Chapter Forty-Seven

On The Run

With each step you take through Destiny's garden, you make a choice; and every choice determines future paths. However, at the end of a lifetime of walking you might look back, and see only one path stretching out behind you; or look ahead, and see only darkness.

From Season of Mists

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“You want to take our home!”

Harry stared at the man before him, and thanked the heavens once more that Vernon Dursley was not related to him by blood.

“That’s why you keep going on about some piddly war that doesn’t exist, all of that nonsense about giants and dement-heads.  The truth is that you are trying to run my family out of house and home!”  Vernon nodded his head emphatically, as if the action would make his drivel become truth.

“I don’t care about your house,” Harry said in annoyance.  He was a normally a patient person, but ever since he arrived at the Dursley home at the end of April, he had listened to the same arguments and after a month his patience was wearing thin.  

Apparently, Vernon Dursley was incapable of understanding due to extreme narrow-mindedness.  It was no wonder that he and Harry never got along. His Aunt Petunia was not any help either, she always willing to follow her husband’s words.  Harry was neutral on Dudley, as far as he could tell the spoiled child from his youth was gone, replaced with a teenager with an uncertain future.  There might be hope for Dudley yet.

Harry turned to leave.  “If you want to live, you have to leave.”  

Vernon huffed, ready to protest once more with another ridiculous argument.  “Now wait just a minute.  You don’t walk away from me!  I know that I’m right and-”

Harry interrupted him.  “No, you’re not.  I have a few more important things on my mind than you.  You have two options because I’m done arguing with you.  One, you follow my instructions and transfer to America.  Or two, in which the Dark Lord captures you in hopes of bribing me out of hiding and then you will die.  Painfully.  I don’t want you dead, but if you think I would be so stupid as to risk my life for yours, you are severely mistaken.  My bags are packed and I’m ready to go.  And when I leave the wards protecting you and this house will fall and it will be Dursley-hunting season.”  

Perhaps there some of the impatience had shown in his tone of voice because the Dursley’s were gone within the hour.

Harry watched them speed away from the kitchen window in their shiny company car which would lie abandoned in a nearby airport for months.   He ran his hands through his hair nervously and sat down at the kitchen table.  He had stayed with the Dursleys for May and most of June for his own protection because the wards were still active.  But now that he was alone, there was no escaping his own thoughts.  They followed him as he walked away from the Dursley home, safely tucked under his Invisibility Cloak.

A few hours later he was on holiday, watching a few elderly woman clutch their shawls around them as they walked.

“It’s a bit chilly for June,” he heard one say as she passed.

Harry kicked a rock on the ground, wondering if he could produce a Patronus to protect others from the growing dementor problem.

He had used the opportunity of free time in the next few weeks to brush up on some useful spells.  Before leaving Hogwarts he had pillaged the library for spells that would help him survive and hide and was forced to memorize the theory over the summer.  

Harry knew through Remus and McGonagall that the Order was planning on protecting him and retrieving him before the wards fell on his birthday.  But everyone knew that the wards would fall when he came of age and Harry did not want to hinge his safety on luck that people would not come after him beforehand.  So he decided he would slip away quietly on his own terms, hiding in obscurity where no one would find him.  He had lived for the first years of his life not knowing magic.  And then he lived a few after that not understanding how it worked, only knowing that he had potential.  Now he had an opportunity to prove it.  

But there was a flaw in Harry’s plan, something that he had not anticipated in the slightest: his own uncertainty.

The plans and manipulations that he had used so often in his past were gone.  True, he had moved the Dursley’s presence far away so that the wards would fall on his own time.  And he had arranged for travel to a small village by the coast where the locals would assume that he was from one of the families on holiday.  But the time for elaborate scenarios in which cause and effect were examined was over.  Fear made people emotional, and actions became difficult to predict.  

If anyone were to ask what he did during the summer, Harry wanted to say that he had planned for the future.  That he had toiled over maps and charts in hopes of derailing the fear that was hovering over everyone in the Wizarding World.

In short, he was planning to lie.

Something happened a few weeks ago that had changed him, and it wasn’t simply Dumbledore’s death that perturbed him.  At first there had been a bit of guilt about his actions, Harry had always thought he was immune to the sort of righteous indignation that Voldemort displayed.   Finding out he was closer in character to the Dark Lord than he preferred was a slap in the face.  But there was little he could do about it, Harry had known for a while that there was something sinister in his character that Dumbledore was unwilling to recognize.  Harry’s own inability to reconcile with Sirius’ death, his need for control, his resentment and fear had resulted in the death of an innocent man.

