in a flash of light soon thereafter. Ron ran in ahead of his friends. “Mum! I’ve brought Harry and Remus for dinner!” he called as he entered the kitchen. “Are you all right?” Molly asked in concern. “How’s Harry?” “He’s a bit down,” Ron said quietly as Harry and Remus came into the kitchen. “I’m fine.” Molly opened her arms to Harry and pulled him into a hug. “I’m so glad you and Remus came to see us,” she said, holding him close. She pulled back and cupped his cheeks in her hands, rubbing her thumbs over his skin tenderly as she studied his face. “You look a bit peaky. I’ve got just the thing, one of your favourites! Shepherd’s pie!” “Sounds good. Thanks for having us,” Harry replied, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He looked up at the sound of small feet pounding down the stairs. “Harry? Harry!” Ginny called, racing across the room and throwing her arms around him. “I’ve been so worried!” “I’m fine,” he said, enveloping her in a warm embrace and bending his head to rest his cheek on her hair. He breathed deeply, drinking in her scent. “I missed you.” “Me too.” She nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder, relaxing against his body. They held each other quietly for a few moments, then finally broke apart. She studied his sad eyes for a long moment. “When are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” “Later,” he said with a heavy sigh. “OK,” she agreed. She took his hand and led him into the kitchen, where they joined the bustle of a large family sitting down to dinner. By the end of dinner, Harry was feeling more cheerful. Being around the Weasleys had that effect on him, and having Ginny next to him, squeezing his knee or poking him in the ribs or their hands brushing together as they passed food around the table, helped him regain some semblance of normalcy. He knew he’d have to deal with his feelings about accidentally killing that man at some point, but it would be much easier to face with the healing he’d gotten from being surrounded by so much love. He felt a small foot pressing on top of his own and looked down at Ginny with his first genuine smile of the evening. “Are your feet feeling crowded?” he said playfully. Ginny smiled mischievously at him, pressing her foot harder on his, then rubbing it gently over his foot. “It just needed to be done,” she whispered, then burst into giggles at his bemused expression. “Oh, I see. And is turn and turnabout fair play?” he asked quietly, pulling his foot out from under hers and trying to capture her foot with his, while doing his best to maintain good table manners for the benefit of the rest of the family. Ginny just grinned at him, then pushed her shoe off and slid her toes up his leg, teasing him mercilessly. Harry snorted with laughter, slid his shoe off and captured her foot with his. They sat there with their toes tickling each others’ feet for the rest of the meal. “Harry!” a voice called, startling Harry and Ron as they sat finishing their lunch at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour the next Monday. “How are you?” “Healer Pomfrey!” Harry replied, smiling at the healer. “It’s nice to see you! I’m fine. How are you? Have a seat.” “Hello, Ron,” Marcus Pomfrey said as he joined the boys at the table. “I’m sorry to disturb your lunch. I just wanted to say hello and see how you were doing.” “Hi,” Ron said, smiling broadly at the man. “How are things at St. Mungo’s?” “Same as always, too much work for too few hands!” Marcus said with a snort of laughter. “How’s your sister?” “She’s fine, thanks,” Ron said with a grin. “That’s what I like to hear,” the healer said with a smile. He turned to Harry, a questioning look on his face. “Harry, I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you.” “Yeah, me too. I still owe you a Quidditch game. How’d Saturday suit you?” the boy said with a grin. “Actually, this Saturday will work very well for me! Thanks! But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.” He glanced around to see if anyone was listening to them, then leaned in to say, “How are you really?” Harry’s face sobered and he sat up straighter. “Um. . .OK, I guess.” “Any stiffness? Any problems with the range of motion of your arm, perhaps?” “Yeah, actually. And my back is still stiff as well. I thought it was just because it hasn’t been that long since I was hurt. I’ve been doing the stretching exercises you gave me.” “Good.” Pomfrey glanced around again, then leaned closer, whispering this time. “Have you tried. . .flying?” Harry glanced around as well. “Flying?” “Yes,” Marcus said with a slow nod. Harry understood. The healer was asking if he’d tried flying as an Animagus yet. “No, not since that, erm, incident on the Astronomy Tower that resulted in Hermione and Professor Sinistra being in St. Mungo’s. You told me not to do those, um, things for a while, remember?” “And I’ve heard you’re rather famous for not following the rules, so I thought I’d check,” the man