Chapter 16
Harry hardly remembered his journey home. He barely walked: he floated. Around him, San Benito glowed with a lambent perfection. Everything, from the old gas station to the gold-pink light of sunset, looked ten times more beautiful than usual.
He’d kissed Ginny. He’d kissed Ginny Weasley!
It was only when he stepped back into his own yard that a shadow fell over his mood. What would Severus say if he found out? But really, Harry thought as he headed for the door, there was no need for Severus to know. Harry would simply report that the Weasleys had invited him for dinner and omit any mention of the kiss.
Harry really should have known better. This was Severus Snape he was dealing with.
Sure enough, Severus came out of the workshop when Harry opened the door, took one look at Harry’s face, and hustled him into his hot seat in the dining room. He loomed over Harry, arms crossed. “What did you do?” he demanded.
“Nothing!” Harry squirmed.
“Don’t you lie to me, Harry Potter! You did something with the Weasley girl, didn’t you? What was it?”
Harry sighed with defeat. “We kissed, okay?” he said, staring down at the tabletop. “On the beach, at the end of Pridefest.”
An ominous silence fell. When Harry dared glance up, Severus was rubbing his forehead, looking very tired. “Did you do anything else with her?” he asked at last, his voice as weary as his face.
“No!” said Harry, face burning.
“You didn’t tell her you’re a wizard or anything similar?”
“Of course I didn’t. She still thinks I’m a regular Muggle. It was just one kiss, okay? It was Pridefest: everyone was kissing. I’m pretty sure Tomas was kissing Maya.”
Severus sat down in his usual place, glaring. “This is not like Tomas and Maya.” He spoke with steely firmness. “Ginny Weasley is a British witch and the Dark Lord’s subject, no matter how nice she seems in person. You can never have any future with her. She will go home at the end of the summer and that will be the end of it. Understood?”
“Yes,” Harry mumbled. “But—you know, she doesn’t seem anything like the Dark Lord! She doesn’t hate Muggles or anything like that. She loved Pridefest—”
“She is slumming it here in San Benito,” Severus said flatly. “She is amusing herself. I assure you, she does not consider this to be her real life, any more than she considers Tomas and Maya to be her real friends. Or you. She will enjoy her summer and then she will go home and return to Hogwarts and forget all about you. And it would be best if you forgot about her.”
Harry said nothing to this, but he set his jaw mulishly. How was he supposed to just forget about Ginny Weasley? Not only had she given him his first kiss, but she was the most fascinating, amazing girl he’d ever met. And, on a more practical note, he was supposed to be finding the One Ring in her family’s possession. He couldn’t exactly break off the relationship, even if he wanted to.
But it was no use saying any of this to Severus. “Okay, fine,” he said instead. “Do you want to hear what else happened?”
“What?” Severus came alert.
“I’m invited to their house tomorrow,” Harry said smugly. “Me and Tomas and Maya. We’re all going for dinner!”
“Well done, Harry!” Severus gripped Harry’s shoulder in approval. “Very well done.” His eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. “If, that is, you’re not going to use this as an opportunity for more kissing.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Look, there’s going to be lots of adults there, okay? Ginny’s brother Bill seems like this uber responsible guy. And I think Los Dos are probably coming too. There won’t be any of—that. And you said I should get an invitation to their house to look for the One Ring.”
“Not this time, remember,” Severus cautioned quickly. “Don’t make any move to look for it this time. Be a good guest. Be polite to Ginny’s family, compliment their food. Make them want to invite you back. Then, when they’re comfortable with your presence in their house, you should start looking for the One Ring.”
“Okay,” said Harry slowly. “Though—how am I supposed to do magic without them noticing? Even if I do a non-verbal spell, aren’t they going to notice me clutching my wand or something?”
“You won’t be doing any magic this time, remember. But the next time, you can excuse yourself to the bathroom and perform the charm there. This charm makes your wand grow warmer the closer you are to the Dark object. You can simply move around the house with your wand in your pocket.”
“Isn’t that going to look super suspicious?”
“It may take a few visits,” Severus admitted. “Don’t try to rush things. Don’t do anything to put yourself in danger. Remember, the Weasleys must never learn your true identity. If they ever know you are Harry Potter, they will hand you over to the Dark Lord and he will kill you just like your parents.”
“I know,” said Harry, but it came out half-hearted. It was impossible to imagine the Weasleys handing him over to anyone, let alone Lord Voldemort.
But wasn’t that the point of betrayal? That you never saw it coming? Still, Harry couldn’t help imagining how it could be. Him taking out his wand and performing a spell for Ginny. Showing her that he was just like her, and there was no need for secrets or lies. Maybe even taking her home to meet Severus, and Severus being happy about it.
In another universe, maybe. Not in this one.
