Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Four Lessons Redux
I’ve got a job to do, and I do it. Listen: even as we’re talking, I’m there for old and young, innocent and guilty, those who die together and those who die alone. I’m in cars and boats and planes; in hospitals and forests and abattoirs. For some folks death is a release, and for others death is an abomination, a terrible thing.
But in the end, I’m there for all of them.
Death in Dream Country
Harry could see the wizard who had tied him to the statue now, his face lit with malice. He recognized him dimly as the man who had tried to kill the Hippogriff last year. McDougall? Mac-Something or Other. There a bundle of blankets on the ground, and an immense snake coiled near it.
The man had revealed a giant cauldron, and Harry thought dimly of The Wizard and the Hopping Pot, but then he caught sight of that thing wrapped in the cloths. It wasn’t a child like Harry first thought, and he could barely keep the bile in this throat from rising. A solution bubbled, and ingredients were being added, he recognized the pearly glow of unicorn blood, and Harry knew whom the false baby was. Who else would dare to live a half life? The man took Voldemort and placed him in the cauldron, and Harry wished with all of his might that it would drown.
“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son.” The grave under Harry’s feet cracked, and dust rose from it, and settled in the cauldron, turning it blue.
(Blue is Illusion, Voldemort wasn’t a baby at all, and he would not drown in the Cauldron)
“Flesh of the Servant, willingly given, you will revive your master.” Harry knew what was going to happen, and he did not avert his eyes. He saw the hand sever from the arm, and land with a horrifying splash in the bubbling potion. The potion turned a glowing red. (Red is life, Voldemort was so close now.) Blood was pouring from the arm now, and the man wrapped up the stump after placing some sort of solution on it. Harry dimly registered that that solution would be useful, before the man stood before him.
“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe”. A blade cut Harry on his arm, and a vial came to collect the blood that was spilled. Harry was grateful that he hadn’t gone for the neck.
Pouring it into the cauldron, the solution began to smoke, and turned a blinding white color. (White, the color of new beginnings, oh sweet irony) and a large cloud of white began to bubble from it. And then rose a man, or something like a man, with two legs and two arms, and Voldemort had risen once more. And Harry could feel him, the power, the hatred, the overwhelming amount of energy that he had at his power, and he heard his cold voice. He understood why people never said his name.
And for the first time in years, Harry felt fear.
He started to laugh, he couldn’t believe that he, at age eleven, had thought he stood a match to this. His vow, to make Voldemort pay was a dream, no not a dream, less than that, a pathetic mockery of a dream. He tugged at the ropes holding him to the statue, and even with his skills, his training, he was not able to escape. A harsh truth hit him, he had over estimated himself.
Voldemort had gone over to talk to his servant, and Harry could not focus on what they were saying. There were some words, and the man lifted his undamaged arm, and Voldemort pressed his finger upon the skin. Then he approached Harry and spoke.
“You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father.” There were more words, but Harry wasn’t listening much, all he could think of was how much he wanted to be anywhere but here. And then he was.
His mind swum and then he was laying on a plush cushion of velvet. Harry couldn’t move, but he felt a soft caress of hand in cheek and a finger entwining in his hair. A pair of lips descended by on his ear that whispered in gentle tones.
“I warned you Harry. I tried to warn you at the dance, but you wouldn’t listen. If you weren’t so stubborn I wouldn’t have had to take these steps. And what better way to make you feel again than bringing in the person most like you. Your very soul can feel how wrong everything about him is, I know it. But you are becoming so much a like him Harry, and I didn’t want to loose you like I lost him. Of course, he was never as fascinating as you." Desire's tapped his cheek lovingly.
"But you got full of yourself, thinking that you could triumph over me! So I made a lesson for you Harry, a little lesson of humility to make you realize, you can’t win against us. Things didn’t have to turn out this way, I tried to lure you with fame, and fortune, and females, but you just had to go and be stubborn. And now look at the mess that you’ve gotten yourself in. I’m not so bad Harry, just close your eyes and taste what I have to offer.”
Harry, with nothing else to do but feel the pounding of his heart, explored his desire.
There were whispers in the air, and the warm sensations of something indefinable, and he felt the effect of his mother’s love, protecting him. He delved inside his own emotions, and he realized that he did care about other people, and recalled his earlier beliefs. He thought of them as expendable, and felt no guilt in hexing them to prepare for the third task. Somewhere along the line he had stopped thinking of them as friends, and started to think of them as obligations. There was a flicker of remorse, before he moved on. He recalled Sirius’ grave face when the Dark Mark appeared, and the friendship that they shared. The feelings were rising again, and the warmth of belonging wrapped around him. He wished he could stay in The Threshold forever. But it would end.
