Before I start this chapter, I would like to announce to all the
'shippers that there will be little real romance in this story. There
are two reasons for this decision. First, romance is not my forte.
I tend to dance around relationships in general, and I'd rather not
work myself into a position that I couldn't write my way out of.
Second, I don't really have a favourite 'ship in Harry Potter, so
I'm not about to advocate or disparage any pairings. Hints may
be dropped, but you probably won't see much more than a
kiss...if even that. Just enjoy the story, and read into it what you will.

Much love and thanks to all my reviewers! You truly make my day!

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light
A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion
By: Gramarye

Chapter Six - Courtesy Call

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It is good to die before one has done anything deserving death.

-- Anaxandrides

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The traffic on the main Devonshire roads was not very heavy, so the
little red car reached the Exeter train station at 11.50, moments after
Harry's train had arrived. Professor Stanton steered the vehicle into
a vacant space outside the station entrance, put the hand brake on and
let it idle.

Harry, eager to find the Weasleys before they started to worry, reached
for the door handle, but was forced to stop short. Professor Stanton
had grabbed his arm.

"Not yet," he said, his voice dark with meaning.

"But--"

"Wait." He released Harry, and leaned back in the driver's seat. "I
suggest you let the train leave the station, just to be safe. In the
meantime, you might want to do something about that."

He pointed to Harry's glasses, resting in their owner's lap. One of the
lenses was completely smashed, but the glass itself had remained in
the thick frame. A fine spiderweb of cracks spread out in crooked
rays from the centre of the lens.

Harry turned them over in his hands, tracing the cracks with a finger.
"I'll get Mrs. Weasley to take care of it," he said flatly.

"As you will." Professor Stanton picked up the folded newspaper he had
carried on the train and flipped through the pages. He found whatever
article he had been searching for and continued reading.

Harry studied his broken glasses. Everything around him was foggy,
just undefined shapes and blobs of light and dark. With a long sigh,
he put them on again and stared defiantly out at the world through the
one good lens.

"This is how it's going to be all year, isn't it," he said, bitterness
colouring his voice. "Running and hiding. Waiting for them...for
HIM...to come after me."

Professor Stanton set the paper aside. His round face was not unkind,
but there was a distinct seriousness in the set of his jaw that made him
appear more severe than he might have been.

"I don't know, Mr. Potter. I could tell you, if I knew more, but sadly
I don't. And before you accuse me of 'being cryptic' or withholding
information," he added, seeing Harry's frown deepen into a belligerent
scowl, "let me remind you that no matter what Sibyll Trelawney may
have taught you, the future is not some mystical place revealed only to
those with the 'Inner Eye'. It operates on logic, the same as most
anything else in this world. Even something as complex as magic is
series of events and their consequences, little more."

The train whistle blew a long, breathy note, and Harry heard the train
itself start up, pulling out of the station.

"Events and consequences, Harry. Remember that." He tapped the side
of his nose with a finger, as if he was sharing an important secret.

Harry nodded mutely. He had an odd feeling that something had just
happened, but he couldn't tell what it was. He sat still for a long
moment, trying to figure out exactly what had occurred, but no good
explanation came to mind. He looked to the driver's seat, seeking
answers from the only source, but Professor Stanton had returned to
his paper, an indication that their conversation was at an end.

Mumbling his thanks, he slipped out of the car and ran to the station
entrance. His broken glasses seriously skewed his depth perception, so
it took him longer than he wanted to find his trunk and other luggage
and drag everything off the main platform.

"Harry!"

Before he could straighten up or even smooth down his hair, the Weasley
family descended upon him in a deluge of emotion--Mrs. Weasley looking
worried, Fred and George grinning broadly, Ron waving what appeared to
be a railway timetable, and Ginny nearly falling over herself in an effort to
keep up with the rest of them.

Mrs. Weasley reached him first. "Harry! Heavens above, what happened
to you?" she cried, grabbing him by the shoulders.

Harry suddenly realised what a bizarre sight he was. Not only were his
glasses shattered, but he was covered in dirt and dust from head to
foot, his hair was sticking out in every direction, and his bare hands
and arms were bleeding from numerous tiny cuts. The little adventure
had left its mark, and not even the best lie he could come up with
would be adequate, let alone believable.

"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I had a hard time...finding my trunk," he said
nervously. His glasses slipped down his nose, and he shoved them
back into position.