said, leaning back and smiling. “I’d like to do a follow-up examination if you don’t mind.” “I feel fine,” Harry assured him. “But you have a limited range of motion, you said. And how are your scars? Any pain? Has the swelling gone down now?” “Um. . .they, um. . .” Harry didn’t know how to explain it. “Yeah, there’s pain when my clothes rub across them, or when I move, um, well, when I do a big move, like reaching out suddenly, you know? Or when I bend over quickly to tie my shoes, things like that. I have to move slowly, and I didn’t before. Otherwise, they’re down to a dull ache.” “What’s the pain like?” “It’s a sharp, pulling kind of feeling, and I’m stiff. I can’t move like I used to. I’m afraid it’s going to damage my Quidditch game,” Harry said anxiously. “You never told me that,” Ron said, his eyes wide with surprise. “You still fly brilliantly!” “Thanks, but flying isn’t easy the way it was before. I was hoping nobody would ever find out. I was hoping I’d get past this. But I’m not,” Harry said with a resigned shrug. “Can you come to St. Mungo’s in the morning — say eight o’clock? There’s a specialist I’d like to have examine you, and I want to check your progress myself as well.” “I have to be at work. . .” Harry began. “The twins won’t mind, Harry,” Ron assured him. “They want you to be on top of your game as much as anyone else. Gryffindor has to keep the Cup, and we can’t do it without you! And as for work — you and I have got those plans to the point where I can work on details without you if I need to. No problem.” Harry looked at his friend and sighed. The Cup was important to him, right enough, but he and Ron both had dreamed of being chosen by professional Quidditch teams after school. Harry thought his prospects of being picked by a Quidditch scout were dimming rapidly, his movements were so stilted and constrained now. And Ron was the strategist. The plans for the assembly line in the shop really were up to him now that Harry had laid the groundwork. He turned to Pomfrey. “All right. I’ll be there. How long will it take?” “I’d say an hour or so,” Marcus replied. “Will that fit in for you?” “Yeah, that’ll be fine,” Harry said. “I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks!” “My pleasure,” the healer said as he started to get up from his seat. “Oh, wait!” Harry said before Marcus could leave. “Saturday. What time can you be there?” “Where?” “Ron’s house. The Burrow? Near Ottery St. Catchpole.” “I can be there after lunch sometimes, say one or two o’clock?” the healer said with a smile. “Brilliant!” Harry said, grinning up at him. Harry was sitting in an examination room at St. Mungo’s, waiting for Healer Pomfrey to come in. He shivered in the hospital gown, which was open at the back. The nurse had told him to remove all his clothes and put on the hospital gown, and the healer would be with him in a moment. “Hello, Harry!” Pomfrey said cheerfully as he entered the room. “Thanks for coming. Let’s see how you are.” He had the young man go through various motions, and then do them again more quickly, to check the flexibility of his muscles. “You may as well take the gown off, Harry. A lot of these scars start at the front, and then there’s your arm, your back, your bum,” he muttered as he walked around the now nude boy who was nervously holding his hospital robe against his privates. “I’d hoped the swelling would be down more than this by now.” He examined the scars with his wand, his quartz crystal, and occasionally touched them with his fingers, as well. “Me too,” Harry replied, shivering a bit, as much with nerves as with the coolness of the room. He was blushing in spite of his best efforts not to. “Oh, you’re cold. I’m sorry. Here, I’ll do a Warming Charm on you,” Marcus said with a wave of his wand. “Better?” “Yeah, thanks,” the boy said with a nervous grin. As Marcus touched various scars, he watched Harry’s reaction. “These shouldn’t still be so tender, not after all this time,” the healer commented. “Hmmm.” “That doesn’t sound very good, that ‘hmmm’ of yours,” the boy observed uneasily. “I’m thinking, that’s all the ‘hmmm’ is about,” Marcus assured him as he held his crystal over some of the injuries again. He pocketed it and straightened, then smiled at the boy. “All right, put the gown back on and relax. The specialist I told you about should be here by now. She was delayed earlier. I’ll bring her in. I’ll be right back.” “All right,” Harry said, gratefully wrapping himself in the hospital gown and sitting down on the table. Several minutes passed, in which the young man grew more and more anxious. The healer had looked quite serious when he was examining the wounds. He’d frowned rather fiercely at a couple of points, especially when Harry reacted with a grunt of pain when the largest mass of scars was touched. In that spot, just below his shoulder blade, the scars overlapped each other horribly. Also, Harry’s back had been laid open to the bone over a wide