HARRY POTTER AND THE SWORD OF THE HERO

Chapter 15 - The Calm Before the Storm

Christmas--that magic blanket that wraps itself about us, that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance. It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance--a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved.

--Augusta E. Rundel

We’ll meet soon...

Harry awoke with a start, an intense burning in his head. But strangely not from his scar... it was something else, his dreams had spoken to him and it had hurt. He rolled over in bed as his conscious mind slowly let go of the pain. He counted backwards from ten, doing anything to distract himself from the burning. After a few minutes the pain did let up, and Harry sighed with relief.

It was just then that he realised it was Christmas. Christmas Day and he was at the Granger’s. It promised to be a nice calm day, with little to no distractions. Harry glanced at the clock on the wall across the room; it had just gone seven thirty. Not bad, he thought. I slept in today...

Harry rolled over and let his legs fall off the bed. He sat there for a minute and rubbed his eyes of sleep. With a heavy yawn he reached over to the cabinet and replaced his glasses. Ron was still heavily asleep in his bed, his snores echoing loudly throughout the room.

Harry walked gingerly, his limbs aching slightly from early-morning use. After a short visit to the bathroom, Harry changed from his pyjamas into his customary black shirt and jeans. He’d thought of buying some new clothes last Hogsmeade visit, but in the end decided that black suited him well enough. He returned to the bathroom and made a fool’s attempt to flatten his hair. He’d let it grow out a bit over the past month and it was just beyond his ears, not as scruffy as it had originally been, but manageable.

He also removed the earring of the griffin he’d gotten those long months ago in Diagon Alley. It felt like he’d got it years ago, when it had barely been three months. A lot had happened in those three months. Harry made a mental list... Dementor Attack, Order of Merlin disaster, Padma’s abduction, Diagon Alley massacre...

Harry still felt very guilty for what had happened to Padma, and if truth be told he missed talking to her. It had felt good to have someone close, too good, for it didn’t last. Harry shook his head as these thoughts began to cloud his mind. Not today. With a little sigh he replaced the earring and returned to the bedroom.

There was a moment’s silence in the room before it was shattered as the door burst open. “MERRY CHRISTMAS,” cried Hermione happily, jumping over and throwing her arms around him. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

Harry laughed as he saw sleeping Ron jerk awake so suddenly that he nearly fell out of the bed. Hermione’s scream had awoken him. “Merry Christmas,” he said, hugging her back as Ron stumbled to his feet with a little un-Christmas like cursing.

*~*~*~*

Ethan sat calmly in the small café, the world passing him by. He picked lazily at the bacon and eggs in front of him, he wasn’t really hungry. This café was a twenty-four hours, seven-days a week, three hundred and sixty five days a year, place. It was open, even on Christmas.

Rafe didn’t care that it was Christmas, though. He was waiting patiently for it to happen, as he knew it would soon. Over the past month his Mark had burned at least once every other day. Voldemort was stepping up his war.

It happened just as he finished his coffee. The burning tearing down into his flesh. A small gasp of pain escaped his lips but that was all. It s now or never... he thought. Time to face him...

Glancing around the café he made sure that no Muggle was watching, and with a deep breath and one last final moment of hesitation, Ethan Apparated to the source of the Mark.

*~*~*~*

“Thanks, Hermione,” said Harry happily as he unwrapped his present from her. It was a book, of course, entitled: Wandless Magic: Its Use & History. Harry briefly skimmed through the book before placing it to the side.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled.

Mrs. Granger also spotted the title of the book. “Is wandless magic easier than normal magic?” she asked.

Ron laughed and Hermione sighed. “For Harry it is. But it’s easier for the rest of us to use a wand.”

Harry smiled and sat back on the chair, eating a few jellybeans. Ron and Hermione knew about Gryffindor’s ability to perform complex wandless magic, and Harry wondered briefly if that would be in the book Hermione had gotten him. His being Gryffindor’s heir meant the ability had past on to him.

Also Ron, and the rest of the Weasleys, had gotten him something more practical than a book

It was a wand holster. An extremely nice and useful one. It was made of black dragon’s hide and was just as tough. It fit perfectly on to his right wrist and went roughly the length of his arm down to the elbow. It was enchanted; despite being basically indestructible, it was enchanted to send his wand flying into his hand with a simple thought. Harry was wearing it now and marvelled at its ability to send his wand shooting into his hand. It came so fast it was impossible to see it happen. Before he could blink it was in his hands. Also – and this was the feature Harry thought the most clever, was the wards and charms that the holster held and incorporated. If his wand was in the holster, it couldn’t be removed by anyone but the wearer, nor could the disarming charm remove it.

It was a very nice present.