But Harry got over it quickly.  After all, Dumbledore was old.

The thing that continued to churn in Harry’s stomach was the experience.  It was difficult to describe what had happened to him, the sensations lacking a proper word to express it.  But the simple fact was that he had changed after he killed Dumbledore.  It wasn’t guilt; it was Harry’s own lack of control that shook him.  

He had felt the tenuous grasp he had over his own abilities snap; as a result his sense of timing and balance had been off ever since.  He hadn’t used a watch to tell time in years, and now it felt like all he did was stare at the face of a watch.  Harry wondered how normal people coped with watching the sluggish journey of the hands of a clock.  And worse yet was the terrible feeling that there was something more in him, a foreign power.  Something in him didn’t belong, and Harry hadn’t the slightest clue of what it was.  

Of course, that sounded like nonsense.  If Harry wasn’t Harry, then he would be non-Harry.  Or Not Harry.  It was just an idea that had very little reasoning or explanation.  And as much as he had tried to shake that feeling away, the belief continued with him every day in Hogwarts and carrying on into the mundane world of Privet Drive.  

The feeling had multiplied after he used Felix Felicis.  The Lucky Potion had given him a taste of his old life, alluring and sweet.  He had managed to retrieve two Horcruxes in a few short hours.  The diadem hidden in the Room of Requirement and short trip to Grimmauld had yielded the locket that was stashed in Kreacher’s cupboard.  He had been so certain of his actions, whether it was punching Snape in the face or accepting his friend’s offer to follow him into a tenuous war.  But when the potion faded away, he was stuck with the horrible realization of what he had set himself up for.

Perhaps someone brave could look into the unknown and still proceed forward.  But Harry was never brave nor was he a hero.  Since then the fear growing in him had become oppressive, his sleep interrupted by his own nausea.  He would then lie in his bed and stare at the Elder wand in his hands as Vernon’ snores traveled down the hallway.

Harry could accept death, he could accept fighting.  He could accept that people were good, people were desperate, some were insane, and that some simply wanted to turn a blind eye at the war around him.  What he found difficult to accept was how much this had gone beyond his personal vendetta against Voldemort.  His friends trusted him to provide some sort of guidance, a path to defeating one of the greatest wizards in history.

He had no intention of accepting their help; the earlier version of himself would have provided some sort of blithe evasion and changed the subject.   And yet the Lucky Potion pointed him otherwise, a magic beyond his own leading him in a new direction.

But Harry had no idea how to feel about that.  Happy?  Annoyed?  None of his ideas included the baggage of eager students who had remained largely untouched by the horrors to come.  And while he could ignore them and go on his own direction, the idea had settled in his head and in his heart so Harry could see no other path to take.

Harry knew that fighting against Voldemort would require him to practice largely untested skills.  These were abilities that his younger self had always viewed as dangerous, but never really used.  Not to mention that the strange power inside of him had thrown his skills to hell, so he didn’t even know if he would be good in a fight anymore.  And Voldemort would have picked up on his tendency to plan things after Harry turned the Prophecy into a Portkey.  Gryffindor-ish habits of bravery and courage were the perfect choices to combat those assumptions, a task that Harry found daunting.  

Not only did he have to figure out what he was going to do with his group of eager volunteers, but he had to find the other Horcruxes and destroy them.  He had yet to attempt the destruction of the three which were in his possession, too afraid that the Dark Lord would somehow be alerted.  Fiendfyre seemed like an unpredictable spell, and Dumbledore’s burned hand was the consequence of not having proper control.  No, he wanted to wait for all of them to be gathered before he made an attempt.

He had an idea where the Hufflepuff cup was thanks to Regulus’ suggestion of Gringotts. The Dark Lord left the Horcrux with someone like he did with the dairy.  He had to narrow down the possibilities even though he wasn’t even certain whom it would belong to: Crouch, MacNair, the Lestranges, Rookwood?  There were too many variables for Harry, and he wasn’t comfortable taking a risk at Gringotts without a solid conclusion.

Not to mention that he would have to break into Gringotts.  As much as Harry liked to think that he specialized in the impossible, actually accomplishing the task was another thing.  There was a tiny loophole in the phrasing of the Gringotts protective spell. Thieves could never break into the vaults and hope to succeed if they were stealing something.  The magic was strong and ancient; so many people believing in the monetary system ensured the rules could never be broken.  But Harry could destroy the soul bit in the vault without removing it from the bank.  If he could figure out in which vault the Horcrux was located, where the vault was located in the bank, past all of the enchantments the goblins had placed, passed the enchantments the Dark Lord had cast, he could succeed.

Oh yeah, he also had to escape.

