FicWad

Chapter 24 – Morning

The morning sun glowed orange on the horizon. The night's clouds, breaking up and dispelling with it's ascension.

Harry watched two robins twitter and fly about in a dance only they new through the parlor window that overlook the expanse of the Cotswolds to the east. He could feel his father and godfather's eyes on him, pressing upon him with a hundred questions that neither was certain they were allowed to ask, let alone actually wanted to know the answers to.

The crystal decanter that had been half full of Firewhiskey, upon Harry and his father's arrival, had long been emptied and rested as a testament to how their morning had been spent. The cooled ashes in the hearth told the same tale, perhaps even more prominently. Not one of the room's occupants had had the presence of mind to place another log upon the flames and the elves of Castle Black hadn't dared to disturb the them, no doubt sensing the severity and clandestine nature of their conversation.

“The offer you made Frank,” Harry heard his father say, “you had every intention of protecting Neville just the same, regardless of if he had agreed to go to Dumbledore with the Omnioculars or not.”

“Yes,” Harry answered flatly, turning to look at his father. The man looked as if he were deathly ill – pale, dark shadows beneath his eyes, hair throughly messed, and the insurmountable stress brought on by his son's words and the cumulation of events in his life as of late wracked his body visibly. “He's highly vulnerable right now. Not killable by any means, but very much in danger of reverting back to the mere shade that he became thirteen years ago, when his attempt to kill Neville failed due to Augusta's sacrifice. In order for him to circumvent the protection Augusta's sacrifice left on Neville, plus with his belief in the Prophecy, he'll not settle for another's blood.”

“If we destroy the Locket …?” Sirius looked to Harry with askance, seeking confirmation that his grasp on Horcrux theory was correct. He had faired the foreboding tide of information that Harry had shared only slightly better than James had. Nonetheless, he was perceptibly shake by what Harry had revealed.

Harry nodded, feeling sympathy for both men. He had divulged to them in a few hours what Dumbledore had taken nearly a year to divulge to him in the other world. The old man had been far too kind to him, had loved him far too much, just as he had assured him the night that Sirius had died in the Department of Mysteries Skirmish. They hadn't had the time then to make allowance for what had remained of his dismal childhood, to attempt to preserve the last of his innocence – innocence that he had cast aside guiltily behind his mentor's back each night that he'd retreated to a long abandoned room or corridor of Hogwarts Castle and had delved ever deeper into the Dark Arts, making good use of the texts that he had filched from the Black Library over the previous summer and the gold mine that had been Advanced Potion-Making, annotated by the Half-Blood Prince.

Harry internally grimace. It still irked him that the Half-Blood Prince had turned out to be Severus Snape, who had lived just long enough to murder Dumbledore and make it known to Harry who the Half-Blood Prince – a person Harry had practically idolized all year –actually was. Dumbledore's attempt to allow him to remain a somewhat normal sixteen year old just a bit longer had failed, failed epically. He'd left Hogwarts that year with blood stained hands and vengeance burning his heart.

A part of Harry to this day wondered what might have become of the war in the other world had Dumbledore told him about the Horcruxes straight up. He'd wasted so much time in getting the memory Dumbledore had wanted him to obtain from Slughorn. He hadn't taken the matter seriously, thinking he had far more important things to be doing, like actually learning how to fight a war and attempting to unravel what Draco Malfoy had been up to in the Room of Requirement. A three hour conversation, like the one he had just had with his father and godfather, would have put them both on the same page, before they had ever headed down Tom Riddle's memory lane.

Harry pushed the nugatory notion to the back of his mind, as he had done time and time again in the other world. There's only the future and what one does with it.

“With the Locket's soul shard manifested fully, the Locket can be as easily destroyed as if it were any other piece of jewelry,” Harry reiterated for his godfather. “Once destroyed, Voldemort would be as he was prior to the Locket manifesting and providing him with a corporeal form to latch on to.”

“That's the plan then?” Sirius asked, looking as if he hoped that it was, yet dreaded it being so.

Harry returned his gaze to looking out the window and, after a pause, uttered the one word that would either doom them all or finally rid this world of Voldemort forever – proclaiming with it the reason for why he had elected to share what he had shared with the two men.

“No.”

“What do you mean 'no'?” James demanded, his voice thick with the stress he was feeling and a sense of profound disbelief. “You can't possibly –”

“I can and I do,” Harry stated firmly, unwilling to look either his father or his godfather in the eye, as he admitted his intentions –intentions that made him cringe inside and left him wishing desperately that there was another way. “Upon the completion of the Final Task of the Triwizard Tournament, Voldemort will have Neville's blood and will return to the height of his power.”

