Harry Potter and the Heart of Regenesis

Chapter Thirty-two

Upping the Ante

The Open Golf Tournament is one of the most famous sporting events in the world. This August it was taking place on the attractive old course in the picturesque town of Lower Greenslade, Kent as it did once every decade - or at least it had done for the last fifty years or so. The course at Lower Greenslade - known as 'The Garden Course' was, undoubtedly, one of the most beautiful in the United Kingdom. In stark contrast to the barren, windswept links courses on the Scottish Coast, 'The Garden' was a haven of both natural, and man-created splendour. Trees and flowers graced the borders of every hole and the lush greens with their gently undulating slopes were both wonderful to look at and, at times, fiendishly difficult to read. Broad, calm lakes filled spaces between fairways adding to both the beauty and the hazards for wayward tee-shots. This year's Open Championship had started in perfect conditions with a gentle breeze taking the blistering heat out of a full day's sunshine. From the moment the earliest competitors had teed off in the light morning mist they had found everything to their liking.

Scoring had been prodigious. At just after midday Bruce Walters, an Australian golfer, had left the eighteenth green to tumultuous applause, having set a new course record of 63, nine-under-par, a record for the first round of an Open Championship. Three other players had replied with 65's in the afternoon with only two golfers carding scores of more than eighty; one, the hapless Willie Duggan who had just had a bad, bad day - the other was the old champion from 1962, Barney McCall, who was now aged seventy-five and playing what was expected to be his 'final' farewell this year.

At just after half past eight in the evening the last few golfers had been walking up the final fairway. On a normal day most of the crowd would have started to leave for home by that time but, as fate would have had it, today's final group of golfers included not only the perennial crowd favourite 'Snowy' Mountain but also the European Ryder Cup hero Tony Trent. Crowds lined their approach to the last green, giving the players a warm and well-deserved reception as they walked to the green and then they settled to an expectant, awed silence as Snowy took his putter in his hand and bent to address the ball for what he hoped would be the last time today - a straight seven footer.

He did not realise it was to be his last shot - ever.

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Rows of bodies lay across the lush, green turf of the eighteenth green at 'The Garden'. Just moments after the explosion the BBC had cut the live TV pictures (or, more accurately, the Ministry of Magic had cut them the instant the vague shape of 'Nocensformida' had begun to shine through the smoke and debris and rise into the sky) and now, at the scene, frenzied and agitated discussions were taking place between the heads of the Muggle Emergency Services and senior Ministry of Magic officials.

Likewise, at Westminster, Eustace Bean and the Muggle Prime Minister were locked in conference with two trusted Cabinet Members (who, like the PM, were now 'in the know' about the Wizarding World) discussing the way News Agencies etc. could break the news and what, precisely, it was permissible for them to say. As usual, they decided, it was easiest to blame the Islamic Fundamentalists who were still sore with Britain and America for their 'unwelcome' involvement in Middle Eastern affairs.

The latest news from Lower Greenslade was that more than twenty people were dead - including two professional golfers and one caddie, a famous TV commentator and a radio technician. It seemed that the instant Snowy Mountain's ball rolled into the hole a massive explosion had been triggered (not so - the explosion was wand induced) causing the devastation.

Within seconds of causing the carnage Gretchen and Grendel Chambers had Apparated back to Fladda-chùain. Katie and Percy had been at the site within five minutes and the pink, magical signatures of the perpetrators' Disapparitions were still clearly visible behind some trees between the eighteenth green and the Clubhouse. Katie had flooed Hermione from the Clubhouse, which had been placed back on the Floo Network secretly a few weeks beforehand, as had all major sporting, political and entertainment venues since 'The Hog's Head' incident. (They had all been on the network for years, of course, at the time of Voldemort but were removed five years ago as a reflection of 'these safer times'.)

