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Losing Each Other | ||||||
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Category: Post-HBP, Buried Gems Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Nymphadora Tonks, Other, Ron Weasley Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Romance Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 169 Summary: This story follows Harry and Ginny from their parting after Dumbledore's funeral. Much of it is told from Ginny's POV. The first chapter, "Ginny's Mermaid," was originally posted as a one-shot. I have revised it slightly as part of this longer story, but it is essentially the same as it was when I first posted it. Hitcount: Story Total: 106084; Chapter Total: 6743 |
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Harry and Ginny spent most of the remaining days of the holiday in what Ginny called – but only to Harry – the “den of ruination.” Harry was more relaxed than she had ever seen him. He laughed often, and he never once mentioned Voldemort or the war. Ron and Hermione took to sitting with them in the “den” during the day, whenever they were not outside practicing Patronuses, but after dinner they left Harry and Ginny alone. They talked long into the evenings, mostly about the past. Harry talked more about himself in a day than he had in a month when they were together last year. Ginny wanted to know about Harry’s life with the Dursleys, and she gradually overcame his reluctance to say anything about it. She wasn’t curious about how Muggles lived, but why Harry stayed there even after he came to Hogwarts and became friends with Ron and close to her family. Harry told her what Dumbledore had said about the protection of his mother’s blood. “So your aunt was your only family,” she mused.“And that’s all I ever had — a family. We never had many things, except the Muggle nonsense that Dad brought home. My boots are the first new thing I ever owned, except what Mum knitted or sewed.” “And your Firebolt,” Harry reminded her with a smile. “Yes! My Firebolt! That was the sweetest thing anyone ever did for me.” There was a long but not inactive pause in the conversation. “We should meet with the rest of the team when term begins,” Harry said; his head was in Ginny’s lap and she was trying to curl his hair around her fingers. “We can have our own practices. We don’t need Madame Hooch.” “I suppose so. That reminds me.... Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Harry sat up and Ginny went to her room and returned with her lion clip. She handed it to Harry. “Something’s different about it ever since you touched it with your wand,” she told him. “I can’t make it do anything, but when I move my wand near it there’s magic there, I’m sure.” Harry looked it over. “What did you try?” “I tried an illuminating charm to get it to light up. When you touched it, it went off like a flash from a camera.” Harry carefully retrieved his wand from a small table next to the sofa that also held one or two of Ginny’s things that she had wanted to keep nearby: her wand; a hair brush; some hair ribbons; a Pygmy Puff in a small cage she had conjured; the photograph of Harry that he had retrieved from Sirius’s room at twelve Grimmauld Place (“the dragon slayer,” she called it); her Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions textbooks, which she had not opened; the Marauder’s Map which she had asked Harry to bring down to the common room, and which she had opened; two owls from her mother; yesterday’s Daily Prophet, also from her mum, with a second—page article about Harry circled in red; three quills; a quill—sharpening knife; two pots of ink, one purple, the other red; and a small box of letter parchments. He put the clasp down on a chair, and touched it with his wand. A bright, golden light flashed briefly. “What’s that?” Ron called from in front of the fireplace. He stood up and peered at Harry. “Quidditch tactics,” Harry called back. “The Gryffindor lion awakens!” “Ginny’s hair thing?” Harry waved it at Ron and sat down. “I don’t know what it is,” he said to Ginny. “Let me keep it, and I’ll ask McGonagall or Flitwick next time I get a chance.” They took up their conversation about Harry’s life with the Dursleys, and much later they fell asleep on the sofa, as they had every night since their return to Hogwarts. They practiced their new Patronuses every day, and sometimes twice if the weather was not too cold. By New Years Eve Hermione, like Harry, could consistently conjure a fiery Patronus that