It always ended.
That was enough to send him away from Desire’s realm and once again into the crisp, cool world of Despair. Laying on the ground, he was completely hidden by the mist on the ground, but he was aware of the tug on his heart, The portrait of his mother was before him, her arms spread out, and the tears of in her eyes still frozen in place. There were tiny feet scuttling over his body. Despite the fact he was wearing shoes, he could feel the rats nibble on his toes.
He wanted to get away, away, and thaw himself out. He wanted to be away, and warm and like the sunshine, and so he journeyed to Delirium’s realm for escape. He couldn’t move there either as he attempted tried to run, but then he realized he didn’t have any legs, that he had actually turned into a rubber duck.
“Delirium,” he quacked amid the crayon colored skies. There was no reply, just the sound of money falling from the sky, the beating of his heart, and the sound of a thousand butterflies. And then there he was floating and swirling, pulled into a direction beyond his control. And he opened his eyes and saw himself, huddled on the ground and shaking. Shocked, he pressed his hands against his lips, chewed at his fingernails, and he didn’t remember painting them. Words came from his mouth, as if there were someone else in control.
“I think you lost yourself.”
…where was he again?
The rough texture of the statue at his back and the cruel stare of Voldemort reminded him. There were loud popping noises, and men in cloaks Apparated around the three. They all bent down to kiss the robes of the villain, before stepping back. They formed a circle around Harry who was trapped, a sitting duck. The world was a flat grey color, it still wasn’t safe.
Voldemort was telling a story, but Harry could only hear snippets of words, drowning in his own fear and exhaustion. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to be here, not one bit. And so he tried to pull away, except he didn’t know how. If he could, he would have fallen apart, and maybe burst into a pile of marbles, or sheets of paper, or specks of dusk to get away. But he was human, and he was mortal, and he couldn’t. So he did the next best thing, he pulled himself away, bit by bit. He dipped into the insanity, the shapeless blob of color residing in his mind. His madness would keep him sane, because the only other option was to face the truth of his nightmares. And Harry was not brave.
It wasn’t fair, everything was going so well. He had stopped Quirrell, oh yes he had, and there was a song,and a swish and then the teachers was nothing but the diary, and Ginny, and the ink that wasn’t really ink, but blood and there was a ghost girl in a bathroom, and proof of legends. And the forgetting, which wasn’t good, but it all worked out again, because later on, he became whole again.
That was nice.
And everything was going so well, and he freed someone, well not really, the man freed himself, but now everyone wasn’t trying to put him in a cage anymore, and that was good because Harry hated cages, even pretty ones.
And then the father, and the elf,and the son, who had been stuck in a cage of his own for years,
and didn’t people know that cages aren’t good. And everything should have been fine,
it should have been sunshine and rainbows, and Quidditch Games, so what went wrong?
And now he wasn’t in a cage right now, there was a trap instead, and he could feel the ropes digging in his arm.
He didn’t want to be here.
Harry desperately wished someone would help him, he wanted someone to come, anyone really. Just so he wouldn’t be alone. He was tired of being alone.
Oh, but now he wasn’t. Delirium was there, just outside the circle. She had one of her hands pressed to her lips, and was chewing her fingernails. He could see her mismatched eyes looking at him in anxiety. She was wearing that necklace, some kind of coin was hanging from it, and Harry thought it might be familiar. Del was saying something to him, but he couldn’t quite hear anything.
(“I think you lost yourself.”)
And Harry remembered some things.
He remembered the rubber duck she gave him.
He remembered the rubber duck that sat in his trunk.
He remembered the single hug given to him, before second year, wishing he had the courage to return it.
He remembered the nine other ducks he gave to the Weasley’s and wished that duck ten had been placed with theirs .
He desperately didn’t want to be alone anymore, and he came to the realization that it was mostly his fault for pushing them away.
The uncertainty of his rekindled emotions were drowning him and he found it difficult to breathe. His heart was twisting, burning, causing him to feel raw and vulnerable. He cursed his Desire, his weakness, his humanity. But then if he wasn’t human, what would he be? Would he be Voldemort. Voldemort, French for “flee from death.” How stupid. You can’t flee from Death, she was everything, and everywhere, and she was what made life real and special. He really didn’t want to be like Voldemort, so he huddled on the ground, and missed people.