area on his back and side, and those scars were deep, thick and widely varied in elevation above the rest of his skin. There were pits where chunks of muscle had simply been cut out of his body, and gnarled places where tissues had healed bunched up rather than smooth. It wasn’t a pretty picture, nor was it easy for Harry to live with. He hadn’t expected the exam to be completely comfortable, but it had hurt more than he’d expected. He sat rubbing his temples with his thumbs, willing himself not to get a stress headache on top of everything else. “All right, there, Harry?” Marcus asked as he came in, seeing the boy’s face grimaced in pain. “Trying to avoid a headache,” Harry responded with a shrug, then sat up straighter as an attractive woman Marcus’s age strode forward to shake Harry’s hand. “Oh, Mr. Potter! What an honour to meet you!” she said, pumping his hand vigorously. “Uh. . .hi,” the young man said nervously. “Um, Healer Pomfrey?” “Yes?” Marcus replied, then understood. “Oh! She gave me a password. She’s who she’s supposed to be.” “’K.” “Oh, Mr. Potter, I can’t tell you how excited I am. I’ve read all about you, of course, and. . .” “Polly?” Marcus said quietly. “Yes?” The woman seemed startled that her gushing torrent of admiration for Harry had been interrupted. “Harry really doesn’t like a lot of fuss made over him,” Marcus told her gently. The woman’s cheeks flared red. “Oh, I’m sorry! It’s just that, when Marcus told me who he wanted me to examine, I was so thrilled. . . .” She saw the creeping red on the boy’s face and ears, and finally managed to squash her enthusiasm a bit. “My apologies, Mr. Potter. I’ve never acted like a ‘fan’ or ‘groupie’ of any kind. I’m surprised at myself, and ashamed. How unprofessional of me. Please forgive me.” Harry just nodded, realizing his blush had now covered pretty much his entire body. First she embarrassed him by gushing over him, and now a fan-type person was going to see him naked? He shuddered, unnerved by it all. “Are you still cold? I can do another Warming Charm,” Marcus offered. “No, that’s fine. Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” he replied stoically. “Right! Harry, this is Polly Grener. She specializes in treating scars, blemishes, disfigurements, and so on. She’s very good at what she does.” “Nice to meet you,” he said politely. “And you, as well,” the woman said, beaming. She was a pretty young woman, with huge blue eyes and bright blond hair that fell in loose curls around her face and down to her shoulders. When she smiled, deep dimples showed, as well as a large quantity of big, white teeth. She looks like a model for a toothpaste ad, Harry thought absently. Healer Grener put on her professional attitude. “Right. Healer Pomfrey told me what happened, and of course, I read all about it in the paper,” she added, blushing a bit as she glanced up at Harry. “You’ve had several weeks to heal. Let’s see how you’re doing. Open your gown for me, please?” “He’ll have to take it off,” Marcus said quietly. “The wounds go from his chest, around his side and over most of his back, as well as on his left arm. There are some injuries on his legs and the front of his hip, as well.” “All right,” she said briskly, waiting for the young man to disrobe. Harry looked pleadingly at Healer Pomfrey for a moment, hoping he’d be allowed to show only a bit at a time, then simply sighed and took off the hospital robe, holding it nervously in front of him. “Oh my,” Grener said, her eyes wide when she saw the extent of the scarring. “Can you stand up for me?” Harry complied. She walked around him, bending close to the disfigurements on his body here and there, touching some with her hand, some with her wand, and using a crystal ball as well as a quartz crystal point to examine all of them. “Hmmm. What’s this one?” she said, looking at the old scar on his bum. “I’ve had that since I was three or four,” Harry said. “It doesn’t bother me.” “All right,” she murmured, continuing her inspection of his skin. “And this one?” she asked when she came to the one on his elbow. “What happened here?” “That one’s two years old,” he replied. “What caused it?” “A knife.” “It looks deliberate,” she said, her brow furrowed, “a clean cut, and somehow not like a defensive wound. There’s something different about it.” Harry sighed, looking at Pomfrey anxiously. “Go ahead and tell her whatever you can about your injuries, Harry,” Marcus said calmly. “It will help her know how to treat them.” “I don’t care about that one,” he said stubbornly. “I do,” she said, equally stubborn. “It’s small, as is the one on your buttocks. Some of the potions I want to try on your large scars can have bad side effects. I’d like to test them on these little scars first, to see how you react to them. But I need to know what caused each one so I know what to expect when I use the various treatments on them.” “Oh,” the young man said in a small voice. He sighed heavily. “The one on my bum is