Ron loved his Cannons book, and Hermione also liked hers. Also it appeared that Hermione and Ron chose their gifts for each other together. They both gave one another a golden necklace with half an amulet on it. When held together, the amulet formed a circular crest that depicted two figures in a lovers embrace. Harry thought it was quite touching, and a very ‘couple’ thing to do. Mr. and Mrs. Granger just smiled knowingly at the necklace, neither saying anything.

Harry was thankful that Grandma Granger was still asleep, and had denied all efforts to get her up and down stairs for the present opening. Harry felt it would have been a bit tricky explaining away all the magical items and books.

It was early morning, around ten, when everything was done with. Mrs. Granger had gone off to start cooking Christmas dinner, and, from what Harry could smell, it promised to be good. Grandma Granger had also woken up and was now helping in the kitchen. Mr. Granger kept walking in from time to time but Harry could tell he was more of a hindrance than a help, as Mrs. Granger constantly evicted him. So eventually he gave in, and watched the football video he’d received from his wife that morning.

Ron and Hermione were talking quietly on the sofa, smiles on their faces as they read from the same book. Harry was on the single chair across the room, just to the left of the Christmas tree, also reading his new book on wandless magic. The first thing he did was look up Godric Gryffindor, and he wasn’t disappointed. The book had a whole section devoted to him and the author wrote as if with a great reverence. He wrote with an awe and profound respect. Harry noticed this as he read:

Wandless Magic: Use in History

Chapter VIII: Godric Gryffindor

Probably the most famous practitioner of wandless magic in known history is Godric Gryffindor. One of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he gave his name, as did Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hugglepuff, to a house of the school. His proficiency in wandless magic has been unmatched since his death nine hundred and seven years ago...

Harry flicked to the inside cover of the book and checked the publication date. It was published two years ago; this information was recent and fairly accurate.

... at the age of one hundred and seventy. Many believe that Gryffindor’s long life, even by wizarding standards, was attributed to his connection with magic. Wandless magic, long believed an Art capable of only a select few, was second nature to Gryffindor, who was known to rarely use his wand to channel magic, relying more on his unique ability.

Through this magic Gryffindor accomplished many great deeds, one such deed was magically tying his family’s blade, his sword to himself and anyone in his direct bloodline. A magical blade, the sword of Gryffindor, could absorb low level to medium power curses...

Harry twisted his left arm and felt for the blade he knew to be there, just out of sight, should he ever need it. It had been a while since he’d called for it, but it was still there, still waiting. Harry could almost feel it in his hand, the cold metal brushing his skin, but it didn’t materialise. He would have had a hard time explaining that one away to Mr. Granger. He read on:

...and was Gryffindor’s weapon of choice in the final battle against the Dark Lord Slytherin...

Harry paused, his pose becoming rigid, all his thoughts now bent on the text. Nothing short of Voldemort himself arriving could have torn Harry’s eyes away from the page.

... on July 31st 998 A.D. at the ancient magic well of Stonehenge. This was the first defeat of a Dark Lord in documented history, and it cost Godric Gryffindor everything he loved. After the battle, Gryffindor disappeared, the surviving wizarding community praised their hero and promoted him to martyr. Gryffindor was believed dead, destroyed, his body gone but he was remembered because he took the darkness, Slytherin, with him.

Godric Gryffindor was, and still remains, the world’s strongest ever mage in the Art of wandless magic. He was remembered as a hero, the world’s saviour. Slytherin’s war over the purity of blood claimed thousands, if not hundreds of thousand of lives.

Harry stopped reading and sighed heavily, the impossible running through his mind. This had to be coincidence, he thought. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin a thousand years ago on July 31st, my birthday... It was incredible to say the least that the heir’s of the two founders; Harry Potter and Tom Riddle were locked in the same war to the death now, a thousand years later. With a small understanding of the enormity of it all, Harry returned to the book.

It is believed by some scholars in the Art that Gryffindor possessed such a rare talent in this field for the one task of defeating Salazar Slytherin, the talent has not returned in the past thousand years and experts say it is unlikely to surface again. Some also believe in the theory of pure light magic, and it was this pure magic that led Gryffindor to victory at the battlefield of Stonehenge. This author must stress that the theory of ‘pure magic’ has never been proven..

Harry stopped again, it was all too real. His abilities were that of Gryffindor’s. It had taken a thousand years and a new Dark Lord for them to return, but they had. Fate had given him the power to defeat Voldemort, the strongest Dark Lord ever, and it appeared that Gryffindor had also possessed the power, and it had robbed him of everyone he loved. Harry shivered at the thought, could he lose everyone to defeat Voldemort? No, he answered instantly. That cost would be too high...

While pure magic remains a fantasy, the fact still remains that Gryffindor possessed god-like abilities to match Slytherin with power that fateful night a millennia ago. That generation, and every generation since, owes their freedom and way of life to Godric Gryffindor.

