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Myrtle watched as another ghost entered her domain, the second floor girls bathroom, all set to drive them away. This was her place! This was where she’d died! No one else had died here. Hands on her hips, she flew towards the intruder, only to realise at the last moment that it was The Grey Lady, one of the ancient Hogwarts ghosts. Somehow, such an old ghost didn’t seem likely to want to steal her bathroom, and Myrtle hurriedly aborted the gesture, diving into one of the stalls and causing a small splash before the other ghost could notice her.
Recovering, Myrtle crept to the doorway, peering her head round the door as invisibly as she could manage, watching to see what the older ghost was up to. Had she noticed Myrtle’s little tantrum? Would she hold it against her? Myrtle didn’t think she wanted to be on the wrong side of one of the ancient ghosts, it had been bad enough when she’d still been alive and had upset Nearly Headless Nick over the headless hunt – though he was really far too touchy about that, it happened every year.
The Grey Lady stood at the circle of sinks, focussing on the same one Harry had been so fascinated with a few years earlier. She waved her hand through it a couple of times, then – quite unexpectedly – started hissing at it, just like Harry had.
“Hey!” Myrtle protested. “Only Harry’s supposed to do that!”
Helena turned to look at her, and abruptly Myrtle remembered her decision to keep quiet. Oh well, too late for that now. The older ghost didn’t say anything initially though, giving Myrtle an opportunity to dig herself out.
“I mean, err, Harry Potter, he opened the Chamber of Secrets last time. But, err, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go down there, there’s a really big snake,” spluttered Myrtle, almost incoherently.
“Or the ghost of a big snake?” suggested Helena, smiling gently, apparently unconcerned by Myrtle’s posturing.
Myrtle shuddered at the thought.
“You can join us, if you wish, the other ghosts are coming. We have a task that falls to us,” explained Helena.
Go down there? With the ghost of the snake that killed her, and a bunch of other ghosts she didn’t like very much. Although, it seemed important to know what they were up to. Maybe she could help Harry out with them later. Gritting her teeth, Myrtle nodded, she would do it – for Harry!
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The massive tent seemed to be around 50% red heads, and Harry grinned as he watched his two best friends dancing together to a slow song, alongside the happy couple – Bill and Fleur – of course, and a million other couples he couldn’t even name. Molly and Arthur had even made it onto the dance floor for this one.
Harry thought this was probably one for him to sit out, and practically collapsed onto a chair close to some of Molly’s amazing treacle tart. He’d done plenty of dancing. In fact, he thought he’d really pulled off the crazy kid dancing well, for all those total strangers who thought he was six, sorry seven, rather than seventeen. He’d launched himself across the dance floor exuberantly whenever he thought he’d get away with it, Fred and George had found it hysterical, even joined in on occasion.
They hadn’t been appreciated quite as much, however. It was funny how much you could get away with when you were small.
The miscellaneous Aunties had been less fun. Ron and Ginny had to bail him out when Muriel had pinched his cheek one too many times. It was still sore too, that old lady really had quite a grip.
Just as Harry stuffed the last bite of treacle tart into his mouth, he was swung up into the air from behind, laughter accompanying him as he went.
“You can’t stop dancing today, Harry,” laughed Charlie. “You’ve got to keep going til Bill and Fleur leave, it’s the rules.”
Harry was doubtful. “Who says? No one else is doing that!”
“I say! I’m the best man, I make all the rules,” chuckled Charlie, throwing Harry up into the air easily and very nearly finding his nice, shiny suit sprayed with treacle tart remnants.
“Ooof, Charlie.” Harry swallowed hard as the dragon tamer caught him. “That was close.”
“Ah, maybe I’ll do the dancing for a minute then,” he conceded, twirling Harry through the air as he spun them across the dance floor, nearly taking out several couples.
“You’re even more hazardous than me!”
“Not possible,” grinned Charlie, “I’ve seen all the people you took out with dancing earlier, it’s like the aftermath of wizard chess.”
Harry nearly choked. “Wizard chess with Ron,” he suggested.
“Oh yeah, that bad!” Charlie spun away from the dance floor. “I think possibly I’ve had too much firewhiskey today to be doing that much spinning,” he admitted.
“And treacle tart,” agreed Harry, clutching his stomach.
“Maybe we’ll slow down a bit,” the young man suggested. “I heard there was birthday cake later. Have you decided if you’re seven or 17 yet?”