The avoidance of her actual question did not go unnoticed. "Let's get
you back home before anything else happens to you," she said. "Ron,
tell your brothers to take Harry's things."

Ron sighed gustily and turned to the twins. "Mum says to tell you to
take Harry's things."

Fred and George glowered simultaneously, looking like a set of angry
book ends. George bowed mockingly and said, "Ron, please tell our
dearest mother that we'd be only too glad to be of service."

Ron tugged on his mother's sleeve. "Mum, George says--"

"I heard what he said," Mrs. Weasley cut him off tersely. "Let's go."

Harry meekly allowed himself to be led out of the station.

As he walked along, he soon saw that the news in Ron's letter hadn't
been an exaggeration. He'd never seen Mrs. Weasley so angry at the
twins before, not even in the aftermath of their most glorious pranks.
The twins marched along, no laughter on their faces now. Poor Ginny
looked wan, almost sickly. And Ron was babbling, trying unsuccessfully
to keep up a one-sided conversation.

A head of red hair bobbed next to his shoulder, its cheerful colour
distracting him from the dark turn his thoughts had taken. He looked
down.

"Did you have a nice summer, Harry?" Ginny asked, gazing up at him with
an attempt at a pleasant smile.

Without warning, and to Harry's complete shock, Ron leaned over and
punched his little sister in the arm. "Harry's tired. He doesn't need you
bothering him," he said angrily.

"MUM! Ron PUNCHED me!" Ginny squeaked in outrage as she
smacked her brother.

"Be quiet, both of you." Molly Weasley's reprimand was half-hearted,
without her usual spirit.

Harry closed his eyes, the beginnings of a headache surging in his
temples. A small part of him almost regretted coming in the first
place...not because he didn't want to see them, but because he didn't
want to see them like this.

They reached the taxi stand without further incident. As he climbed
into one of the taxis that waited for them, Harry paused and furtively
scanned the area, searching for any sign of the red car. It was gone.

* * *

Dinner that night was a silent and awkward affair, broken only by
overly polite requests to pass dishes or exaggerated offers of second
and third helpings. Mr. Weasley and Percy had returned from their work
at the Ministry to have a meal with the family--though Harry could tell
that neither of them wanted to be in the same room with the other, let
alone sit down and eat together.

A complex yet unacknowledged system of communication had sprung up,
since Ginny wouldn't speak to Ron, Mrs. Weasley wouldn't speak to Fred
and George, and no one would speak to Percy. Harry, his broken glasses
newly repaired by a quick wave of Mrs. Weasley's wand, kept his eyes on
his plate and his mind on the food. He knew that however tense things
were at the moment, they would be even more so if the wrong topic of
conversation was mentioned.

"Harry, Ron tells us that you didn't have to spend the summer with your
Muggle relatives this year," Mrs. Weasley finally said, breaking the
edgy silence.

He quickly swallowed a bite of pumpkin casserole. "Yes. One of the
neighbours took me in."

"Arabella Figg, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Best to stick to one-word answers, if possible.

"That was nice of her." Mrs. Weasley's normally genial smile was
tight, strained.

"Yes."

Mr. Weasley decided to join his wife and guest in their discussion,
though his replies bordered on the monosyllabic as well. "Glad to
hear that Arabella's back. Wonderful lady. Knows her stuff."

Harry heard a low mumble from Percy's direction. He couldn't hear what
the older boy had said, but it didn't sound complimentary. Whatever it
was, he prayed that no one else had heard it, either.

However, he had no such luck.

"What was that?" snapped Mrs. Weasley, turning her fork accusingly on
her son.

"I wasn't talking to you," Percy answered sharply, with more feeling
than the statement deserved. He may have been stating a fact, but his
mother reeled back as if he had slapped her across the face.

"Percival Weasley, how dare you speak to your mother like that!"
Arthur Weasley's thin face was white with rage, but two splotches of
crimson burned bright on his cheeks.

Percy, his anger already simmering, immediately went on the defensive.
"All I was trying to say was--"

"Oh, shut up, you stupid berk!" Ron said viciously, throwing down his
knife and fork.

"Ron! Language!" Mrs. Weasley was quick to scold.

Harry slid down in his chair as an argument began in earnest, fervently
wishing that he could disappear. He didn't like to see the Weasleys
fighting. They were the closest thing he had to a real family, and
though he knew that real families didn't always get along, listening to
the raised voices and harsh words made him feel sick to his stomach.