Gryffindor did not return for seventy years after his defeat of Slytherin. When he did, he returned to the only place that he had ever called home, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was honoured beyond comprehension and revered by the world. Upon his return Gryffindor also brought with him a Muggle bride. One, Marietta Meraux Gryffindor, a French woman of noble birth, whom Gryffindor spent his seventy year absence with.

It is unknown why Gryffindor returned to the world where he was a hero after seventy years. At the time he was questioned by the only other surviving founder of the school, Helga Hufflepuff. In response to her question Gryffindor was quoted to say:

“Future millennia will require my blade to remain sharp. I will pass on the line of Gryffindor, for when the evil shall return my power will be most needed. The world has only just had a taste of the horror of war. It has begun.”

Harry finished reading and fell into deep thought for a moment before closing the book with a snap, and placing it onto the wooden table next to him.

*~*~*~*

One Hour Earlier 

Rafe Apparated.

The protean charm that came with the Dark Mark making sure he went to the right location. His immediate surroundings were that of darkness. An impenetrable darkness on all sides, blinding his eyes, dulling his senses. It was suffocating, relentless, and what’s more he wasn’t alone...

Ethan held his breath as an emotion spread through him he rarely felt. Fear... He was finally here. The Dark Lord was close. Rafe felt the small tingle on the back of his neck as Anti-Apparation wards were placed around the area. Ethan couldn’t tell, but they still allowed people to Apparate in, just not out.

There were several pops in the darkness as more and more servants to the Master arrived. Ethan greatly doubted that anyone could see him. Pop after pop, he counted at least six dozen before giving up. He remained fixed to the spot where he stood, and just managed to keep his mouth shut when he felt someone brush past him.

It was then that a realisation dawned on Ethan. He wasn’t wearing Death Eater robes... he would be picked out of the crowd instantly when the lights came on. Shit, he thought. Of all the things to forget... He concentrated as hard as he could and withdrew his wand, and then whispered the transfiguration spell. Almost instantly he felt his Muggle clothes transfigure into a long sweeping pair of black robes, complete with hood and mask.

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short lived. No sooner was his hood up than the room exploded in a light of dark green flame. Torches that lined the once invisible walls sprang to life with such ferocity that Rafe was momentarily dazzled by their brightness. After a moment, though, his eyes adjusted to the light and what he beheld made him wish it was still dark.

Despite what he could ever have imagined, or guessed from Potter’s description, the Dark Lord was the vision of his worst nightmares come to life. To Ethan it looked like Death himself. He was horrendous, he was hideous, and he scared the living shite out of him.

Rafe no longer held any confusion as to why people feared to look upon this monster. Cold, piercing, pitiless red eyes swept the room from a throne raised on a wooden dais barely ten metres away from where Ethan now stood. If he could, Ethan would have given anything to be able to look away, but he couldn’t. He stared at the Dark Lord with a fear felt only by those who stare into the face of their own mortality.

It was just then that Ethan realised that every other Death Eater in the room was getting to their knees in a bow to their master. Now that he looked, this room was huge. Clearly twice the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and everything was bathed in a green light from the torches on the wall. Not wanting to be noticed, Ethan knelt to the floor just like the rest of them.

It took a few minutes for the several hundred Death Eaters in the room to all get to their knees, and it wasn’t until they were before Voldemort spoke.

“Welcome...” he hissed and Ethan shivered in spite of himself. “... to my new home. I trust everybody is here.”

Ethan glanced up slightly and into the face of the Dark Lord. He was scanning the crowds adamantly, as if knowing each Death Eater by the way he bowed. If Ethan had known how close his guess was, he may have tried to escape. Voldemort surveyed the crowd for several moments before his face became as hard as ice.

“There is one too many here...” he whispered in his venomous voice. It travelled to every corner of the room. “Who dares to come before Lord Voldemort unmarked?”

Ethan was stunned now more than scared. Voldemort had known there was an extra person in the room – him. He had seemingly counted his minions, all three hundred or so, and known the exact number as one too many.

“WHO DARES TO COME BEFORE THE DARK LORD UNMARKED?” bellowed Voldemort, causing most in the room to recoil in fear.

Ethan, now it had come to it, was no longer scared. He was determined. With a courage surpassing anything he’d ever known, Rafe stood up and glared at Voldemort through his mask.

There was scattered whispering through the crowd as he stood, and a snake like grin spread across Voldemort’s face. “Foolish...” he whispered and then began to laugh.

Yeah laugh... laugh you old bastard... thought Rafe.

“Reveal yourself,’ cried Voldemort once his insane cackle had ended. Ethan paused for a moment, every eye in the room upon him, and then he thought; why not? He would certainly have surprise up his sleeve.

With a quick flick of his wand, Ethan changed his clothes back to their original form. He was now dressed wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and black jeans. His face was visible for the whole room to see. Ethan didn’t speak now that he stared straight into the face of evil.