from a fall I had when I was three or four. My cousin had some toy trucks and bulldozers and he pushed me down onto one of the bulldozers. It cut me there.” “That shouldn’t have left such a scar if it was treated promptly,” she said, her face puzzled. “I grew up with Muggles. They don’t have our kind of medicine,” he explained. She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling. “So did I, young man. I’m Muggle-born. I hope you won’t hold that against me.” “I don’t. My mum was Muggle-born as well, as is one of my best friends,” he replied with half a smile as Hermione’s face flitted through his mind. “Since I grew up in the Muggle world, I know about their medicine. My brother was always getting hurt somehow or other. He had stitches for his big wounds like that. Didn’t you have stitches? They would’ve helped that heal more cleanly.” “No. My aunt handed me a bandage and yelled at me for dripping blood on the kitchen floor,” the boy said grimly. “No stitches. No doctor, either.” Polly’s eyes grew sad. “Oh. I’m sorry.” He just shrugged. “All right. What happened here?” she asked, pointing to the scar on his elbow. “Something equally unfair to you?” Harry snorted with laughter. “Actually, you’re right. You probably heard that Voldemort reappeared two years ago?” She shuddered at the name, but nodded. “The way he got his body back was to have one of his followers brew a potion, then put him in it. One of the requirements for the potion was ‘blood of the enemy, forcibly taken.’ So they captured me and tied me up, and then his man took a knife and cut my arm, collecting the blood that ran out to add to the potion.” Polly had blanched at his story. “You saw. . .him. . .come back?” “Yes. I’ve seen him loads of times now. We’re old pals,” he replied sarcastically. “How awful for you,” she said sympathetically. “Yeah,” he said with a resigned shrug. Polly noticed the scar on his forehead and pushed back his hair to look at it. “And this one?” Harry flinched away, hoping she wouldn’t touch it. “Don’t bother that one. It’s a curse scar,” he said flatly. “A curse scar?” she said, a confused expression on her face. “You’ve heard the stories about how Harry defeated You-Know-Who when he was a baby, haven’t you?” Pomfrey asked her in surprise. “Yes, but. . .” “That scar is from the Killing Curse he used on me,” Harry explained. “It’s not a normal scar. I don’t want it messed with.” He didn’t want to have to explain about having pains in his scar when he had visions of Voldemort’s acts of cruelty. He hoped she’d just accept what he said and move on. “Harry took another Killing Curse during the battle when he got these big scars,” Marcus added. “That’s why he has the extra zigzag on the curse scar now. It bled for a while. I treated it with everything I could think of, but it didn’t respond to anything but time and phoenix tears. The phoenixes could stop the bleeding when it bled, but they couldn’t heal it.” “Phoenixes?” “Dumbledore’s phoenix, Fawkes, came and helped us until Merlin appeared,” Marcus explained, leaving out the fact that Harry had first appeared in the hospital wing after the battle as a baby phoenix himself. “Once Merlin joined Harry, he never left his side until Harry was well on the road to recovery.” “Amazing,” was all Polly could think to say. Her eyes dropped from the ugly scar on the young man’s forehead to his brilliant green eyes, which were searching her face anxiously. She kept her hand on his forehead, where she’d pushed his hair away from the scar, then ran her other hand over his face, neck, behind his ears, in his scalp. “Any other injuries on your face or neck?” “A few, but they all healed well,” Harry said, a bit uncomfortable as she dug her fingers through his beard searching for scars. He pulled back from her suddenly, having stood about all the examination he could manage for a while. “Honest, there’s nothing else on my face that bothers me. If you can fix the ones on my body, that would be brilliant. My face is fine,” he snapped. Polly quickly removed her hands from his hair and beard and stepped back. “All right. If you’re sure.” “I am,” he insisted. They were all still for a long moment, Marcus and Polly pondering the horrible things this young man had been through in his life, Harry simply wishing he was at the Shrieking Shack in Ginny’s arms, or anywhere she was, rather than here. He finally sighed and said, “So what’s next?” “Harry, my sister told me you could make your wings come out without doing a total transformation?” Marcus said. “Healer Pomfrey!” the boy cried in shock. “What . . .?” “Dumbledore approved telling Polly about you, so we can treat you,” Marcus assured him. “I thought you might need proof, so here’s his letter.” He handed Harry a piece of parchment. Harry recognized the scrawling handwriting as his headmaster’s. “Dear Marcus,” the letter began, “I agree with you completely. Harry is moving rather stiffly at times — I thought the range of motion