• Previous
• A House of Cards Flawed Assumptions The Summer of Change Of Innuendo and Ice Cream Closets and Secrets Plans are Subject to Change I Belong to Nowhere Censure and Sensibility Bartering the Truth Every Rose has a Thorn Appearances Can Be Revealing What's the Price of Your Fame? Caged Fear Sometimes, It's Good to be Me Code of the Marauders Dancing in the Whirlwind The Dykstra Shuffle A Prayer for Forgiveness Out of Africa The Geist and the Grotto Mind Your Manners Head Games Humiliation and Other Diversionary Tactics Cry Havoc
• Next

Chapter 18 — A Prayer for Forgiveness

In small groups, the wizards and witches of Beauxbatons gather around their fallen champion.   In a way, I feel like I'm something of an interloper.   Some of the witches are under the illusion that my act was this noble offering of love to Aimee.   This is compounded by the fact that word of my encounter with her overbearing mother has already spread.   Dumbledore would be proud.   I'm on my best behavior.   I merely say that I was in a great deal of pain when the confrontation occurred and what they have heard has been likely distorted by the gossip spreaders.

Most congratulate me on my "unusual" tactics with the Dragon and one even professed to believing that there might be something of a bias when it comes to scoring these events.   Imagine that!

Since I'm not going anywhere in the near future, I do my level best to be chipper and friendly to them.   I listen to their words of encouragement to the unconscious champion and see more than a few tears shed.   It makes me wonder about how many people have passed by on my numerous occasions in this infirmary.   As James, then Harry, and finally HJ, I've spent a rather inordinate amount of time here - too much in fact.

Madam Maxime leads the students in and out.   The last group is a group of one, Fleur.   Up until now, the part Giant witch hasn't said anything directly to me.   She leads the ashen Delacour to Aimee's bedside, towers over me, and clears her throat.

"When you were included in the tournament, I, like everyone else doubted you and took joy in the opportunity to add another champion.   In hindsight, I should not have been so eager to offer up another person to these games.   It is a sobering reminder that these lives are entrusted to my care.   Thank you, Mr. Potter, for your actions to save Aimee.   Should you ever require something from me, do not hesitate to ask."

I thank her as she turns to Fleur.   She leans down and kisses her on the top of her head and says, "Take your time, and stay as long as you need, dear.   You know the way back to our quarters."

Maxime retreats and closes the door behind her, leaving me alone with both the French champions.

"How are you holding up, Fleur?" I ask.

"Were we ever to face Dementors again, I know what I would hear - the sound of her screams."   She answers, dabbing some moisture from her eyes.   "It happened so fast and when you pushed me aside, I almost lashed out at you.   Of course, as with the Dementors, you were already in control of the situation and once again I was left trying to figure out what was going on.   You have a gift."

I put my palms on my knees and lean forward, "It's no gift.   It comes from too many life and death situations.   Remember our conversation about the whirlwind - this is what the aftermath can look like."

"I think I'm beginning to understand."   She pauses, searching for some words, "Thank you for saving her.   Though I was cast out of the tent, I could still listen to the conversation and know that it was you that insisted on the procedure, regardless of the personal risk."

"If you listen to Poppy, I have an obscene tolerance for pain and a distinct lack of common sense.   Either way, Aimee is a good person and a friend.   I never considered myself in jeopardy, because I have faith in both Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey's abilities."

Fleur looks away, "I am ashamed that I was of no use.   I couldn't get her out of the way in time and then I panicked."

"You had good instincts, Fleur.   You tried to summon her out of the way.   Even Dumbledore's phoenix couldn't get there in time.   My rock animation only spared Aimee's legs and stomach from the flames.   Learn to keep moving no matter what and don't stop.   It's when you stopped and processed the horror that you froze.   That's the part you have to beat - don't think, just do."

"You make it sound so easy.   They say she has a long road ahead of her."

"Yes.   She'll have to undergo several rituals, but with enough time and money, she'll eventually recover.   Dragon fire is nasty business.   They saved her arm, but she may never have the full range of motion that she used to and it may affect her broom racing.   She may even have to relearn how to speak, that'll probably be the hardest thing to do.   How is she at sub-vocalizing her spells?"

"Better than most, so she'll have access to her magic."

"Good, from everything I've read, losing the ability to perform magic makes recovery harder.   It leads to depression.   She is lucky to have such good friends and will need both support and encouragement."

"You sound like you intend to be a healer.   Or a professional duelist.   Or a broom racer.  Or a Quidditch player.   You seem to have a world of opportunities in front of you."

"I'm not ready to commit to anything yet."   I pause and chuckle before saying, "Perhaps I'll do all four."

I don't bother with the reality, Death Eaters reconstituting, Riddle trying to both kill me and get a body back, and other omens on the horizon.   My future looks an awful lot like James Potter's seventh year, except he made the choice to abandon his dreams to pursue his parent's killers.   I'm lucky - I don't get a choice.   I've got a nifty prophecy.

She smiles oblivious to the sarcasm running rampant through my mind.   "I would say that is impossible, but I'm learning that you seem to define your own limits."

We sit for a moment before she changes the topic, "I used the Floo system to contact Stephan.   We had a rather heated conversation."

"I'll bet.   Is he coming?"   It would have been interesting to hear that one.

"Yes. It is far more than I expected out of him, although I am still uncertain of his motives.   He could just be coming to save face or because of Aimee's family connections.   Speaking of her family, you don't seem to have made a good impression with her mother.   She sent for me, which is why I am the last visitor of the evening instead of the first."