“Who are you, boy?” demanded Voldemort, amused. “Why do you seek death?”

Ethan hesitated for a moment, and felt a stabbing in his mind, an invasion. Quick to counter, Rafe raised his mental defences from his short knowledge on Occlumency. It wasn’t enough to keep Voldemort out for longer than a minute, but it would do.

“Who are you?” repeated Voldemort, his wand now pointed at Ethan; they were roughly ten metres apart.

Ethan smiled, he smiled sadly. “You don’t recognise me?”

“Should I?” hissed the Dark Lord.

“No... you probably wouldn’t know me,” said Rafe, tightening his already vice like grip on his wand.

“You’re trying my patience, boy. How did you arrive at this place? Only the loyal, marked, Death Eaters can reach this place...”

Ethan was aware of the immense silence in the room. This obviously hadn’t happened before... With more than a little fear and anxiousness, Ethan continued, strengthening his mental shields as best he could so as to remain in eye contact with Voldemort.

“Don’t know about loyal, but I am marked, Voldemort,” he whispered, pulling back the sleeve on his shirt and raising his Dark Mark for the whole world to see.

It was only then that he let his mental shields down, and his memories became Voldemort’s. A look of what had to be surprise passed across the Dark Lord’s face as realisation hit him. Rafe smiled grimly.

“What’s the matter, dad? Did you forget to get me a Christmas present?”

*~*~*~*

Harry sat silently in his armchair, thinking about all he had learned from the wandless magic book. It was incredible, he thought. Absolutely amazing the way magic works. Gryffindor knew that Slytherin’s heir would carry on his war, and that his heir would have to fight him. Harry breathed in heavily and shook his head. So many impossible things had happened to him that this shouldn’t come as a surprise. He looked at his watch and discovered it had just gone quarter past one.

Hermione and Ron were still on the sofa, reading the same book, Mr. Granger was still watching the telly, and from the smell and the sound of things Mrs. Granger and Grandma Granger were still in the kitchen. Harry smiled at the feeling of happiness in the room. For all the darkness in the world, it was Christmas, he thought. And it should be celebrated.

His good thoughts didn’t last though as his scar burst with pain and he let out a small cry, his hand instinctively flipping to his forehead. Harry clenched his jaw and did his best to stifle the pain, but it was no use. Someone somewhere was experiencing the Cruciatus curse, and his scar was burning along with them.

“What is it, Harry?” asked Mr. Granger who had looked up when he cried. Harry ignored him, the pain was blinding.

“It’s his scar,” said Ron and Hermione in unison, rushing over to the chair, Hermione grasping his left hand whilst Mr. Granger walked over quickly – concerned but confused.

“What’s happening, Harry?” asked Ron.

The pain started to subside and Harry, leaving Harry panting. “Ah... Cruciatus, Voldemort’s torturing someone...”

“Did you see who?”

Harry shook his head. “No... I only felt the pain of the curse...”

Ron and Hermione both glanced at each other and both had a look of utter helplessness on their faces. There was nothing they could do but be there for Harry.

“What’s happening?” asked a very concerned looking Mr. Granger. “Harry, your scar is bleeding.”

Harry sighed and cursed under his breath as he felt the familiar trickle of blood down his right eyelid. He leaned across the chair and grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table; he then placed it against his slightly burning scar.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” asked Mr. Granger again.

“It’s him,” whispered Harry in a strained voice as another, painful stab ripped across his scar. “Voldemort. I can feel the magic he’s using.” Just like so many times before Harry didn’t know how he knew this, but he knew it was true. “And he’s definitely not using the tickling charm at the moment…”

Mr. Granger looked confused, then scared, then worried. “Shou- Should we get you to a doctor?”

“No,” whispered Hermione sadly. “It’ll pass, it always does...”

*~*~*~*

Ten Minutes Earlier 

“What’s the matter, dad? Did you forget to get me a Christmas present?”

The Death Eaters in the room for the moment forget their place, and there was scattered muttering and whispering. Rafe hardly noticed it though, as he stared deep into the eyes of his father, and his father stared unblinkingly right back at him.

“You are dead,” Voldemort hissed in his snake like voice. Not a threat, but what he believed.

Rafe showed no emotion upon his face, and his mental Occlumency shields were back in place, if only for a few minutes. “So were you...”

Silence reined in the room. That was until another Death Eater stood. This one had a black mask, which meant that they were a member of the inner circle. “Master, does this boy speak the truth?”

“He does indeed,” answered Voldemort, never taking his eyes off Ethan. “Return to your place, Bella...”

The masked Death Eater knelt back down in her place, and the rest of the room waited with baited breath for someone to speak, and make sense of this mess. “Why return now, boy?”

Ethan still didn’t show any emotion. His face was as hard as ice, as were his eyes. Nothing but two sharp chips that pierced the Dark Lord. He still held his wand tightly in his hand. “To put an end to the death!”

