19: Be Careful What You Seek

Twinkling lights danced at the limit of Harry's vision. The Fireflies were outpacing him. Harry pressed his body against the broomstick to minimize drag as much as possible, but the Firebolt simply could not keep up. The gap between he and the Flies was growing wider. To make matters worse, the insects were content to cruise just above the treetops. At this speed, Harry felt a constant nagging fear that some unexpectedly tall obstacle would flatten him into a pancake at any moment.

A rather Hermionesque voice in the back of his mind began to speculate that perhaps another night, another pepper, and some better preparation might be the wisest course, but Harry had been through too much to accept defeat. He wondered if he could Apparate while riding the broomstick, just far enough to catch up to the Flies. Not at this speed, he finally decided. He had to concentrate just to stay on the Firebolt; there was no way he could focus sufficiently to Apparate.

Harry thought he'd lost the Flies on the horizon, but he spotted them again after they'd moved beyond the lights of a small village. This was ridiculous. Harry was sure they were headed for London; he couldn't hope to track them through the lights of the city.He could stop now and apparate to Grimmauld Place. Where else would Kreacher keep his possessions? Where, indeed. The little git proved he wasn't bound to the house when he visited Malfoy Manor and tried to betray the entire Order. And besides, Dobby had searched Sirius's--no, his--no, Lupin's--house quite thoroughly, Harry was certain of that.

Poor Dobby. His whole bedroom had been destroyed on account of these stupid Flies, and now Harry was going to lose them! He wrapped one arm firmly around the broom handle, freeing his other hand to pull in some folds of his cloak that were flapping in the wind. Every ounce of drag was his enemy tonight. His shoulders were aching from the effort of steadying the broom, and it still wasn't fast enough!

But what if I slow them down?

The idea hit Harry out of the blue. What good was it to be a Legilimagus if you couldn't get into the minds of a couple of Flies and suggest they cool their afterburners a tad? For a moment, Harry laughed out loud at his narrow view of the solution up until that point. But then he realized he hadn't the slightest idea how to contact the mind of an insect half a mile off and zooming away from him.

He had to try. Harry climbed a few hundred feet to ensure a clear flight path, though it cost him an even greater lag behind the Flies. He could actually see them a bit better from above, but only because the moors were so empty and dark. Harry stared at them, envisioning their multifaceted eyes, their tiny little heads encasing what passed for a brain in the insect world. His own eyes began to lose their focus, it was working, he could feel himself stretching out to make the contact--

Directly in front of him, a fireball exploded.

There was no time to comprehend what happened, let alone react to it. The shock wave flipped Harry's broom in midair, but his momentum carried him through the actual flames so quickly that he barely felt the warmth. The broomstick was spinning like a drunken gyroscope, however, and Harry was forced to slow down and regain control. By the time he leveled off again, he was no more than fifteen feet from the ground. The Fireflies were nowhere to be seen.

Fawkes landed on the front of Harry's broomstick with a gusty flap of his crimson wings, peering over his sharp bill with a look of unmistakable reproach.

"What was that all about?" Harry demanded. "Now I've lost them!" Fawkes made no sound, but wriggled his tail insolently. "Oh, for the love of Merlin," said Harry crossly, "this had better be important. I've spent all evening working with those Flies, and now I'll have to start over." Harry glared angrily at the phoenix, but when it came to expressions of unctious disdain, Fawkes could beat Hedwig, McGonagall, and Ondossi combined.

Harry finally landed the Firebolt, as it was clear that Fawkes wouldn't relent until he'd accomplished his objective (whatever that was). As soon as Harry tried to stand, he discovered his legs were shaking from the effort of controlling the broomstick. Fortunately, the ground was dry when his knees gave out beneath him.

He glanced over at the phoenix, who had watched his collapse with an expression of mild curiosity. "All right, fine. I was pushing the broom a bit. But I had it under control! And if you'd given me ten more seconds to reach out to those Flies--"

Fawkes cut him off with a very loud, angry screech that would surely fuel the local legends of terrible beasts haunting the moors. For a moment, Harry just gaped at the phoenix, stunned that such an ugly sound came from him. "You're getting a temper, mate," he finally said.

