Friends and More by ZZ9PluralZAlpha
Summary: Harry's life is in turmoil since the death of his godfather, but realising he is in love doesn't make it any easier. This story tracks his sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts and all the problems he faces.
Rating: G
Categories: Post-OotP
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2004.12.02
Updated: 2005.03.03
Index
Chapter 1: Chapter One: Messages
Chapter 2: Chapter Two: Cause For Celebration
Chapter 3: Chapter Three: Due North
Chapter 4: Chapter Four: A Surprising Start To The Year
Chapter 5: Chapter Five: A HArrowing At Hagrid's
Chapter 6: Chapter Six: Season of Mists
Chapter 7: Chapter Seven: Bleak Midwinter
Chapter 8: Chapter Eight: Holly and Mistletoe
Chapter 9: Chapter Nine: Revelation
Chapter 10: Chapter Ten: Discussions and Discoveries
Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven: Razor Ice
Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve: Complications
Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen: Admission
Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen: The Best Birthday
Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen: Summer Daze
Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen: The Halloween Ball
Chapter 17: Chapter Seventeen: Adoreum
Chapter 18: Chapter Eighteen: Completely and Utterly
Chapter 19: Chapter Nineteen: Into the Light
Chapter 20: Epilogue
Chapter 1: Chapter One: Messages
Friends and MoreChapter 1: Messages
It was seven o’clock in the evening, and the end of another beautiful day in Little Whinging. The sun was setting into banks of fiery orange cloud, the traffic noises were muted and low, and in one of the bedrooms of number four, Privet Drive, a fifteen year old boy sat at his desk, gazing out of the window, and enjoying the cool evening breeze that played across his face.
Harry Potter hadn’t changed a great deal in the past five years, at least in appearance. True, he had shot up in height recently, almost without realising it, so that he now all but towered over all the Dursleys, and while he was still thin the constant physical exertion of Quidditch practice and a generally strenuous life-style meant that he was wiry and very fit, almost athletic. His black hair, though, was just as uncontrollable as ever, growing in almost all directions indiscriminately, all but covering the lightning scar on his forehead and his vivid, deep green eyes beneath his glasses.
He frowned slightly and drummed his fingers across the blank parchment in front of him. The next day he would be free of the muggle world for a year, free of the Dursleys who, while terrified of upsetting him, could never in a million years understand him, or understand what he was going through. At that thought his eyes pricked, and he screwed them up furiously, determined not to break down. He had to accept the fact that Sirius was dead. Sirius, whom he had only known for two years, was gone. The thought wrenched at him, but he took a deep, steadying breath and looked back at the parchment. His desk was cluttered with scrolls of the stuff, mostly homework that he had occupied himself with during the first weeks of the summer holidays, as well as quills, bottles of ink, books and one or two rather more strange things: his sneakoscope stood amidst the scrolls, glinting in the twilight and standing on its point. Separated from the other scrolls was a blank but rather old piece of parchment: the Marauder’s Map shoed nothing at the moment, of course, since he wasn’t at Hogwarts. A box of owl treats stood open at the back of the desk, and he tossed one to Hedwig, smiling fondly at her as she gulped it down. She would need her strength soon enough: he had a job for her. Or at least, he would do if he could actually manage to write this blasted letter.
He had been trying to write it ever since he had arrived back at Privet Drive. His first problem had been, who to write it to? What he really wanted was to share his thoughts with someone who would understand, but the only person who, he thought, would have understanded, was Sirius. He thought about writing to one of his grown-up wizard friends, perhaps Professor Lupin or Tonks, but he knew from their regular checks on him over the past two weeks that they were extremely busy. The Order of the Phoenix was now recognised as the first line of defence against Voldemort and the death eaters by the whole of the wizarding community, ever since the events that had taken place in the Department of Mysteries, and Harry didn’t want to add to their worries by telling them his problems. There was always Ron and Hermione, but much as he trusted them and valued their advice, they didn’t know what he was experiencing. The same applied to Ginny, although, now he thought of it, she had always seemed very understanding of his problems and had always tried to help him with them… memories came back to him of how, last year, he had been convinced that Voldemort had been possessing him, until she had told him what the experience was like, proving to him that he had not been taken over. Unlike at the last fight with Voldemort.
But the person who came to mind, more than any other, was someone he had only known for a year, someone he didn’t know at all, really, but whose words, after the terrible events that had led up to Sirius’ death, had meant such a lot to him. He was going to write to Luna Lovegood. He picked up a quill, dipped it in his inkbottle, and began to write.
Dear Luna,
How are you? I’m really sorry, after what happened, I was too messed up to ask anyone really, and I really wanted to thank you for what you said, when we spoke while everyone else was at the feast. It really meant a lot to me, thanks.
You’re going to think I’m a total idiot now, because you don’t really know me that well, but I keep thinking about what happened, and I needed to tell someone about it, someone who could understand… I hope you don’t mind that I wrote to you.
I have to accept it. Sirius is gone, and he’s not coming back, not ever. I only knew him for two years and… it wasn’t enough. He’d already been kept away from me for twelve years, twelve years when he was supposed to be my guardian, and in two years he showed me more fatherly affection than I had ever thought possible, even though I didn’t get to see him very often in that time. It just seems so unfair. He protected me, advised me, comforted, warned and, sometimes, told me off. All the things parents are supposed to do, he did. And now he’s gone.
It’s almost worse than my parents. I never knew them: everyone tells me about them, how they were very powerful, how they were such good people, how they stood up for what they believed… but I knew Sirius as I’ll never know them. That struck me, just recently. This time the person who’s gone is someone I had grown to… to love. I always get sympathy from people because I’m an orphan, but I can only imagine what you went through, or what the Diggorys went through, and as for Neville…
I’m sorry to go on and on like this. I wanted to say thanks, to tell you what I’m thinking (I don’t have a penseive, and I could really do with one right now), but I also wanted to ask how you are. Have you told your Dad about that night? Was he upset? Are you? Quite honestly, Luna, it’s always a bit tricky to guess what you’re thinking. Maybe you don’t want people to know, which is fair enough: hell, I’m famous for yelling at people for asking questions, apparently. Just remember, if you need someone to talk to, I’d be more than happy.
By the way, from tomorrow I’ll be staying at the Burrow with the Weaslys. It shouldn’t be a problem: Hedwig should know where to go.
Thanks again,
Harry
He set down his quill and looked over the letter. He seemed to have rambled on a lot, but he hoped that Luna would understand. She had been so comforting, just before the end of term… he almost wished that it would be less than four weeks till he next saw her.
Until then, though, he would have Ron and Hermione, and Ginny of course. He thought about her for a while. She had been so… so dependable, last year. She had been his comrade, his friend. She had changed so much from the frightened first year who had been possessed by Voldemort. He wondered why she was so loyal to him, realising, that, in the past, he had never been particularly friendly with her, just polite in an embarrassed sort of way, because her crush on him had so obvious. Now, though, she was going out with Dean Thomas and was one of his closest friends. He hoped she realised that.
He sighed and looked at his clock, surprised to see that it was now ten. He needed to be up in reasonable time tomorrow to pack, so after seeing Hedwig out safely with his letter clasped in her talons, he undressed and lay in his bed, breathing slowly. Since his talk with Professor Dumbledore at the end of last year, he had decided that the best thing he could do during the holidays was try to improve at Occlumency. True, it had been very hard to learn from Snape, he didn’t need anyone poking around in his memory deliberately, and it would be tricky to practise with no one attempting to read his thoughts, but every night he tried to go to sleep having emptied his mind, dispelling all thoughts from his consciousness.
It wasn’t easy. His thoughts were so chaotic and confused that he could only hold on to them for a few seconds at a time. Still, he persevered, grasping at each thought and slowly, deliberately, letting it go. The first, of course, was losing Sirius. It was the hardest thought to be rid of, because he still had trouble accepting it. But he let himself be calm about it. Yes, he was dead. They had had two years, which was much better than nothing. And he had died as he would have wanted to, fighting dark wizards and protecting his godson. True, his death was partly Harry’s fault, since none of them would have been there if not for him, but he knew no one blamed him. Voldemort had invaded his mind and made him think things: he was certain that Sirius would have done the same, and someone had told him that his father would have as well.
And so the thought left him. He moved on to other things. How confused he was about Ron and Hermione: it was quite clear now that they were closer than friends and were only likely to grow closer. Well, he could deal with that. He had always known that there was something slightly different about their relationship, and it wasn’t as if they wouldn’t still be his best friends. Yes, he could deal with them getting together. The thought left him.
The one it left behind was much more difficult. How did he feel, right now? He had realised pretty quickly that he was over Cho. Yes she was a nice girl, and one of Dumbledore’s Army, but it had been a mistake to get involved with her. She was still trying to get over Cedric, and understandable as that was, he didn’t want to dwell on that anymore. He couldn’t endure seeing her cry again. So he had stayed away, and she had done the same… she had even got a new boyfriend, it seemed, though Harry doubted whether they had ever got far enough to consider himself as having ever been her boyfriend. If she found Michael Corner a comfort, and if he liked her, then good for them. Of course, he had left Ginny for her, which had made him slightly angry, but Ginny was apparently going out with Dean now. That caused another pang and he wondered why before letting it go.
And then, of course, there was that thought. Not the worst, but by far the most worrying, the most pressing, and the one he tried hardest to avoid. The memory of what Dumbledore had told him, the prophecy he had shown to Harry in his penseive… the knowledge that he, Harry, would have to destroy Voldemort once and for all, or die himself and doom the whole world to Voldemort’s domination. He couldn’t allow that, but it made him wonder. Would he be able to do it? Would he be able to say those two words, the words that had killed so many, including his parents and Cedric Diggory, and feel enough hatred that the spell would kill? He honestly didn’t know. Maybe there would be another way to do it, a way that didn’t involve the killing curse, something about the power of love that Dumbledore had told him he possessed…
It would sort itself out. All these problems, everything, they didn’t matter right now: he could serve everyone best by ignoring the thoughts and thus closing his mind to Voldemort. Finally, when he felt as though he was floating in a great sea of nothingness, he drifted into sleep, and dreamed only of two faces: the understanding, sympathetic and rather vague face of Luna, and Ginny’s obstinate, courageous expression, juxtaposed with her frightened reliance such a long time ago, after he had killed the basilisk and destroyed the memory of Tom Riddle. He wondered vaguely what they meant.
~*~
Breakfast the next morning was almost entirely silent. The Dursleys were aware that, soon enough, Harry would be leaving them for almost a year, and while they were obviously glad of that the fact that wizards would be coming to pick him up unnerved them terribly. Uncle Vernon sat at the table, his coffee untouched and his eyes not moving across his paper, feeling very lucky that he would be at work when the boy left. Dudley slouched on his stool, munching his cereal. He might well have been scared of the forthcoming invasion of his house, except that his prowess at boxing had apparently increased, and with it a development of his ability to hide emotions like fear. He hadn’t gone near or spoken to Harry since he had come home, which was fine by Harry. As long as he didn’t eat any random sweets, he should be fine.
Harry went upstairs again right afterwards and checked his room to make sure that he had left nothing behind. His Firebolt, invisibility cloak, cauldron, books, robes and everything else he would need had been packed for a few hours: his relatively early night and extremely restful sleep had meant he had woken ridiculously early for a schoolboy in the holidays. He paused at that, just for a moment. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that he was, still, a schoolboy. He had done things, faced things, that most adult wizards would never have to deal with in their lives. How many other people had learnt to conjure a patronus at the age of thirteen, or ever killed a fully-grown basilisk? The thought was gone quickly, but was soon replaced by another, rather more unpleasant one. It wouldn’t be long till his OWL results arrived.
He wasn’t too nervous about most of them. He was pretty sure he’d done well in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures. Potions he was unsure of, and he had mixed feelings towards his intention of continuing with the subject. A career as an auror meant that you had to be good at Potions, but could he face another two years with Snape? More to the point, if he hadn’t got good enough grades in the subject Snape would be likely not to accept him anyway. He was pretty sure he had failed both History of Magic and Astronomy, since both exams had been interrupted. In Astronomy, he had witnessed the attempted arrest of Hagrid by Professor Umbridge and several aurors, as well as an attack that had injured Professor McGonagall quite badly. History of Magic had been when Harry had seen the vision that Voldemort had sent him, of Sirius lying alone and vulnerable in the department of mysteries, at Voldemort’s mercy…
A surge of anger swept through Harry as he remembered that, and it mingled with self-disgust. How could he have allowed himself to be manipulated like that? How could he have risked everyone who had accompanied him, trying to save Sirius, only to cause his death? Why hadn’t he worked harder at Occlumency from the start? How could he have forgotten the mirror Sirius had given him, a secure and secret way to communicate with the outside world while under Umbridge’s tyranny? He forced himself to calm down. Yes, all these things were his fault, but the event hadn’t been caused just by him. Dumbledore had admitted that it was greatly his fault, since he should have realised that Sirius would not be contained in his ancestral home forever, and that Harry would reject Snape’s teaching him Occlumency, when he himself should have taught Harry. And of course, Voldemort was to blame most of all. It had been he who had set the trap, who had sent the death eaters, and it was Bellatrix Lestrange who had killed Sirius. Harry remembered using an unforgivable curse on her, when his fury had overtaken him. He had failed, but he had wondered for a while whether someone would berate him, or even arrest him, for his use of it. No one had. Of course, hardly anyone knew, and no one who wanted Harry shut up in Azkaban, but he wondered sometimes if that was strictly right in terms of justice. He wondered what else he might be capable of, if rage like that ever overtook him again.
The morning passed slowly. The early sunlight had given way to a light drizzle that had soon soaked everything outside, and the heat was oppressive. Harry lay on his bed, thinking. For some reason, he thought of Ginny again. Why was that? He shook his head as though to clear it, and realised something important. He was in desperate need of comfort. He needed to be around friends and family, and to be able to think about new things. He got up and had just found his favourite book, ‘Flying with the Cannons’, in his trunk, when there was a shriek from below, followed by some very fast speaking.
Harry rushed down stairs and saw Mr Weasly standing in the living room, attempting to calm Aunt Petunia, who seemed to have collapsed on to the sofa. Dudley was nowhere in sight. Harry imagined that he had scarpered the moment Mr Weasly had arrived. Tall and balding, though still with vividly red hair, Arthur Weasly turned to Harry as he walked in and smiled broadly at him.
“Harry! Wonderful to see you. I’m very sorry, I seem to have shocked your aunt, I should have remembered that she’s not used to people apparating.”
Harry grinned. It was wonderful to see him again; he had felt quite close to Mr Weasly ever since the night when he had experienced the snake’s attack on him. “It’s good to see you too, Mr Weasly. Hang on,” and in a strangely affectionate mood he hurried to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, which he brought back to the living room and handed to his aunt. It was then he noticed that Mr Weasly was dressed in muggle clothes, very much like the ones he had worn to the Quidditch world cup. He suppressed a laugh, guessing that Mr Weasly had been trying to be thoughtful and considerate by looking as normal as possible, but had slipped up rather when he decided to apparate. Aunt Petunia looked at Harry with a slightly grateful expression on her face when he handed her the glass, and proceeded to sip it in silence.
“How are we going to the Burrow?” Harry was slightly confused. No one had said anything about how he would be travelling, but he had sort of assumed they would drive. Seeing Mr Weasly in the living room had been just as surprising for Harry as for his aunt, though for different reasons.
“I’ve had special permission from the department of magical transportation to create a portkey here… we’ll use something from your room, I suppose. It’s by far the safest way, since you can’t apparate yourself yet.”
Harry nodded, then turned to his aunt. “Well, bye. I’ll see you next summer I suppose.” She looked at him and nodded, apparently not trusting herself to speak, but Harry was surprised at how gentle her expression was: she had never looked at him like that before. He smiled slightly, and then beckoned for Mr Weasly to follow him up to his room.
While Harry assembled his things in the middle of the room, Mr Weasly picked up an old pencil that had been lying on Harry’s desk and muttered, “Portus.” He looked up at Harry and smiled. “The timer’s set for thirty seconds, Harry. We need to be touching all your belongings, make sure they get there too. And, just so you know, we’ll arrive in the garden. Less chance of accidents.”
Harry nodded, put one hand on his trunk and clutched Hedwig’s empty cage in the crook of the other before touching the pencil with a free finger. A few seconds later there was a lurch, a feeling of being pulled a very long way instantly navel first, and then he staggered, almost falling onto the soft grass of the Weaslys’ back garden.
Almost before he had righted himself there was a jubilant shriek and he was almost knocked over by Hermione, who was hugging him so tightly he could hardly breathe. Mr Weasly chuckled. “I wish I could stay Harry, but I’ve got to get back to work. I’m supposed to report that you got here safely. I’ll see you tonight.”
As he disapparated Harry heard another, very familiar voice. “Give him a chance, Hermione.” Ron stood behind her, grinning at him as Hermione stepped away and positively beamed.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you! How are you?”
“All the better for seeing you two,” Harry said with a chuckle. He laughed again at the looks of incredulity on their faces. “Look, I’ve pretty much decided to stop being miserable. We have got to spend some time being happy, and this is pretty much it.” He grasped one end of his trunk, since Hermione’s impact had made him drop everything, and Ron hurried to take the other while Hermione picked up the empty cage. They walked towards the burrow, chatting happily, and Harry had his wish. He was home.
~*~
A few hours later Harry sat on his camp bed in Ron’s room, looking at the Chudley Cannons posters plastered on the walls and just enjoying the feeling of being here. After being subjected to massive hugs from Mrs Weasly he had spent an enjoyable morning with Ron and Hermione. Ginny, they told him, had stayed over night with a friend, but would be back some time that afternoon. He was looking forward to seeing her. Somehow the sight of her always made him feel… he didn’t know how to describe it. Happy certainly, and safe as well, but there was also something else, something akin to how he felt during Quidditch matches that he couldn’t put his finger on. He grinned, silently laughing at himself and headed downstairs. Ron and Hermione had begun a game of chess after lunch and they were still at it, although Harry noticed that neither was paying much attention to the game: they were bickering gently in their usual, amicable fashion, and Harry noticed that Ron’s hand lay on top of Hermione’s. He grinned at this, but didn’t interrupt, not wishing to make them feel embarrassed.
He thought back to what he had said to them when he had arrived that morning. His feeling of happiness and contentment faded slightly. To be perfectly honest, it had been a lie. He hadn’t really dealt with the events of the previous month, he was still miserable when he thought of them, burning with anger and hate and guilt. On the other hand, his practice at Occlumency seemed to be helping: not only were his dreams never more than vague half-pictures, but the process of clearing his mind before he slept helped to rationalise and justify his thoughts. While he still felt guilty, he at least knew exactly what he was guilty of, and while that wasn’t really anything to be happy about, being less confused helped, and he wasn’t nearly as confused as he had been. And he had meant what he had said about this being the time to be happy: he had a strong feeling that the emotion was going to be a short supply in the coming months.
Brooding on this, he wandered the house, vaguely wondering where everyone was: he was used to the Burrow being crowded with people whenever he was there. He mentally checked the list. Ron, Hermione and Mrs Weasly were here, Ginny would be around later, Mr Weasly was at work, as was Bill, who was apparently bringing Fleur Delacouer round for dinner. He grinned at that, remembering the way she had looked at Bill before the third task of the tri-wizard tournament. It seemed so long ago. Of course, his life had been changed completely a few hours after that, when he had watched Voldemort rise from the cauldron… he stopped that thought, knowing it would be a bad idea to relive the moment that had more or less divided his life in two. So he returned to the checklist. Charlie, he gathered, wouldn’t be here for a week or so, but that was understandable, as he was grown up and had a job to attend: the only reason Bill was around was because he had a desk job at Gringott’s in London now, instead of his work in Egypt, so that he could help the Order. Fred and George were also coming tonight, although they had a flat above their new shop in Diagon Alley. He looked forward to seeing them as well. And Percy, too. After the Ministry’s turn around in attitude after seeing proof of Voldemort’s return, Percy had come back to his family, apologising profusely, and they had welcomed him back eagerly. He still worked in the Minister’s Office, and now acted partly as a messenger between the Minister and Dumbledore.
He had been wandering aimlessly as he thought, and was just passing the fire when it erupted into green flame and spewed out a very surprised looking Ginny. Harry caught her before she knocked him over. For a moment he looked at her startled face as they clutched each other, trying not to fall, and he realised all of a sudden why he had so wanted to see Ginny, and why he felt as he did whenever he thought of her.
The point was that he liked her. Really, really liked her. As he hastily let go and let her steady herself, he could feel himself blushing. He remembered the way she herself had blushed so often on seeing him when she was younger, and almost laughed at the bizarre role reversal. Standing before him was a very beautiful young woman. She had let her hair grow long, and her ponytail hung down well below her shoulders. At one time he had thought she took after her mother, as Charlie and the twins did, but she must already be taller than the twins, nearing his own height, and slender with it. He saw a blush creeping over her own cheeks, the wonderfully cute freckles almost disappearing, and his eyes met her own large, brown eyes, which seemed at once so dark as to be almost black but also to shine with light reflected from the window. He swallowed and glanced away before smiling at her, trying to act as though nothing had happened.
“Hi, Ginny. Great to see you.”
“Hi, Harry.” Her voice sounded slightly confused or bewildered, so Harry tried to put her at ease.
“Er, did you have a nice time with your friend?”
“Yeah, it was great.” At once, she sounded more natural, as though she had relaxed, and her voice sent little shivers all over Harry’s skin. He had never reacted like this to a girl, never, not even Cho. The mere sound of her voice had never done this to him. He swallowed, and walked with her into the kitchen as she continued. “I was staying with Rose Grant… you know, in Hufflepuff, in my year?” Harry nodded, vaguely remembering a dark haired girl wandering over to talk to Ginny from the Hufflepuff table during meals at Hogwarts. “She took me to a cinema, we saw a film.” Harry would have laughed at her apparent excitement over such an achievement if he hadn’t been caught between thinking about Ginny and remembering that he had never been to a cinema in his life.
“Ginny! How was your evening, dear?” Mrs Weasly looked up, beaming, from her pastry making, which seemed to involve some rather random wand movements, until Harry saw the dough kneading itself in response.
“Oh, it was…”
At that moment there was a loud shrieking sound and they all looked at the window. Two owls plummeted towards them, one flying above the other, the lower one trying desperately to support the other from underneath. They threw the window open and Mrs Weasly waved her wand at them, causing them to slow down so that they could fall gently into Harry’s and Ginny’s arms.
Ginny had caught Hedwig, who quickly hooted in thanks and flew to Harry’s shoulder, where she nibbled his ear and stuck out a leg that grasped a letter. Harry handed Ginny the owl he had caught, who was a very exhausted looking Errol. She hurried to put him on his perch and get him water, and he stood drinking it for a while, as Harry placed Hedwig next to him. Both Harry and Ginny clutched letters addressed to them.
“We’re you expecting a letter?” Ginny’s tone was light and casual as she slit her own open. Harry had been completely distracted by Hedwig’s arrival. He had only written to Luna the previous evening… she must have replied almost at once. Realising that Ginny had asked him a question, he struggled to reply.
“Er… yeah. Yeah, I wrote to Luna a little while ago.” He was staring at the unopened letter so hard that he didn’t see Ginny’s look of profound shock and, in fact hurt. Still not looking up, he replied in kind. “You expecting something too?”
She looked away from him and made towards the door. “Yes, it’s a letter from Dean.” Her tone was just slightly icy, enough to rouse Harry from his stupor. From Dean? Oh, of course… why shouldn’t she get letters from her boyfriend? he thought, his shoulders drooping slightly.
He stood in the kitchen for a while, feeling a sudden despondency, not noticing the odd looks Mrs Weasly was giving the pair of them. He remembered what Hermione had told him and Ron last year, that Ginny had given up on Harry… that she still liked him as a friend… he stumped back to his room, steeped in gloom. He was so stupid. If he was going to develop… feelings for Ginny, why couldn’t he have done it while she still liked him? In the past, when confronted by Ginny’s rather obvious crush, he had been embarrassed and not exactly keen to do anything to encourage her, but now he found himself in the same position… except of course that Ginny was actually with someone else. He lay on his bed, a strange lethargy overcoming him. It was a few minutes before he remembered the letter clutched in his hand. Opening it he saw tidy if somewhat over elaborate handwriting that stretched to the bottom of the page.
Dear Harry,
I have to say, I was very surprised when your owl arrived with a letter for me. I read it straight away, even abandoning my proofreading duties for my Dad, because I knew it must be important, and I was right.
Harry, I have to say I’m both honoured and a little shocked that you chose to confide in me like this. I know you explained why in your letter, but for some reason I still couldn’t quite believe it… and you know me, there aren’t many things I won’t believe.
I can’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, Harry. When my Mum died, I think she was actually fairly happily… she always loved to experiment. With you… your parents, and now your godfather were taken from you, violently, with no warning, and while you could say that’s the same for me, there wasn’t anyone who really caused my Mum’s accident, whereas you’re the victim of three murders.
Still, I’ll try to help. Of course, I know there’s something you’re not telling me, something you’re not telling anyone, but I can only assume there’s a very good reason for that, and when we’re ready, and when you are ready, you’ll let us know, and maybe help you. You know that everyone in the DA, all your friends, the Order of the Phoenix you told me about and especially, I think, those of us who came to the ministry that night, deeply care for you and want to help. We’re all here for you Harry, whenever you need us.
You should remember, Harry, that while Sirius might be dead as far as we understand it, he’ll never be gone. I didn’t know him, though I would have liked to (you remember the article about him, I knew he wasn’t guilty), but he meant a lot to you and Ron, Hermione and Ginny, as well as, I would have thought, other members of the Order. You mentioned that Professor Lupin was one of his best friends: I imagine that he is feeling this just as sorely as you are. But while all those people remember him, he can’t ever really be gone. He was too important to all of you to ever be forgotten.
I’m sorry for rambling, and I’ll try to be brief. You asked how I was, and whether I told my Dad what happened. I told him the whole story, the moment I got home. He was very scared for a while. I’d never seen him like that before. But he told me he was proud of me for helping my friends and doing the right thing, and when I think about it that way, I feel fine. I did what needed to be done at the time: we all did. You might think that the only thing to come out of that night was the death of a wonderful friend, but remember that since then the ministry of magic has admitted that Voldemort has come back and we revealed the identities of many death-eaters. I don’t know if you know, but they went to Azkaban a week or so ago. They’ll probably escape soon enough, but people will know them for what they are, and Voldemort will be very much weakened by that.
This all seems very serious, and I’m sorry, so on to other things… I’m dying to know how everyone does with their OWLs, so please write back when you get the results and tell me all about them. How’s your summer been so far? Have your muggle relatives been terrible? I hope you manage to have a good time. I think it will do you good.
Remember, I’m always available, if you need someone to talk to.
Say high to Ginny for me.
Love,
Luna
Harry folded up the letter, slightly stunned by Luna’s response. She was so kind, and thoughtful… Harry knew he had made the right choice when he had decided to write to her and confide in her. She had given him a lot to think about, but he felt strangely consoled and comforted. He lay back, thinking how right she was, especially about all the people who cared for him… the Weaslys, Hermione, the Order, everyone was willing to support him. It caused him a slight twinge. In the past he might have wondered why they should all care for him, but he knew now, after five years, that they appreciated him for who he was, and that was enormously gratifying. Of course, there was another reason why he was important…
He winced. He had all but managed to avoid that memory for two weeks, but Luna had been very near when she had written about something he wasn’t telling anyone. He hoped that, in time, he would be able to tell someone the content of Professor Trelawny’s first prediction. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift, and inevitably his thoughts returned to Ginny. Ginny, who was so kind and wise and loyal and beautiful and wonderful…
He stopped when he felt a hollow lurch in the pit of his stomach. He was too late. She had someone else, and she had long ago given up on him. He was too late again, just as he had been once before, to ask Cho to the Yule Ball. Of course, thinking back, that hadn’t brought anything like the feeling of despair he felt now, especially since he and Cho had split up. It just seemed so unfair, somehow. After all, he lo-
Harry sat up very suddenly, breathing hard and fast, his eyes wide in astonishment. That was it. He loved Ginny. He loved her. He had never before really understood what those words meant, but he knew now, knew it in the centre of his being. Just as he knew that she didn’t love him. He collapsed back onto the bed, grief overwhelming him, and he lay there for a long time, until Ron fetched him down for dinner. The letter lay abandoned on the bed, just two words visible:
Love,
Luna
(AN: Ok, this is my first fic, and I'm really eager to see what people think, so let me know. Chapter two is finished and three is in progress. I just hope I can keep up ;-) )
Chapter 2: Chapter Two: Cause For Celebration
Chapter two: Cause for Celebration“Harry, what’s wrong?”
Harry looked up, startled, at Hermione’s words. She looked desperately worried and was almost whispering, both she and Ron leaning in close towards him. Ron’s expression was uncharacteristically sober: he looked just as worried as Hermione. They were sitting in the front room of the Burrow, where Harry and Ron had ostensibly been playing Chess with Hermione watching. Between them, unnoticed, a few of the pawns had sat down and seemed to be gossiping cheerfully, much to the disapproval of the larger pieces.
“What do you mean?” Harry instantly went on the defensive. He knew what was wrong, and he also knew ho couldn’t tell anyone: he had been trying very hard not to show his feelings, but he should have guessed that Hermione and Ron knew him far too well for that. He had been feeling pretty miserable since Luna’s letter had arrived a few days ago, despite the fact that the letter itself had been very comforting, because of what he had discovered about his feelings. He had tried to have a good time. Apparently he had failed.
“Mate, you’ve been downright gloomy since you got here… and you told us you had decided not to be.” Ron sounded concerned, and slightly frustrated. Harry lowered his eyes, unwilling to see the disappointment and sadness on the faces of his best friends. Ron cleared his throat slightly. “This is about Sirius, isn’t it?”
For a moment, Harry stared at them. Both were looking almost scared, and he realised that they thought he was going to react badly to that. On the other hand, and much as he didn’t want to cheapen Sirius’ death, there was no way he could tell them what was really wrong. “Well… mostly, I guess.” He shook his head. “I miss him so much…”
Hermione lent across and put her arms around him, holding him tightly, while Ron laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Harry sat there, feeling awful for the half-lie he had told, but also very comforted by the closeness. He put one arm round Hermione and gave her a brief squeeze before pulling away and smiling weakly.
“I’ll be ok, really I will. I’m getting there. And I’m sorry to make you worry about me, when I said we should be having fun.” He looked down at the board, and realised with a start just how distracted Ron must have been. He nudged a rook into position and murmured softly, “Checkmate.”
Ron looked down, gazed at the board with disbelief, then let out a bark of laughter that caused Hermione and Harry to grin broadly. They were still laughing when there was a loud tapping noise at the window. Harry turned and saw a beautiful barn owl he didn’t recognise perched on the windowsill, waiting patiently to be let in. He opened the window and the owl fluttered inside, landing lightly on his shoulder and sticking out her leg, to which were attached three letters bearing the official Hogwarts seal. Harry took them very nervously, and silently handed Ron and Hermione their letters as the owl took flight. Both the others were rigid with anxiety. They all knew far too well just what these were. These were their O.W.L. results.
Harry gulped. All three of them were standing and holding the letters as though they might explode. Harry suddenly realised he didn’t really want to do this with them. “I’m going outside,” he muttered, and strode quickly to the front door and out into the beautiful summer day. He walked briskly to the edge of the small copse that stood a little way back from the Burrow, the sleeves of his loose t-shirt flapping in the breeze that soothed the heat of the day, and sat down with his back against a large tree trunk. Before he could think much and worry himself further, he slit open the envelope and read the letter.
Dear Mr Potter,
Following are the results of the Ordinary Wizarding Levels that you undertook in June.
Astronomy: A
Care of Magical Creatures: O
Charms: O
Defence Against the Dark Arts: O(Special Commendation)
Divination: A
Herbology: E
History of Magic: A
Potions: E
Transfiguration: O
Congratulations for achieving your targets for these important qualifications.
Next year your subjects will be: Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions and Transfiguration.
Your regular message containing information on the start of term, as well as equipment and books for your studies, will be with you in a few weeks.
Professor M McGonagall, deputy Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
P.S. Very well done indeed, Mr Potter. I feel I should tell you that I am personally very proud of your achievements. Your special commendation in Defence Against the Dark Arts is with reference to the fact that you achieved the highest score in the year for the entire country, but I think I can safely tell you that all the members of your Defence Association who took the exam also achieved an Outstanding grade. Those who did not participate could only achieve Average grade or lower, since they were unable to study the practical side. You were obviously a superb teacher. Professor Dumbledore, Myself and the other teachers are immensely proud. Enjoy the rest of your holidays. MM
Harry put down the letter, stunned disbelief in every line of his face. Then he picked it up and read it again, wanting to make sure that he had got it right. Then he put it down again. It was only after a few minutes shocked silence that he realised someone was sitting next to him, watching him closely from behind a curtain of bright red hair. Ginny. He felt his insides lurch at the thought of her sitting so close, but he turned to her, wanting to tell her how he had done but unable to speak.
“Can I see?” She spoke very softly, almost tentatively, and Harry’s insides lurched again. It was a very different voice form the one she had been using towards him since he had arrived, which had a cheerful, friendly indifference to it that made Harry feel sick. He nodded and handed her the parchment. She read it through, her expression not changing, and when she finished she put it down and looked at Harry. He couldn’t read her at all. What was she thinking? She suddenly reached out and hugged him to her, her head buried in his shoulder, and he was surprised to feel tears making his shirt damp. In the past, he realised, he would have found this embarrassing and uncomfortable. Now he reacted to some instinct, with no thought involved, holding her close and letting her cry, rocking her gently. After a while she let go of him, and he reluctantly let her move away, ending the happy torture he had endured, knowing that the hug had meant far less to her than it had to him, and that it would never mean anything more. Her eyes were rather red and her cheeks slightly blotchy from the tears, and her lips quivered as she smiled weakly at him. All Harry could think of at that moment was how unbearably, adorably beautiful she was.
“Oh, I’m sorry Harry.” Her voice shook and she sniffed and shook her head briskly, making her hair flutter out in all directions and causing another pang in Harry’s heart. “I didn’t mean to go to pieces like that, I’m just so happy for you. And proud. You’ll be able to do Auror training and everything and… oh, well done.”
Harry’s voice came back, although apparently it had been treated with sandpaper in its absence. “Thanks. Erm…” He thought desperately for a change of topic. In all honesty, this closeness to Ginny was killing him. He had to get away. “Erm… the others got theirs as well, we should go and see how they did.”
“Ok, let’s go.” They got up and walked in silence. Harry didn’t know what to think, his mind was utterly blank, although something odd struck him. He frowned, but was distracted a moment later when he and Ginny walked into the front room of the Burrow to see Ron and Hermione, both clearly ecstatic over their grades, furiously hugging and kissing each other. Harry stood on the threshold looking rather shocked, while Ginny grinned mischievously. Eventually Harry decided to alert them to the fact that they were not alone, and cleared his throat significantly. Ron and Hermione leapt apart, both flushing deep crimson, and Ginny burst out laughing, collapsing on an armchair and clutching her sides. Hermione leapt at Harry.
“Harry! How did you do?” The question was genuine, although Harry felt sure it was partly to distract him from what he had just witnessed. He grinned and handed his parchment to her. Her eyes went wide as she read it, before thrusting it at Ron and pulling Harry into a bone-breaking hug. While Hermione performed a very good imitation of a Boa Constrictor, Harry watched over her shoulder while Ron grinned and put the letter aside. Eventually Hermione let him go, her face radiant with excitement as he bent over double, trying to get some air back into his lungs. Ron clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Well done, mate, really. That’s so great, we’re doing the same classes! And… McGonagall wrote that?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think she was capable of some of those words.” Hermione glared at him, but he grinned impishly and her expression dissolved into smiles again. Harry noticed Hermione’s parchment and grabbed it. She moved to get it back, but he held her off with one arm and held the letter high over his head to read it. Unsurprisingly, Hermione had got Os in every single subject she had taken, which had been least two more than Harry or Ron. There were also a fair number of ‘Special Commendations’ like his own: she had got the highest marks in the country for Transfiguration, Charms and Potions. In a sudden gesture he chucked the letter at Ginny who was laughing at their antics and then hugged Hermione again, which served the double purpose of congratulating her and stopping her from getting at Ginny. Or, in fact, scratching his eyes out. He didn’t hug her for long though, mostly because Ron wanted to take over.
Harry sank down onto the sofa, watching Hermione pretend to struggle out of Ron’s embrace, and glanced down Ron’s results. They were pretty much the same as his own, except that he had got an ‘E’ in Charms, and there was, of course, no Special Commendation for him for Defence Against the Dark Arts. He looked at the bottom, and saw that Ron was, indeed, taking the same classes next year as he was himself. He frowned for a moment, catching sight of the Potions mark.
“Hey… Ron, why do you think we got into the Potions class for next year? I thought Snape only accepted people who got ‘O’s in his NEWT class.”
Ron released Hermione and they both collapsed, breathing hard but laughing, on to the sofa next to him. Ron shrugged. “At a guess, he realised he’d prefer to make our lives hell than just not have to teach us at all.” Harry snorted: he doubted that, somehow, remembering how Snape had said last year how thrilled he would be to say good bye to some of his students. Hermione frowned slightly.
“Either that, or someone told him to accept us. In your case, Harry, I suppose it could have been so he’d have an excuse to go on teaching you Occlumency.” Harry grimaced, remembering how Malfoy had reacted when Snape had told him he was giving Harry remedial Potions lessons. Hermione smiled again. “Either way, I’m glad he did. I don’t think any of the rest of the Gryffindors in our year even wanted to do Potions, and I wouldn’t want to be doing it alone with the Slytherins.” She shuddered at the thought and, in an unusual display of public affection, nestled closer into Ron’s side. Ron looked surprised, but really quite pleased, and put his arm around her. Harry tried not to show how that was affecting him, and tried equally hard not to look at Ginny.