"I suppose I was a bit abrupt with her, but to be fair, she didn't exactly impress me either."

"She is one of the most politically powerful people in all of France."

"This is the part where I shrug indifferently and remind you that I'm Harry Potter.   I'll be civil if she is, but because I choose to be, not because I have to."   Though I wouldn't mind having the Beaucourt family as allies when Riddle does return, the brat in me refuses to pucker up and kiss any arse at this point and time.

"Yes, I suppose you are Harry Potter.   Krum has postponed collecting on the wager we made, out of respect for Aimee's recovery."

"Postponed?"   I answer.   "That's positively big of him.   Did he do it privately, or did he alert the press first?"

It's the first genuine laugh I've heard from her since she arrived.   "It was somewhat private.   There were a few members of his entourage around.   I don't think he would ever consider cancelling it."

"That's what I have come to expect from him.   Of course this gives him time to properly devise a scheme to suitably humiliate us.   I should bring Peeves along for entertainment while I serve him.   That would go over well."

She ignores my statement.   "Speaking of things worth reconsidering, I think I will take you up on your offer of a date or two."

"Really?"   I should be more excited, but somehow I'm not.

"Yes."

Yeah, somehow this is striking a raw nerve.   "The only thing that's changed since our conversation is Aimee and if this is some kind of 'thank you' for saving her, then I'll have to say no thank you."

 She looks stunned almost angry.   "What?"

"Remember what you said about being seen as the person breaking 'little' Harry Potter's heart?   That broom flies in both directions.   I'd be the guy who takes Aimee to the Ball and ditches her when she's injured for her better looking friend."

"They know she has a boyfriend."

"Sure they do.   You didn't see them in here earlier.   Most of your classmates have this romantic fantasy about me and Aimee.   If I'm down in Hogsmeade with you, people will say what a cad I am and I don't need that right now.   I wouldn't mind dating you Fleur, but I want it to be for the right reason and not out of a feeling of obligation."

"That's not it!" her voice rises.

I answer flatly, "Yes it is and you know it.   Listen Fleur, I've been doing a lot of thinking up here, since I can't sleep.   It occurred to me that I've been repeating a lot of the mistakes my father made.   My whole tactic for the Dragon was something right out of his playbook.   The other thing he was known for was chasing the unattainable and I think that's what I've been starting to do with you.   Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the offer.   If you really want to go out on a date with me, wait a month and let this all calm down.   If you still want to at that time, I'll be happy to go, but right now, I'll have to pass."

I'm in uncharted territory here.   It's not like James ever had to be the mature one in a relationship.   He'd likely be trying to figure out how he could shag Fleur and still keep an eye on Aimee.

Mirrors, I could probably do it with a conjured mirror or two.   They'd have to be placed right and she'd have to be on top…

Delacour looks embarrassed and frustrated.   Not too many people in their right mind would give her the brush off.  Padfoot will give me no end of shit when I tell him.   She stands and smoothes her skirt.   "I should go."

"No, stay.   Spend time with her.   Talk to her and ignore me - or even better, tell me some stories about you and Aimee.   It will probably make you feel better as well."

------

By late afternoon on the next day, the diagnostic spells show that Aimee's lung inside of me is functioning well enough to be switched back.   Apparently, this Stephan bloke is waiting in Paris and has graciously "volunteered" to do the second procedure - wanting to be the first thing she sees when she wakes up.

I guess I shouldn't be so down on the guy.   He could be a decent chap.   Then again, he's a male under the age of twenty - decent doesn't really describe any of us.

A second volunteer, named Fleur, is set to travel with them in the off chance that complications occur.   It's kind of sad, but I don't get a chance to say good bye to Aimee, since she'll be kept sedated through all of this.   All I can do is sit there and softly hum The Air That I Breathe, that old Hollies song that Lily liked, and wait to be cut open again.   Dumbledore is on hand, but has deferred to Healer Douglas in this matter.   If I had my druthers, I'd rather the Transfiguration Master undo the switch, but I understand his "ruffle no feathers, unless necessary" style.   It's got him this far in life.   The twinkle in his eye and, more importantly, the phoenix on his shoulder reassure me that he has things in hand.

Funny how in the middle of a life and death situation, I had no jitters whatsoever.   Want to rip my lung out and switch it with a defective one?   Sure!   Go right ahead.   Now, with everyone meticulously planning every step of the procedure, I'm having doubts.   If nothing else, Hat will get a good laugh out of it, while mocking me.

I catch Fleur's eye and give her a brief wink as Poppy removes my robe and gets me prepped to have my left side cut open.   Yet again, I bemoan the fact that I haven't started taking any aging potions.   I've got some decent muscles, but not even the slightest hint of chest hair.   Could I look any more like a fourteen year old?

"As you well know, Mr. Potter, this will hurt quite a bit.   Prepare yourself."

I nod and wonder if, when I turn seventeen and can legally perform all the family duties, I should change the current family motto to that.

------

"Are you certain that you feel okay?   We can stop if you need to catch your breath."   Hermione is "mothering" me all the way up the staircase.

"Yes," I answer.   "I'll be right as rain in a day or two.   How did you do in the knowledge bowl round last night?"

"They were going to cancel it, but the Beauxbatons students insisted on taking the stage.   We beat them, but lost the other round.   The topics were Dark Arts and Potions."

