The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301
Part II - Chapter Five
Harry knew he had overreacted to the escape simulation and felt slightly ashamed at having gone to pieces afterwards. That did not make him feel any better about being in the Muggle Ministry, though, and there were days when he felt as if the Compound were a kind of open prison. Nothing liked Azkaban, of course, but a prison nonetheless.
He made a game, too, of trying to catch Ron and Hermione and Ginny talking about his weaknesses. Every so often, he’d catch one of them eyeing him with the gaze of a mother who’d had her missing child returned only to find the child wasn’t the same one at all. He wanted to say, look, I’m still me, I’m all right, but the words never escaped when the thought surfaced; because deep down he felt that the truth didn’t bear too close an examination. He was not the same Harry who had faced Voldemort; he could not be. For he had surrendered everything and the one unanticipated event had occurred: he had been given back his life, or maybe had it forced back on him, and inescapably he had to face the fact that he had fulfilled the prophecy. He had taken a life. He was no longer innocent.
He plodded through his training, learning to shoot ever more precisely, to use various kinds of surveillance equipment (an activity that Ron took to with surprising enthusiasm), and how to create a case analysis that accounted for the smallest details among multitudes. He also asked Carter daily whether their experiment had worked, but for nearly a week, there was no reply.
On a clear sunny day while the recruits were out running a five mile course through a forest trail in the woods that sheltered the Compound from outside eyes, Carter dropped back to join Harry, who had pulled off the trail momentarily to catch his breath.
“You okay?” Carter asked.
“Fine,” Harry answered irritably.
Carter gave him a doubtful look but said, “I’ve had an answer to that e-mail.”
“What’s it say?” Harry asked eagerly.
Carter looked around to see if anyone was nearby and said, “You’ll have to see. It doesn’t say anything.” When Harry looked questioningly at him, he added, “It’s a picture, no words. Come by after and you’ll see.”
The answer, in fact, when Carter showed it to him, was a single picture of a tarot card. The card was from the medieval style decks that popularly sold in many Muggle stores as well as in wizard shops like Flourish and Blotts. Harry raised an eyebrow on seeing it as the card represented was Death.
“If I didn’t know better,” he muttered, “I’d think Professor Trelawny sent this reply.”
“Who?” Carter asked.
Harry sighed. “Never mind. Just this batty professor I had. She thought she could predict the future and she always told people they were going to suffer or die.”
“Sounds charming,” Carter commented. “What did she teach?”
Recollecting that Carter was not, after all, a wizard, Harry said, “Astronomy.” It wasn’t altogether false, he thought, as they had certainly spent a huge amount of time studying the stars and drawing up extensive charts predicting their fortunes. The more outlandish and horrible the predictions, the better Trelawny had liked them.
“What do you think it means?” Carter asked.
“I dunno,” Harry answered. “Maybe this is some kind of code? Have you asked Jimmy?”
“Yeah,” Johnny replied. “Then he went to research it and decided these guys are completely barmy. Which we knew already.”
“I dunno,” Harry answered. “It’s rather clever, isn’t it? It means something to them, but anyone opening it who isn’t one of them would have a hard time figuring it out.” As he stared at the card, a feeling of unease crept over him. First there had been the potions box, confiscated from a raid on a Muggle gangster. Now this. There were plenty of Muggles who used tarot cards to tell fortunes, as Madame Blavatsky had, and they weren’t witches or wizards at all. It was awfully peculiar, too, that this was the second time cards of some kind had turned up under odd circumstances.
“What if we reply the same way?” Harry suggested. “Can you get a similar picture to send back?”
Johnny looked surprised and then thoughtful. “How do we know what’s the right answer?”
“Maybe there isn’t one,” Harry guessed. “Try finding an ace of diamonds,” he said.
“Why that?” Johnny responded.
“We need to fix a time for our meeting,” Harry answered. “The ace will mean one o’clock, and obviously, it can’t be one in the morning because the museum would be closed. So if he’s thinking like us, one would be one in the afternoon.”