persisted until the otter figured out that there was nothing to attack. It would then vanish, but she could bring it back again in less than a minute. Ginny and Ron were not so far along. Their phoenix and dog were fully formed, but they lasted only a few seconds. Harry wondered if that was simply because there was no danger around. “It’s still frustrating,” Ginny complained after her phoenix had soared off toward Hogsmeade only to blink out after two strokes of its wings. “Maybe I could make it last longer if we got Filch to stand in front of us with one of his whips.” They all chuckled. Harry glanced at the castle, and saw a group of people on the steps watching them. Most were students, but they were standing behind Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione also turned to look, and Ron frowned. “What does she want now?” he muttered. “We aren’t doing anything wrong.” “I don’t think she’s angry,” Hermione said. “Not even about the lawn.” The two teachers walked toward them, trailed by the students. McGonagall stopped in front of Harry and looked over the scorched grass. “Maybe you could learn a greening charm from Professor Sprout, Mr. Potter,” she said. “Just a suggestion, of course, but the grass seems a bit spotty right around here, even for December thirty—first.” “Oh, sure, Professor,” Harry replied. “We didn’t mean to burn up your lawn.” Some of the students laughed. “It’s not my lawn, Mr. Potter. It’s Hogwarts’s lawn. But no matter. It will grow back.” She paused. “So those were the Patronuses you discovered?” “Yes.” Harry was unsure how much he wanted to say to the Headmistress. He ought to trust her as a member of the Order, but after what had happened in the Room of Requirement there were now things about the Patronus he did not want anyone except his friends to know. And McGonagall’s question implied that she had not been told everything by Lupin or Moody. He was also not going to say anything in front of all these students. McGonagall seemed to be expecting him to say more. When Harry’s silence continued, she pursed her lips. “Mr. Potter, would you mind coming up to my office? I’d like to speak with you and your friends. Even Mr. Weasley, as long as he wipes his feet before he comes in.” Ron scowled at her, then at the students who were sniggering and whispering to each other. “Of course,” said Harry. “Now?” McGonagall nodded, then turned to lead them back to the castle. The students stepped aside to let them pass, but Harry stopped in front of Professor Flitwick. He took Ginny’s hair clasp from his pocket. “Professor, can you look at this? Ginny got it in Diagon Alley last summer, and it wasn’t supposed to be magical. Sometimes it flares, kind of like a camera flashing, but only when my wand touches it. It’s strange.” Flitwick examined it. “I’ll be happy to, Mr. Potter,” he said in his squeaky voice. “Diagon Alley, you say?” Professor McGonagall looked back at Harry. “If you don’t mind?” In her office, they sat down in front of the large desk. Harry glanced at Professor Dumbledore’s portrait, but the frame was empty except for the chair. “He is at the Ministry of Magic,” McGonagall said. “There are a lot of things going on.” They sat in silence under her questioning gaze. When no one reacted, she continued. “I will come to the point, then. Four days ago something happened inside the castle. I confess I don’t know precisely what it was or precisely where it happened, but it was very powerful magic, of a kind that is unknown to me. I have spent the last four days accounting for the whereabouts of every person who was in the castle at the time, except you four.” Harry answered immediately. “We’ve only been in the Great Hall, outside on the lawn, or in the common room.” He kept his face as blank as possible; he didn’t dare look at the others. “Yes,” McGonagall replied, “in the common room. Re-arranging the furniture.” “Oh, that!” Harry dismissed it with a wave, but his face felt hot. “I, uh, I was going to put it all back before anyone else returns.” “I’m sure you were.” Harry thought he saw a twitch around her mouth, like the beginning of a smile. He glanced at Ginny; she smiled at him serenely, and then at the Headmistress. McGonagall looked back with a distant expression, and sighed. She became brisk and official again. “Well, obviously I wondered about your whereabouts because of your new Patronus. It would explain why I couldn’t identify the mystery magic. And what you’ve been doing out on the lawn is similar to what I sensed that afternoon four