He would have liked nothing better than to curl up with her like that, but that was an impossibility. And he didn’t want to lose what he did have with her, which was a strong friendship. He valued her too much to risk that; especially after all she had done for him last year. His thoughts flew back to that dark evening at the Department of Mysteries, when she had been injured while trying to escape from the Death Eaters, and further back, to the DA meetings, where she had been so calm and sensible all the time, able to diffuse tension between members with a word, and then to the time when she had told him what it was like to be possessed by Voldemort. He still wondered about that. It had been brave of her to tell him; he didn’t think she’d told anyone quite what she had experienced at that time, but she had faced up to it for his sake. No, there was no way he could lose her friendship. So he forced himself to look away, out of the window, and to think of other things.
Fortunately, at that moment they all heard footsteps on the stairs, and Mrs Weasly’s voice drifted down the stairs. “Did I hear some post arrive?”
Harry had a sudden idea. He caught everyone’s eye and, when he was certain he had their full attention, put on a deliberately glum expression. Ginny’s eyes twinkled, and Ron and Hermione looked excited, but they all schooled their expressions as Mrs Weasly came in. She looked around at them, her bright expression fading as she surveyed three miserable and one gloomily sympathetic face.
“Did… did you get the results, dears?” Her voice sounded almost fearful as she looked at everyone. Harry and Hermione looked away, as though unwilling to burden her with their failure. Ron stood up, strode over to his mother and put his arms around her. She looked startled and very worried, but hugged him back. “Ron, what’s… what’s the matter?”
“I’m sorry, Mum.” Harry nearly burst with laughter, but still gazed soulfully out of the window. Ron had made his voice very soft and almost hoarse, as though he was trying not to cry.
“Oh… oh Ron! Mrs Weasly hugged him to her in a comforting way, and murmured, “How many, dear?”
Ron was now visibly shaking with suppressed laughter, but Mrs Weasly apparently took it for sobbing. “Only… only nine, Mum.”
Mrs Weasly stood back, her face a neutral mask as she surveyed her very tall but rather nervous-looking son. Then she casually drew her wand and said, “Petrificus totalus.” Ron immediately snapped rigid under the full body-bind curse, and Mrs Weasly lazily waved her wand and levitated him to the ceiling where he drifted round in circles, eyes dancing with merriment. The other three were howling with laughter. “All four of you are very wicked. I should do the same to all of you.” Her voice was very calm, but she was obvious she was pleased. Harry waved his hands.
“We’re… we’re sorry, Mrs Weasly,” Harry managed to force out. “We… we all did… fairly well. Look, here’s Ron’s letter,” and he scooped up the parchment and handed it to her. She looked stern, but her eyes were dancing with merriment as she took it, and they widened much as Hermione’s had when she read what was written.
“Oh… Ronnie, this is wonderful!” She waved her wand at him without really paying attention, meaning to let him down. The body-bind curse lifted and he drifted lower, but the levitation charm wore off slightly too soon, and he fell to the floor from a height of about four feet.
“Ow,” he said, dazedly. Hermione looked a little concerned, but he sat up and rubbed his legs down a bit. “I guess I deserved that,” he said with a rueful grin. He sat back down next to Hermione again and she instantly nestled into his side. Harry noticed Mrs Weasly’s small smile, even though she wasn’t looking directly at them. Instead, she looked at Harry.
“And how about you, Harry dear?”
Harry paused for just a moment. Even though Ron had done really very well, both he and Hermione had done better and for some reason he felt that the focus should be on Ron, at least for today. “Oh, pretty much the same as Ron,” he said brightly, but giving Hermione a meaningful look. She must either have had the same idea or understood his look, because, when Mrs Weasly looked at her, she just said, “I did pretty well.” Ginny very nearly burst out laughing at this, but when her mother had left the room she looked straight at Harry with a strange but certainly not unpleasant look on her face, something like approval. He smiled weakly at her, then asked if Ron wanted another game of chess.
~*~
There was something of a party at the Burrow that night, partly to celebrate the OWL results but also because many of the members of the Order of the Phoenix were having a night off, so Mrs Weasly had arranged a large, buffet style dinner in the garden. By half past seven nearly everyone was there. Fred and George had arrived, with Angelina Johnson holding Fred’s hand and blushing more than Harry would have thought possible, after the year she had spent as Gryffindor team captain. George sniggered away as Fred introduced Angelina to Mrs Weasly, who seemed delighted. Charlie arrived not long afterwards, looking as cheerful as ever, and Bill and Fleur came with Mr Weasly and Percy from the ministry, where Fleur was working with Percy as a liaison between the Order and the Minister himself. There was one shocking bit of news: Cornelius Fudge had stepped down as Minister for Magic that morning, saying that he didn’t feel able to lead the Wizarding community through a time of such turmoil, so until a new Minister could be elected the Ministry was under the direction of a special council, including Mr Weasly, Mad-eye Moody and Professor Dumbledore. Other people came as well, including Mad-eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mundungus Fletcher, Tonks and Professor Lupin. Harry greeted everyone as cheerfully as he could, but when he got to Lupin words failed both of them. They merely shook hands, unable to vocalise what they meant to say.
Harry got drawn into a conversation with Tonks about Auror training. She looked very different tonight: her hair was bubblegum pink, which seemed to be a favourite colour of hers, but it was very long and she had changed her skin to look Oriental. She said that she had seen a Japanese cartoon while visiting her parents (Harry remembered that Tonks’ Dad was a muggle) and decided to try out the look. Hermione and Ginny, of course, both found it hilarious. Tonks grinned and turned back to Harry.
“Yeah, the training’s difficult, but everyone tries to help. It’s not as if there’s anyone deliberately trying to make you fail anything.” Harry grinned weakly. That would be a nice change, if that was what he decided to do after Hogwarts. Seven years being taught by Snape… that was something else. He wondered vaguely what could have driven him so insane as to take the NEWT Potions course, before he felt a light touch on his shoulder, and turned to see Professor Lupin looking at him. Tonks smiled and moved towards Ginny and Hermione.
“Can I have a word, Harry?” Lupin’s voice was as quiet and calm as usual, but his eyes seemed more sorrowful and tired than ever before. Harry nodded and walked with Lupin to the edge of the garden, where they could talk undisturbed.
“Harry, You have to understand something. I don’t blame you for what happened to Sirius. Not in any way. True, you may have acted unwisely, but under the circumstances no one could have expected any difference. You were manipulated and used.”
Harry blinked, and realised that there were tears pricking in the corner of his eyes. He hadn’t cried in a long time, but he felt that he might now. He hastily removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Lupin was looking at him, waiting, perhaps for an answer. Harry swallowed and took a deep breath.
“I can’t help feeling it’s my fault. I let myself be taken in, and that hurt a lot of people. But, I am trying to deal with it.” He grinned weakly up at Lupin. “I’ve even been practicing Occlumency. Professor Snape’ll be thrilled.” Lupin smiled back, and then surprised Harry by pulling him into a brief hug. Harry found he didn’t mind. Of all his friends who were present he felt that Lupin might understand him, and what he was going through, the best. Lupin rested a comforting hand on his shoulder for a moment, and then returned to the party.
Everyone seemed quite happy, all things considered. The twins had brought some of their own fireworks, and were impressing everyone with the amazing effects that had caused Professor Umbridge and Filch such enormous trouble the previous year. Remembering Fred and George’s departure, and the mayhem they had left in their wake, Harry couldn’t help grin as he chatted with Ron and Hermione about the summer, and the coming year. No one spoke about Voldemort. This wasn’t surprising, Harry supposed, but he couldn’t help wondering, in dark, silent moments, what the most evil wizard in the world was planning. After his talk with Dumbledore the previous year, Harry knew that Voldemort was aware of at least part of the prophecy that referred to him. Harry was going to have to be more careful than ever. Catching sight of Ginny, a thought struck him. Perhaps it was for the best, that she didn’t like him any more. At least it meant she hopefully wouldn’t get hurt because of him. It wasn’t a very cheerful thought, but Ginny meant more to him than his own happiness. As long as she was happy, he would cope. Realising that he had been somewhat distant with her since his arrival at the Burrow, he resolved to go and apologise to her. Just as he came up to her, though, someone else arrived at her side. Dean Thomas, who had apparently been invited as a surprise. Ginny looked very shocked when he pulled her into a hug, and Harry felt sickened. Somehow he no longer wanted to be at the party. He turned to go.
“Harry? Harry, did you want to say something?”
Ginny had pulled away from Dean, and was looking at him expectantly. Harry glanced between her beautiful face and Dean’s confused one, and shook his head.
“No, that’s alright. I need to… need to go and write to Luna.”
As he turned away, he thought he saw Ginny look oddly hurt, as though he had severely disappointed her, but he resolved to ignore it and strode from the garden and straight up to the room he shared with Ron. From here he looked down at the party, while Hedwig hooted peacefully and Pigwidgeon twittered. The moonlight and the magical illuminations all around the garden made everything appear silvery and not quite real, as if Harry was looking through some kind of film. He saw the light shining off nine heads of furiously red hair, making it shimmer like beaten copper. And he saw one of them, sitting with a boy who had always been his friend. Dean had, in many ways, been the most like Harry since the beginning of Hogwarts, since both of them had grown up completely unaware of the existence of wizards before receiving their Hogwarts letters. Of course, they hadn’t been best friends. He had had Ron, and later Hermione as well, and Dean and Seamus Finnegan had always been inseparable, but there had been a kinship between them. He remembered Dean’s awkward position last year. He had believed Harry and Dumbledore from the beginning, partly due to not being surrounded by Ministry of Magic propaganda, but Seamus had been much more doubtful. For most of the year, Dean had trodden a fine line of neutrality, for the sake of both friendships. He was a really good guy, and if he was honest Harry couldn’t think of anyone who deserved to go out with Ginny more, if she liked him. He knew he didn’t deserve her, after having pretty much ignored her for four years.
Thinking that he might as well do what he had said he would, he gathered together parchment, ink and quill and began to write. He noticed that he was becoming better at writing letters. It was a skill that had always eluded him in the past.
Dear Luna,
Thanks very much for your letter, and for replying so quickly! What you said really meant a lot to me, and I’ve been thinking about it loads.
It’s wonderful being at the Burrow with all the Weaslys. Everyone’s cheerful and busy, and I feel like I’m really free here. It’s nice to have people around who don’t flinch at the sight of you.
I’m really glad you’re ok, and that you’re Dad is proud of you, instead of angry. He sounds really nice. If you like, if I notice any magical creatures or anything I don’t recognise, I’ll owl you about them.
Hmmm, I mentioned owls, didn’t I? Yes, the three of us got our results. I won’t bore you with the entire lists for all of us. I’ll just say that all three of us passed everything, and by enough that we can take the courses we want to next year. Even Potions: Ron and I got Es in that, and we thought Snape only accepted people who got Os. I wonder why? Might be something to figure out once term starts. Come to think of it, I suppose I can tell you that Hermione got Os in every subject, like that’s any surprise. I think she was doing twelve or thirteen owls, and that makes her some kind of record breaker. Oh, and everyone in out year who was in the DA got an O for Defence Against the Dark Arts. I don’t think I had much to do with it, but it’s certainly gratifying. I hope what I taught you will be useful for your own OWLs this year. (Ha ha ha, you thought I’d forgotten, right? Bad luck.)
What else? Ginny seems pretty happy, although slightly nervous about next year. There was a party tonight, and she spent most of it with Dean. I hope you don’t mind friends talking about that all the time. I know I’m beginning to have to tune out of Ron and Hermione’s conversations a lot more now if I want to hold onto my stomach.
I’m ok. Really, I think I am getting better. Occlumency practice is still helping, and I haven’t had a nightmare in ages because of it. Also, I spoke to Professor Lupin tonight. Did I tell you that he, Sirius and my Dad were best friends at Hogwarts? I can’t remember. Anyway, Lupin told me I mustn’t blame myself. It was great hearing it from him. I suppose that he was closest to Sirius, and he would have the most reason to blame me, but he said he didn’t, and neither did anyone else. So, I’m feeling much better.
He paused, wondering why he was lying. He wasn’t ‘ok’. The truth was that, while Luna was an excellent confidant when it came to things like this, she only was really because they had shared a similar experience. He didn’t think that she would quite understand what he felt for Ginny, and why he was therefore miserable much of the time. It seemed better not to mention it. It was just too private; there was no one in whom he felt he could confide about this. Hermione would have been good, but he didn’t think she would understand how it felt. In normal circumstances he might have gone to Mr or Mrs Weasly, or even Bill or Charlie, but since he was madly in love with the highly treasured youngest member of the family, he wasn’t sure this was quite the right, not say safe, response.
No, he would have to deal with this himself. He raged at himself, thinking how ridiculous it was that he could get past dragons, kill basilisks, fight dementors, face Voldemort, rescue his best friend from the bottom of a lake and steel himself to eat Hagrid’s cooking, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about his current situation. Shaking his head to clear it, he quickly finished his letter.
It’s my birthday in a couple of days, the first time I haven’t spent it with the Dursleys! I don’t know what we’re going to do; I think Mrs Weasly mentioned something about going to Diagon Alley: maybe we’ll celebrate and do our shopping for Hogwarts at the same time, but I suppose that’ll still be a while away, since we haven’t got our booklists and things yet. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the rest of your holidays. If not before, I’ll see you on the Hogwarts Express.
Looking forward to seeing you,
Harry
It had grown very dark while Harry had been writing, and he realised that the party outside was over, with just a few people clearing up by wand-light. Cursing himself for not being there to say goodbye to people, he ran downstairs to help outside and nearly collided into Ginny.
“Oh! Er, sorry, Ginny.”
Ginny gave Harry a look that almost floored him. It was one of utter contempt and loathing. Then she whirled around and walked up the stairs in a very dignified sort of way. Harry could only stand watching her as she moved out of sight and then, feeling sick and ill, he wandered out into the garden. No longer wanting to help the tidying effort, he avoided everyone and proceeded to the small wood where he had gone that morning to open his letter from Hogwarts. Where Ginny had spoken to him, hugged him and cried with happiness at his achievement.
What had he done? How, in a few short hours, could she have changed so much? He sat back against the same tree as earlier and merely sat, watching the moon pass between clouds. Harry didn’t think he had ever felt worse than this. Not even when Ron hadn’t been talking to him, or when everyone had believed he was the heir of Slytherin, or last year when the entire magical world thought he was a deranged lunatic.
He didn’t go back to the Burrow that night, but stayed awake, unable and unwilling to sleep, not knowing what Lord Voldemort would do to his mind in such a troubled state. Towards dawn, he got up and went to the small stream that ran through the wood a little way away, and washed the tears from his face.
(AN: Hey, so it's a bit depressing at the moment. It should cheer up soon, though. You never know your luck. Chapter three still in progress, but thanks for the reviews, they're really good motivation. -Tom)
Chapter 3: Chapter Three: Due North
Disclaimer: whoops. I totally forgot this for the first two chapters. Never mind, better late than never. Characters, places, various books, foodstuffs etc. are owned by JK Rowling and Warner bros. The plot’s mine, but the only benefit to me is the pleasure of writing it. Thanks go to Ms Rowling for allowing FanFictions to exist, and for creating Harry Potter in the first place.~*~
Friends and More
Chapter Three: Due North
It should, Harry reflected as he lay in bed a few days later, listening to Ron’s snores fill the small room, have been the best birthday of his life. It hadn’t been. Oh, everyone- nearly everyone- had smiled at him, wished him a Happy Birthday, and that had never happened before. There had been a large pile of cards waiting for him on the breakfast table, and he had opened them with his family around him, which had been another first. There had been presents.
The presents had been nice. All of them very thoughtful. Fred and George had obliged with a variety pack of their own name-brand practical jokes. Charlie had sent a dragon-hide waistcoat designed to keep the chill out when flying in cold weather. Bill gave him a magical watch that spun and whirred in his hand, telling him not only the time but also the date, the phase of the moon, the weather and, apparently, could tell him how long he had before homework was supposed to be handed in. Percy sent a beautiful slate grey quill, which Mrs Weasly told him was a falcon tail-feather. Hagrid obliged with a beautiful figurine of a Gryffindor lion, apparently carved from a hippogriff talon. The Weasly parents themselves gifted him with a cake, a book about dragons and, best of all, a hand for him for the spectacular clock in the Kitchen. He almost cried at this, but couldn’t. The tears wouldn’t come. He was dry.
Hermione and Ron had banded together and got him book of advanced defensive and offensive spells, which was truly intriguing: Harry could imagine that it would be very useful for a DA meeting, although there probably wouldn’t be any more of them. Harry had been overwhelmed by such a show of generosity, and had thanked everyone profusely, but caught sight of Ginny staring determinedly away from him as he took everything upstairs. She hadn’t spoken to him since the night of the party. Harry wasn’t entirely sure he wanted her to, realising he was afraid of what she might say. He still had no idea what he had done, but he knew it must be unforgivable, since Ginny made a point of leaving the room whenever he entered it, except at meal times, and people were beginning to notice the tension rising all the time. He just wished that she didn’t hate him. He could have survived indifference, had even expected it, but this was too much. She was killing him.
He lay unmoving, Ron’s gentle snoring filling the room, and gazed at the ceiling. He felt angry, with himself rather than anything else. It was his fault, just like Sirius’ death had been his fault; he had brought this on himself. He finally reached a conclusion: Ginny had somehow discovered how he felt, and had been so repulsed that she could no longer be near him. He sensed himself shrink inside, and suddenly he felt as though he was crowded by Dementors, as wave after wave of despair washed over him, without hope of reprieve. He screwed up his eyes and tried to sleep, to let go of his thoughts as normal, but tonight not even thoughts of Voldemort could distract him. He sighed and merely lay, waiting for the night to pass.
And then there was a tapping at the window. Harry swung quietly and quickly off the camp bed, instinctively grabbing is wand and moving in a half crouch towards the window: it could be a trap. Even if it was pitch dark outside, someone opening the window would be clearly visible from the garden. He crept towards the window, still bent almost double, until he was crouching with his back against the wall. Very slowly he reached up and eased the catch down. It was stiff from disuse, since Ron spent so little time at the Burrow, but went eventually, and the window swung open silently. For a second nothing happened. Then, with a rush of scarlet and gold plumage, Fawkes the Phoenix was inside the room, carrying a long, thin package. He dropped it and an envelope on Harry’s bed and glided down to perch on the back of a chair, where he sat, blinking his great eyes at him. Harry stood up slowly, frowning slightly. Why would Fawkes come here? Obviously Dumbledore had a message for him. He gently stroked Fawkes’ tail feathers, and the warmth in them cheered him slightly. Then he sat gently on the camp bed, for fear of it collapsing under him, and opened the letter.
‘Dear Harry,
‘A very happy birthday. I hope that your first away from Privet Drive has been enjoyable. I hope too that the Weaslys and Miss Granger are in good health: I’m sure I will see all of you very soon.
‘However, I would not normally bother you with my ramblings; I have a few private messages, and thought this would be a good time to send them. Firstly, I would like you to consider continuing to run the Defence Association as an official school society. While Defence Against the Dark Arts could be expected to teach such skills as pupils might need for defending themselves, we must remember that there is a curriculum, and it is not completely at the teacher’s discretion as to what they will teach. The DA can make sure students who wish to learn can have a thorough grounding in the fundamentals of combat magic, and I would very much appreciate your cooperation in this venture. It would remain student run, although some staff supervision would be essential.
‘Secondly, I have decided to continue your lessons in Occlumency, but will be instructing you myself. I hope you understand just how critical this process is: if nothing else, I’m sure that it would greatly increase your own peace of mind to know that Voldemort could no longer invade your dreams. Therefore, I will expect you at my office each Saturday evening at seven o’clock. The password at the start of the term will be ‘Sugar quill’.
‘Finally, I send with this letter an item which I have always considered to be yours, ever since I first saw it, and have been, shall we say, keeping in trust for you. Strange, perhaps, since it was you who discovered it, but I feel that now you might appreciate it more. Who knows, you might even want to consider learning to use it, all things considered.
‘Congratulations on your OWL results, and enjoy the rest of the summer.
‘Albus Dumbledore’
Harry frowned at the letter, which he read by the light coming in through the window. The thought of continuing the DA was complex. The need was no longer what it had once been, there was no more Umbridge deliberately quashing all attempts at defensive magic. On the other hand, after the events at the Ministry, people needed to be prepared for a Death Eater attack, and Harry agreed that DADA couldn’t necessarily guarantee all the things people might need to know. He decided to discuss it with Ron and Hermione in the morning. As for Occlumency training, Harry would be very glad to resume the subject, and he hoped that Dumbledore approved of all the practice he had been doing over the holidays.
He dropped the letter and frowned at the package. He had a very good idea what it was, and if he was right it was essential that Ginny didn’t see it. He unwrapped the parcel carefully and sure enough the bright, shining length of the sword of Godric Gryffindor gleamed at him from the wrapping. He picked it up reverently, lost in the large rubies set in the hilt. He remembered the feel of it from the events in the Chamber of Secrets. Back then he had been too frightened and worried to realise that it had been much to big for his twelve-year-old hand. Now, however, it fitted snugly into his grip, and when he raised it in front of him, the weight was curiously comforting. Harry knew what Dumbledore was doing, sending him this. They both knew that Harry was going to have to fight Voldemort, and equally they knew that the battle would in all likelihood not be fought totally with wands, since the wands shared common cores and could not be used against each other. Harry glanced at Fawkes affectionately, and the beautiful bird gazed back. Harry wasn’t entirely sure whether he was glad of the connection between the two wands or not, but it had saved his life just over a year ago and he was grateful for that.
Fawkes stretched his wings and looked pointedly at the window, which Harry had absentmindedly shut as he returned to the bed. Still grasping the sword, Harry walked over and opened it once more, feeling the cool night breeze soothing him. Fawkes alighted on the sill briefly to allow Harry to pet him again, and then he was gone, a flame diminishing against the dark sky and the shadowy treetops. Harry went back to the bed, leaving the window slightly open, and lay gazing at the silver blade with which he had killed the basilisk. Yes, it really wouldn’t be good if Ginny knew about this.
~*~
“Come on Harry, it’s time for lunch. Everyone will be waiting for us.”
Harry looked around from the stand of magazines he had been pretending to examine in Flourish and Blotts while Ron and Hermione were, well, otherwise engaged in an alcove. He was, in all honesty, very pleased that his two best friends had finally made it official, but it didn’t make it any less awkward when the three of them were out and about; and also, it made Harry insanely jealous of the kind of relationship they had. For the first time ever, Ron and Hermione were actually making his life more difficult, although he would never tell them that in a million years. He turned around gratefully, left the shop with the other two behind him, and together they ambled up Diagon Alley towards the Leaky Cauldron.
The day was very grey, as though autumn had decided to come early. Harry closed his eyes as he walked, inhaling the air and enjoying the feeling of the wind through his splayed fingers. He felt very glad to be out of the Burrow, and away from the awful tensions that had built there. He had sighed with relief two days ago when the Hogwarts owls had come, bringing with them booklists and instructions. And, for Harry, a small note telling him that he was now the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. He had been shocked at first, but as the information sank into his consciousness he realised that it made sense. After all, he had been on the team by far the longest time, now that Fred, George, Angelina, Katie and Alicia had all left. In fact, he was pretty sure that no one had been on a team for six years straight for over a century. On the other hand, it meant that he was going to have to supervise the recruitment of three new chasers, not to mention trying to bring Sloper and Kirk, the new beaters, up to scratch. With Quidditch, the DA, N.E.W.T.s, Occlumency practice and the training in swordplay he was planning, it looked like he was going to be very busy this year. Although, of course, that was fine by him. The less he had to think about things, the better.
The Leaky Cauldron was as dark and smoky as ever, and Harry was glad that the bustle of human traffic from Muggle London outside to Diagon Alley behind them meant that people were too busy to stop and stare, even if they did recognise him. He walked with his head bowed and his shoulders slightly slumped in an effort not to be noticed. Eventually the three of them reached the door through to the smaller, out-of-the-way dining room where Tom the innkeeper had set lunch for their party.
Mr Weasly was breathlessly excited, since that afternoon he and Harry were going to go shopping in Muggle London. Hermione had suggested a couple of books on sword combat from Flourish and Blotts, and they resided now in a shopping bag by his feet, but Harry knew that Muggles had rather greater expertise in this field, having happened to catch some of a series of documentaries on the subject at the Privet Drive, and had therefore asked Mr Weasly if he could go out to one of the larger book shops and find what he was looking for: instruction books, particularly on western fencing and the martial art of kendo. The day after his birthday he had quietly told Ron, Hermione and Mr and Mrs Weasly about the sword he had been sent and his intention to learn how to use it properly. He had not, of course, told them about why in particular he wanted to learn fencing. He just said that Dumbledore had mentioned that it might be a good idea.
And so he had changed some of his Galleons, Sickles and Knuts to Muggle currency while at Gringott’s, and now sat feeling rather nervous. He had realised, of course, that he would be very vulnerable in Muggle London, and had been very glad when Mr Weasly had said that he would accompany him, just in case they were attacked. Mrs Weasly had seemed rather reluctant about the whole affair, but she respected Harry’s wishes and remained silent, knowing how much of a treat it would be for her obsessed husband.
They had just sat down and started eating a delicious Toad-in-the-Hole when the door opened and three people came in. Harry glanced over, and saw Cho Chang and two people who must be her parents sitting down at a table across the room. Harry looked at Cho. She was just as pretty as ever, but she would never now be as beautiful in his eyes as Ginny. He remembered how they had left things. They had had an argument over Marietta, Cho’s friend, betraying the DA to Umbridge, and hadn’t spoken since. Thinking back, Harry realised that he probably had been too harsh on the girl, and suddenly resolved to ask Cho for a word to clear the air between them. After all, if the DA was continuing officially it would be good to have Cho and, yes, Marietta there as well. And Harry wanted to be friends with Cho, even if neither of them wanted to be anything more. Mumbling something to his companions he stood up and crossed over the room.
She looked up as he arrived and gave a brief, rather forced-looking smile. “Oh… hi Harry. How are you? Are you having a good summer?”
Harry felt rather awkward in the presence of not only the girl he had fancied for three years but also her parents. He couldn’t quite meet her eye, and suggested rather uncertainly that he was having a wonderful summer, and hoped that she was as well.
“This is my Mum and Dad, Harry. This is Harry Potter.” Harry looked into the two faces, smiling broadly at him.
“Hello. It’s very nice to meet you.” He reached down and shook hands with both, then summoning up all the vaunted and apparently mythical Gryffindor courage he possessed, looked back at Cho. “I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you. I won’t be long, and I’m sorry for interrupting your meal.” His voice sounded strange to him: almost as if Percy was using his mouth. Cho raised her eyebrows slightly in surprise, but then stood, glancing at her parents, and she and Harry sidled out of the door.
Once they were out of sight of the dining room, Harry leant against the wall, looked at Cho, took a deep breath and spoke.
“Look, I wanted to apologise for… well for pretty much everything last year. I was a total prat, a lot of the time, and I’m amazed you put up with me for so long. And I’m sorry I was so mean to Marietta as well. I want to say sorry to her, if I see her. I don’t know what kind of pressure she was under, I shouldn’t have judged her.” Harry fell silent, feeling his face reddening and wishing that he hadn’t rambled like that. He risked a glance up at Cho and was surprised to see a sad little smile flickering across her face.
“Harry, I should apologise too. I gave you a really hard time, and you put up with me. And I learnt more defence stuff last year than ever before. I… I really hope we can still be friends.”
Harry felt relieved. She had managed to come to the same conclusion as him, and neither had mentioned their disastrous attempt at a relationship. He grasped on to her final word with enthusiasm. “Yeah, friends would be great,” he replied smiling. “Also, Dumbledore asked me if I would carry on with the DA. It would be great if you could keep coming.”
Cho beamed. “Of course I will! I’d love to. And I’ll talk to Marietta, if you like. I know she wants to apologise to everyone, and you in particular.”
Harry was quite happy as he and Cho went back into the dining room and walked to their separate tables. Ron was watching Harry very shrewdly as he sat down, and Hermione leaned towards him. “Are you ok, Harry?”
Harry smiled at her. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just making sure everything’s ok between us, checking we’re still friends. She’s coming back to the DA as well.” Hermione smiled at him, looking almost proud. Harry blushed and looked away, catching sight of Ginny sitting next to her as he did so. He almost flinched at the angry glare she shot him before returning to her food. He sighed to himself. Now Cho was being friendly while Ginny was positively hostile. What had he done?
~*~
The platform was, of course, very crowded, but this year Harry realised that for the most part he was looking over the heads of others, rather than up at them. He gave a rueful chuckle and returned his attention to Mrs Weasly, who was handing him some sandwiches before the journey to Hogwarts began. He smiled as warmly as he could for her, returned her hug slightly awkwardly, and then clambered onto the train. This was going to be a very strange journey. Ron and Hermione were now senior prefects and had to at least start the journey in a particular coach. It had been similar last year, but last year Fred and George had still been around… and last year Ginny didn’t mind being anywhere in close proximity to him. She made a point of entering the train some way up the platform, and Harry doubted that he’d see her again before the feast.
He sighed and wandered down the train past many full compartments, until he saw a familiar head of blonde hair, the features hidden behind the latest edition of the Quibbler. He smiled and sat down next to Luna, who looked up at him, smiled and gave him a very small hug. He was surprised, but hugged the younger girl back. It seemed slightly odd that they were now much closer than they had been at the end of last year, but it was nice to sit and talk with someone who understood better than most what he was going through.
Soon Neville Longbottom arrived, and the three of them passed the morning agreeably, talking about school, the two boys advising Luna on OWLs. Neville had managed to get Average grades in everything, except for a ‘Poor’ in Potions and, conspicuously, ‘Outstanding’ in Herbology and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry was pleased for the boy who had been so nervous during the exams: he had been convinced he would fail everything except Herbology, particularly Transfiguration. This year he was doing mostly the same classes as Harry, except he was taking Herbology and History of Magic instead of Potions and Transfiguration.
They deliberately avoided talking about the events at the Department of Mysteries by some unspoken agreement: it was all still too fresh and painful in their memories. Neville in particular looked different from what Harry remembered: the determination that Harry had seen develop last year was plainly present just behind the usual round-faced cheerfulness, his nose looked somehow clearer and more defined although slightly crooked, and Harry realised that the when it had broken at the end of the last year it hadn’t been all that clean. He remembered with a shudder Neville’s distress as he had tried in vain to yell jinxes and curses but had been unable to pronounce them through the blood pouring from his nostrils. He also casually showed them his new wand: Harry remembered him saying that his old one, which had been snapped by a Death Eater, had belonged to his father.
The snack trolley rattled past and Harry bought some pumpkin pasties for the three of them, and they were sat eating cheerfully when Cho appeared with Marietta in tow. Harry stood up at once and, seeing Cho’s small smile, looked to Marietta, who was obviously having difficulty meeting his eye. He remembered the poor girl’s humiliation at the meeting which resulted in Dumbledore’s departure, and suddenly he realised just how hard the whole thing must have been on her… after all, she had had her memory modified during that confrontation, and had almost been stunned. Harry thought it might make things easier if he started.
“Hi, Marietta. Look, I’ve been meaning to apologise for the way I acted last term. I know it was hard on you, with your Mum pressurising you and everything… so I’m sorry for being harsh. He held out a hand and plastered what he hoped was a friendly but conciliatory smile on his face. Marietta looked up at him, rather startled, but then took his hand. While she shook it, she looked down again.
“It’s me who should apologise. I ratted on all of you, and I knew that you were right about the defence… I gave into that stupid, malicious cow.” Harry grinned and Cho chuckled slightly. “Cho says you’re continuing with the DA… would you mind if I came back as well?” She sounded timid. Harry smiled broadly.
“Not only do I not mind, I’d really appreciate it. There’ll probably be a lot more members this year, and I thought that I might be able to use members from last year as demonstrators… to show the new people how it’s all done. Would you do that? And all you guys?” he asked, sweeping the compartment with his eyes to include Cho, Luna and Neville, who all smiled brightly and nodded. Cho and Marietta left a short while later, and Luna put down her magazine long enough to give Harry a piercing look.
“When did you get so tactful? Last year you wouldn’t have done that.”
Damn her for being so shrewd, Harry thought ruefully. “I… I realised over the summer how, er, unpleasant I was at times last year. I pretty much made everyone’s lives miserable. I just… don’t want that to happen again. Plus, practicing Occlumency makes you rather more sensitive to what others might be feeling, since you have to work so hard on controlling what you’re feeling.”
She smiled at him, apparently satisfied with his answer. And it was pretty much true, he told himself. Pretty much. The whole truth was that he didn’t know what had come over him, considering just how angry he had been with Marietta last year. Maybe, he thought with a mental groan, it was another side effect of his feelings for Ginny: maybe he wanted life to be as easy as possible in all its other areas. He sat, lost in thought, gazing unseeing out of the window, while Luna watched him carefully.
~*~
The sky outside was darkening towards evening, and Harry was beginning to be slightly concerned. Even if Ron and Hermione weren’t able to sit with them for the whole journey, he thought that they might at least have looked in on them. There was also something else vaguely worrying him. Every other year, on the way to Hogwarts, he had had an encounter with Draco Malfoy. Generally nothing more than a quick slanging match, but he wondered why the Slytherin wasn’t there, tormenting him as usual. Murmuring something to Neville and Luna about finding the rest of the DA, he walked up the train towards the engine.
Strangely, the last carriage before the prefects’, which was right behind the engine, seemed almost empty: in fact there was no one there at all, just some baggage in the overhead lockers. Harry felt a wave of apprehension creep over him, and as he stepped over the threshold he drew his wand from the pocket of his robes.
Ron and Hermione were lying just inside the door, out of sight of the companionway, obviously stunned. Harry quickly crouched down by them, cold and emotionless, as he checked them both for pulses and breathing. They both seemed fine, if unconscious. Knowing what he had to do, he started towards the next door, to get the prefects’ help, but the door was locked. He waved his wand and murmured “Alohamora.” The unlocking charm was completely ineffective, and now that he was close he could hear people inside, clammering to open the magically locked door. While his back was still turned, he heard a cold, sneering voice say,
“Stupefy!”
Harry’s Quidditch reflexes kicked into overdrive. His shield charm was in place just fast enough to deflect Malfoy’s curse, causing the gang of sixth and seventh year Slytherins bunched in the doorway to duck to avoid it. Harry used the opportunity to duck behind the cover of a nearby seat, sending an impediment jinx at Malfoy as he did so. Malfoy dodged clumsily, but the jinx hit a smaller boy whom Harry dimly remembered Hermione telling him was called Theodore Nott, blasting him backwards and sending people behind him sprawling. Harry ducked out for a moment and sent a stunner towards the doorway and Gregory Goyle froze in the act of trying to cast a spell, but then Malfoy’s arrogant sneer filled the carriage.
“That’s enough, Potter, unless you want the Weasel and the Mudblood here to suffer.”
Harry froze. He had no doubt that Malfoy would do just as he threatened, and nothing, he realised, would ever compel him to cause Hermione and Ron pain, even if it meant surrendering to a slimy git like Malfoy. Harry placed his wand carefully where Malfoy could see it, then stood up with his hands raised, near enough to the wand to be able to step on it if Malfoy thought to use a summoning charm on it. Malfoy wore a horrible, triumphant expression on his face. “Oh, won’t my father and all his friends be pleased!” he crowed. “You’re finished, Potter. Soon you’ll be back with the Dark Lord, and he has promised to let me watch him kill you. I look forward to it. Oh, yes.”
Harry realised what Draco was going to do: he was raising his wand away from Ron and Hermione towards Harry, planning to bind him on the spot. Without even thinking what he was doing, Harry thrust out one hand and yelled, “Stupefy!” Red light erupted from his hand and caught Malfoy right in the chest. Harry immediately grabbed his wand and stood up again, ready to fight off the rest… but they were all unconscious, except for one boy Harry vaguely recognised as being the fifth Slytherin boy in his year. His mind ran through the names, trying to find this boy’s… Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and…
“Hello,” the boy said, grinning in a slightly rueful way at Harry. Harry realised that this boy resembled him in a number of ways. In fact, they were very similar, except for the few oddities of Harry’s appearance: this boy had smooth hair where Harry’s was wild, but it was no less dark. His eyes were green, but not so bright and piercing as Harry’s, nor did he wear glasses. And there was, of course, no lightning shaped scar on this boy’s forehead. He walked forward, putting his wand away and extending a hand. “I don’t think we’ve actually ever spoken. My name’s Blaise. Blaise Zabbini. I’m in a few of your classes.”
Harry hesitated for a moment, his automatic distrust of Slytherins getting the better of him for an instant, but then he looked around at the stunned bodies, grinned broadly and shook the boy’s hand. “I’m Harry, though I guess you realised. Er, thanks for your help,” he added, gesturing to Malfoy’s unconscious form. Blaise Zabbini suddenly looked serious.
“Yeah, well, I’ve always tried to remain neutral in the past when Malfoy was spouting his rubbish to you. Mostly I agree with you and Dumbledore and everyone about the important stuff, and I’m not one for believing in the purity of blood being of any importance: utterly illogical for one thing. The problem is that I share a room with Malfoy and the others. They can make my life a living hell, possibly more so than they’ve done for you in the past. But… the stakes are higher now, and I want to make sure I’m on the right team.”