The silence that fell over the room was so tense that Harry could feel its sharp, jagged edges slicing into him, leaving him vulnerable under his father and godfather's scrutiny. He winced and his breath still unconsciously at the scrape of his godfather's chair, as the man pushed back from the table and made to stand. He breathed out a half-second later when Sirius did not storm out of the room or do anything more than take up a contemplative sort of pacing behind where he'd been sitting.

“You can't be considering this … this madness!” James round on Sirius, clearly having hoped to have Sirius as an ally on the matter.“Neville Longbottom is a child, not an object to be protected one minute and deliberately hand over to Voldemort –”

“Voldemort only needs a drop or two of Neville's blood,” Harry interrupted his father. “He doesn't need to bleed Neville dry. I promised Frank that I'd guarantee Neville's life to the best of my ability, and I have every intention of keeping my word.”

“Every intention of keeping your word?” James's gaze cut back to Harry with anger and a distinct lack of recognition, as if he could hardly believe Harry was his son at all at the moment.

“Yes.” Harry met his father's irate gaze with knowledge in his eyes of information that he had not shared and had no intention of sharing.“To guarantee Neville's life, as I've pledged to do, Voldemort must use Neville's blood to obtain an actual body. I'd attempt to convince him to use my blood, if I could, but it has to be– absolutely has to be – Neville's blood that he uses.”

That seemed to give Sirius pause. The man stood rigid where his feet had faltered in his pacing and regarded Harry speculatively.

Harry returned his gaze, once more, to the window. The first sun beams had begun to crest the tree line. He didn't know if Neville was a Horcrux with definite certainty, but his friend's scar had been red and agitated looking the other night and that was enough for him to be reasonably sure that a fractured piece of Voldemort's soul had attached itself to Neville, as his own lightning bolt scar in the other world had acted similarly.

Harry could still remember how tainted – ill to the depths of his own soul – he had felt when he had learned at the age of nineteen that he'd been one of Voldemort's Horcruxes all along. The last thing he had wanted at the time was for anyone else to know. The realization that Dumbledore had known had been bad enough and had left him with the taste of betrayal in his mouth, as well as made sense of a lot of Dumbledore's actions regarding him and their many disagreements over his six year. He had finally understood that he'd been meant to die, to be a martyr. He hadn't ever been the one meant to deliver the final blow to Voldemort, not literally. Dumbledore had wanted him to find the Horcruxes and destroy them, before sacrificing himself to a greater cause.

Whether Dumbledore knew that Neville was a Horcrux in this world or not, Harry planned to say 'fuck you' to his friend fulfilling the role of martyr, just as he had in the other world. Perhaps the more honorable thing for Neville to do would be to walk into the arms of death, once all the other Horcruxes were destroyed, but Harry cared little for honor. Honor was for those without the stomach to live. By the time he was done with Neville, the blond boy would want to live, as well as have the stomach for it, and he, Harry, would see to it that he would – guarantee it, just as he had given his word to Frank.

“Voldemort will obtain a body eventually,” Harry said with steadfast conviction. “It is inevitable. If we destroy the Locket, he'll just use another one of his Horcruxes to rise again. We could repeat this process many times, but eventually, we'll slip up and he will have Neville's blood. Or, he'll admit defeat and use another's blood instead, which would be far more devastating with consequence I've no desire to carry out. Ten months is playing the long odds as it is.”

“That's no reason to just hand Neville over to him,” James countered harshly, not assuaged in his position on the matter in the slightest.

“But it is.” Harry looked to his father, beseeching the man to understand. “Is it not better for Neville, safer, if we control when Voldemort finally does hold the ritual to obtain his new body, rather than being caught unaware and without a plan to extract him?”

“We might just be able to control the when, Harry, but the questions of where, how, and who will be present are just as important, if we're to have any hope of getting Neville out alive,” Sirius said grimly.“Are you certain that he'll use the same ritual as the one that he used in the other world?”

Harry nodded. “It's the only way to create a truly stable vessel. Other methods … they're far too risky and the end product is …grotesque, to say the least. As for where he'll hold the ritual, he'll hold it above his father's grave. A final 'screw you, Dad', I believe. Although, even if he does decide to hold it some place else, he'll keep it close to Little Hangleton. His mother and father's blood originated in the area, which will only serve to strengthen the ritual. And as for who will be present, I imagine he'll have the elite of his army there to witness him prove his immortality.”