A look of confusion passed across the Dark Lord’s face as he took in what Ethan had said. It was only then that Ethan showed some emotion. His eyes burned with a fire of hatred for the demon before him, his father. The murderer and fear of the wizarding world for decades. Responsible for thousands of deaths, the Diagon Alley massacre... all of it. So many ruined lives all brought back to this monster. He would know justice.

Rafe cried in anger, wanting to hurt his father... no, not his father. He had no father. His father died that fateful Halloween night in 1981. Not even blood connected him to the monster, his blood was Potter’s. He and Harry shared a deeper connection. Rafe cried out again for the dead, and the fury took him.

“AVADA KEDAVRA,” he cried.

The jet of the curse burst out of his wand in a flash of green fire and sparks. It rocketed through the air and Rafe felt more powerful than he ever had in his entire life. The killing curse flew towards Lord Voldemort. It was closing the distance between them almost instantly... almost.

As a collective gasp rose from the assembled Death Eaters, Voldemort side-stepped the curse with a deadly speed, almost without any effort. The green jet of killing light shot past the Dark Lord and into his ‘throne’ behind him. The throne exploded in green flames and was reduced to ash in less than a second.

Ethan was quick to get over his first miss and raised his wand for another attack. But it was no good. Three hundred Death Eaters were on their feet in an instant, and drew their wands upon him. As did the Dark Lord, and Ethan stopped raising his arm halfway up, his wand hanging precariously from his fingers.

“Drop it, boy,” whispered Voldemort. Ethan hesitated, glancing at the numbers behind, in front, and to either side of him... he complied. Voldemort smiled. “I think it is clear where your loyalties lie...”

“FUCK YOU,” offered Rafe, raising his hand and giving Voldemort the finger. Several of the Death Eaters growled menacingly as he said and did this.

Voldemort laughed his insane cackle. It cut through Ethan like a knife. “You’ve chosen today to die. For a brief moment there I had hoped you would join me... but no matter. You are a disgrace to my blood...” he spat, raising his wand.

Despite it all Ethan smiled now. Faced with Death and he smiled. It is our choices that make us who we are... “We both know it’s not Riddle blood that flow’s through your veins, old man. It is his... and he will succeed where I’ve now failed. Like he did all those years ago. I’ve seen him, Voldemort, and I know him. You will know death. Potter-”

“CRUCIO,” cried an enraged Voldemort. Ethan collapsed as ever nerve in his body exploded with unbelievable pain. It burned into his very soul, ripping his nerve endings from their connections, tearing the flesh... He cried out but wasn’t aware of doing so. His entire world was pain, and would forever be pain. He couldn’t remember any other emotion but this one, as his mind slipped further and further away.

And six hundred miles away, Harry Potter burned along with him...

*~*~*~*

Mr. Granger went and got a glass of water from the kitchen. When he returned Harry gulped it down gratefully. “Thanks,” he croaked, his throat sore.

“Are you sure you didn’t see anything?” asked Ron.

“No... just the pain. Someone’s angered him.”

Hermione had begun to bite her nails, as she always did when she was nervous. “Do you think we should tell somebody?”

“Who?” asked Harry. “No one knows where he is. It would be pointless...”

“I think I’d like to know what’s going on,” said Mr. Granger, his voice slightly raised.

Harry sighed and winced slightly as a quick stab of pain ripped across his forehead. Whoever it is is still being punished, he thought. “I told you about destroying Voldemort as a baby,” said Harry and Mr. Granger nodded. “Well... because of that and a -err- combination of other... things, I sometimes feel his emotions or see him.”

Mr. Granger went slightly pale. “This is beyond me...” he whispered. “Will you be okay?”

“I will...”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a nervous, worried glance. It was Hermione that spoke first. “Maybe... maybe you should go get some rest before dinner...”

Harry looked at her and then at Ron and finally Mr. Granger in turn. “Yeah... yeah. I think I’ll do just that.”

Harry stood but swayed on his feet and both Ron and Mr. Granger jumped forward and grabbed one of his arms. “We’ll see you up the stairs, Harry,” nodded Mr. Granger.

So Harry half-walked and was half-carried up the stairs to his room. For some reason this attack had really sapped all his strength. The blood from his scar had hardened now, stopping the flow, so Harry pocketed the tissue as they reached the room.

Thirty seconds later and Harry was on the bed, relaxing from the pain. Mr. Granger, Hermione, and Ron told him to call if he needed anything and then left him to the much needed quiet. Harry sighed heavily into his pillow and grit his teeth as his scar burned anew. It wasn’t as painful as before, which meant a lesser curse than Cruciatus was being used for torture. He found himself hoping that it was a Death Eater who had earned this pain, and not someone innocent or from the Order.