Harry felt pleasantly surprised. In the past he had always been sceptical about any Slytherins being decent, but Blaise seemed to be honest and sincere, and stealthily stunning most of the top end of his own house pretty much proved his loyalties as far as Harry was concerned. Harry smiled more broadly, and an idea hit him.
“Listen, I have a plan that should mean you can stay apparently neutral towards me, or even hostile, but still help me. Want to hear it?”
“Sure.” Blaise looked very interested.
“Well, you could be a kind of spy for us inside Slytherin, and particularly with this lot,” he said, giving Crabbe’s bulk a small kick. “But you can pretend to be a spy for them by coming to meetings of the Defence Association- Dumbledore’s Army. While you’re there you can tell us what’s going on. What do you think?”
Blaise had heard of the DA, and was very keen for this. Harry grinned, told him that the first meeting would probably be announced at the feast that night, and then set about awakening Ron and Hermione. They both seemed very angry about being stunned, but pleased to meet Blaise, once they got past Ron’s initial suspicions. They talked quietly of their plans while Hermione opened the door to the prefects’ carriage and explained what had happened to them.
“Look,” Blaise said, once all the unconscious bodies had been hauled into the carriage, “if I’m going to do this I think I need to be locked up with this lot. What should I tell them when they come round?”
“Tell them the DA followed me and sneaked up behind them, they should believe that,” Harry said thoughtfully. Blaise chuckled and nodded, then bid a cheery goodbye to Ron and Hermione, telling them he would see them around. Harry, Ron and Hermione walked back along the train, and spent the rest of the journey playing exploding snap with Neville, while Luna used a special lens to read a hidden spell in her magazine.
~*~
The sorting and the feast passed without incident, though it seemed to Harry to drag. Hermione and Ron were chatting quietly together, and the few mumbled words Harry did hear he soon wished he hadn’t. He talked with Seamus for a while about the DA, persuading the Irish boy to join, but when Dean engaged Seamus in conversation Harry didn’t feel able to join in. Neville was sitting a little way down the table with Ginny, Colin Creevy and a few other fifth years, and the only other people around were Parvati and Lavender, who were gossiping happily about their summers. Harry merely pushed his macaroni around his plate, not feeling very hungry. Eventually everyone had finished and Professor Dumbledore stood up.
“Right, now that we have all eaten, I think it is time to make our way towards bed,” he said brightly, his eyes twinkling as usual behind the half-moon spectacles. Harry was only too pleased to join the crowd moving towards the doors, but then Dumbledore’s voice rang out again. “Mr Potter, could you please meet me in the room behind the staff table?” Ron and Hermione looked at him in a puzzled sort of way. Harry shrugged, sighed and walked in the other direction, jostled by the crowd of people around him. Finally he reached the small door, and remembered the first time he had been in this room: it had been right after his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. He shivered, remembering that event. Dumbledore was sitting in a large chair, looking towards the fire and away from Harry, but turned to look at him as he came in.
Harry, remembering his less than positive thoughts towards the headmaster at the end of last year, decided that he needed to start some kind of reconciliation. He smiled as warmly as he could to the old man, sat on a nearby chair, and said gently, “Thanks for the letter on my birthday, Professor. I’ve thought a lot about what you wrote… and sent.”
Dumbledore smiled at him. “You are very welcome. I thought it would be wise if I spoke to you immediately: first, I need to update you on the activities of Voldemort and the Death Eaters.” Harry sat up straighter, looking alert. “For the most part they have been quiet. There have been a few attacks on muggle-born wizards, but never concerted efforts and there have been no fatalities: the culprits of all these skirmishes have been apprehended. None of them were senior Death Eaters, but every activist contained is one less to be used against us. I have to take the view that Voldemort’s plans are even further delayed. They were first set back by you surviving his re-birth, and now the whole Wizarding world is aware of his return, far sooner than he wanted. Fudge’s resignation also means that the Ministry is geared towards action at the moment. The governing council has put the aurors on high alert: there are always at least twenty ready to respond to an emergency. We are as prepared as we can be.” Dumbledore shrugged and held out his hands. “I wish I knew more, but even Professor Snape has been unable to determine Voldemort’s plans further. He will try, but in the mean time we must be patient.” He smiled at Harry, and Harry felt as safe and secure as he ever had in Dumbledore’s presence. “Is there anything you feel I should know before you go off to Gryffindor tower, Harry?”
Harry paused for a moment, then began. “There are several things, sir. First, I’ve been telling the old members of the DA that the club is continuing and expanding, and I’m asking them to help me manage it. Secondly, as you probably know, there was an attack earlier on the train.” Dumbledore raised one concerned eyebrow. He obviously hadn’t heard yet. “A group of older Slytherins, led by Draco Malfoy, attacked Ron and Hermione, and then me as well. I managed to fight them off with the help of Blaise Zabbini. I hadn’t really spoken to him before, but he seems to be genuinely on our side, and he agreed to be a spy to the DA.”
Dumbledore smiled jovially. “I am very glad that you find yourself able to trust Mr Zabbini. People do tend to get the wrong idea about Slytherins. As for Mr Malfoy, I daresay the prefects punished him and the others on the train, at least for locking their carriage… that much I had heard from the Head Boy. Well, anything else?”
“Yes sir. I’ve been practicing Occlumency over the summer, and I’ve also started teaching myself some swordplay, using magical and muggle forms. In all honesty I don’t know how much good it will do, but I… enjoy it.” Dumbledore smiled, somewhat mysteriously. “I don’t know. It just feels kind of natural… almost like flying.” It was true, Harry had found himself thinking it when he began to practice the fencing methods he had discovered. He could lose himself in the patterns and sequences and dances almost as much as he could while playing Quidditch, being so concentrated on the single task of finding and catching the snitch that all other thoughts left him. He had also found that his Occlumency training was easier after fencing: maybe it really did help to lose yourself a bit. Dumbledore was smiling very broadly.
“I am delighted Harry. When you come for Occlumency practice, we will start training in protecting you mind when Voldemort is actively trying to penetrate it. Now, if that is all, I think it is time for bed.”
Harry rose and started to leave, but at the door he paused. “There was just one more thing, Professor. During the attack on the train, I… I managed to stun Malfoy without my wand. The spell kind of… came out of my hand. What was that all about?”
Dumbledore blinked and then smiled more broadly. “It is proof of something I have speculated over for a long time, Harry. You are capable of wandless magic, at least at certain times.” He was silent for a while, the flickering flames reflected twice in his half-moon spectacles, and then returned abruptly to the present. “We’ll talk about it more on Saturday evening, Harry. Goodnight now.”
Harry left the office, wondering what it meant that he could do wandless magic, before his thoughts returned, as they always did, to the fiery redhead who hadn’t spoken to him in weeks.
AN: phew. Well, that’s the third chapter done… I’ll start on the fourth soon, I promise! Anyway, all reviews welcome, they are what motivate me! -Tom
Chapter 4: Chapter Four: A Surprising Start To The Year
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: everything belongs to JK, I just write the story. That’s about it.
Chapter Four: A Surprising Start To The Year
There were, Harry mused, many painful things in the world, and he had experienced a lot of them. He had, he realised, begun a kind of league table in his mind. There had recently been a new leader on the board: nothing could ever beat unrequited love. The loss of Sirius was next, but in some ways it didn’t really come close, which made Harry feel guilty. The next two, the time when Voldemort had tried to possess him and the numerous times he had experienced the Cruciatus curse, were hardly on the same page. Still, Harry thought gloomily that Snape would be proud to know that double Potions first thing on a Monday morning made it to number five on Harry’s personal list. He was dreading it even worse than usual. For a start, proportionally there would probably be far more Slytherins in the class than any other house. Secondly, Snape hated him worse than ever after their last, disastrous Occlumency lesson, and thirdly he was at least partially convinced that he hadn’t earned that ‘E’ for his OWL, and that Snape had been forced into accepting him into his class. Ron and Hermione said nothing, but the three of them were probably the most miserable at the whole Gryffindor table that gloomy morning. After all, no other lesson even compared, and they were the only Gryffindors in their year taking the subject. It had been nice that they had had a weekend right at the beginning of term rather than going straight into lessons, but now academia loomed like a persistently large and annoying mountain.
They trudged down to the dungeons in mutually supportive but silent misery. The Slytherins were already outside the door, and Harry shut his eyes for a moment, bracing himself. He opened them to see Draco Malfoy opening his mouth to say something, an arrogant sneer plastered over his pale, pointed face, but he was thankfully interrupted by the arrival of Snape, the few Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students following close behind him, and Malfoy never managed to say anything, although he jostled Harry deliberately as they made their way into the classroom.
Harry, Ron and Hermione sat, as always, at the back of the class, and Harry decided something. Even in Potions, he was going to work as hard as he possibly could. Not so that his scores were good, but so that he could avoid thinking about… certain people. He pulled parchment, ink and quill out of his bag, correctly guessing that the first lesson would mostly be note-taking, and looked steadily at Snape. And it was then that Harry noticed the change in the Potions teacher.
His hair was longer than normal, and while it normally looked greasy it was now matted and tangled, almost knotted. His normally straight back was stooped with fatigue, and when he faced the class Harry was shocked at the grey pallor of his already unhealthy-looking skin. He looked ill and exhausted, and Harry realised that his efforts with the Death Eaters and Voldemort were draining the man Harry had loathed for so long. He remembered suddenly the scene he had witnessed in the Penseive, and Snape’s anger on discovering him, and for the first time he felt truly guilty for that. He probably could not have wounded his teacher more deeply, and he felt dreadfully ashamed. Snape cleared his throat. When he spoke his voice was as week as the rest of him, but he attempted to use his familiar low, sneering tone.
“So, the brave few who have returned. Not many ever apply for the NEWT Potions course- and for good reason.” Snape’s red-rimmed eyes swept the room. “The concoctions you will study for the next two years are among the most potent and powerful known to wizard kind, and I warn you that students are expected to test their mixtures. It is, therefore, essential that you pay close attention at all times: any idle dreaming” and here his gaze snapped to Harry, who winced inwardly, “could result in truly horrendous results. If anyone is unsure that they are capable of what is demanded of them, they should leave now.”
Snape threw out his arm toward the door, emphasising his remark, his cloak billowing out with a snap behind him. Ron muttered something about dramatics, but no one moved. Snape tried to smile thinly, but only succeeded in grimacing. He turned quickly to the blackboard, and began talking about their first topic, which would be about potions for plenty and fortune. Harry wrote quickly and clearly, getting not only what was on the board but the important points of Snape’s commentary as well. During a moment’s pause, he was surprised to see that he had already filled three pages with notes, and they were more extensive even than Hermione’s. Ron was looking at him with a very strange expression on his face.
With ten minutes to go to the bell, Snape wrote some questions on the board, to see how much they had taken in. Harry questions the words on a fresh piece of parchment, then flicked backward and forward through his notes until he found the information he needed to answer each one. He was just writing the answer to the last question when he felt a sharp pain on his ear. Jerking up he put his hand to it he felt blood pouring from quite a long cut running all along the skin joining the lobe to his head. It was almost as if someone had tried to slice the ear off, but thankfully the spell, for it must have been a spell, hadn’t made the cut deep enough. Nevertheless, it was extremely painful and was bleeding heavily. He put the full stop to the last answer and held up his hand to get Snape’s attention, dreading what cruel reprimand that was surely coming his way. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Draco Malfoy smirking, though somewhat disappointedly, in his direction, and tucking his wand back in his pocket.
“Yes, Potter?” Snape was standing a few feet away, the expression on his face unreadable.
“Er… Sir, I’ve got a cut on my ear somehow. Can I go and clean it up, please? I’ve finished the questions.”
Snape strode over and lifted Harry’s hair with a surprisingly gentle hand to see what was wrong. Harry heard a sudden intake of breath as the hand was moved away, and Snape said quietly, “I think the hospital wing would be a better idea, Potter. Please be quick, though, I want a word with you after the lesson. You too Miss Granger, Mr Weasly.”
Harry got to his feet, thankful that Snape was in such a mellow mood, and was about to step out of the door when he heard Snape say something that he had never dreamed he would say in a million years.
“Twenty points from Slytherin.”
The room rang with the silence. Harry was frozen, facing into the corridor but not seeing anything. Snape, taking points from Slytherin? Harry had half a mind to pull his wand on Snape, remembering Barty Crouch junior in his fourth year, but Snape told the class tersely to get on with their work, and proceeded to berate Malfoy. Harry decided that this talk he wanted with himself, Ron and Hermione had to be important, so he hurried to the hospital wing.
“Here already, Potter? I was hoping to go at least one weak without seeing you. This is the first lesson. How do you plead?”
Harry grinned despite himself at Madame Pomfrey’s sarcastic comment. “Not guilty. I don’t think I can be held accountable if someone curses me during class.” He lifted his hair and showed the nurse his cut. She hissed in a half exasperated, half sympathetic way, and used a damp cloth to clean the wound before performing a simple skin-knitting charm on the damaged area. She told him to sit quietly for a moment, and sat down at her desk to write up the incident in her report book.
“So… how did this happen?”
“Well, I think someone cursed me.”
She looked up and raised an eyebrow. “You think?” Harry hurried to explain.
“I was concentrating on a quiz in Potions and I felt a pain. I noticed I was bleeding, and I caught sight of someone looking at me and putting their wand away. I didn’t hear the spell, though, so I can’t be sure. But I wasn’t taking a knife to it, or anything like that.”
The nurse looked like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “I assume we’re talking about Mr Malfoy?” Harry nodded, grinning. Madame Pomfrey was well aware of the enmity between the two young men. “And what did Professor Snape do?”
Harry frowned. “Not what I expected. It was him who suggested I come here, rather than just washing the blood off… which reminds me, I’ve got to go back at the end of the lesson.” She nodded, acknowledging the request. “And then I was about to leave and he docked twenty points from Slytherin.”
Madame Pomfrey dropped the quill. Harry couldn’t help but grin at her reaction, and she smiled at him as she picked the pen up again. “I have been at this school rather longer than Professor Snape has been teaching, and to my knowledge he has never once taken points from his own house, and has never even raised his voice to Mr Malfoy. I wonder why he is now?”
Harry frowned again. “You know, he isn’t acting normally. He didn’t insult anyone all lesson, though he looked for a while like he was trying to. And he looks pretty ill as well… exhausted.”
Madame Pomfrey gave him a quick look then smiled. “I may not be a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Potter, but I can see what’s in front of my face. I think you’re right: he’s working very hard at the moment… suspiciously so for the summer holidays. I’ll have a word with him when I next see him, and maybe persuade him to take one of his own potions. And no,” she said slyly, seeing the look of horror on Harry’s face, “I won’t tell him what you’ve told me. Wizards have the oath of hypocrisy as well. Now, lessons are about to end, Potter. You wouldn’t want to keep your favourite teacher waiting, would you?” Harry grinned at her and left the hospital wing. He was back downstairs five minutes later, standing with Ron and Hermione in front of Snape’s desk. Snape himself looked even more tired than he had as he surveyed the three of them.
“I shall make this quick, and I would appreciate it if you would refrain from speaking. I am aware of the antipathy you have always held for me, and while I may not like to admit it, I cannot deny that it is not wholly undeserved. In return, I expect you to realise that your behaviour towards me may not always have been what it ought.” He paused for a moment, and then continued.
“Over the summer, I have reconsidered my… attitude, my position. I decided to allow you onto the advanced course because I realised that was the best way to aid our efforts. For the same reason, the less… friction between us the better. Do you understand?” The three of them nodded. “Good. So long as we are clear. Now, you should get to lunch.” They all headed to the door. “Oh, Mr Potter?” Harry turned back. “Well done with the questions. All right. Remarkably detailed as well. Maybe you do have a little talent for Potions after all.” Snape gestured for them to go, and Harry nodded, a small smile on his face. He, Hermione and Ron went up to the Great Hall in silence. It was Ron who spoke first.
“What the hell is going on, and what has been done to Snape?” It was so true, and Ron looked so serious as he stuffed sausages and mashed potato into his mouth that both Harry and Hermione burst out laughing. Ron looked a little sheepish for a moment, then chuckled along with them. Soon, though, Harry felt he had to answer his best friend.
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out eventually, but I’m not sure I completely buy this whole ‘for the greater good’ excuse. It didn’t change anything last year. On the other hand, I’m not going to complain.”
Hermione smirked at him. “It might have something to do with your sudden genius. You realise you scored exactly the same as me on that test?” It was Harry’s turn to freeze, peas falling off his fork, and Ron roared with laughter as Hermione giggled. She eventually calmed long enough to guide Harry’s fork as far as his mouth, which seemed to rouse him from his catatonic state. “Honestly Harry, what’s with the sudden rush of academia? The first day, and you’re working harder than you did before OWLs.”
Harry swallowed with some difficulty. “I just… want to do well this year. Want to make sure I get to do Auror training.” It was true, in so much as nothing he had said was false. It also went nowhere near actually answering the question, but Hermione seemed satisfied, and didn’t notice Harry’s sudden blush since he bent his head to his food. Harry ate quickly and decided to make a start on the essay Snape had set them on the uses of common herbs in potions that affect food during their free period before their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term.
~*~
Harry hadn’t paid much attention to the staff table at the start of term feast. He had had a lot to think about. He only vaguely remembered seeing an elderly, stern looking witch he didn’t recognise sitting next to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore saying something about Professor… Lawhead, was it? being the new Defence teacher. As he stood with Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, Neville and one or two Slytherins, including Blaise Zabbini, he supposed dully that this year would probably be strictly curriculum based. It wasn’t that that was a problem, but… quite frankly, he felt he already knew enough of what they were likely to learn. He sighed, determined to do his best here as well. He had glimpsed Ginny earlier, and the icily indifferent look she had given him had been enough to confirm in his mind that keeping as busy as possible was the right thing to do.
Professor Lawhead walked up smartly a couple of minutes before the start of the class and opened the door. They all filed in, and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville took the seats on the first row in front of the teacher’s desk. Harry pulled out his book and more parchment, then sat looking attentive as the teacher pulled out various sheets and books and placed them on the desk. When everyone had settled, Professor Lawhead looked up sharply and spoke.
“Right. I expect hard work and concentration in this class, and your punishment if I don’t get it could well be worse than losing points or detention. You all chose to take this class for a reason: I can only assume that you feel it would be a good idea to learn how to defend yourselves properly.” She glared around at all of them. Harry agreed completely. There was more at stake here than grades. Lawhead pulled the hatpins from her hat and removed it, revealing the tight, iron-grey bun beneath. She looked quite similar to Professor McGonagall. She read smartly down the register and then stood, straight backed and severe, and wrote on the blackboard
ILLUSION, STEALTH AND DISGUISE
“This year, we are going to study in depth the principles of magical deception and its uses in a defensive context. There will be some theory, but I am of the opinion that learning to do something is generally preferable to learning about something. Now, open your books and turn to page 7. Mr Thomas, could you start at the first paragraph, please.”
As Dean prepared to speak, Harry felt himself becoming excited. This looked very promising, especially if they were going to be concentrating on the practical side of such an interesting topic; one that Harry was sure would come in very useful. There was something very slightly bothering him, though. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it… something about Professor Lawhead’s voice…
There was no doubt, though, that she was an excellent teacher. After Dean, Ron and Blaise had all read passages from the chapter she went over them, writing notes on the board that Harry was careful to copy. She would give examples, and even experiences, since apparently she had been an Auror at one time and had specialised in under-cover work. Sometimes she cracked a dry, sarcastic joke that would have the class, while not rolling in the aisles, chuckling gently and smiling till the end of the lesson. She asked questions and asked pupils to guess at answers sometimes, challenging their initiative and intuition. Harry was surprised when the bell rang and the class stood to leave the room.
“Potter, Weasly, Granger and Longbottom, a word if you would be so good.” Professor Lawhead was gesturing to them to remain in their seats.
“My, aren’t we popular today,” Ron muttered under his breath. Neville looked at him, puzzled, but Hermione nudged him in the ribs while trying not to giggle. Harry had just realised what was bothering him about Professor Lawhead, though, and sat back with a strangely satisfied smirk on his face.
“Harry? What’s up?” Hermione looked startled at his expression, but Harry closed his eyes, still grinning, and gave a small shake of his head. Professor Lawhead stood behind her desk, surveying them all closely.
“Do you four know why I asked you to stay?”
Hermione cleared her throat in a nervous sort of way. “Has… has someone told you about the… Ministry of Magic last summer?”
Lawhead shook her head. “I already know all about that. Anyone else?”
“Er… you don’t want people sitting on the front row?” Neville sounded almost scared. Harry burst out laughing. His friends looked at him perplexed, while the teacher raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing across her face.
“Well Mr Potter? You have something to add?” Her tone sounded very odd now, as though she were trying to control a laugh, but making her voice different in the process. Harry calmed down but was still smiling as he said quietly,
“It’s just good to see you again, Tonks.”
Ron and Hermione’s mouths fell open, while Neville looked blank. Lawhead, though, gave them a wink, closed the door with an uncharacteristic backwards kick, and soon her appearance was back to normal. Harry realised that it said a lot about him that he could think that spiky lavender coloured hair could be considered ‘normal’. Tonks grinned.
“Wotcher. Surprised?”
Ron and Hermione both laughed and Hermione ran round the desk to give her friend a hug while Harry explained everything to Neville, who hadn’t met Tonks for long: he had only seen her briefly at the department of mysteries.
“What’s with all the secrecy, Tonks?” Ron was still grinning madly at her.
“Well, Dumbledore thought it would be a good idea to have someone else he felt he could trust around, and I was the ideal choice since I have such a natural disguise ability. We felt it would be a nice surprise for you. The fifth years had a lesson just before yours, so Ginny and Luna both know as well. Just don’t tell anyone else. The only other people here aware of who I am are Snape, McGonagall and Hagrid, since they’re members of the Order.”
Hermione pulled back, looking excited. “That was a really great lesson! You know, I didn’t have you pegged as good teacher material,” she said in a slightly cheeky voice, and Tonks grinned yet wider.
“Well, I’m not sure I’d be able to teach you much else, but this is my area of expertise. Oh, but I’m going to be your supervision in the DA, Harry. I hope that’s all right.” Harry nodded, still smiling at her, and they spent a few minutes going over his plans for the DA before Tonks transformed back into Lawhead and they all walked to the Great Hall and dinner.
~*~
Torches guttered and flared on the walls as Harry turned around for the second time, the invisibility cloak swishing around him, and kept muttering to himself. “I need somewhere to practice. Somewhere to learn to fight with my new weapon.” The sword was strapped to his belt in a sheath he had been given by the Weaslys, who had seemed to realise that he really would be using it, rather than just learning how to. As he looked up, the door to the Room of Requirement appeared before him, as innocent as ever. He opened it and found himself standing in what looked partly like a gym and partly like a roofed courtyard. There were targets made of wood and straw, machines to exercise himself physically and wide-open spaces. Perfect. He walked over to something that looked like it might be the magical version of a treadmill, and looked at his new watch: it had taken him a while to get used to all the different dials and measurements, but he had managed it eventually.
He took off the invisibility cloak, his robes and the jumper he wore underneath, leaving him in a white t-shirt and jeans. Not exactly perfect clothing for such strenuous physical activity as he was planning. Glancing around, he saw a corner of the room hidden by a curtain. Looking round it he found a small shower cubicle, as well as some clean t-shirts and shorts in a wall cupboard. Blessing the ingenuity of the room, he took his own clothes off and pulled on some of those provided, before climbing onto the treadmill and starting it up.
Unfortunately, the activity of walking and then running steadily, controlling his breathing all the while, did not really occupy his mind well. His thoughts drifted… and then flew, like iron filings to a magnet, to Ginny.
Ginny.
It was bizarre. He realised that he didn’t even know her full name, or when her birthday was, or any other of a thousand things he should know after knowing her for five years. He cursed himself for having been so oblivious to her all this time and understanding, with a bitter expression on his face, why she hated him so much now. He had scheduled Quidditch tryouts for the Tuesday of next week, and he was dreading them because he just knew that Ginny would come, and try for Chaser, as she had told him she would last year. And of course she would be at the DA meeting on Friday as well. She was too stubborn not to, he thought with a rueful smile, even if she did loathe him. Too many people would badger her about it. That was something, at least, that they had in common. Both of them longed for nothing more than a quiet, relatively ordinary life. All things considered, Harry thought she would be unlucky. For her age, she was immensely powerful, and he knew that she was extremely clever… not quite so much as Hermione, but not all that far off. No, Ginny, he felt, was not really destined for a peaceful existence. God save us all from clever women, he thought with a smirk, imagining Ron.
Hermione had told the two of them recently that she had had a letter from professor McGonagall, asking if she wanted to skip her sixth year, since she was already well up to taking her NEWTs, but Hermione had refused. Thankfully. Harry wouldn’t have known what to do without her. And, of course, she had insisted that she had too much to learn. From the looks of Professor McGonagall after Hermione had left her office, the teacher hadn’t expected Hermione to agree. Their teacher knew them too well.
When he felt sufficiently warmed up, he stopped the machine and looked at his watch. He had run for fifteen minutes solid. Not bad, considering that his running experience had caused him to be something of a sprinter: very fast over short distances. Breathing deeply he stood in the middle of the room and drew the sword. By this time he was totally comfortable with the long, bladed weapon. Its weight felt not only comfortable but also felt natural in his hand. He felt the pommel and, when he touched a tiny raised area he gave a very small push. The end swung off seamlessly, revealing the hollow inside the hilt. With a small, satisfied smile he secured his wand safely inside the cool metal and shut the secret container again. He had discovered this little trick of Godric Gryffindor’s after about a week of training. It was very convenient, and Harry had a suspicion that he would be able to cast spells with the sword now, as though it were the wand itself. That was something he intended to discover tonight.
First, though, he closed his eyes and began the deep breathing that helped to calm every muscle and sense in his body. He began to move, legs and arms together, faster and still faster, his feet dead steady on the wooden floor beneath him. He opened his eyes and saw the flashes of silver and red that were the passing of the sword in front of him, but he did not look at it. In a fight, he knew, you could not afford to look at your weapon at the expense of paying attention to your enemy. So instead he focused on an empty point in midair that never remained constant, since he was by now spinning and whirling like a tornado of flesh and metal. However much he moved and twisted and leapt and weaved and ducked his eyes never wavered, not once. The movements had come naturally to him, and now he moved with purpose towards the targets and dummies. The first one he decapitated without even seeing, the blade sharpened by some magic he couldn’t control or understand until he only felt a slight pressure on the blade before the solid wooden head fell to the ground with a clatter. The next he impaled, at exactly the point where the hear would be, before extracting the blade smoothly and, as it left the canvas covering the manikin, he made a small movement with his wrist, grinning at the ‘x’ slashed into the rough material.
A metallic rasp made him turn, but he was still on his guard, his concentrated training over the summer having schooled his reflexes and reactions until he could choose whether to attack or not so fast he might have had his nerves on a hair-trigger. He had been expecting that the incredible room might come up with something like this. A shadow stood before him, man shaped and proportioned, and holding a sword of its own in one tenebrous hand. The construct leapt towards Harry, who darted out of the way, angling his own blade as he moved to make a passing slash as he dodged which the shadow barely parried, forcing it to pause and recover its balance.
Harry pressed the opportunity, darting forward with the blade coming round from behind him in a graceful arc, and his opponent dropped to the ground and rolled under the attack, coming to his feet again almost immediately, straight into a defensive pose. Harry knew that he could never beat this thing. It would improve as he did, and always counter everything he tried, but that wasn’t a problem. For now, all he needed was someone, or something, to practice with: all the exercises and stationary targets in the world could not compare with a living opponent, one who could think, and make decisions, and adapt, and force him to change what he did. Harry pulled his sword up in front of him, his breathing as steady as a rock, and waited for the coming attack.
~*~
Around an hour later, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak off himself in the sixth year boys’ dormitory. He had fought with the shadow- his shadow, he had realised at some point- for quite a long time, and it was late now. He hadn’t had an opportunity to try casting spells with the sword, but there would be time for that later. For now he felt exhausted but more at peace than he had done for a long time. The Room of Requirements must truly be the most amazing thing in Hogwarts…
As he removed the sword and stashed it in his trunk before changing into his pyjamas for bed, he noticed Ron sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at Harry a little anxiously. Harry raised an eyebrow, begging the question.
“Have… did it go well?” Ron’s face was mostly in shadow, but Harry caught the pink tinge in his best friend’s ears that meant he was under stress. Harry smiled at this, but wondered what was wrong.
“It was good. Really good. Whoever made that room was a genius. You didn’t stay up to ask me that, though. What’s the problem?”
There was silence for a moment, and then Ron suddenly leant forward, looking straight at Harry, his expression almost… frightened.
“Harry, you don’t mind, do you?”
Harry was nonplussed. “Mind what?”
Ron took a deep breath. “I asked Hermione out.” He looked at Harry as if he might explode. Harry raised his eyebrow again, his expression quizzical, before bursting out laughing. Ron was affronted. “Look, it’s nothing to laugh about…”
Harry eventually got his lungs back under his own control and held up a hand. “Ron, you and Hermione have been acting like a couple for the last few months. In fact, I’d go so far as to say the last few years.” Ron looked incredulous. “The way you two argue… it’s like a married couple, honestly.” Harry chuckled. “It’s almost like your relationship has actually diminished from happily married to the point where you’re two teenagers who feel embarrassed around each other. I know I’m hardly the expert on these things, but Ron, it’s about bloody time you actually made it official. It isn’t as though everyone doesn’t realise. You don’t even notice how affectionate she is towards you half the time.”
Ron now looked bemused. “So you… you don’t mind?”
Harry frowned. “Of course not. You two are my best friends, but you never annoy me more than when you dance around each other. I’m really happy for you. And hey,” he added with a smirk, “you never know, maybe you’ll bicker slightly less, now you’re a couple.”
Ron smiled and hit Harry on the arm, but said, “Thanks mate. I just didn’t want you to feel, you know, left out.”
That hit a nerve. Harry gave a rather forced grin as he rolled into his bed, pulling the curtains shut behind him, before letting his expression drop and staring sadly at the canopy of his bed.
He was happy for Ron and Hermione. He really was. But the new state of affairs was going to change their friendship, it was inevitable. Harry had known this would come at some point, but it didn’t make it much easier. The real problem wasn’t that he’d feel left out. He knew he’d still be able to hang around with his best friends. The problem was that he was going to get increasingly jealous of them, and that was the last thing he wanted. And yet, the closeness they shared was what he craved more than anything, but it wouldn’t be with anyone except Ginny, and she hated him. He sighed, trying to cheer himself up with memories of her laughing or smiling or just sitting quietly, but it was too painful. He grimaced and buried his face in his pillow before falling into an uneasy sleep.
(AN: Whoa. Probably my favourite chapter so far… hope you enjoyed it! By the way, this chapter is dedicated to Stephen Lawhead, one of my favourite authors. In the slim possibility that he or someone he knows reads this, I hope he doesn’t mind me using his name…
Plans for chapter five are quite advanced… with any luck I’ll be able to update again in a couple of days. Remember, nothing motivates a fanfic author like a good review! -Tom)
Chapter 5: Chapter Five: A HArrowing At Hagrid's
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: Wasn’t me. Was all JK.
Chapter Five: A Harrowing at Hagrid’s
Harry sighed deeply, running his fingers through his shock of hair and trying to knead the tension out of his head, which had begun to ache quite badly. He was standing, almost alone, in the Great Hall. It was now quite late on Friday night, and he was tidying up after the first, and very well attended, DA meeting of the year. He stood up eventually from the crouched position he had been in, resting his hands behind his back, and stretched to get some of the stiffness out of his body. The meeting had gone very well, all things considered. Quite a lot of the older students from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had come, and even a few Slytherins… including Blaise Zabbini. While everyone else was split into groups to practice the stunning hex, Harry had pulled Blaise to one side and asked if there was any news. Blaise had cocked an eyebrow and given a small smile.
“Always, Harry. Malfoy just does not know when to shut up. Mostly, he’s just been boasting about how many people the Dark Lord” and he turned his head and spat on the floor, “has attacked. One thing, though…”
Harry had leaned in, intrigued. “Yes?”
“It seems that our dear little Draco has a crush.”
Harry had frowned at his newest friend. “I’m certain you’re about to tell me why that’s important.”
Blaise chuckled. “Well, the object of his affections is a friend of yours. A certain red-headed young lady?” Blaise’s mock-innocent expression had changed to one of concern as he watched Harry. “Harry… what’s the matter?”
Harry pulled himself together quickly, realising that he couldn’t let his emotions show just now. He schooled his features into a small grin, ignoring the burning rage that was filling the core of his being. “Well, that is interesting… especially since Ginny’s got a boyfriend at the moment and is very happy with him. Does Draco know that?”
Blaise snorted. “Yeah, he knows. It’s kind of pathetic, really. He’s not going to do anything about it… you know how much he’s actually in love with himself.” Harry nodded, smiling. “Well, he prefers the role of the suffering romantic to actually taking action. He’s actually writing poetry about her, and drawing pictures and stuff.” Now both boys were smiling broadly, trying not to laugh. “I just thought that you might want to tell Ginny, just so she knows.” He shrugged. “Sorry there’s nothing more interesting.”
“That’s fine Blaise. I’ll let her know. Do you want some stunning practice?”
“Couldn’t hurt.” And with that they had joined the other students.
“I’ll let her know.” Harry shook his head as he mumbled the words again, aloud. No, he’d have to ask Hermione to pass along the message, pretend that he hadn’t seen her or something. There was no way Ginny was going to hear anything from him. In fact, earlier that evening he had been hit hard with a curse from behind him, and had picked himself up off the floor to see Ginny glaring at him while others looked concerned. He winced. She really must hate him to fight that dirty.
“Let who know?”
Harry whirled around, instinctively reaching for his wands, but the sight of Professor Lawhead closing the doors and shifting back into Tonks made him relax. She grinned at him from behind long, black hair.
“Jumpy much?”
He grinned back. “Sorry, ‘Professor’,” he said, allowing a slight drawl to enter his voice as he said the word. “I just didn’t realise that anyone else was here. What did you think of tonight’s session?”
“I was very impressed. I think that doing it with just a few people at first was a good idea: it gave you some experience of managing people. And your instruction was brilliant… I watched you helping Eleanor Darke. She was terrified before coming, but she was really excited by the time she left.”
Harry grinned at his friend. Eleanor, a Ravenclaw in Ginny’s year, had been so frightened that she had blasted a hole in the wall by mistake. Which, of course, had not helped. After ten minutes work with Harry, though, she was perfectly relaxed, and found that she had a naturally good aim. She had literally glowed with pleasure when Harry had praised her on it. “I’m surprised I enjoyed it so much. Anyway, Eleanor just needed to realise that no one was going to start attacking her every moment.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you had earned yourself at least one more admirer here tonight,” Tonks said with an evil smile on her face. Harry blushed scarlet. He was aware, vaguely, that the girls in the school seemed to be looking at him more than usual, and not in the is-he-going-to-curse-everyone way they had last year. It disturbed him to see something remarkably like hunger on their faces; he wondered what they wanted from him. He was nothing special, he had done terrible things. No one seemed interested in that, for some reason. He cast about desperately for a change of subject, but Tonks beat him to it. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. Let who know? And know what?”
Harry groaned inwardly. To be honest, he didn’t want to talk about this with anyone, not even Tonks. But he wouldn’t lie, not to her.
“Blaise Zabbini… you know him, right? Well, he’s kind of doing some spy work for us, since he actually shares a dorm with Malfoy and co. He told me that Draco apparently has a major thing for Ginny, and said he thought she ought to know.” Harry shrugged, trying to look casual. Tonks raised an eyebrow and Harry held his breath, wondering if the famed ‘women’s intuition’ had betrayed him, but she only said,
“Malfoy? Oh, Ginny’ll love that. I’ll be waiting for the explosion.” She laughed, changing back to Lawhead as she did so, gave him one last wink, and was gone. Harry sighed. The weekend was upon him, and that meant no classes to occupy his mind from… other things. And almost no homework either, since he had done it all. He shook his head, and decided that tomorrow would be the perfect time to go and see Hagrid.
~*~
He was nearly to the fat lady when he heard someone calling, “Harry!” behind him. He turned and grinned as he saw Luna walking fast towards him. He smiled at her with a slightly inquiring look on his face.
“Can we have a word? In private?”
Harry frowned, wondering what was going on, but said, “Sure, I guess…”
The blonde Ravenclaw girl, whom Harry was proud to call a friend, led him to a nearby classroom, which had windows looking down on the Quidditch pitch. Harry winced, disgusted that the mere thought of his favourite sport tormented him like this. Was all this pain worth it? Luna stood nearby, her arms folded across her robes, and she stared at him with those large, slightly disquieting eyes.
“Harry, I thought that you might want to have a chat. We haven’t really spoken yet, and, well, after those letters…”
Harry looked at her, wondering what to say. He found he didn’t have it in him to lie anymore. If she asked him, he would tell her. He trusted her with the truth. He trusted her with his life.
“Look, I believe you when you say you’re working through your grief,” she said gently, “and I’m happy that you trust me enough to confide in me. But there is something else the matter. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Why is it that Ginny spends most of her time giving you looks that could kill a Crumple-Horned Snorckack, and you, who seem to have changed a lot over the summer, avoid her as if she was out to kill you? Harry, you’ve faced Voldemort more than anyone else alive, except Dumbledore, and you’ve survived. Every so often your power absolutely terrifies me.” Harry was startled. When did he show that much power? But she wasn’t exaggerating; he could see that in her eyes. “I know you can do wandless magic sometimes, I’ve seen you, and the number of people who can do that is incredibly small. You have it in you to be the most powerful wizard in history, but you’re suffering, and it’s showing. Tell me, what’s happened between you and Ginny?”