Harry’s success in getting the dinner invitation seemed to have appeased Severus. He made no more mention of the kiss or Harry’s feelings for Ginny, but instead got dinner together and spent the meal giving Harry all sorts of advice about how to make the Weasleys like him and how to subtly fish for information. When Harry said that Severus sounded like Wizard Howl giving Sophie advice on how to blacken his name to the King of Ingary in Howl’s Moving Castle, Severus got annoyed and said that Harry read too many Muggle fantasy novels and this was not a game. He then slipped into a familiar rant about how Muggle fantasy distorted reality and Harry ought to know better, especially at his age. When Harry pointed out that Severus owned the collected works of Patricia A. McKillip and that William Shakespeare was basically a fantasy writer, Severus said that was completely different and great classical works and exquisite lyrical novels could not possibly be compared to cheap trash pandering to the teenage masses.
It was all so familiar—just like old times—that Harry went to bed in quite a good mood. He reread a few chapters of Howl’s Moving Castle, daydreamed about Ginny and the kiss, and turned out the lamp.
He was completely unprepared for the dream.
It was night in the dream, a thick black midnight, and he was in a cemetery. But this was not like the peaceful, sunny cemetery at San Benito, with manicured lawns sloping gently toward the blue sea. This was like something out of a horror movie: mist drifted in ragged tatters among brooding trees, snagged on hulking headstones lurking in the darkness. Bats flickered over Harry’s insubstantial head as he hovered, bodiless and voiceless, in midair.
Harsh, ragged breathing. Harry turned—or maybe the dream turned around him—and he saw the man tied to a white marble headstone. He was ragged and thin, hair hanging in thick clumps around his haggard face, but Harry saw the remnants of great good looks, like a palace hollowed out and ruined by time. The man sat with his legs stretched before him, ropes holding his upper body to the headstone, and Harry could read the name etched on the stone behind him: TOM RIDDLE.
The man was breathing hard, cadaverous eyes fastened on the scene before him, and Harry realized his face was bathed in a bright diamond light emanating from that scene. He turned again, and so saw the cauldron.
It was a vast stone thing, large enough for a man to sit in, filled with a gently bubbling potion that glowed with sparkling light. The sight made Harry ill: something told him, without a shadow of a doubt, that potion was something evil and rotten. He tore his nonexistent eyes away from it, and so beheld the other man.
He was small and rat-like, hair pallid and stringy over his pointed face. He bore in his arms a bundle of black robes containing something hidden away within—a baby? It was certainly stirring in his arms like an infant…but why would anyone bring a baby here?
Rustling in the grass. Harry looked down to see a great snake slithering through the stalks. He tried to call out in Parseltongue—by now he was desperate for any help, any aid—but no sound emerged and the snake continued slithering around, eyes fixed on the bundle in the second man’s arms.
Scuffles and grunts sounded. The first man was struggling against his bonds, kicking his legs and trying to wrench his body against the ropes. His face was a rictus of loathing on the second man. “You…bastard,” he spat out, as though he could barely find words strong enough to express his hatred. “You slimy piece of shit. What—what are you doing?”
The second man, still holding the squirming bundle, gave a pleading grimace. “Please, Sirius. You don’t understand—”
“Oh, I understand enough, Wormtail. It was you who betrayed Lily and James that night. You who betrayed us all! Why?”
“You don’t understand, Sirius,” whined Wormtail. “The Dark Lord was taking over everywhere. His rise inevitable. Why should we resist? I thought I could save them—”
Sirius let out a snarling laugh. “You thought you could save your own worthless skin,” he sneered. “Where’s the child?”
“Child?” Wormtail frowned.
“The child! Lily and James’s son! What happened to their son that night? When I got to Godric’s Hollow, Lily and James were dead and he was gone. Like someone had snatched him from his crib. What happened to Harry, Wormtail?”
Me, Harry realized through the slow, drugging haze of dream. He’s asking about me. They’re talking about me!
“I don’t know what happened to the boy, Sirius.” Wormtail sounded tired now, utterly defeated. “I don’t know who took him. Even the Dark Lord doesn’t know.” Wormtail paused. “Though I think he would give a great deal to.”
The bundle in Wormtail’s arms squirmed again, more persistently. Then, to Harry’s horror, a voice emerged from it, low and hissing. “Stop blathering, you fool.”
Sirius went still in his bindings. “Wormtail…Peter…Is that…?”
Wormtail gulped. Then, with quick decisive steps, as though he had to do this before he lost his nerve, he headed to the cauldron. He unwrapped the bundle.
Harry let out a cry no one could hear. The thing in the bundle was—horrible. Naked and wet-looking, curled like a fetus, a reddish-black in color, it bore only the vaguest resemblance to humanity. But its face was the worst: flat and nearly featureless, with gleaming red eyes.
Sirius let out a yell of his own, but Wormtail took no notice. Working fast, he tipped the horrible fetus-creature into the cauldron.