These dark thoughts took Harry all the way into a restless sleep, where he didn’t dream – which was a small mercy indeed.

It was a good few hours before Harry awoke again to the world. The first thing he noticed was the dry, sickly feeling in the back of his throat, the other was the continued burning of his scar. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t really slept a lot over the past few hours. He remembered waking up every now and again but falling back to sleep almost instantly.

Harry coughed to clear his throat and rolled off the edge of the bed. He swayed unsteadily for a moment before his eyes focused. His watch told him it was five thirty. He sighed... This has been a good Christmas, he thought, but it’s a shame I slept through half of it.

Harry made his way down the stairs. About halfway down the stairs the smell of Christmas dinner assaulted his nose, and it made him feel suddenly hungry. It had been about a day or so since he’d eaten anything, and was in much need of food.

“Harry?” said a familiar voice from the living room entrance.

“Hey, Ron,” he whispered, easing himself down the final few stairs.

“You okay now?” asked Ron in an anxious voice.

Harry sighed as his scar continued to burn slightly. It wasn’t overly painful, but it was annoying. “Yeah, slept it away. I’m good now,” he answered.

Ron seemed convinced. “That’s good. I was just coming up to get you actually, dinner’s almost ready.”

Harry smiled. “Great. I’m starving.”

Harry followed Ron back into the living room, which was empty, and then through the side door and into the festively decorated dining room.

Hermione and Mr. Granger were already seated at the table, and Harry and Ron each took a seat across the left hand side of the table. Harry next to Ron, who was next to Hermione. As the conversation between the other three wheeled around him, Harry had a look around the room. Tinsel was draped across practically everything; from the curtains to the back of the chairs. Candles were dotted around the room which were the only source of light. The burned slowly, casting dancing shadows across the walls and ceiling. Harry watched them dance, and all the while his scar still burned.

*~*~*~*

“Argh...” cried Rafe for what felt like the millionth time as the Cruciatus curse connected him with Voldemort’s wand. Rafe had trapped himself within his own mind, keeping what he knew to be his self deep away from the pain. But it still hurt.

Ethan could no longer remember how long he’d been here, alone with the darkness and at the mercy of a demon. It felt like an eternity stretched past forever. In fact time no longer had any meaning; only the pain pierced his almost ruined consciousness.

Though he had been fighting it. Fighting the questioning probe that searched through his head for answers buried deeper than the spike of pain itself. One small part of him hid the information that could be harmful if known... but his Occlumency wasn’t the best, and he had endured several hours of mind numbing torture and pain.

The part of Ethan that still knew right from wrong cried out when finally the weak shields fell, and Voldemort gained access to his hidden information.

Rafe barely heard the insane laughter as his ears were clogged with dried blood, but he managed to catch a few of the words that his ‘father’ spoke.

“A stronger will and mind than most, boy, but in the end you fell to Lord Voldemort, as all do” There was that evil laughter again – dead annoying. “And now I see something of interest... so Potter is spending his holiday with the Mudblood. This is perfect. You have failed your hero, Ethan!”

In the part of his mind that still felt, Ethan began to feel an enormous sense of despair. Harry... he thought as the pain returned. I’m sorry, Harry...

Yet in that same thought his mind whispered something else, something lined with silver hope… You won’t beat him, Voldemort, he thought, and then went spiralling down into the darkness and bliss of unconsciousness.

*~*~*~*

Harry was hard put to it to hide the constant stinging in his scar as dinner progressed. Even though he was very hungry, he had hardly touched the food in front of him. And it did look good. Mrs. Granger had really cooked up a feast that even a house elf would envy. She sat opposite Harry now, and was smiling as she sipped her wine and the conversation progressed.

Harry hadn’t contributed much to the conversation, the burning making him feel too tired. But he noticed that Grandma Granger, who sat at the head of the table to his right, wasn’t talking much either, but was almost constantly staring at him. Harry was slightly unnerved under her piercing glare, but he pretended not to notice.

After picking half-heartedly at the turkey on his plate so as not to appear rude, Harry sighed heavily and wished with every fibre of his being that the pain would stop. It had never burned this fiercely, or for so long. And he only felt the pain, nothing more. No visions or emotions.

“Are you okay, Harry?” asked Mrs. Granger at one point during the meal.

“Hmm... Yeah, yeah I’m fine. The food is really good, by the way.”

Mrs. Granger smiled. “Thank you.”

“You have really out done yourself this year, dear,” commented Brian Granger.

“Well I wanted it to be special since we have Hermione home this year, and her friends as well,” she finished with a warm glance at Ron and Harry.

“I’ve missed Christmas here,” said Hermione.

“And we’ve missed having you, dear,” agreed Mrs. Granger.

