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Chapter 21 - Only the true messiah denies his divinity!

Later that afternoon, Harry showed the memory at the brigade meeting, using his solicitors' pensieve. "Any questions?"

Hermione spoke up first, though hesitantly. "Harry, Voldemort doesn't dare ignore this, right?" Harry nodded.

"Why not?" asked Lisa Turpin. "Why would a Dark Lord worry about challenges from a school kid? He won't worry about the ancient rules, or whatever; he doesn't care about laws."

Harry said, "Because his followers are still outnumbered about a hundred to one. In order for him to continue to get more recruits, he has to make them believe that he's utterly invincible and not afraid of anything or anyone. If he doesn't show, he'll stop getting new followers, and maybe even some of the current ones will leave."

He paused for a bit, to let that gel in their minds. "Don't worry, everyone. No one here will be in any real danger, although it will certainly look like you are. Our defenses will take out everyone but Riddle, and Riddle won't waste his time on anyone but me."

Blaise asked, "What are these defenses going to be?"

"Well, that's a bit of a sticky wicket. Even though I trust you, Blaise, it's possible that two of you would discuss the defenses somewhere else. There are listening charms all over this castle. Yes, everywhere," he added, seeing their looks of disgust. "Every time you sit on the throne to... well... play the tuba," -- they giggled at that -- "somebody is listening. Some good, some bad, some just being nosy for gossip. There are also ghosts in this castle, not always visible, who can hear what you say. So it's safer that you don't know."

"How do we know there /are/defenses?" asked someone at the back. "Do we just take /your/word for it?"

Finally, thought Harry, somebody starting to think. "No, I don't want you to take my word for it. By all means, go right ahead and put together your own castle defense plans. Form groups, action committees, make wards, booby traps, curse the vegetation. Anything you like!" He brightened. "I welcome all the help you are willing to provide, and I hope you are all willing."

Stepping onto the dais, he spake loudly. "I have one critical task that will involve each and every breathing soul in this room. This task must be performed, and there will be no excuse for failure." Looking around to ensure he had their attention, he continued. "Everyone here is responsible for his own defense. I will defend this castle, but there are too many of you for me to individually defend. You, Ernie..." he pointed. "You, Blaise... You, Lisa... All of you. I want all of you to keep breathing."

***

Once the news of Harry's challenge was out, the mood of the school changed again. Where they had been cheerful and optimistic at Harry's return, now the feel was charged... almost electric. An undercurrent of tension underscored every class, every hallway conversation, every broom cupboard encounter.

The wizarding world had hoped for over sixteen years for their new messiah. They had believed, in principle, in the'someday' appearance of the Boy Who Lived to somehow defeat the latest Dark Lord. Nobody agreed on just what form that 'defeat' would take, but the general consensus was that it would somehow happen.

Now, however, it was different. The imminent duel was staring them all in the face; demanding their belief in stark reality, rather than abstract holistic fairy tales.

Many, of course, dismissed the whole thing as ludicrous. People like Malfoy, Parkinson, and their cohorts didn't even bother hiding their scoffing. The very idea that a pale, skinny little half-blood could pose a problem for their master! The temerity! He would be put in his place, and the quicker the better.

Others rejoiced in what they saw as simple fulfillment of prophesy. Harry was going to win. It was pre-ordained, right? How could it be otherwise? Everyone knows it.

The minority -- those in the habit of thinking -- were worried. They were all in favor of Harry having amajor victory and living happily ever after... but how? How could they be sure? How could a young teenager save the world?

Hermione and Luna had spent quite a bit of time together, with and without Harry. Luna now carried a manifestation of the conscious persona of the spirit of Hogwarts Castle within her. It was as if every odd-ball quirk and bit of strange behavior had been to prepare her for this moment. She had always looked a bit holistic, but now she looked... holy. Positively beatific, she walked with a peaceful glide that drew attention wherever she went. Sometimes, she even glowed.

One would have expected Hermione to be the one who worried. How could Harry win this? Wasn't that too much pressure to put on one poor teen aged boy? However, instead of becoming worried, she had been completely won over by Luna. Being present at the transmogrification of their friend Luna, all logical arguments had been stripped away from her. What was the point of arguing that something was impossible when she had stood and watched it happen in stark reality? Even stubborn bookishness had given way to Luna's gentle persuasion.

Now, Hermione and Luna were Harry's staunchest supporters. Harry was the strength, brains and honor; his two ladies were peace, love, and beauty.

Which was why Harry wasn't entirely taken by surprise when the two came to him in the Room of Requirement for what would later be remembered as "the Talk".

"Harry, do you have a moment?"