It landed with a splash. The diamond light grew brighter. Harry prayed desperately that the thing had drowned. By the look on Sirius’s face, he was doing the same.
“Wormtail,” he said in an aghast whisper, “what have you done?”
“Nothing.” Wormtail drew his wand, slender and shining in the potion’s light. “Compared to what I am about to do. I’m sorry, old friend.”
Sirius struggled harder than ever, but Wormtail merely pointed his wand at the ground around Sirius’s headstone. “Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!”
The ground cracked. A tiny stream of white dust siphoned out, followed the arc of Wormtail’s wand, and fell into the cauldron. The potion spat and turned a poisonous blue.
Now Wormtail sheathed his wand and drew a silver dagger, blade sharp as a fallen star in the light. He held it high, hand shaking. He took a deep breath that turned into a petrified whimper.
“Flesh—of the servant—w-willingly given—you will—revive—your master.”
“Wormtail, no!” shouted Sirius, but too late: Wormtail had already brought the knife down, severing his own right hand. Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and Harry wished he could do the same as the hand fell to the ground, bouncing before coming to a halt. Wormtail collapsed, clamping his bleeding stump against his chest, wheezing with agony. Then—horribly—he reached out, took up his own severed hand, and, staggering, tipped it into the cauldron. The potion turned flame-red.
Wormtail leaned against the cauldron a moment, gasping, gathering his strength. Then he turned and staggered to Sirius.
Sirius twisted and writhed, but there was no avoiding it: Wormtail drew his dagger again, holding it against Sirius’s arm. “B-blood of the enemy…forcibly taken…you will…resurrect your foe.”
Sirius cursed as Wormtail cut his arm, a stream of blood oozing out. Wormtail fumbled inside his robes and pulled out a vial, letting Sirius’s blood trickle in. Wormtail turned and limped back to the cauldron, where he poured in Sirius’s blood. The potion turned a blinding white, sparks flying everywhere.
Wormtail collapsed then, moaning, curled up around his bleeding stump. On the ground, the snake writhed and slithered in excitement. At the marble headstone, Sirius had at last gone still, staring in horror.
The sparks abruptly stopped. Then a great billow of steam erupted, obscuring the scene: Harry could not see the cauldron, or the whimpering Wormtail, or even the snake, just Sirius hunched over in his bonds, turning his face away.
Then movement came from within the steam, within the cauldron. Harry saw the silhouette of a tall, skeletal man, rising from the cauldron.
“Robe me,” commanded a cold, high-pitched voice. Wormtail moaned, but got to his feet again, somehow. He took the black robes from the ground and pulled them over the man’s head.
Then the man—the creature—stepped out, and Harry beheld his face.
Harry let out a soundless scream of horror at that face—then another scream of agony as pain lanced his scar. His head didn’t even exist right now, but still felt like it was splitting open. He lurched back, still howling, and came into contact with Sirius.
Even through his agony, he positively felt Sirius, the man’s life fizzing through him like electricity. Sirius seemed to feel him, too. He looked up, blinking, and his eyes widened. “James? James?”
Through the haze of pain, Harry wondered fleetingly why Sirius was addressing him by his father’s name. But there was no time to think. Harry was starting to wake up—he could feel his body tossing and turning in bed, thousands of miles away—and he had to work now, while Sirius’s life force was giving him strength.
Harry touched the ropes binding Sirius, and they fell away, uncoiling in a heap on the ground. Sirius leapt to his feet. The snake hissed, the cauldron-monster shouted, “Kill him!” But Wormtail, befuddled with pain and confusion, had barely drawn his wand before Sirius—transformed. Before Harry’s eyes, Sirius melted and writhed into a great black dog, a dog that bounded away into the darkness, disappearing in an instant.
The cauldron-monster shrieked with rage, but his anger sounded dim and muffled to Harry, hidden behind a veil. The whole scene was disappearing, sucked away, and then Harry opened his eyes, back in his body, back in his bed in California.
His head was on fire. Harry writhed, clutching his scar, and screamed.
Footsteps outside. The door opened and the light switched on. Severus stood in the doorway, still in his emerald-green pajamas, blinking away sleep. “Harry?”
“Severus!” Harry sobbed with hysterical relief, reaching for him with one hand. Severus ran across the room, sitting on Harry’s bed and taking him into his arms. Harry clung hard, tears running down his face. “Severus, Severus…!”
“Harry, what is it?” Severus smoothed away his hair. “What’s the matter?”
“My scar…” But the pain was starting to fade, pulsing slowly away. “Oh, God, what a nightmare—!”
“What nightmare? What about your scar?”
“It was hurting.” Harry took one deep, steadying breath, then another, as the pain finally faded away altogether. “Oh, God, Severus…I had a horrible dream!”
Severus rocked him gently. “What was the dream?”