Harry turned back to the window. “Nothing,” he said bitterly. “That’s kind of the problem.” He could feel the emotion rising in his chest and he took a deep shuddering breath, trying to calm himself. Luna was looking puzzled, but worried. “I don’t really know why Ginny is hating me so much right now, and… it hurts. She’s one of my best friends, and it hurts that she feels so badly towards me, especially when I don’t know why.”
Luna looked thoughtfully at him. After a while she spoke, almost hesitantly. “You know, this isn’t the first time you’ve been isolated from a friend like this. I remember in your third year, when you and Ron weren’t talking to Hermione, and then two years ago when Ron didn’t believe that you hadn’t entered yourself in the Triwizard Tournament. I was watching, with Ginny. Both those times you basically got angry and ignored them until you made up. Why is it so different with Ginny?”
Harry looked at her, and saw the deep concern in her face. She was his friend, truly, he could tell her anything, even this. He looked at her steadily, and just as steadily said, “I love her.”
There was silence for a moment, except for the sound of the wind in the trees outside. Harry turned away from Luna again and stared outside. The sun was very low in the sky, and the clouds above were stunning: different and almost bizarre colours ran together and shone down: gold, orange and pink nearest the sunset, fading through red, purple and blue at the edges. It was dazzling. Harry wondered if, and hoped that, Ginny could see it too. Suddenly he felt Luna close to him as she folded her arms around him in a tight, comforting hug. He hugged her back, still looking at the glorious sight, grateful for her presence, not to mention her silence. It was a relief to have someone know, and commiserate. Soon Luna spoke.
“I think I know why Ginny’s treating you like this.” Harry reluctantly looked away from the window and down into Luna’s very blue eyes as she held him. “I think she’s got the wrong idea about our… correspondence over the summer.”
Harry frowned. “Why should she? What’s the problem with writing to a friend?”
Luna was silent for a while longer, then freed herself from Harry. “I think you need to work this out for yourself, Harry. Just… don’t give up, ok? It’ll get better. I need to go.” And gone she was, while Harry tried to school his thoughts into some semblance of sense.
Soon he was back in the common room. He looked around for Ron or Hermione, but when he found them… curled up in a window seat and extremely, well, busy… he decided not to disturb them. He also caught sight of Ginny. It was quite hard to miss her, since she was sitting with Dean on a sofa by the fire, enjoying a good cuddle. Harry felt sick once again, rage and jealousy threatening to overwhelm him. He bolted up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories, and didn’t notice Hermione looking at him in a calculating way from over Ron’s shoulder.
~*~
It was the next morning, and Harry was lost, and feeling extremely stupid, considering he was standing in the middle of the school grounds, on the way to Hagrid’s hut, a path he had trodden probably thousands of times before. Of course, it didn’t help that the mist was so thick that he couldn’t see two feet in front of him. He straightened up, having realised that he was stooped for some reason, and took a deep breath before placing his want on the palm of his hand.
“Point me.”
The wand span around a few times, then pointed to his left. So, if the school doors faced out South-West and Hagrid’s cabin was slightly right of straight on from there…
He sighed, realising he was facing East when he should be going West. The rage and frustration he had felt the night before came surging up once again, and he gestured strongly with his wand, saying no words. The mist all around parted and lifted hurriedly, as though impatient to get out of the way of Harry’s wrath. He felt a certain satisfaction that did nothing to cheer him up, turned around and stomped towards Hagrid’s suddenly visible abode, unaware of the water evaporating out of his clothes, boiled away by the sheer force of his bad temper.
Hagrid opened his door quite quickly, seriously worried by the hammering on it. When he saw who it was he let Harry past him without a word and examined the rather large dent in the woodwork before closing it. He sat down opposite Harry, and waited for him to speak, taking the occasional sip from his bucket of tea.
Eventually Harry stopped fuming and covered his face with his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He mumbled something.
“Sorry, ‘arry? I didn’ ‘ear that.”
Harry looked up to his large friend, his first friend, and saw the surprise on Hagrid’s gentle face as he felt a single tear trickle down his cheek. “It’s my fault,” he said, croakily. “It’s my fault, it’s too late and I have no one else to blame but me and I don’t understand and it bloody hurts!” He was shouting by the end.
Hagrid reached forward and patted Harry on the back. Harry sat there for a while before sitting up and drying his eyes. “Sorry, I shouldn’t take out my bad temper on you. Or your door.”
Hagrid chuckled, though there was still concern in his beetle-black eyes. “Yeh don’t need t’apologise, Harry. You’ve got a lot on yer mind. And more’n I thought, from the sounds of things.” There was a silent question in Hagrid’s words, and Harry gulped. As painful as it was to admit it, he had felt so much better when he had confessed to Luna, and Hagrid deserved his trust. So he took a deep breath.
“I’m in love, Hagrid.”
Hagrid said nothing, but gazed into Harry’s eyes. Harry gazed straight back.
“I’m in love with someone who’s been my friend for ages but now, suddenly, they hate me and I don’t know why. And I can’t really complain. I have loads of friends, and I haven’t got time to be feeling love-struck, there’s NEWTs and the DA and Quidditch and everything…”
“Harry, while everything you jus mentioned is important, none of it is worth it if you’re this miserable. Yes, even all the stuff you’re doing with Professor Dumbledore. What use is taking down you-know-who if you don’t think it’s worth it? Yes, I know about the ruddy prophecy,” he said impatiently, waving aside Harry’s look of shock. “I’ve known fer ages, it’s either you or him. And it’s gonna be you. But, you’ll never manage it feeling like this. You need a purpose. Something to live for.”
Harry looked at Hagrid in amazement. He had never thought of that. Right now he felt like he was choking in his own misery. If Voldemort chose to attack now, and the final battle was to take place, Harry knew that he wouldn’t stand a chance.
Hagrid continued. “Love is a strange thing, Harry. More pain comes from it than from anything else, and more joy too, eventually. I think I’d like you to be the first to know: Madame Maxine and I are engaged.” Harry gaped at him. What little could be seen of Hagrid’s face behind the tangle of black beard was blushing furiously, but there was pride and happiness and excitement in his voice. “I love her loads. Really. She understan’s me better’n anyone, and she said she feels she can be herself around me.” Hagrid took a deep breath. “We’re each others’ reasons, Harry. The reasons we want to get through all this and have a better life after. Now, you say you’re in love. You don’t need to tell me who it is, and I believe ya. If you, after all yeh’ve been through, can recognise love when you feel it, it’s got to be strong. And love that strong, that’s meant to be, and will come back to you eventually. Give it time, Harry. Be patient. It’ll be hard, but it’ll be worth it. Trust me.”
Harry went to Hagrid and was pulled into a bone-crushing hug, but he didn’t care. What Hagrid had said made a lot of sense. He just hoped he could be that patient.
Soon they fell to talking about other things. Ron and Hermione were first, and both Harry and Hagrid chuckled over that. Then they talked about the Order, and the attacks, and classes and the DA, until Harry realised it was probably time for lunch. He thanked Hagrid for the talk and was about to leave when the door was flung open and he saw Ginny standing in the doorway, her face screwed up in fury, her red hair wild around her face, and the light streaming in behind her making her glow with an almost unholy look: she looked like an avenging angel, and the fire in her gaze was focused on Harry. It was like a laser beam, he felt it searching him out, petrifying him and passing an unfavourable judgement on his soul.
“Harry,” she said, her voice a low, dangerous, ice-cold hiss that had almost physical force. “Would you like to tell me what it is you’re hiding in your trunk?” She ignored Hagrid completely, who was looking stunned, and riveted her gaze onto Harry. Harry realised with dread that she had found the sword. He knew that he had to tell the truth, because she might well kill him if he said anything else.
“The sword, Ginny. Godric Gryffindor’s sword.” He gulped.
“And why is it in your trunk?” Her voice was steady, but she was trembling with rage, and Harry felt his heart break. It was all over now. Any hope he might have had was dashed on the rocks of Ginny’s hatred. He lowered his eyes, unable to meet her stare any more.
“Because Dumbledore gave it to me. I’ve been learning how to fight with it.”
Even her voice shook now. “Why?”
And this was it. This was what was going to seal his fate forever. This was going to be the last straw.
“I can’t tell you, Ginny. Not yet. I can’t tell anyone.”
He didn’t see her leave; he just heard the door slamming behind her.
~*~
Harry shut his eyes. He really didn’t need this. After everything else, an interrogation from Hermione?
“Really, Harry, what is going on with you and Ginny? She’s been giving you serious evils, but she won’t tell me why, and that’s unusual. And then you take one look at her last night and storm off. What is the problem?”
“She’s right, mate.” Ron was sitting on the end of his bed while Harry sat on his own, hunched over, resting his chin on his hands. It was raining now after the morning mist, and the sky was dark very early. His thoughts were in turmoil, and he was painfully aware that, this being Saturday, he had an appointment with the Headmaster. And his thoughts were going to be what were tested. Tonight could not end well. He sighed.
“To be honest, I don’t know why she’s angry with me; she has been since the day of OWLs results, and I haven’t the faintest clue. More recently, though, she found out about the sword.”
Ron went slightly pale, and Harry snorted at him. Apparently it had been him who suggested that Ginny come up her, for whatever reason. Hermione, though, gasped at Harry.
“Harry, you idiot! How could you not tell her about the sword? I thought you realised how sensitive she is about being left out of things!”
Harry felt distinctly nettled now. “Hermione, what could I possibly have said? ‘Hey, Gin, thought I’d tell you that Dumbledore sent me that sword, you know, the one I killed the basilisk with and is a reminder of the worst experience of your life, and I’m learning to use it’?”
Hermione closed her mouth at this. Plainly, she hadn’t thought of it like that. Harry continued. “I don’t want to keep anything from Ginny; she’s one of my best friends. I even hoped she would be able to talk to me more now that you two are always so tied up in each other.” He was strangely satisfied by the identical blushes on his friends’ faces. “I just couldn’t do it. I thought it would make her miserable to tell her. And now the whole thing’s just ruined, and it’s pretty much the end of our friendship.” He threw himself backwards on to the bed, realising the truth of his own words, screwing his eyes shut against the pain that was raging in his head: all his anguish had manifested in a real headache.
He could no longer call Ginny even a friend. The one person he cared most about in the world didn’t care about him at all… in fact, she probably wanted him to suffer. And he’d deserve it.
“Please, just… just leave me alone for a while,” he mumbled, and drew the hangings around his bed. “I’ve got to get ready for Occlumency practice.” He soon heard Ron and Hermione leaving without a word, and lay on his bed, staring through painful eyes at the ceiling. He had no more tears left. His heart was in ruins. Eventually he drifted into a fitful dose.
***
He was sitting in a dark room, furnished with bookshelves and a large desk strewn with parchments, and he was staring into a blazing fire in the hearth set into one wall. He lowered the glass of firewhisky he had been about to take a sip from and rested it instead on the arm of the wonderfully upholstered chair he was seated in. A smile played across his thin lips, and he took a breath through his slit-like nostrils.
“So, you’re back again, Potter,” Harry said, and a small part of him screamed that he had to wake up, to get out of Voldemort’s mind, but he couldn’t. Not yet.
“You’ve really become quite good at Occlumency, Potter… I haven’t been able to penetrate your dreams for sometime.” He let out a quiet but high-pitched laugh. “Now what’s happened in the legendary Potter’s life to warrant such a dereliction of self defence? I would have thought that your experience before the summer would have taught you this particular lesson…”
Harry reached back into his own mind, but at the same time tried desperately to hide the information he was looking for. No. No, He mustn’t find out… she’d be in so much danger…
Harry flinched, wincing in pain as he almost grasped the thought.
“What is this?” he said, slightly louder. “What can this be? I don’t understand it. It hurts me. Fascinating. Could this be it?”
***
Horrified, Harry jerked himself awake, and he was sitting bolt upright in his bed, the scar on his forehead burning. He clutched his hand to the searing pain and threw himself out of bed, down the spiral staircase, through the common room and out of the portrait hole before anyone could say a word. He sprinted for the Headmaster’s office, yelling “Sugar Quill!” to the gargoyle, which sprang to life and leapt aside just as Harry arrived, and he hurtled up the moving staircase before hammering with all his might on the door to the office.
It opened quickly and Dumbledore was by his side, guiding him to a couch. Through the pain and desperation, Harry looked around the room. The last time he had seen it, it was in ruins after his worst ever tantrum, just after Sirius’ death. It was tidy again, except for a single broken mirror in one corner. The shards were all in place, but it was still a distorted image that stared, frightened, back at him, the green eyes practically glowing.
“You’re early Harry… what’s the matter?” Dumbledore sat nearby, and his calm voice penetrated the panic that had consumed Harry since he had woken. He took a deep breath before starting.
“Professor… I’m so sorry. I fell asleep without doing Occlumency, and I was in Voldemort’s mind again. And he knew I was there! He spoke to me, except, it felt like it was me speaking. And… he looked into my mind…” he stopped, unable to go on. Voldemort had invaded his mind once again, pushing and prying into deeply private and personal thoughts. He felt… dirty, somehow. Tainted.
Dumbledore frowned slightly. “Harry, I realise this must be hard for you, but I need to know exactly what happened. Please, if you can, tell me.”
Harry sighed. This would be difficult. “He was wondering why I hadn’t put up my usual defences, he was looking for the reason I was so… upset. He nearly found it, too. But it hurt him to look at it. But, I think he might have guessed…”
He buried his face in his hands, not wanting to see the disappointment in the elderly face. He had failed him, and worse, he had failed Ginny: she could be in even more danger than she had been. And it was his fault for loving her.
After a while, he felt a weight on his knee, and opened his eyes to see Fawkes perched on his lap. The beautiful red and gold bird nudged his cheek slightly, and Harry couldn’t help but cheer up slightly as the warmth from the Phoenix entered him. He stroked Fawkes absently before looking at Dumbledore. He was sitting, looking at Harry speculatively.
“Harry,” he said, abruptly, “would you happen to be in love with anyone?”
Harry blushed deeply at the casualness with which Dumbledore asked the question, and nodded. Dumbledore nodded as well. “That explains a lot… not least why you were so vulnerable. Few things affect us as deeply as love.” He paused for a moment, and Harry wondered what he was thinking. Then he continued. “It also explains why Voldemort could not touch that thought. He does not understand love; he rejects it and it, therefore, rejects him equally. Harry, the love you hold for this person could well be the key to destroying Voldemort forever.”
Harry looked at him, startled. Could that really be the answer? One of the thoughts he had been avoiding for weeks now was that he might, eventually, be forced to use the killing curse, Avada Kedavra. He had read up on the course that week, when homework could no longer occupy him, and it had not been pleasant. It was one of the darkest of spells and Harry knew that Dark Magic was addictive. Once a person began to use it, he or she would begin to enjoy it, wanting to use it more, to cause more pain and suffering and death, until it couldn’t be controlled any more, until it controlled you; it was the worst of drugs. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, the thought that he might not have to be tempted down that path a huge weight lifted from his shoulders.
And yet, he realised that the love probably wouldn’t be very effective. Not in its current state. Unreturned, unacknowledged, unspoken. As it was, it would fester in his soul until it became hatred, and that would be worse than anything. Harry took a deep breath and looked to his Headmaster. “What should I do?”
Dumbledore sighed. “Nurture it, Harry. Let it grow, let it breathe. If my assumption is correct, it was something to do with this that caused your lack of caution before sleeping?” Harry nodded. “Well, you must try to find an outlet. Even if you can’t for some reason, express your love for the person, find some way to show it. Something productive. Art, music, poetry… you might not feel up to such grand expressions,” he said with a smile when Harry snorted, “but there are other ways. Think only of the person you love in whatever you do, and your love for them will be expressed, for you at any rate. I warn you, it will not be painless, but it will help in the long run, and your thoughts should be less tumultuous.”
He paused, surveying Harry. “I would guess,” he said eventually, “that you are not in the best condition to practice your Occlumency skills tonight, although I am delighted to hear how well you seem to be doing, if Voldemort had not breached your defences since June. Instead, I think we should talk… and I think that I should lend you this as well,” he said, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out…
Harry blinked. It was a ‘cello. A totally ordinary, if quite high quality ‘cello. Dumbledore pulled out the case and opened it, showing Harry the brightly polished wood underneath. Once Dumbledore had settled Harry with the instrument between his knees and showed him how to hold the bow, he stepped back.
“Have a go, Harry,” he said, smiling lightly.
Harry, an expression of concentration in his face, moved the bow gently across the bottom string, his left hand not touching the fingerboard; one step at a time. The sound produced wasn’t unpleasant, but it was slightly juddery and broken, since the hand holding the bow was not completely steady. Persevering, Harry changed the angle of the bow slightly until it rested on a different string. Backwards and forwards he moved the length of wood, until the sound was stronger, rich and vibrant as only a ‘cello can be. He tried moving it faster, and changing strings more often, sometimes playing two at once until vibrant chords in fifths filled the room. He tried touching the fingerboard and marvelled at the change in pitch that was produced: he had never had much involvement with music before, beyond the usual singing of hymns in school assembly before he had gone to Hogwarts.
He played on, the fingers of his left hand growing slowly more dexterous, and soon he was playing scales and arpeggios, though not true melodies. After a time he stopped and looked up at Dumbledore.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Dumbledore smiled fondly at him.
“You are very welcome, Harry. You have a natural talent for it, and I rarely play anymore, though I used to in my youth. Here,” he said, reaching into a bookshelf nearby. The book he handed Harry was not one he would have expected in Dumbledore’s office before tonight. ‘Beginning ‘cello: a Guide to the Basics’. Harry grinned and tucked it in a pocket of the ‘cello case before putting the ‘cello itself away. He made to put it back in the cabinet, but Dumbledore stopped him.
“No, Harry, take it back to Gryffindor tower. And when things get to you, simply play a little. I’m sure no one will mind. Here,” he said, and shrank the ‘cello with a rather casual wave of his wand. When it was the size of a pocket-watch, Harry grinned and put it in his pocket.
“Thanks again, Professor. I’ll try to be in better condition next week.”
“Goodbye, Harry.” As Harry was about to go, he caught sight of the broken mirror again. He turned back towards Dumbledore, who looked for a moment older than ever, the light faded in his eyes behind the half-moon spectacles.
“Professor, why is this mirror still broken?” He felt a pang of guilt. “Is it not reparable?”
Dumbledore smiled. “No, Harry, it is reparable; it is a plain, ordinary mirror. However, it is also a reminder of the mistakes of an old man. I thought it might be wise to leave something after that night.” He shuddered slightly, but then smiled again. “Goodbye, Harry.” Just as Harry closed the door to the office, feeling stunned by everything that had happened that day, he thought he heard Dumbledore say, softly from inside the office, “and good luck.”
(AN: Well, I’m very much afraid that I may not be able to update again until January: the price, I’m sorry to say, of being isolated from your wonderful college Internet connection. I might post if I can get my Dad off his machine for five minutes ;)
The ‘cello is in reference to the character Shinji Ikari from the anime Neon Genesis Evangelion… simply because Harry is starting to remind me of him in this fic, no doubt due to all the angst and the staring at the ceiling (sorry, context joke, you have to have seen it.). And, in case you’re wondering, ‘cello is spelt with an apostrophe beforehand because it is actually an abbreviation of the full word, ‘violoncello’.
Thanks to everyone who reviews, and please don’t flatter me so much: it almost makes me scared. See you next year. —Tom)
Chapter 6: Chapter Six: Season of Mists
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: This is a fanfic. That means that JK Rowling created the whole thing and still owns it. It also means that I can’t come up with an original idea. Oh well, I suppose it could be worse…
Chapter Five: Season of Mists
Harry finished playing and reluctantly put the ‘cello reverently back in its case, being careful to release the tensions of the horsehair in the bow. It was nearly half-past four, and he needed to get to the Quidditch Pitch and get ready for Quidditch practice. He was just lucky that no one had been up in the dormitory, and therefore wouldn’t complain about him playing. No one, except Dumbledore, had heard him play, and no one had asked about the instrument when he brought it into the common room, although there were a few raised eyebrows. He was just glad that Ron and Hermione were so busy. He missed them in the evenings, since their prefect duties, along with their ‘new’ relationship meant that they could no longer spend so much time with him, hanging around the common room or doing homework, but he still saw them most of the day in lessons, and their absence meant no awkward questioning. It was quite refreshing.
He had taken Dumbledore’s advice firmly to heart; whenever his feelings of anger, sadness or jealousy over Ginny became too much for him to handle he would go up to the dormitory and play, thinking of Ginny as he did so. Somehow, as the emotion poured out of him, it became positive. It was impossible to remain dour when the deep, calming notes rang out and his thoughts immediately flew to all his good memories of Ginny: her laughing with him in the common room so many times, being so calm and diligent in the DA, fighting beside him against Death Eaters, mourning Sirius with him and, increasingly often and very clearly, the moment she had woken up in the Chamber of Secrets after he had plunged the basilisk’s tooth into Tom Riddle’s diary. Those memories came back to him in dreams as well, but they didn’t haunt him in the same way he thought they must Ginny: he realised eventually that that was when he had started to fall in love with her. And it had taken him more than three years to realise it…
He shook his head, grabbed his Firebolt from the small cabinet it resided in and climbed out onto the windowsill. This wasn’t officially allowed, but Harry felt he needed it. He sat astride the broom… and dropped off the window.
The rush of air past him was exhilarating. The fear of hitting the ground was instantly transformed into pure adrenalin and he felt alive in an entirely new way. Here was one time he didn’t have to think about Ginny Weasly. When he was only a few feet from the ground he levelled out, pointing his broom outwards into the grounds and away to the Quidditch Pitch. It was one of those fantastic autumn evenings. The sky was a pale blue in the west, darkening through hundreds of shades until it became a deep, velvety purple in the east. It was still warm, but there was enough of a breeze to feel it in your hair even if you weren’t flying, and the leaves of the trees in the forbidden forest were a riot of greens, browns, reds and golds that looked almost like a wildfire when the branches swayed in the wind.
Harry landed only reluctantly and strode into his new office. It wasn’t large, containing only a desk, a few chairs and a blackboard on which to illustrate any points he felt worth making. He chucked his robes into the Captain’s locker and pulled his Quidditch uniform over his t-shirt and shorts. He then pulled the piece of paper out from his robes pocket and started writing the names of the hopeful candidates on the blackboard.
Ginny was trying out, but she had asked a friend to tell him. Just what he had needed: another reminder. That had taken a few scales to relieve. Since he had a few minutes before people began to arrive, Harry reflected on things. The ‘cello had saved his sanity after just a weekend, he was sure of it. Dumbledore was right, the outlet was essential. So far he was still learning the rudiments of reading musical notation, and how it applied to the ‘cello, which had a nasty habit of using the slightly obscure tenor clef. Even so, with that, his continuing training in swordsmanship, the DA and now Quidditch, not to mention the increasingly difficult lessons, his life was sufficiently hectic around now that he didn’t have too much time to brood.
He heard voices in the locker room and headed through. Ron was there, along with Sloper and Kirk, the two beaters from last year. Harry smiled brightly at the existing members.
“Alright guys?”
Ron smirked, but Sloper and Kirk looked a bit embarrassed.
“Er… you are trying out for beaters, aren’t you Harry?” Harry raised an eyebrow and Kirk, who had spoken. He looked almost pleading. He had expected them to complain.
“Well, yes I am. I hope you don’t mind, but I had some people ask me if they could try out. Is it a problem?”
“No, no,” Kirk stated hurriedly. “You see, the thing is… Jack and I want to resign anyway.” Harry was silent, waiting for the nervous boy to continue. Ron sniggered slightly, and Harry got the impression that he had told the boys to expect him to be angry. He gave Ron a look, at the smirk disappeared.
“Well, look, if you really feel you need to resign, I’ll respect that. To be honest, I was thinking that you two were going to need some intensive training, so I had planned to spend a fair amount of time with you. Is there a particular reason why you want to quit?”
Sloper looked relieved, probably because Harry hadn’t even reached for his wand yet. “Well, we know we’re not up to much, and we have this friend we played with over the summer… Jasper Norton?” Harry nodded: the boy’s name was on the list. “He’s a really good beater, he only didn’t try out last year because he thought he was too young. We figured you’d be better off with him than us two put together anyway,” he finished. Both boys were smiling ruefully, and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the boys’ honesty and self-awareness: he respected the fact that they had no illusions over their abilities. Perhaps in a few years they would be better, but for now they were better off cheering their friends, away from the pressure that came with the position. After an assurance of understanding and thanks, the two boys left, just as the first hopefuls arrived: the chasers were trying out first and there were five prospective players: Ginny along with two of her fifth year friends, Lauren Woods and Garth Thompson. They were accompanied by two fourth years, Beth Macintyre and Darien McLeod. As way of punishment for Ron for teasing Sloper and Kirk, Harry decided to pit all five of them against him first and as he struggled to keep the quaffle from passing the goal-hoops, which he did surprisingly well at, Harry surveyed the chasers’ form from the ground and from the air. He had good experience of what made a good chaser from working with Katie, Alicia and Angelina for so long, and straight away he noticed that Garth was less confident than the others, too preoccupied with flying to pay attention to the quaffle, and sometimes the other way around.
After a while, though, Harry called them all back to land and smiling at them. He winced very, very slightly at the look of utter indifference Ginny was giving him, but tried hard to regulate his feelings.
“Well, I hope you had fun up there. Next is a straight flying test, just to see what you’re capable of. I’m going to fly around quite fast and pretty randomly; all you’ve got to do is follow me, every turn and twist. Think you can do it?” There were murmurs of assent from the group, and a vague nod from Ginny. “Ron, I want you to keep a look out.” Before any of them could react he was on his Firebolt and pulling away and upwards. Ginny was the first on his tail as he had expected: Ginny had been the seeker for most of the team last year, and he knew she was a damn good flyer, possibly even better in the chaser position than the seeker, since the chaser had such a continuous, flowing role to play. Soon he started rolling. To test them he put on a burst of speed, turned, rolled, dived and came out fast and low in very quick succession. He had enjoyed that. He glanced behind him: Ginny wasn’t far behind him with Beth the next after her. The others had a bit more difficulty with the complex combination, but caught up soon afterwards. Ron was keeping a close eye the whole time.
Eventually Harry finished with a quick upward spiral followed by an even quicker, vertical dive down the middle of the spiral the others were climbing; Darien was confused and tried to follow him straight away rather than reaching the right height, but apart from that they all managed it fairly well. Harry landed and smiled as the others did the same.
“That was really good everyone: with a little work, any of you could make great Chasers. I’ll just speak to Ron before I make my decision; I want those people chosen to stay and help with the beater practice, if that’s ok.”
Ron was leaning against a goalpost, looking oddly at Harry. Harry ignored the look. “Well? What did you think?”
“Well, biased as I may be Ginny was the best, and Beth was very good too. Of the other three… Darien nearly crashed towards the end, but I didn’t think there was much between the last two. What do you think?”
“I agree about Ginny and Beth, they were brilliant,” Harry began. It caused him a twinge to realise that he would certainly be taking Ginny. He had never really doubted the fact, but it would make every practice and game that much harder. “Earlier, when they were using the quaffle, I noticed that Garth wasn’t all that comfortable… couldn’t throw, catch and fly all at once. So, I’m thinking we’re in for an all-female front three again.” Ron grinned and nodded, but then his look returned to the puzzled speculation he had worn earlier. “Harry, why was Ginny…”
Harry turned to the chasers before Ron could finish the question he didn’t want to answer. “Well, we have our winners. Darien, Garth… I’m really sorry, but I’m afraid you’ll have to try out another year. Ladies, congratulations: you’re members of the best Quidditch team in Hogwarts!”
Garth and Darien looked disappointed but not entirely surprised at the outcome, while the girls alternated between commiserating with them and celebrating with each other. Ginny gave Ron a hug, but ignored Harry, who was trying his best to smile at everyone. When the beater candidates, Jasper Norton, Felicity Morgan, Antonio Vasquez and, the wildcard, Colin Creevy arrived, Garth and Darien strolled away while Harry passed the quaffle to Lauren and announced that they would try the beaters in a practice situation: the chasers would fly against Ron and pairs of beaters would try to disrupt their play. He, as seeker, would observe from the air how effective they were.
It seemed to take a very short time after the chaser tryouts, possibly because he no longer had Ginny’s glare boring its way into the back of his skull. All of the candidates were fairly large: even Colin, whom Harry always remembered as the tiny second year who had been petrified, had bulked out. He had lost his restless, nervous energy, replaced with an easy confidence in the air, and he had also thankfully misplaced the breathless, hero-worship attitude he had had around Harry when he was younger: the confidence Harry had put in him and Dennis to be demonstrators in the DA had paid off.
There wasn’t really much in it. Jasper Norton, a large, blond, almost Scandinavian looking boy in the third year was brilliant; an uncanny accuracy mingled with very good speed and power made him an ideal beater. Harry had the feeling that Antonio had only tried because people had told him that someone as obviously physically strong as him would make a good beater. Felicity was good, and Harry decided to make her a reserve, but Collin’s ability was truly too good to lose: he had an incredible knack for being in exactly the right place at the crucial moment, able to place a bludger exactly when and where it could disrupt a pass, cause enough distraction for a chaser to drop the quaffle or even, a few times, to hit one through a goal hoop simultaneously with a shot from a chaser, making Ron fumble the save. That kind of intelligence was priceless, and Harry was confident that this team could be just as good as it had been in his third year, when Oliver Wood’s line-up had been at their peak.
After a long shower he went back up to the castle with Ron, carefully avoiding Ron’s questions, and then went straight up to the dorm to try to improve his bowing technique a little; the time spent with Ginny had led to a large build up in his mind, and he felt a need to feel like he was flying again.
~*~
Time passed.
For Harry, he took every day, hour and minute as it came. He tried constantly to work towards something. His effort in classes was almost unsurpassed, and all his teachers praised him to a greater or lesser extent: Professor Flitwick always seemed ecstatic at the fervour with which Harry laboured. Professor McGonagall gave him those occasional, brief smiles that were far more valuable to those who received them than words could be. Tonks… no, Lawhead… was amazed at his proficiency in the topics she was teaching. After Harry managed to walk undetected down a brightly lit corridor with Nightingale floors- floorboards rigged with tiny metal caps that rang when you trod on them- with the entire class watching from the end he was walking towards, he remembered ruefully how Dumbledore had told him, in his first year, that he didn’t need a cloak to become invisible. A few well-placed misdirection and illusion spells combined with some of the physical strength and agility he was gaining from his fencing practice and he was leaning against the wall of the classroom, watching his classmates looking for him down the hall and laughing at their reactions when he spoke from behind them. While he didn’t work any less hard in Care of Magical Creatures, he used those lessons more as a time to relax, talk to his friends, including Hagrid, and enjoy life a little.
In Potions, the praise came in the form of a continued lack of animosity or undeserved criticism that seemed to be common for all the students. It had a marked affect on all their work as well: without worrying about Snape breathing down their necks, demanding perfection and not even accepting that, the quality of work improved dramatically. Snape, in fact, spoke little. He still looked tired almost all the time, and he restricted his part in classes to instructions at the start, some murmured suggestions or corrections while potions were being brewed and constant, quiet, careful observation. Harry enjoyed the quiet of the class, and learned to appreciate potion-making as he never had before: he understood for the first time much of the speech Snape had made in their first ever class. It seemed a long time ago. The time between then and now had spanned several worlds; Harry’s universe had been torn apart and put back together so many times.
After a lesson in mid-October, during which Harry had noticed Snape watching him in particular rather more than was usual, he was about to leave the room when he heard a quiet voice say, “I wonder if I might have a word, Potter.”
Harry turned to Snape, surprised. He wondered what it could be: for once there was no big mystery happening in Hogwarts that he suspected Snape of masterminding. “Sure, sir. Er, here?”
“No… let’s go to my office.” So saying, Snape led the way to the room a little way away in which he did his private potion making. The walls were still lined with horrible things floating in jars, but now that Harry new what a lot of them were and some of the uses they had, he did not find them nearly as sinister as he had done in the past. On the other hand, he vividly remembered the last time he had been in this room. His last Occlumency lesson with Snape, last Spring, in which he had seen into Snape’s memory. He felt guilty about that, and decided to address it immediately. He turned to his teacher, who was seated in his chair behind the desk.
“Sir, I wanted to say I…I’m sorry. For… you know…before…”
He trailed off, unable to find the words to describe his crime. Snape seemed to understand, though. He gestured for Harry to take a seat, which he did.
“I cannot pretend that I was not extremely angry about that incident, Potter.” His voice was calm and emotionless; there was no hint of anger there at the moment. He looked straight at Harry, who met his gaze squarely, willing the regret he felt for the incident to be somehow communicated. He didn’t hold the look for long, though: as part of his Occlumency lessons he had also been taught the fundamentals of the discipline’s counterpart, Legilimency, since that would help him to understand what he was learning to combat. Dumbledore said he had an aptitude for it. Staring into someone’s eyes for too long now often caused Harry to catch some of their thoughts, which could be very embarrassing. Snape continued.
“However, I must admit that I treated you very badly during those lessons; whatever I persuaded myself, what I was doing was not really teaching you to defend your mind, and I forced myself into some of your worst memories as well. To be honest, those memories formed a large part of my… shall we say, transformation, over the summer.” He took a deep breath. Harry was intrigued, and waited for him to continue.
“Potter… how is your arm?”
Harry was caught so off guard that for a moment he could only stare stupidly. Eventually, though, he pulled himself together enough to say, “Arm, sir?” He looked at his right arm. It had been through quite a lot. Most recently, he had got a slight sprain during Quidditch practice, but that was no great task for Madame Pomfrey, who had made more jokes at Harry’s expense. In the past though it had had worse. His second year had been particularly unkind to it, what with it being shattered by a rogue bludger, had all its bones removed by the incompetent Professor Lockheart, had them re-grown overnight by skelly-grow, and not long after had been pierced by the basilisk’s venomous fang. He looked bemusedly up at Snape. “Sorry, Professor?”
Snape sighed. “Potter… when you first arrived at this school, I imagined that you had been brought up to know whom you were, and to be proud of the fact. I convinced myself of this. I saw arrogance in you where none existed, and every time you saved the school from some dreadful fate I told myself you were showing off, playing up to your own legend.” Snape’s voice was quite frank and open. Harry was amazed.
“Last year I experienced some of your earlier childhood, Potter… some of the worst of it. At the time I ignored it, but since the death of your godfather…” Harry stiffened, not wishing to discuss Sirius with Snape. Their enmity was something he didn’t feel he could really deal with right now. Snape noticed his reaction, and his voice softened. “You should know, I regret our feud immensely. In truth I always expected us to both survive the war and be able to make amends afterwards. I also realise that, had you felt able to trust me better, he might not have died. But, I digress.
“Anyway, since that tragic event, I have found myself thinking about those memories. You never knew whom you were, and were brought up by your so-called family who treated you inexcusably badly.” Harry had never expected to get sympathy for his life before Hogwarts from this particular source, but he could now understand it. “One memory of yours I experienced remained with me in particular: an occasion when your aunt and uncle kept you locked in your cupboard for two days. You had no light, no food or water. And,” and for the first time that year Snape’s voice rose in anger, and Harry saw the familiar flashing quality he had always tried to avoid before, “you had a broken arm at the time. It was untreated. Two days, without respite, and in dreadful pain the whole time.”
Harry hung his head. That memory was one he had tried hard to bury as deeply as he could, and he had never shared it with anyone before. He felt rather ashamed of the experience: he had been so week, so unable to do anything about it.
“One thing I don’t know is how old you were at the time. Could you tell me?” Snape’s eyes were on him again, but there was compassion such as Harry had never seen before in them. When he spoke, his voice was a harsh whisper.
“About six.”
There was an intake of breath. Harry looked down again. It was odd. Snape knew something about him no one else did, except the Dursleys and, perhaps, Dumbledore… but he didn’t mind. In fact, it was a relief to him that someone else did know. Snape continued.
“I never imagined that your life had been like that, Potter, but I finally realised just how unfair I had always been to you. And, I want to apologise.”
Harry nodded wordlessly. Somehow, despite all that Snape had ever put him through… this was enough. This was good. That one apology meant more to him than any amount of ill-placed revenge would. In fact, Harry felt that he owed Snape something.
“Sir… ever since I found out I was a Wizard, people have told me how marvellous my parents were. How they were powerful and brave and kind. It was… kind of intimidating. And when I found out that you, well, that you didn’t get on with my Dad, I thought that meant that, well, that you were kind of in the wrong.” He stopped and glanced away, a bit embarrassed by the admission. Snape merely grunted in an ambiguous sort of way.
“But when I saw your memory last year… I realise I was very wrong to do it, but it is the only time in my life I’ve seen what my parents were like, and, well, when I saw them I couldn’t believe that they were who everyone had been raving about, not to mention that they ever got married, considering how much my Mum hated my Dad. I realise that they weren’t always like that, but… I feel a lot better knowing that they weren’t perfect. Frankly, I think I have enough to live up to, without perfect parents as well.”
There was silence for a time. Snape’s face was carefully blank, but Harry got the feeling he had appreciated the admission. “Was that everything, Professor?” he asked after a minute or so. Snape nodded, and Harry left, to think about what he had said.
~*~
Autumn seemed to be slipping by in a blur of lessons, Occlumency, flashing sword practice and rapidly improving ‘cello music. Outside the castle the leaves in the forest faded from their glory of colours to a dull brown and were beginning to fall from the branches, which stood out starkly against the blank grey skies that dominated the season, while the nights grew ever closer. Almost before Harry realised, it was Halloween.
This year the event fell on a Friday, which everyone agreed was a good thing: the feast in the evening would be an excellent way to finish a week of difficult lessons, and there was the weekend to enjoy after it, including an opportunity to go into Hogsmeade on the Saturday.
