Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
HOGWARTS, 1996
“THE FINAL DROPS OF ELIXIR HAVE BEEN DRUNK; THE MEANS TO MAKE MORE WILL BE HIDDEN BY THE ONE WITH THE BLACKENED HAND.”
The loud harsh voice spoke sharply without emotion. Professor Trelawney had gone rigid in her chair, and her eyes were unfocused. Then her eyes rolled up, her mouth sagged and she continued.
“THE MEANS WILL BE REVEALED TO THOSE WHO KNOW NOT, AFTER THE ONE BOTH EARLY AND LATE ESCAPES THE ROOM OF DOOM FOR THE SECOND TIME...”
Professor Trelawney’s head fell forward onto her chest. She made a grunting sort of noise. Suddenly, her head snapped up. “I’m sorry,” she said dreamily in a soft misty sort of voice totally unlike the previous one. “You were asking about my qualifications? My great-great-grandmother was a very famous seer, you might remember her name, Madam Melvina,” she added proudly looking up through her thin glasses, her large round magnified eyes looking out of place on her angular face. “I have carried on in her tradition, of course.”
Hogwarts High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge gave a small throat-clearing cough and smiled revealing her pointed teeth. Inwardly Dolores frowned in disgust. As far as Dolores was concerned, Madam Melvina was a total charlatan who made some lucky guesses. Clearly Professor Trelawney was no better.
That phony display of a changing voice and prophetic words was an interesting act. It may impress some, but not Dolores. Elixir? There weren’t a lot of elixirs of importance. Professor Trelawney was a woman of limited imagination and from all accounts hadn’t left the school grounds since her employment. That meant it probably referred to the Elixir of Life that made such a splash in the news a few years ago. Everyone knew there was only one Sorcerer’s stone and it had been destroyed, or so Dumbledore said. Therefore the stone could not be the “means” used to make more elixir.
If it were possible to make more elixir, the knowledge would rest with Nicholas Flamel. Nicholas Flamel was dying, not hiding, and in no condition to make more Elixir even if he wanted to, which he obviously didn’t, or he wouldn’t have destroyed the stone in the first place. Besides, Nicholas Flamel didn’t have a blackened hand. The only people Dolores knew who might have a deformed hand were low-lifes and criminals who tended to dabble in the Dark Arts—people Nicholas Flamel would never associate with let alone entrust something of value to hide.
The rest was a bunch of mumble jumble—meaningless words no doubt included purely for the effect. It took some fancy magic to be both early and late at the same time—but why bother? And Dolores had never heard of a “Room of Doom.” It sounded good but if there were truly a Room of Doom, one certainly wouldn’t be escaping it “twice!” Professor Trelawney would have been more convincing had she prophesized about something relevant—like the whereabouts of Sirius Black or her next job…
Dolores made some check marks on her clipboard and rose purposefully from her chair. “Thank you for your help,” she told Professor Trelawney in a high girlish voice while smiling her sweetest smile and straightening her pink cardigan. “I have all I need for now. I’ll be in touch with you later.” Dolores gave a small girlish giggle and then turned to leave. Dumbledore may be an excellent wizard, but he certainly had no skill in selecting qualified professors. Hogwarts definitely needed some serious house cleaning starting with Professor Trelawney!
PRESENT DAY
The mall bustled with people. Laurel Lynn Wycliff searched the crowds anxiously looking for anyone she recognized. She saw no one. That was to be expected, as this was not a place where she usually shopped. Nor did Laurel see the person she had come to meet. But she wasn’t worried; she was still a few minutes early and he was always extremely punctual.
Laurel walked into the food court area. It was past lunchtime. A few people still sat at tables finishing up their meals. Laurel purchased a cup of tea and some biscuits. She selected an empty table near the wall and sat down while still scanning the crowds.