Snorting, Fawkes let go of the broomstick and trundled over to Harry in the lurching manner of a creature unused to walking. He clambered into Harry's lap and looked him sternly in the eye, fanning his long tail flat onto the ground. Harry cringed. "Something tells me I'm about to get an earful, so to speak."

There were no words, not even images, but the phoenix was definitely in his mind. Harry was overcome with grief, the unbearable sorrow of an immortal confronting another's death. Then images came, at first hazy and indistinct, then extraordinarily clear. He saw himself flying at top speed on the Firebolt, as he'd been only minutes earlier. Harry watched his own eyes close in concentration as he sought the minds of the Fireflies. His head suddenly lolled to the side, and then he was simply gone.

He'd literally flown off the broomstick; at that speed, the instant he relaxed, his body became a sail smashing into a headwind. He watched himself plummet, his limbs flapping uselessly in free fall. Strangely, even though it was dark and his body was becoming smaller and smaller in the distance, Harry could still see every detail as if the body was merely shrinking, rather than falling away. His eyes never opened as he fell, not even when he struck the ground and disintegrated.

Harry was jolted back to reality by another angry screech from Fawkes, who poked his bill right up against Harry's nose. The phoenix leveled him with an expectant glare, but for some time, "Oh" was all Harry could manage to say out loud.

That was my future, wasn't it? You're a Seer--the real thing, what Trelawney wishes she could be. Fawkes made no sound, but Harry knew the answer. "You Saw it, and you came to save me. Fawkes." It was hard to know exactly how to hug a bird; their wings were sort of like arms, after all, but folded up at their sides in a rather standoffish way as far as hugs were concerned. Nonetheless, Harry threw his arms around Fawkes and stroked his thin, delicate neck. The phoenix finally relented, settling into Harry's lap with an affectionate trill.

Harry's whole body was shaking, both from the exhausting flight and the raw nerves from witnessing the death he'd barely escaped, but Fawkes was warm and light and comforting. Harry slumped onto his back and gazed at the stars. "You know, this is exactly what I was doing last night. Sitting out in the middle of nowhere with someone who'd just saved my life." Fawkes waddled up onto Harry's chest and roosted again, shaking his tail as he settled in. "Maybe I do need to slow down. But every minute I wait... the next one could be Remus. Or Mr. Weasley." He snorted. "Or both of them, most likely. They're probably the next thing in Voldemort's to-do box."

Harry sighed as Fawkes began tugging delicately at his hair, apparently trying to put it in order. "Don't bother," he advised the phoenix, pushing the bill away gently. "You could straighten it all night and it'll still look exactly the same. Trust me." Fawkes made a sound that resembled a hiccup, but he laid his head on Harry's shoulder in apparent agreement.

When Harry finally stopped shaking and his legs no longer felt like rubber, he gave Fawkes a quick tap on the shoulder. Fawkes needed no further prompt, hopping off Harry with a casual flap of his wings. We're already starting to understand each other, just like Hagrid said, thought Harry. That was a cheering thought.

Harry sat up, patting the ground beside him for the Firebolt. "Well, Fawkes, I suppose there's nothing for it but to go home. At least we can fly together some more. That'll be nice, won't it?" He found the broom and prepared to mount up, but Fawkes sat still on the ground, his tail spread out again. Harry furrowed his brow and leaned down, looking the phoenix in the eye. "You fan your tail when you have something to say to me, don't you? Not that you talk to me, that is. When you have something you want me to think about," Harry corrected himself.

Fawkes gazed at him with a bright expression, then stretched out his long neck such that it paralleled the handle of Harry's broomstick. Harry cocked his head with a puzzled grin. "What are you up to?" he wondered aloud, but once again he inexplicably knew the answer. Somewhat stiffly, Harry took the Firebolt in both hands and held it down before Fawkes. The phoenix stepped upon the handle and perched comfortably, then opened his scarlet wings and draped them over Harry.

Furthering the Muggle legends about the will-o-the-wisp haunting the moor, the wizard and his familiar disappeared in a burst of blue flame.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it "Apparating," as it felt nothing like the warped compression of the Wizard transportation. It was more like doing Legilimency, actually, except that flames were involved. Harry seemed to step out of himself, not into a new mind but a new place, while his body simply burned up and formed anew when he reached the destination. Harry peered skeptically at Fawkes, who warbled at him innocently. The sensation that he'd just been reconstructed out of fresh ingredients was rather disconcerting, but he was pleased to see that for a change, he still had all of his clothes.