in his arm, in particular, seemed a bit limited when I last visited with him. He flinched when he reached up to get a tea cup from the cupboard, but he tried to cover it up, bless him. I also believe his scars are still painful from various things I’ve noticed. Remus agrees with me on this. I’ve met Healer Grener and I agree that telling her everything should be safe. She has agreed, as you did, to a Memory Charm after treating Harry if we see a need for it. Please give Harry my assurances that we’re looking out for him as well as we can, and give him my regards. I should be through with this round of meetings in two weeks or so, and will be more available for consultation — or visits — at that time. Kindest regards, Albus Dumbledore” Harry handed the parchment back to Marcus with a sigh. “So what do you want me to do?” “You have serious muscle damage near your scapula. Those are the muscles that control your wings, if Poppy has guessed correctly. Could you show us your wings and move them a bit so we can see how your muscles have been affected?” “Which kind of wings?” Harry asked. “What kind do you have?” “Raven, phoenix, thestral,” Polly’s eyebrows flew up in surprise to hear the forms Harry mentioned, but she did her best to keep her professional face on. “Um. . . . Let’s see each one, if you can manage it. I know the muscles used should be the same in each set of wings, but just to be safe before you try flying that way again, we should probably check them all.” “I’ve already flown that way since the battle, several times, actually,” Harry said, confused. “You have? Wonderful!” Marcus said happily. “How did you feel after those flights?” “I was sore and achy, actually,” the boy admitted. “My back was still tender when I did it. I wouldn’t have flown if it weren’t necessary, but I didn’t have a choice at the time.” “You didn’t have a choice?” Polly asked, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Nope, no choice at all. They were emergencies,” Harry replied, hoping that would satisfy them. “What kind of emergency could. . .?” Polly said, even more bewildered. Harry sighed. It would just be simpler to tell them the truth, at least in part, and Dumbledore trusted both of these healers. “The first time, someone was falling off the Astronomy Tower and I jumped off and changed into a phoenix on the way down to catch him. Then I changed into a phoenix again to carry my friend and a professor to the hospital wing when they couldn’t breathe from a spell that went badly wrong.” “Oh, yes,” Marcus replied. “That wasn’t very long ago, either.” “No, it wasn’t. And then I turned into a phoenix to flash Ginny and myself to Dumbledore when we needed to tell him something urgent.” Harry wasn’t about to tell them he’d killed Lucius Malfoy when Malfoy blew open the wall of the Shrieking Shack, finding a nude Harry and nearly nude Ginny inside. If the stupid git hadn’t tried to send a Killing Curse at us, he’d be enjoying the luxurious accommodations at Azkaban these days, rather than being a single bone inside a sealed box, Harry mused. “How did you feel after that?” Polly asked. “I didn’t fly long, but I was quite sore after that,” he replied. “My flying isn’t as good as it was, either. That left wing just doesn’t work as well, and I have to work hard to keep it going.” “And are you still sore in that area?” she asked, moving her wand over the scars around his scapula. “Yeah. Sometimes it’s pretty bad, but most of the time, I just ignore it,” the boy said off-handedly. “Are you in the habit of ignoring pain?” she said with an amused smile. “Anything that will keep me out of the hospital wing — no offence,” he said with a cheeky grin. “I think we’re ready to see your wings, then,” said Marcus. “All right,” Harry agreed, then concentrated on making the raven’s wings appear. “AHHH!” he cried, his body contorting with pain. “What?” Marcus and Polly both said. “Hurts!” Harry gasped. The wings, which hadn’t been fully formed yet, drew back into his body instantly. He sat there covered in sweat, groaning, panting and bent double, fighting the sharply throbbing agony in his back. “I thought that might happen,” Marcus said. “Take this. It’s a pain potion, but it won’t mask all your symptoms. We need to know what’s going on inside you, so we’ll need you to feel at least some of what your body is going through so we can understand what’s happening. Two sips, that’s all.” Harry rubbed his forearm across his sweaty brow and finally straightened up and looked grimly at the two healers, still gasping in pain. He took the potion and swallowed his dose, then glared resentfully at Marcus. “Why did it hurt so badly? I changed into both a thestral and a phoenix recently — I didn’t fly, but I did the changes. The thestral always emerges with its wings stretched, and then I have to fold them. It hurt when I did the changes, and when I folded the wings, but not like this!” “I think you flew when your muscles weren’t healed