Harry was feeling slightly less enthusiastic. While all his endeavours to improve himself and, in some ways, to atone for whatever he had done to Ginny, were succeeding, he wasn’t any happier. He spoke with Luna often about various things: less and less about Sirius’ death, because, Harry was surprised to realise, he had almost accepted the fact. He was sad when he thought of it, but it no longer tormented him day and night. These days the bulk of their conversation was about Ginny. Harry would pour out his heart to Luna, simply because she was happy for him to do so. He would tell her about his dreams… or most of them anyway, and then about how he would feel after waking and finding that they weren’t real; he would tell her about Ginny’s cold indifference in the common room, in the DA, at Quidditch practices, and his confusion over what exactly he had done, apart from daring to fall in love with her. Sometimes Luna would give him a hug, and Harry would find himself being more comforted by those than by any amount of playing the ‘cello.
In return, he listened to Luna’s problems. These were not nearly as simple as Harry’s, since they included the worrying fear that Crumple-horned Snorcacks weren’t real, as well as various anxieties over the upcoming OWLs and, of course, her ever-increasing and completely ignored devotion to one Blaise Zabbini.
This had come as something of a surprise to Harry, who had never thought that Luna had her feet on the ground for long enough to develop those kinds of feelings for anyone, but she had fallen for Blaise and fallen hard. She had never even spoken to him, but spent much of the DA meetings secretly observing him, and almost everything about him seemed to fascinate her, but Luna felt far to shy to actually say anything to the boy, who was becoming such a central figure within the society, on a par with the other members from the previous year, apparently much to the amusement and pleasure of Draco Malfoy, and therefore to Harry Ron and Hermione’s as well. Harry, whose feelings were similarly both deep and frustrated, sympathised. Luna once laughed at how sad they were, comforting each other about their disastrous love lives.
Neither Harry nor Luna planned to go to Hogsmeade, feeling that their moods would be enough to dampen the tone for anyone they happened to be with. As Harry walked with Ron and Hermione back from the feast he was busy contemplating a day spent flying, training, playing the ‘cello and finishing a small amount of homework he still had to do.
Tonight he was enjoying the comfort of the common room fire with his friends. Most people had already gone to bed, leaving only a few sixth and seventh years. He was curled up in an armchair with Hermione on a couch nearby, looking comfortably tired. Ron had gone to get something from his room. The clattering steps on the boys’ staircase heralded his swift return, and he collapsed onto the couch next to Hermione. He was clutching his wand… and a bottle of Ogden’s old Firewhisky.
“Fancy a nightcap?” Ron asked with a mischievous smirk on his face as he quickly conjured three shot glasses. Hermione looked almost scandalised, but seemed too tired to really be bothered to get angry.
“Where did you get that?” She sounded like she was trying to be angry, but she was failing miserably.
Ron grinned. “Little birthday present from Fred and George. Apparently it’s some kind of rite of passage in our family: when anyone turns seventeen the next oldest sibling gives them a bottle of this stuff. Means, I’m gonna have to get one for Ginny, unfortunately.” He frowned for a moment, but then brightened. “Still, that’s not for another year. So, you two want to try it?”
“Sure,” Hermione said lazily. Both boys stared at her. “What?”
Ron opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so he grinned again instead. It was clear he had thought he would have to spend rather more time persuading her; after all, they WERE Prefects. He opened the bottle and poured a generous shot into each glass. They each took one and Harry stood up, and held his glass in a kind of salute.
“I’d like to make a toast,” Harry said solemnly, while the others watched him with bemused expressions on their faces. “A toast to good friends… who can be utter hypocrites when they want to be.” Ron and Hermione burst out laughing as Harry took a sip. The liquid burned in his mouth and sizzled down his throat, but it warmed his stomach in a way that no fire could. He coughed a little, but found he quite liked the drink, so he took another sip, savouring the feeling of drinking molten gold. Ron pulled himself together and was about to take a sip when he caught Harry’s eye and turned to Hermione. Harry sat down in his armchair, crossed his legs and held his glass lazily, wondering what Ron was up to.
“Ah, this is how a real man drinks it, Harry,” he said, but he was looking at Hermione, not Harry, and he could see the effect the words ‘real man’ were having on her: she looked quite annoyed. He lifted his glass and poured the contents down his throat in one go. One swallow and it was gone. Harry shook his head, not understanding how Ron could bare to waste the precious liquid. Ron winced a little but made no sound, for which Harry could only feel grudging admiration.
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, so that’s how a real man drinks it, is it Ron?” There was a very dangerous look about her and Harry would never have dared cross her when she was like this, but it seemed that even one shot was effecting at least Ron’s judgement, if not anything else.
“Yup. Only a real man can hold his drink enough to do that.”
Hermione glared at him. Harry grinned, realising she had fallen for Ron’s plan completely, as she tossed back her drink in one as well, her eyes never leaving Ron’s. She didn’t even wince, and Harry felt amazement rising in him as he continued to sip the alcohol.
“That looks like a challenge to me,” Ron said slyly. Before Hermione could object he had refilled both their glasses and downed another shot. Hermione glared dangerously, and for a moment Harry wondered if she was going to try to give Ron a detention, but she grabbed up her glass and threw back the drink as well. Harry shook his head. This could not end well.
It didn’t. The two continued taking shots, neither willing to concede defeat. Harry watched but said nothing, since the one time he said that they might want to quit while they were ahead he received two glares that could have killed a hippogriff at fifty paces. Instead he refilled his own glass once and continued to sip. After the eighth shot, when there seemed to be quite a lot of firewhisky on the table since Ron wasn’t pouring very straight, they both banged their glass down on the table and promptly fell unconscious, collapsing into each other in an almost indecent position. Harry quickly finished his drink, vanished the glasses, cleaned the table and separated his two best friends by depositing Ron on another chair before wondering what to do next. They would clearly not be waking up until morning.
Ron wasn’t going to be a problem. Levitating him up the stairs wouldn’t be a problem. The trouble was Hermione. A boy couldn’t go up the girls’ stairs. He had no way of getting her to bed. He sighed. It seemed that the only thing he could do was to let her sleep here, and then maybe wake up early, come downstairs and wake her before anyone else came downstairs. He quickly removed her shoes and took her watch off her wrist in case she hurt herself moving around. He laid her flat on the couch, put a cushion under her head and transfigured her cloak into a warm blanket to cover her. Hermione thus covered, he brandished his wand at Ron and muttered, “Mobilicorpus!” Ron’s body floated weirdly into the air and Harry, muttering to himself about being too young for this, directed his best friend in front of him up the stairs and all the way to his four-poster. Alcohol, he decided, was something to be enjoyed. Just not to be played with. Or for bating a spirited young woman.
(AN: The thing with Harry’s arm was taken straight from another fic… unashamedly, I might add. Check ‘This Means War’ by… dammit, forgotten your name, sorry sorry sorry, but it is my favourite fic of all ;)
If anyone can tell me how to use the commands in the text to use italics, I’d be really grateful. I seem to have trouble making the things stop.
About this chapter, I thought up most of the details on a two-hour bus trip and wrote it in an evening. Hoper you like it, and remember to review. If you’re lucky, you might get another one before the end of the week. —Tom)
Chapter 7: Chapter Seven: Bleak Midwinter
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: (all together now…) Every character, place name, item, activity and anything I’ve missed out belongs to JK Rowling and some very rich men in America. Oh well. I’m just nicking the ideas. I am not making any money. Unfortunately. I’m a student… I could really do with some.
Oh, and it might say extreme language… I think it might depend on your definition of ‘extreme’. I’ve played it safe.
Chapter Seven: Bleak Midwinter
All Hallows day dawned grey and foggy. And Harry woke, unfortunately, at dawn. The watch Bill had given him for birthday had a rather good alarm. It made no noise, but cast a simple waking spell on the wearer. Harry was simply awake, very suddenly. And he was cold. The fog was freezing, and the air seemed to be leaking into the castle via miniscule holes in the walls, which were so cold his hand almost stuck to them. He moaned slightly but threw on some warm clothes and hurried down the stairs.
The fire had died down to a few embers, but Harry felt jealous of Hermione, who looked incredibly warm and comfortable, curled up on the couch and wrapped in her cloak… the transfiguration had worn off after a while, since Harry had made it non-permanent. Harry sighed, walked over and gently shook her shoulder.
“Wstfgl?”
Harry raised one eyebrow. He often didn’t understand what Hermione was saying, but it was generally because he had lost interest in her latest rant. It was a new experience for her to say something so incomprehensible but so utterly normal as ‘Wstfgl’. He grinned as she yawned and abruptly clutched her head, before covering it with her cloak.
“Good morning to you too,” Harry said, smiling.
Hermione moaned. “It should not be possible to feel this much pain and not be being harmed in any way.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry said, sitting down next to her feet as she grudgingly extricated herself and winced at the weak sunlight pouring through the windows. “You should expect some pain to be connected with the destruction of so many brain cells. I would suggest a period of mourning for them.” He laughed when she glared at him, but then she collapsed a bit.
“Honestly, I have never felt so utterly horrible. Even my pride isn’t worth that.”
Harry took pity on her by conjuring a glass of water for her, which she slipped slowly, before producing the guaranteed hangover cure he had concocted the night before… who ever said that all those books she had given him had been a waste? She drank the day-glow orange, viscous liquid with purple bits floating in it looking dubious, and it was obvious from her pained expression that the sardine bones that were so vital for the potion to work were the main flavour, but she did look better afterwards.
“Thanks, Harry… I don’t think I’d forgive myself if Ron had seen me that affected.” She looked at him for a while, her eyes narrowed slightly, before speaking again. “Harry, that’s enough. You are going to tell me, this second, exactly what the problem between you and Ginny is. No more avoiding questions. I’m worried about you. All this work, all these extra things… it’s all classic self-distraction. What is wrong?”
Harry sighed. He had known this would happen eventually, but he didn’t have to like it. “Look, I don’t know what Ginny’s problem is. I’ve obviously done something terrible to her, ‘cos she seems to really hate me recently, but I have no idea what it is. Believe me, I wish I knew. I don’t like not being able to talk to her.” There. That might just be enough to throw Hermione off the scent. He had sort of answered the question, and had not said anything to incriminating about his feelings.
“If you think I’m going to believe that’s the whole problem, Harry Potter, you’re insulting my intelligence and your own.”
Bugger.
Damn.
Oh well, here goes nothing.
“I love her.” He fumed silently to himself, gazing at the dying fire, the embers the colours of Ginny’s hair… dammit dammit dammit. For a dark and all-consuming secret, a hell of a lot of people knew about his feelings. He looked at Hermione, who was grinning at him. Harry was so infuriated he couldn’t even react. He just gazed into the fire again, trying to work out what he was going to try to practice today and failing miserably. Hermione sat next to him and put her arm around his shoulders. It was oddly comforting. She was his best friend.
And she was going to give him advice.
Inevitably.
Oh… bugger.
Again.
“I’m sorry, Harry, I shouldn’t grin. Tell me about it.”
Surprisingly. Harry felt that that might help. He told her everything. He told her about his realisation over the summer, Ginny’s increasingly hostile attitude towards him, culminating with her finding the sword, the torture that Quidditch practice always was, and what he was doing in his dorm with the ‘cello. She just listened, holding him in a companionable half-hug. He finished, and the silence was broken only by a rather confused sounding bird outside the window in the greyness.
“Harry,” she said eventually, “you went to Muggle primary school, didn’t you? Did you ever do any Shakespeare while you were there?”
Harry was so startled by this that he could only gape at her for a moment before answering. “We looked at ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ in my last year, and we also went to see a production of ‘The Taming of the Shrew’. Why do you ask?”
“You never read any of his sonnets?”
Harry shrugged. “The teacher read one out for us once, so we knew what one sounded like, but I don’t remember it.”
Hermione spoke slowly and steadily. “My Mum is a big fan of Shakespeare sonnets. Knows loads of them off by heart and has an annoying tendency to recite bits at unfortunate moments. Her favourite one, though, and mine, my Dad had printed specially and framed for their tenth anniversary, and I think you might appreciate it… it’s number 116, if you’re interested.” She summoned parchment, quill and ink from a stack of her own homework on a table on the other side of the common room, and began to write. It didn’t take long, and she stood, handed the still wet parchment to Harry with a small, slightly sad smile, said “I hope it works out for you two, but… I really can’t get involved. Good luck,” and walked up the girls’ staircase where a hot shower probably awaited her. Harry didn’t really notice, though. He was staring at the parchment.
‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
Oh no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his heart may be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours or weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.'
Harry sat for a long time, reading and re-reading the poem, committing it into his memory, burning its meaning on his being, puzzling through it, teasing every nuance of reason and emotion from the words. He sat for nearly an hour. Then he leapt up, flew to his room, pulled on his cloak over his robes and grabbed up his moneybag. Then he sprinted down the stairs to the common room, which by this time had a few other people in it, and then out and down the seven floors to the great hall where he bolted some breakfast and was first in line at the doors to get ticked off on Filch’s list. Harry had a plan. Harry knew what he was going to do, and he prayed that, some day, he would be able to think about it and smile.
***
He walked quickly through the mist-bound town. The shop he was headed for was one he had never entered before, but he had noted it, and knew that if he was going to find what he was looking for anywhere, it was here.
And, to his surprise, he found exactly what he wanted at once. The three items were grouped together, seemingly a set, although they were in separate, black velvet boxes. The jeweller looked surprised to see a teenager so obviously engrossed in his wares, but said nothing. Soon, Harry was certain. He looked one more time at his purchases.
The bracelet was quite plain and unadorned, a simple band of the beautiful, reddish gold that was common to all three, and Harry suspected was mined in Wales. The metal was unbroken, using magic to make the wearer’s wrist through the metal.
The pendant was shaped, and Harry was relieved that it was so suitable. A lioness’ roaring head in red gold snarled at Harry, shining like fire against the black backing, the chain rising from behind. It opened to reveal a blank surface. A picture could be fixed there… but that wasn’t what Harry wanted it for.
The ring was almost as simple as the bracelet, but it was set with stones, a fairly large, bright ruby surrounded with tiny emerald chips. Again, perfect. Harry knew that this was right, and that even if it didn’t work, even if she hated him worse than ever afterwards, he had to do this. He paid without really noticing the cost; it didn’t matter. It was worth it.
He stopped for a moment in the Three Broomsticks to enjoy a Butterbeer in the noise and the warm with a few of his friends before hurrying back to school and Gryffindor tower to complete the next part of his plan. He needed to be alone for this, and it was still only mid-morning. He would have quite a while before the other boys came back.
He sat on his bed and took out the bracelet from its box. He picked it up, seeing the misty light from the window reflected in the fiery surface. It reminded him of her… it was perfect. Just like she was. He pulled all the books Hermione had ever given him onto the bed and flicked through them, searching for something he had read in one of them before and noticed, but had not been interested enough to remember. And there it was. The engraving spell.
He held the cool metal in his left hand and placed the tip of his wand to it. He closed his eyes and concentrated very hard on the words he wanted to engrave. When they were so clear in his mind’s eye that he felt that they would never leave him, he spoke the words of the spell he wanted.
“Scrivo Argentum.”
He opened his eyes and looked at the now warm metal, before breaking into a smile. Around the bracelet, in neat, curly script in silver, were the words ‘It is an ever fixed mark,’. That was the easy part done.
The point was that he wanted these things to be more for Ginny than just jewellery, or even jewellery with sentimental value: he wanted them to have a real, practical use. So, he laid the band on the bed and placed his wand to it again. He took a deep breath. This was going to be hard.
“Rem Protego Poterat.”
There was a flash of blue-white light and Harry collapsed onto the covers, breathing hard and feeling more drained than he had since just after Sirius’ death. Eventually he sat up and picked up the bracelet. It seemed lighter than it had, and there was an extra sheen to it that could not be explained by the light or the metal, but which made it look very… special. He grinned, albeit weakly. The spell had worked. He took a small piece of parchment and wrote, in tiny but neat handwriting that fortunately looked nothing like his own,
‘Ginny,
I realise that anonymous gifts are very suspicious, but all I can say is that, in time, you will find out about this. The bracelet is rather special. While you are wearing it, if someone casts a minor hex, jinx or curse at you, simply raise your arm and it should create a shield charm around you.
A wandering bark.’
He gave a rueful chuckle. Him, writing anonymous notes and distributing gifts. Whatever next?
***
He woke up a few hours later, just as his watch turned one o’clock. Ron had walked into the room and was pulling off his cloak. When he saw Harry he gave him a rueful smile. Harry had fallen asleep not long after writing the note. Enchanting an object is very draining, and it had been Harry’s first time. He had been exhausted, but a nap had refreshed him.
Ron looked rather embarrassed. “Er… thanks for taking care of me last night, mate,” he said, his ears glowing as pink as ever. “I reckon next time we’ll go a little easier. I’ve never felt like someone was drilling my head before.”
Harry pondered mentioning that, in fact, he had, many times: pretty much whenever his scar hurt badly it felt like that. However, he decided against it, since that would rather dampen the mood. Besides, he had questions for Ron.
“In return, can you answer a couple of questions and not ask why I asked them?”
Ron frowned at Harry, but then shrugged. “Sure. A bit of mystery never hurt me before. What do you want to know?”
“First, what’s Ginny’s proper name?” Harry felt himself blushing as he said this, but stared determinedly at Ron, whose eyebrows had risen in surprise.
“Well, it’s Guinevere, actually.”
Harry stared at him. “Er… isn’t Ginny a slightly odd short name for Guinevere?”
Ron chuckled. “My fault I’m afraid. Ginny was born not long after my first birthday, and my first word was an attempt to say her name. I could only manage ‘Ginny’.” He pronounced the word with a hard G. “The name kind of… stuck. Mum didn’t like calling her Gwen, and Ginny seemed to fit. But,” he added warningly, “don’t ever call her Guinevere to her face. The last person to say the word in her presence got a broken arm.”
Harry was shocked. “She cursed someone?”
Ron sniggered. “No, Percy was being pompous as usual, and Ginny just went berserk, kicking, punching and screaming. Never seen anything like it. She was in so much trouble. Had to stay in her room for three days, and wouldn’t let anyone come in for the whole time; she just kept muttering that… oh yeah.” Ron suddenly looked very sly, and a feeling of apprehension stole over Harry. “She was still obsessing over you then, and said that she would only let you say her name.” Ron sniggered while Harry busied himself with his shoelaces to hide his blush. “So, what was the other question?”
Harry pulled himself together and faced his friend. “Oh yeah, when’s her birthday?”
Ron chuckled yet again. “Another family joke, I’m afraid. Ginny’s a Valentine’s baby. Was that everything?” Harry nodded and they went down the stairs to the common room to meet Hermione.
***
The evening of Saturday on the following week found Harry up in his dorm again, and again lying on his bed. Downstairs there was quite a party going on, celebrating Gryffindor’s win against Slytherin in the first Quidditch match of the season. The match had been brilliant, with Gryffindor winning by 220 points to none. The massacre had shown off the sparkling new Gryffindor side perfectly, and Harry was aware that a lot of admiration was coming his way for his judgement in picking the team, but he couldn’t get excited about it much, and he didn’t want to celebrate with the others. Ginny would be there, and his presence would make her miserable, he suspected. Besides, he had a headache, and if there was anything Gryffindors did well it was throw wonderful, loud parties for their members.
Harry looked through his belongings. His Firebolt was leaning up against the wall as normal, the invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s Map were well hidden as always, under everything. He pulled ‘Flying with the Cannons onto his bed and tried to read, but the words were too familiar. He tried the photo album Hagrid had given him in his first year, but couldn’t concentrate. Eventually got out the ‘cello, tuned up and started to play. He was, he knew, progressing very fast; Dumbledore had said after hearing him at their last Occlumency session (it had been cancelled for tonight) that he was already at a very high standard, much higher than should have been possible after just two months of playing. Harry found, once again, that he didn’t care very much. Who cared if he could play? He just enjoyed it. The motions of bowing, plucking, fingering… the motions were emotions, he found, distilled and transformed into sound. It was wonderful to be able to feel everything as deeply as he needed to without having to worry about people suffering for it.
Dumbledore had leant him some music to practice. It was called ‘Suiten fur Violoncello’, by JS Bach. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. The melody rose and fell in exquisite chords, the dissonances ringing out to their wonderful resolutions. It was only as he finished that he became aware that he had an audience.
Ginny was standing in the doorway, staring at him. Her eyes were wide with surprise and some other, subtler emotion that Harry couldn’t fathom. For a moment they were frozen in their positions, she in the doorway, he on his bed with the ‘cello held firm between his knees, a silent tableau of something very strange and utterly inexplicable.
And then she was gone, down the stairs and back to the common room. Harry sighed and put away the instrument, wondering vaguely what Ginny had been doing there. Looking for Ron, probably.
***
Autumn was winter before anyone noticed. It had probably been there for weeks, but no one noticed the difference until they all woke up one morning in mid December to see the world outside a spectacular monochrome of black mountains, water and trees against the pure white of the snow and the slightly greyer tone of the midwinter sky.
The end of term was drawing nearer, and for the first time Harry was going to spend Christmas at the Burrow. There had been plans for him, Hermione, the Weaslys and even Neville and Luna, who were known targets of the Death Eaters since their participation at the department of mysteries, to spend the holidays at Grimmauld place. Harry had had quite a frank talk with Dumbledore, explaining that he just couldn’t go back there yet. And so Luna and her father were going to stay with Neville and his Grandmother, who was apparently a recent addition to the Order of the Phoenix, while Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny would be returning to the Burrow.
Harry had mixed feelings. It would be nice to see the other Weaslys, and to spend some time away from lessons and his other responsibilities, but, inevitably, he would be in closer proximity to Ginny than ever, and while she hadn’t seemed to hate him quite so much recently, he was quietly dreading the time. Oh well; after all he’d been through, he thought ruefully, you would have thought he could spend a little time with his favourite family.
Before he knew it, it was the twentieth, midwinter’s eve, the day before they left, and the last DA meeting of the year. Harry had decided to finish with some impromptu duelling practice, pitting members against each other… so long as everything remained friendly.
Harry arrived, as usual, half an hour before the sessions started, to find that Dobby had once again decorated their meeting room. The great hall was decorated with huge white streamers arching across the room. There was a gentle fall of golden confetti that vanished the moment it his the floor, and a large banner across the was above the teachers table read, ‘MERRY CHRISTMAS, DUMBELDORE’S ARMY!’ Harry laughed, shook his head, and without really thinking about it waved a hand at the tables and benches. At once they all stacked neatly at the sides of the room, and Harry grinned. He and Dumbledore had moved on to practice wandless magic, and Harry had learnt how to access it without the extreme emotions that had always caused the phenomenon before. He couldn’t yet cast very complex spells, but more basic ones, such as summoning and banishing, levitating and switching came quite easily to him. He had even managed a little basic conjuration. This was a branch of magic not normally taught at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore had shown Harry the fundamentals and he had passed those along to some senior members of the DA; Ron was proving particularly adept, much to Hermione’s chagrin.
Luna was the first to arrive. She gave Harry a vague smile before sitting at the edge to wait for the others. Harry was leaning against a wall, mentally checking everything: the warded circle he had made on the floor, twenty feet in diameter, for members to duel in, since the wards would absorb most of the spells they used and stop them harming spectators; a magic scoreboard system he had set up and would ask ‘Professor Lawhead’ to operate; and a Portkey Dumbledore had provided that would transport someone straight to the Hospital Wing if there was an emergency. He was just giving an imaginary tick to the last item when he realised that Professor McGonagall was walking in his direction. She had never been to a DA session before. Harry straightened up.
She beckoned to him and led him to the small room just off the great hall. There she turned to him. “Potter, have you been dreaming lately?”
Harry was so startled by this that it was a moment before he could answer. Even then, he was asking himself, ‘How could she have known?’
“Actually, I… I have, Professor. And they’re always pretty much the same.”
She looked at him beadily. “Go on. What do you see? Nothing of Voldemort, I hope.”
Harry shook his head. “No, I’m careful to empty my mind every night, but… every night I have this dream, and it’s really weird. It’s just this big, massive wood, all covered in snow, and I see this… this lion walking through it.” These dreams had begun to bother Harry recently, because normally if he had a recurring dream it meant something, and he wondered what such a strange vision could represent. He had been going to tell Dumbledore about it, except he thought the headmaster probably already knew.
Professor McGonagall was suddenly looking very interested. “A lion, you say?”
“Yes, but… it’s… odd, Professor. It’s all white, all over, except it’s black underneath, and I think the main is black as well. And…” He trailed off, not knowing hoe to say the next thing.
“Yes?”
Harry took a deep breath. “Its eyes are, well, just like mine. All green.”
Professor McGonagall smiled. “Well, that is to be expected. After Christmas, Potter, you are to begin some… extra classes with me. Monday evenings. Yes, I know how busy you are,” she said in response to Harry’s despairing look, “but I think you might appreciate this. After all, you might find being an animagus an… interesting addition to your oh-so humdrum life.”
She walked out of the room, still smiling. Harry was thunder-struck. An animagus? Him? But that would explain the dreams… and it might be very useful…
And McGonagall using sarcasm? Harry shook his head. Life was just too weird at the moment.
Back in the great hall most of the DA had arrived and were standing around the circle with excited looks on their faces. He had just come out of the small room when Luna appeared next to him.
“Harry, I’ve forgotten my wand, I just need to go and get it.”
“Sure, Luna.”
Harry chuckled at his friend’s absent-mindedness as he watched Luna walk through the crowd. And that was why he saw what happened next. Dobby, in his infinite wisdom, had hung a sprig of mistletoe from the lintel of the doorway, and just as Luna was leaving the room Blaise Zabbini arrived.
Harry saw Blaise catch sight of the mistletoe, and then Luna. She had obviously not noticed it, but as she was about to pass him Blaise laid a hand on her arm. Luna looked at him questioningly, but Blaise just smiled, inclined his head a little and kissed her. When he pulled away Harry could see Luna’s expression of delight mixed with abject shock. Blaise moved his head close and whispered something to her. She smiled happily and nodded before positively skipping out of the room. Blaise saw that Harry had seen this and walked over to him, looking slightly embarrassed. Harry raised an eyebrow at him, and the Slytherin muttered, “I’ve had a crush on her for bloody years. She must be as loony as they say to go out with me, though.”
Harry was very pleased for both his friends and just chuckled before calling the meeting to order. To start off the evening, he himself had a mock duel with Professor Lawhead, which proved to be very interesting. She opened with three stunners in very quick succession, the first to the head and the other two to the torso. Harry dodged all three and shot an impediment jinx at her, which she countered. Then they got more serious. Harry cast a new spell, one he had learnt in Defence class and which was his current favourite: ‘celeritus’ was an enhancement spell that made him inhumanly fast, and he dodged the stunner, the impedimenta and the relashio that were fired at him with ease. However, he was caught with an expelliarmus when someone in the crowd sneezed and upset his concentration. His wand went flying out of his hand. Lawhead smirked and walked slowly towards him, wand outstretched.
That was her mistake. Harry thrust out his hand and summoned his own wand to him as easily as if it had been in his hand. His stunner caught the teacher when she was quite close to him, before she had realised what had happened, and she went flying backwards.
“I Yield,” she said croakily, holding up a hand. “Can’t compete with a wandless user.”
The members all looked very impressed and Harry had no difficulty getting volunteers for more duels. Eleanor Darke duelled with Neville, and Neville, after stunning her after a long and evenly matched duel, gallantly offered her his hand to help her stand afterwards, which earned him a round of applause as he shook her hand, very red in the face. Quite a few people wanted to duel Ginny; she beat everyone, even Hermione when she tried. Ginny was fighting as if she didn’t care what happened to her. She was so determined and so ruthless that most of her opponents had barely formed the words of the first spell before she had them on the ground.
Hermione and Ron duelled, of course. Harry was amused by their contest: they were completely equally matched. Though both were excellent, they had equal and opposite flaws in their styles: Hermione relied on the magic too much, and disliked moving around to dodge spells. Ron, conversely, didn’t use magic enough and seemed to spend a lot of time running around, jumping, diving and trying to find the right angle to attack. After ten minutes of Hermione casting at Ron and him dodging every single one, they both fired stunners at each other, which collided in midair and rebounded on their casters, who were both knocked out at the same moment. It took a long time to stop the laughter. They came round at the same moment, stood up, grinned sheepishly, and shook hands before kissing gently.
Many people expressed the desire to see Ginny duel Harry, and when Harry caught Ginny’s eye she gave him a long, calculating look, as though working out in her mind how to beat him. Harry didn’t think he could do it. She looked incredible tonight anyway, her dark eyes flashing with triumph after the duels she had already fought. He couldn’t bring himself to fight her, so he quietly refused, and then said it was time to go back to the common rooms. People wished him a happy Christmas as they left and Harry was left alone to replace the tables.
Not quite alone. As he left the hall Ginny moved out of the shadowy corner where she had been waiting for him. Harry, his mind somehow numbed by her sudden appearance, said nothing, but kept walking, Ginny striding along next to him. Neither hurried. Their strides matched. Harry found himself thinking, ‘she’s not much shorter than me… I wonder just how far I’d have to…’ before shutting off that line of thought with a snap.
Eventually Ginny spoke. “Harry, what’s going on?”
Harry’s mind froze again. What the hell?
“What do you mean?”
“I mean with you and Luna, of course,” she said, sounding annoyed.
Harry looked at her, his eyebrows raised in confusion. “Nothing’s going on with me and Luna. We’re just friends. And pretty close, I guess.”
“’Close friends’?” Ginny didn’t sound convinced.
“Sure,” said Harry. “What did you think was going on?”
“Harry, you’ve been going out with her since the summer!”
Harry stopped short. Ginny turned back to look at him. Anger lined her face now. Harry stared at her. “No we haven’t! Luna and I have never once ‘gone out’! I don’t like her that way, and she doesn’t like me that way. We’re just friends!”
Now Ginny looked less sure. “But you were writing to her over the summer… and I’ve seen you hugging her!” Her voiced regained a bit of fire with this last.
“Actually, she was more than likely hugging me,” Harry answered. “I… well, I wrote to her, and I talked to her about Sirius and everything, and…” Harry felt terrible. Not for mentioning Sirius, but because Ginny had been so misled. She looked appalled. And with herself more than anything. He wondered vaguely why she cared so much. He continued. “I guess I thought she’d understand, since her Mum… well, you know. And a few times I suppose I got a bit upset and she gave me a friendly hug.”
“Nothing more than that?” Ginny looked suspicious. Harry put his hand on his heart.
“I swear it, Gin,” he said, mock solemnly, while secretly meaning every word. “Hell, she even confided in me the crush she has on Blaise. How could I be upset to learn he likes her? I’m happy for both of them.”
Ginny nodded, a little absently, but then her eyes hardened and she looked Harry straight in the eye. “Can you tell me yet why you have that bloody sword?” Her voice was harsh now, and venom dripped from every word. Harry hung his head.
“Not yet, Ginny.”
She turned and walked away.
Harry sighed and looked at his watch. It had just gone midnight, making it the twenty first of December. It was midwinter’s day, and when he woke up he would be going to the Burrow. There was that much to look forward to.
(AN: So there you go.
The Shakespeare quotation I copied out from my old A-level anthology. I suppose I’d better mention that… plagiarism accusations are nothing to laugh at. Although… plagiarising Shakespeare sonnets… he he he…
People have been asking when Ginny is going to come around. Please note, this story is supposed to cover two years. It includes angst in its summary. So, maybe you should be asking yourself, ‘just how long can he draw it out?’
I make no apologies for the date of Ginny’s birthday. I know what it’s like, ‘cos it’s my birthday as well. Just about the cruellest of all cruel ironies. *overly dramatic sigh*
For the record, Bach’s ‘cello suites are very difficult, I am reliably informed by my ‘cellist friend. Very nice, though: I recommend them.
Wow, there’s a lot of this, isn’t there?
Finally, I’ve always had a thing about the time just before Christmas around midwinter, ever since the first time I read ‘The Dark is Rising’ by Susan Cooper. I can recommend it: it’s utterly spectacular. And, if anyone from the States reads it, it’s also a little old fashioned. Life in Britain isn’t much like that anymore.
Please, will someone tell me how to use the damn italics command? -Tom)
Chapter 8: Chapter Eight: Holly and Mistletoe
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: I’m getting really tired of this. No, I don’t own any of his, nor do I claim to have created it. That’s all JK’s fault, blame her.
Chapter Eight: Holly and Mistletoe
Harry had to admit, the Burrow looked incredible. It always seemed warm and welcoming whenever he went there, but this was Christmas, and the house damn near shone with it. For a start, the small village of Ottery St. Catchpole was blanketed in snow, just like the rest of the country, and the house, the garden and the wood were all ice-bound and glittering like diamonds. On the door was a simple wreath of holly, but inside lights glowed, cards stood on every available surface and hung from ribbons attached to the walls. Tinsel was draped along shelves, over pictures and around the face of the family clock in the kitchen, which was wonderfully warm after the cold in the yard outside.
Mrs. Weasly had met them all from the train, greeted them with a hug and hurried them to the ministry taxis waiting to transport them home. Now Harry and Ron trooped up the stairs after Ginny and Hermione, lugging their things with them. As an extra surprise, Hermione’s parents had been sitting in the kitchen, sipping glasses of mulled wine, to tell them that they were spending Christmas there as well, which delighted Hermione no end: Harry hadn’t really thought of it before, but Hermione couldn’t get to spend that much time with her Mum and Dad, what with all the time she spent with him and Ron in the holidays.
They came down some time later carrying their presents with them to place under the tree. This was especially beautiful: rather than using traditional baubles, Mr. Weasly had enchanted many icicles to hang from the branches. They never melted, and glowed constantly with magical, inner light between the long strings of shining beads and were reflected on the mirrored star that sat right at the top, shedding light into the room. There were already quite a few presents under the tree, and Harry, who had never really celebrated Christmas with a family before, felt warm when he looked at the picture of the small pine shining brightly in the corner of the living room with the many parcels grouped at it’s stump: it was the sort of Christmas he’d always dreamed of.
After dinner, which was excellent and noisy, since the twins joined them for the meal, Harry collapsed onto his usual camp bed in Ron’s room and fell asleep almost immediately. Once again he dreamed of the black and white lion with the green eyes pacing through the snow-covered landscape. He woke early, the winter dawn shining on his face and warming him. He lay in bed for quite a long time, thinking.
Could that lion really be him? Some deep-seated image of himself? It was hard to believe, and yet… it seemed to make sense. And, after all, McGonagall believed it. He wondered what kind of training he would need. Sighing, he shook his head. There was no point worrying about that too much: that was for the future. Right now… right now, he wanted to play the ‘cello, which he had brought with him, shrunken into his robes pocket. He glanced over at Ron, who was, as usual, snoring fairly loudly. Ron might be a deep sleeper, but even he couldn’t fail to be woken by the noise of a ‘cello played right next to him. Harry threw on some clean clothes, took the ‘cello case from his robes pocket and walked down the stairs to the living room.
Sunlight had not reached the curtained windows, meaning that the tree was the only source of light in the shadowy room. The beauty of the thing stole Harry’s breath away: light shone from it and through it, throwing spectrums over the walls like some incredibly complex special effects machine. Harry sat in the warm room, the now normal sized ‘cello between his knees, and began to play the Bach again. He no longer needed the music: his hands and arms reacted to memory and foreknowledge, a certainty that this note must go here, and that note there… his eyes closed as he played on, forgetting in his conscious mind that he was playing at all, listening instead to someone else playing the arpeggios that drizzled like honey over the strings.
He opened his eyes. Once again, Ginny was looking at him, but this time she didn’t leave. She walked from the bottom of the stairs towards him and sat cross-legged in an over-stuffed armchair, watching him as he played on, never missing a beat. The music built towards its climax, rising in a crescendo to a volume so strident that Harry wondered absently whether it would wake the entire household, but he never stopped. His hands moved without instruction, his eyes locked onto the warm brown pools of Ginny’s eyes.
He finished the piece, but did not look away. Ginny did, however, and looked instead at the Christmas tree.
“It’s beautiful.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, and Harry seemed to feel it rather than hear it.
“Yes, it is,” he replied, not looking at it. Abruptly he came to himself and looked away, slightly embarrassed. “Your Dad really knows how to decorate a tree, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does.” She turned to him, with a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “But I was talking about the music. How long have you been playing?”
Harry was taken aback, but replied as best he could. “Well, Dumbledore leant it to me the week after term started, so… that long, I suppose,” he finished lamely. Ginny looked at him with incredulity, then smiled slightly and shook her head.
“I should have known. Yet another talent of the Boy-Who-Lived.”
Harry was slightly hurt by the words. She knew how much he disliked all that rubbish that people said about him being some kind of hero. She more than any other, he realised, knew just how flawed he was. He stared into an icicle for a time.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. But, you must know what everyone’s been saying about you this year.” He turned to her, his eyes raised, and shook his head. He wasn’t really in the loop as far as gossip was concerned. She chuckled. “Well, all the teachers are holding you up as an example of a model student. Even Snape.” Harry snorted. Snape not actively hating him was one thing, but complimenting him in front of others? “It’s true,” she said, and she sounded sincere. “On top of that you’re running the largest and most successful club the school has ever seen, you’re winning the Quidditch with a team of amateurs, with a little help,” she added, definitely grinning now as Harry frowned at her. He was not at all convinced of his leadership qualities, at least as far as Quidditch was concerned. The team selection had been a pretty straightforward process of elimination that anyone could follow if they were observant enough, and he never seemed, at least to himself, to do anything other than give vague suggestions to the other players: he felt he couldn’t really comment on positions he didn’t play. A little encouragement was the best he felt he could do.