"Where are we?" Harry said as he looked around. It was cloudy and quite dark, but he spotted a distant Muggle street lamp that he recognized almost immediately. He groaned. They were in the cemetary of Godric's Hollow--the lamp illuminated the gated entrance to the grounds. "Of course. The Fireflies. They'd look for my dad next, it was his mirror to begin with."

There was no sign of their lights up on the hillside yet. Fawkes climbed onto Harry's shoe, obviously wanting to be picked up, so Harry set the phoenix on his shoulder and began climbing the hill. Within a few steps, he began to hear a familiar voice ahead. It was Ondossi; she was chanting in her Inupiat language just as she had in the forest the night before. He could barely see her in the overcast night, but he could tell she was dancing, much like she had in her memory of the seal hunt. Harry ascended to the graves without interrupting and sat by the headstones, setting Fawkes to perch upon the little marker that was meant for Harry himself. When Ondossi finally finished her chant, all remained silent for a few minutes until Harry spoke.

"Were you thanking them?"

"I was," Ondossi said quietly, sitting at the end of the flowerbeds.

"For what, exactly?"

She sighed. "For you. For dying so you could live. I had to make up a chant for it, there isn't one that I know of for that purpose. If my people need food so desperately that they have to kill a mother animal, they take the young as well. A baby alone in the Arctic wouldn't survive anyway."

"You did," noted Harry.

She had been gazing at the flowers over the graves, but her head snapped up at his comment. "Seems that way," she finally said, a bit gravelly. "Well, then," she began in a colder, more typical tone, "what are we doing here? As if I'm not spooky enough already, you summon me to skulk around in a cemetary?"

"Summon you? I didn't summon you!" said Harry indignantly.

"I was talking to the turkey, Harry." Fawkes puffed air noisily through his bill. "What gives, bird-brain? Couldn't you at least have waited until Halloween?" The phoenix made quite a show of turning his back to Ondossi, though he wobbled awkwardly as he swung his long tail around his low perch.

"I suppose it's my fault," said Harry. "Fawkes caught me doing something that nearly got me killed. I'd imagine he wants you to hear about it."

"That so? You know, Mr. Potter, you're really in the doghouse, because I have some current events to discuss as well. You see, about an hour ago, I woke up with such a start that I flipped right out of my own hammock, which is never pleasant. I had this absolute certainty that I had to get to a place called Godric's Hollow. I even knew how to Apparate there, which was very strange because I'd never Apparated before in my whole life. But I had a funny feeling it came from Feathers over there, so I went with it."

She stood up and came toward him, holding out her arm. "Imagine my surprise when I landed or rematerialized or whatever one does after getting sucked through that wormhole, and within seconds, there's an owl here with THIS." She was thrusting a piece of parchment under his nose. As soon as Harry took it, she lit her wand so he could read it. "I got a TICKET, for Apparating without a license! They fined me twenty Galleons! How am I supposed to pay that?"

Harry looked over the parchment and groaned again. "Tura, you nitwit, why didn't you get licensed? Kingsley Shacklebolt is an examiner, he licensed me right there in Headquarters!"

"Why didn't I get licensed?" she squalled. "I just told you, I don't Apparate! And even if I did, I didn't know you need a license! Geez, you guys need to get permission from Big Brother to do any magic at all! I may have to pin down that sanctimonious little yes-man Percy Weasley, and go through his stock of rules and regulations just so I can keep out of jail!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry. Maybe we can get the fine reduced if we explain that you weren't told about licenses."

"Oh, but that wasn't all," she said, the pitch of her voice rising from annoyed to near-hysteria. She flipped the wandlight from the parchment to her face, yanking back the hood of her cape. It took every ounce of Harry's self-control not to laugh, but he knew the consequence would be much worse than an onslaught of walnuts.

Ondossi was as bald as an egg.

"Where the Sam Hill is my HAIR?" she screeched so loudly that Harry feared the whole town would come running. He almost kept a straight face, but Fawkes started clucking with what could only be laughter and it was just too much. Harry laughed so hard that his stomach hurt and he had to lay on the ground.