A whole team of from the Memory Modification Department at the Ministry Apparated in to Lower Greenslade an hour or so later to 'counsel' victims. Dozens of spectators had received injuries in the blast ranging from cuts and bruises to broken limbs. Some had been taken already to nearby hospitals and would need to be 'counselled' there, as would the paramedics and police, of course. Several of the casualties were able to describe the Dark Mark in detail (although they would not be able to the next day) and it was quickly confirmed to be the same dragon/skull combination as had been conjured in Hogsmeade and, since, reproduced on parchments around the Ministry and even printed in the 'Daily Prophet'

The news curfew was broken at 10 p.m. and the Prime Minister himself addressed the nation, breaking the news of a 'major terrorist act' at The Open and the sad deaths of Snowy Mountain, the leading American golfer, Tony Trent and the BBC commentator, Len Green - as well as seventeen others, of course.

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Harry had never felt so helpless. He lay awake frustrated by his inability to do anything more than think about the dreadful events of the last few weeks. When Voldemort had been wreaking his brand of havoc a few years ago he - Harry Potter - had been the one wizard capable of defeating him. And he had succeeded. It had taken longer than he would have liked and the price paid, both by himself and in terms of others' lives, was great. Yet Voldemort was gone - and most of the Wizarding World still thanked Harry for that.

He tried to think back to when he had first heard of Voldemort. Hagrid had mentioned him the day they met - the day Harry learned he was a wizard - but it was not until he was well into his 1^st Year at Hogwarts that he had been able to discover quite what Voldemort really was - and how dangerous he could be.

When he had thwarted him at the end of that year by denying him the Philosopher's Stone Voldemort was still, to Harry, more of a disembodied force - a sort of evil spirit - rather than a real person. Only when it came to light that Voldemort had once been a Hogwarts pupil, like himself, had Harry been able to really start to understand him. He 'saw' Tom Riddle in the old diary, watched him frame Hagrid and talk to Dumbledore...Voldemort had finally become real to him!

And, two years later, they had met - face to face! Voldemort had cut Harry's arm and used his blood - the blood of a foe - as the final ingredient in the spell that enabled him to regain his body (the bones of his despised Muggle father and Wormtail's amputated hand had been the others). That had been the night that both he and Voldemort understood, possibly for the first time, that their destinies were so intrinsically linked. The night they also discovered what it meant that their wands were brothers.

Seeing Voldemort as Tom Riddle had somehow given Harry a clearer vision of how to defeat him - that had not been easy - so much pain and sacrifice had ensued before Lord Voldemort had perished - and Harry reflected now on the sad, almost unbelievable fact that the reign of terror was starting all over again. The added enigma with regards to the current problems was the fact that no-one yet knew who was behind them.

At four o'clock in the morning, finally tired of tossing and turning, Harry got up and checked Dai in the little bed under the window. No insomnia for little Dai. He was sleeping very soundly, having exhausted himself swimming and running around with Rufus and Rowena the day before.

'I wouldn't be surprised if he slept until lunchtime,' Harry thought as he slipped on a sleeveless T-shirt and some shorts and pulled his trainers onto his bare feet.

"Where are you going?" he heard Sandy whisper just as he reached the door.

"I'm just going out for a walk...I can't sleep. Do you want to come?"

Sandy told him she would enjoy some fresh air too and he wrapped her about his upper arm and they left together. He walked down the front path and opened the gate (a bit rusty, he noticed - perhaps he'd offer to repaint it for George tomorrow) and he decided to walk down to the Hogsmeade village shops.

Hogsmeade was still largely cobble-stoned and Harry rather liked the lumpiness of the street beneath his feet. There was something sterile and 'Muggle' about tarmac and flag-stoned pavements. He could also walk on the grass verges if he wanted to without fear of stepping in some of the unmentionable substances you'd encounter in a Muggle town by doing the same thing. Wizards had a far more efficient and sanitary means of disposing of such substances than their Muggle counterparts. Harry remembered taking Aunt Petunia's pet dog, Dunkirk, for 'walkies' armed with a plastic pooper-scooper and a plastic carrier bag. Wizards and witches walking dogs in Hogsmeade would simply utter, 'Evansesco!' and the problem was solved.