“If I didn’t know better,” Johnny said with amusement, “I’d think you’d been playing undercover games for years.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?” Harry asked jokingly.
“You’re a bit on the young side, kid,” Johnny responded dryly.
Leaving his friend to his illusions, Harry simply cleared his throat and said, “We should add in another tarot card, too, to go along with his kind of message.”
“That might be a big mistake,” Johnny argued. “You can’t possibly know what the card actually means.”
“I dunno,” Harry said, “I think what we want is a card that will tell him what we want.”
Johnny stared. “What do we want?”
Harry glanced at him to take his measure and said, “Another box like the one that was intercepted, with poisons and such. Then we’ll know if we’ve got the right one.”
“Hold on!” Johnny said. “We’re not actually meeting him. We’re just going to see if he shows up.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, “but I want to know if these really are the same guys.” He paused and said firmly, “Add in the card from the tarot deck called the King of Cups. Do you know what it looks like?”
Johnny gave him a rather beady look, nearly as stern as McGonagall might, and with two swift entries into his search engine pulled up an image of the card. “This could frighten him off altogether.”
“It won’t,” Harry answered. “Even if he guesses it’s not from his real contact, he’ll still show up because he’ll want to know who we are. Just send it.”
A click of the mouse and the message had been sent. Harry had a peculiar sensation, as though he had just taken a step into space with no bottom below. He shrugged mentally and thought, whoever they are, they can’t be worse than Voldemort.
It took less than a minute for the return message to arrive. Both of them stared at the message in astonishment, as neither had been at all sure they’d get a response. Once again, the message was simply a picture, only this one wasn’t a card at all. This time, the picture showed a page from a medieval manuscript. Below the picture was the descript, “The Book of Hours.” An illustration that looked like the illuminated version of a tapestry showed a man drinking from a golden goblet whilst a green serpent wound itself about his legs. The book had the date September 22 inscribed across the top of the picture and inset into it as though it were a flourish to the whole.
“Brilliant!” Harry said. “It’s worked.”
Johnny clucked skeptically, but Harry said, "Look. It has the date: September 22 at one o’clock in the afternoon.”
“What about the whole Egyptian thing?” Johnny asked. “This doesn’t look anything like that.”
“No,” Harry answered. “That was our suggestion. We meet him in the section of the Museum that has medieval manuscripts. That’s the answer. And it’s perfect, too. It’s a Sunday, so we can get a day pass to go off the Compound.”
“It might work,” Johnny said grudgingly. Then with more enthusiasm he repeated, “It just might work.” They grinned at each other, taken by their unexpected success.
***
Harry had finally started to put back on some weight, Hermione noticed. But it wasn't just that had changed. He no longer seemed utterly indifferent and the lost, preoccupied air that he had often worn was seen more rarely. The difference was most palpable in defense and physical training. Although he still didn't defeat an opponent in unarmed combat very often, he was doing much better. It helped, she thought grimly, that after his extraordinary escape at the last simulation, most of the other recruits were much warier of him. They'd run for it, she thought, if they knew what he was really capable of.
Harry and Ron were wrestling with each other, and Ron had managed to pin him down, but only temporarily. Harry wriggled out of the hold and said something under his breath that made Ron laugh. Grinning just a little, Harry paused for barely a second before launching himself back at Ron. They rolled over each other like puppies playing and Harry ended up with his first pin ever.
"That's not fair," Ron protested. But he was still laughing.
"Constant vigilance," Harry answered. His green eyes were gleaming with mischief and next to Hermione, Ginny made a small sound that was halfway between happiness and fury.
"He's getting better," Hermione said unnecessarily.
"Yes," Ginny answered, her eyes still on Harry. "But he doesn't remember everything," she said. "He doesn't remember us. I'm just his friend's little sister again."
"He told Norway off on your account," Hermione offered.
"He'd have done that for anyone," Ginny answered. "He's forgotten and maybe he'll never remember."