But there was one tiny advantage: Harry knew the Endless.

Dream had spoken of a brief meeting between himself and Tom Riddle some time ago; while Desire had a healthy amount of resentment.  Although Harry own relationship with them was tense, it was nothing like the outright loathing they had towards Lord Voldemort.  Harry was certain if an opportunity was presented, he could barter for a bit of good will in exchange for revenge against the Dark Lord.

A few weeks later found Harry sitting on the bench in the dark street, waiting for the time to pass.  He looked at the watch that his Uncle Vernon had left behind which he had subsequently taken, watching the time tick away.

Three…

Two…

The Trace disappeared as he turned of age.  Without a glance back at the small beach town, he Disapparated somewhere else.  A few minutes later, he was entering a dark cave, and the illusion they made it seem desolate fell away.

The cave was well-lit and the group of people sitting by the fire looked up at him.

“Happy Birthday Harry,” said Hermione.

8 8 8 8 8 8 8

Death sat at a large table at in The World’s End Inn and looked at clock for the time.  In a few minutes her brothers and sisters would arrive for a meeting.  It was rare for the family to gather, after several millennia the patterns of their gatherings were a bit predictable.  Dream and Desire would say curt words to each other, their relationship strained after years of conflict.  Destiny would be silent for the most part, he spoke when he needed to.  And one of them would say something shocking that would cause another one to leave the meeting unhappy.  There wasn’t much that could be done about it though, they were family.  They had been together since the beginning of the universe, and they would be together at the end.

Death had called the meeting because it was necessary; the lack of her family’s knowledge on the current circumstances was appalling.  Traditionally, she should have approached the hall of portraits that contained each member’s symbol which would have allowed her speak to them and summon them to her realm.  It was the traditional method of communication, one that was used frequently.  But Death had tried tradition before, and she found that she didn’t much care for it.  Death preferred doing things her own way; it made life more interesting.

And Death was all about life.

Instead, she had left a message asking for their presence at The World’s End Inn.  It was one of few places was a guaranteed sanctuary and thus Death was assured that they would behave themselves.  She could have called her family to her realm, but she knew they would have been deeply uncomfortable there.  Her family always felt uneasy in each other’s realms, the vast power that each wielded was useless in the domain of another sibling.  Death never had that problem though, she went where she wished at all times.  

“Greetings, sister.”  

Death looked up from her musings to see Dream.  She was vaguely pleased by the top hat that rested on his wild hair.  For most, it would look out of place, but the hat was another example of Dream’s incessant need to be proper with a dash of grandiose.

As if the tuxedo he was wearing wasn’t formal enough.  

“To what do I owe this summon?”  He handed one of the inn’s staff his coat and walking cane.

She kicked the chair across from her, causing it to skid open in invitation.  “Sit.”

Dream frowned.  “Is this a formal affair?” he asked as he eyed her casual outfit.

“I suppose,” Death said with a shrug.  “There is a storm coming.”  She squinted out the window to see the dark clouds forming at the edge of the horizon.

“Yes, it is apparent in The Dreaming as well.  Soon the Inn will be full of travelers.”   He nodded at a nearby table, which had several weary visitors. “Some have already begun to arrive.  There is a fisherman, a royal prince, and a space traveler sitting together.  I am doubtful that they arrived together.”

As Dream spoke more of the family arrived.  Delirium’s entrance was marked by a song as she skipped across the bar.  Desire and Despair arrived at the same time, one with a solemn shuffle, the other with a graceful prance.  Destiny arrived silently, appearing in his seat just as Death was about to speak.

She sat up in her chair.  “Right, well thank you for coming.  I suppose I’ll start to explain now that we are all here.”  

“Not quite, the Prodigal is missing,” Desire said, taking a sip from her glass of wine.

“I miss our brother,” Despair continued, her voice grave.

“Of course he’s missing.  He quit, we all know that,” Death replied.  Although she didn’t see Dream’s face directly, she could feel his icy disapproval.  “We aren’t here to talk about him.  I’ve come to talk to you about Harry Potter.”

Desire’s face lit up with excitement.  “Oh! You’re too kind dear sister.  I could talk about that brat for ages.  You wouldn’t believe what he did the other day-”

Dream interrupted his sibling.  “Playing games once again Desire?  So keen to ruin the lives of those that give you power?”

“Oh don’t act so innocent, Dream.  As if we didn’t know you have something to do with the boy as well.  We all know how he loves stories and how you’ve had your raven keep an eye on his dreams.  Not to mention that little story with Beedle.” Desire leaned over the table.  “You’re just mad that I got to him first.  It’s only to be expected, he was conceived out of Love.  Hot, sweaty, sticky, desperate love, but love nonetheless.”