“I think, as much as I like the idea that I could be in control of my fate now,” said Harry, “I’m seven. I feel seven. Seventeen year old me would definitely not sit on your lap or spin around the dance floor like that, but seven year old me really quite enjoyed it.”
“If I may interject,” put in Dumbledore, looking shaky and old, practically crumbling into the seat opposite Charlie and Harry, “and I do apologise for eavesdropping, but this is more important than you realise. “But the fact that today is not Harry’s 17th birthday is critical. It has allowed us to rid ourselves of Voldemort once and for all without losing lives we would prefer to keep hold of in a significant battle. And mark my words, it would have been a serious battle.” He raised a shaking, completely black hand to point across the room, though it was impossible to tell who he was aiming at.
For the first time, to Harry’s eyes, Dumbledore looked like an old man. Someone Harry didn’t recognise came up to him, and led him away gently, treating him like he was fragile and not the sharpest mind Harry had ever met. It was sad.
“Cheer up,” grinned Ron, tapping Harry under the chin, “it’s your birthday and Bill’s about to go, you’ll finally get your birthday cake! Mum’s been desperate to get it out for hours!”
Behind him, Charlie’s arms gave him a quite squeeze, then Harry slid off his lap to follow Ron, keen to find out what exactly Molly might put on a birthday cake for turning 7 and 17 at the same time.
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It seemed like the entire area around the house was a mess when Harry got up the next morning, despite Molly’s expertise in cleaning spells and the willingness of all her children to help. Well, Harry was willing – he knew what it was like being left to clean up – his older “siblings” perhaps it was more that they were scared of their Mother’s retribution if they didn’t, but they helped nonetheless. Still, the cleaning spells didn’t quite work.
Then Harry tripped just as he’d got himself a glass of juice, and managed to make the whole lot worse all over again.
Molly, who picked him up, sat him firmly on a chair, and told him not to worry about it, waved her wand and mostly cleaned up the mess immediately, but she looked worried.
“Harry, I think you should sit there,” she said. “Here.” She slid the plate with the last slice of his snitch shaped birthday cake resting on it, fudge flavoured wings still resting at either side.
“I can help,” promised Harry, unable to help the fluttering in his stomach that told him being useful was important, even though he knew it wasn’t true – not here.
“Not this time, Harry,” said Molly firmly, still looking concerned. “I think all our guests have brought a pixie infestation in,” she explained, tiredly. “It happens sometimes, especially here – they like it, so if they realise where the wizards are going…”
“I can help,” repeated Harry.
“No, no.” Molly held her hand up in front of him, stopping him again. “They’ve already tripped you, and you’re not big enough to deal with a bite. You’re going to have to sit this one out, Harry. In fact. Charlie!”
Her second eldest appeared almost instantly, looking happy, but still slightly the worse for wear and covered in whatever he’d just been cleaning. “Mum?” He blinked at her, looking confused.
“Stay with Harry a minute, I think we have a pixie infestation and I need to ask Sirius if he can go visit for a few days.”
“Ah.” Charlie nodded at his Mother, gravely, then grinned at Harry, just as Ron appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“She always used to ship me and Ginny off to Auntie Muriel’s when there were pixies too,” shrugged Ron, shuddering at the thought. “Think I would have preferred the pixies. You’ll be fine with Sirius and Remus though, right?”
“It’s just because it’s not safe for you,” added Charlie, catching on to Harry’s worries. “And Sirius would love to see you.”
Harry stared at the two brothers doubtfully. “But I went horcrux hunting,” he pointed out, sure that the pixies couldn’t be as dangerous as that.
Charlie rolled his eyes amicably. “You did, and Mum still hasn’t forgiven Dumbledore for that one, how do you think she’d feel if you got hurt here?”
It was possible Charlie had a point, Harry had to concede. If nothing else, Molly would be very unhappy if Dumbledore made comment that she wasn’t looking after him properly. Or Snape, or Sirius. Maybe it would even cause problems with the adoption if it was bad enough. He definitely didn’t want that. No, he had a lot of people looking out for him these days, and it was quite nice. Even if he was seventeen enough to not really need it.
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Dumbledore and Snape sat solemnly before the assembled Weasley’s; Arthur, Molly, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George and Ron. The mood was serious, it was obvious, in part because the headmaster had come himself, despite his obvious ill health. Ginny had been packed off to visit Luna, though she’d protested as soon as she’d realised she was missing something.