"I don't think that's true," Hermione answered. "He's had a hard time just coping with being alive. But if he doesn't...you'll just have to remind him."
"You don't get it, Hermione," Ginny answered. "What if he just laughs at me, or even worse, feels sorry for me?"
Hermione had no answer for that. But she wondered just what had changed Harry's attitude. He was keeping things from them, she thought, and what was worse, they couldn't be open with him because Dumbledore wanted to keep him out of things as long as possible. And that was sure to be a mistake, Hermione thought.
***
They had reached the halfway point in their first training intensive and Harry had begun to feel as though he was studying for his Newts all over again. The instructors were pressuring all of the recruits to perform and even some of the strongest had begun to show signs of stress. For many, the stress manifested itself in shortened tempers and in some cases; fights had barely been averted by the interruption of a senior officer. Norway, for instance, had nearly picked a fight with Carter when Carter had outrun the army man in an especially difficult obstacle course.
"He must have cheated," Norway said furiously, when he crossed the finish line to find Carter had already arrived.
Harry, whose group had run the course earlier, interjected, "I think you're accusing him of your own sins."
"Yeah," Carter agreed silkily. "Just like the company you keep."
Norway had flushed brick red and his enormous fists had bunched up in preparation for attack. But before he could actually strike, Daniels had cut in with a curt instruction for them all to break it up.
Recruits who had a particular preference for an assignment, such as those who wanted to be assigned to surveillance and undercover work, were under even more pressure to perform. They had started an intensive series of exercises involving surveillance and tracking, and these Harry rather enjoyed, as they involved neither guns nor physical assault.
Their first series had been to learn to tail a single suspect, individually and then in teams of twos and threes. Team surveillance was accounted to be the best method as the suspect was less likely to realize he was being followed if he saw different persons at different times. They had a complicated exercise set in an urban-style area in which the suspect would go through entrances to stores and emerge from rear exits, and the surveillance teams were expected to keep track.
They were also expected to be able to identify if they were being followed and either to lead the tail astray or to reverse the roles and begin to follow the tail instead. This was a task that Harry had little trouble with, although he and Ron had joked that if they only could use magic, no one would ever catch them.
They moved from the urban surveillance to the forest and Harry was selected to be the suspect.
Daniels had given him a challenging look and said, "Let's see if you can turn the tables again, Potter."
Harry had given the gruff Lieutenant his most sincere look and said, "I'll do my best, sir."
He had loped off into the woods and considered how he might best do that.
The forest was quiet and the soft mossy footing muffled Harry’s footsteps. That was likely to be a problem, though, as his tail or tails would have the same advantage. The forest was nothing like the Forbidden forest at the edge of Hogwarts into which he had ventured a few times too many and almost always into some danger.
Here, a bird tittered and once he saw a brown rabbit flash by, but no angry centaurs would appear to shoot at him, no werewolves howled, no giant spiders threatened to eat him. He stopped and listened and considered his alternatives. He could simply keep going and try to evade his pursuers altogether. Or he could bide his time and wait for them to make a move that would betray them.
Through the tops of the trees, small patches of blue sky could be seen, and the air had a pleasant, woodsy smell. Light filtered through the treetops in greenly-gold bars and he had a wild wish that he could simply take wing and fly and be completely free. He leaned against a tree and thought he saw a bird's amber eyes watching. He breathed deeply and felt completely happy as though he too were one more forest creature entirely free of thought and entirely at home.
The forest was silent as the Compound never entirely was. Here no radios or televisions blared their canned sound, no alarms rang, not even a bug buzzed. The silence had its own language here. He waited patiently knowing that his quarry would show itself any moment. He waited for the soft muffled tread of his pursuer to pass him by and then pounced, wrapping one hand about her mouth and his arm about her shoulders.
His victim bit him on the finger and he let her go abruptly. "That hurt!" he said reproachfully to Ginny.