"Dark Arts or Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

She shrugs, "Dark Arts.   Since the Beauxbatons course is called 'Understanding The Dark Arts,' the questions seemed to be weighted more towards that rather than defense.   Charms and Herbology are up next and I do believe that we will be well positioned to deliver some payback.   Are you looking forward to the first Quidditch match this weekend?"

 "Honestly, I hadn't given it much thought.   I went ahead and let Cho borrow my Firebolt for the matches and Cedric is practicing against her."   Even though her lip reading skills didn't generate any further incriminating evidence against Karkaroff and Snape, it seemed like the thing to do - a deal is a deal, after all.   With Malfoy being the alternate for the Hogwarts squad, I made certain to tell my Ravenclaw friend to watch her back.

We step up to the Fat Lady and I mumble the password.   She just smiles at me and shakes her head.

Hermione nudges me, "Professor McGonagall changed the passphrase - Heroism is not measured in points, but deeds."   The portrait opens while she smirks, "I do rather think there's a message in there, don't you?"

The common room is decorated and there is a small party in my honor.   I smile and act pleasant, while recalling that, other than the seven students in my year, most voted to censure me right after my name popped out of the cup.   It's funny how everyone loves a winner.   Wonder how long this time will last?

"Thanks for finishing where we expected you to, Potter.   It helped get us back into the black."   One of the twins says.

"I guess the lemonade stand is out for next time.   Pity, I was looking forward to it."

"Piss off George!   Only scary thing you've ever seen is Mum on a rant and you run for it.     Harry here makes a joke out of facing a Dragon.   Speaking of which, aren't you going to open the egg and get your clue?" Ron asks, mouth half-filled with a squirming chocolate frog.

George slinks away.   It's kind of amusing seeing Ron get the better of one of them, he's actually enjoying seeing the "clown princes of buffoonery" getting schooled because of all the terrors they visited on him when they were first learning the subtle art of pranking.

Hermione, Neville, and several others urge me on, so I crack it open and hear the most awful shrieks coming from it.   I get it closed under the glares of my slightly less friendly house.

"I had no idea it would do that."   I protest.   True, I have a penchant for making loud noises, but for a change, this one wasn't my fault.

"How in Merlin's name are you going to figure that out?"

I shrug and pretend I don't know the answer to what Ron is asking.   In JP's days, it was fashionable to have a dip in the lake.   There aren't many who do that these days.   Either way, I don't speak Mermish, but I know what it sounds like when one of them is chasing me, Peter, and Sirius back to the surface and hurling obscenities at us when we made it to shore.   There might have been a juvenile bet involved, but that's beside the point and the record will show that James was correct when he stated that female merfolk do not have pubic hair.

Merfolk means that I have to do something under water.   Let's hope they don't hold grudges against family lines.

------

A few hours later, I'm looking at the Hat, perched on top of my bed instead of the Golem body.   "So they're going to take a treasure from me, I rescue it, and bring it through an obstacle course.   Where do you think this one is going to go off the rails?"

"Tough to say, especially with how the screw ups seem to be getting worse.   If they're leaving it up to the Merfolk to provide the only security, they're asking for trouble.   They better damn well not put me under the water!   What are you planning to do?"

"Well, I'm looking to get back into the overall lead for the tournament.   So, I guess I'll concentrate on being fast and not flashy."

An announcing charm hits the outside of the wards surrounding my bed.   I open the curtains and peer out at the face of Remus J. Lupin.   He looks impassive.

"Who's there, HJ?"

"Lupin.   Should I tell him to go bugger off?"

Hat cackles, "Spread the word - there's a werewolf in the tower.   Run for your lives, stupid humans!"

"Nah, I guess I should see what he has to say."

I step out of the barrier.   "Hello, Lupin."   He's been on my mind a lot.   I did some deep thinking about how I was going to handle him on our next encounter.

He does a fairly impressive privacy charm.   One Lily taught most of the Order.   "Hello, Harry.   Or should I call you, James?"

Hadn't planned on that one, I pause for a moment and process it.

"How'd you figure it out?"

"While you were recovering, I did, in fact, go to France.   Sirius was always fairly loose-lipped, when he thought that everyone else was in on the secret.   I simply told him that you'd confided in me.   Don't forget, I was a Marauder as well and sometimes the easiest way to discover the truth is to let someone else assume that you know it.   Your reactions to my comments about James make more sense now, as does everything else."

"Well, congratulations are in order.   You now know why I wasn't jumping for joy to see you.   You deserve a biscuit, governor."

The king of all awkward silences follows next as we just stare at each other not knowing what to say.   Much of what I'd thought of doing was based on keeping him in the dark.   Now, I just have to wing it.

He turns away, "Sirius always says how ashamed he was that he convinced you not to make him the secretkeeper, and how guilty he feels.   At least he can freely admit his guilt.   He's a better man than I am."

"No arguments there.   It does explain why you never checked in on me - something that bugged me last year."   I feed his guilt a little.   It's probably petty on my part, but I have my flaws as well.

"Yes, it does.   I was reluctant to come and teach here last year, but the fear that Sirius would harm you overrode that.   For what it is worth, I'm sorry."