"Oh, yeah," snarled Ondossi. "Hardy-har-har. I'm not a happy camper, you two."

Sitting up, Harry wiped his eyes. "Tura. It's called 'splinching.' Your hair's probably right where you left it."

"Joy. And can it be unsplinched, or resplinched, or whatever?"

"I think so. Sure, Ron splinched his eyebrow once, and they put it back on. It'll be fine. Honest."

She noxed her wand and sat down abruptly. "I hope you're right," she said sullenly. "Now, please tell me I've gone bald for a good reason. Why am I here, Harry?"

Harry summarized the comedy of errors that made up his evening. When he finished, she nodded and asked what he'd learned.

"Well, besides how not to handle Fireflies, I gather it's not such a good idea to do Legilimency on non-humans."

"Well, actually, animals are fine--it's only magical creatures that will give you trouble. You can do it, I'm sure. The fact that you can find Hagrid so easily makes me think you're not as sensitive to nonhuman magic as I am. But obviously you're not immune to it. Geez, kiddo, didn't you figure it out when the elf knocked you out?" There was more than a hint of concern in her voice.

"I got that part, yes; it just didn't occur to me that the Flies might do the same thing."

"Hmph," grunted Ondossi, then fell silent for a moment. Harry had no guess as to the meaning behind the sound, and felt it best just to wait for her to elaborate. He grinned to himself in the darkness; he was getting better at managing this volatile creature.

She finally spoke up in a thoughtful tone. "You've worked hard, Harry. I guess it's only natural to explore your magic, now that you've learned so much Occlumency." Ondossi sighed. "Maybe it's time to start some Legilimency lessons, too."

"Yeah? Like that talking-inside-your-head that you do?" Harry asked, beaming.

"That, sure," she said with a wry chuckle. "That is pretty cool, huh? But that's nothing, really. There's so much more... so much power, Harry."

Harry was tempted to say, "Bring it on!" but held his tongue. It didn't matter; as soon as the thought was complete in his mind, Ondossi sniffed.

"There's that hotshot again," she said, surprisingly without contempt. "Can't wait to dive headlong into the abyss, can you?"

"Why not? I can't stop the train, so I might as well get on it, eh?"

Ondossi shrugged. "I suppose you've got a point. Can't exactly stuff the magic back in the can."

"Tura," Harry growled in exasperation, "you talk about your magic like it's a plague or something! All right, I know it gave you a rough start, but come on! You're one of the most powerful sorcerers alive!"

"Hah! Oh, yes, and look at all the influence and wealth that my magic brings me." She held up her hands to indicate the empty air.

It was Harry's turn to sniff in disdain. "Don't start with that. You could have fame or fortune any time you wanted."

"Oh, really, Harry?" she asked crossly. "And how would I do that? Sell my gift to the highest bidder? That would be the Dark Lord. He'd make me a queen, remember? Not too shabby."

He scoffed. "Now you're just being stubborn. You know very well you could pick and choose which offer to accept. There are decent wizards out there too, that could make good use of your magic."

"That may be even be true," she began, her voice quiet and free of sarcasm. "It's not so easy, though, Harry, finding the decent ones. Have you ever met anyone that pretended to be all noble or helpful, and all the while they were stabbing you in the back?"

Snape's face popped into Harry's mind immediately. "I have," he grunted.

"Spotting liars isn't as easy as it seems, Harry. People lie to me all the time, you know. Sometimes just for sport, to see if they can pull one over on the 'mind reader.' If it's not important, I let them get away with it--just so they'll overestimate themselves. If it matters, I skim their thoughts, but even then I can still miss a lie. Decent people can't help thinking about the truth or feeling guilty when they fib, but amoral types can just rattle off lie after lie without the slightest pause. The only way to be sure is to go in deep, which, as you know, is not my favorite thing."

"But you could do it, Tura. You could be as choosy as you wanted, and still earn a living. You don't have to worry about whether you can pay the fine on an Apparation ticket or buy food instead of hunting it!"

"Hey, I happen to like hunting! But I know what you're saying, Harry. The thing is, if I keep my magic under my hat, at least I know no one's abusing it. Think about it. What if whoever discovered the Dark Arts decided that wizardkind wasn't really capable of handling that power? Don't you think we could have done without that whole aspect of magic? Or how about the guy who figured out how to put house-elves under Wizards' control? I was skimming you while you told your tale tonight--I heard what you said, that the world might be better off without wizards. Well, I happen to think the world is better off without Legilimagi."