enough for you to do it,” the healer explained. “Adrenalin kicks in when we’re in an emergency situation and we’re often able to do things we normally cannot, without even noticing. I think, if you’d tried to change into a bird and fly without it being some kind of emergency at the time, you would have noticed the pain and stopped. Since you didn’t stop, and not only flew but carried other people with you, you put a tremendous strain on your still-healing muscles. And when you changed recently, your probably compounded the damage, since they’re still not healed properly. That’s why they hurt you so badly this time, I suspect. They’ve healed wrong, and your wings are simply adding to the problem.” Harry digested this information and then nodded. “Now what?” “We wait a few minutes to let the potion take effect, and then you’ll bring out your wings again. We’ll need you to move them around, stretch them, flap them, fold them, whatever you can think to do with them, so we can study which muscles are working properly and which are not,” Polly said. “Are you still in pain now?” “Just an ache now, not sharp pain like it was,” the boy replied, his breathing slowing as his muscles finally relaxed. “Good. You rest a few minutes, and we’ll have another look, all right?” she said. He nodded. She draped a hospital gown over his back and he pulled it around himself, still clutching the other gown to cover his nakedness. As the pain finally receded, the boy asked, “Can you contact my godfather? I’d like him to be here for this.” “Of course, Harry. If I had realized how painful the exam would be, I would have asked him to come with you in the first place. I’m sorry for that. I’ll go and fetch an owl,” Marcus offered. “You can use Merlin,” Harry offered, nodding toward the beautiful scarlet bird perched quietly atop the screen near the bed. “Hi, Merlin! I didn’t notice you there!” Marcus said pleasantly. “Thanks, Harry.” “Is that a phoenix?” Polly said in awe. “I’ve never seen one.” “Merlin, say hello,” Harry said to the bird, who’d flown down and landed next to him. The phoenix lifted his beautiful head and crooned at the young woman, studying her seriously as his sweet, liquid voice continued to fill the room with lovely sound. “He likes you. He thinks you’re. . .Merlin, stop that!” the boy said, snorting with sudden amusement. “What did you say?” Polly asked, nonplussed. “I was telling you what he was saying, and then he started being rude. I’m sorry,” he replied, trying to quiet his laughter. “At least he’s always good for a giggle.” “You can talk to him?” she said, amazed. “Sure. And he talks back,” Harry said casually. She gave the boy a shrewd look. “So what did he say you refused to translate?” “Um. . . .” The boy blushed madly. “He thinks you’re pretty.” “That’s funny. A phoenix thinks I’m pretty. Why would that make you blush?” she said, chuckling. “It’s how he said it. It was a bit. . .rude.” Marcus was laughing out loud now, having finished writing his note to Remus. “Is it worse than when he thought Professor McGonagall was hot?” he asked with a laugh. “Erm. . .yeah!” Harry said, his cheeks flaming red. “And you can’t, or won’t tell us?” Marcus prompted. “I’d rather not, thank you. I mean, you two are going to do some painful things to me, and I don’t want to provoke her!” he said, nodding at Polly. All three of them laughed and Merlin looked quite pleased with himself and then chirruped something else to Harry. “Now what’s he saying?” Marcus prompted. “He said, ‘Made you laugh!’” Harry replied. “Apparently he thought I needed a giggle. Good one, Merlin!” he added, petting the magnificent bird, then handing Marcus’s note to him. “Take this to Remus, OK? Bring him back here if he can come. Thanks.” With that, the phoenix flew into the air, and was gone in a sudden flash of brilliant white light. “I didn’t know phoenixes could carry on conversations or make jokes,” Polly said, bemused. “He’s quite a special bird, even among phoenixes,” Harry agreed. “And he does try to make me laugh sometimes when he thinks I’m getting too serious.” “And he comforts Harry when he’s in pain, as well as healing him,” Marcus added. “That’s an amazing bird you have there, young man.” “Yeah,” the boy said with a smile. “Thanks.” “Shall we try the wings again, or do you want to wait for Remus?” Polly asked. “We can do the wings again. I should be able to manage that — but I’d like him to be here for the treatment,” Harry said, the cheerful light in his eyes fading. He took the gown off of his back and the raven’s wings emerged. The boy was gripping the edge of the examination table tightly, his knuckles white, his body trembling with effort. “Is it hard to do the wings?” Polly asked. “I’ve never treated an Animagus before.” “Not normally, but this is quite painful even with the potion,” the boy told her. “All right, then, Harry, we’ll be as quick as we can,” Marcus assured him. They had Harry go through various movements with his