Harry glanced from his godfather to his father. The blatant mention of Voldemort's immortal status had caused his father to flinch. In all honesty, both men appeared thoroughly overwhelmed by their conversation, as if any addition strenuous information would meet their break point. “I'm not asking either of you to have a direct hand in turning Neville over to Voldemort,” he assured the two. “Voldemort will take care of that bit himself. For now, I just need to you to understand the situation and what is a stake, so later on when I ask you to do something for me that sounds off and like I might actually be working for the other side, we don't have to have this conversation.”

Silence filled the room, as a sense of finality descended with Harry's proclamation. The understanding that his mind was made up and nothing could be said or done to change it arrested the remaining protests that James and Sirius had regarding the matter. Neither looked even remotely pleased or agreeable to his intentions, but the trust between them was apparently enough for both to accept, if only subconsciously, that he had his reasons.

As the minutes stretched on – each man becoming lost in his own thoughts – the sun rose fully over the horizon.

“Sun up,” Harry murmured, his eyes fixed upon the making of a new day and thoughts drifting to his mother and sister. Both were early risers, and he couldn't help but wonder, if his mother had already woken to a half empty house.

James released a heady breath and ran a hand through his hair across the table. He met his son's gaze and the silent agreement that it was time for them to go passed between them.

“I'll walk you out,” Sirius offered, looking exhausted in the morning light. Out of the three of them, he was the only one to not get any sleep at all last night.

Harry nodded and made to stand, knowing that his godfather was most likely as eager to get to bed as he and his father were to get home before his mother woke.

James stood as well, and the three of them made for the parlor door.

As they headed up the adorned, first floor corridor back towards the grand staircase and entrance hall, Harry fell several steps behind his father and godfather, who seemed to be having a private conversation by employment of meaningful glances alone.

“I'll talk it over with Lily,” James said with a sigh, as he and Sirius rounded the banister that overlooked the entrance hall and started down the grand staircase, passing the Black Family Portrait without a sparing glance.

“You'll talk what over with you wife, James Potter?”

His mother's voice, specifically the note of warning that it contained, froze Harry in his prepared descent of the grand staircase, after his father and godfather.

James and Sirius halted in their own descent, as if having been caught in the refection of a basilisk's gaze. Ever so slowly, all three turned in the direction of Lily Potter's voice.

Upon recognizing the foreboding look on his mother's face almost instantly, as she and Mayra – both still dressed in their night robes – entered the entrance hall through the open double doors off to the right of the hall that led to great hall, which served as the Black's dining room outside of the few annual events they hosted, Harry did what any wise man in his position would do. He stepped back from the stairs, turned on his heel, and attempted to pull off a subtle retreat, hoping his mother and Mayra would be more concerned with his father and godfather than him.

“Don't your dare, Harold James!”

Ouch! Harry thought, halting mid-step back along the banister towards the parlor room.

“Back here now, mister.”

Though Harry had his back to his mother, he could see her in his mind's eye standing in all her fury with her hands on her hips. He thanked the Gods that he was very close to being fully sober, as the current situation would get all the worse, if he hadn't been. With the least amount of movement possible, very aware of the pressing need to get rid of the condemning evidence, he drew his wand and cast a quick mouth refreshing spell upon himself.

Harry turned to face his mother with his wand back in its holster and a minty taste predominating his mouth. “Good morning, Mum,” he greeted as casually as if the morning were any other morning, forcing what he hoped was a charming smile onto his face.

Lily's eyes narrowed dangerously at her son. Her red hair was in a wild mess that somewhat resembled a bun a top her head. She stood glaring at him with her hands firmly on her hips, just as Harry had expected. “Beds empty, no note,” she said in a low whisper that seethed with raw emotion, her gaze cutting to her husband, before returning to her son. “You could have been anywhere. You could have been dead! And 'Good morning, Mum' is what I get.”

“Lily–”

“No!” Lily yelled, her face nearly as red as her hair and her eyes glinting, as they locked onto James. “No, James, you don't get to 'Lily' me! Not today! Not after the morning we've had.”

“Morning you've had,” Sirius growled under his breath with derision. The look on his face clearly communicating his belief that no one could possibly have had a worse morning than his, James, and Harry's morning so far.

Harry had to agree with his godfather's sentiments. Their morning had most definitely been worse than his mother and Mayra's morning, as very few things could top it and he sincerely doubted that his mother and Mayra had experienced any of the things that could.

“Don't you even start, Sirius.” Mayra snapped at her husband, her brown eyes cold and filled with displeasure. “'I'll be up to bed in a bit. I promise – as soon as Frank and I finish our drinks,'” she said mockingly.“Sound familiar?”