"You'll forgive me if 'sorry' just doesn't seem adequate.   Honestly, I don't know what to think, Lupin.   First off, I'm not James.   Let's make that crystal clear.   I might know every single thing he did, right down to getting you your first piece of tail from Beverly Parkinson in fifth year, but I'm not him.   I'm not really the Harry you met last year, either.   I’m just me - pure and simple.  I tried working up the anger that James felt when he walked in on you and Lily playing stuff the sausage, but I can't get that kind of rage like when he hexed you and threw you out of their house.   It just doesn't reach that level.   You're just an arse, not the arse that slept with my wife or mum, or whatever the hell she is to me."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm still trying to work it all out, but one thing I know for certain is that I don't have the level of attachment to Lily that either James or Harry did.   Harry thought his parents were the greatest thing ever, since that's all anyone ever told him.   I know too well, they were human beings, who had real problems."

He nods, agreeing with me and giving me room to finish my little rant.  

"Because I'm not James, I can see that he was virtually abandoning Lily to go out on missions for the Order and all the training he was doing.   You and Lily might be the most to blame for what happened, but I can say that James had a hand in what happened too.   We both know that no one could ever make her do a damn thing that she didn't want to.   She became obsessed with her rituals and finding a way to protect our family.   Of course, by the time the two of you tracked down the Fidelius charm, there was barely a family left to protect.   Trust me, there's more than enough guilt in that clusterfuck to go around."

"I initially thought that James had left you a diary or some memories to be viewed in that Pensieve you won, but I hardly believed it when Padfoot said that you had all of his memories.   So, where does this leave the two of us?"

"That's a good question.   There's plenty of reason to hate you, and make no mistake, we're definitely not 'okay.'   Still, I have all the memories of the good times, too.   I say we start off on a blank slate and you earn my trust again.   Dumbledore and his staff can't actively help me, because of this ridiculous contest, and my solo training can only take me so far.   I need someone I can get in a dueling pit and really fight.   Bad times are coming, Lupin, and we both need our edge.   I also need to get whatever this is out of my system before I can ever think of trusting you with my back.   Let's call it a fresh start with a Marauder twist.   It will involve pain, humiliation, and quite possibly a broken bone or two.   I fully intend on beating the living shit out of you.   How about it - willing to get a bit nasty?"

"That sounds acceptable," he answers without hesitation.   "Mind if I ask how good you really are?"

"As soon as I figured out that James was a lefty, I started correcting everything about my spell casting, and it all fell into place.   I'm already at James' level and maybe a touch beyond.   Where do you want to do this?   Dumbledore is letting me keep the lab I was using as a private workshop.   How about I clean it up this week, layer some soundproofing charms, and you comeback next weekend and we see if you can last five or ten minutes?"

He scratches the scruff on his chin, "I have a better idea.   How about you come to the Flamel estate next weekend?   There's a nice regulation dueling pit there.   Padfoot was boasting about how well his dueling coach has been getting him back into shape.   She won't be there this weekend, otherwise you could test yourself against her as well."

Remus is right.   Naturally, Padfoot will want in on it.   He'd be upset if we left him out.

"Yeah, I heard he was more interested in shagging her, but maybe he'll be a good dessert after I finish with the main course.   You're both on.   Everyone will be at the Quidditch game next weekend.   Meet me at the Shrieking Shack - the Ministry was kind enough to license me to Apparate, it's about time I make use of it."

He nods and we shake on it.   Next weekend will be little anger therapy and horseplay - Marauder style.   The only question now is do I let Dumbledore know I'm sneaking off to France, or do I just go?

James would have just gone.   Harry would have been too scared to even risk it.   HJ, well I'll give the old man a courtesy call, letting him know that I'll be taking in some private lessons this coming weekend, and not to look very hard for me.

------

"Might I have a word with the Supreme Mugwump?" I ask casually, catching Dumbledore on his way back up to his office from the evening meal as we wait for the staircase to realign.

He chuckles, "It is a rarity when a student can address me thusly without fear.   Then again, you are not the usual student.   What can I do for you Harry?"

"Nothing really, I believe that the rules of this tournament forbid such things, but it is possible that one of your braves might be going off the reservation, so to speak, this weekend.   Speaking hypothetically, would this be a problem?   No surprise tasks suddenly popping up on the horizon and such?"

"Quite a lot happening this weekend with the Quidditch match.   I don't believe the individual champions have anything to worry about.   With everything going on, even someone as famous as you could get lost in all the festivities.   Although, it might leave Poppy out of sorts, if her assistant were not available to help tend the various injuries involved in the match, but I'm certain she could get by.   Of course, I'd never approve, but I would have to wonder if a student were to go missing, where might he or she be?"

"I hear France is a lovely destination this time of the year.   Among other things, there's a young lady recovering from Dragon burns there and seeing a friendly face might aid in her recovery."

He nods sagely and continues our non-discussion, "Indeed, a most wonderful country.   I myself find the guest quarters at the Flamel estate to be most accommodating.   I hear one of my former staff members, who stopped by for a visit recently, is enjoying them at the moment."

"Really?   What a coincidence.   Small world, isn't it?"

"I do believe you are correct.   Well, it was nice spending a moment with such a promising young student, but I really must be going.   Sometimes, when I get in such a rush, I find it difficult to remember all the details of a conversation.   I'm glad we had this opportunity to talk, Harry.   Do forgive me if I don't seek you out this weekend, I do appear to have my hands full.   Don't spend all weekend sequestered in your workshop - remember to get out and enjoy yourself some."

"Sound advice, I'll keep it in mind.   Good night, Headmaster."

"Good night, Harry."

------

Wrapped in my invisibility cloak, I slip inside the private room reserved by the Beaucourt family.

Her head and right arm are still covered by medicine-soaked bandages.   Considering that is her wand arm, her recovery will be increased by the time it takes for it to be healed.   The one eye not covered by bandages is closed.