Harry tugged at the collar of his shirt. "And have all the Legilimagi been like you? Living on the fringes and eating rats, since they were the only ones wise enough to use their gift?"

Ondossi took a long time to answer. "No, not all," she finally said quietly. "There were a few exceptions. The most recent was named Grindelwald." Harry swallowed hard; he knew the name. "He had a title, too: the 'Reichzauberor.' Not regarded as a kindhearted guy. Albus Dumbledore put an end to him, if I remember the history books correctly."

"Point taken," said Harry somberly. "So I suppose I'm doomed to either replace Voldemort, just like you told me once, or hide away from the Wizard world for the rest of my life?" He braced himself for a scathing response from Ondossi, but to his surprise, she laid her hand delicately on his knee.

"No. Harry, listen. I'm the last person who should give advice about how to get along in the world!" She crossed her eyes and wrinkled up her nose in a ridiculous and disarming way until he smirked. "The fact is, I like living in my little shed and just being left alone--it suits me. But you seem to handle attention pretty well, much better than I do. Maybe for you, this magic really will be a gift, not a curse."

She squeezed his knee firmly and started to withdraw her hand, but Harry impulsively caught her wrist. "Tura," he blurted, "why do you touch me so much?"

Her brow furrowed. "What, now? Do I?" She scowled at her hand as if it was a separate entity, a look of rebuke such as one might give a playful puppy that was making a pest of itself. She jerked her hand roughly to her own lap. "I'm sorry! I'll stop, I'll make a point of stopping--"

"Don't," he said. Harry's voice came out much deeper than he'd intended, and he suddenly felt quite ill-at-ease, but he stretched his own hand in invitation. She glanced down at it, then back into his eyes, and rather timidly set her fingers onto his. "It's... it's okay. I just wondered..." he began. By that point, however, Harry wished he'd never broached the topic it at all.

Ondossi turned away, staring off into the valley, but she kept her hand in his. "You're not much of a cuddler, are you, Harry? Our roles seem reversed--the misanthrope likes to hold hands and the gregarious Gryffindor withdraws. Funny." She paused thoughtfully. "The Inupiat snuggle all the time. From the day we're born. Babies never get set down--they ride around in the hood of mother's atigi. Her parka--her coat. Always being petted and held. Even me, an igitaq with no mommy! Other people carried me in their coats instead. It's always been the way--babies are meant to be cuddled. Outsiders say our babies are 'spoiled.' For a long time my people couldn't even translate that word. Finally someone worked out that it meant we pick up our babies and snuggle them as soon as they cry. That makes them happy. Why Outsiders think 'happy' means 'spoiled' is still a mystery to me, and I've lived in the minds of Outsiders for a long time."

Ondossi spread her fingers to entwine them with his. "I've seen your aunt and uncle in your thoughts, Harry. Now they're what I call spoiled! Auniq, in my language--sour and drippy, like a couple of nasty old cabbages. They never put you in the hoods of their coats, I can tell! They made you grow up without the affection that was your birthright, and now what's natural feels foreign to you. That just burns my toast, Harry. It's hard enough to get by in this world without having to feel isolated the whole time."

Harry scoffed, and though Ondossi scowled incomprehendingly, it took him a moment to find the right words. "I'm sorry," he said with a wry chuckle. "You have to admit, it's funny, though, don't you? For you to complain about me being isolated? That's a bit of 'Pot, meet Kettle,' don't you think?"

The moon had peeked from behind the clouds, and Harry was rather surprised to see the warmth in her smile. "Not at all, Harry. Let me show you something. We can even call it your first Legilimency lesson."

Ondossi held out her other hand and Harry took it, though his stomach immediately tightened with anxiety. "What are you going to do?" he asked, falling short of bravado.

"Nothing bad. I'm going to introduce you to someone."

Ondossi put her weight onto their hands such both she and Harry were pulled toward one another. Harry drew a rapid breath and instinctively tilted his head. But her head was bowed, and he quickly realized that she was not drawing him close, but placing their hands flat on the ground between them. As she chanted softly, Harry was surprised to hear the words "James" and "Lily" interspersed through her strange language.