'Evanesco - to make something go away completely', Harry recited the definition he had learned from The Standard Book of Spells...book Two, he thought, though he may have been wrong. 'Hermione would know,' he thought with a wry smile. Then he wondered where everything that had ever been 'Evanescoed' went! Was there a corner of the planet somewhere where it was suddenly deposited? Malfoy's back garden came to mind as a possible good choice! A different planet or a different dimension, perhaps? He thought once more about the 'Hitchhiker's Guide' books he so loved and the planet mentioned therein where all lost biros went. He shrugged and continued his walk. At least he was now thinking happier - or at least more mundane - thoughts.

The street's lights were very dim but the night was clear and even the stars seemed to add to the moon's light illuminating the street. He walked past The Three Broomsticks remembering some of the things that had happened in there...it was in there he found out that the 'hated and dangerous fugitive' Sirius Black was his own godfather. It was in there he had discovered the taste of butterbeer. It was in there that Ron had been badly injured in a dreadful explosion...

He looked behind the pub and saw the first trees of the Forbidden Forest. Beyond them the forest continued for about 20 miles, he knew. On the other side was a Muggle town. How he wished that he could transfigure himself now into a golden griffin and run barefoot through the trees - or take off and soar above it, his luminescent wings spread and their strength supporting him as he glided over the treetops.

'Oh dear,' he thought. The melancholy was back. He shook his head, sadly. In the last few hours - and for the first time - he had started to wonder if coming back to Hogwarts might have been a mistake. The frustration of not being able - equipped - to help Hermione and her team was getting to be too much for him to take. He wanted to be in the forefront as he had been before. He had been the figurehead others had looked to for the lead in the 'old' battles. How long could he manage to retain any sort of credibility as 'the famous Harry Potter' - or even just as a Head of House when he was no more magical than Filch! The thought of Filch being made a Head of House was so ludicrous that, if it were to ever be suggested any Hogwarts pupil would laugh until he dropped.

If he'd just stayed in Philadelphia teaching PE and mowing grass at least he wouldn't feel like this! They'd still be getting on just as well without him - better perhaps; he was probably in the way - and he would be none the wiser thousands of miles away.

Full of this self-doubt and confusion he walked slowly towards the row of shops in the High Street. He stopped outside Honeydukes sweet shop and looked in the window. He started pointing out all the different sweets to Sandy - anything to take his mind off his current frustrations:

"Pepper Imps," he said. "Tiny little things - but they make smoke come out of your mouth! Spicy tasting - like they were made out of the hottest chillies in Barbados - but sweet and fruity as well, the coloured ones, anyway - the black ones are liquorice based. You usually need a few Yoghurt Soothers after one of those - just to stop your mouth from throbbing - otherwise you wouldn't be able to eat any more sweets for a while! That's why they sometimes give the Soothers away free when you buy the Imps - two sweets for the price of one!"

He pointed out the Chocolate Frogs, the Fizzing Whizbees, Toffeeballs and Sugar Quills, remembering the days of old when he and Ron had devoured them all one after the other, not thinking about health problems, rotting teeth or even the fact that Harry had just spent another whole Golden Galleon on confectionery! Sandy had sat on his arm listening patiently throughout even though sweets meant nothing at all to her.

Harry was just pointing out the ever-changing range of Honeydukes Fudge when Sandy spoke to him.

"Tears will rain from on high," she said in her usual, cryptic way. Harry's instant reaction was to look up. Honeydukes was a tall building but he could not see very much as a large, red and white striped canopy hung over the top of the window display. He instinctively stepped backwards onto the road and looked up once more. On top of the building, silhouetted by the moonlight was the figure of a young girl, clearly in some distress. She appeared to be standing on the edge of the building as though preparing herself to jump off.

"Wh- , Who's there?" he asked in a very loud whisper. The last thing he wanted to do was startle the girl.

There was no reply but Harry could make out distinct sobbing and sniffs. Just as Sandy had predicted something wet, like a raindrop, landed on his cheek and he raised his hand to his face the way one always does. There was not a cloud in the sky, a perfect night for stargazing - but this was no time for astronomy - the girl was obviously distraught. He knew he had to get to her without startling her.