After casting a quick privacy ward, I rest my palm on top of her undamaged hand and see the eye snap open.   It darts around for a second.

"Relax Aimee.   It's just me, Harry Potter.   I was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by and see you."

Her hand brushes mine off and picks up a quill.   In crude characters she scrawls on a piece of parchment, "Ou est tu?"

"Under an invisibility cloak.   The people downstairs said you weren't receiving visitors.   I don't take no for an answer.   I'm glad I left the Sorting Hat at the place where I'm staying.   Who knows what it might have said?"   I pull the cloak back so she can see my disembodied head.

She replies with a squiggly rendition of a smiley face.

"I'll skip the 'How are you feeling' bit.   I always hate it when people ask me.   You're obviously on drugs for the pain, so, I'll skip ahead to, is there anything I can get for you?"

"Dragon Liver - Ironbelly."

At least she's kept her sense of humor, or the potions they've got her on are making her a bit cheeky.   Either way, it'll help.   "When's your first surgical ritual scheduled?"

"Next week."

"That's a little soon.   What are they doing?"

She shuffles a piece of already scrawled on parchment and points to a sentence.   I translate it into, "Trying to fix my arm, first."   I also notice the, "I love you too, Stephan" at the bottom of that conversation.

"Good to see you're boyfriend is standing by you.   I heard he was here to do the other part of the procedure to fix your lungs.   For the record, I was against moving you until we had rehabilitated both of your lungs."

She points back to the smiley face and then writes, "Merci beaucoup."

"Well, it wouldn't have looked good in the press if I had just stood around twiddling my thumbs.   Of course, the next time things get a bit dicey, they'll be the ones with unreasonable expectations."   I blush a little, but in the weak light of the room, I doubt she notices.   Damn, I hate being a teenager sometimes.

She points to an expensive floral arrangement and I read the note.   It's a simple get well wish from Athena Manos.

"Nice of her.   I left some flowers at the front desk.   Someone will probably bring them up in the morning and it was too large to fit under the cloak.   I'm sure if Krum does anything, it'll be with his official photographer around."

Her stomach shakes a little and there's a slight gurgling noise.   I worry for a moment, but quickly realize that she's laughing or, at least, trying to laugh.

"Sorry, that probably hurts.   I'll do my best to keep the humor to an acceptable level.   By the way, I might not have made a favorable impression on your mum, but you've probably heard that by now."

She points at the top corner of her previous conversation where the word "Oui" is written.

"Well, when you get better, I'll show you the memory.   I've found it rather amusing.   It's probably not my finest moment, but it does make me laugh.   Is there anything I can do for you?"

Aimee writes, "Look after Fleur.   She will be lonely and sad."

"I will do my best.     When I am not crushing her in the tournament, I will be supportive."

She shuffles to another previous conversation.   I spy the line, "You and Harry would make a good couple.   The age thing shouldn't matter." followed by "He turned you down!"   Her finger thumps on that several times.

"Well that wasn't quite the whole story.   We were having quite an interesting discussion up until your injury.   She in fact turned me down, only to reconsider after your injury."

Aimee scans the page and points to a question mark.

"What I did was for you and not some grand gesture, designed to win her affection.   I told her that if she still wants to in a few weeks, or a month to ask me again then."

"You wasted an opportunity."

"Maybe, but if she agrees, I want it to be for the right reasons."

"Stubborn idiot."

"Don't hold back - tell me what you really think.   I'm assuming you mean me and not Fleur."

Her stomach quivers again, accompanied by the gurgling laugh.   After it subsides, she writes, "Both!"

"I suppose you're probably spot on in that assessment, but if nothing else, it should provide countless hours of entertainment for you.   I'd like to stay longer, but I need to be off.   There are some other matters I need to attend to and this trip isn't exactly sanctioned."   I kiss the back of her hand and turn to leave.  

Pausing, I add, "I could tell you something else that will provide even more laughter for you, but you must promise me that this remains a secret."

She points again to the "Oui."

I lean very close to her ear and whisper.   "I always keep telling you I'm full of surprises, but one of the biggest ones is that I am an Animagus."

Her head tilts slightly and I can't tell whether she's caught on yet or not.

"I suppose I should tell you my form, it's a pronghorn.   Do keep this between the two of us and get well soon."

Either she's having some type of spasm, or she is amused.   Maybe laughter is the greatest medicine of all.

------

Far from humorous is what is happening Saturday morning.   The area surrounding the dueling pit is littered with dead animals, chunks of stone, spatters of blood, and a few things that it isn't worth my time to try and identify.

Remus banishes the smoldering carcasses of my Pettigrew horde off the narrow bridge separating us.   Once it's off the connecting path or the individual dueler's circles, it's out of play - a very messy style of dueling called a "heap duel," which somewhat limits retransfiguration, but usually a crowd pleaser.  

Even if our crowd consists of four people and a magical hat at the Flamel estate.

Give the werewolf some credit.   He's gotten better over the years.   Part of me is happy to be really "cutting loose" against someone other than a schoolager.   Our duel has already closing in on the ten minute mark.

The other part of me wants to pound him into the ground.

A slicing gesture from my wand sends a trio of darts at him head on.   I add a set of wings to one of them and go for a "drippy pincushion."   At this distance, the wings are small enough that he might not notice them.