“And now,” Ginny continued, “you’re secretly a musical genius who’s all but mastered an instrument in under three months. You’ve got to admit, you’re quite a busy guy, Harry.”
Harry laughed despite himself. When she put it like that he could see her point. It was ironic, though, since she herself was the motivation for pretty much all his activities. He suddenly decided to take a little risk. She was being quite friendly right now, and he wanted to clear the air, at least a little.
“Ginny, I owe you an apology. One hell of an apology, in fact.”
She raised one elegant red eyebrow, but said nothing.
“I was… so incredibly wrong, not to tell you about the sword.” He didn’t look at her, wanting to finish speaking before he saw the damage. “I thought it would upset you that I had it, and was using it, and I suppose I was right, but I knew you would have to know eventually, and I was wrong to keep it from you, especially when I told Ron and Hermione, and your parents. I should have included you, and I can’t apologise enough for not doing that.” He took a deep breath. “I know this doesn’t make it any better, but I haven’t told anyone about why I’m using it. I’m just… not ready for that. Dumbledore knows, but then he sent the sword to me. And when I am ready, I promise I’ll tell you first.” He glanced up nervously, expecting a look of anger and disappointment. Instead Ginny looked appraising. Finally she spoke.
“I am angry about it, Harry. I thought we were better friends than that. It’s like you couldn’t trust me. But, I understand why you did it. It may not have been right but… you were probably right when you said it would upset me.” She paused, seemingly to collect her thoughts. “I still haven’t come to terms with my first year, Harry.” Her tone was different to any Harry had ever heard from her. She sounded tired and weak… defeated, almost. He was concerned, and decided to take another risk. Laying the ‘cello to one side he sat on the arm of her chair and laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch away, he relaxed slightly, hoping to communicate some comfort to her. She continued.
“That year was my first time away from home. It was all so new, all so big… and Tom was so nice.” An edge of bitterness entered her voice. “He was comforting and caring and… he was always there. And then I realised what was going on. He was using me, possessing me, forcing me to do things against my will. Since then, it’s… it’s been hard for me to trust anyone. It’s been harder since Michael left me for Cho. And now Dean too…”
Harry almost jumped. Dean had left her? No one had told him, he’d had no idea. She looked at him sadly, taking in his expression of surprise, and gave a small, sorrowful smile. “You didn’t know? I’m surprised, considering you and him sleep in the same room. Maybe no one wanted to disturb you. You have been a little… driven, recently. It hasn’t made you the most approachable of people.” Harry was appalled. He had been so wrapped up in himself, in his own problems and difficulties, that he hadn’t noticed what was going on around him. “Dean seems to think that I’m too busy for him, maybe a little too volatile as well. That and, of course, he likes Parvati more than me.” She shrugged.
“Anyway, what I’m trying to say, Harry, is… I kind of felt you betrayed my trust too.”
Harry was amazed. Ginny was actually looking nervous.
“At the time, it felt like you were dismissing all we’d been through… the DA, the department of mysteries… even the Chamber.” She swallowed. “But, I know you better than that. That’s not something you would do. After I heard you playing, up in your dormitory that time… I realised that there was a reason, there was an explanation, and that you would give it to me when you were ready.” She shrugged again. “I trust you Harry. I could never not trust you, not after the first time you saved my life, when you were actually willing to die to save me. I trusted you with my life, I still would, and with everyone else’s, because I know that you’ll never fail, and that you’ll never stop trying.”
She stopped, looking a little embarrassed. As she set the fire to rights Harry could see a faint pinkish tinge creeping across her face. She really believed in him that much?
He hoped as he never had before that he was worthy of that kind of friendship.
“Thanks, Gin,” he said quietly. “Thanks for understanding, and thanks for trusting me. It means a lot. And, I’m sorry about Dean.”
She snorted. “Actually, I made that up originally, just to annoy Ron. The letter I got from him, the day you arrived at the Burrow, was his reply to the one I sent him asking if he’d play along, since it might keep Ron out of my hair. I suppose at some point in the term we just… forgot we were pretending.” She smiled at Harry. “I’m going to make some coffee… see you,” she said, and left the room, leaving Harry feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
***
Harry moved through the next through days with a kind of cautious joy. He did not want to read too much into his conversation, since it was probably nothing more than her wanting to clear the air between them as much as he had. Accordingly, he tried to be friendly to her, but not overly so. After all, she had just broken up from a relationship: she didn’t need to feel that kind of attention again just yet. Besides, she was over him. That was undeniable fact.
That day and the next were spent in a massive snow campaign, a war of attrition, with everyone welcome and every man… or woman, of course… for themselves. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione went out both mornings, did furious battle until lunch, came back in to eat with faces red from the cold and eyes bright from the laughter and fun they were having, before returning to the fray until it became too dark to aim, when they would return, exhausted but exultant, to a well-deserved dinner. Both nights the twins came around and joined the last hour or so of snowball fights before the meal, adding an element of danger to the otherwise safe proceedings. Not that they were gentle with each other, but only the twins would charm snowballs to become the wintry equivalent of guided missiles.
Christmas eve, though, was a little different. Bill and Charlie both arrived home early in the morning and were greeted enthusiastically by everyone. Mr. Weasly finally had some time off: Christmas eve, Christmas day and Boxing Days were always minimal-maintenance at the Ministry of Magic, with the only staff in attendance those required for emergencies: a few aurors, some accidental magic operatives and a handful of others. Harry didn’t like to say anything, but this annual festivity made him nervous. Surely, they could not relax their efforts against Voldemort, just because it was Christmas?
Regardless, it was a very good morning. The Burrow was alive with talk and laughter, and Harry’s earlier apprehension was replaced by the pleasant, tranquil anticipation of Christmas day. In the afternoon of Christmas eve, Harry learned, the Weaslys kept a little tradition of an open-house time, when friends from the surrounding area could drop in for a chat, a glass of mulled wine and a mince pie. Harry was surprised by how many people came through the rapidly darkening winter afternoon. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory came for a short time and, though Harry felt awkward at first, thinking of Cedric, they smiled gently at him, and though they said nothing Harry felt himself relax; they didn’t bear him any ill-will. Other people too; Harry was introduced to a lot of people, all of whom wished him a Merry Christmas and then sat in the living room, discussing the attacks that had occurred recently. Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Ron were kept busy opening the door, pouring drinks and offering plates of Mrs. Weasly’s delicious mince pies around. Just as it was getting dark there was another knock at the door. Harry answered, since everyone else was in the middle of something. The man standing outside was tall, with thick blond hair that seemed somewhat wind-swept. His face had a kind of manic energy about it, and there was something very slightly larger than life about him. Harry flashed his best welcoming smile.
“Hello, Merry Christmas!”
“And a Merry Christmas to you too, young man,” the man said. His voice had the same weird energy that was visible in his whole body. “I don’t think we’ve met: I’m Stanley Lovegood. I live not far from here.”
Warning bells went off in Harry’s mind. His hand rested near his wand. He tried to keep his voice friendly and casual. “Oh, are you Luna’s Dad? Luna Lovegood? I’m a friend of hers… Harry Potter.”
Mr. Lovegood’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have recognised you: a pleasure to meet you, Harry, Luna’s told me so much about you.” They shook hands over the threshold. Harry was pleased to note that his voice was still calm and ordinary sounding when he next spoke.
“I thought you and Luna were staying with Madame Bones and her family this Christmas? Luna mentioned something about it.”
Mr. Lovegood smiled. In the half-light Harry was having trouble reading the expressions on his face. He gazed into the man’s eyes. “Indeed we are, but I thought I’d drop in briefly and say hello to the Weaslys. May I come in?”
Harry knew for certain now. He raised his wand and held it to the man’s head before he could move. Without removing his gaze from the man’s eyes he said, “No, you may not, since you are not Mr. Lovegood. In fact, you’re not even really here. Mr. Weasly!” he called, hoping that someone would come. “Anyone!”
The usurper’s smile was gone. He looked livid. He pulled out a wand. “Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean I can’t do magic, Potter, and it does mean that you can’t harm me.” For a second Harry saw a glint of red in the man’s eyes. It was Voldemort, but he was nowhere near the Burrow. This was a simulacrum, a magical illusion they had learned about in Defence classes with Tonks: an image of a person that could perform the magic of the caster and was completely controlled by them. Harry had been able to see through the tick because his Legilimency should have at least revealed that there were some thoughts behind the eyes, and there had been nothing. Mr. Lovegood was safe and well with Luna, Neville and Mrs. Longbottom. The simulacrum raised a wand.
“Stanley! What are you doing here? What’s going on?” Arthur Weasly stood behind Harry, looking between Harry and the fake Mr. Lovegood with bewilderment.
“This isn’t Mr. Lovegood, Mr. Weasly,” Harry said quickly, his eyes never leaving the ones before him. “It’s a simulacrum, and Voldemort’s controlling it.”
Mr Weasly gasped and drew Harry back a little, until they were both firmly inside the house, leaving the image outside. It snarled and stalked forward, but as it was about to cross the threshold, it was brought up sharp by some unseen force, as if it had stumbled into an invisible wall. It howled with rage, trying to claw it’s way through the empty air, but it could not cross the doorway.
The figure was fading. Harry could now see a suggestion of trees and bushes through him. The magic was coming to an end. With a look of desperation on its face the simulacrum pointed its wand at Harry’s head.
“Legilimens!” is screamed.
Harry’s mind came under an attack such as he had never known. It felt like someone was trying to prise his brain open with about a hundred crowbars, all at the same time. He clutched his head, willing his mental defences to hold against the onslaught, but he felt his control slipping. Any moment now…
He thrust out his wand. He had never heard the words he spoke before, but they were there, on his lips before he knew what was happening. “Protego Anima!”
And suddenly his defences were reinforced, a hundred times more powerful, strengthened by a shield charm that surrounded his inner being, his thoughts, his fears, his hopes and his dreams. They thrust back the attack Voldemort was making with incredible ease; so much so that the illusionary figure was flung back, into the snowy yard. He disappeared before he hit the ground.
Harry slumped against the doorpost, and immediately a crowd of people were supporting him, bringing him into the warm living room and sitting him in an armchair. He closed his eyes. His mind was in turmoil after the assault, and he needed time to recover. A stray thought crossed his mind.
“Why couldn’t he get in?” His voice sounded weak and tired, but it was loud enough to be heard. A soft voice answered him. Ginny. She was kneeling beside him, holding his hand. Warmth seemed to flow into his body, which he suddenly realised was cold.
“People always forget why they hang holly on their doors. Holly is a very strong protector: hung on thresholds like doors and windows, it can repel evil intentions.” A hot glass was pressed into his hands and he took a sip, grateful for the warming liquid. Ginny spoke again. “Your wand’s made of Holly, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Harry didn’t think he could say more. Holly, eh? Maybe his wand was even more special than he thought. Something occurred to him, a random idea caused by his unstable thinking, no doubt. “What’s your wand made of, Ginny?”
Ginny sighed. “I never had a wand fitted for myself. I use my grandfather’s. That one’s apple wood with Unicorn tail hair.”
Harry decided something. “Ginny, how about I get you a wand of your own for Christmas? I haven’t got you a gift yet.” This, of course, was a lie, but Harry felt it was an excusable one. He opened his eyes. Ginny was looking at him in amazement. There was no one else in the room: he supposed that they were making sure the house was all right.
“Would you really, Harry?” Her voice sounded slightly breathless, as though she couldn’t believe her ears.
“Sure.” Harry smiled at her. “We won’t be able to get it for tomorrow, but if you like we might be able to go up to Diagon Alley the day after.”
“Oh, Harry that would be wonderful!” She gave him a brief, tight hug and went to get something from another room. By the time she returned with a blanket, Harry was asleep in the armchair. She tucked the blanket round him, smiling a little.
***
Harry awoke to voices talking over him.
“Honestly, Albus, if Harry hadn’t spotted him for what he was we might all be dead now. As it is, Harry’s…”
“Awake,” Harry mumbled, sitting up and opening his eyes. The room was warm and dark, and he guessed the night was quite advanced. His stomach grumbled: he had missed dinner. Ginny, Mr. Weasly and Professor Dumbledore were sitting close by, and all looked at him with smiles on their faces that he was in relatively good humour. “Do you need to know anything from me Professor? I’d really like to go to bed.” He assumed that the Weaslys would have told the headmaster as much as they could.
“Just one thing, Harry. Dumbledore smiled as Ginny passed him a plate with some bread and cheese on it that had no doubt been prepared for him to eat before going upstairs. “What was the spell you used to stop Voldemort attacking you?”
Harry paused, trying to remember. He recalled the feeling of the spell entering his mind, already fully formed, with just the need to be spoken aloud. “Well, the words were ‘Protego Anima’. It made a shield charm, but… it was particularly shielding my thoughts.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t know how I thought of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a mental shield charm before.”
“No one has,” Dumbledore said mildly, though his twinkling blue eyes were alive with interest. “That spell has never been spoken before, the idea never even conceived. Normally an entirely new spell takes months of work by skilled Arithmancers to create; instantaneous creation of spells is incredibly rare.” He shook his head. “We live and learn, Harry. And just when I think you’ve surprised me enough with channelling magic in a way never before seen to become so adept at playing the ’cello at such incredible speed, you spring this on me.” He grinned and gave Harry a subtle wink. “I look forward to your next surprise. Now, though, I think it is time you slept some more.”
“Just one thing, Albus,” Mr. Weasly cut in. “Why did Voldemort use that spell on Harry, rather than trying to harm him in a more… practical way?”
Dumbledore looked at Harry, who answered. “Because, Voldemort is more interested in getting at information in my mind than he is in killing me. I know some things… maybe two things in particular… which he doesn’t know, and he wants to know a great deal because they might take away the only advantage we really have.” Harry shrugged. “It’s not all that comforting, to be perfectly honest.” Mr. Weasly frowned, cogitating, but Dumbledore smiled.
“Eloquently put, Harry. You really must be a wonderful teacher.” Ginny grinned broadly at this, while Harry blushed. “Speaking of which, I really must have a word with you about that. Come to my office, at, say, seven thirty the night you get back?”
Harry nodded and stood up. Dumbledore rose as well, and shook Harry’s hand before leaving the house. “Merry Christmas, all of you,” he said, and was gone into the dark and cold.
***
Christmas morning passed in a whirl of light, colour, sound and excitement. Harry woke up relatively late due to his ordeal the day before, and all but fell down the stairs into a sea of excited redheads. The twins, Percy, Charlie and Bill were all there along with their parents, Ron, Hermione and Ginny and all were feverishly opening presents. Harry felt bemused as he was accosted by Mrs. Weasly pressing some breakfast on him on one side, Hermione on the other trying to give him a present and Ron in front of him trying desperately to thank him for the gift Harry had given him, a biography of the keeper of the Chudley Cannons.
He was rescued by Mr. Weasly who sat Harry down in an armchair, gave him his breakfast, and told everyone to leave him alone until he was finished. Harry sat, grateful for the quiet, and watched as present after present was revealed. Harry joined in once he had finished eating, and was delighted by what he had got, which included a brand new Weasly jumper, a copy of ‘What Passes Unseen: a guide to magical stealth techniques’ and even some wax for his bow from Hermione. The best present he got, though, was the one he opened last, since it had become lost in amongst the wrapping paper. The parcel was very small and square in shape. The label read, ‘Merry Christmas, Harry, from Ginny’, followed by a little smiley face. Curiously he opened it and found a small, black box made of some velvety material that reminded Harry of the box of his ring, hidden deep within his trunk. He opened the box carefully and stared at what was inside with amazement.
A miniature copy of his sword, Godric Gryffindor’s sword, winked up at him, perfect in every detail, sparkling silver and red, from the deep black backing. He picked up the small, delicate thing, shorter than a matchstick in length, and found that it was actually a brooch that could be pinned onto normal clothes or robes. It was amazing: Ginny had sent him this, when the real thing affected her so badly. He looked up at her, incredulous. She was looking carefully at him, and as their eyes met she gave him a very small smile, unnoticed by anyone else.
Harry knew with a deep certainty at that moment that he was forgiven, completely and utterly, even though she knew he was keeping something from her, from everyone who cared about him. He was stunned by the amazing faith she was showing for him. Without a word he pinned it to the front of his jumper, and said simply, “Thanks, Ginny,” hoping that she would understand just what he was thanking her for. He thought from her expression and small nod that she did.
The next time Harry looked at his watch he saw that it was already nearly two o’clock. As if on cue, Mrs. Weasly emerged from the kitchen, where she had gone a few minutes ago, and announced that Christmas dinner was ready, and was answered by wild applause from her family and friends. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Harry was pleased to note, seemed to be having the time of their lives at the Burrow, marvelling at each new magical item or spell: Mrs. Granger was expressing a wish that she could use magic to make housework easier.
The food was delicious, and the whole meal was very different from any other Christmas dinner Harry had ever had. Everyone was laughing and talking, while Christmas dinners at Privet Drive had been pretty much silent apart from the sound of munching, and at Hogwarts everything was a little restrained by the unusual emptiness of the massive great hall. After dinner, Harry took his presents upstairs. While in Ron’s room he took off his new badge, sat on the camp bed and gazed at it.
What could it mean? He and Ginny had only had the conversation about this a couple of days ago, and he knew that she hadn’t been shopping in that time. Had she bought this for him already? Or had she made it somehow? Somehow Harry suspected the second option: it was such a personalised thing. He breathed deeply. He had, he knew, forgotten to some extent over the past months, why precisely he loved her. He had been so wrapped up in the fact that he had forgotten to examine the cause, the reason. But this was all part of the person Ginny was: she was the nervous, scared and sad little girl Harry had known in his second year, but she was just as much the stubborn, cheeky and mischievous firecracker he had come to know and respect the previous year, despite being too thick to realise that she had changed. And now, she was also a friend and confidant, a comforter and a challenger. She was so many people, all at once, and they were all Ginny. And he loved every single one. He gripped the badge in his hand, pinned it back on his jumper and headed back downstairs.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, and she was there at the bottom. She made to pass him with a smile, but her expression froze, stuck on a point above Harry’s head. Time seemed to slow down for a moment as Harry took in the scene. Ginny standing right next to him, looking confused and nervous and angry all at once, a sizeable number of people watching from the living room across the hall… and, of course, that damn stupid sprig of mistletoe attached to the ceiling above him.
His mind was oddly calm as he appraised the situation. ‘Let’s see, can’t just ignore this, because everyone will notice and Ginny will be mad at me. Can’t really kiss her, because everyone will notice and Ginny will be mad at me…
‘Hmm. Tricky.’ So, he did the only thing he could think of. He inclined his head and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. He wasn’t really thinking about it much, but he still tried to make the kiss friendly… possibly just slightly more than friendly, he admitted later to himself… but certainly not anything inappropriate. His thoughts were all a bit screwed up, in fact, because mostly he couldn’t stop thinking for the whole second just how soft the skin of her cheek felt against his lips.
He pulled away, reluctantly, but thought that he hadn’t kept it up too long, and looked at Ginny, who was looking at him with an expression of vaguely pleased surprise. He smiled at her. “Merry Christmas, Ginny,” he said softly, before walking through the kitchen to the back door, and then out into the white world beyond, to try and remember every detail of the moment.
No one mentioned the incident when he came back, which he guessed meant that they hadn’t paid it much attention, for which he was glad. Ginny was looking slightly worried about something, and Harry spent most of the rest of the day trying to figure out what it might be. He didn’t know until they were all sitting down to a late Christmas supper before bedtime. Ginny sat next to him.
“Harry… you know yesterday… and we were talking about my wand?”
Harry nodded.
“Did you mean what you said?” she blurted, her expression pleading as he had never seen it before. At least, not turned towards him; he might have seen it focused on Mrs. Weasly. The puppy-dog eyes would have been enough to melt his resolve even if there had been a need.
Harry nearly laughed with relief, but didn’t, which was probably just as well, since it would have sounded a bit strange. Ginny had been worrying that he hadn’t been in his right mind when he’d made his offer to her the night before, or else that he had changed his mind. He smiled at her.
“Yes, I really meant it. In fact,” he turned his head and addressed Mrs. Weasly. “Mrs. Weasly, would it be possible to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow?”
Mrs. Weasly looked slightly surprised, but then smiled at him. “Yes, I suppose so, although you’re not to go on your own… I have some shopping to do, so you can come with me, that way you won’t have to spend all day trudging after me,” she said with a shrewd smile. Harry nodded, happy. “Does anyone else want to go?” Mrs. Weasly inquired.
“I need Ginny to help me with something,” Harry said quickly, shooting her a quick smile, and Ginny nodded happily.
“Actually, I wouldn’t mind coming,” Ron announced. He grinned at the twins. “I haven’t actually seen ‘Weaslys’ Wizard Wheezes’ yet. Want to come with me, Hermione?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
This was better than Harry had hoped for. Ron and Hermione would lessen attention to himself and Ginny, but they wouldn’t disturb them either. Harry went to bed that night very much looking forward to the next day.
Shortly after he had retired, though, he heard a quiet conversation in Ginny’s room, which she was sharing with Hermione, just across the hallway.
“Who left a present on your bed?”
“Dunno. There’s no label… let’s see what it is.” Some rustling. “A jewellery box?” A pause.
Two gasps.
“Oh, wow… it’s so beautiful!” Harry’s heart was beating wildly fast. What on earth was going to happen? He had been expecting this, but had no idea what reaction to anticipate.
“Look, Ginny, there’s a note… what does it say?”
Silence, and then: “ ‘a wandering bark’? What the hell does that mean?”
Harry’s insides froze. Hermione. She would know, now, exactly what was going on. And she would tell, Ginny. That would be the sensible thing to do.
There was silence for quite a while, and then Hermione’s voice. “Ginny… I know who this is from, but it’s a secret, I was made to swear not to say anything. Except, I suppose, that you can trust the person. This is quite a gift if it’s enchanted, you know. I’m sure you’ll know the truth soon. I need some sleep, Ginny.”
Harry got the impression that Hermione was trying to avoid more questioning; at any rate, he heard no more from the room, and soon fell into a fitful doze, wondering what Ginny was thinking.
(AN: I’m told I do need to apologise for not only the date of Ginny’s birthday but also her name, both of which I apparently got wrong in my last chapter. My only defence is that I didn’t know about this website that apparently has the official information. Both pieces of information have relevance, so I’m afraid I’m keeping them.
About the thing with Harry learning to play the ‘cello that well in such a short space of time… I think a little realistic license is allowed where Harry is concerned. I know that attributing anomalies like this to magic is the coward’s way out, but it seems slightly more excusable in a story about Wizards and Witches :-)
Funnily enough, I didn’t make up the thing about Holly being to protect. It’s a very, very old tradition or custom, dating back to Celtic superstitions, and since Harry Potter makes quite a lot of use of those from time to time I thought using another one might be fair enough.
Let’s see… anima is a Latin word, as you might have guessed, and it’s very difficult to translate, but it means something between ‘mind’ and ‘soul’, which seemed the perfect wording for the mental shield charm.
Lastly, I am much too good to you. This is the second chapter I’ve posted in just a few days, and I said I wasn’t going to post at all over Christmas. Make no mistake; there will likely be more. Maybe… Christmas Eve? Bearing in mind, I’m working all day at my local hospital Monday to Thursday, so cut me some slack if I’m late, OK? In case I don’t update before the special day,
Merry Christmas, to everyone on SIYE! -Tom)
Chapter 9: Chapter Nine: Revelation
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: I am not JK Rowling, as anyone who knows me will confirm, and I don’t pretend to have come up with any of this stuff. Only the plot is mine.
Chapter Nine: Revelation
Harry had never seen Diagon Alley like this before. The street, like the rest of the country, was covered in thick snow. There weren’t many people out on this cold Boxing Day, and Harry and Ginny walked as quickly as they could to Ollivander’s, the wand maker’s shop. They held their cloaks tight around them, wincing at each fresh gust of the bitterly cold wind, speaking little but not awkward in their silence: it was something Harry found wonderful about their friendship, that each could enjoy just the presence of the other without the need for mindless chatter. For someone as naturally reticent as Harry, it came as a pleasant relief.
Even so, there were still things puzzling him about Ginny. He remembered again the first time she had looked at him with an unpleasant expression: it had been the day he had arrived at the Burrow, when they had both received owls, both assuming that they were from their significant others. That had been long before Ginny found the sword. Why had she been so angry with him then? It wasn’t making any sense to him. He felt a nudge on his arm and saw Ginny smiling at him, bringing him out of his sober reflection. Whatever it was, he was just glad that he could call Ginny his friend again, something he had almost given up hope on. He smiled back as they approached their destination.
The shop seemed beautifully warm after the chill of the world outside, and Harry took a deep breath, remembering the smell of the shop. He had only been here once before, when he had got his own wand, but he remembered that very clearly indeed. The smell in particular was very familiar: dust and polish, and the faint smell of pine and resin from the wands being worked on at this moment. This time, Mr. Ollivander was standing behind the counter and looked up from his ledger immediately when the two of them came in.
“Ah, Mr. Potter! How delightful to see you again!” His voice was as tired, old and quiet as ever, but there was real warmth and sincerity in his eyes. “I hope your wand is in good working condition… although, Professor Dumbledore has informed me that you are practicing wandless magic.” He raised an eyebrow, and Harry blushed slightly; he thought it distinctly possible that Mr. Ollivander didn’t approve of wandless magic. Ginny grinned at him.
“Ah, and this must be the youngest of the Weaslys… the seventh, I believe?” Ginny nodded, smiling and shaking the hand Mr. Ollivander had proffered to her. “Delighted, my dear… it is rare enough to see a female Weasly after all. I was wondering when you’d finally get round to visiting my little shop. All of your brothers have come and gone, but I always wondered when you would arrive…” His voice trailed off into nothing, and Ginny’s smile faltered slightly. Harry decided to break the silence.
Well, you seem to have realised the reason behind our visit, Mr. Ollivander,” Harry said quietly. “Ginny’s rather in need of a wand of her own, and there’s nowhere better for wands.”
Mr. Ollivander smiled; in fact, he almost smirked. “Flattery will get you many things, Mr. Potter… but I’m afraid a discount is not one of them.” Ginny laughed aloud at this, dispelling the tensions, and Harry chuckled ruefully as the aged wand maker began taking Ginny’s measurements. After that came trial after trial, wand after wand… Harry was again strongly reminded of his own wand fitting. However, this seemed to be taking even longer than last time, and Mr. Ollivander was beginning to look puzzled. He stood amidst piles of discarded boxes, looking thoughtfully at Ginny as though at a harder than usual challenge. She, for her part, was looking embarrassed for being so awkward.
Mr Ollivander turned abruptly and went into a back room before returning to them carrying a wand wrapped in a length of velvet. “This is a somewhat unusual wand, Miss Weasly… give it a try, all the same.” Ginny dutifully took the wand, and Harry could see the difference straight away. There wasn’t anything in particular, except, perhaps, the way she was standing and holding herself. She gave the wand a swish and red and gold sparks leapt from the end and danced in the air before them before disappearing from view. Mr. Ollivander’s eyes were wide.
It was Ginny who spoke first.
“Mr. Ollivander… sir, why is this wand so unusual?”
Mr. Ollivander blinked, and seemed to come back to himself. He began to put the discarded wands back in their shelves, giving all a brief polish before replacing them. “When I first apprenticed to be a wand maker, my dear, I had grand ideas. I was going to revolutionise the whole craft.” He gave a small, self-depreciating chuckle. “I was young and arrogant, but as soon as I’d learnt the craft as well as I could, I made that wand… which means it is very old, my dear, so treat it well,” he admonished. She nodded, and he continued to speak. “At the time, I did not know why wand makers limited themselves as to the cores they used for their wands. This wand… twelve inches exactly, Rowan wood, which was unusual too, surprisingly quick… containing one of each of the cores I use today. A Unicorn tail hair, a Dragon heartstring and a Phoenix tail feather.” He looked at Ginny closely, scrutinising her. “No one has ever used that wand. No one could get it to work even the simplest of spells. Many people said that it was too confused, that the essences of more than one animal could not coexist inside a working wand, and I agreed with them… until now.”
Ginny was looking at him with surprise and some apprehension evident on her face. Harry thought. Was it so unlikely? Ginny was, he knew, a very powerful witch, and he was beginning to suspect that she was much more powerful than she had ever let on, even to her family. He decided that reserving judgement was probably the best course of action. Mr. Ollivander spoke again. “I will be very interested to see what this means, Miss Weasly. I shall keep my ears open.”
“Ginny, will you wait for me outside?” Harry asked her, taking the wand. She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion replacing the pensive attitude it had worn moments before.
“Why?”
He grinned at her. “Because I need to pay for it, and you’re not supposed to know how much a gift given to you costs. Go on, I won’t be long.”
She smiled at him and went out into the snow. Harry approached the counter, and Mr. Ollivander replaced the velvet around the wand, placed it in a box and put that in a bag, which he handed to Harry. “Five Galleons, two Sickles please, Mr. Potter.” Harry handed over the money. “She must be an extraordinary person to suit that wand so well, Mr. Potter. You must be very lucky to have her for a friend.”
Harry was very surprised by this statement, but managed to say, “Yeah, she’s amazing,” very quietly before leaving the shop. He handed the bag to Ginny and they began to wander in the general direction of Weaslys’ Wizard Wheezes.
Finally Ginny spoke. “Harry… what does it all mean? Mr. Ollivander’s wand? Three cores? I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, Gin,” Harry replied, “but you’ll know one day, I’m sure of that.” He was silent for a while, then said, “How would you like to know something I’ve never told anyone, not even Ron and Hermione? Only Dumbledore knows this.” She looked interested. “The core of my wand is a tail feather from a Phoenix… you probably know that.” She nodded. “What no one knows is that the Phoenix who donated the feather was Fawkes. I guess you’ve seen Fawkes before?” She nodded again. “Well, he gave only one other tail feather, which also went into a wand. That wand belongs to Tom Riddle.”
Ginny stopped dead. She stared at Harry. “And do you know what that means?” she asked, slightly breathlessly. Harry shrugged.
“I don’t know a reason why, if that’s what you mean. Dumbledore has said before that I probably got some of Riddle’s powers when he tried to kill me.” Harry tried to remember when he’d started thinking of Voldemort as Tom Riddle. Ginny must have been having an effect on him. “But, the link has proved useful. It’s the reason I survived Tom’s rebirth.” Now Ginny looked confused, and Harry hastened to explain. “Two wands sharing cores don’t work properly against each other. When we duelled, my wand and his… linked, I guess, and mine forced his to repeat spells it had cast… you’ve seen priori incantatem before, right?”
“Yeah, once,” said Ginny, frowning.
“Well, it made… shadows of the people Voldemort had killed, going back to before he disappeared.” It was becoming harder for Harry to continue: this was really personal stuff, and brought back painful memories, but it was important that he tell Ginny too. Whatever it was between them, he didn’t want to have any secrets between them: he needed her to know that he trusted her utterly. “So, I saw Cedric… his shadow asked me to bring his body back. Then there was an old man I didn’t know, I think Dumbledore said he was a Muggle who went missing, and Bertha Jorkins from the Ministry… and…” He gulped. “And my Mum and Dad.”
Ginny was looking at him, staring into his eyes, lost for words. Harry felt he had to press on, or he wouldn’t be able to finish.
“The shadows… they gave me the time to get to Cedric’s body and Portkey away,” he finished, somewhat lamely.
Ginny didn’t speak but walked towards him and drew him into a tight hug. She held him for a time, and Harry felt a comfort that he had never imagined reach deep into him and sooth him. Finally they broke apart, but when they walked on they were closer together than they had been. They trudged on through the snow, towards light and chaos in the shape of two identical redheads.
~*~
The rest of the holidays passed quietly. The mood in the Burrow was somewhat subdued by the reports of fresh attacks by Death Eaters, this time targeting Muggle-born wizards and witches rather than ordinary Muggles. In response, the governing council was upping security: what little they learned from Mr. Weasly suggested that Harry and the others were known priority targets of the Death Eaters, and so they would have to be guarded rather more effectively than they were at the moment. Harry didn’t much care: he had enough to be going on with.
All of them were busier than ever once they got back to Hogwarts. Ginny in particular received a noticeable increase in homework, and Harry spent a little of his non-existent free time with her, giving suggestions and hints, but she didn’t really need him: he was right. She was far cleverer and more powerful than any of them had ever thought. When he confronted her about this, she looked embarrassed and shrugged.
“Well, I wasn’t always like this, Harry. In my first year my marks weren’t all that good… understandably, I suppose.” She grimaced, and Harry mentally cursed himself for reminding her of her ordeal once again. “After that I got better, but I never wanted to draw attention to myself. I wanted to stay hidden, so I didn’t give answers in class, I never put myself forward. It’s a habit now, I guess.” Harry felt bad that Ginny’s experiences had affected her so very badly in so many ways. To him she had always seemed shy, but he wondered whether Ron and the others had noticed her becoming reclusive.
Harry sighed, and looked around his new office. His new office… he had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. It was true, though. His talk with Dumbledore had been full of surprises, but the upshot was that, due to the continued success and growth of the DA, Harry was being made an assistant teacher, and had his own office to work in. Apart from that nothing much had changed: he just tended to do all his homework, DA preparation and ‘cello practice here, where it was quiet and he was unlikely to be disturbed. Sometimes he would let other people use it: it wasn’t as if anything particularly private was kept in here.
He became aware of shouting coming from down the hall. He frowned and opened the door. Looking down it he saw Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and Ginny all standing a way away. It looked like Pansy and Ginny were both yelling at Malfoy, who looked furious.
“You’re telling me it’s her who you’ve been slobbering over for months?” Pansy shrieked. Harry sauntered closer; only Ginny had seen him. “This worthless trollop?”
Ginny didn’t even flinch at the insult, but Malfoy flushed scarlet. “She’s worth about a dozen of you, you cow,” he spat, and Pansy slapped him in the face.
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Malfoy,” Ginny said derisively. “From what I’ve heard you need all the help you can get as it is.” She stared hard at Pansy. “It takes some guts to call anyone a trollop when you’re the biggest slut in the school, Parkinson,” she said quietly. Pansy shrieked again and went for her, but Ginny’s wand was in her hand and Pansy checked, fury and uncertainty mingling on her face. Ginny turned to Malfoy.
“I’m absolutely disgusted with myself if you think I’m attractive in any way, you slimy git. I suggest that you go away and make up with Parkinson here, who seems attached to you for some utterly stupid reason.” She turned and walked away from them, and Harry.
Harry saw Draco’s wand rise. Draco had just “Imp…” when Harry interrupted him.
“Petrificus Totalus!” he yelled, and Malfoy instantly went stiff as a board. Ginny had whirled round and was looking at Malfoy in shock. Harry marched towards the inert figure and looked hard into his eyes. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but what you were about to say had better have been Impedimenta, because you have no idea of the world of hurt you’d have been in for if it was Imperio,” he said softly. Malfoy’s eyes, the only part of him that could move, were wide and fearful. Harry was disgusted by the idea of Malfoy controlling Ginny: he had neglected to tell her when Blaise told him of the Slytherin prefect’s infatuation: now she would hate him for that. Again. Now, though, he released Malfoy from the curse and pointed at all four Slytherins. Ginny’s wand was in her hand by this time, and she was covering them as well. “Get back to your common room right now, and if I see you even looking Ginny’s way, we might have to have a little talk… although,” he added with a smile and a half bow to Ginny, “she is much more inventively cruel than I am, so I’d probably leave it to her. I hear the batbogey hex is unpleasant, Malfoy… care to enlighten me?”
Malfoy was still bright scarlet and he stomped away, the others following him, shooting nervous glances over their shoulders at Harry and Ginny, who kept their wands raised until they were out of sight. When they were gone, Harry turned to Ginny.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have butted in like that. You don’t need help against someone like Malfoy…”
“Don’t be stupid, Harry,” she said with a grin that made Harry’s stomach do something rather funny. “He was going to curse me… and from behind. I’m lucky you were there.”
“But there’s something else.” Harry took a deep breath. “I knew he had a crush on you. Ages ago…at the first DA meeting this year, actually. Blaise let me know, and I didn’t tell you.”
She shook her head, looking a bit ashamed. “I wasn’t exactly acting like I wanted you to talk to me then, Harry,” she reminded him gently. Harry shifted on his feet, feeling uncomfortable.
“Even so, I should have… I dunno, asked Hermione to tell you or something.” He felt angry with himself, and fiddled with his wand. Ginny looked at him oddly.
“Harry, it’s no big deal. So Malfoy’s got a thing for me… I know for a fact that a few other boys have too. I don’t really care, I can take care of myself. There’s no harm done, so don’t worry about it. Look, I’ll see you later. I’ve got an extra transfiguration lesson with McGonagall to get to,” she said, and hurried away. Harry blinked. Extra transfiguration? She really must be good…
~*~
Harry approached his own meeting with Professor McGonagall with some apprehension. He had no idea what kind of thing a witch or wizard had to go through to become an animagus, but he did know that it was incredibly hard: it had taken his father, Sirius and Pettigrew three years or thereabouts to work out the secret. Somehow he doubted whether he would be able to achieve it in the two years he had left here at Hogwarts.
The walk to McGonagall’s office seemed to take an incredibly long time. He seemed to meet every single ghost in the castle on his way, but put a brief distraction charm on himself so that they wouldn’t want to stop and talk, as they sometimes did… or so that Peeves wouldn’t sabotage him in some horribly inventive and no doubt hilarious way… or hilarious to Peeves, anyway. He finally reached the door and knocked.