wings, which he managed in a jerky, uncoordinated fashion. Then Polly gently held the tip of one wing and slowly tried to pull it open and fold it closed, holding her wand over the joints to examine them as she moved the wing. Then she gently twisted the wing a bit, as would happen in various stages of flight. She winced when Harry cried out in pain, but tried to hold the wing in place rather than allowing her hands to jerk it when she flinched at the sound of his pain-filled moans. She tugged on and moved various feathers to check for his reaction, then worked the joint where the wing emerged from Harry’s body. She found the very worst pain there. Harry bit his tongue and held his breath trying not to cry out, but when she moved it a certain way, a scream ripped out of his throat. His back was on fire, the pain like dozens of sharp knives shredding the muscles that supported the wing. “I’ll never be able to fly again if they stay like this,” Harry groaned when he could speak again. Sweat was pouring off of him as he tried to comply with the healers’ requests for certain movements and suffered through the rest of their examination. “I’m sorry, Harry. I know this is painful for you,” Polly said sadly. “I’m finished with that wing. Now I have to do the same things to the other. Hang on, I’ll be as quick and gentle as possible.” Once again, Harry suffered through the excruciating feeling of someone forcing his wings to do things the muscles in his back just could not allow. He vowed to remain silent, to not cry, to not moan, but broke those vows over and over. When Polly finally released his wing, he lay there exhausted, drenched in sweat, and wishing he’d never learned to be an Animagus. “One more movement, Harry,” Marcus said. “Can you flap your wings as if you’re taking off?” He raised exhausted eyes to the man in disbelief. “You can’t tell that there’s no way I could fly like this?” “That kind of wing movement is different from just stretching and contracting and folding your wings, as you’ve been doing. There’s the force of the wind for you to deal with and I imagine you have to have some strength in your wings to make them work properly to actually fly. Some power behind the strokes, I mean.” “You mean you haven’t a clue how it works, but you want to see to be sure, huh?” Harry replied wisely. “Um. . .yeah,” Marcus agreed with a sheepish grin. “Can you manage it?” Harry’s head dropped until his chin was on his chest. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get past the tension there, then blew out a deep, calming breath and shrugged, making his wings flutter briefly. “OK.” He stretched out his wings and beat them hard, as if trying to lift off of the table, then suddenly screamed in agony and fell over on his side, curled up in misery. His wings disappeared instantly. “Harry? Can you hear me?” Marcus said in concern. “Here, take this,” Polly said, holding some potion out to the stricken boy. Harry just ignored her, completely engulfed in trying to survive his pain. Just then, Remus and Merlin arrived in a flash of light. Remus strode to his godson’s side. “What the hell are you doing to him?” he demanded with a glare at the healers. He leaned down so he was face to face with the boy. “Harry? Harry, are you all right? What do you need, lad? I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” Harry was still gasping for breath. He opened his eyes and tried to smile at his godfather. “You . . . came.” “Of course I did! Why didn’t you tell me you needed me sooner? I would have come with you this morning if you’d asked!” Remus chided him. “Didn’t . . . want to. . .be. . .more. . .” the boy said, then groaned. “More what?” Remus asked in confusion. “Burden,” Harry breathed. Remus sank down onto a stool beside the table, taking Harry’s right hand in his and gently rubbing his arm. He knew there wasn’t much of the boy’s body he could touch without causing him some pain. “You are not now, nor have you ever been a burden to me, young man, and don’t you forget it!” he said sternly, winning a brief smile from his godson in return. He looked up at the healers. “What’s going on here? What have you done to him?” he demanded. Marcus explained what they were doing while Polly finally managed to get the pain potion into Harry. “That should make you feel better soon,” she assured him quietly. “I sure hope so,” he said after he swallowed. He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax and let the potion take effect. “So we needed to see how the wings worked to understand what needs to be done to heal him,” Marcus said, ending his explanation. “We’ve only seen the raven wings. We still need to see at least the thestral’s wings, since they’re so big.” “They were damaged in a previous attack,” Remus told him. “Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid healed him that time, but the skin of his wings was torn off the bone in shreds. He can still fly as a thestral, but I think