“So?” Molly didn’t seem perturbed by the headmaster’s ailing appearance at all, she was still angry with the man. “You’ve gathered us here, made us all worry again. What is it this time?”
“Forgive me, Molly,” smiled Dumbledore, though forgiveness was likely not forthcoming, “I wish to discuss Harry.”
“No!” She objected immediately, causing Arthur to take hold of her hand, almost physically pulling her away from Dumbledore, though she had yet to leave her seat. “I will not agree to any more of these missions. He’s six!”
“Seven,” put in Ron, immediately cowering behind Charlie afterwards.
“He’s a little boy! I’ve heard all about those missions. He’s a little boy and you’re taking him into dangerous situations.”
Snape interceded, holding his hand firmly between Molly and Dumbledore and interrupting before she could get any more worked up. “I happen to agree with you, Mrs Weasley,” he told her. “The use, and it was use, of such a young child was unconscionable and I have told this to the headmaster several times. However, that is now past. There remains only one hurdle to defeating the Dark Lord, unfortunately, that hurdle could also kill Harry. Whether we agree it or not.”
“Unfortunately!” Molly began to actually rise from her seat, and this time Arthur let her, likely seeing that Snape was more than ready to face her down.
“Whether we agree it or not,” he repeated, towering over her, even as she stood, and waiting for her to stop.
“Molly,” whispered Arthur. “Let’s hear what they need to tell us, eh? Then we can help Harry.”
“They can’t…” Molly sank back down, tears starting to run down her face. “He’s just a little boy.”
Snape also sank back into his seat, turning momentarily to Dumbledore, who was now breathing quite heavily, before taking up the narration of the problem again himself. “We have been hunting horcruxes. Elements of the Dark Lord’s soul that kept him clinging to life.”
“With Harry!” Molly hissed, unable to help herself.
“Indeed,” nodded Snape. “As I have stated, this was not by my choice, and it is in the past. It will not help us to save Harry now.”
“Save him?” asked Ron.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Charlie. “I thought he was with Sirius?”
“Harry’s a horcrux himself,” said Arthur, the horror evident on his face.
“That monster’s inside him?” whispered Molly to her husband.
Arthur glanced at Snape, receiving a sharp nod, before turning back to her, leaving the Professor to deal with their sons.
“There must be some way to save him,” cried Ron. “You must have some ideas.”
“Not everything has answers, Ron,” muttered Charlie sadly, patting him on the knee.
“What? So you think we should stab Harry with the Gryffindor sword?”
“I don’t,” said Charlie, outwardly as calm as ever. “I would do anything.” He looked at Dumbledore, silent for several moments. “What kills horcruxes that won’t kill Harry?”
“It is difficult, Charlie,” panted Dumbledore. “We have been searching for an answer all year, but still no clear solution has come to us. However, old magical theory suggests that a repeat of the spell which created it, from the same person and the same wand, may reverse the horcrux.”
“Won’t that mean the horcrux will recreate You-Know-Who?” asked Percy. “For that matter, doesn’t that mean you need You-Know-Who to reverse it?”
“No, no, my boy,” smiled Dumbledore. “If I may start with the first point, there is no body in the vicinity. His physical being has returned to its state of ten years ago – well, eight years at this point – the horcrux cannot help it other than tethering him to this earth. Potentially needing Voldemort to recreate the spell is possibly an issue however. We are still working to resolve this.”
“Working to resolve it!” spluttered Ron. “I thought you were trying to avoid him coming back.”
“And we are,” put in Snape. “The headmaster merely wishes to indicate that if we fail to remove Harry’s horcrux, it will ultimately be possible when the Dark Lord returns.”
“Fantastic,” muttered Ron.
“At which point, the Dark Lord will attempt to murder Harry and leave only his own, recently recovered, body to deal with,” pointed out Snape. “The Dark Lord likely still believes he has multiple horcruxes, but he does not. Nor does he have sufficient soul remaining to create more.”
“Risky business,” remarked Fred and George together.
“I want to find something better,” added Charlie, his hands gripping into fists. “I can’t believe that we can’t do something better for that kid.”
“Charlie,” said Dumbledore. “We will find a better way, we simply need your help.”
“We also have Nagini to assist us,” put in Snape. “She is more than willing.”
“We need a substitute for You-Know-Who, and the actual wand he cursed Harry with?” asked Percy. “Well I don’t know about the substitute, but I have an idea about the wand.”