“Come in, Mr. Potter.” Harry wondered how she had known it was him, as he entered and sat down. It reminded him somewhat of Mad-Eye Moody’s magical eye, which was able to see through solid wood and the back of his own head. That was an interesting idea…
“Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall began, interrupting his thoughts. “Let us get straight to the point. No doubt you are aware of the difficulty involved in becoming an animagus. This difficulty is generally due to a human’s unconscious inability to want to leave their body.” She was all business, her hands steepled in front of her nose and mouth with her elbows resting on the desk, and the light reflecting off her wire-framed spectacles. Harry sat up straighter, all his attention on his teacher.
“Tonight I will give you the basic instruction, and we will see how you do with it. How does that sound?”
Harry shrugged and grinned nervously. “You’re the teacher, Professor,” he said.
“And I’m not the only one either, am I Mr. Potter?” Harry blushed, and Professor McGonagall gave a small chuckle. “Well, well… down to business. Now, the method of changing into an animal, Potter, is to envisage your shape, your animal shape, very clearly in your mind, and then to slip your mind into its body. The opposite actually happens: the body slips round your mind, but that is the way you must imagine it. It also requires you to draw on some of your innate, magical energy… this is hard to explain, but it is the reason you can do magic. Now, close your eyes…”
But Harry was already away. The lion was loping through the winter forest of his imagination, a powerful, snow-white mountain of muscle and speed. He could see every hair, feel the warm main, hear the steady panting and smell the hot breath. He was almost riding on its back, but somehow that wasn’t where he was. He felt the wind rushing in his hair, tasted the sharp ice in the cold air. The lion was everywhere and Harry’s mind was almost lost to it. He could see each tree as it approached and was dodged with incredible ease, he felt the water spray up onto him as he plunged through a puddle, his paws pounded the frozen earth…
He opened his eyes. He was back in McGonagall’s office and he prowled it with interest, sniffing this and that before settling on his haunches and regarding the elderly women.
She sat on her chair, looking just as steadily down at him, surprisingly calm for someone who had a fully-grown male lion prowling around their office. She raised an eyebrow.
“I see.”
She drummed her fingers on the desk before her, looking hard at Harry. Finally she spoke again. “Can you change back?”
Harry shrugged his broad, shaggy, muscular shoulders and pictured the tall, lean body with the same dark hair and green eyes that he had now and was used to, and in a moment was sitting cross-legged on the floor of Professor McGonagall’s office. He stood and sat in the chair again, not speaking. Finally McGonagall spoke.
“I suppose you realise, Potter, that what you have just done is often used in our world as a euphemism for the impossible?”
Harry frowned. “Professor?”
“As in, ‘as likely as a first-go animagus’. No one, in the history of the world, has ever done that. It is thought physically impossible. It takes most people years to get to the stage where they can even picture their animal clearly enough to transform, and then they spend a lot of time trying to will themselves to let go of their human bodies.” She stared at him intently. “Tell me: weren’t you even a bit frightened?”
Harry felt utterly perplexed. “To be honest, Professor, I didn’t even notice what was happening at the time. I just imagined the lion as exactly as I could and then… I don’t know… at some point what I was imagining switched from the lion to what the lion was experiencing. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was impossible. Did I not do it properly?” He was slightly nervous. Professor McGonagall, however, looked very slightly annoyed.
“Not do it properly? Mr. Potter, you just accomplished a perfect animagus transformation without even really trying, completely discrediting every study of the ability that has ever been made. Forgive me for sounding jealous, but it took me the best part of seven years to perfect my transformation, and that until recently was thought impressive… although, I’m told that your father and his friends managed it in rather less time than that.” She looked away for a moment, then back at Harry, and gave a decisive nod of her head. “A visit to the headmaster is indicated, Potter.”
~*~
“Show me,” said Professor Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall had explained the situation to the headmaster while Harry stood, wondering why this was so unusual. Turning into an animal had been, for him, the most natural thing in the world, but he must have done something wrong, there must have been something he hadn’t done. Now he nodded obediently, and closed his eyes. It was even easier this time, the memory of what it was like to be the lion flowing under his skin from some inner source and replacing, for a while at least, what it felt like to be human. As a lion he sat again on his back legs, drinking in the feelings coming at him from every direction: every one of his senses was heightened, enhanced, augmented, and he felt so strong…
“I see,” Dumbledore said softly, in exactly the same tone of voice Professor McGonagall had used in her office. She stood looking between the lion on the hearthrug and the headmaster. Fawkes flew over from his perch and landed in front of Harry, cocking his head to one side for a better look at the strange creature in the office. Harry noticed for the first time the sweet smell that came from the Phoenix, including just the subtlest hint of ash. Harry soon turned back, though: the looks his teachers were giving him were starting to unnerve him.
There was silence in the office for a while, save for the gentle crackling of the fire, the whirring of the many devices arrayed around the room, and the snoring coming from the portraits of old headmasters and mistresses of Hogwarts; whether the snoring was real or fake, Harry couldn’t tell. He had a suspicion, though, that a few knew what was going on. Eventually, Dumbledore spoke.
“Minerva, could you leave us for a while? I wish to have a small private chat with Harry,” he said, his expression unreadable but his eyes twinkling more than ever: Harry wondered with surprise whether Dumbledore might actually be excited.
“Certainly, headmaster,” Professor McGonagall answered smoothly. “I will return to my office: please floo me if you wish to speak to me.” So saying she left, leaving Harry with Dumbledore, who gestured for Harry to sit down in front of the desk, while he sat behind it in his large, ornate chair. He surveyed Harry closely for a while before speaking again.
“Harry, let me speak plainly. You told me at the beginning of the year that you were in love. I respected your privacy and did not ask further, but now I’m afraid it is necessary that I must know: are you in love with Ginny Weasly?”
Harry blushed scarlet at this, but held his teacher’s gaze steadily. This wasn’t something he was ashamed of, not any more. He had been, at first, he realised. Not because Ginny wasn’t someone he wanted to be in love with, but because he had been so stupid for so long. Now, though, he felt there was just a chance that Ginny might be willing to forgive him for his years of neglect. “Yes, sir,” he said calmly.
Dumbledore nodded, a little absently, and Harry knew that his mind was now elsewhere. After a while he spoke again. “I have to say, Harry, that I am most pleased about that. Miss Weasly is a remarkable young woman… quite remarkable. As you are a remarkable young man. I was joking when I said, on Christmas Eve, that I looked forward to your next surprise… and here it is. And here, too is the confirmation of something I have suspected for a very long time.”
He paused, then continued. “At the end of last term, Harry, you were distraught… and quite understandably so, I might add. I have to admit, I feared then that you would sink yourself into depression, which I fear would be the doom of all our hopes. But you did not. You have become stronger, far stronger, since that time than I could have ever imagined. You have mastered wandless magic, all your schoolwork is, very nearly, without equal, you are probably the most popular teacher in this school while still a student yourself, you have created a spell in a single instant, you tapped your very magical core when learning to play a musical instrument it normally takes a lifetime to understand, and now you have achieved what was thought impossible by performing the animagus transformation perfectly on your first attempt. And now I know why, and I feel I can tell you.”
Harry sat in his seat, rapt and attentive. Could this finally be the answer he was looking for?
“When we had our conversation last term, Harry, I told you that you possessed a power in abundance that was more powerful and less understandable than any other, and that it is something Voldemort can never understand. Do you remember what it was, Harry?”
He did know. And he felt the answer in his very being before he spoke it out loud. “Love.”
“Indeed.” Dumbledore was speaking very calmly and quietly, but his gaze was as intense as ever. “It is my belief that, in the past, you have survived what attacks were made on you because of the love other people had for you, Harry. Your parents, your friends, your adoptive family in the Weaslys… this protected you, kept you whole through every ordeal. But over the summer, when many would have given in to despair, you discovered instead the true love you held for someone.”
Harry didn’t need the explanation, he understood it all, now, understood everything, but he listened all the same, glad to know that his thoughts concurred with Dumbledore’s.
“Since you have discovered that love you have nurtured it in every way you can, while keeping it hidden from Miss Weasly and the majority of your friends… yes, I’m aware that some select few knew of your feelings, but that was no more than I expected: their love for you means that they are that concerned about your welfare. You kept your love for Ginny safe, and whether you knew or not you made it grow, so that now you love her more with every passing day, and this love which is from you to another is unlocking a potential for power within you such as I have never known. It is my belief that, while your love is strong, there is nothing that you cannot do… and that includes defeating Voldemort.”
They were silent for a while. Then Harry stood up. “Professor, I… I think I want to go to bed now. I’ve got a lot to think about. Thank you for explaining, though. It makes me feel better, to know I have a chance against Vol- no, against Tom,” he said with a smile, enjoying calling him by his real name, as only he, Dumbledore and Ginny had done for a very long time. Dumbledore smiled again, and nodded, and Harry left, his brain bursting with thoughts and ideas.
(AN: Hmm, this seems awfully short. Sorry, please don’t hurt me.
Oh dear, yet another reference to Neon Genesis Evangelion… in the form of the Gendo Position ™. Ah well, I suppose some people might appreciate it.
Really, this time: Merry Christmas to everyone on SIYE. I hope all the readers enjoy reading the work, and all the writers have fun writing it: I know I do. See you next year! -Tom)
Chapter 10: Chapter Ten: Discussions and Discoveries
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: A very happy festive season to everyone, especially JK Rowling who actually owns all of this.
Chapter Ten: Discussions and Discoveries
The weeks slipped by, oiled for Harry by lessons which somehow seemed easier than ever before, and more enjoyable, as well as ever larger and more involved meetings of the DA, Occlumency, wandless magic, ‘cello music, swordplay, Quidditch and one or two more sessions with Professor McGonagall, although they gave up after only a short while, not seeing a point in practicing something Harry could do perfectly already.
Strangely, Harry felt happier than he had been for a very long time. Life was full, he was active, he was working against Riddle and he even had a glimpse of how he could defeat him. And, of course, there was Ginny.
He sat with her one night in his office, where they had both come to avoid Ron and Hermione, who were in the middle of one of their rows. Everyone, including Ron and Hermione themselves, knew that after a little while they would make up and be as close as they ever were, but it was still a motion that had to be gone through, and the long periods of uncomfortable silence interspersed with bouts of sniping at each other, which occasionally erupted into fully-fledged yelling matches, were rather wearing on their best friends: Harry and Ginny needed a break, so they sat in silence in the small but comfortable room, a fire burning in the grate, and did their homework.
Harry finished his Transfiguration essay, reading it through quickly to make sure he hadn’t made any obvious mistakes, and laid it aside, looking at the fire for a moment before picking up his next assignment: a potion preparation for Snape’s lesson in two days’ time. It wouldn’t take him long. All of a sudden, though, he noticed that Ginny had stopped writing, and was staring into the flames as if lost. The fire danced in her deep brown eyes, and Harry was himself lost for a moment, before he pulled back to the real world.
“You alright, Ginny?”
“Hmm?” She didn’t look away.
“You need any help or anything?”
With an obvious effort, Ginny pulled her face from the hearth and looked at Harry instead. She looked carefully at him before speaking. “What are we, Harry? I mean, what are we to each other? I’m… confused.”
Harry blinked, because he had been wondering the same thing only the day before.
The truth was that he had, recently, become far closer to Ginny than he would have thought possible last term. Now that he could no longer always rely on Ron and Hermione… not that they couldn’t be relied on, but because Harry felt it wouldn’t be fair to them to intrude… he had been spending more and more time with Ginny, and had been discovering the reason for his devotion. He had never wondered before why he loved her, but as he came to know her better he discovered it anyway. It was partly because Ginny contained parts of both Ron and Hermione’s personalities: she had Ron’s sense of humour, his loyalty and, occasionally, Ron’s volcanic temper. On the other hand, she could also be the hand of caution and the voice of wisdom, as Hermione so often was. But that wasn’t all.
Because she wasn’t Ron and Hermione. She was Ginny, and Ginny ran deep. She was caring and kind, but with a tendency to righteous indignation and, sometimes, righteous fury. She knew the joy of the wind all around her when she flew, and she could watch the world go by for hours on end, as Harry did sometimes, appreciating it for what it was. And she was someone who wasn’t afraid of herself, who had seen what she was capable of and who would not flinch from the real world anyway. She had experienced what it meant to attack your friends, to live in secrets and to be tempted into despair, and she still fought on. Harry thought that Ginny was probably the bravest person he knew, braver than anyone, because she kept going when no one would have blamed her for stopping.
Harry pondered the question. Part of his problem was that he could not admit to her his real feelings, he told himself. He knew she didn’t like him like that, and while he could trust her to respect what he felt he could not expect her to return his feelings. She was over him, after all.
He had wondered about the fact that, assuredly, if Riddle found out that he was in love he would exploit that in any way he could, but strangely that didn’t really enter his thinking. Ginny did not need protecting, not by hiding from the truth, anyway. He knew what that kind of protection felt like, and it was not something he would wish on anyone, because it never worked, not really. You found out, and as well as finding what was hidden you found that your friends and loved ones had kept it from you. Whatever the intentions, it was a betrayal of trust, and Ginny could be trusted. She had proved that many times.
In fact, Harry thought that, at some point, he would have to tell her, and pray that she could at least accept his feelings, if not return them: above all else, if his love was the source of his power he would need her support more than anything else if he was to defeat Riddle. But he couldn’t tell her now. This wasn’t cowardice or procrastination: as they looked into each other’s eyes, Harry sensed that, though they had come a long way, they had not come so far that Ginny would be able to handle a confession of love, at least not from him. Soon, maybe, hopefully… but not today. He took a deep breath.
“I’m not entirely sure, Ginny. Let’s see, as far as your family is concerned, everyone’s always telling me I’m a member, so I guess that would make us brother and sister, at least partly.” She frowned, as if she didn’t like that answer.
Harry continued. “On the Quidditch pitch we’re team-mates… and amicable ones, I hope,” Harry said dryly. That was another thing: Ginny wasn’t afraid to stand up to him, contradict him, as many people seemed to be, though he didn’t know why. There had been a few times when he had been talking to the chasers and Ginny would correct him, or challenge something he said, and since he didn’t really feel like a captain in his own head at least, he usually went with her suggestions, with the agreement of Lauren and Beth. She frowned deeper.
“You’re my captain, Harry.”
Harry laughed. “You know what I think about that: I’m more moral support than anything else. Now, in the DA you’re probably the best dueller, although you are pretty reckless.”
She shrugged. “I tend to think that, in duelling, doing anything to win is ok, since you can’t expect your enemy to fight clean. Anyway, I’m nowhere near as good as you. If you had agreed to duel me before Christmas I’d have been flat on my back in seconds. And I can’t do wandless magic, either.”
Harry cleared his throat, remembering his own thoughts before that duel: if there was one person he would falter in front of, it was Ginny. He moved on.
“You’re my friend, Ginny: I think you might be my best friend, now. And I don’t mean to say that you’re a replacement while Ron and Hermione are, er… busy.” She stifled a giggle. “I feel comfortable round you: there’s less pressure somehow. I just hope that you don’t feel you need to hang around with me because I’m all alone. Do I actually contribute anything?”
She smiled gently. “I feel the same way, Harry. Just being like this,” she gestured around the warm room, “just being quiet and working, or talking, or just looking at the fire… I feel safe, somehow. It’s nice.”
Harry felt pleasure well up inside him: it was very good to know that Ginny wasn’t keeping him company pout of some misguided sense of duty, but because she wanted to. He suddenly thought of something.
“There’s more, Ginny. We have a lot in common, similar… experiences, I suppose.” Ginny’s smile faltered, but Harry pressed on. “I know that I feel more at ease talking to you about the… the hard stuff than with anyone else. I mean, last term I spoke to Luna a lot, as you know, but as helpful as she was, and as comforting, she couldn’t quite understand what I meant. You do.”
Ginny looked thoughtful. “You’re right. When I talk to you, I don’t need to explain everything, including stuff that I… can’t explain.”
Harry smiled. “So, in conclusion, I think I would say that you’re my best friend, my team-mate, my ally, my part-sister and my confidant. And a right pain in the backside occasionally, too,” he said, with a sly look. Ginny mock-frowned and kicked at him, but she missed on purpose and laughed.
“Well, that’s cleared that up.” She smiled at him and stood up, picking up her bag. “I think I’m going to go back now: they’ve probably gone to bed by now, and it’ll be all better by tomorrow. Goodnight.” Harry watched her slip away, happy despite the wrenching feeling in his chest at not being able to give her a hug before they parted.
~*~
Late January saw the whole country still ice bound, and what had started as a seasonal treat was turning into a real problem. While in the Scottish highlands you might expect there to be severe snow, news reached them that even London was still frozen. There was no sign yet of the weather relenting, and Muggles were having a bad time of it, with trains and roads held up all the time, harbours freezing up and heavy, violent storms blowing up out of nowhere, causing significant damage. Still, as February began people at Hogwarts shrugged, saying that it was only to be expected that there would be an unusually harsh winter at some point. There was nothing much to worry about.
Harry had things to worry about, though. In fact, he had several people to worry about, and for once most of them weren’t in Slytherin house. During the first few days of February he found himself inveigled into long and sometimes slightly personal conversations with a lot of people. Girls, in fact. Some he knew, and didn’t mind: after all, there was nothing really wrong with getting to know Lauren and Beth a bit better, since that was part of his ‘moral support’ approach to his role as captain, but there were others as well. Susan Bones, Hanna Abbot, and many others, girls seemingly any age from third year up, from all houses, stopped him in the hallway, asking him about anything from the weather, Quidditch, Defence, anything at all, and it was beginning to worry him. Ron and Hermione would smirk at him as it happened, and more than once Ginny had given an unmistakeable scowl when she had witnessed it and strode away quickly, although she was perfectly friendly around him most of the time. Seamus and Dean had taken to leering at him, and even Neville was giving him funny looks.
And the conversations were so stupid! Why did people think he was suddenly the expert on everything? Most of the time they ran out of things to say, or Harry didn’t have a clue what they were going on about, and they would stand awkwardly for a while before mumbling something and walking away in opposite directions. Harry found himself avoiding crowded places, even the Gryffindor common room, to escape them and took to barricading himself inside his office, where he was at least in control of who could enter.
One Wednesday evening he sighed and put down the ‘cello, which he had been playing to try and calm himself down, because he was rapidly reaching the point where he wanted to bring a quilt and pillow down here and avoid even his own dormitory, just because he would have to walk through so many people to get there, and he could be sure that at least one girl would intercept him. The problem was that he didn’t know why all this was happening. True, he had been getting odd looks he couldn’t quite interpret all year, but this was beyond a joke. He sighed as someone knocked on the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Ginny, Harry.”
He smiled slightly and gestured with his hand, removing the locking charm on the door: an extent he had gone to after one particularly determined young lady from Ravenclaw had actually cast ‘Alohamora’ on the door. Ginny came in, her expression unreadable. She sat down opposite Harry and looked hard into his face, and Harry felt the sensation of someone trying to read the back of his own skull. It wasn’t intrusive, like Legilimency: it was simply trying to determine something. Finally she spoke.
“Harry, why are you being so reclusive? I thought you would tell me if something was wrong.”
Harry winced. “Sorry, Gin, I suppose I should have said something. But…” He trailed of, exasperation evident on his face. Suddenly he flared up, his temper, which had not put in an appearance for a long time, overloading him. He stood and angrily kicked his chair. Ginny didn’t flinch. “The thing is, I don’t know if there is something wrong. I just don’t understand all this.”
She frowned at him. “All what?”
Harry blushed slightly, and sat down again. “All these girls talking to me. It’s weird.”
Ginny was staring at Harry, surprise, incredulity and amusement warring for dominance on her face. Amusement won. She burst out laughing, which utterly perplexed Harry. “What’s so funny?”
Ginny could barely speak, she was laughing so loudly. “You… you really don’t know, do you? You can’t guess?” she gasped out. Harry’s look of confusion deepened. What was she going on about?
“They’re flirting with you, Harry!” she eventually got out. “Or at least, they’re trying to. You’re not really being that helpful to them, you know?”
Harry stood, shocked to his core. Flirting? Was that what flirting was? From what he had experienced, he wondered how anyone ever got it to work.
“Wh… wha… why would they want to flirt with me?”
Ginny stopped laughing and looked very carefully indeed at Harry. “Honestly, Potter, I thought you were supposed to be clever,” she said eventually, her voice cool but a highly amused look in her eyes. Harry blinked. “You are, probably, the most desirable person in this school. I mean, you’re rich and famous, despite whatever you might think or however you might act about it. Then, you’re actually quite a nice person, which surprises a lot of people. You’re very brave, you’re an incredible Seeker, you’re very clever, except in social situations it seems, very powerful and magical, and you are also incredibly handsome.”
Harry had been spluttering incoherently for most of this speech, unable to speak because of the utter ridiculousness of what Ginny was saying, but now he felt he had to say something.
“Now just one moment, I am not handsome!” he said fiercely, as though the quality was something to be avoided at any cost, a deadly insult. “I’m thin and weedy, and I have these stupid glasses and messy hair and an ugly scar and weird eyes…”
Ginny was shaking her head, smilingly fondly at him, as though at someone trying to grasp a rather obvious point and failing.
“Harry, that’s how you think of yourself, and a lot of it isn’t true anymore, and besides people can interpret looks in a lot of ways. When you were eleven, yes, you were kind of weedy. Now you are tall and getting pretty muscular. The hair and eyes are dramatic, the glasses are a bit of a contrast, so they give you some kind of mystery, and the scar is an enigma and reminds people who you are. Trust me, Harry, you are incredibly good looking, and combined with everything else any single girl who didn’t fancy you would be out of her mind.”
Harry sat silently, opening and closing his mouth, not knowing what to say. Ginny stood up and gave him a slightly evil grin. “I think I’ll go now. You obviously have a lot to think about. Maybe you should try looking at a girl once in a while: if you find one you like, send her a Valentine next week. After all, you are Hogwarts’ heartthrob. Any girl would probably go into hysterics getting a card from the wonderful Harry Potter.” She gave him a wink and left the room, leaving Harry feeling slightly ill. He did end up conjuring a quilt and blanket and sleeping there, on the comfortable sofa in his office. Before he did he glanced in a mirror that hung on the inside door of the wardrobe.
What he saw filled him with confusion. He was still just as weird looking as ever, a bit gangly, a bit messy. How could anyone find that attractive? And yet, he thought as he curled up to sleep, it looked like Ginny liked how he looked. He smiled into his pillow, drifting asleep to a little fantasy of Ginny admitting she found him attractive. Other girls could go hang, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t even care if someone like Malfoy started spreading rumours about his ‘preferences’, which Blaise had told him he had taken to doing recently. He couldn’t even pretend to like someone else. Not in that way. Not when there was Ginny to think about.
~*~
He hadn’t, as it happened, forgotten it was Valentine’s Day the following week. As a matter of fact, he had been thinking about it a great deal. The next morning, therefore, he woke up early and sneaked back up to his dormitory, and rummaged in his trunk.
He laid the black box on his bed along with a letter, which he re-read, making sure to remember every word.
‘Dear Harry,
‘There are not many sixteen year olds I’d trust with this kind of information, Potter, and I’m not entirely sure I trust you either, from the tone of your letter. You’re not looking for just one spell: the ones you’ll need are ‘vidiens’, ‘revelus’ and ‘tactallius’, but remember to make all of them permanent.
‘See you some time, and CONSTANT VIGILANCE!
‘Moody’
Harry chuckled softly, then took the lion-head pendant from the box. Taking a deep breath, he levelled his wand.
“Rem Vidiens Est.” The enchantment took lees out of him than last time, which he supposed was a good thing, but it was still a little while before he could do the next part of this. “Rem Revelus Est.” This time he felt like someone had punched him in the stomach: he was severely winded. He took a deep breath and cast the last spell. “Rem Tactallius Est.” He nearly lost consciousness.
After resting for a while he decided to test the pendant. He pulled his invisibility cloak from his trunk and draped it over Hedwig’s empty cage, completely hiding it from view. Then he took a deep breath, this time praying that his spell casting had worked, and gripped the pendant tightly.
The cage came back into view. He opened his hand, the cage disappeared, closed it, it was there as plain as anything. Still grasping the pendant he looked at the door and after a moment saw the spiral staircase behind it. With a whoop he jumped onto his bed, rejoicing for once over his accomplishment: Ginny would surely appreciate this. Suddenly he realised that he had forgotten something quite important. He opened the pendant and pointed his wand at the blank plate inside, once again concentrating with all his might on the words he wanted.
“Scrivo Argentum.”
And there they were, the words ‘that looks on tempests’, silver against the reddish gold. He smiled at it: he didn’t think that anyone but Ginny could ever wear this thing, it was so perfect for her. He wrote a little note, as before.
‘Ginny,
‘I’m sorry for the continued secrecy: I hope every day that you’ll know about me soon. Until then, you might find this useful: grasp the lion’s head strongly, and take a look around. I think you might be quite surprised.
‘A wandering bark, with love.’
He grinned at the message, thinking of Ginny… and how he would have to make himself one of these when he found something appropriate to cast the enchantments on.
~*~
It was the thirteenth of February, and Harry was gazing thoughtfully at his simmering Potion of Plenty, which was a rich, dark green colour, exactly as Snape had said it should be. It gave off a wonderful smell, like a pine forest on a warm day, but he didn’t breathe too deeply: Snape had warned them that the fumes had been known to cause mild hallucinations.
Saturday had been Gryffindor’s match against Hufflepuff. They had put up a good fight, but it was clear from the start who was the dominant force. The Gryffindors were playing in completely new ways, creating brand new tactics that utterly perplexed opponents: Colin Creevy’s trick of trying to score with a bludger had been extended, so that at times the Gryffindor team almost seemed to be passing a bludger to one another instead of the quaffle, while one of them had the real thing hidden on their person: Lauren had done a superb job of pretending to fumble the fake quaffle, and the Hufflepuff chaser expecting to receive the quaffle had only just dodged the speeding cannon-ball. Harry’s capture of the snitch was something of an unnecessary detail: by the end, it wouldn’t have mattered who had got the snitch: Gryffindor would still have won.
“Your potions should be ready now: fill a vial and bring it to my desk, then clear away your things and leave for your next lesson when you’re ready.” Snape’s voice interrupted Harry’s musings; the lesson was nearly over.
Harry filled his vial absently, his thoughts elsewhere. He was thinking about the next day, in fact. He had got Ginny a birthday card, which he would send the following morning, but in some ways he wished he could send a normal Valentine’s day card. It would have been nice to do something that straight forward and open. He had toyed with the idea for some time before disregarding it. Ginny wasn’t going to want to be confused by something like that just now. He sighed and wandered towards Snape’s desk, not seeing the puzzled look on Ron’s face next to him, or the slightly commiserating one on Hermione’s.
As he placed the vial on the desk, Snape said quietly “Could you come to my office tonight, Mr. Potter? I’d like a word. Say about seven o’clock?”
Harry glanced up, wondering what might have prompted this request. His eyes met Snape’s, and Harry saw something in the dark eyes, his Legilimency kicking in without him being able to control it. Before he could stop himself he was gazing into them, and knew something that he would never have guessed. He stumbled backwards, catching the corner of a desk in the small of his back, and the pain brought him back to himself.
“Are you alright, Mr. Potter?” Snape looked vaguely concerned, but Harry could tell that Snape knew what Harry had just seen in his mind: that he had, in fact, almost sent the message to Harry.
Harry stared at his teacher for a while before speaking. “I’m… I’m fine sir. I’ll see you at seven o’clock.”
Snape nodded briskly and Harry returned to his desk, his mind in absolute turmoil. What he had just witnessed explained so much. It was also very disturbing, and Harry decided there and then not to tell anyone, not even Ginny. This wasn’t his secret, it was Snape’s. Harry was amazed that his teacher trusted him that much.
Harry hardly noticed the rest of the day pass before him, he was so distracted. Various people asked him what was wrong, but he didn’t know what to say. He just shook his head and told them he had a lot on his mind. That was true enough.
Before he knew it, it was seven o’clock and Harry found himself outside Snape’s study. He knocked.
“Enter.”
The room was as quiet and dark as ever, but Snape seemed very different. It took Harry a while to realise what was actually different about him, but eventually he saw and recognised the expression in his teacher’s face: a nervousness and apprehension that bordered on terror, and not fear for death or pain, but of letting someone into his mind.
“Harry, Sit down and tell me what you saw earlier, because I can’t quite believe that I showed you that.” It was a mark of Snape’s high emotion that he called Harry by his first name, something he had never done before… although Harry understood part of that, now. Harry sat, took a deep breath, and began, looking at his hands, which lay clenched in his lap.
“The memory I saw in the Penseive last year was the worst you’d ever had, and I knew that then, I think, but I didn’t quite know why, because from what I’ve heard events like that weren’t all that uncommon when you were at school.” Snape nodded briskly. “But the thing that was different was that you called my Mum a Mudblood. I’ve never heard you make a single comment about the purity of blood since I’ve been here, and it struck me as odd then. I think it must have been after that that you fell in love with her.” He swallowed, trying yet again and failing to process this information.
Snape wasn’t looking at him now, but into his own past. Harry tried to work out what to say next. “And that was why you always hated my Dad so much. Because she loved him and not you, even though she tried to be friendly to you. I always thought it was rubbish that you could have such a grudge against my Dad because he was good at Quidditch. But I think it was the reason why you joined Dumbledore and the Order during the first war, and it’s why you always disliked me so much. I was pretty much a constant reminder that, in the end, my Dad had beaten you.”
Harry fell silent, unable and unwilling to say more. His mind seemed paralysed; he could not think. He just watched Snape who was looking at his hands on the desk. He was even trembling slightly. Eventually he spoke.
“I always swore that no one would ever find out about this, Harry. Only Dumbledore ever knew. Except for your mother of course, because I eventually worked up the courage to tell her. You must understand: I truly loved her. She was remarkable. More powerful than any witch I had ever known, but so good with it. She was always fair and kind and she hated all the pranks the marauders played on me, and I on them… because I did retaliate. Often. She became quite upset with all of us.”
He fell silent too, and then looked straight at Harry. “Do you hate me more than ever for that?”
Harry thought for a while. “I don’t think so, sir,” he said eventually. “I might not like the reasoning, but I can understand it. The story I’ve always been told about them was a bit of a fairytale romance… I should have known it wouldn’t be like that. But, I know my mother always tried to see the good in everyone.”
There was more silence. “Was there anything else, Professor?” Harry asked in a very small voice. Snape sighed.
“No, Harry, nothing else, but I would appreciate it if you kept this information to yourself. I’m sure you can understand that.” Harry nodded and left, wishing he could tell someone this and knowing that he never would.
~*~
He woke up the next morning to find an uncomfortably heavy weight on his feet. He drowsily sat up and looked at them. They were buried under a huge pile of envelopes and parcels, mostly in red or pink. Looking around he saw each of his friends emerging from their own four-posters, each with a single card and present. They all looked at the mountain on Harry’s bed and burst out laughing. Ron recovered first and opened his card, which was, predictably enough, from Hermione. Seamus and Dean had cards from, respectively, Lavender and Parvati. Neville’s was from Eleanor Darke and caused him to blush so much that he had to splash cold water in his face to recover, especially since he was more than two years older than her. Harry’s pile seemed to have originated from most of the girls in Hogwarts, and he had to give up opening them after a while because he was going to be late for breakfast. Besides, he was pretty sure that there wouldn’t be one from the one person he would appreciate it from. The presents varied in suitability from books about spells and sweets to hair gel and flower-scented shampoo.
He went down to breakfast feeling rather depressed, for once not noticing the enthusiastic looks he was receiving from female students around the hall. He brightened up slightly when he saw that Ginny had saved him a seat next to her. The moment he sat down she leaned across to give him a very brief hug.
“Thanks for the card,” she whispered. She seemed very happy, and Harry smiled in spite of himself, her good mood forcing his spirits to rise. “I didn’t think you knew. You’ve never sent me a card before.”
Harry grinned. “I thought it was about time I learnt when one of my best friend’s birthdays is. I hope you like it.” She nodded and smiled, and they talked quietly about the previous and next Quidditch matches for the rest of the meal.
Harry was one of the last to go up to bed that night, as he had been playing chess with Ron and had been distracted afterwards, staring into the fire. Subconsciously he was waiting, hoping…
“Hermione, it’s happened again!”
Harry kept very still and quiet, doing everything he knew to stop himself being seen. Two shadowy figures appeared at the bottom of the girls’ stairs, the taller redheaded one almost dragging the shorter and bushy-haired person after them.
“What’s happened again?”
“Another mystery gift! Look at this.”
There was a pause as a slim black case was handed over and as Hermione inspected the pendant and the note that came with it. Harry was holding his breath, hoping that now, as last time, Hermione would not give him away. He thought he saw a slight smile playing on his friend’s lips.
“Well?” Ginny asked, seemingly exasperated by Hermione’s silence. Hermione grinned wider.
“I still can’t tell you, Gin, but… you’re wearing the first one, I notice.”
Even from where he sat, Harry could see the blush on Ginny’s face. “So what if I am?”
“Well, nothing’s changed since Christmas. I still can’t tell you anything, even though you’ve probably made a guess, but this is a very powerful magical gift. I’d treasure it if I were you. Goodnight.” With that she went back upstairs, smirking. Ginny, however, hovered at the bottom of the stairs, as though unsure of what to do, and Harry suddenly realised the conflict that was going on in her mind. Ginny knew by terrible experience how foolish it was to trust a magical object she had no knowledge of. That caution was ingrained in her very soul. On the other hand, she trusted Hermione completely. Slowly, hesitantly, she picked up the golden chain and draped it around her neck, the lioness’ head next to her heart. Harry felt that he might just float up to bed as he saw her start up the stairs, a warm smile on her face.
(AN: Aren’t I a miserable idiot, staring at my computer screen rather than spending time with my family?
A very happy new year to everyone, since I definitely won’t be able to do another chapter before then. In fact, many apologies that this chapter took so long: I think that work, illness and writer’s block are the three biggest obstacles to writing, and I’ve suffered all three this week.
I’m not sure that this chapter is very good, so please don’t hurt me too much. It might be a bit low on action, but what is here is quite necessary. I’ll try to make up for it next chapter, honest.
I think I’m going to make a request, and see if anyone would care to beta for me. I don’t have anyone at the moment, and I think it could stand a little constructive criticism prior to posting. Contact me if you’re interested. One warning: I always use UK English and its conventions, so you might want to steer clear if you’re not used to them. I have nothing against US English, but I do recognise that they are very different, and are becoming more so all the time. Just something to bear in mind.
The permanent enchantment spell is not good Latin. It is very bad Latin. ‘Rem’ can mean anything from ‘thing’ to ‘universe’, but I thought ‘the thing is’ was just about as good as anything else I might come up with, so I decided to go with it.
Ages: a clarification. Just for people who haven’t worked them out, at least in this fic: Harry’s birthday is only actually about six months before Ginny’s; he is very young in the year, whereas we know that Hermione is fairly old and we assume that Ron is, considering that Ginny was born in the following year. Neville is very similar in age to Harry, and if I make Eleanor Darke very old in her old year, she would be just over two years younger than Neville. If the personalities fit, I personally don’t think that this is too big a gap, especially taking into account Neville’s sensibilities.
I think that’s it. Again, a very happy new year, especially to anyone who reviews (not so subtle hint). —Tom)
Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven: Razor Ice
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: In a New Year it’s good to know that some things never change, like these horrible disclaimers. No, I don’t own anything and have never claimed to. The only vaguely original thing is the plot, and I don’t know about that, most of the time…
Chapter Eleven: Razor Ice
“Harry, we are going to have to do something about this.”
Harry looked up in vague surprise. He had been reading through his charms essay in his office, alone except for the roaring fire nearby, and had almost been falling asleep when the familiar voice startled him. Though he was always pleased to see Ginny, her words had confused him.
“Sorry… what?” he said, wondering if perhaps he was being more than usually obtuse. Ginny was standing in the doorway and leaning against the doorpost in what seemed to be the epitome of the casual pose. Her brown eyes were lit like searchlights and they were roving all over him with a shrewd, slightly calculating expression that made him feel quite nervous. Her ponytail was dangling down the side of her face, framing the pale skin with fire. Harry swallowed very gently, trying not to let how she looked just now affect his behaviour.
“Harry, student or not you are a teacher.” She put on a mock stern voice. “People expect certain things from teachers, and one is that they be dressed respectably, if not very smartly.”
He looked at her blankly. He was wearing more or less what he always wore under his robes: an old, baggy t-shirt and an old, baggy pair of jeans. Although sometimes, for variety’s sake, he would wear an old, baggy sweatshirt. He blinked at her.
“Sorry… am I missing something?”
Ginny chuckled, then came in and closed the door before sitting down nearby. Most people, in fact, asked Harry before doing something like this, even other teachers and quite close friends, but never Ginny. For some reason the entire room always felt more complete to him when she was there, and he thought that someone who was so much part of a place shouldn’t need to ask permission to enter it. He looked at her, now feeling slightly scared of the falsely innocent smile on her face, which contained a noticeable trace of malice.
“Harry, have you ever owned any new clothes? Not uniform, I mean normal clothes.”
Harry shrugged. “Nope. It’s all from Dudley. Well, except for jumpers from your Mum. And some socks from Dobby, but I try and avoid those.”
Ginny chuckled again. “Harry, just think about it. Here you are, probably the most well respected student in the school, Quidditch Captain, a national celebrity and now a student teacher… and you hang around in your brand new office looking like you just crawled out of bed and straight into your own curtains.”
Harry felt this slightly unfair. He spotted a possible flaw in her logic and pounced on it. “Professor Lupin never had very nice clothes, and everybody respected him.”
Ginny arched one eyebrow, a gesture so laced with scorn that Harry felt stupid just looking at it. “He had the slight excuse of not being allowed to earn any money, due to being a werewolf. You don’t get off so lightly. It’s a Hogsmeade trip on Saturday, right?”