She tossed her hair out of her eyes and said, "You should know better than to give someone that opportunity."
"Well, I wasn't about to grab you by the throat," he answered.
"How could you know it was me?" she responded. "If it was the scum Norway, he'd have flattened you in one blow."
"I think I can tell the difference between you and Norway," Harry answered with amusement.
"You could not know who was following you," she retorted. "Not without..."
He put his finger to her mouth to still her and pulled her back off the trail before she could say anything too revealing that his other pursuer could hear.
***
Ahead of him, Johnny could hear voices raised in argument. One was irritated, the other amused. They cut off suddenly and he stilled instinctively wondering if he had been spotted. All was silent for a moment and then the muffled tread of a runner sounded once again. He wondered what Harry might have said to persuade Ginny to let him go and then he realized that the tread of the approaching runner was too heavy for a person of Harry's weight.
Johnny considered whether to show himself, as he had not thought a fourth person would be involved in this exercise. However, before he could move, an untidy black head showed itself from behind a clump of bushes and one slim leg poked out to trip up the runner. The runner fell with a furious curse and Johnny saw with resignation that it was Norway.
"You!" Norway spat. "What are you doing here?"
"I might ask the same of you?" Potter answered coolly.
Johnny stepped out into the path in time to see the sergeant lash out, but without effect. With the swift reflexes that were his saving strength, Potter had neatly sidestepped the blow and Norway's fist made contact with a tree trunk instead. Potter backed away instead of attacking and Norway cursed again so venomously that Johnny found himself cringing in embarrassment. The small red-haired girl leapt out and smacked the big man on the face and he would have struck her back except that Johnny moved at the same time as Harry and together they threw the big man backwards into another tree.
Two other sets of feet could be heard thudding through the woods and Norway looked up with fury and with a faint edge of what looked like panic. He said softly, "I'll get you both," and then jogged off toward the sound of the other feet.
"What the bloody hell was he doing here?" Johnny asked.
"I dunno," Potter said quietly. The green eyes had an arrested look, however, and he moved suddenly and silently off the trail. Johnny made to follow, but Ginny stayed him, and said almost soundlessly, "Wait."
Moments later, Harry re-emerged. A leaf had stuck into his black hair. It was nowhere near as bright as the green of his eyes as he said, "He's meeting those fellows from the bar. Now what d'you reckon he's up to?"
"Why don't you just ask?" Johnny said grouchily.
Harry simply rolled his eyes and said, "I'm not stupid, you know."
But as soon as they had checked back in for the end of the exercise, Harry immediately began trying to persuade Johnny to return to the village pub again.
"What are you planning on doing?" Johnny asked impatiently. "He'll set his friends on you if you show up again."
"I don't think so," Harry answered meditatively. "He won't have let them know that we might have spotted them. In fact, I'm sure he doesn't know I spotted them."
"You can't be sure of that," Johnny rejoined, "unless you can make yourself invisible."
Ginny giggled at that, but Harry only said, "I'll get Ron to go if you don't want to."
"Ron!" Ginny said affronted. "What about me? I'll go."
Johnny came near to laughing himself then. Harry looked for a moment completely taken aback. Then he stared at her with narrowed eyes and said, "Why not. You got him good just now, didn't you?"
The small girl blushed and said mischievously, "I'll get him really good if he makes too much trouble. Like Malfoy, you know."
Harry stared at her again, and then started to laugh. Not just a small chuckle, but a really good laugh, and Johnny couldn't help staring himself. It was as though a different person had taken possession of the kid, someone alive and vital and happy.
Johnny was not the only one who noticed a difference in Harry’s behavior and performance. Where before, several instructors had regarded Harry with either despair or contempt, even Worthington had been heard to note that Potter might just survive training after all. Austin had speculated darkly that his sudden increase in energy and performance might be due to a change in habit. He was egged on by Norway, whose initial dislike and contempt had matured into outright hatred. When Norway had groused that Potter was a useless runt who ought to have been drowned at birth, Johnny had been surprised at Harry’s response.