days ago.” Harry was becoming more uncomfortable about lying to McGonagall; she did not deserve it. “Well,” he tried to sound reluctant, “we were inside, but someplace else.” He heard the others shift in their chairs, and McGonagall glanced at them. Harry continued. “I think the weather wasn’t so good, so we went to the Room of Requirement and practiced our Patronuses there.” McGonagall looked skeptical. “I don’t remember bad weather,” she said. “The dementors mist has been very light since Christmas.” Harry looked down at his hands; he scratched his nose, then gripped the arms of his chair. “Maybe it was too cold to go outside.” McGonagall leaned back. “Well, clearly that’s all the answer I’m going to get from you, Harry.” She looked at Ginny, who looked back innocently. “Miss Weasley, before Christmas you came in here and told me the truth about something that was supposed to be a strict confidence. Do you have anything you wish to say now?” “No, Professor,” Ginny said in a conversational tone, “it’s like Harry said. We just decided it was too cold, so we found a safe place indoors. We didn’t want to damage anything.” “Like the lawn.” The Headmistress held her hand up to stop Ginny. “Thank you all for your time.” “I suppose she had a point,” Ron admitted on their way back to the common room. “It’s interesting, though, that she knew something was going on.” Harry was silent. Ginny took his arm. “You didn’t like doing that, did you?” Harry shook his head. “No, but I didn’t want to tell her about the Horcrux. It didn’t feel good, lying to her like that.” Ginny squeezed his arm, and he looked at her gratefully. They climbed through the portrait hole and he and Ginny walked to the “den.” “I suppose I should put the furniture back,” Harry said glumly. “No you shouldn’t,” Ginny answered firmly. “Tonight’s New Years Eve. We can do it tomorrow. I want one more night in my nest.” “So now its your nest,” Harry grinned. “I’m not ruining you anymore?” “I’m way beyond ruin.” After dinner they all sat in front of the fire. Ron produced a case of butterbeer, and they sipped and talked. Just before midnight there were two loud pops, and to their delight Dobby and Winky appeared in front of them. They celebrated the New Year together, although Winky was extremely shy and didn’t say much. The elves left, and Harry and Ginny returned to their corner. “I will have to put the furniture back tomorrow,” Harry murmured between snogs. “I know,” Ginny sighed. “But it’s been so nice. Just the two of us.” The next day students began trickling back to school. Harry had not bothered to look at the Prophet since his interview, and he had told Hermione that he wasn’t interested in what was happening outside Hogwarts, so she stopped trying to show him articles about what the Ministry was doing with his new magic. But the returning students were full of curiosity about it, and they pestered both Harry and Ginny. Ginny tried to deflect the badgering away from Harry, but the following day classes began and they were no longer together for most of the day. Harry couldn’t hide his ignorance of current events any more, so he gave up, and at dinner he asked Hermione to bring him up to date. “There’s been almost a complete end to dementor attacks,” Hermione began. “Two days after Christmas a Wizarding Hit Team spotted another swarm down in Devonshire, but they weren’t quite up to speed with your Patronus, so one of them went back to the Ministry and fortunately both Kingsley and Tonks were there. They all returned and decimated the swarm. The Prophet said that the dementors contacted Scrimgeour that very day. Now some of them have also gone back to Azkaban.” “And what about Scrimgeour?” Harry asked. “I imagine he’s basking in the glory.” “He’s certainly feeling pretty good about things,” Hermione said. “They’re feeding the Prophet stories about how they’re always coming up with new Defenses Against the Dark Arts. But I don’t think the editors are buying the line like they did two years ago. That reporter who interviewed you has had a couple of off—the—record interviews from people who say it was you all along.” Harry smiled. “Good old Tonks and Kingsley. Well, I really don’t care.” He thought for a moment. “Has there been anything about Voldemort?” Ginny looked unhappy at this, but Harry patted her hand. “Just asking.” “Did you two decide something?” Hermione said. “I’m taking a furlough from the war until after the next Quidditch match,” Harry said. “It was Ginny’s idea, and a very excellent one. We’ll all be