Suddenly, Laurel saw a tall slender figure with untidy gray-brown hair and glasses wearing a gray overcoat and a suit of nondescript gray standing next to a pillar. He seemed to blend in with the background and Laurel wouldn’t have noticed him at all except she saw him start forward in her direction and move purposefully within the crowd. While he walked, he glanced down frequently at what appeared to be a cell-phone in his left hand—except Laurel knew he didn’t own a phone. She wondered what he was really looking at.
“Hello, Mrs. Wycliff, Laurel,” he said cordially as he drew near.
“Hello, Mr. Potter, Harry,” said Laurel standing hastily to greet him. When she looked closely, she could see a zig-zaggy scar on his forehead. Her daughter Holly said Harry had gotten it as a tiny baby when somebody tried to kill him. Laurel couldn’t imagine anyone trying to kill a baby. “Won’t you have a seat?” Laurel asked indicating the empty chair across from hers.
Harry pocketed the “phone” and sat down. “Where’s Dillon?” he asked glancing around while Laurel sat back down.
“Uh, he couldn’t make it,” replied Laurel uncomfortably looking down briefly while she spoke.
“Perhaps we should reschedule,” suggested Harry easily, his green eyes staring intently at Laurel.
“Uh, no,” said Laurel feeling extremely uncomfortable. “That won’t be necessary, we can go on without him…”
“Was he ever coming?” Harry asked suspiciously.
“Uh…” Laurel looked away from those piercing green eyes. What should she say?
“Does he even know?” demanded Harry with more suspicion.
Laurel didn’t respond. She was unwilling to lie but didn’t know how to word what she wanted to say.
“I think I should go,” Harry said abruptly having found the answer he sought from her expressions. He stood to leave.
“No! Don’t!” said Laurel reaching out and grabbing Harry’s wrist. He froze at her touch. “I’m sorry for misleading you,” continued Laurel hastily while refusing to let go, “but I thought if you knew why I really wanted you here you wouldn’t come!”
“If that’s what you thought,” said Harry coldly, “then you were probably right. I’ll be leaving now,” he added and drew back from Laurel pulling her arm with him not even bothering to inquire why Laurel had wanted him. But Laurel’s grip on Harry’s wrist tightened.
“Let go of me, Mrs. Wycliff.”
“No!” said Laurel insistently while gripping even tighter. “You’ve got to stay! Got to listen! If you try to leave I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” interrupted Harry sharply. His green eyes flashed angrily from beneath his glasses and that zig-zaggy scar seemed to show up white against his skin. Laurel stopped. Harry was not a person to be threatened or bullied. And as much as she wanted to make a scene to force him to stay, she wouldn’t. They owed him at least that much. “Nothing,” she mumbled releasing her hold. Laurel could see the imprint of her fingers still on his wrist.
“Thank-you,” he said quietly while rubbing his wrist. “I’ll be le—”
“It’s about Dillon!” Laurel blurted. “He’s in trouble!” Laurel continued quickly before she lost the nerve. She was not used to voicing problems in front of strangers—well nearly a stranger. She’d first met Harry Potter two years earlier and during that time he had kept his distance sharing their company briefly only a few instances and then only when absolutely necessary. For the most part he seemed nice enough but to be honest, Harry was a bit weird, and they were still strangers. “He won’t eat;” Laurel continued hurriedly not giving Harry a chance to respond, “doesn’t sleep; doesn’t talk; he just sits and stares!”
“Maybe he should see someone,” stated Harry unsympathetically. He still stood ready to leave but at least he hadn’t just walked off.
“I already suggested that and Dillon flat out refused,” replied Laurel. “He insists there’s nothing wrong! But there is! It’s like he doesn’t care any more; he’s lost all interest in everything—in me, the children, in life itself! And it’s not just at home!” Laurel added urgently. “Dillon’s boss called this week. Apparently Dillon’s been doing pretty much the same thing at work. I told them there’d been an accident recently,” Laurel added. “They’re being understanding about it now, but if Dillon doesn’t snap out of it soon he’s going to lose his job! And it’s a good one!”
“That’s too bad,” stated Harry coolly, “but how does all this affect me?”