“It was awful…”
Severus pulled back then, holding Harry at arm’s length to examine his face. What he saw there made him pull Harry to his feet. “Come downstairs. I’ll make you a cup of cocoa.”
Harry followed Severus downstairs, every shadow making him jump, and sat in the dining room while Severus moved around the kitchen getting cocoa together. The flood of brilliant electric light was a comfort, but Harry still twitched at every noise, shied from every shadow. He looked out the window, trying to reassure himself that he was home, in San Benito, not in the haunted cemetery—but the darkness outside made him flinch. He jerked his gaze back, to concentrate on the gleam of light on the polished tabletop.
Severus returned and placed a mug of hot cocoa before Harry. He seized it and drank, desperately grateful.
Severus sat down in his usual place, still staring at Harry in concern. “Harry, what happened? What was this dream?”
“It was horrible.” Harry took another steadying sip of cocoa. His fear still clawed at him, but it was more manageable now. “I dreamed I was in this graveyard…”
Severus sat still and silent while Harry told him everything: about Wormtail and Sirius, about the unspeakable resurrection spell…and the creature that had come out of the cauldron. “It was disgusting,” Harry shuddered. “This man—I think it was a man—with maggoty-white skin, all bald, with no nose, just slits. And his eyes…they were red. With slits for pupils.” Harry shivered again.
“Did he speak?” Severus’s voice was quiet but urgent. “Did he say anything?”
“He said, ‘Robe me.’ His voice was horrible, like a supervillain’s or something. I saw his face and that’s when my scar started hurting. I mean, I didn’t have a body or anything in the dream, but it still hurt like crazy. I sort of flew back and ran into Sirius. I—his strength kind of buzzed through me. His life force or something. He looked up and I swear he saw me. He called me James. My father’s name.” Harry huddled around his now-empty mug. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, Harry.” Severus’s voice was as calm and patient as ever. “What happened then?”
Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. “Well, I sort of got strength from touching Sirius. I could feel his life inside me, but only for a moment. I—I cut his ropes. I cut him free, and then he turned into a dog and ran away. The cauldron man said to kill him, but Wormtail couldn’t do anything. I think Sirius got away. I hope he did.” Harry looked at Severus then, his own white face reflected in Severus’s eyes. “They were talking about me earlier, you know. Him and Wormtail. Sirius asked Wormtail what had happened to me after Mom and Dad were killed. He said he went to Godric’s Hollow after they died and looked for me, but I was gone.”
Severus was silent a moment. “What did Wormtail say in reply?” His voice was odd.
“He said he didn’t know. He said nobody knew, not even the Dark Lord.” A horrible realization struck Harry. “The man in the cauldron…he was the Dark Lord, wasn’t he? Oh, God, Severus…!”
“It was a dream, Harry.” Severus stroked his hair. “Just a dream.”
“But it was so real…”
“Come on, Harry.” Severus pulled him gently away from the table. Still shaking and unnerved, Harry followed Severus back upstairs and into his bedroom, neat and clean, lined with crowded bookshelves. Severus proceeded to a corner cabinet with a glass door, and Harry came alert: this was where Severus kept the truly powerful potions.
Severus took out his wand and murmured several charms and spells. Sparks flew, and Harry flinched back, reminded of the potion in his dream. But Severus merely took out a set of keys and unlocked the cabinet door manually, now that the security spells were cleared.
He opened the door and examined the potions within before selecting one tiny blue glass bottle and bringing it out. “Here,” he said. “You should take a spoonful of this.”
“What’s it going to do?” Harry asked, eyeing the bottle askance.
Severus was already uncorking it and hunting out a spoon on his bureau. “It’ll take away the effects of your dream.” He poured out a dark, shining liquid. “Come on, take it.”
Slowly, Harry took the spoon. The potion looked odd: liquid but also sort of jelly-like. It smelled nice, though: like thyme and rosemary. Harry lifted the spoon to his mouth and swallowed.
The potion tasted herby, with a bitter aftertaste. The room started blurring and spinning before Harry’s eyes. He staggered, mind already drifting away. Before he hit the floor, he felt Severus catch him with a spell.
Then nothing.
Severus levitated the sleeping Harry before him, carrying him back to his bedroom. Gently, he lowered the boy back onto his bed and pulled the covers over him. Harry didn’t stir. Severus murmured more spells—a charm for protection, a cantrip for keeping watch—and stood over Harry a moment longer, unable to bring himself to leave. He bent over and kissed Harry on the forehead, heart full of love and worry and a terrible fear.
He straightened then, and pulled back the left sleeve of his pajamas. Grimly, he examined the tattoo on his arm: clear as clear could be, the skull with the snake writhing through its open mouth.
Severus pulled down his sleeve again. He stood still a moment, deep in thought. Then he went to get the mirror and contact Dumbledore.