Harry's first thought was that the ground beneath their hands was sinking, as though it were caving into an underground cavity. He nearly recoiled in horror, envisioning the soil spilling into his mother's coffin far below the surface, but Ondossi interrupted her chant long enough to bark, "Calm." It wasn't particularly soothing, but it was enough to make him snap to the realization that this was a magical process, not some sort of quicksand. Harry looked down at his hands, and found that they were buried up to his wrists into the earth.

Not buried, no. It was as if the ground were really water, and he was merely dipping his hands below the surface. There was no pressure, no sensation of being surrounded by cold, moist earth. The soil itself was undisturbed, which was perhaps the most eerie aspect of all--there was no buildup of displaced dirt around their arms, not even a ripple. They were sinking into the earth as smoothly as Peeves ducking out of sight through a stone wall.

"Tura..." Harry began awkwardly, not at all eager for his head to sink underground in this fashion, but before he could complete the sentence, her words formed in his mind.

Open yourself, Harry. Let out your magic.

He felt an unexpected warmth in his hands, but what she said made no sense. "Let it out? But where am I supposed to send it? There's nothing there!" Was she trying to get him to commune with the earthworms?

Close, kiptaitchuq. The earth.

"The earth," he repeated aloud. "Tura, you crazy spook, how am I supposed to--"

She silenced him with the briefest irritated glare, then the warmth in his hands surged up into his arms and chest, all the way to his mind.

The absolute blindness of not having eyes at all. Soundlessness that came from having no ears, no breath, no heartbeat. This was death, Harry thought, wondering after a few seconds why Fawkes had not saved him. That was the sort of thing he did, after all, and he was perched but a wingspan away.

You're alive, silly. Focus. Harry would have smirked if he still had a face. Fate would surely not be so cruel as to banish him to an eternity with no one but Ondossi for company. He expected to receive some sort of mental raspberry for that, but there was only a tiny tug at his hands.

Hands--he still could feel his hands, in fact only his hands and forearms. It took a moment for Harry to realize that he was feeling his hands from the outside--his and Ondossi's together. It occurred to him that this was the perspective of the Earth, two tiny pairs of hands softly penetrating an almost infinite darkness.

Ondossi's thought: Yes, Harry. But it made no sense; the Earth was a giant ball of rock spinning through space. It didn't have nerves to sense with, nor a brain to process that sensation. How could the Earth feel the two of them, it wasn't even alive!

Try again. Open yourself, kiptaitchuq, she repeated. For a moment, the connection faded and he was back in his body, peering through his own eyes at the ground now inches from his face. In an earnest effort, Harry gathered himself as if he were reaching for Remus or Hagrid and let his arms sink further into the earth.

The dark silence was even more intense and overwhelming, as though the first time he'd only penetrated the outer mantle of the planet and now he reached through to the core. It was incredibly peaceful, with a strange and distinct feeling that time had stopped. Knowing what to look for, however, Harry sought the delicate tickle of their hands at the edge of the darkness, and found them with surprising ease. This time, however, he realized that the Earth did not sense their mere physical presence of skin and bones digging into its surface, it felt their magic.

Yes. Not alive, but still magical. Harry didn't need Ondossi's prompting, for he understood it too. The magic at the core of his wand recognized him, and though it was once part of Fawkes, it was not alive, at least not in the sense that Fawkes was alive. Yet it wasn't just cold and empty either; strange, to think of the feather as both alive and dead at the same time. But in the same way, the entire Earth was both alive with magic and yet made of inert minerals--as though, like the feather, it was merely an offshoot of a greater being.

This was all getting to be a bit too heady for Harry, and he tried to pull free of Ondossi's grasp and sit up. Wait. Follow me back to this hillside. He could sense her magic shrinking, as though focusing through a lens. "Occlumency," he thought, and followed suit, finding that he, too, could resist expanding into the entire planet and, instead, remain present just in the land on which he sat. There were hands, his hands and Ondossi's, and a strange red needle that must be Fawkes, his magic deeply grounded by a single glowing filament.

There was something else, too. The warmth in his hands and arms--he'd assumed it came from Ondossi, but he could sense the color of her magic as well. The mossy green that emanated from her hands permeated the hillside along with his gold, but his arms themselves were encased in a faint sheen of red-orange magic, as though he were wearing the sheerest of gloves made from glowing coals. It seemed most curious, until he realized where he'd seen that color before.