He blows them away with a gust of wind, but my winged one immediately zips back towards him.   Lupin spots his mistake, but I'm sending direct frontal bludgeoning attacks, while the dart is coming in from an angle - bad situation for Mr. Moony.   He slides to his right and "takes" the dart in his left shoulder rather than risk one of my bludgeoners.

Add another blood spatter or two to our match.   Without missing a beat and maintaining his shield, Remus pulls it out and crushes the wings.   Seconds later he discards it off the side of the pit and into the "Heap."  

Effing werewolf always did have a high tolerance for pain.   Still, he's bleeding from four places and I've only got one mark on me - a scratch on the arm from a piercer I "mostly" avoided.

I'm wearing him down and we both know it.   Quick cutters and piercers zip my way - ye old "nick and poke."   I dodge and shield them looking for the next attack window.   He won't yield.   Unlike Padfoot, he isn't great at tracking multiple targets, which is how James usually bested him.   He's been leading with powerful spells and quick follow ups, which is, of course, how to best duel James Potter.   JP always put too much into his attacking spells or first shield, and was a soft target for a quick follow on - ill prepared for when his opponent weathered the attack.

He still has his same weaknesses, but it's time he realized the reason we're dueling instead of actually fighting is - I am not James Potter!

I snap off a couple of quick jinxes to steal back the initiative and start in on the heavy bludgeoners - nicknamed "Troll Love Taps."   Lupin pours his energy into a Mage shield, but I've got the power to spare.   JP did it with style and finesse.   I can do it with power and brute force as well.   The third one cracks his shield and the fourth powers through it, knocking him off the platform.   The fifth one flies over his head.

Sirius Apparates over to Lupin's side and begins checking him over.   "A little rough there HJ.   You could've cracked a rib."

"Its okay, Sirius.   I agreed to let him go all out." A weary Remus answers while trying to get his wind back.   "You didn't exaggerate when you said how good you were.   Those children in the tournament should be grateful that you can show a modicum of restraint."

"The Manos girl is good.   She's got potential.   You okay?"

He answers me, "Nothing hurt but my pride."

"Good, when can you go again?"

"Harry!" Sirius exclaims.

"I won't be able to get out and have real duels all the time.   I need all the practice I can get."

"Give me six hours, and an invigorating draught, and I'll be up for another session."

I switch my wand into my left hand and offer him my right.   He takes it and I hoist him back to his feet.   "Fair enough.   Mister Padfoot, I do believe that it's your turn.   Let's see whether Emmeline's cousin has gotten you back into dueling shape or just shagging shape."

"Don't you want a rest first, Harry?"   If I didn't know any better I'd say the old dog was a bit frightened.

"No, it'll level the playing field for us.   Heap rules or no heap rules?"

He scratches his beard, "No heap.   Let's see if after all that you can still conjure, transfigure, and retransfigure."

Black was always decent at transfiguration, close to JP's league.   My guess is that he's going to try to wear me out.

We'll see about that…

------

Much later, I limp into a private parlor for a rather unexpected meeting.   Still, I'm in much better shape than the werewolf and the mutt, who are licking their wounds in their respective bedrooms after a brief stop at the infirmary.   The woman before me has an ageless beauty, well almost ageless.   Perenelle Flamel is a petite woman with long silver hair and penetrating green eyes that have likely seen and forgotten more than I will ever know.   I wonder if Dumbledore feels like a firstie around her as well.

"Good evening, milady.   Your hospitality is appreciated."   I have no idea what level of formality she is accustomed to.

"Well, at least Brian is still teaching manners in addition to violent dueling - a shame to see how warlike the world remains.   Thank you for coming young man."   She motions for me to sit and a glass of wine appears in front of each of us.

It takes me a second to realize that by "Brian" she means Dumbledore.   "Sadly, the world requires both these days."

"Very true, but in the centuries that define my existence, I have seen both times of prosperity and Armageddon wax and wane like the tides.   One way or another, Harry, this too shall pass.   Brian speaks very highly of you and I've been following your exploits in the tournament."

"Thank you.   The Pensieve alone is worth more to me than the eternal glory promised to the winner."

She laughs and sips a shimmering glass of wine, "That old relic?   I was glad to see it leave.   Serviceable?   Yes, but not my best work.   Still, I hope you find it useful for years to come.   I hear Godric's Hat is with you.   I suspect that dear Nicholas would be turning in his grave at the thought of it in our home."

"My apologies, I did not know…"   I should have left it in England.   The blasted thing sure has a reputation.

From her simple, but elegant chair, Lady Flamel waves off my comment, "It is of no consequence to me.   I just find it amusing.   I will send someone for it later and wouldn't mind a brief chat with it.   Something not widely known, and not exactly recorded in the annals of history, is that Nicholas briefly filled in as Headmaster of Hogwarts in the early sixteen hundreds.   It was only an eighteen month period, a veritable blink of the eye to me, but The Sorting Hat left a definite impression on my husband and was part of the reason dear, sweet, Nicholas chose not to stay on and, come to think of it, rarely visited that castle."

My mind stashes that little tidbit for the next time I need an exceptional piece of trivia to impress Hermione.   It's probably not even in her favorite book!   "I recall hearing some of the Beauxbatons students saying that he was also the Headmaster at their school."

"And New Salem for a decade and a few others.   There was a time in his life when he had a passion for teaching.   I even taught a few classes here and there.   Brian introduced me to your mother once - a delightful young lady, charming and quite eager as I recall."  

I nod, digging around JP's memories and recalling Lily gushing about meeting the Flamels shortly before the wedding.  