He appreciated Ron’s jokes, and his lack of tact. He missed Daphne’s biting comments, and the way she watched out for him. There was Hermione with her unexplainable love of books, and her naïve belief in rules. Neville’s awkwardness tempered by his honesty, Ernie’s pompousness, Sirius’ loyalty, and the simple way that McGonagall looked out for him.
Voldemort was close, so close, and he placed a single finger upon Harry’s cheek, and he hurt so much.
He hurt and hurt and hurt, and then it was gone, an eternity in one second. And he could hear laughter and he was laughing with them and he wasn’t happy at all, but he really couldn’t help it.
Because it wasn’t funny at all,
but he tried to explain, because all of the Death Eaters were looking at him now.
He had never really been comfortable as the center of attention, he was too used to the shadows. So he tried to explain.
“I should have been a rubber duck.” And they still looked at him strangely, and he tried to explain some more.
“Better a rubber duck, than a sitting duck.” He wasn’t supposed to be a sitting duck. There were mutterings and he knew they were talking behind his back, and if he was free, oh if he was free, he would do something about it, he wasn’t quite certain what.
But it would hurt.
“Look at Potter shake. He knows that I am the most powerful wizard alive. Even now he trembles in fear,” Voldemort said. Harry knew he was crazy, knew that sometimes the pieces were missing but the duck thing made sense, it really did. He knew that much.
“I’m rubber, you’re glue, whatever you do, bounces off of me and sticks to you.” He peered at Voldemort from beneath his hair. And then he laughed again, and he could feel, feel, feel their anxiety. (The Death Eaters would never admit it, but they were unsettled by the strange glow of Harry’s eyes by the fire. A few months later, the Death Eaters would recognize the same sort of laugh from Bellatrix Lestrange, and they would shiver.)
Voldemort’s eyes widen slightly at the taunt, his face slightly fearful, before covering in a mask of contempt.
“I miscalculated my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. What I was, even I did not know… I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal, to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments worked… for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it.”
Harry felt his bonds loosen, and he fell to the ground, he knees shaking. He was tired, his ribs made it difficult to breath, and his hand had begun to blister. He turned around, looking at the Death Eaters that surrounded him. He couldn’t really tell any of them apart, although he did recognize the signature Malfoy hair peeking out from a hood. A small part of Harry curled in anger, Draco was only a month older than Harry, and yet he was perfectly content to let him be tortured. He pointed his finger to all of them, damning them.
“Goose, Goose, Goose, Goose.” Then in a moment of sheer inspiration, he pointed to himself. “Duck!”
See! The duck thing does make sense. Their goose is cooked, he told someone.
"I know, Harry."
The voice that spoke to him was familiar, achingly familiar, and he spun around trying to catch sight of who it was who spoke back to him. It wasn’t Del, this voice was far more gentle and knowing.
“So, Harry Potter, you have one more choice, join me or die. I’m certain I could make some use for you. At least you have proven that I have remained, despite death’s attempt to claim me.” Voldemort hissed, his eyes glinting with amusement. Harry knew that an answer was required, gripping at his hair to remember how to speak, it took great effort to communicate.
“You, hurt people. I hurt. It’s wrong.”
“There is no right or wrong Potter. There is only power and those too weak to seek it,” Voldemort said, his face twisted into a cruel smirk.
The phrase was familiar to Harry, but there was a slight alteration to it. He had gone over it many times, and it helped get through some of his more difficult days.
“You added a ‘k’” Harry mumbled.
The Lessons. The near repetition of the familiar phrase helped to clear the fear that gripped his body, and the chaos that reigned in his mind. His mind grasped onto it, and the madness slipped from him. Harry looked at him, trying desperately to focus. Voldemort made no response.
“It’s ‘There is no right or wrong. There is only power and those to weak to see it.’” A tablet next to Harry’s bed said it, and the words and meanings behind them came easily. “You can’t own power, you can only hope to know it.”
"Well, aren’t you just precious? It’s so hard to find people who understand."
It was the voice again and now he could see the speaker. Death was sitting on a tombstone to Harry’s left, and Del had moved to her side, looking less worried. Voldemort laughed.
“Such a fool Potter. If that were true, then I would not be alive. I was successful, not even death can touch me now.” He saw Death’s nose wrinkle at this and Harry felt a stab of loyalty, his voice growing stronger.
“You avoided Death. You won’t stay forever; everything has an end,” his voice becoming more assertive with every repetition.