It was just like the sphere of wild magic that had collapsed into Number Four, Privet Drive.

Harry was so startled by the recognition that he lost his focus, and found himself sitting bolt upright with a loud gasp. He saw Ondossi slide her hands from the soil as though it were mercury, and she took hold of his arms with a look of concern. "Why'd you pull away? That was a good thing, Harry--"

"I know what it was. I know EXACTLY what it was. Tura, that was my mother! My mother's magic!"

Relief and delight were evident in her smile. "Yes! That's right! Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you could see it! I thought it might be strong enough right here."

Harry was overwhelmed by the upheaval in his heart, by the number of questions he wanted to ask, and by the irrepressible desire to plunge his hands back into the earth and find that orange glow again. Frozen by conflict, all he seemed able to do was shake his head.

"It's amazing, isn't it, Harry? You're surrounded by it, all the time, and you don't even know. You're a magnet, Harry, drawing it in like so many iron filings. It's probably your father's magic too, and Dumbledore's--anyone who cared about you. It's in every blade of grass, every pebble, every stream, all the time. It's strongest here, where their bodies lay, because this earth is made from them--ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and all that. This place resonates the most with their magic. But it travels throughout the whole Earth, Harry. You're never alone--every time you set foot upon the ground, they're with you." Even though the moon was hidden again behind the clouds, Harry could see the warmth in Ondossi's smile.

"And look who else is here!" she said, glancing over his shoulder. Harry furrowed his brows and turned around, and it quickly became clear: two specks of light were settling down on them from the atmosphere. The Fireflies had caught up to them at last.

Harry and Ondossi stood up to make way for the Flies. They spiraled down in a lazy helix, orbiting one another just as they had when they began this flight back at Hogwarts. "Those are nice," Tura said. "Man, if those lived in Northpole, they'd make the best Christmas lights. Everyone would want a set swirling over their chimney. Probably too cold, though." She sighed. "How long will they take to do their little thing, d'ya think?"

Something seemed odd but Harry couldn't quite place it. "Huh? Erm, I don't know... they took a couple of minutes to figure out I wasn't what they wanted. Not long. Then they needed some time to plan..." His words trailed off, as he watched them closely. They had come into a tight column and were buzzing rapidly over one of the graves.

His mother's grave.

Harry's stomach twisted itself into a knot. "What is this? Merlin's beard, what's going on?"

"What?" Even Fawkes made an inquisitive little hoot.

"They're looking for my dad, but they're flying over my mum's grave. This isn't right!" Harry was becoming more agitated by the minute. "That's got to be my dad down there! They've put them in the wrong graves, or switched the headstones, or something!" Even though Harry knew it didn't ultimately matter, he was outraged by the notion that his parents were not laid to rest properly.

Ondossi didn't seem too concerned. "Weird," she finally mumbled. "Well, don't get all discombobulated, now, this is easily fixed. We can just move the headstones, no harm done."

"Oh, no, we won't! Who's to say they only switched their coffins? Maybe that's not even them down there! Well, okay, it has to be my dad, obviously, but the other one might not even be Mum!" He was practically shouting and he didn't care--if the cemetary's keeper came out to investigate, Harry was ready to give him an earful.

"Harry! All right, all right. You're pretty upset, let's just fix it now." She pulled her wand out of her robe and flourished it a few times, as though warming it up. "You go down the hill a ways and I'll do some digging, okay? I don't want you to look, though. Promise you won't watch?"

The plunge from indignant fury to mortified dismay made a shiver travel down his spine. Harry was speechless for a moment, realizing this was the logical solution but dreading it nonetheless. "Uh, but the, uh, Fireflies?" he said feebly.

"I'll keep an eye on them. This won't take long. Go down the hill, Harry. You too, Red," she said, shooing Fawkes from the little marker with a gentle shove. The phoenix flapped up onto Harry's shoulder of his own accord and pressed his chin to the top of Harry's head, humming quietly.