He winced as he heard Ron call his older brother a name that would have
gotten him a detention and twenty points docked from Gryffindor if he
had used it while at school, but shouted at the dinner table merely got
him grounded by his father. Fred and George had the good grace, or
perhaps the common sense, to keep out of the argument, yet Harry
could tell by their identically grim scowls that they were just waiting for
the right moment to join in and add their voices to the din.

His eye caught Ginny's across the table, and he mouthed a silent plea,
a cry for help. 'Get me out of here...please....'

Ginny, flushed with embarrassment, returned his gaze helplessly. Then,
suddenly, a light flickered in her eyes as an idea came to her. She
lifted her head to look directly at Harry, and her quiet words cut
through the shouting like a beam of light.

"Say, Harry, would you like to go for a walk after dinner?"

The argument stopped. Everyone turned to stare at the two of them.

As if her offer was completely unexpected, Harry blinked and put on his
best surprised expression. "Sure, where to?"

"Oh, nowhere in particular," she said airily, but her troubled eyes
told a different story. "Dad, may I be excused?"

Her father grunted, and returned to his meal. Taking the sound to be a
yes, Ginny hurriedly folded her napkin, picked up her empty plate, and
slipped away from the table.

Ron's mouth was hanging open as he looked from his sister's retreating
form to his flustered best friend and back again. His mouth snapped
shut, eyes narrowing in an unfriendly way that strangely reminded Harry
of Professor Snape.

He struggled to finish his food at a leisurely pace. It wouldn't be a
good idea to offend Mrs. Weasley, or to make Ron overly suspicious. He
used a piece of bread to scoop up the crumbs on his plate, and wiped
his mouth neatly with the napkin.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Weasley," he said brightly, a disarming grin
firmly plastered on his face. "It was delicious."

"Not at all, Harry. Glad to see that someone appreciates all the hard
work I put into my cooking." She glared daggers at Fred and George,
who were suddenly very intent on devouring the last two slices of the
casserole. Harry, seeing an opportunity, made his excuses and left the
table. He deposited his plate, glass, and cutlery in the kitchen sink as
he passed.

Ginny was waiting for him in the hall. He put his shoes on, and they
grabbed jackets in case the evening grew colder. Without a word, they
left the silent house. Harry had never understood how anyone could
refer to silence as 'deafening', even poetically, but the miserable
quiet at the dinner table tonight had certainly been enough to drown
out any pleasant thoughts he might have had...not that he had many to
start with.

They walked for a while, not saying anything, just enjoying the peace of
the early evening. They avoided the small village of Ottery St Catchpole
altogether, keeping to the open fields and wooded paths. The summer
evening was pleasantly cool, with a hint of crispness in the air that
foretold the coming of autumn. A few birds chattered angrily at them,
annoyed that men were disturbing their territory. Ginny's sharp eyes
spied a cluster of twitchy rabbits in one of the fields, and they gave
the little group a wide berth to avoid startling them.

As they walked, Ginny pointed out several houses that belonged to some
of the other wizarding families in the area, like the Lovegoods and the
Fawcetts. Most looked like normal Muggle houses, but one or two were
as ramshackle and funny-looking as the Burrow. All of them were quite
out of the way, at a fair distance from the neat rows of Muggle homes.
Harry was so caught up in her guided tour of the area that he didn't
notice where they were going....

Until he realised that they had wandered into a small, wooded cemetery.

He shot a look at Ginny. He thought that her face was a shade paler
than usual, but she seemed determined to continue walking as if there
was nothing unusual about their current location.

He read a few of the names on the markers, none of which rang any bells
in his mind. After a time, though, he noticed that the dates between birth
and death had become longer, far too long for a regular Muggle lifespan.
Some of the names looked familiar, too--names he had seen on cups and
trophies at school, names he had heard mentioned in passing conversations.

Ginny came to a sudden halt, breaking his train of thought. She stood
very still, looking at something a little ways away. Harry followed
her gaze, and felt his heart give a painful wrench at a sight he had
expected but never wanted to see.

The marble was fresh and newly hewn, without the crumbling, weathered
face so easily created by time and the elements.

Cedric Diggory
Triwizard Tournament Champion
Beloved son, beloved friend

The dates of birth and death were inscribed beneath.

Dimly, he heard Ginny talking, the tone of her voice bordering on
hysterical.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I don't know how we ended up here...come on,
let's get back, Mum'll have the pudding waiting for us--"

Harry cut her off. His voice was thick. "You knew exactly where we
were going the entire time. You led me here deliberately."