"You're probably wondering why I asked to meet with you, are you not?"

"Naturally."

"Since I was part of the group that helped bring back the tournament, I've been following it closely.   I'm sorry to hear about your lady friend.   How is she doing?"

"Recovering in Paris.   I visited her last night.   She has many rituals ahead of her, but I know she will eventually make a full recovery." I answer.

She pats a stack of periodicals, "The society papers seem to believe that there is romance in the air between the two of you."

"No, I'm afraid not.   Aimee is a good friend, but there is no romance at the moment."

My hostess purses her lips in thought and reaches some decision.   "Perhaps not now, but maybe in the future.   I had hoped to provide some immediate assistance.   Brian was so very lonely when he faced his greatest tests, but perhaps this will serve you well, down the road."

She shoves an ornate wooden box across the table to me.   With her encouragement, I open it.   A small non-descript potion vial is nestled within the material inside.

There's a sinking feeling in my stomach.   "Is this…"

"The final dose of my husbands potion, yes - The Elixir of Life.   I had the foolish notion of you going to young Miss Beaucourt's side and restoring her to health mere days rather than the months and sweeping her off her feet.   It's the kind of ending that an old witch, who believes in love stories, always yearns for."

"But without it, you'll die."

"We all die, young Lord Potter.   My great love has already left me and I have no real wish to continue.   I will last perhaps six more months before I return to his embrace - hopefully enough time to watch you win this tournament."

It's a humbling experience.   Snape's boasts of brewing a potion and stopping someone at death's door pale in comparison.   This potion would slam death's door shut, dismantle it, pack it in a shipping crate, and send it away for a few decades!

"I appreciate the gift, but I shouldn't."

"Nonsense.   I have no further use for it.   I would like you to have it and put it to good use.   My husband always felt that his elixir shouldn't be wasted on others, but I hold a different view and it is my opinion that now matters.   You can heal your friend, another, or perhaps save it for the dark times Brian fears are coming soon."  

I play the idea of me healing Aimee with it in my mind.   It's a good scene, but it's not the best scene.   There's one other scenario that might just top it.

"Milady, can the elixir treat wounds that are mental in nature?"

"It does restore clarity and mental sharpness.   Why do you ask?"

"I have two … know of two people, who were tortured into insanity.   Their son is in my year.   Could this potion hold the key for them?"

"How long ago did this happen?"

I cautiously answer, "Thirteen years ago."

"I cannot say for certain whether it would work.   For the best possible result, you would have to use the entire dose on one of them.   I have my doubts whether a half-dose would achieve the desired results.   I believe Brian asked a similar request from my husband and was chastised for it.   You would do well to ask him.   Sadly, this is the only dose left.   I wish there were another."

"It is more that enough.   Words alone can not express my gratitude."

She stands with the aid of a cane and kisses both my cheeks.   "Good luck and a long life, Harry Potter."

------

Padfoot and Remus are resting in a parlor, being tormented by the Hat, when I find them in a bit of a daze.

"What did she want, Harry?   Harry?   Are you okay?"

"She gave me the last dose of her husband's potion."

"The Elixir of Life?" Padfoot says slightly gobsmacked.

"No, his special blend of mouthwash - of course she gave me The Elixir of Life!"

Remus sits up and puts aside the ancient text he was attempting to read.   "What are you going to do with it?"

Hat becomes interested, "Yes, HJ.   What will you do with it?   The Beaucourt girl would certainly be grateful…"

"Yeah, but I was thinking more about the Longbottoms.   Lady Flamel thinks it might work.   I'll have to ask Dumbledore what he thinks."

Sirius smacks his leg, the one not covered in bandages from a burning hex.   "That'd be brilliant, Potter.   Frank and Alice would be a welcome sight!"

"Well, there's the rub.   She said that the best chance of it working would be to give all of it to one of them, so it's not Frank and Alice.   It's Frank or Alice."

The sobering reality hits the two of them.   In all likelihood, I can only save one and not the other.   "Guys, which would you choose?"

"Frank." Sirius says without hesitation, "He was a damn fine Auror and we'll eventually need every wand we can get.   Alice was … is a sweetheart and decent with a wand, but she's a housewife.   He was a force to be reckoned with."

Remus looks pensive and thinks on it a moment before saying, "I'm less sure.   I'd be happy to be able to speak with either of them, again.   I recommend you ask Albus what he thinks and then take a day or two to reach a decision."

We talk for a few more minutes before changing the subject.   There are a few walks down memory lane and a couple of laughs.   Sirius breaks out the Firewhiskey and the brandy, but I pass, citing my young body and my long trip tomorrow.   The reality is that I don't feel like drinking right now.   After a few minutes, I beg off and head to my room.  

Laying down, I try to sleep - a futile effort.   I could probably blame the aches and bruises from the dueling sessions, but the real reason is that little wooden box.   I pace for a short period before starting a fire in the Floo and tossing some powder in.   Might as well firecall him and ruin his evening too.   If I'm having problems sleeping because of this, I think he should as well.

"Hogwarts Headmaster's Office!"

-----

"Welcome back to England.   You're looking refreshed, Harry.   After our discussion, I slept fitfully."   Dumbledore's tired voice greets me as I step into the long term spell damage wing of St. Mungo's.   He's admiring Lockhart's crayon drawings.   Upon seeing me Gilderoy lights up and pulls one of his pictures out.   Looks like I'm about to get an autograph.   Maybe I'll give it to Hermione for a good laugh.