experts with our Patronuses and the dementors won’t be a problem at all by then.” “You’re right,” Hermione agreed. She gave Ginny a quick smile and a nod. “So, is there anything about Voldemort?” Harry asked again. “Nothing. Not a whisper. But if the dementors abandon him, he’ll have to do something. His main weapon is fear, and if people stop being afraid, he’s lost half the battle.” Ron had been half—listening, but perked up when Harry mentioned Quidditch. He spoke now. “I forgot to tell you, mate. Edward Pendragon wants to coach us. He said he can get up here on weekends.” ‘Ginny mentioned it,” Harry said. “And Fred and George said they’d try to give us a hand. They’re the best Beaters I ever saw here, so that should help give the Chasers a workout.” “Ouch.” Ginny made a face. “I’m sure they’ll be very enthusiastic.” Harry laughed. “Should we have a team meeting on Saturday? Without Hooch?” Ron and Ginny both agreed. When classes started up, Ginny found herself completely swamped. She had done no studying at all during the break, and since Harry’s return to the Burrow, other things had driven all academic thoughts from her head. It took several days to get herself back into the mind—set that the heavy load required. During the day, when she was not usually around Harry, she could concentrate on what was going on in class or what she was reading in the library. But evenings, when she ought to be studying, she couldn’t keep herself from being distracted. After a week of falling behind in her homework, she finally brought it up with Harry. “I freely admit that I can’t study when I’m around you,” she smiled. “Do you remember at the beginning of last term, you told me that you couldn’t eat with me because you were too distracted?” “I can now. In fact, I think you give me an appetite.” “And you give me one. But I’ve got to figure out a way to get my homework done. You wouldn’t mind if I studied evenings in the library, would you?” “‘Course not. How about at ten every night I’ll come and get you. If you’re not done I’ll just chat up Madame Pince until you’re ready.” “She’ll be delighted,” Ginny laughed. They went on to talk about the Quidditch team meeting they were having the next day. Every team member had responded enthusiastically, especially when they learned about the new Firebolts. Harry had not told Madame Hooch anything, and she had not announced when her own practices would start. They gathered in an empty classroom on the first floor. Ginny and Ron passed around their new brooms, and promised everyone a go after the meeting. Harry told them about the offers from Edward Pendragon and the Weasley twins. Erskine Labine, the Chaser from Ravenclaw, grimaced when he heard that Fred and George would be practicing against them. “We hated them when they were on Gryffindor,” he said. “I think I still have bruises from those matches.” Erskine’s brother was out of the country and couldn’t come to help them, and Carlotta Romani’s sister couldn’t fly for the time being because she was pregnant. “But she wants to help. She told me that she heard stories about Madame Hooch. Hooch was a Keeper here, and she always tried to get one of the Chasers to play back as a defender. That explains why she coaches the way she does.” “That’s ridiculous,” said Ron. “She couldn’t have been a very good Keeper.” They decided to practice next weekend if the weather held, but they couldn’t decide when or whether to tell Madame Hooch. “We should do it now,” Ron declared. “Let’s get it over with. She’s gonna find out as soon as we start flying.” “But if she forbids it, then what?” Erskine asked. “That would be the end of it.” “She can’t forbid it, can she?” Elspeth spoke for the first time. “Why can’t we do what we want? It sounds like what I heard about Dolores Umbridge.” “No one’s that bad,” Harry said. “Let’s think about it for a couple of days. We have the whole week to decide. Nobody says anything to anyone outside the team, okay?” They all agreed, and trooped down to the Quidditch pitch where everyone got to fly on the new Firebolts. By the middle of the week Ginny had almost caught up with her homework, and when Harry came to the library to get her, they started taking late—evening strolls through the castle under his Invisibility cloak. They encountered Mrs. Norris regularly, and Ginny tried to befriend the cat but never succeeded. Harry showed her all the byways and secret passages he had discovered over the years. Sometimes they found themselves alone in an out—of—the—way corridor, and they