There are ways around everything, but perhaps not in the way you desire.
Voldemort looked angry at this, and he could feel a small shift from the other Death Eaters.
“McNair, give him his wand.” The man who had attacked Harry came forward, and Harry had a fleeting impulse to stab him in the neck with a knife.
“You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?”
He thought vaguely of the Dueling Club that Lockhart held, and snorted.
“We bow to each other Harry, the niceties must be observed…. Bow to death Harry.” The Death Eaters were laughing again, and Harry, still wobbly and a bit loopy turned to his left. If he had been sane, he would have not obliged. He could see her sitting on a tombstone, a small smile on her lips.
Death is the force of equality, look into its eyes and stand proud.
The glow from the cauldron fire made her hair sheen. He bowed to her deeply, and he was barely aware of her bright laughter before it was drowned out by Voldemort’s angry voice.
“Do you find death funny Potter?” He looked at Death, she had placed her elbows on her knees and shook her head.
“I don’t know her very well.” Harry was turning to face Voldemort when the Cruciatus Curse struck and pain, horrible pain crawled into his bones once more. Then it was over, and he sat there shaking on the ground, wand useless at his feet.
But pain was something familiar to Harry, and it cleared the last mists of his fear away. The final lesson came to his mind.
To know yourself, is to be powerful. To know others, is to be wise. To know both is to be a gift.
Like a paintbrush on a blank canvas, Harry found himself again. What was even more important Voldemort didn’t know him. He thought he had an idea of who Harry was, but he didn’t know that he was the one who caused Quirrell’s death, who stopped a plan created by Malfoy, who learned Death was what defined life. He didn’t know about the bag of sand, or Delirium’s rubber duck that she had not given him, yet still worked. He didn’t know many things about Harry. But Harry knew that Voldemort feared Death.
A vague plan in his head, he stood to his feet. The worst that could happen was his death, and thinking of the woman behind him, Harry was not frightened.
“A little break,” said Voldemort. “That hurt, didn’t it Harry? You don’t want me to do that again, do you”
Harry didn’t answer. Death was shaking her head; she was not here for him.
“I asked you whether you want me to do that again,” said Voldemort softly. “Answer me! Imperio!” Harry felt a floating sensation and shook his body from it quickly; he had just come back to himself. It would be foolish to loose the pieces to his mind now.
“You won’t say no? Perhaps another little dose of pain?” Harry already flung himself out of the way, and he heard it crack when it missed him.
“We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry. You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel?”
“Bravery is for those who aren’t smart enough to come up with a plan,” Harry called out. But he heard Voldemort coming towards him, and knowing he had little choice, stepped out to duel him. Time to duel.
“Avada Kedavra.”
“Expelliarmus.” Harry wished he knew a better spell. Truth be told, there were a few nastier ones in his arsenal, but the only chance he had of surviving all involved Voldemort disarmed for a second. And then something unexpected happened.
The spells collided and formed beads of shimmering lights, he heard Del laugh in joy. They entrapped Harry and Voldemort in a dome, and the Death Eaters prowled the outside. A high trilling sound filled the air, Harry thought it might have been hope. Death spoke.
Don’t break the connection.
Voldemort was looking at the wand’s in fear, and Harry did not. It was a potent thought; that Death had his back.
And the wands shuddered, and a bead of light connecting the two headed towards Voldemort and spells began to appear. They had already been cast, their power dead and gone. He heard screeches of pain, and a misty echo of MacNair’s new arm. And then something larger appeared. There were several goblins, and Harry was mystified why they appeared. A man came out Voldemort’s wand and encouraged Harry. By the way he spoke, Harry could tell he was a Muggle. It looked like another person was emerging from the wand, his parents.
He didn’t want to see his parents. They were dead, and Harry never really knew them, but the thought they might be disappointed in him was too much.
Too much of a risk.
So he wrenched the wand tightly and the strands of energy broke. Time was precious, and he only had a few seconds.
He attempted to make a run for it, but there was a wall of wizards in his way, and even as he was running towards them, he could see that it wouldn’t work. The world in his eyes was still a flat grey color, there was no safety available. Perhaps if he held onto his wand longer it would have been more of a distraction. McNair was directly in his path and the new silver arm seemed to reenergize the man, allowing him to get a firm grasp of Harry’s arm, wrenching it to the side with a sharp twist. Harry’s eyes watered with the pain, but he held in his cry while his hand fumbled inside his robes. Coming in contact with two vials, he withdrew them into his palm, careful to conceal their presence by struggling with McNair.