Usually Harry would ignore the sergeant’s provocation or respond with cutting sarcasm. On this occasion, however, he marched up right into the huge sergeant’s face and said with equal venom, “Perhaps you ought to be careful what supplements you’ve been taking to give yourself those ape-like muscles. They seem to be draining all the cells out of your brains and transferring them to your ass.”
Norway had made to shove the kid away, but at that moment, the lights had flickered weirdly and the resultant distraction had caused the sergeant to stare about wildly as though he had heard a message no one else could.
“Don’t you think you should be careful about confronting that *******?” Johnny had asked afterwards. “You’ve got to work with him and he could be your lifeline someday, but instead you antagonize him even further.”
“He antagonizes me,” Harry responded. “Besides,” he added, “he’s nothing but a large, bully who’s afraid of anything stronger than him or that he can’t understand. I’ve seen his type before.”
Norway’s determination to get Harry thrown out, however, ended in a series of events that made even Johnny wonder what else they didn’t know about the kid. At the end of a small group class, they had all trooped back to the dormitories with the intention of grabbing their jackets and heading out to the pub for a beer. Johnny had pulled Harry aside to ask him about the cards he had chosen for the answer to “Hengist’s” e-mail.
“It’s funny you asked,” Harry answered. “I’ll show you why I thought of the ace of diamonds and really it’s a bit peculiar that cards should come up in such different circumstances.”
But when they had arrived at Harry’s room, the door was slightly ajar and low voices could be heard inside. Without stopping to think or call out, Harry shoved open the door and said in outrage, “What the bloody hell are you doing in my room?”
Inside, Austin and Norway had tossed the clothes from the chest, dumped papers on the floor and had somehow forced open the large steamer trunk that rested beneath the window. More clothes, lots of them embroidered with crests, books and smaller articles spilled over the edges of the trunk and Austin turned in the act of lifting out a long, straight object with a cross-like shape at the top.
Harry strode into the room and said, “Give that here!” But Austin held onto the object and began unbuckling the leather straps at the top.
“Don’t open that!” Harry said urgently. “I’m warning you…”
However, Norway said with satisfaction at the same time, “Go on. It’s bound to be something illegal.” Almost immediately, Austin pushed the top flap back and began to draw the object out of its cover. Something shining, with gold and glowing red emerged, but almost as instantly, a flash erupted and Austin was flung back yelling and holding his hand. Harry rushed forward and rescued the object, which Johnny realized in shock was a sword. The kid’s green eyes were lit with a furious fire he had never seen before and even Norway was staring at him open mouthed.
Summoned, apparently, by the noise, Inspector Bones and Lieutenant Daniels poked their heads in and Bones said sharply, “What’s going on?”
“He’s got illegal goods here,” Norway said spitefully. “Stolen probably, too.”
Harry answered back furiously, “Nothing’s stolen or illegal and they came in my room and trashed it without permission.”
“What is that?” Daniels asked, pointing at the sword, “and where did you get it?”
Johnny could hardly blame him. The part that was visible was an extraordinary piece of work. Silver, with the figure of a lion in gold relief and an enormous heart-shaped ruby was clasped between the golden lion’s paws. It looked as though it belonged in a museum.
For answer, Harry drew the sword in one swift movement, though Bones protested, “For gawd’s sake, Potter! What do you think you’re doing?”
“It’s got my name on,” Harry replied icily, “so they can see it’s mine, can’t they?”
Fully drawn, the thing was even more wondrous. In the bright afternoon sunlight, the movement of the shining blade drew a reflected fire that burned the eyes. Letters carved into the side of the blade did indeed read HARRY POTTER and beneath that, GRYFFINDOR.
***
Bones blinked at the sudden glow of the sword. He could have sworn that for an instant, the sword glowed with a faint golden-red fire. He stared at Potter and felt something akin to terror and also wonder. In the sunlight, the boy himself seemed to take on a glow almost as bright as the light from the sword and the expression on his face was as Bones had seen it once before, that of an angel out to do justice. Peculiarly, to Bones’ eyes, he seemed both solid and transparent all at once, as though he were both mortal and ghost together.