took off the cloak and sat and talked. The stillness of the castle, the flickering torchlight, and the isolation of the hallways put them in a quiet, intimate mood. They often got to bed late, but neither wanted to give these moments up; they were a continuation of the hours they had spent alone in their “den.” When they returned to the common room – which was usually empty – their good—nights lingered, and when they saw each other again in the morning they laughed at everything and marveled at the wonder of a new day with each other. On Thursday morning Harry decided that they should tell Madame Hooch about the team’s plans. “She’ll be mad no matter what, like you said,” he told Ron and Ginny at breakfast. “I’ll talk to her when we’re done eating. Can you two come along?” “What about the others?” Ginny asked. “Strength in numbers, after all.” Harry shook his head. “That’ll seem more like we’re ganging up. If it’s just the three of us she’s less likely to go off.” They waited until Madame Hooch got up from the staff table and started to walk to the entrance. They intercepted her just inside the doors. “Excuse me, Madame Hooch, can we talk to you for a minute?” Harry stepped in front of her, and she stopped. “If it’s about practice, I’ll be making an announcement in a week or two. I haven’t decided exactly when we should start –“ “We’re going to hold our own practices,” Harry blurted. “And we’re getting some other people to help.” “What?” She frowned. “You can’t –“ She stopped in mid—sentence. “Why? And who do you think will come up here in the middle of winter to play Quidditch?” Harry felt Ginny move closer to him and unobtrusively put her hand on the small of his back. “We have our own ideas about how we want to play the match,” he said. “And we asked some people we know and they said they would do it.” “Who?” Harry looked at Ron. “Fred and George Weasley. And Elspeth’s father. He coached a professional club for two years.” Hooch’s eyes narrowed. “And what are your ideas about playing the match?” “We don’t want to be so defensive. We could have scored some goals, but you had the Chasers playing like Beaters. They can’t –“ “Mr. Potter, I don’t have time for an argument about Quidditch tactics, but if you’ll remember, Mr. Weasley here had more than his hands full and gave up seven goals fairly quickly.” “That’s because the Quaffle was at our end for the whole match!” Ron almost shouted. “Anyone can score if –“ “And you’re the expert?” Hooch snapped. She glanced around at the empty Hall. “I have a class to teach, and I’m already late. If you’ll excuse me...” She turned and strode away. They watched her until she was out of sight down the corridor. “Did you notice something?” said Ron. “She didn’t say no.” “Right,” Harry grinned. “She started to, but backed off. Practice is Saturday right after lunch. Tell the others when you see them.” Neither Edward Pendragon nor the Weasley twins could be there on such short notice, but since Ron was completely familiar with the Chudley Cannons’ style of play, he was able to give Carlotta Romani and Thurmond Thumpel some ideas for stopping an attack by their Chasers. Harry worked with Ginny, Elspeth, and Erskine. Ginny was flying considerably faster on her Firebolt, so they practiced long passes, with the idea that she would be able to break past the Chudley defense. The weather was cold, though, and they couldn’t stay out long. When Harry, Ginny, and Ron got back to the common room, they found a message from Professor Flitwick. He wanted to see Harry and Ginny in his office. “It must be about my hair clip,” Ginny said on their way around to the West Tower. “Did you bring your wand?” “Right here.” Harry patted his robe. “I hope the thing isn’t dangerous. He’ll have to take it away if it is.” They knocked on the door to the Charms Master’s office and entered. Flitwick was behind his cluttered desk, sitting on a high stool. The walls were covered with dozens of small paintings, all with pictures of fairies of various kinds. Behind him a very large portrait frame dominated the room, but it was empty except for a plain high—backed chair in front of a curtain with the Ravenclaw coat of arms emblazoned on it. Professor Flitwick smiled as they came in. “Please sit.” He beckoned to two chairs and they glided over the floor to his desk; Harry and Ginny sat down. “I hope the Quidditch practice went well?” He smiled again. “It must have been cold out there.” They nodded. Professor Flitwick’s geniality was contagious, and they both felt very much at