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“Harry, you’ve done it!” Sirius danced around gleefully, careful not to tread on the tiny, fluffy, black and white puppy at his feet, barking excitedly.
Transforming himself, Sirius began running round the room with Harry, getting under Remus’s feet and knocking over various bits and pieces they had lying round. No one cared. Even worrywart Remus was stood watching, clapping them and laughing.
“Come here, Harry,” called Remus, clapping his hands again, then holding them out invitingly.
Puppy Harry wandered over to Remus, completely unconcerned, rubbing his nose against his palm as the man reached over to stroke his back, panting happily.
“Your fur feels fantastic, Harry,” commented Remus, “I could do this all day.”
Sirius shifted back, easily, reaching out to stroke Harry too, but surprising him. Puppy Harry jumped violently, almost hiccupping, as he realised something he hadn’t seen coming was touching him.
“Sorry, Harry,” grinned Sirius, “only me.” He patted the puppy again, this time without any problems. “You know, you really need a puppy name. That way we’ll know how to refer to you if the Aurors are ever after you.”
“Sirius!” protested Remus. “The Aurors aren’t going to be chasing Harry!”
“They might,” retorted Sirius, “I’ve seen the Prophet, they change their minds on a sixpence!”
“Hmm…” Remus bent down and picked up Harry, staring at his – still green – eyes. “I wonder what sort of dog you are.” He settled the puppy on his lap, idly stroking him as Sirius rushed off to produce his book of dog breeds. It didn’t really matter, of course, but it would be nice to know. They’d bought the book specifically to figure out what Sirius was, back in the day.
“Found him already,” beamed Sirius, holding out the book triumphantly before he’d even made it properly down the stairs. “Finnish lapphund, look.” He gestured to a picture, and a detailed description. “They used to be used to look after reindeer, seems appropriate.”
“It does!” laughed Remus, “Though it’s difficult to be 100% sure about the breed,” he admitted. “Puppies are slightly different, but it looks like you’re right. Very nice, Harry. Maybe you need a good Finnish name then. Heikki?”
“Where on Earth did that come from?” laughed Sirius.
“It’s the Finnish equivalent of Harry,” smiled Remus, slowly. “Doesn’t everyone know that?”
“Ha ha.” Sirius rolled his eyes, reaching out to stroke Harry again. “No.”
“Oh, if you must know, I had a Finnish friend a few years before you – err – escaped. He was called Heikki, he told me it was like being called Harry.”
“Ha, I knew you weren’t that clever, Moony. Clever, but not that clever!” Sirius laughed, tickling Harry slightly. “Are you planning to turn back at all, Harry? We’ll name you without your input if you don’t.”
Abruptly, the tiny bundle of fur on Remus’s lap turned back into a small boy, with another loud hiccup to accompany the change, his hair even more messed up than normal afterwards.
“Yes, no naming me without me getting a say,” grinned Harry, very pleased with himself.
“It’s already done,” laughed Sirius. “Hiccup, like in that dragon show on TV you showed me.”
“You’ve been watching muggle cartoons together?” asked Remus.
“A bit,” said Harry. “This one’s really good, Charlie told me about it because of all the dragons, though he said it’s not entirely right. I think he was worried I’d walk right up to a really big, scary dragon and get injured.”
“You would definitely do that,” laughed Sirius. “Just like Hiccup.”
Harry frowned, crossing his arms, but he couldn’t help the little smirk that crept in.
“I knew it!” Sirius danced around, pointing at Harry’s increasing smirk. “Hiccup it is.”
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Helena, normally a reclusive ghost, stood before the other ghosts in the main hall of the Chamber of Secrets, surrounded by snakes and Slytherin symbols. Her hands sat on her hips, the force of her will to get this done almost physically tangible as she stared down the others. Myrtle, who tended to avoid the older ghosts like the plague, found it quite intimidating.
She wasn’t wild about all the snakes either, given how she’d died.
“I have asked nothing of you, over hundreds of years,” Helena began, addressing the older ghosts. “Now, you must help me,” she declared. “We must save Harry Potter.”
“I will do anything,” promised the Bloody Baron, “I will redeem myself to you.” Making Myrtle wonder what on earth he’d done to her before. Plus, as far as she’d heard, including as a student herself, the Bloody Baron was nothing but a pest, almost as bad as Peeves. She wouldn’t have thought he’d do anything for anyone.