Harry lumbered out of earshot, at least as far as the sounds of digging were concerned. He had no doubt that Ondossi could shout loudly enough to summon him if she needed to. "I can't believe it. This is just..." He wanted to vent his anger in words, even though Fawkes obviously didn't need to have anything explained. Of all the stupid mistakes... and now Ondossi had to disturb them to sort it all out. And even though his parents were long gone, even though no one else, least of all the two of them, knew about the mistake, it still mattered.

Between fuming and muttering to Fawkes, he didn't hear Ondossi come up behind him. Startled, Harry leapt to his feet when she tapped him on the shoulder, but, whirling around, he held back the exclamation that came to his lips. She was pale and shaking, and even her colorless eyes looked wider than usual. "Tura? What is it?"

"Harry... I need your help with this. I, I, we're getting into something very very wrong."

"What is it?" he repeated, his voice suddenly deep and stern.

"Okay, listen. In the grave marked with your mother's name, there were two bodies. Man and woman. I think it's pretty safe to assume it's both of them." Harry began to sputter in outrage, but Ondossi raised her hands for silence. "Not now, Harry. Just listen. She'd been laid out properly, hands folded and all that. He hadn't. He was... okay, this is terrible, but: he'd been kind of thrown in there, I think. Face down. These were, uh, under where his pocket would have been." She pulled a pair of glasses from her sleeve; the Fireflies were sitting on the frame. Harry took them gingerly in his hand as she continued.

"I thought... I didn't know what to think. Obviously he wasn't put in the other grave. So I thought, well, maybe the mortuary stole the payment for the coffin, you know, just buried them in one instead of two. I dug up the other site. Harry... there was a coffin in it. I'm afraid to open it by myself, Harry. I'm a hunter, for Pete's sake, but I'm scared to see what's in there, I don't even know why."

She looked it, too. Harry put his hands firmly on her shoulders. "You don't have to, Tura. I'll do it right now." He gave her arms a reassuring squeeze and started up the hillside.

"I'm coming too!" Ondossi squeaked, chasing right on his heels. "I'm a bit too creeped out to sit in the dark by myself right now."

A pile of earth sat beside his father's gravesite, with the coffin levitating over the pit where she had left it. She'd obviously restored the other grave already; but for a few bent leaves and stems, it looked just as it always did. "Tura, I know you're upset, but you keep stepping on my heels," Harry grumbled. "Back up a bit. And do you mind setting it down on the ground? It makes it even worse, having the thing floating in midair like that."

"Sorry, sorry," she said, waving her wand to land the coffin and inching away from his back slightly.

"How do you even open one of these things?" Harry asked.

"There's a little latchey thing on the lid--no, under the rim." He patted the cold, damp wood with his hand until he found a bit of metal. It gave way with a firm push, but the lid remained stubbornly in place when he tried to lift it.

"I think it's spelled shut too," he said, taking out his wand. "Alohomora!" There was a sharp clacking sound, and both expected the lid to rise open of its own accord, but it did not. Harry took hold of the lid and heaved much harder than was necessary, flinging it open so violently that the hinges groaned and rebounded promptly slamming it shut. He jumped back just in time to avoid getting his fingers crushed, but practically bounced off of Ondossi.

"I told you to back up!" Harry growled, more anxious than angry.

"You're the one playing Slam the Coffin!"

"Okay, okay. It's lighter than I expected. One more try." Harry lifted it gently, so distracted by the complications that he forgot his trepidation until he was actually looking into the box.

After all the excitement, it was a bit anticlimactic to discover an unremarkable skeleton inside, looking for all the world like a medical display, albeit a bit dirty. Harry sighed and raised his brows. "Well. After all that, I rather expected something a bit more spooky, didn't you?" His anger was returning, now that he'd "met" the stranger who'd displaced his father from his rightful spot. It took him a moment to notice that Ondossi did not answer him.

"Tura?" Harry said, glancing over his shoulder. She was staring into the coffin, her jaw slack, clutching her hands over her chest like a shield. He turned back just to make sure he hadn't missed something, but the skeleton was still resting quietly. "What's the matter? Do you know who it is?"

"His ring. His ring," she said in a breathless whisper, backing away as she spoke.

Harry looked down at the skeleton's hands. There was a ring looped over one finger, but it looked rather ordinary, a plain gold band with a modest gemstone. He frowned as he looked up at Ondossi again. "What?"

She pointed at the coffin. "Voldemort."