The Muggles, however, didn’t seem to notice, though they were gaping at the sword as though they had been confronted with some great wonder. The truth, Bones thought, was that they had, though they must never know it.
“Put that up,” he said to Harry quickly, hoping that the sheer weight of his voice would prevent the youth from using the extraordinary power he could summon in a second.
Harry, however, pointed the sword at Norway and Austin and said calmly, “Get up and get out of my room and don’t ever touch any of my things again.”
They got up warily and backed away from him. Harry kept his eyes on them and followed their progress toward the door, turning to keep them in line with his sword. The fine face was no longer possessed by fury, but coolly controlled.
“It’s got to be illegal,” Austin insisted again as he backed away. “It’s booby trapped. Look what it did to my hand!”
Austin’s hand was bright red as though it had been dipped in scalding water. Bones knew he was lucky not have anything worse and felt not at all sorry for him.
“What do you say to that?” Daniels asked Harry. The Lieutenant was watching the kid from under his furry brows with that alertness that only a veteran of war could display.
Harry shrugged. “Of course it’s got antitheft defenses. It’s a family heirloom and I don’t want it stolen.”
“If it’s an heirloom,” Carter asked curiously, “how come it’s got your name on it?”
Harry hesitated and then shrugged again, the ineffable shrug of the teenager he still was. “I damaged it, so when they fixed it for me, they put my name on it.”
“What could you possible do to damage a thing like that?” Daniels asked, “Try to stick it through a stone?”
Bones nearly laughed, though the comparison was more apt than any of the others dreamed, and in fact, Norway actually muttered, “If it wasn’t for his name, I’d almost swear it was Excalibur.”
Harry responded with a raised eyebrow, “The proper name was Caliburn and that one’s been lost for centuries.”
Bones could have shaken him for being so careless. Why not just tell the Muggles you were a wizard and be done with it, he thought incredulously. Fortunately, however, Carter cut in and said dismissively, “That’s just a lot of late medieval legend. The real Arthur, if there was one, probably was part Roman and wasn’t even a king. And all the magic stuff was added in later by medieval romancers.”
Bones swiftly added before Harry could reply, “Put up your sword, then. No one’s going to break in your things again.” He turned on Austin and Norway and added coldly, “this will go on your records as a warning. If you conduct an unauthorized search again, you will be dismissed dishonorably.”
“Oh, come on,” Austin said with disgust. “He’s using some kind of drugs. Any idiot could see it.”
Bones was taken aback, but Daniels frowned and said to Harry, “What d’you have to say to that?”
But it wasn’t necessary for Harry to say anything. The expression on his face told it all. Eventually he managed to splutter, “Drugs? I’ve never taken drugs in my life.”
Bones wasn’t sure that some of the potions he’d been taking didn’t have ingredients that might qualify as restricted substances, but he wasn’t about to allow that issue to surface. His biggest worry, though, was that the Muggles might have seen enough to give them ideas they shouldn’t.
Fortunately, Harry made a tiny gesture with his sword, as though he were undecided what to do, and then he saluted Bones and the Lieutenant with it and slid it back into its leather sheath in one smooth movement. Bones breathed a sigh of relief and then squinted again at the sheath. A moment before, it had looked nearly brand new and had been decorated with beautiful silver inlay. Now it appeared to be worn and dusty cracked with age. Harry said with the same mundane calm as if he merely wanted a bath, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to clean up here.”
The others backed out obediently and even Daniels said nothing further. Bones waited until they had all gone and said, “That was pretty stupid, don’t you think? Do you know how close you came to breaking the Statute of Secrecy?”
“What, it’s my fault they broke into my room and tossed my stuff?” Harry asked. He had yet to put the sword away and Bones considered suggesting that he remove it from the Compound altogether. Except that it would mean Harry would probably need to go into someplace with wizards and that wouldn’t do either.