MacNair pulled him forward, drawing him closer to Voldemort, who stood near the large cauldron where he was reborn.
Harry summoned his energy, and wrapped his arms around MacNair, attempting to spin him around like he had with the girls during the Yule Ball. The ridiculous image to caught the Death Eaters off guard, and some of them were too busy snorting in laughter to notice the vials slip from Harry’s hand into the still burning fire underneath the cauldron.
Of course, they hadn't heard Fred's warning either.
The cauldron exploded, and shrapnel flew everywhere. MacNair received a great deal of it in his back from being so close, his body growing limp in Harry’s arms. All of the Death Eaters had fallen on the ground, most of them clutching parts of their body in pain. Dropping the dead weight, Harry ran for it, leaping over a prostrate Death Eater who was moaning on the ground.
He could hear them say a few spells behind him, and Voldemort’s cries. The giant snake was in his path, so large that he could see it despite the low moonlight. Its fangs were bared, and Harry balanced on a couple of headstones to avoid it.
“Stun him!” Voldemort called out in anger.
Harry dived behind an angel and saw the tip of its wing shatter as the spells hit. Gripping his wand tightly, he dashed out from behind the angel… he just needed keep some distance, buy some time.
“The boy has no means of escape! Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!” shrieked Voldemort. Harry was running past Death, and she blew him a kiss. He twisted his head ever so slightly, and he could feel her touch, and a green light shattered a tombstone right by him.
He turned sharply to his right, shielded for a couple moments behind a mausoleum.
Harry didn’t want to be alone with the Death Eaters, there were too many. If they Apparated his direction, he would lose. He needed help.
And Harry knew how to summon it, just like Voldemort did.
They were an awful lot alike after all.
“Morsemordre.”
Recalling the hoard of Ministry workers that appeared last summer, Harry hoped it would be just as effective this time. He was grateful that he remembered it.
He tugged at his Invisibility Cloak hidden in his pocket, putting it on quickly and resuming his running. He could see the Death Eaters that had been chasing him had stopped, they were looking up at the sky, pointing at the green mark. Voldemort let out a cry of anger and Harry did not stop, he just needed to buy time. Mrs. Norris could sense Harry beneath the Cloak, there was no reason that the giant snake couldn’t smell the blood dripping down Harry’s robes.
There was another mausoleum coming up, and Harry grasped a decorative pillar. He hoisted himself up quickly until he reached the top. And there he crouched, invisible, looking over the edge to his captors. There was a great deal of shouting, and Harry could feel Voldemort’s pulsing anger, so far away, and yet very close in his mind. Then, a great many popping noises, and then they disappeared. He was alone in the graveyard, save a few prostrate forms in the distance, which he could make out in the green light.
A few more cracks sounded in the air, followed by the appearance of some men in robes. They moved in a organized fashion, and there were voices and shock. The Aurors had arrived. Harry lowered himself from his hiding place, stuffing his Invisibility Cloak into his pocket. Then he lit his wand, and wobbled their direction.
“Hello?” he called out, making certain there was enough distance between them in case if they were hex-happy. All the wands pointed in his direction, and he had to restrain himself from retaliating, blinking at the wand light.
“Who’s there?” a voice called out.
“Harry, goodness Harry is that you?” and Auror came out from the light, and Harry recognized him, it was the man who had replaced Quirrell.
“Professor Fawcett?” Harry asked in a hushed voice. “Is it you? And is it really you, and not some guy pretending to be you?” He shook his head. “I mean, yeah, I’m me.”
“What happened here?” he asked in a stern voice. “Who set off The Dark Mark?”
“I… Did you know that the final Task for the Triwizard Tournament was supposed to be tonight?” Fawcett nodded his head, while the Auror member next to him gave a snort.
“Well, Cedric Diggory and I tied, we both reached the trophy in time, only it wasn’t a trophy, it was a Portkey, and we both ended up here. Cedric managed to get the Portkey to take him back, but I got left behind.” There were some surprised voices, calling out, they had discovered the bodies. Harry could see Death leaning over MacNair and he shut his eyes and listened to the sound of great, flapping wings. The other Auror walked back, and spoke a few words before sending a signal to Fawcett, who stepped towards Harry. A flare of uneasiness made his heart flutter, and Harry stepped back, wary of getting too close.
“Wait! How do I know that who you are? There’s been Polyjuice people running around and I don’t know if you’re one of them.” Fawcett’s eyebrows raised, and gave him a small look of approval.