“It, ah, started after we got back from that thing with the, uh, tree…” explained Laurel meaning the incident during the summer where both Holly and Vernon had vanished before their eyes! Even now, Laurel had a hard time thinking, let alone talking, about the events of that terrifying day.
“We never touched him!” stated Harry automatically, defensively.
“I know that,” agreed Laurel hurriedly. Holly had said their disappearance was the result of a magical curse made by somebody named Tom Riddle, who was also a scary wizard called Lord Voldemort! “But after we figured out what had, uh, happened to them, Dillon mentioned that it was all his fault—”
“It wasn’t,” Harry assured her.
“I know that, too,” agreed Laurel. “But later, I heard Dillon tell Holly how hard he was trying to keep her safe and how he had failed… I think he thinks he failed them both that day and it’s still bothering him!”
“That’s all very interesting, but how does it involve me?”
“Could you maybe talk with him?” There! She had said it! Dillon would never approve of Laurel going to Harry and asking for help. But Laurel was desperate and could think of nothing else to try. She had worked too hard to keep the family together despite all the weirdness that had come with Harry to let it fall apart without a fight now!
“Me?” questioned Harry in disbelief. “Whatever for?”
“I can’t take him to a professional even if he would go!” protested Laurel. “The moment Dillon mentions how he saw his children being pulled out of a tree they’d lock him up for sure! Dillon can’t talk with his parents about this either,” continued Laurel. “They still don’t even know about Holly being an, uh, you-know-what, and he refuses to talk to me. You’re the only one he has left!”
“But I don’t know about such things…”
Laurel reached out and picked up her cup of tea while she phrased her thoughts. The liquid sloshed precariously in her trembling hand. Laurel took a sip of tea to steady herself. Then she stood up. Laurel needed to talk with Harry face to face; it would be harder for him to refuse that way. But since Harry wouldn’t sit, Laurel stood.
“I know that,” agreed Laurel taking another sip before putting the cup down. It was rather cold weak tea but it did help to calm her a bit. “But Holly told me how you helped her deal with, uh, things, after her first time, you know, there,” meaning the other time Holly had been trapped by the Tom Riddle curse and had nearly died while still at Hogwarts, “and I know you helped her after the plane crash, too,” Laurel continued. Holly hadn’t talked much about that experience at all and then wouldn’t go into details admitting only that the images of dead bodies had given her nightmares.
“Turning Holly into a vegetarian may not have been the best solution,” Laurel reflected honestly while remembering how difficult it had been for her to prepare meals they could all eat and enjoy during the summer, “but it worked. And now, she’s not a vegetarian any more—Holly got over it!” Of course, Holly tended to keep her eyes tightly closed during each bite, but still… Laurel took a deep breath and looked straight into Harry’s green eyes. “I’m hoping you can find some way to help Dillon come to terms with what happened…to help him get over it!”
“Holly’s different,” protested Harry while meeting her gaze squarely. “She likes me and I like her. Holly trusts me; we can talk and she’ll listen… Dillon doesn’t like me and he certainly doesn’t trust me—he’d never listen to anything I had to say.”
“I know you two have had your differences,” admitted Laurel. That was phrasing it lightly. Laurel knew that despite his quiet demeanor, Harry had no love for Dillon, probably, she suspected, with good reason and the mere mention of Harry’s name used to cause Dillon to bristle with suppressed rage. It didn’t now, though; Dillon didn’t respond to much of anything these days. “But Dillon trusts you,” Laurel countered. “He trusts you with Holly. Surely you can make him listen… You must! He needs you!”
“But I don’t even like him!” protested Harry.
“Do it for Holly, then,” Laurel pleaded. “If Dillon falls apart, think what it’ll do to her!” She kept her eyes fixed on Harry, sensing he was beginning to weaken. Laurel took a deep breath. “You once agreed to help a little girl who was dying,” she continued as persuasively as possible, “one you had never even met before, didn’t even know existed, and you said you were doing it just because she was “family.” Can you do less for your cousin?”