ease. “Well.” He picked up Ginny’s hair clasp from his desktop. He peered at Ginny out of his clear, blue, crinkled eyes. “Where exactly in Diagon Alley did you get this?” “There was an old witch with a pushcart. She was very friendly, and she said nice things about my brothers. They’re the ones who actually bought it for me. Fred and George, I mean. And George checked it out and he said it wasn’t magical.” “I’m very familiar with your brothers’ abilities,” Flitwick chuckled. “I have no doubt that George could tell if this item was magical. If he said it wasn’t, then it wasn’t. But there’s no doubt that it is now, so the question is how did it get this way?” He turned the clasp over in his tiny hands, then held it up and looked at Harry. “Tell me how you caused it to flash, as you described.” Harry told him about the two times he had touched the clasp with his wand. Flitwick peered at it again. “Let me see your wand, please, Harry, if you don’t mind.” Harry handed him the wand, and they waited as the Professor examined it. He pointed it at the wall, and a small flame spurted from it, followed by a puff of white smoke. He raised his bushy, white eyebrows. “The last time you used this was to conjure your new Patronus?” he asked. Harry nodded, an impressed look on his face. “Your wand is fine.” Flitwick handed it back, and looked keenly at Ginny, then at Harry. “A wand is very personal, as I’m sure you both know. It responds to many things besides verbal incantations and thoughts. It’s very sensitive to it’s user’s state of mind, his or her emotions. I know, Harry, that since Christmas you’ve experienced a large number – even for you – of unusual events that must have been very emotional.” He looked again at Ginny and smiled, and she felt herself blush. “Let me ask you something, Harry. It’s a rather personal question, so I’ll understand if you don’t want to answer. Have you recently felt that something new, or different, or changed, was happening to you, that somehow you were experiencing the world outside of yourself differently? And that inside yourself there was also something new? I don’t mean an obvious event like your new Patronus. I mean a feeling, or a belief.” Harry was astonished to hear Professor Flitwick describe so clearly exactly what he had been trying to explain to Ginny for so long. He had first tried when they were on their Firebolts above the clearing at the Burrow; since then, he had talked about it many times during their long evenings together in the “den,” and on their evening walks through the hallways. “Yes,” Harry said. “And I know exactly when it began. It was two days before Christmas. I – I was almost killed, and at the instant I realized how close I had come to dying, I knew that...” His voice trailed off, and he looked at Ginny; her eyes were glistening. “From then on, it began to feel just like you said. I told Ginny that there was something strong inside me, but I didn’t know what.” He looked questioningly at Professor Flitwick. “Do you know what it is?” “Yes, I do.” Flitwick smiled yet again. “It’s not uncommon. And it’s exactly the opposite of what you came to see me about last fall. Do you remember?” Harry felt a reluctance to talk about it, but Ginny squeezed his hand. “I was kind of not wanting Ginny to be... I mean, I thought we shouldn’t... I mean, I really wanted to be with her, but I was afraid.” He was almost mumbling. Professor Flitwick smiled again, and Harry realized that his smiles had a very soothing effect. “I know, Harry,” he said. “And I didn’t say anything to you at the time because I knew that you wouldn’t understand unless you figured it out for yourself. And knowing you, I was absolutely sure that you would figure it out. But that’s a digression. What I started to say was that you’re now going through the exact opposite of what you were then. Your magical powers have become so strong that I suspect you don’t even recognize some of them anymore.” He paused, and looked seriously at Harry. “This reversal of your powers is common, but in your case it’s going a step farther. In fact, several steps farther. Every witch and wizard can make an ordinary wizarding object do magical things. We can even do it with some Muggle objects. But Harry, you didn’t just make the lion do magic, you put magic into it. It’s quite an unusual power.” “I don’t understand,” Ginny said, and Harry also was puzzled. “Ah,” Flitwick beamed. “You give me the opportunity for a lecture. Have you ever been someplace where you can’t do magic, but your wand will