“Desire,” Death said in exasperation.  If she let Desire continue Dream would probably leave even before the real issue was discussed.  “I’ll have you know that the situation with Beedle the Bard was done so at my request.  I had intended for Harry Potter to become aware of the story so that I could assist him with something that was beyond his control.  And know that my plan is in action, but I have become aware of something deeply unpleasant.  Are any of you aware of what has happened to him?”  Death addressed her younger siblings.  

Destiny, she was certain, did know what had happened.  But she was also certain that he would only speak when it was appropriate, when his book told him so.

Delirium raised her hand.  “I think I know.  I had cotton candy in a park and it turned pink and it means that even we have to follow what must be done and I wanted to tell him but Harry sent me away and I can’t tell him anymore.”

There was a pause.

“Well, that certainly cleared things up,” Desire said with a roll of its eyes.

Delirium began to tear up.  “I’m scared.”

Death reached over for her sister’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I am trying to fix it.” She turned to the rest of her family.  “Harry is a complete mess. I haven’t really kept an eye on him, which is too bad.  But I have seen him around when I am attending his duties.  He’s starting to fall apart.”

Despair sighed deeply.  “He used to weep at night.  Now there is only acceptance.”

Death frowned, uncertain of what to make of this.  “Yes, well…what do you have to say for yourselves?”

“I fail to see how it is any of our responsibility,” said Dream.

Death crossed her arms.  “Please tell me you are joking.” She blinked.  “Hmph… I don’t know why I said that, of course you’re not joking.  Fine, I’ll give you a small hint: Sirius Black.  What was that nonsense about?”  

Dream failed to react to her question, causing Desire to steal the spotlight.

“Oooooh, you noticed?  That was one of my better moments.  I made Sirius Black important.  Without my involvement he might have been a minor character, drifting away from life with a pathetic sigh.  But I made him want and as a result, he became something more than himself.”

Death nodded.  “Yes, it is true.  It was also something that was completely unnecessary.”

Dream spoke.  “Sirius Black came to me first to ask for assistance with Harry Potter, and I rejected his request.  Did you approach him merely to spite me, Desire?  How… disappointing.”

Death rubbed at her forehead in exasperation.  “Not everything is about you Dream.  It’s not as if your hands are entirely clean of this affair either.  You could have explained a bit more to Sirius of what was going on.”

“I told him to drop the matter.  That should have been enough for him.”  Dream said plainly, as if his words were enough to bring hell to its knees or stop a man from protecting his godson.

Death resisted the urge to throw a loaf of bread at him, little brothers could be so annoying. “I am aware of that.  But Sirius was scared and he didn’t understand what he was asking.  If you had explained that you were already dealing with the situation, he might have left it alone.”  She sighed in exasperation. “Sometimes you could act a little more human.”

Desire spoke up again, as she popped a few grapes in his mouth.  “So what do we care?  Potter is mortal.  It’s a shame that all of that potential goes to waste but-”

“…Shit happens.” finished Delirium.

Death bit her tongue, hardly daring to believe the words she was about to speak.  “It’s not as clean cut as that.  Harry has a key to the Circle.”

In any other group of individuals there would have been a gasps of shock and a few sputters of disbelief.  But this was the family of The Endless, in which the creation of worlds is their purpose.  The best reaction that Death’s announcement received was Despair’s shudder, and Desire’s wide eyes.

“Surely not, Sister.” Dream said with a raised eyebrow.  “It would be impossible for a mortal to hold on to a key.  There is also the curious puzzle of how the boy was able to receive one, as to my knowledge; there are not any in mortal realms. ”

Death clutched her cup of cocoa tightly.  “I gave him the key.  Harry is a Horcrux which meant that his life was tied irrevocably to that of Riddle’s.  I had to give him a key in order to rectify the situation.  That is why I asked you to talk to Beedle, they were clues so that Harry would be able to access the key.  And it would have been fine, if all of you had stayed out of my business.”

“Your business?” Desire stood up.  “Love is what protected him from your realm, dear sister.  I made him who he is.”

“Desire if you interrupt me one more time…”  Death said; her threat heavy in the air.  Desire flinched and sat back down in its seat in shame.

“As I was saying, I gave him a key to immortality.  Not much, just enough to extend beyond the elimination of the Horcrux.  But things became complicated.  We, all of us, gave him a little bit of ourselves and he learned to control it.  The key was originally designed to keep him alive a little bit longer than most, and it would cease to work once it was used.  Now the key has shifted purpose and Harry can leave the Circle.”