"Hi, Hermione. Hello, Luna." Harry noticed that Luna was... well, there were no other words for it: she was wearing her Hogwarts Aspect. "Hello, Freddie."

Luna blushed so deeply, her ears seemed almost purple -- but her shy smile showed she was pleased. "Freddie?" she asked.

"Yes, Freddie," said Harry. "I saw from your face that Hogwarts was manifesting itself through you again. I know that, when Godric Gryffindor was infusing you with magic and protection, he thought of the castle as female, and liked to call her 'Winifred' when no one was listening. Am I right?"

She blushed even more, and looked down at the floor. "Yes, Harry."

"Very well," he finished. "Since'Winifred' is a bit out of fashion, I thought I would call you Freddie. That is, as long as you don't mind."

Luna's voice was a whisper by now, overcome with emotion. "Thank you, that will be fine."

"Good." He turned to Hermione. "What do you need?"

"Harry, could we go to... I mean, could you show...?" Clearly, Hermione was asking Harry to reveal his home to Luna, even though Hermione didn't really know where it was either.

Harry studied the auras of all three females present -- even though one was somewhat less than corporeal -- and realized something. Hermione, Luna and Winifred (the spirit of Hogwarts) obviously all loved him unreservedly. He had known that already. But almost as important, they now loved each other. He held out his arms, and the two girls rushed in to hold him tightly. "Dobby," he said aloud.

His elven friend appeared before him, beaming. "Dobby, I shall need a nice late snack for three at my place in afew minutes."

"Of course, Master Harry," Dobby said with obvious glee. "It shall be done forthwith." And he disappeared with a pop.

Hermione looked at him closely, brows furrowed. "And just why is Dobby speaking the Queen's English with such aposh accent now?"

Harry shook his head, "No, that's the wrong question. Freddie, what's the right question?"

Luna answered immediately with her question, "Why do the other elves speak English so poorly?"

"Excellent question. And the answer is simply because nobody takes any time to teach them. Small-minded people get a charge out of watching a powerful magical creature talk baby-talk. It makes them feel superior." He waved his hand airily, and the three of them were standing in the vestibule of his little under-hill home. "Come, let us have tea." He limped in front of them, leading the way to his den.

The two young women took their places at either side of Harry, whilst he walked into his den with no sense of self-consciousness at all. When he sat at the center of his davenport, Dobby brought the snack tray in to set on the table while Hermione sat at his right side, and Luna at his left.

As natural as if they'd been doing it like this all their lives, Luna reached and presented Harry with a tiny pastry, whereupon Hermione handed him a cup of tea. "Thank you, ladies," he intoned, quite nonchalant. "Now, Ibelieve you two wanted to talk about something?"

"Harry," began Luna. "Do you know who Iam?"

Harry looked at her. "Yes. You are my dear friend Luna, close to my heart, a clever and powerful witch, a very beautiful young woman, and a little wacky in a very endearing way. You are also carrying a manifestation of the conscious spirit of Hogwarts, third most powerful magical structure on Earth--"

"Third?!" interrupted Freddie, clearly nonplussed.

"--/third/ most powerful magical structure on Earth," repeated Harry rather firmly, "said manifestation also being a very beautiful woman, with over a thousand years of exposure to magical learning. Now, Luna... do you think I missed anything?"

"We'll come back to that 'third' in a moment, Harry. Now, do you know why I followed you into the Department of Mysteries last year?"

Harry looked at her quickly, and his saucy retort died a-borning, because he saw something new in her aura. Something that Luna had hidden from him before. Something that changed... well, changed a great deal.

Luna was in love with Harry. And not just hormonally-assisted admiration, or sisterly affection. Luna's entire being was now dedicated to the simple but life-altering purpose of being in love with Harry Potter. Harry could see that, though he hadn't seen it before, this was not a new thing for Luna.

Harry wasn't ready for the naked, unstoppable power that he saw in her aura. He couldn't keep eye contact. Doesn't she know? he thought. Don't they all know? Can't they see it's all phony? All an act? He began to tremble, and his eyes closed. His psyche was retreating... retreating... He could hear nothing but a roaring in his ears. He could feel nothing but the pain of his tiny, broken arm, held tightly against his chest to keep it from moving, and the chill of the unheated cupboard under the stairs, and the wetness of the tears coursing down his cheeks.

I don't understand,he thought. Maybe if I can be very quiet, they'll forget about me, and stop hurting me for a while. His trembling got stronger, until his shivering was quite violent. Nothing to see here, he thought, crying. Just keep walking by. Don't notice me, don't hit me, don't hurt me... don't...

Don't think about me.