“If you do this, it will be as though you allowed me to stay with my own son,” announced Helena. “The one you took me from when you killed me.”
Myrtle put her hand over her mouth as she almost gasped. He killed her? That was much worse than being a pest. She glanced at the other ghosts, hoping that they hadn’t heard her make a noise, but they were all too busy watching The Grey Lady and the Baron.
The Baron hung his head. “A son? I never…”
“No one knew,” she shouted. “That does not make him unreal. As I was lost in the woods of Albania, his Father saved me. Saved me from the diadem, from myself, from my Mother…”
“Lady, I don’t understand,” put in the Fat Friar, making Myrtle jump as he was standing directly behind her and Helena suddenly seemed to be glaring through her. Or at her. “How can saving Harry Potter do anything for your son?”
“It is too late to help my son,” said Helena, “my boy is long gone. But little Harry looks so much like him, that smile, his face, his build. He reminds me of my son, strongly. This boy needs help, now. I might not have been able to help my son, but I can help him. And in doing so, we can rid ourselves of that vile monster, Voldemort.”
“I will help in any way I can.” The Baron bowed to her. “My penance.”
“I’ll help,” put in Myrtle, wincing when they all looked at her. “Well, I like Harry,” she said.
“And we too will assist, of course, my Lady,” Sir Nicholas bowed, encompassing the Friar in his action with a nod.
“I only fail to understand how,” added the Friar. “Is there a plan?”
“There is,” nodded Helena, adding, “I thank you, my friends,” and bowing back to them. “I have already taken possession of a piece of Voldemort’s soul from the horcrux in the diadem. Dumbledore and Snape believe that a combination of Voldemort and his wand will be able to remove the piece of soul from Harry before it can rebirth Voldemort, but they are still working on the details. We must first spend some time spying on them to see what else we can learn.”
“I can spy on Dumbledore,” offered Myrtle, her squeaky, excited voice echoing in the Chamber of Secrets. She giggled. “I talk to him sometimes anyway, when he comes to visit. He won’t think anything of seeing me.”
“Thank you,” nodded Helena, graciously.
“I will spy on Snape,” said the Baron. “It will prove my worthiness, and I am the best placed to see the man anyway.”
“Then it is settled. We will meet back here next week,” declared Helena, floating away, back towards the exit.
Myrtle was the last to leave, floating up the entrance and back into her bathroom after they’d all gone, wondering what exactly she’d got herself into. Certainly it was true that Dumbledore wouldn’t think twice about seeing her, the man had always been kind to her, she could fulfil that part of her mission. But what was this about Harry having a piece of You-Know-Who in his head.
Poor Harry!
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Harry stepped into the floo, alone, as Sirius held the floo powder ready. Remus was already in the basement, preparing for the full moon, and Sirius didn’t want to leave him, but he’d contacted Molly, so she knew he was coming.
Harry thought stepping into the floo by himself was pretty brave, for this incarnation.
“The Burrow!” shouted Sirius, dropping the floo powder and watching as Harry disappeared in a swirl of green smoke.
Everyone seemed enormously pleased to see Harry at The Burrow, it was lovely. As soon as Harry popped out of the floo – pretty much head first into Ron and Molly – he was surrounded by people looking to hang around with him, and frequently have cuddles. Charlie carried him round for who knows how long, Ron huddled up in a corner with him. Even Percy got in on the act at one point – though it didn’t go any further than putting an arm round him and vaguely reassuring him about Scabbers.
Molly took it all to a whole new level, she seemed to think that he’d forgotten to eat at all whilst at Sirius’s, way more so than in the past when he’d been at the Dursley’s – as unlikely as that seemed – or at Hogwarts for the term. It was very strange. With all the cuddles, it even crossed his mind that possibly he’d accidentally changed into his puppy form without realising, after all, Remus had said he was very cute and cuddly. Though he wasn’t sure why that would make Molly feed him. Plus his hands still looked like hands – he’d checked.
He finally decided to ask about it as Ron and Charlie took him up to bed. He was lying down in bed, cozy and warm, definitely ready to go to sleep, when he got the question out. “Did you all really miss me this week or something?”
Neither Ron nor Charlie replied for a moment, and when they did it was Ron who spoke. “Yeah mate, we really missed you this week, nothing but pixies to play with.”
Harry went to sleep happy.