“Vaguely,” Sirius admitted stiffly.

Lily and Mayra exchanged heated glances.

Not good, so not good, Harry thought warily, his experience from the other world telling him that conspiring women meant nothing but trouble for the males in their vicinity, especially the ones they were hacked off at.

“Lily,” Mayra said with false sweetness, “I do believe our husbands and your son are under the impression that just because we allow them to keep their secrets, they are free to do whatever they please.”

“It would seem so, wouldn't it?” Lily agreed.

“Like not coming to bed when they say they will, let alone at all,” Mayra supplied with the same false sweetness, her gaze zeroing in on Sirius.

“And running off in the middle of the night without any indication of where they're going.” Lily's eyes were practically daggers by this point, as she glared mutinously at her husband and son.

“Or any indication of when they'll be back,” Mayra added, her tone filled with accusation and her eyes finding Harry. “Or who they're running off with.”

“Oh, ”Lily said, her tone bitting, “and leaving us to deal with a very curious Alastor Moody, who just so happens to think that we actually want something to do with him and Albus and their merry band of men at five bloody o'clock in the morning!”

Harry blinked. Okay, he rescinded his previous assessment of his mother and Mayra's morning, that's a pretty shitty morning. In fact, dealing with Mad-Eye anytime between the hours of ten at night and six in the morning was synonymous to a waking nightmare, as far as he was concerned.

“Yes?” Lily looked up to her husband with expectation, her arms crossing over her chest.

“What'd you tell him?” James winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Harry winced along with his father. Better him than me, he thought selfishly, desiring the answer to his father's question just as much as his father apparently did, but was wiser or just more unwilling to further provoke his mother than his father was.

“What did I tell him?” Lily demanded with incredulity. “What did I tell him!” She looked to Mayra pointedly, as if to say: this is what we have to put up with. Upon rounding back on her husband, her son, and Sirius, she looked ready to start firing curses at them.“How about we start with what he told us! Then again, the news that Voldemort is active again, isn't news to you lot, is it?”

There was no denying the accusation. Harry was sure that his knowledge showed on his face, just as neither his father nor his godfather put forth the effort to appear even remotely surprised.

“I didn't think so,” Lily said coldly.

“I'm sorry,” James said softly, sounding as if he were apologizing for the world over.

Harry remained rigid, as his mother's gaze shifted to him. An apology was on the tip of his own tongue and about to cross his lips, when she abruptly returned her glare to his father.

“If anything happens to him, James,” Lily threatened, eyes fierce and her expression dead serious, “I swear even Amelia Bones won't be able to locate your body.”

James nodded. It was a jerky motion, as if doing so cost him.

The following silence that enveloped the entrance hall was tense. The women were clearly still pissed and the men were rightly wary of saying or doing anything that might further upset them.

The whoosh, as the floo flared to life in the floo room broke through the heavy quiet and caused all five occupants of the entrance hall to look to the open archway at the far end of the hall. The energetic whistle of one Remus Lupin echoed out into the hall. As the tawny haired man rounded the archway, however, his whistle cut off and his steps faltered. Upon his keen eyes taking in the scene before him, the smile that he had worn faded into non-existence and his features closed off.

Sirius cleared his throat awkwardly. “Morning, Remus,” he greeted obligatorily, before making to finish his descent down the stairs, his every step infused with the elegance and power known to him. At the bottom of the grand staircase, he turned to his friend with evident exhaustion and a warm smile that was painfully forced. “We've not gotten the kids up yet, so you're going to have to be pacified with breakfast for the time being.”

“Sounds lovely,” Remus said tightly, his eyes sweeping from one strained face to the next. “Have I missed something?”

“Albus is reforming the Order.” The gravity that Sirius spoke with and the grim look that replace his smile all to easily left little doubt as to why the Order was reforming.

Remus paled.

“There's a meeting today at noon. Frank's hosting it,” Mayra said, earning the attention of not only Remus, but of her husband, James, and Harry. “Dumbledore wants us all there, if we're willing.” Her eyes rose from Remus and met Harry's gaze directly. “All of us.”

Harry pursed his lips. This, he was going to have to think about. He hadn't intended to get directly involved with the Order of the Phoenix. But with the opportunity presented at present, he could hardly say 'no' outright without giving the offer due consideration. Although, he could already anticipate the frustration that such an alliance would bring him, as well as the arguments that would ensue. He was far too proactive, while Dumbledore was far too passive, their moral differences and conflicting views on magic aside.