Harry zoned out of the talk but was still aware of Grandma Granger watching him out of the corner of his eye. The pain was coming in short bursts now, relenting for a few minutes before burning up again, he was sure his scar must appear flame red, but no one at the table mentioned it.

There was a clawing at his feet and Harry looked under the table to see that damn cat again. It had been following him around ever since its arrival with Grandma Granger yesterday and never missed an opportunity to claw at his feet. The cat had an obsession with toes.

“Cracker, Harry?”

Harry jumped out of his thoughts. “Sorry?” he asked turning to Ron who was holding a Christmas cracker. “Oh, cracker.”

Ron laughed and Harry grabbed the other end of the red festive cracker. CRACK! The cracker snapped and Harry and Ron each fell slightly back. More of the cracker was in Harry’s hand; he’d pulled it enough and had won.

Harry smiled as he poured the contents onto the table in front of him. There was the customary cracker hat, a small plastic elephant, and a piece of paper with a joke on it.

“You have to put the hat on, Harry,” said Hermione happily. She and Ron were already sporting their paper hats, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger were in the process of cracker pulling. Harry obliged.

CRACK! Mr. Granger’s cracker went off. “What’s the joke in yours, Harry?” asked Mrs. Granger when her husband had adorned his hat.

Harry picked up the small slip of paper and read it to himself quickly, before groaning at how stupid it was. He shook his head and laughed. “What nationality is Santa Claus?” He paused for a moment. “North Polish...”

There were many more groans and a few small giggles at this and Harry tossed the paper aside. For that moment he had forgotten about his scar pain, but now it came back in full force and he winced slightly as it returned. It was no longer burning, but was now more of a dull throb, like that of a really bad headache. He sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that night and took a sip of his sparkling champagne.

Dinner gave way to dessert, which was a very delicious Christmas pudding. Harry found space for it and was soon sitting back at the table with his hands on his stomach, content. A look at his watch told him it had just gone seven. It has been a different sort of Christmas, he thought. Not as merry as he had envisioned it, but good none the less.

Despite the scar pain it had been good.

After the plates and trays had been cleaned away, the whole family plus Ron and Harry moved into the warm living room. Harry placed himself in the soft chair by the large ornamental fireplace and rested his eyes slightly. When he glanced at the fireplace he recalled the floo powder that Dumbledore had given him: just in case... He was glad it hadn’t been needed.

Harry looked calmly around the room and saw Mr. Granger explaining the finer points of football to Ron, with the help of a video of course. Hermione, her mother, and Grandma Granger were all talking on the sofa by the Christmas tree. His scar was not relenting anymore and the headache, if it were possible, had worsened; with everyone distracted, Harry took this opportunity to sneak out to the kitchen unnoticed.

Once in the kitchen Harry passed by all the pots and pans that had been used that day and walked briskly over to the back door and opened it onto the world. Harry stepped out onto the back porch. The cold air outside was very refreshing and much needed. Harry felt his head clear slightly as he breathed in the fresh air deeply, along with several snowflakes.

It wasn’t snowing that much, but the night sky was heavy with snowflakes and Harry watched them fall gracefully to earth as he stood with his arms resting on the wooden barrier that prevented a fall off the porch and into the garden.

It was calming out here in the garden. Everything was peacefully quiet and Harry didn’t really feel the cold as his hair slowly filled with small dots of snow. He stood there wondering about the victim who had been tortured relentlessly today. It had been about seven hours since his scar had started burning and it hadn’t stopped since, though it had lessened in that time and now even further in the clearness of the night air.

Despite this being a heavily populated area, Harry couldn’t help but marvel at the quietness of the world around him. There was not a single noise anywhere, no animals, cars, or even wind pierced the quietness of the night. Harry loved it. He felt that were he to shout into the darkness it would carry for miles.

After a few minutes something did get his attention, though. There was a swoosh and a loud screech broke the quietness of the world around Harry. On instinct Harry thought for his wand and an instant later his new wand holster had pushed it up into his hand.

Harry relaxed, though, when a familiar owl landed gracefully on his shoulder. It was the Weasley’s owl Errol, and he was carrying a small envelope. Harry removed the envelope and thanked the owl. Errol hooted appreciatively but didn’t take flight just yet. The bird was old; it was recuperating from its flight on his shoulder.

Harry smiled and stroked the owl’s neck for a moment before returning to the letter. It was a simple envelope and his name was on the front in a plain black ink. He vaguely recognised the handwriting. The letter itself was too heavy to be just paper, there was something else in the envelope, something metallic.

Harry broke the small red wax seal and first removed the parchment from within.

Dear Harry,

Thank you so much. Your gift was perfect... I wish I could have thought of something that is as thoughtful for you. Anyway I bought this that day in Hogsmeade. To be honest I didn’t have the courage to send it until I opened the journal from you. Thank you again, Harry.