The silence between them stretched out as Laurel waited for a response, she kept her intent gaze directly on Harry’s eyes willing him to agree.
Suddenly the hard glint in Harry green eyes seemed to soften and he sighed. “Very well,” Harry said and the stern features in his face relaxed just a fraction as he spoke. “I’ll look into it,” he told her. “But no promises.”
“Thank you,” said Laurel with relief. And she put her hand out to shake his…
Harry looked at the hand without touching it. “That’s not necessary,” he told her softly. “As you said, we’re family. Besides, I haven’t done anything.” Laurel lowered her hand uncertainly. “You do realize,” Harry added, “that with the way Dillon feels about me, any involvement on my part may make things worse, not better, don’t you?”
“I understand,” said Laurel solemnly. Dillon might hit the roof if he learned she had gone to Harry, then again, he might not—Dillon seemed more like an empty zombie these days. “I’m willing to take that risk,” she told Harry. “I wouldn’t be here if things weren’t already pretty bad. I know you can’t promise anything, but at least you’ll try. That’s all I can ask.”
Harry nodded. Then he pulled out his “cell-phone,” opened it and glanced briefly at its screen. “I’d best be going,” he told her calmly. “Good day, Mrs. Wycliff.”
“Good day, Mr. Potter,” replied Laurel formally. “And thank you again.”
Harry nodded one last time and then walked swiftly off vanishing within the crowd of people.
*********************
“Ki—ah!”
Vernon Wycliff pulled some crisps from the bag and put them into his mouth. He was sitting in the shade in his back yard watching Holly practice karate. Holly had insisted on taking lessons the moment they had returned home from the weird hospital. Vernon didn’t like to think about the hospital because it also meant thinking about why he had been there and horrible hours of pain and darkness that had happened before. It was the result of some sort of magical curse intended for Cousin Harry. Holly had broken the curse and everything was fine now so Vernon did his best to shove the experience from his mind. That wasn’t always easy, though, especially at night. But in the daylight, under the sun, Vernon could pretend that it had never happened.
“Ki—ah!” Holly then twisted and turned on the lawn completing some sort of complicated pattern with her hands and feet.
Vernon shoved some more crisps into his mouth savoring their salty cheesy taste and then took a sip of the soda that had been on the ground next to him. Karate seemed a stupid way to waste the rest of summer. Vernon had asked Holly why she wanted to take karate and she muttered something about wanting to learn to defend herself. That didn’t make sense to Vernon as Holly was supposed to be a witch or something—with a wand and everything. Why would she need something as ordinary as karate? But dad didn’t object so mum took Holly to karate classes three times a week and Holly diligently practiced what she learned the rest of the time.
Holly turned and punched the empty air with her fists. “Ki—ah!” she shouted.
Vernon finished the crisp. He crumpled the bag and tossed it aside. Then he opened the second bag on the ground— barbeque flavoured this time. He popped some crisps into his mouth and chewed contentedly while Holly worked on her steps—forms, she called them. Holly looked like a real ninja person wearing that white uniform with her bare feet moving back and forth purposefully on the grass. She looked so determined with her long blonde hair tied back into a ponytail to keep it out of her face. Vernon liked to watch Holly move in those funny directions and give her shouts; it kept him distracted, kept him from thinking other things. Vernon didn’t take lessons with Holly, of course; karate wasn’t his thing. Besides, taking lessons would have meant leaving the house to go to class. Vernon didn’t want to do that. He hadn’t left the house since they got back from the hospital. It just felt better that way.
Holly straightened. She walked to the edge of the lawn and bowed at the hips, her hands at her side. Then she walked over to Vernon and sat down next to him. Sasha, her long-haired gray cat ran up to join them weaving in between the two, back and forth begging for attention.
“How are you?” asked Holly after she took a long sip from her water bottle. She absently stroked Sasha while she rested in the shade.
“Fine,” replied Vernon promptly and he popped another crisp in his mouth.