He had no idea how he could get up onto the roof of Honeydukes and he began to look for a fire escape or some other way in which the girl might have got up there. Strangely enough, he knew how to get into the basement of the shop...but to do that he would need to go back to the castle first! Then Harry saw the thick, cast-iron drainpipe going from rooftop to the floor. He was a fit young man - dare he try to climb it?

He pulled at the drainpipe as hard as he could - it felt secure, even if a few clumps of dirt and rust were disturbed somewhere in its ascent and landed, crumbling on his face and chest. He joined his hands behind it and pushed off from the ground, starting to climb, getting a good grip with his rubber soles.

About half way up the building Sandy said,

"A foot will slip," so Harry took extra care and he actually breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the top. The roof was quite flat, with conical turrets on each corner and he was relieved to have something solid beneath his feet again. Looking across he could see the girl, now sitting down, her head in her hands and her feet dangling over the edge. Harry began to walk over to her - quietly again so as not to alarm her - and he was half way towards her when he realised who she was. Just as he took a deeper breath to quietly call her by name, however, he must have trodden on something like a patch of moss and his foot skidded out from beneath him. He yelled in surprise as he flew into the air and landed on his back with a loud bump. 'A foot will slip!'

"Ouch! Thanks Sandy," he remarked sarcastically - at least he hadn't fallen off the drainpipe!

"Professor Potter!" he heard the girl say. "Are you alright?"

"That's what I climbed up here to ask you!" he replied, raising his eyebrows. "I'm fine - just a bit of dignity bruised, that's all! What about you? You sounded upset...

"More to the point...what are you doing up here Tabitha? Do you even live in Hogsmeade?"

"Yes. I live up near where The Hog's Head used to be. Oh, it's t-terrible what's happening. I...I c-can't..." She was distraught again.

Harry had never felt particularly fond of Tabitha Tait. She had been in the Duelling Club but had ended the year close to relegation - not showing much aptitude for it he had thought. He had not known, of course, that she had been there merely to be a mole for 'The Acolytes'. Having said that he had had no reason to dislike her - he didn't automatically dislike pupils any more just because they were Slytherins as he had when he was a pupil himself - Crispin St.John and Katrina Slade were just two examples of Slytherins he actually rather liked!

Clearly, Tabitha was a very distressed young girl - frightened of something and desperate enough to contemplate suicide. He sat down on the roof next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. She cuddled up to him like young girls often do to their fathers. Tabitha told him that her father was in New Azkaban - he had been a Death Eater - and that her mother worked in Honeydukes, which was good for getting free sweets...and also for knowing how to get in - and up to the roof!

Harry tried to get her to talk - to tell him what it was that had got her into such a state she could possibly think that death was a better way out - but he soon became acutely aware that Tabitha was extremely frightened of the consequences for her if she told him what was really on her mind. He promised her he would make sure she would be safe - but she couldn't bring herself to believe him...he asked her if she felt unsafe at home or at school - was she worried about returning to Hogwarts in a couple of weeks?

But Harry had seen that fear before - it was the fear of pain - an insufferable, indescribable pain that he had suffered himself but doubted (or rather hoped) that no other Hogwarts pupil would have ever experienced. And suddenly he realised what she was afraid of. He gasped and tried to force back a rising gorge in his throat. He looked Tabitha directly in the eyes.

"You...you've felt Cruciatus, haven't you?" Harry asked her, at last.

A look of intense fear came into her eyes and they began to well up with tears. She buried her head into his chest and cried. He patted her back and rubbed her shoulder in an attempt to pacify her...but she still had not answered him.

"Tabitha," he said again, a few moments later. "Please tell me. I know that look in your eyes. Sadly, I've seen it too many times before. People I've loved subjected to so much pain it tore their very souls out of them. You can't fake it...and you can't hide it. I know someone has hurt you dreadfully - and I realise they've probably threatened you with it again - and worse - if you ever dared tell. But...Tabitha...I'm begging you to be brave! Who did it? When?"