Love Ginny

Harry smiled and re-read the letter several times before folding it and placing it in his pocket. Love Ginny, he thought... With Errol still on his shoulder, and the snow still falling slowly through the quiet, calm night, Harry tipped the envelope upside down and let fall the gift inside onto his palm.

It was a ring. Harry picked it up off his palm with his other hand and inspected it closely with a warm smile. He saw the hallmark on the inside of the band that denoted it was real silver. It was very shiny and clear, and there was a pattern around the band of a repetitive curling wave, like the rise and fall of the ocean.

Harry smiled again and thought of Ginny as he placed the ring on the index finger of his right hand. It looked good he thought as light from the kitchen behind him caused it to sparkle and reflect the flakes of snow that swirled across the night. It wasn’t until Harry looked properly into the ring, that he realised he wasn’t alone.

As quick as a flash Harry whirled around and came face to face with Grandma Granger. He realised several things in quick succession; One: Errol was still on his shoulder, Two: he had his wand holster visible complete with wand, and three: she didn’t seem shocked by any of this.

“I saw you from the kitchen, dear,” she said with a clam, warm, knowing smile.

Harry was deeply confused. “I -err-... what?”

She continued to smile warmly and then reached out to stroke Errol. “No need to worry, dear. I know all about your world and magic.”

Harry didn’t think his confusion could increase, but it did. “How? You’re a Muggle.”

Grandma Granger shook her head slightly and smiled once more as Errol, now rested, took flight. “No I’m not, though I’m not a witch either... and I’ve been alive long enough to see that the world isn’t as logical as it sometimes may appear.”

Harry thought for a moment. If she’s not a Muggle, and she’s not a witch? Then she must be... “You’re a squib?” asked Harry.

Grandma Granger nodded appreciatively. “You’re a fast one. My parents were magical, I wasn’t.”

“And you live in the wizarding world?” asked Harry, who had gotten over the initial shock of it all.

Her old face dropped a little. “No... I haven’t had contact with that world for fifteen years.”

“Why?” asked Harry.

She smiled once more. “Because of you.”

Harry stepped back, his brow furrowed. “Me? I would have only been a year old at...” Harry trailed away as he realised what Grandma Granger was saying. “Oh, right.”

“Fifteen years ago I was already living the life of a Muggle. Twenty years ago my parents were killed by You-Know-Who-”

“Voldemort,” cut in Harry.

Grandma Granger winced at his name, even after fifteen years. “Yes, by him. I was forty when they died and was married to a Muggle. I never told my husband about that world, and after my parents’ death I never went back to it. My husband and I had a son, Brian, he was just out of college when they died and also didn’t know about magic. So I just left... there was nothing keeping me there and the Muggle world was a lot less cruel.”

“But you said you left it when I was one...” frowned Harry.

“No I didn’t. I said I left it twenty years ago, I cut off all contact to it fifteen years ago,” she said with a strong note in her voice - defiance. “You see, I still received an issue of the Prophet everyday. And everyday there would be more and more deaths caused by him and his Death Eaters. Except one day... Sunday November 1st, 1981. The day the world knew peace; my copy of the Prophet arrived The story, You-Know-Who was dead, and you had done it, you were the Boy Who Lived, gaining nothing more than a lightning bolt shaped scar on your forehead for the trouble.”

Harry turned away and went back to leaning against the rail, watching the snow. He realised that his scar was no longer hurting. “And?”

“And after reading that I had a sense of closure. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was dead; my parents’ murderer had seen justice and I no longer had any reason to keep in touch with that world.”

Harry sighed and turned around to face the elderly squib. “He’s back now, you know...”

She nodded grimly. “Yes... I know. I saw enough of you and your scar today to figure that out.”

Harry nodded but then a thought came to him. “Does your son, Brian, know that you know about the wizarding world?”

Grandma Granger shook her head. “No, and please don’t tell him or anyone else. I’ve lived the last thirty years as a Muggle and plan to keep doing so. I have no patience for the world where nightmares live and breathe, and slaughter the innocent.”

Harry nodded again. “I won’t tell anyone...”

“Thank you, dear. Humbug?”

Harry smiled as the small white paper bag of liquorice humbugs was offered again. “Thanks,” he said, taking one and placing it in his mouth.

“It’s cold out here,” she said after a moment. “Let’s go back inside before we’re missed, dear.”

Harry took a final look at the snow covered landscape and turned around with a nod. If Grandma Granger wanted her past to remain a secret and she had told him, then Harry wouldn’t break that confidence. As he walked back into the kitchen behind her she spoke once more.

“I’ve taken my subscription to the Prophet out again, Harry. I hope one day to see the same news I saw those fifteen years ago...”

Harry didn’t say anything to this but just nodded his head ever so slightly and went back into the living room to rejoin his friends, a thousand and one new thoughts and questions rolling around in his head...

And his scar burning anew.

*~*~*~*