“That’s what mum and dad always say when I ask them,” replied Holly glumly as she stroked Sasha again much to the cat’s delight; she had started to purr loudly and forced her way onto Holly’s lap. “They’re lying too.”
Vernon didn’t argue; there was no point. Holly was something called an Empath. She could feel what other people felt and could always tell when he lied. “What about you?” he asked instead. “How are you?”
“I’m fi—” Holly stopped. Vernon looked at her curiously. Holly hadn’t said much about her experiences while he was in the room. She’d told him a rather strange story about a wizard who had scared her so much that she could eat meat whenever she thought of him. But other than that… Vernon watched Holly stroke the cat repeatedly and waited patiently for her answer. Sasha was curled contentedly in Holly’s lap purring louder than ever and kneading Holly’s leg gently with her paws. “I see things,” Holly finally admitted. “Things that aren’t there, oughtn’t be there, but I see them anyway.”
“Ghosts?” inquired Vernon knowing the school she attended was supposed to be haunted.
“No, not ghosts,” replied Holly thoughtfully. “Just flashes of buildings and things and people that aren’t really there. Kind of like memories, but they’re stronger than regular memories. They usually go away if I turn my head or close my eyes long enough.”
“Oh,” replied Vernon and he took a deep drink finishing his soda. He didn’t understand what Holly meant and wasn’t sure he wanted to. Vernon tossed the empty soda can on the ground next to the crumpled bag.
Holly turned her head suddenly. “Mum’s back,” she announced. And Vernon heard the car door on the other side of the house slam shut.
“I wonder what she bought,” said Vernon eagerly happy for a change in subject.
“Bought?”
“Sure—she said she was going shopping, remember?”
“She didn’t go shopping,” replied Holly softly.
“She didn’t?” said Vernon confused. “But mum said—”
“I know what she said,” replied Holly grabbing a crisp from Vernon’s bag. “And she’s probably brought something back, but that’s not why she went out. I don’t know why she went out.” Holly popped the crisp into her mouth and chewed making several loud crunching noises. “Sometimes,” Holly added after she had swallowed, “I really hate it when I can tell when people are lying or telling half truths. I feel like I know too much—know things I shouldn’t know.”
“Oh.” Vernon tipped his head back, opened his mouth and poured the rest of the crisps from the bag into his mouth. Personally, being an Empath didn’t sound all that bad—especially around birthdays and Christmas. But Vernon didn’t say that to Holly. She sounded too depressed to appreciate the benefits of being an Empath at the moment. “Well,” said Vernon while crumpling his bag. “I’m going to see what she got. You coming?” He reached over, grabbed his soda can and the other empty bag. “Maybe she’s picked up some dinner,” he added while standing up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry!”
“No you’re not!” protested Holly. “You’re full! I’m full! Bloated!”
“Why don’t you go block!” snapped Vernon angrily. Vernon knew Holly wasn’t full. Holly hadn’t eaten a thing since noon and had spent all afternoon practicing. Blocking was something Holly could do to prevent how other people felt from affecting her. The only way Holly could feel “full” was by feeling what Vernon felt and Holly wouldn’t have felt Vernon’s fullness had she been blocking.
“I’m sorry!” said Holly standing up immediately. Sasha slid from Holly’s lap; the cat twisted and leaped to the ground. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Holly added. She sounded as if she were ready to cry and Vernon realized it was probably one of those times Holly wished she couldn’t tell when people were lying… He wished it too.
“It’s just when I block, I don’t feel as safe,” Holly continued explaining. “When I can’t tell who is around me or where … I get scared...” Holly’s voice trembled a bit as she spoke and Vernon immediately regretted his earlier words.
“I’m sorry I snapped,” Vernon apologized. “I know I’m full,” he confessed. “But I just can’t seem to stop eating. I get all shaky inside when I do. To tell the truth,” he added, “I’m kind of sick of crisps at the moment.”
Holly smiled. “Me too,” she said softly, her green eyes glistening. “Let’s go inside.” And the two headed for the back door.