"I charmed a mirror with a reflective shield and stupefied myself - poor man's dreamless sleep."

The old man smiles and replies, "I haven't done that in years.   The trick is to make certain you position the pillow right."

Looking around I say, "I'm glad you didn't bring Neville, since this might not work.   Getting one of his parents back is a blessing, but having to be around to decide which one gets the chance isn't something he needs to be burdened with."

"Agreed, Nicholas refused on both occasions when I asked him to let me try this and I swore an oath not to use the stone when he allowed me to hide it."

"Why wouldn't he help an ally?"

Dumbledore sighs.   "History mischaracterizes my relationship with Nicholas.   He never intended that his greatest achievement become a panacea for all that ails this world.   His long life left him rather disinterested in the quarrels of mankind."

"He took up his wand against Grindelwald," I remind him.

"True, but only after I repelled Gellert's minions, who also sought the stone, did the war command his attention.   As for the Longbottoms, when I asked him directly, he told me rather bluntly that if I wanted it so badly there was nothing preventing me from making my own stone - other than my lack of talent in that area.  The second time, I made the mistake of asking his wife first and hoping that her support would convince him.   Ultimately, Perenelle was the only one who held any influence in his life, but my ploy caused a slight row between the two, which led to his refusal and a warning to never again ask him."

"Sounds like a petty arse to me."

"Perhaps, but I choose to believe that immortality distorted his view of life.   He looked on us the way a normal person would look on a family pet, such as a dog.   Even one, such as myself, would only be around for a short period, but then pass on to the next life.    Then he would have to concern himself with getting a new 'dog.'   The process became rather tedious for him."

The thought of Dumbledore being treated like a family dog is an odd one.   I try to picture it while he continues, "I also have another theory - a far more disturbing one, the Elixir might be actually quite easy to produce and once the secret is unleashed, our world be effectively destroyed.   Perhaps we should save the final drops and attempt an analysis.   It is worth considering, but extreme caution must be exercised.   But enough about my less than stellar relationship with the Flamels, let us move on to the matter at hand.   One thing that worries me is that the potion might only provide a temporary reprieve.   Its effects could eventually wear off.   We may only be giving one of them some borrowed time."

"How long?"

"Nicholas guarded his secrets jealously, which is why I know so little of its design.   My best guess is that it would last a few years and then there is a chance that Frank or Alice would suffer a relapse.   Hopefully, that is just my overly cautious nature speaking, but whoever you decide to give it to will have to prepare for that possibility."

"These are the kind of things that kept you up at night during the last war, weren't they?"

He nods and I glimpse the weary warrior hiding behind a façade of twinkling eyes.  

"If you would like, I'll gladly remove this burden from you and make the selection."

"I appreciate it, but it falls to me.   Leaders make tough decisions and I might as well start now."

"Regardless of your choice, Harry, you have already made the right decision.   A lesser man would hoard the potion, but this is a selfless and commendable act.   We both know the phrase 'the lesser of two evils,' but there is no wrong choice in this instance, so, at worst, it might be the 'lesser of two goods.'

I try humor and point a Lockhart.   "We could always bring him back.   He's a junior member of the Dark Arts Defense League, after all.   How does one get a membership to that club anyway?"

"I believe you write a few papers, attend regular meetings, and send a small pile of currency each year - all the prestige money can buy.   I was offered membership at a reduced rate, but opted to spend my coin at my brother's establishment instead.   At times like this, it helps to have a brother that owns a bar, both for the drink and the ear."

It's good for a laugh even at this somber moment.   I weigh my choices.   Frank would want me to save Alice.   Alice would want me to save Frank.   Neither would want the other to have to suffer this.   Neville deserves the opportunity to get to know the real man behind all of Augusta's foolish prattling and step out of Frank's shadow under the tutelage of the man himself.   Then again, he could use a mother's love, something he's been denied all these years.   I have memories of desperately fighting Voldemort with Frank, Alice, and Lily by my side and being bloody amazed that we all somehow survived.   Frank the pragmatic thinker and Alice the quintessential optimist - one gets a chance at a new life.

Harry used to pray for someone to come save him during those long years in the cupboard and one day his prayer was answered.   James never really had much use for seeking guidance in higher powers.   Before me are two souls, trapped in their own cupboards and praying for a rescuer.

I pray that the one I select will forgive me for picking them over the other.   I pray that Aimee never finds out that I could have healed her injuries, but chose to take a chance on something that may not even work.   I pray that I'm doing the right thing for the right reasons.

Someone once said, "Lead, follow, or get out of the way."   The last two are easy.

Opening the wooden box, I remove the vial and uncork the stopper.   I tell Dumbledore who we're giving the potion to.   He nods, accepting my decision, and helps me hold their mouth open.   Nothing happens immediately, but even powerful magic takes time.

All that's left now is to pray that it works.

• Previous
• A House of Cards Flawed Assumptions The Summer of Change Of Innuendo and Ice Cream Closets and Secrets Plans are Subject to Change I Belong to Nowhere Censure and Sensibility Bartering the Truth Every Rose has a Thorn Appearances Can Be Revealing What's the Price of Your Fame? Caged Fear Sometimes, It's Good to be Me Code of the Marauders Dancing in the Whirlwind The Dykstra Shuffle A Prayer for Forgiveness Out of Africa The Geist and the Grotto Mind Your Manners Head Games Humiliation and Other Diversionary Tactics Cry Havoc
• Next