She cringed, as if she had been struck. "I'm sorry," she repeated in a
broken whisper, staring fixedly at the ground.

He sighed. The brief flare of anger he had felt was gone, replaced
by remorse for his harshness.

"No, don't be," he said. "I'm not mad at you."

A thin fringe of grass had sprung up over the grave, as if it were
trying to disguise the fact that the earth had been turned over only a
few months ago. Somewhere in the near distance, a thrush trilled and
then was silent.

Harry, in an odd gesture of respect, avoided treading on the grave
itself as he approached. He knelt down beside the headstone.

"Hello, Cedric," he said softly, resting a hand on the chiseled stone.
"It's good to see you again."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny hovering uncertainly a few
feet away. He held out a hand, beckoning her forward. "Come on,
Ginny. Come and say hello."

She stumbled forward to join him and knelt as well, her knees shaking.
"H...hello, Cedric."

"I'm glad to see that you're here," Harry said brightly, pretending
that Cedric was sitting there in front of him, listening to him talk.
It made it easier, somehow. "I saw your mum and dad before I left
school, and they said they'd take good care of you. I see they did.
That's wonderful."

He paused. The cold marble made no reply.

"Just thought I'd stop by, you know, see how you were doing." He
barely managed to keep his voice from cracking.

He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't. Ginny was there, right next to him,
she'd see him crying...big brave Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived,
crying over Cedric Diggory, the Boy Who Didn't.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he started, almost leaping to his
feet. Keeping his eyes downcast to prevent his tears from falling,
he looked back to see Ginny patting his shoulder awkwardly, tears
shining on her face as well.

The simple gesture of human contact was reassuring, but at the same
time he felt very uncomfortable. Ginny's feelings for him were no
secret, and to make matters worse, he had a wild idea that Ron had
followed them and was somewhere out there, lurking in the bushes, just
waiting for Harry Potter to take advantage of his baby sister. It was
hard to maintain his composure.

Fortunately, Ginny seemed to decide that Harry didn't really need her
comfort, and let her hand slip from his shoulder and fall to her side.

"I went to his funeral, you know." She ran a hand over the short grass
that blanketed the grave. She didn't lift her head or look up. "Mum
didn't want me to go, but Dad put his foot down. Said that I had to
see for myself, had to pay my respects. Said that Cedric deserved it,
if nothing else."

Harry felt a sharp pang of guilt. Cedric did deserve it. He should
have been there, too. "I wish I could have come," he said wistfully,
sitting back on his heels.

"No!" she burst out, her head snapping up. "Don't say that...please.
You don't know what wizarding funerals are like. It's...it isn't
something...."

"Ginny? What's wrong?" Her violent reaction truly alarmed him--she
looked haunted, almost terrified by the memory. He'd never been to a
funeral before, even a Muggle one, but it couldn't be as horrible as
that...could it?

Before he could do or say anything, she stood, brushing the dirt off
her knees. "Never mind," she said quickly. "I shouldn't have brought
you here. Let's go home."

Harry scrambled to his feet as well. "Ginny...please...it's all right.
I'm glad we came. I think....I think I had to see it for myself, let
it sink in. All summer, I've had this at the back of my mind, and...."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I know that." The corner of his mouth quirked in a rueful smile. "I have so
much to blame on Voldemort, one more thing won't make much difference,
right?"

Ginny shivered at the mention of the name, but let it pass. "I suppose
you're right. Now, we really should go back, 'cause it's almost dark,
and Mum will start to worry. Not to mention Ron--I'm sure he thinks I
brought you out here to seduce you, or something."

Harry grinned at her wicked humour. "You're right. Y'know, for a
fourteen-year-old girl, you're not too bad."

Ginny blinked in surprise, then smiled impishly. "Well, I'd have to
say that for a fifteen-year-old boy, you're not so bad yourself."

They walked back to the Burrow. This time, there was no awkwardness
in their silence.

For Harry, visiting the wizarding cemetary had done something to him,
changed something inside him. It wasn't a sense of release or relief,
it wasn't closure, it wasn't even acceptance. All he had done was to
see Cedric Diggory's final resting place, and to try and apologise
for...well, for everything. Even though he had failed to put his
feelings into appropriate words, it was a start.

Maybe the next time he came, he'd finally work up the courage to
finish what he had begun.

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Gramarye
gramarye@postmaster.co.uk
http://gramarye.freehosting.net/
February 8th, 2002