“That’s not your fault,” Bones said. “But flashing that thing around and chatting about magical swords like Caliburn is. And so is the fact that Austin got a nice magical burn for his pains.”
Harry shrugged. “The defenses are part of its magic. Dumbledore and Flamel put them there. The only way anyone else can draw it is if I allow them to.” He paused and then added very quietly, “And besides, none of them will realize that there was anything magical about the sword.”
“Even Muggles have imagination,” Bones responded. “Even dull ones like Norway have heard enough of the legends to immediately be reminded of the most famous magical sword in history.” He paused and said with reluctant admiration, “Well, the most famous magical sword up until now. I think the sword that did for You Know Who might be nearly on equal footing with Caliburn now.”
He regretted saying that almost at once as Harry’s face turned suddenly bleak. “I didn’t actually kill him with the Sword, you know. The first time, he didn’t die, he just possessed another body. And last time…” His voice dwindled off and he looked as he had almost immediately after, immensely distant and remote, as though he were separated from the world again by a vast chasm that no one else could perceive.
***
Ignoring the mess in his room, Harry flung himself down on the bed. I could just go, he thought. The others don't really need me. They're getting on all right. They even like it.
Restlessly, he ran his hand along the sheath of the sword and the aged look gave way to the rich, soft feel of new leather. The silver designs on the burgundy leather glinted in the sun. Even Bones had seemed awed by the sword as he had once been himself. The Inspector's admiration made him uncomfortable. He had been there, Harry thought. He should know better than to think that killing was something to be admired. It was too easy, Harry thought, to suppose that he had simply been defending himself. He had deliberately tricked Voldemort into doing the one thing that would certainly kill him. He had known that it would kill his enemy. And he was forever changed by the act.
Moved by some unarticulated impulse, Harry drew the sword once again and felt its tip. It was honed to a killing point and would never need sharpening. His own name seemed to lift right off the blade, and he thought, this is what I am. I am a weapon, a killing weapon, it's what they turned me into and I'm getting better and better at it.
He sat up and raised the sword not sure of his purpose and the sunlight glowed through the depths of the heart shaped ruby. Light spread out from it and cast glowing shadows on the cool blue of the wall and a soft trill, like the song of a phoenix, hummed through the room.
The red light dimmed to a purple mist and then pale lavender. Dawn skies were filled with a lavender light, streaked through with the rosy gold of the rising sun. The man in the boat on the water held a fishing rod, a simple birch rod with a fine line trailing in the water. On his head sat a golden circlet, and his eyes were bluer than the sky. With a single expert flick of his wrists, the fisherman king drew the line out of the water. Attached to the end of the line was not a fish, but an object that filled the eyes with a light too bright to see. The light dimmed then and the outline of a cup revealed itself. Dipping the cup in the cool waters the king raised the cup in salute and then sipped from it. Then he poured out the remaining water, only instead of water, light spilled from it. The light surrounded the boat and skimmed across the surface of the water. It rushed from the water and spread across the surface of a parched and poisoned land and everywhere the light touched, the land blossomed with life once more.
When he woke, the light from the sunset was pale lavender darkening to violet. He felt as though he had awakened from along nightmare and only the shining gleam of the sword in the dusky light told him that everything that had happened was real.
***
The three of them stood before the door to Harry's room like soldiers waiting for a battle. After a pause, Ron tapped on the door and said, "Harry! Open up, mate."
No answer came, and Hermione thought, this is no good.
Ginny hissed impatiently and tried the door handle. The door swung open easily. The room was dim as the sun was nearly down and there were no lights on. Only a red glow came from the heart shaped stone on the sword in Harry's hands.
A momentary terror paralyzed her. Harry lay quite still on the bed and with the sword clasped in his hands, he appeared as he had in the moment after Voldemort had struck him with the Curse and Dumbledore had lain him on a pallet with the sword clasped in his hands and his bright green eyes had been open and empty of life.