that wing bothers him sometimes.” “Then we definitely need to see it,” Polly said. “But we do have a problem, other than the pain we’re causing this poor boy. With these last tests, I’ve already seen enough to know that many of his injuries are beyond my expertise. However, my mentor is here in St. Mungo’s giving a seminar this morning. I would like him to examine Harry and help us with his treatment. He’s old enough to have been through the last war and has seen much worse injuries than I have.” “You’re not keeping me here,” Harry said, a warning tone in his voice. His temper was rising. They were talking about him as if he weren’t there, treating him like an object instead of a person, and causing him all kinds of pain. He’d had enough. “I want to leave,” he snarled, sitting up abruptly and groaning with pain again from the sudden movement. The glass in the wall-mounted cabinet rattled ominously. Harry heard it and made an effort to control his temper before he broke something. “What was that?” Polly said, looking at the cabinet uneasily. “When Harry gets angry, things rattle,” Remus said cautiously. “He’s calming down now.” “Oh,” she said in a small voice, looking at the boy a bit nervously. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” Harry said defensively when he saw her look. “I wish I could say the same,” she said sympathetically. “Harry, we can help you,” Marcus assured him. “I’m sorry the testing is so painful but we have to know what we have to work with there. You’re missing large portions of muscle here and there. In other places, the muscles have healed together wrong, and you have massive amounts of scar tissue. And that’s just what I can tell from examining you, and I’m not a specialist like Polly and her mentor. Please don’t rush off. Let us help you.” “I don’t think we’ll need to keep you here for any length of time, Mr. Potter,” Polly said, doing her best to talk him into staying. “Once we have a good analysis of what’s wrong, healing the muscles will take a few hours at most. Healing the scars will take longer, but it’s something you can carry on at home. But we can’t do anything until we have a complete picture of what’s wrong with you so we can understand how to treat the injuries. Do you understand?” “I’m not stupid,” the young man snarled. “What you said makes sense. I understand it. I do want to be healed. But. . .” “I know it’s painful,” Polly said as he wound down. “We did explain that we needed you to be aware of the pain so you could tell us what you’re feeling. Now that we have an idea of what we’re dealing with, we can give you different pain potions that will let you feel just a little bit of what’s happening, so you’ll be more comfortable and can help us better.” “Why didn’t you use that to start with, then?” he snarled, his temper threatening to flare again. “Because it’s quite strong, and we didn’t want to mask any symptoms. If we did, we might miss something,” she said with a shrug. “I made a judgment call based on my experience, but you are going through things that are far different than anything I’ve dealt with. I’m out of my league here. That’s why I want my mentor to see you. I can work on some of your injuries, but for others, you really need to see Healer Litteken. He’ll be available this afternoon.” “I need to get to work,” Harry said, straightening up, his expression stubborn. “You told me ONE HOUR!” he added, giving Marcus a filthy look. “It’s already been more than that.” “I’m sorry, Harry, I truly am. I didn’t realize it would be so involved, or how painful it would be for you.” “Harry,” Remus said quietly, smoothing the sweaty hair off his godson’s forehead, “take the pain potion. You rest, and I’ll go and talk with the healers and find out what else they have in mind, try to get an idea of how long it will take and all that, all right?” “Why do you want to talk where I can’t hear you? What do you think is wrong with me?” he asked anxiously. “Nothing, lad, nothing! I just thought you needed to rest a while. You know you can trust me,” Remus assured him, “but if you want us to talk in here, that’s fine with me.” Harry nodded, then took his dose of potion with no more fuss. He relaxed on the exam table, still lying on his right side, and struggled to arrange the robes over him decently. “Hang on, I’ve got it,” Remus said comfortingly, taking over the arrangement of the boy’s covers. He glanced up at the healers, who were conferring in the corner of the room. “Do you have any blankets? I believe he’s cold, and a blanket is more comforting than a Warming Charm.” “Yes, of course,” Polly said, heading for a cabinet. Before long, Harry was draped with a warm blanket and had a soft pillow as well. The exam table was padded but not as soft as a bed. He made himself as comfortable as he could and found himself drifting into an exhausted sleep despite his best efforts to listen to the adults talking. |
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