He continued to hold her small, shaking body tightly against his own. Her sobbing had stopped but was replaced by a pathetic humming as Tabitha rocked her body backwards and forwards in Harry's arms. The night had suddenly gone cold, it seemed and she shivered, making him shiver too as they sat there in the moonlight, high above the street.

Harry tried several more times to get her to talk but to no avail. Every time she took a breath to begin she was reminded of the thousands of knives in her skin, the acid coursing through her veins - of losing all control over her bodily functions - and each time her body shuddered involuntarily, her eyes closed tightly shut again and there was silence or the humming would start again.

"Just remember," Harry said to her, finally conceding defeat - for now - "I'm always there if you need someone to talk to. But please don't throw your life away, Tabitha. No matter how bad you think things are - I can assure you they're not bad enough to do that! Please believe me. We can beat this, you know?"

But she didn't know - and, in trying to make her see what he meant he was suddenly reminded of why he had been called back to Hogwarts. He had already taught the pupils more in less than one full term than they had learned before. Defence Against the Dark Arts was not about defending oneself from Hinkypunks and Redcaps but, as Moody had drummed into him, it was about beating DARKNESS - the darkness outside and the darkness within oneself.

And he suddenly saw that there was a great deal he could do in this latest battle. He could teach them how to disconnect 'pain from brain' as Moody had taught him so that even Cruciatus could be largely annulled. Yes...that was what he would do in September...there would be no immediate relegations in the Duelling Club - all thirty and more, if they wanted - could attend and learn how to defend themselves from the dark curses.

They opened the door to the roof -a flat, trapdoor like construction - and, together, they walked a few rickety steps down to the top floor of the Honeydukes building. This was a sort of office, he guessed, with pictures of old Mr. Honeyduke receiving awards and shaking hands with people all around the walls. Harry had never met old Mr Honeyduke, of course - he had died many years ago a rich and famous old man - but his image was part of the wrappings on the chocolate bars and boxes of sweets and it was impressed like a cameo on the top of every bar of fudge. He was both as recognisable and yet as 'anonymous' as Colonel Sanders in the Muggle World whose face still graced every Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant. Honeyduke had been a somewhat rotund gentleman with a white, handlebar moustache and bushy side-whiskers - like someone out of a Dickens novel, Harry thought.

In a short while they were back downstairs and in the shop itself and, as they walked through the rows of confectionery both Harry and Tabitha jumped. There, behind the counter was Mr Honeyduke, large as life - just see-through!

"Hello, Mr Potter!" he smiled jovially. "Young lady," he nodded to Tabitha deferentially, obviously a true gentleman.

"Hello, Mr Honeyduke!" Harry smiled, his eyes wide open. "I didn't expect to see you here!"

"Help yourselves," the old man beckoned. "I think you've spent enough galleons in here over the years to have earned a few freebies!"

Harry took some chocolate and offered it to Tabitha, just as Remus has given it to him years before when he had been distressed. He remembered reading recently that even Muggle physicians were now officially recognising the anti-depressant qualities of chocolate...although generations of stressed-out mothers had known that for years, he smiled.

"Eat that. It'll make you feel much better," he said and, despite Mr Honeyduke's ghost having offered the sweets 'free' he tried to deposit some sickles beside the till lest anyone who was not a ghost thought someone had been stealing the merchandise. Mr Honeyduke, however, waved his hand and the sickles flew into the air and back to Harry's hand. Tabitha laughed. He helped himself to a few chunks as well before handing Tabitha the rest of the bar.

"Now you run along home," he said. "And I'll see you in a couple of weeks, OK?"

She stood and looked at him, a new admiration in her eyes now. And then she did it...

"Thank you, professor..."

Silence. Everything was still for what felt like an hour but was really only a few seconds. Then she turned to go and, as she did Harry distinctly heard her force the words out quietly before she ran away.

"It was Grendel Chambers."

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