The still figure moved and Harry said quickly, before any of them could speak again, "I'm all right."
None of them responded and he rose with that fluid grace that was so like a cat's in its quickness and ease and they all stepped back involuntarily as he lifted the Sword and stared at it and then slid it home into its tooled leather sheath.
"What the bloody hell was you thinking?" Ginny asked.
Harry's eyebrows rose and he regarded the three of them calmly, almost with amusement. "I was thinking I'd like some dinner," he said prosaically.
Both Ron and Ginny appeared to be speechless with fury their anxiety transformed by Harry's cool unconcern.
"Don't!" Hermione said sharply. "Don't act as though nothing happened, as though you barely know us, as if you didn't draw that Sword in front of a roomful of Muggles."
Harry met her look with perfect cool and answered, "If you know all about it, there's nothing to discuss, is there?"
He tossed the sword back in his open trunk and began to pick up his scattered belongings, tossing them in without bothering to fold the clothes or stack the books.
"Merlin's Beard," Ron exclaimed. He drew his wand and said, "Why don't you just...," but Harry moved swiftly and stayed the wand so that Ron did not complete the clean up spell he'd meant to use.
"It's bad enough," Harry said, "that they came in and searched my room and Austin got his hand burnt on my sword. You want to add to it by doing magic here and knocking out the lights or something?"
"So it's true?" Hermione asked.
"That depends what they told you," Harry answered silkily.
"Bones told us," Ron said gruffly. He hesitated and then added, "He said you were upset."
"They thought I was taking drugs," Harry answered irritably. "At least, Austin did. I dunno what Norway really thought."
"Well, obviously," Ginny said with a sudden giggle, "neither of them thought they'd find a sword that would burn them or that you'd point it in their faces and practically shove it down their throats."
"It's not funny," Hermione said sharply. "It could have been a disaster." But she did not have the heart to lecture further, as a small smile tipped the corner of Harry's mouth and he said mischievously, "I ought to set a defensive spell on my trunk, so if they try to come in again, they'll get a real surprise."
"You will not!" Hermione answered. "You're the one that stopped Ron from even cleaning up."
"Yeah," Harry said more soberly. "But I'm, going to have to do something with the thing. I can't leave it so anybody can walk in and try to steal it. Maybe I'll have to take it to Gringotts and stow it in my vault."
"I think a spell on your trunk ought to be good enough," Ron said hastily, with only the smallest of coughs. "Like, anyone who tries to open it will turn into a toad." He snickered rather more loudly than the suggestion deserved, probably out of sheer relief that Harry was talking to them and acting halfway normally.
"Not a bad idea," Harry responded. "This ought to do even better." He drew his wand quickly and flicked it at the trunk. All of the clothes and books still jumbled about swept into it and the lid slammed closed. The lock on its front glowed gold and the reshaped itself in the form of a dragon. Harry hissed at it in what Hermione supposed was Parseltongue and the dragon slapped its wings once and then curled itself up to snooze.
"You can still speak Parseltongue?" Ron said.
"A useful talent," Harry answered. He added drily, "And fortunately, it's exceedingly rare. I don't think anyone will interfere with my things again."
***
Later, it was a minor irritation when Harry discovered his small bit of magic had erased the open file on his computer. They had been presented with a set of plans for a massive office-shopping complex, a scenario which involved a group of terrorists taking control of the complex through bomb threats and hostages, and instructions to devise a plan to defuse the situation without any of the captives being killed.
Harry had spent several hours plotting a sneak attack the complex's interior maintenance system complete with an exterior diversion. The entire file was empty now and would have to be reconstructed. Not for the first time, Harry wished he could simply wave his wand and make the picture appear by magic. Unfortunately, magic was the trouble in the first place. With a sigh of annoyance, he re-drew the plan and found himself thinking how much more difficult the terrorists would be to thwart if they were wizards instead.