“Impossible,” Desire snapped, wanting for Death’s announcement to be a lie.

Destiny spoke.  “He will conquer.”

There was a tense silence as each of the Endless recalled the words first spoken when they met the boy on Halloween night.  Destiny’s words revealed a truth that the Endless did not want to contemplate.

The Circle was everything.

Dream placed his cup of wine back down on the table.  “Very well then.  How do we rectify the situation?”

Death nibbled at her lip.  “I’ve worked on it a bit.  I asked our other brother to speak to him.  If Harry remembers the lesson the Prodigal taught him it will be enough to counteract some of the damage, perhaps all of it.  But the best thing to do is for all of you to leave the poor boy alone.  The more you pressure him, the more likely of him to lose the small of control he has over his life and the power he has inside of him.”

“You spoke to our Brother?” Dream asked.  Around him, the rest of the family gazed at Death in interest.  

“Yes.  He was well.  If any of you see him, I highly recommend you don’t eat his food.  He can’t cook.”  Death saw Delirium pout unhappily.

“It is a lot of risk to place that much power on an idiot boy’s choice” said Desire, lighting a cigarette.  “What happens if he comes to us? He knows quite a bit and I think he’s intrusive enough and clever enough to recognize the power in him.  What do I do then?”

Death sighed.  “I’ve thought about that.  The best thing to do is play nice.  You said you made him, Desire.  So next time you see him you need to unmake some of the damage you wrought.”

Desire took a drag from its cigarette.  “I’m not certain how.”

Despair coughed and tugged at Desire’s sleeve.  “His heart is heavy.  He does not see a future.  His eyes see now, and there is no way that does not end in death.”

Desire smiled.  “Well, it’s true isn’t it?  I suppose that I’ll have to change something.  If he comes around I’ll let him know there is more to it than that.”

“Be nice,” Death cautioned.

Dream spoke next.  “If I may summon Matthew, Sister?  I believe that he may shed some light into the boy’s thoughts”  At Death’s nod, the raven appeared with a loud squawk on the bottle of wine.

“Oh man.  What a trip!  Hey, Boss.  Who’s the company?”  He shifted perilously on the bottle in an attempt to gather his balance.

“Matthew, this is my family.  We were discussing the boy, Harry Potter.  Perhaps you would share more of your observations of his dreams?”

Matthew ruffled his feathers in contemplation.  “Hmmm… well there’s a lot to say, but it’s kinda hard to describe it.  He’s a pretty somber kid.  A lot of doom and gloom, and it has been raining in his dreams for a few months.  It probably started around April.”

“Assumptions that we already have suspected,” said Dream.

“There is something that I noticed recently.  He is lonely.”

“You need to replace your bird Morpheus,” said Desire.  “The kid has friends who he cares for, I know it.”

Matthew moved to the safety of Dream’s shoulder before it addressed Desire.  “I know is what I see.  I’ve been human before, you know.  My dreams at that age aren’t anything I would want to share with anyone. Some of them weren’t exactly kiddie rated, if you know what I mean.  That’s the stuff I would have expected to see from someone his age.  It’s like Harry doesn’t know who he is.  In those dreams of his, I don’t see anyone else, just different versions of himself.”

“You know he cares about people, but he doesn’t know that he cares.  Or maybe he just doesn’t know what to do about it.”  With that, Matthew fell silent and Dream dismissed him.

“So that’s what we need to do.  We need to make Harry care enough about his world and his friends so he would rather keep them even if he leaves the Circle.”  Death looked at Desire, her voice tense.  “If I find out you failed in keeping your promise Desire, I’ll speak to the Furies.  All of them.”

The wine from Desire’s glass spilled onto the table.  

Delirium fiddled with the grapes on her plate, causing them to do a spontaneous waltz.  “I saw something once that happened to Harry.  Only it didn’t happen to Harry.   And what happened but didn’t happen to Harry was that he fought a giant snake with a sword and he saved a unicorn and he played games in the sky.  And they called him a Golden Boy.”

Death stared at Delirium, her mind slowly connecting with the point Delirium was trying to make.  “Oh!  The Golden Boy.  Now there is a thought.”  She turned to Dream. “Do you think you could find him?  They are alike in a few ways; it might help if Harry talked to him before it is time for the choice.”

Dream nodded.  “Yes.  I believe that he is wandering in the Americas.  It shouldn’t be too difficult to find him.  I too believe it would be a most beneficial meeting.”

Death smiled.  “Yes, he was very good a fixing broken clocks.  And that happens to be what we need.”

With their business concluded, the Endless departed.