“Very well. One of the first things I did when I taught you was return your book that Quirrell was in possession of when he died. Now it’s your turn.” And Harry’s look of confusion, Fawcett explained. “Perhaps you are a suicidal dark wizard who is meant to distract me while the real Harry Potter is still missing. You need to volunteer information to me as well, this is how these things work.” Harry ran his hand through his hair, recalling back to his first year at Hogwarts. It felt so long ago.
“You…um…The week before Easter break you taught everyone how to speak Troll. You claimed it was for our own benefit it case if we needed it, and that it was really easy to learn. But everyone knew you didn’t want to do any work over the break.”
“Good, excellent. We’ve arranged for a Portkey, Alastor Moody contacted the Auror’s office immediately after your disappearance to watch out for any strange events. We’ve been instructed to take you to St. Mungo’s. Grab on.” Harry placed his hand on the broken quill, and Fawcett tapped it twice with his wand, and Harry was whisked off to the hospital.
“Harry! Harry, are you alright?” Sirius rolled Harry over. Harry tired to force out a laugh, but it came out as a rasp. “I’m fine Sirius. I’m alive. Which is more than I can say for some of them.” Sirius’ eyes flickered with understanding, and he gave Harry’s arm a light squeeze.
“I understand. I’ll go notify Dumbledore that we’ve found you.”
The Healer had just finished bandaging Harry’s ribs when Sirius, Minister Fudge, Dumbledore and Moody arrived.
“Harry, we are extremely relieved to find you alive and well. We have already spoken to Cedric over what happened when you disappeared. We would like for you to continue on with what we don’t know.” Harry closed his eyes, and began to tell his story. Fudge was very expressive with his emotions, frequently making faces and exclamations.
“How did you do it? Manage to escape and call the Auror’s when you were trapped?” Harry opened his mouth to inform him of the Four Lessons, but found himself with a loss of words. It was impossible to explain the focus it gave him. Dumbledore must have sensed his reluctance to answer the question, and prodded Harry to continue with the story. Their faces grew grimmer and grimmer as Harry continued, and the silence stretched out when he finished. Dumbledore turned to Fudge.
“Well, Cornelius, I believe some steps need to be made.” Fudged twirled his bowler hat in his hand, his eyes shut tightly.
He cleared his throat and turned to Dumbledore. “As much as it pains me… I agree. The press already is working on a story on Diggory as the Hogwart’s champion since he returned with the cup. Most people aren’t aware that you had reached the cup at the same time. If you like I can put a word in the press to say that it was a tied win for Hogwarts.”
Harry shook his head. “It’s okay. I don’t really care about that anymore. I’ve got new things. I mean they are not new things but actually old things. Well not too old, their young. My friends. I’m probably not making much sense now.” Sirius’ eyes looked at Harry with suspicion, but he did not say anything about Harry’s strange response, instead recommending that they leave Harry to rest. Fudge nodded.
“First there was that business with the Crouch family, then discovering that Bagman was under the Imperious spell this evening. I’ve also received a letter from the Goblin Relations Office a few weeks ago petitioning for the search of a few of their members. Harry’s explanation resolves some of the questions we have. HE really is back.” A look of misery adorned Fudge’s face. “We’ll have to take certain steps of course. Give them some time to rejoice over Diggory’s win in the tournament, and get some plans in place before we break the news to the public. It should calm down some of the panic if the Ministry presents itself with strong leadership. Goodness knows that the bad press I received last year over the disappearance of the hippogriff is something I do not want to repeat. I still remember the panic and suspicion of the first war, this is something we can’t repeat.” They all stood up then, heading for the door, Sirius hanging back for a moment as Harry crawled into his hospital bed.
“Harry, you aren’t alone in this. I’m going to do everything I can to make certain that you’ll make it through this.” Harry rolled over to his side and replied.
“I know I’m not alone. I didn’t before, but things have changed.” Sirius said nothing, but Harry could hear his footsteps cross the room, and head into the hallway where the others were having a conversation with Auror Fawcett.
Harry could hear bits of it even after Sirius shut the door.
“…still managed to keep his wits. Asked me for proof of my identity before he would go anywhere with me.”
“Potter’s got a sharp mind, he’s easily the most advanced in his class. He’s got the makings of a great Auror,” Moody replied in a gruff voice.
Harry’s was almost asleep, but a ghost of a smile crossed his face when he heard Moody. Personally, he thought he would make a perfectly horrible Auror.
Aurors had to play by the rules.