still light up?” Harry and Ginny glanced quickly at each other, and Harry nodded. “Well, then,” the Professor continued, “you’ll know exactly what I mean. It’s the difference between making something light up with your wand, and your wand lighting up itself, with Lumos or some other charm. The wand works because magic is in it. The object works because the wand makes it work. Your lion lit up because Harry’s wand made it light up. But, he also put the magic in it that will let it light up on its own.” He picked up the clasp and handed it to Ginny. “Harry must have wanted something magical to happen to this,” he said to her, “and that’s what put the magic in it. I have not seen it done very often.” He turned to Harry. “I think you’ll find that, with practice, you’ll be able to do things with this little lion even without your wand. And with other things, too, once you put the magic in them. I’m impressed, very impressed, but not surprised.” This time his smile encompassed the whole room, and several fairies in their paintings twittered. Harry and Ginny stood up. “Thanks very much, Professor,” Harry said. They turned to go, but at that moment a figure stepped into the portrait behind Flitwick’s desk. A striking, regal—looking witch stood gazing at Harry. She wore a blue gown trimmed in gold with puffy sleeves and a white ruff collar; a purple cloak was around her shoulders, and on her head was a close—fitting blue hat, almost like a skullcap that also covered her ears. Around her neck was a gold necklace from which hung a small medallion with an ornate “R” engraved on it, ringed with small blue gems. Her eyes were piercing; Harry could not break away from them. She spoke, and her accent was similar to Minerva McGonagall’s. “Harry Potter, I believe.” It was more an acknowledgment than a question. Her hand went briefly to her necklace, then she sat down in the high—backed chair and nodded to Flitwick. “Good day, Professor. Is your company leaving?” Flitwick smiled once more, and Harry was, at that moment, grateful to get out of the office. He and Ginny didn’t speak until they were well down the hallway. “She knows I have it,” Harry said. “She certainly does,” Ginny agreed. “I don’t think she can do much about it, though. She can’t prove anything. But I really liked Professor Flitwick. I’m sorry I haven’t got to know him better. He’s very charming.” “Charm–“ Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but she was keeping a straight face. “That was terrible,” he said. They stepped through the portrait hole to find Ron and Hermione in their accustomed places. They sat down with them, and described their visit to Professor Flitwick. When Harry recounted Flitwick’s explanation of why the clasp had flashed, Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Harry!” she exclaimed, “I read about that last week in the Magica, volume twelve. It’s called Inductive Magic, and it’s exactly what Flitwick described. The witch or wizard with the power to do it can put magical qualities into a non—magical object, and make it do things without using a wand. It’s extremely rare. In fact, at the time the article was written there were only four wizards living in Britain who were known to have the power.” “And who were they?” Harry asked, but he thought he knew part of the answer. Hermione hesitated. “It’s pretty impressive company, but it’s also a mixed bag. Two were obviously Dumbledore and Voldemort. The third is, believe it or not, Severus Snape. The fourth was Nicholas Flamel, who died about a year ago.” They stared in wonder at Harry. “Please don’t,” he muttered. “I hate that.” “But there are three now,” Ginny said. “Lord Voldemort, Severus Snape, and you, Harry.” She leaned toward him from the chair next to his. “Now you’re their equal.” Harry did not answer. He sat back and closed his eyes. It had felt so good not to think about Voldemort for so long, even if he knew he was just pushing it into the back of his mind. Now all the anxiety and tension came flooding back; he could feel his pulse throbbing in his head, and his stomach churning. He saw the happy fantasy world he had built around Ginny and the Quidditch team start to fall apart into little pieces. Then someone slipped into the chair with him. He opened his eyes and saw Ginny’s freckled nose an inch away. She took his face in her hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But now you know how strong you are.” He closed his eyes again and held her tightly. |
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