It took Harry to near the end of the school year to recover completely from the time he’d spent in his coma.  During his time in the coma, his body had gone through a state of regression.  Madam Pomfrey had halted what of it that she could but there were some thing’s that she couldn’t do.  She had managed to keep his muscles from regressing but that was all.  He had had a little bit of trouble getting his legs and arms to work correctly and even at the end of the year, he was walking with a slight limp.  But his reflexes were as fast as ever – as had been proved when Crabbe and Goyle had tried to jump him.

His voice had also suffered.  The full force of his Cockney accent had returned, which had – to his surprise – delighted Niamh.  When he had asked her why, she’d simply replied, “It makes you you, that’s all.”

Professor Snape had also been moved up to the castle.  But he was not going to recover as quickly as Harry.

The young man had learned of what had happened to his father from Niamh but that didn’t answer the question as to what Severus had failed Voldemort at.  It was a question only Severus could answer.

Unfortunately, he was currently in a potion-induced sleep, which Madam Pomfrey would only allow him out of for two hours at a time.

Times during which Harry nor anyone else was allowed to speak to him.

It was driving Harry mad.

Not to mention the fact that Dumbledore had informed him of what Tyls was.

“A zombie?”

“But someone said you couldn’t bring the dead back to life,” said Niamh suddenly, to which Harry shook his head.

“I’s na bringin’ tha’ dead back ter life, Ni.  A zombie’s na ‘uman anymore.  They’ve na goh a soul.  Somebody else controls ‘em.  Gives ‘em life.”

“Exactly,” said Dumbledore.  “Very good, Harry.  May I ask where you found that?”

“Readin’,” replied Harry.  He then said softly, “Voldemort summoned ‘im, did’n ‘e?”

“We have no proof of that…”

“I’ had ter be ‘im.  Abram tol’ me about ‘im.  ‘E saw ‘im, Voldemort an’ Wormtail.  ‘An Tyls.”  Harry shook his head and continued softly, “I did’n believe ‘im.”

“Why?” asked Dumbledore.  “Who is this Abram?”

“’E’s tha’ one tha’ foun’ me.  After tha’ Dursley’s abandoned meh.  ‘E,” he swallowed hard before continuing, “’E was there when Tyls was killed.”

Dumbledore sat up straight at that and fixed the dark-haired young man with a fierce look.

“Tell me.”

“Professor, I…”

“Harry.”

“I can’na!” yelled Harry.  “I can’na tell ye!”

“Harry,” whispered Niamh, reaching across the space between their chairs to touch his arm.  Emerald met crystalline blue and the girl continued, “Please.  I want to know.  I need to know.”

“Ni…”

“Please.”

“I can’,” breathed Harry.  “I’s too ‘ard.”

“There is an easier way, Harry,” said Dumbledore softly.  He nodded in the direction of one of his cabinets, where a large stone bowl sat, its contents giving off a slight silvery sheen.  Harry looked at it then back at the Headmaster.

“I doan know…”

“Harry, I will keep you and Miss O’Feir in this office until I have this story.”

“I’s na important…”

“Its important to me,” hissed Niamh.  “Please, Harry.”

Harry looked once at her, his face as open as a book.  Niamh saw pain and fear in his face.  And she felt then in the welter of emotions that rolled across her.

Then he looked at Dumbledore, his expression gone to stone.  He nodded numbly and waited silently as the older wizard rose and brought the Pensieve over to the desk.

“Do you know…” began Dumbledore.

“I know how ter use i’,” mumbled Harry, taking out his wand – which Niamh had graciously returned along with Hedwig and his basilisk pendant.  He placed the tip of it against his temple and closed his eyes, drawing a white thread away a moment later when he moved his wand away.  The thread dropped into the Pensieve and the surface flickered black for a moment.

Dumbledore started then reached forward and touched the surface of the silver liquid.  Niamh and Harry both followed suit and the three of them were drawn into it.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

They saw all of it.  The words between Harry and Argil.  The revealing of Argil’s raping of the elder children, of Tyls.  They saw the darkness in Harry’s eyes.  Tyls’ death in Harry’s arms.  Argil’s death.  Harry’s threat to Abram.

Everything.

When they were thrown out of the Pensieve, Niamh had tears streaming down her cheeks.  She knew now why Harry had been so distant after that incident.

Dumbledore watched Harry gravely as the teen leaned forward and retrieved his memory from the Pensieve.

“You could leave it in there, you know.”

Harry glared mildly at him.

“Where someone c’n ge’ i’?  No t’anks.  I’d rather ‘ave i’ in me head.”

“Very well,” said Dumbledore, nodding slightly.  “Why did you not inform anyone of this?”

“I committed murder, professor.  Tha’s a crime in tha’ Muggle an’ tha’ Wizardin’ world.”  He looked towards Niamh quickly and added, “An’ I did’n wan’ some people ter thin’ less o’ me.”

Niamh let loose a sob and flung herself from her chair onto the floor at Harry’s knees.  She grabbed his hands in her own and brought them to her face in a teary kiss.

“I would never think less of you, Harry,” she hissed in a slightly savage tone.  “Never.  You’re my best friend.  My best.  I’ll always stand by you, no matter what.  You could kill that bastard a thousand times over and I’d still stand by you.”

“Ni…” began Harry, feeling tears of his own welling up.  But he wouldn’t allow them to fall.  Not now.

Not yet.

He had other things to do first.

“How would you kill a zombie?” he whispered, drawing a small sob from Niamh.

“Burning or beheading,” replied Dumbledore softly.  “You need not worry…”

“No!” snapped Harry, fixed the Headmaster with a fierce scowl.  “Voldemort sent ‘im ter harm me.  I’s righ’ tha’ I end i’.”

“Harry…”

“I’ve goh to settle my demons, Ni,” whispered Harry, cupping her face in his hands.  “This i’ the only way I know ‘ow.”

Niamh sniffed then whispered, “I’ll be right there with you then.”

Harry smiled.  “Alrigh’.”

Dumbledore frowned and began, “Are you sure…”

“Yes,” growled Harry and Niamh at the same time.

“Very well.  I do not think you should be the one’s to do this but if you wish…I will allow it.  Demons must be settled, especially those Lord Voldemort digs up.”

Harry just nodded and rose to his feet, lifting Niamh up with him.

“Le’s do i’ now,” he whispered.  “Ge’ i’ done wi’.”

Niamh just nodded and leaned against him, her head on his chest.  Harry hugged her close for a moment then slowly moved her towards the door.

Dumbledore watched them go with a grave expression.  As the door swung closed behind them, Fawkes ruffled his feathers.

< They are much older than they seem. >

“Yes,” said Dumbledore, “but no young man or woman should have had to endure what they have.”

< I agree, > said Fawkes.  < But they have.  Let them do this, Albus.  He was their friend.  Let them send this creature Riddle summoned to a dark grave.  Perhaps it will help a wound heal. >

“I hope you are right,” said Dumbledore softly.  “I hope that you are indeed right, my old friend.”