Harry nodded, a feeling of terrible certainty falling on him.
“Well then, I’m going to take you clothes shopping.” Harry groaned, but very quietly. Ginny in this frame of mind was hard to cross and dangerous to contradict: he knew her well enough to know that no feeble remonstrations on his part were going to sway her determination. He looked out of the window and saw one avenue of hope, a light at the end of the tunnel.
“Okay… but only if the weather’s nice. If it’s bad I wasn’t going to go to Hogsmeade anyway.”
Ginny raised her eyebrow again, and Harry realised with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that said light was an oncoming express train… with red hair. “Quite frankly, Harry, You are going to get some decent clothes if I have to drag you through every snowdrift between here and Diagon Alley. Something which is sounding pretty tempting to me just now, come to think of it.”
~*~
March. It was already the middle of March, and the entire country was still frozen solid. Even the Ministry of Magic were worried now: there had been an article in the ‘Daily Prophet’ that had said that a number of Ministry employees, including Percy Weasley, had been assigned the special duty of finding the cause of the unnaturally long cold spell and removing it. Muggle Britain was at a standstill with nothing able to move, nothing being delivered to shops, and entire villages in remoter areas completely cut off, supplies running dangerously low. In fact, a few days before, there had been major excitement in the Castle when a helicopter had been sighted in the distance, carrying food to outlying settlements. Those brought up in the Wizarding world thought it fascinating, while Muggle-borns were amused by their classmates’ attitudes, but it did little to reduce the tension that had built up among the students.
Still, the Hogsmeade visit was generating its usual happy anticipation. Saturday morning was bright and beautifully crisp, the sun blazing white on a white world from the clear blue sky. It was the sort of day that made you happy to be alive. Harry certainly felt happy to be alive. Despite the fact that he would be buying clothes, which his friends told him was the most excruciating torture ever devised, he would be out of school, on a beautiful day, with his beautiful best friend. They walked down to the village with Ron and Hermione, chatting in a friendly way about school, Quidditch, the DA, anything and everything, but Ron and Hermione turned up the small road that led to Madame Pudifoot’s establishment, blushes creeping over both their faces. Harry suppressed a shudder, and was amused to catch Ginny doing the same thing.
They themselves wandered down the high street, chatting amiably. Harry noted in passing that they kept a very natural pace together, neither having to adjust their stride to let stay with the other. They passed Honeyduke’s, Zonko’s and the Three Broomsticks, all of which Harry would quite have liked to stop at, but there was no deterring Ginny. She was headed straight for Gladrag’s Wizardwear.
The shop was one of the largest in the village, including several large storeys. It surprised Harry when Ginny led him past the robes and cloaks on the ground floor, the hats, belts, boots and other accessories on the first and up on to the third, which could have been straight from a Muggle department store, if it hadn’t been for the fact that everyone shopping there looked like they had dressed from the articles on the previous two floors. They walked unhurriedly together down the aisles, looking at everything and every so often stopping for a closer look. Despite himself, Harry realised that he was quite excited. His own, brand new clothes. Things he could even wear at Privet Drive and not get harangued for constantly.
Soon they had a pile of well-fitting, high quality t-shirts, several pairs of jeans and trousers, a dragon-leather jacket Ginny had teased him into getting and a new pair of trainers. Harry paid for the lot, shrunk them to go in his pocket and then left the shop with Ginny, almost eager to get back so he could wear some of his new things.
As they stepped outside both of them shivered, their breath rising in front of them in clouds. It was bizarre. The sun was higher and brighter, and yet the day was notably colder. In fact it was positively chilling, and most people were scurrying to a convenient shop with their cloaks wrapped around them. Harry stepped out and a chill breeze ripped through him. Something clutched at him, something was very, very wrong. He saw Ginny looking at him, a little puzzled, as he stood dead still in the middle of the street, unflinching before the gale, listening, reaching out as best he could….
There was a crunch.
Harry whirled around, his arm flung out in front of him and his fingers outstretched as if to throw something. A ball of red light shot from his hand and into the whiteness as he flung himself sideways. The crimson bolt light hit something that was very solid but which remained unseen. Harry picked himself up and placed himself behind a protruding porch for cover. Ginny was next to him in a heartbeat, clutching at the pendant around her neck.
“Three of them, Harry,” she reported crisply, no hesitation in her voice. “One on the ground, the other two taking cover on the other side of the road.”
Harry listened hard and heard the low whisper of a thick cloak brushing on stone. He bent his head slightly, so he was close to Ginny’s ear. “There’s another on the other side of the porch. You take that one; I’ll take the others. And I won’t ask how you know,” he added, feeling that maybe Ginny could do with being thrown off the scent a bit with the gifts. He passed his wand over himself and muttered “celeritus!” Then he moved as fast as he could, sending curse after curse into the blind corner where he knew his attackers must be. He felt something whiz over his shoulder from behind him, but trusted Ginny to take down the fourth attacker. Harry whirled into cover when he thought he must have got both of his marks: the lack of retaliation seemed to verify this, but he waited till he saw Ginny give an ‘all clear’ before making himself too much of a target: the black Hogwarts robes and cloaks were very visible against the snow.
He reached down where his assailants had fallen, thinking to drag them to a shop to restrain them, but his hand brushed something and he was immediately wracked with pain. His hand was suddenly bleeding from a myriad of tiny cuts, each one stinging with the vicious cold. He clutched it to him.
“Don’t touch them, Ginny: they’re… I dunno, trapped or something.” Ginny hurried over the road to him, similarly cautious about their none-too-subtle outfits. She looked at his hand and sucked in her breath through her teeth before taking out a clean handkerchief from her robes pocket and tying it round the bleeding appendage.
“What could do this to someone?”
“I have no idea, but there are probably more of them about. Do you recognise any of them?” She shook her head. “Look, we need to do a few things: keep everyone in the shops; they’ll be safer there. You mark out the bodies and make sure they won’t come round too soon, then we’ll fetch Ron and Hermione to help us, and get word to Hogwarts. I’ll tell the shops, I’ll be quicker.” With his increased speed he ran around the shops, giving a brief order to the people inside to stay where they were before getting back to Ginny, who had coloured the snow under the now magically bound bodies a dark red colour. Together they moved on through the village, warning everyone they saw and making their way steadily to Madame Pudifoot’s.
There were four black figures huddled round the entrance, seemingly firing shots from their wands at random, but Harry kept his eyes on the ground, listening for the all important crunch of a footstep in the snow from someone not being careful enough. He shot four stunners in quick succession, unable to use his wand because of the cuts, and each one met its invisible target. He and Ginny skidded to a halt next to Ron, Hermione, Luna and Blaise.
“Whatever you do, don’t touch the bodies,” Harry told them without preamble. “There’s something enchanting them, they cut you if you touch them.”
Harry saw Hermione go paler than the snow had made her already. “I’ve heard of that… Razor Ice! It explains everything!”
“Tell us later,” Harry said before his friend could start on a long explanation. “For now, is there anything we need to know other than that it makes them invisible and razor-sharp to touch?”
Hermione nodded once. “The spell is ultimately powered by a small crystal that looks like a shard of ice. Now that the attack has been made it must be somewhere nearby, and the spell can’t affect the person who’s carrying it. They’ll be visible, unless they’re wearing a cloak or something, and perfectly OK to touch.”
Harry smiled grimly. “Right, we’re splitting up. Hermione, you go with Ron and get back to the castle as soon as you can: alert the DA and warn Dumbledore. If you come across any more on the way, avoid them rather than fight: with any luck, we’ll be able to take them out. The rest of us are going to try to clear the rest of the village, and maybe we’ll find that crystal too. Ginny can somehow see them, so we’ll be OK to fight. Let’s go.” Ron and Hermione nodded and ran fast in the direction of Hogwarts, though not before Hermione had shot Harry a knowing look. He wasn’t fooling her: she knew exactly why Ginny could see the Death Eaters, as they now knew them to be since Ginny had recognised two of the ones they had found here as Mcnair and Mulciber, and she knew that Harry knew as well.
While he had been talking Ginny had been swiftly binding and marking the prone bodies of the Death Eaters and now they set off back to the high street before beginning a methodical and painstaking sweep of the village. They discovered several more Death Eaters along the way, and dispatched them all quickly and efficiently, although Luna did sustain a cut on her cheek that bled rather nastily. Soon they had taken down around twenty-five Death Eaters and cleared every street in the village. There was no sign, though, of the crystal bearer. Harry was getting tired, and it was clear that the others were as well. The afternoon was fading into exhaustion and whirling snow.
“Where next Harry?” Ginny asked while Blaise doctored Luna’s cheek. Harry was distracted for a moment by the touching, if inappropriate, sight of the two Eskimo-kissing before answering the question.
Harry thought hard. “We haven’t tried the most likely place yet. Hermione said it would have to be nearby, but I bet the range doesn’t have to be that close. Say, a house just outside the village?”
Ginny nodded. “Of course. The Shrieking Shack.”
Harry nodded, then considered for a moment. “Luna, Blaise, get to Hogwarts and tell whoever’s there that the village is clear. You might as well tell anyone in the shops on the way too. Ginny and I just need to check something: we’ll be back soon.”
The odd pair nodded and began jogging out of the village, the radishes Luna was wearing for earrings bouncing ludicrously. Harry and Ginny went the other way, towards the house that had been built solely for their friend, Remus Lupin.
They checked the perimeter first, but found no one. Then, under a silencing charm, they blasted down the back door. The house was just as dusty and neglected as Harry remembered… which was hardly surprising, since no one had ever lived there. Harry wondered vaguely why they had even bothered adding the now smashed furniture. He figured that it was so there was something to smash.
There was a clear trail of footprints in the dust on the floor, leading from the door they had just entered through and leading up the stairs. Whoever was here was either being very incautious or being clever enough to lead them into a trap. It was with that in mind that Harry whispered a few words to Ginny, who swallowed slightly but nodded, taking the lead, while Harry muttered a few incantations.
They heard voices as they approached.
“This is taking too long! They should be back by now, not one of them has reported back….” The voice was male and very, very nervous. Harry recognised it at once as the voice of Peter Pettigrew. His lip curled slightly, especially when he heard the voice that interrupted the snivelling little man.
“Silence, Wormtail, I’ve got to concentrate! This thing feels like someone’s hacking into my chest with an ice-pick.”
It was a voice Harry heard in his worst nightmares. Not the ones where he had lost and the world had been taken over, but the ones where all his hate and anger had overtaken him. That voice brought that on him because the last time he had heard it he had attempted an unforgivable curse on its owner. It was the harsh, rasping voice of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Harry nodded at Ginny, who looked pretty enraged herself. She nodded back and walked boldly into the room, wand held before her. Harry made sure his protections were in place, and then slipped into the shadows around the door.
“You know, I expect that’s quite like how Harry felt when you killed the last person he felt he could call family, you twisted bitch,” Ginny said, her voice steady and deceptively calm. Bellatrix was sitting on a bed, clutching something to her, a look of pain and intense focus on her handsome face. Her look changed to worry when she saw Ginny, and Harry’s heart leapt. Bellatrix wasn’t going to be able to fight, using the ice shard was taking too much out of her. Wormtail was there for her protection, and he was now advancing on Ginny, although he looked nervous. Ginny kept her wand pointed straight in Bellatrix’ face. Wormtail stretched out his hand, the powerful limb of silver light glinting malevolently in the poor illumination.
It exploded. There was a moment when Wormtail looked at his once more ruined arm with complete shock before he screamed with pain. Harry’s spell had been very effective.
“Run, you fool!” Bellatrix screeched. “Get back to the Dark…”
But she never finished the sentence, as she was blasted unconscious by Ginny’s stunner. Harry saw Pettigrew transform and sent spell after spell at him, but hit nothing but floorboards, which shattered and splintered, filling the room with choking clouds of sawdust.
When Harry looked again, there was no sign of the rat anywhere. Bellatrix was lying on the floor, out cold. On a chain round her neck was a clear, sharp crystal, like an icicle, or a dagger of glass. He pulled it from her and stuffed it in his pocket before tying her like the others and levitating her out of the room and then the house, Ginny by his side, covering him with her wand. Even as they walked back into the village, passing the now visible bodies of Death Eaters, they felt the day warm, and the first drops of snowmelt fall from the thawing branches above them.
~*~
The school had apparently been targeted as well as the village, and as Harry and Ginny approached they saw three Death Eaters running towards them, pursued by a number of students. They stunned them quickly and turned to meet the students, who were being led by Neville.
“Harry! Blaise said you were going to find the ringleader… it’s her isn’t it?” Neville’s face contorted with rage as he looked at the woman responsible for his parents’ insanity. Harry saw his fingers flex convulsively until Eleanor Darke put a small, comforting hand on Neville’s shoulder. Neville took a deep shuddering breath and turned back to Harry.
“We were attacked too, but it was only a small group, and they didn’t expect students to resist them. By the time the teachers arrived, we’d already got most of them, thanks to Ron and Hermione’s warning.”
“Anyone hurt?” Harry asked briefly.
“Surprisingly few, and none seriously. Especially since they turned visible not long ago. Dumbledore was worried about you two, though. He said to tell you to go and see him as soon as you got back.”
“Who organised the students?” Ginny enquired, looking from Neville to Eleanor and back again.
“Neville did,” Eleanor said, a clear note of pride in her voice that caused Neville to blush scarlet. Harry grinned at him. “Hermione and Ron had to find the teachers, so Neville took charge.”
“Good job, Neville. Eleanor, if you and the others can levitate these Death Eaters and the ones in the grounds into the entrance hall, I expect someone can tell you where to put them. Neville, you’re coming with us to Dumbledore. We need to get Ron, Hermione, Luna and Blaise too.” Harry didn’t see the strange grin on Ginny’s face as he led the way back to the castle, leaving the DA members to clear the field of battle.
~*~
“Would you care to make the explanation, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore’s voice was tired, but he seemed very proud of the seven students in front of him. They stood or sat in a rough semi-circle around the headmaster’s desk with Fawkes perched on Harry’s knee. Ginny was stroking the beautiful head with its golden plumage absently, and the bird blinked and made small, soothing noises every so often. The crystal lay on the desk, still glinting in a sinister way. Hermione nodded and cleared her throat.
“I read about Razor Ice some time ago. It’s a very strong and very complex spell, created a long time ago for use in warfare. It basically enchants as many people as you want with invisibility and the cutting skin we saw. It takes months to prepare for, though. The crystal, the Shard of Glacius, is a very rare magical artefact, and it’s used to drain the heat out of an area. It’s been used since late autumn to keep the entire country cold and snow-bound: that’s just how powerful it is.” She paused as one or two people gasped at the immensity of the spell.
“Then, once the desired date is reached, the magic in the crystal is used to make any number of people into these ‘ice warriors’. It only requires one person, not too far away, to control the Shard and not be affected by it themselves, in this case, Mrs. Lestrange here.”
The Death Eater was suspended, unconscious, in mid air by a window. Neville still had his fists clenched, although otherwise he seemed perfectly calm.
“Quite right, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore congratulated, “and now that the Shard has been liberated the whole country will thaw, and thaw very quickly. The Ministry will work overtime to prevent flooding, I imagine. However, now we must collect the Death Eaters from Hogsmeade and transport all the prisoners to the Ministry. How many escaped?”
It was Ginny who answered, since she was the only one who could know for certain. “Just one.”
“Pettigrew,” Harry almost spat. “He transformed when we attacked him and Bellatrix. I couldn’t catch him.”
Dumbledore sighed. “A pity, but all things considered you have all done magnificently well, and over forty Death Eaters will soon be under lock and key at the new prison the Ministry has set up, which will be considerably more secure than Azkaban at the moment.”
Harry frowned. “Speaking of which, I’m a little surprised that Tom didn’t send the dementors to help today. Any particular reason?”
Hermione shrugged. “They can’t be affected by the Razor Ice spell, so they would have been visible.” Harry nodded, accepting the reasoning.
“I think I need to talk to the DA, let them know what’s going on, tell them just how well they’ve done. Anyone else who helped, as well. Was there anything else you wanted to say, Professor?”
Dumbledore shook his head, a beatific smile on his face. “Only to congratulate you again. A remarkable victory has been won today. You should all be very proud.”
~*~
Several hours later Harry was dozing quietly in his office, dressed in some of his new clothes and curled up on the sofa. He was woken by someone sitting pretty much on his feet. He opened his eyes and saw Ginny smiling down at him and he smiled back before seeing that they weren’t alone: Ron and Hermione were seated in armchairs near by, smiling quietly. Harry sat up.
“What’s this? Want a sweetie from the nice teacher?” Ron laughed softly. Harry continued. “Seriously, though, what’s this about?”
“Well,” Hermione began, “we thought we should come and congratulate you personally. After all, this was the first real test of the DA, and they passed with flying colours.”
Harry waved the hidden compliment aside. “I wasn’t even there. Neville’s the one who got everyone ready, it was you two who got to them in time, and anyway it’s them who did the most work and made the most difference.”
Ron took up the conversation. “That’s true, but they couldn’t have done anywhere near that well without your training. And the fact they managed it without their leader is actually more to your credit than anything else: it’s good that they can act without you.”
Harry shook his head. “Alright, I’m too tired to argue, so congratulations accepted. Anything else?”
Ginny grinned. “Not really. We’ll let you get back to your beauty sleep.” The three of them rose and went to leave. Ginny was the last out, and in the doorway she turned back briefly.
“The clothes look good, Harry. Oh, you’ve put that little pin I gave you on there. Do you wear it all the time?” She didn’t wait for an answer but left, closing the door behind her. Harry felt mystified: what had all that been about? He fingered the sword pin on his t-shirt, though. He did wear it all the time. It was so thoughtful, and it reminded him of a lot he needed to remember. It reminded him of why he was fighting, and of when he had first loved Ginny, even if he hadn’t realised it for so long. Mostly, though, it reminded him of the trust that Ginny and other people had in him, and made him determined to be worthy of it.
Slowly his fingers stopped moving, a thought that had been flittering around the outside edges of his mind coming into sharper focus: something appropriate to cast them on? What could be more appropriate?
He grinned, unpinned the brooch and levelled his wand at it, preparing once again to feel like someone had taken a vacuum cleaner to his internal organs, before calling to mind the words of the spells Moody had told him about.
~*~
Harry was a bit late down to breakfast the following day, but since it was Sunday it didn’t really matter. He had arranged to visit Hagrid with Ron and Hermione, since they hadn’t seen him outside Care of Magical Creatures for ages. He saw them sitting with Ginny at one end of the Gryffindor table, heads held close together, discussing something. Harry felt that paranoia was one of many his faults and these days he tried to ignore it, but at that moment he was certain that something they were talking about included him. He sat down next to them. There was an open copy of the ‘Daily Prophet’ spread out between them. A picture of Hogwarts and Bellatrix Lestrange dominated the page.
“What’s going on?”
Hermione smirked. “Rita Skeeter’s been busy. She wrote an article on the attack. Want to hear it?”
Harry shrugged, pouring milk onto his cornflakes and picking up his spoon. Hermione cleared her throat and began to speak.
“‘You-Know-Who’s plan foiled!
‘Students show us how it’s done!
‘There was an attack of unprecedented strength yesterday made on the village of Hogsmeade and the nearby Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, writes Rita Skeeter, special correspondent. A group of Death Eaters numbering more than forty stormed both the village and the school, apparently with the intention of kidnapping Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.
‘However, the attack was unsuccessful. The Death Eaters were under the dark and powerful Razor Ice spell, which has not been used since the crusades eight hundred years ago, and fell upon villager and student alike invisible and enchanted so that to touch them would cut a person’s skin very seriously. The lifting of the Razor Ice spell has also led to the end of the nation-wide cold spell that has plunged the country into chaos: the spell is of such power that it drains heat from a large area before its effects even begin.
‘The Death Eaters were halted by none other than Harry Potter and the in-school club he runs, the Defence Association, or DA (affectionately known as Dumbledore’s Army). Harry, who is now officially an assistant Professor at Hogwarts, teaches his fellow students the duelling skills he has learnt and developed from his many encounters with He Who Must Not Be Named and other dark wizards. Despite their assailants being invisible, Harry and three friends apprehended twenty-six Death Eaters in Hogsmeade, where they were spending a day shopping, before also capturing the ringleader and performer of the Razor Ice spell, Bellatrix Lestrange, who was imprisoned in Azkaban for the vicious torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom sixteen years ago, along with her husband Rodolphus, her brother in law Rabastan, and the now deceased Bartemius Crouch junior, who spent a year impersonating the ex-Auror Alastor ‘Mad-eye’ Moody when he was teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, two years ago.
‘By a quirk of fate it was the Longbottoms’ only son, Neville, a classmate and close friend of Harry’s, who organised the DA while their Captain was absent. Mr. Longbottom made no comment when asked how he had managed, but his girlfriend, Miss Eleanor Darke, said, “Neville was the one who was there when the message came through that there was an attack. It could have been anyone, but Neville did really well, just like the whole DA. Harry was very proud of all of us.”
‘It seems clear that, far from being a disturbed or dangerous attention seeker, Mr. Potter is making every effort to combat You-Know-Who while still at school, and his own and his friends’ achievements yesterday are a shining example to all of us in this dark hour.’”
Hermione stopped reading and the three of them sat, smirking at Harry, who felt utterly shell-shocked and whose eyes were darting around the great hall, settling briefly on a number of people who were stealing looks at him while the colour spread over his cheeks. He looked at Neville, who had overheard the article being read and was looking nervous, but Harry managed to give an encouraging grin and Neville smiled, relief evident on his face. Harry turned back to his three best friends.
“Well,” he finally said, “she knows she has to stay on our good side.”
“Did you notice anything about that article that was, well, different from all the others she’s written about you, mate?” Ron asked, still smirking. Harry shrugged looking puzzled.
“This time,” Ginny said, her voice low but excited, “every single word was true. She made you sound exactly as you are, and it sounds bloody good. And now the whole world knows it.” Harry sat back, thinking while his friends talked in whispers. Yes, the whole world knew. And that included Voldemort.
(AN: Thanks to my brand, sparkling new betas, Lourdes and Serpentspawn. And yes, they really do sparkle.
One thing that was brought to my attention: Eskimo kissing. It’s just rubbing noses, people. I thought it was a common expression. Maybe I was wrong.
Sorry for the long wait, but chapter twelve is now more than halfway complete. Inevitably, the communication between writers and betas means that development is going to be slower, but we hope that it will also be of higher quality for our troubles.
I hope this little bout of action keeps you satisfied for a while: I’m not quite sure when another one with so much drama will be…
Also, forgive me if I halt this for a while: I’m part way through a one-shot songfic at the moment as well, and I might just want to complete it sometime soon. —Tom)
Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve: Complications
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: see profile
Chapter Twelve: Complications
One morning at the beginning of May a barn owl floated down to Harry at breakfast in the great hall, carrying an envelope that looked alarmingly like the one that had brought Harry the news of his hearing the previous year. He opened it as the owl flew off, and found that the reason for this was that this, too, was from the Ministry of Magic… though its contents were decidedly different.
‘Dear Mr. Potter,
‘Enclosed is your official licence and certificate recognising your new status as a fully-fledged animagus. You are now registered in the correct Ministry records, along with the animal you turn into and your markings in this animagus form.
‘Congratulations.
‘Please keep the certificate safe, and keep your licence on your person at all times. Your instructor, Professor Minerva McGonagall, will instruct you on all the rules and regulations you must adhere to as an animagus.
‘Yours sincerely,
‘Nicodemus Walker, Wizengamot Administration Services’
“What’s that Harry?” Ron asked, sounding unconcerned and speaking around a bite of bacon sandwich that made Hermione scowl slightly.
“Well…” Harry struggled, unwilling to lie to his best friends. “I can’t tell you yet… it’s a bit of a secret,” he finished lamely. Ron and Hermione looked interested, although they did not question him further: they knew him too well to try. Harry looked to his other side and Ginny, and saw a bizarre expression on her face as she looked between him and the envelope on the table, something between shocked surprise and deep suspicion. Harry wondered what it meant, but didn’t have time to fathom it before he had to leave for Transfiguration, where he became distracted by trying to transfigure his own earlobes into tiny wings.
***
Tread. Tread. Tread.
Leap.
Duck, roll, thrust.
Leap, leap, and slash.
Deep breath.
Harry sprang off the wall, whirling in an air-born pirouette, and neatly decapitated the shadow construct as he landed, cat like, in a defensive semi-crouch. He breathed deeply as he watched the room of requirements return to its normal, sword training form: recently it had started changing as he fought the simulated enemy, creating random protuberances of various sizes and shapes appear in the floor, walls and, on occasion, ceiling, causing him to have to change his movements quickly to avoid them, except that this session he had been fast enough to use the new obstacles to his advantage. He stood up and sheathed the sword, just as he heard someone start to clap.
Ginny stood in the doorway, a beautiful smile on her face as she surveyed him, and Harry blushed scarlet. No one else had seen him fighting: he hoped he didn’t look too stupid.
“That was really very impressive, Harry,” she said earnestly, walking into the room as she spoke. Harry felt the walls seem to contract around him, as though the dimensional instability of the room was making itself known again. He noticed with a kind of detached fascination the vivid contrast of the bright cascade of red hair against the black robes. He gulped, remembering that it would be a good idea to reply at some point.
“Thanks,” he said, a little gruffly, as he turned towards the shower in the corner.
“How did you manage to move like that? It was incredible.” Harry felt heartened. She was really interested, and she really did think he was doing well. And all when what he was teaching himself to use reminded her of the worst time of her life. He inwardly shook his head, marvelling at her strength, her resilience.
“It’s a really old, obscure branch of magic, hardly anyone’s ever heard of it: Laminamancy. It’s pretty much all wandless and subconscious: when a wizard fights really hard, he can kind of get into a state where magic actually moves his body in rather spectacular ways. As a matter of fact, no one’s even sure it is really magic, since a few Muggles have been known to fight with the same effects.”
Ginny nodded, clearly interested, as he continued to tell her about Laminamancy, until he realised there was probably a particular reason she was here.
“Sorry, did you want to tell me something?” he called. While he had been speaking he had entered the shower, and had finished his explanation with Ginny on the other side of the partition, speaking loudly over the roar of the refreshingly hot water.
“Well, yeah, actually there was.” Her voice sounded a little strange: Harry realised, with some shock, that Ginny was embarrassed. He hadn’t thought such a thing possible. “I need your advice.”
Harry was intrigued. “On what?”
“Well, Colin Creevey asked me out earlier,” she said.
Harry felt everything go numb. He stood immobile for a moment, trying to take in what she had told him. Colin Creevey…
“Harry?”
Harry suddenly became aware that Ginny was standing only feet from him and he was completely naked. Ginny couldn’t see him, but it still made him feel uncomfortable, so he shut off the water, dried and dressed in clean clothes quickly as he spoke.
“Well, what’s the problem? Is there something more than just deciding whether or not to go with him?” He heard what he was saying as if it were someone else speaking, and he was quite impressed that he could converse with such pertinence when his mind appeared to be floating several metres away from his body.
“Well, I wondered if you minded. I mean, he’s quite good looking, and he’s always been nice to me, and if I can get him to put that damn camera down…”
“Why do you think I’d mind?” Harry’s voice was oddly strained, and he walked out of the little cubicle to see Ginny looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite interpret.
“Well,” she said, after some time, “I wouldn’t want to leave you out of things, you know. What with Ron and Hermione so wrapped up in each other these days.”
Harry stopped dead. He had been so stupid. He had been fooling himself, so badly.
“Oh.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow, an action that always made Harry’s stomach lurch. “Harry?”
“I… I didn’t… well…”
Ginny giggled.
“I didn’t realise you were hanging round with me because Ron and Hermione are so… busy,” Harry said, as quickly as he could. Ginny stopped laughing abruptly, a horrified look coming into her face as she realised what she had said, or how Harry had taken it.
“Oh no, Harry… I didn’t mean it like that, that wasn’t what I meant at all. I really enjoy spending time with you… oh, I can be so stupid sometimes,” she said with exasperation, a small, self-depreciating smile on her face. Harry tried to keep his knees steady.
“Look, I just meant, would you mind? Do you approve? Just, you know, as a friend? And do you think it’s a good idea?”
Harry took a deep breath. What he was about to do screamed against all his instincts like fingernails scraping on a blackboard.
“Firstly, no I don’t mind, I’m happy for you, secondly, yes, I approve, and thirdly, yes, I think it’s a good idea. Colin’s a really nice guy, and you probably have plenty in common. I bet you’ll get on really well.”
Ginny grinned again, before turning it into a grimace.
“Yeah, things in common… like, a certain amount of hero worship when we were younger for a certain person?” She laughed at Harry’s obvious discomfort, and it sounded to Harry like bells ringing. She turned to go. “Thanks, Harry. I’ll tell you how it went!” She left, leaving Harry behind her, feeling like he had just flicked the switch of the electric chair he himself was sitting in.
***
Something was slightly wrong with the great hall when Harry entered it on Saturday, the day Ginny had arranged to spend with Colin. Harry’s eyes swept the enormous room and identified the problem immediately: two Professors were missing. Snape and Lawhead. For a moment Harry was worried, but a glance from Dumbledore made him easier. They were away temporarily, they would be back. Harry sat at the end of the Gryffindor table, his thoughts moving to Snape for almost the first time since their talk.
It had been more than a little daunting to discover that the most disliked person in the school had carried an all-consuming love for his own mother. Of course, it explained a hell of a lot, not least Snape’s confusing actions towards Harry over the years: hating him publicly for the majority of the time, but saving his life on more than one occasion. On the other hand…
Harry was disturbed by something else: the similarities between Snape’s situation and his own. Snape had loved as deeply as Harry did now; he knew that because of experiencing in that one instant the thoughts Snape had had. And both loves were unrequited. Was it possible that Harry would end up like Snape? Bitter and alone, despised by almost everyone, totally misunderstood and a complete slave to duty?
He sincerely hoped not. He readily sympathised with the gaunt man, and decided that he would have to speak to him when he got back, try to mend some bridges. He was just wondering what he would say when he caught sight of Ginny and Colin leaving the great hall together, chatting and laughing as they went. Harry’s thoughts were scattered, and he sat motionless at the table, his food forgotten, for several minutes before returning to Gryffindor tower.
Harry had just reached the top of the first flight of the main stairway when someone touched his arm. He turned to see Cho, a decidedly strange expression on her face.
“Hi Cho… can I help you with something?”
Cho said nothing, but a slight pink tinge spread into her cheeks and she pulled Harry into a corridor, away from the main stairs where more people were now leaving breakfast. She turned to face him, and the look in her eye suggested that she was not going to back down from anything.
“Harry, I’ll get straight to the point… because I know you’ll appreciate that.” She took a deep breath. “Look, I still really like you, and I wondered if you wanted to go out with me today.” She was flushing furiously now, but there was a determined set to her mouth.
Harry’s mind was, as it seemed to be so often these days, paralysed. Never in a million years had he expected this. He had thought that they had been through this, and that she felt as he did: that there were no hard feelings and no regrets. More to the point, he had thought she was still going out with Michael Corner. This was the line of questioning he took, using logic to pretend that his mind wasn’t freewheeling like a comet hurtling towards the sun.
“What about Michael?” He struggled to get even that much out. Cho raised an eyebrow. The year before that single gesture might well have been enough to floor him, and it still would have been if Ginny had done it. Harry realised that he still found Cho very attractive, but he was subconsciously comparing her to Ginny the whole time, mentally listing her faults when compared to Ginny: she wasn’t as tall, her hair wasn’t as long, and her eyes didn’t shine in the same way…
“Michael and I broke up about two months ago. I thought everyone knew.” She chuckled. “Mind you, you’ve been pretty busy lately, Assistant Professor Potter, so you might not have noticed.”
There was another shock to Harry’s system. That wasn’t something he would have expected of Cho. Their conversations in the past had been rather limited in the humour department. Oh, they had been friendly enough, and laughed sometimes, but it wasn’t part of his experience for Cho to use sarcasm. He swallowed.
“Listen do you really think it’s a good idea? I mean, last time…”
Cho cut him off. “Last time I behaved like an idiot, I was still an emotional train-wreck. Come to that I still am, but I’m learning to deal with it. I realise we’d have to work at some things, but I like you too much not to want to make the effort.”
She had moved closer to each other while she was speaking, her voice getting softer and softer, until they were only inches away and Cho’s breath was warm on Harry’s face. Harry was running a weird, internal dialogue with himself.
‘Come on, snap out of it. Ginny, remember?’
‘She is really, really pretty…’
‘Keep thinking, long red hair, sparkling eyes…’
‘She’s going out with Colin.’
‘She’s on this one date, and she’s our best friend.’
‘Yes, but she probably doesn’t like us in that way. Fairly obviously, Cho does.’
‘It’s not just a question of that though, is it? Think of all we’ve been through with Ginny, all the trust we’ve built up, all the time we’ve spent together. Compared to her, we hardly know Cho.’
‘Maybe that doesn’t matter. It’s fairly obvious that Ginny will never like us, and if we give Cho enough time…
‘We are in love, and it’s not with Cho. Get a grip.’
At this point, someone did get a grip. To be more precise, Cho wrapped her hands around the back of Harry’s neck, weaving her fingers into his messy hair, and pulled his head down until his lips met hers.
It was nothing like the other time they had kissed. That time there had been tears and sobs and a great deal of hesitation on both sides. This time Harry couldn’t even think about that. All he was aware of was the feel of Cho’s lips, her soft skin against his, and the sweet taste of them. He felt her open her mouth and lick his lips slightly, and opened his mouth slightly in surprise, which she took as an invitation and promptly entered his mouth, swirling her tongue around Harry’s. Harry’s arms were rigid at his sides, his eyes screwed shut, and feeling like a bolt of lightning was going to hit him.
It felt very, very good. This was what he needed. His arms twitched, about to encircle Cho’s waist, and his tongue responded to hers.
And then he listened to his thoughts. This would be so nice if it were Ginny doing it…
He broke away quickly, feeling drained somehow, and saddened by the confused, slightly hurt look on Cho’s face. He hurried to explain.
“I’m sorry, Cho, but I can’t do this. Not because I don’t like you or anything, because I do, but I… I kind of like someone else, and I’d be thinking about her the whole time, and that’s unfair to you. You’re a wonderful person, and you deserve someone’s constant attention. That’s not something I can give you. I’m sorry.”
He cringed, wondering what her reaction would be. She took a deep breath.
“Thank you Harry. Thanks for being honest, and explaining. I’ll remember that kiss, you know. That was probably the best ever.” She smiled slightly, a little sadly, and Harry knew he must be crimson. She gave him a warm hug, which he gladly returned, and whispered, “If you change your mind, I’ll be waiting. I’m not quite ready to give you up yet, Potter.” She released him, grinned, and walked down the hall, stopping at the corner to give him a little wave.
For the second time in two days there was the sound of someone clapping behind him. Harry turned round to see Hermione, leaning against the wall with a highly amused smirk on her face.
“Wow. You must really be devoted to turn Cho down when she was throwing herself at you quite so, er, unsubtly,” Hermione said.
“Thanks.” Harry grimaced. “You know what? I really needed that kiss. I really needed to let the pressure off a bit. But it was wrong anyway.”
“Harry, she kissed you…”
“And I responded. I could have stopped it, and stopped it straight away, but I was too surprised, and then I was enjoying it too much.”
Hermione walked over to him, looking sympathetic, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Harry, you are only human. Well, I do wonder sometimes,” and she stuck her tongue out impishly at Harry’s glare, “but honestly, you’re a sixteen year old boy; you need to get thoroughly kissed every so often. All things considered, I think you did remarkably well to stop that kiss when you did, it looked pretty serious.”
“It was,” Harry admitted. “Not at all like the first time. It was all hot and… oh, I don’t know, but it was bloody good, but all I could think was, ‘I wish it was Ginny’. No one needs the person they’re kissing to be pining after someone else. She’s better off without me.”
Hermione was looking at him very carefully, then shook her head, stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “If Ginny ever comes round, or if you ever get as far as making a move, she’ll be a very lucky girl. You’re a really remarkable young man, Harry, in more ways than one,” she breathed, before walking away in the opposite direction from Cho, leaving Harry blushing at the compliment and wondering why it seemed that the only girl who didn’t want to kiss him was the one he did want to kiss.
***
Harry sat in his office, playing, and pouring all his pent up and confused feelings into the music. It wasn’t any piece he’d ever played before, or anything that had ever been written down, but it flowed from him unhesitatingly, as if it was something he had learnt long ago and had merely decided to perform to the empty room.
As he finished the door opened and Ginny stood in the doorway, looking strangely shy.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course, any time. Let me just put this away…”
“No, don’t. I’d really like to hear you play.”
Harry felt a little light headed at this, but he resettled the ‘cello between his legs and began to bow quietly, random notes turning into a soft melody that seemed to be almost backing music to the scene: Ginny sitting in one of his armchairs, gazing into the fire as though mesmerised by the flickering tongues. After a while, Harry felt he had to speak, though he didn’t stop playing.
“So, should I ask how it was with Colin, or not?”
Ginny sighed and gave him a rather tired smile. “Oh, it was fine. Very nice. We talked for a while, flew around the grounds for a while, snuck off to the Three Broomsticks at lunchtime, the usual stuff.” The words seemed to suggest a reasonable date. The tone of her voice made it sound like she’d just finished a hard day’s work in a coalmine, hacking at rocks with a plastic mackerel.
“You don’t sound very sure,” Harry hazarded. Ginny looked at him for a moment as he played on, not paying attention to the music anymore.
“To be honest it was dreadful. I mean, he was perfectly nice and everything, but nothing actually happened. It was just a day out with a mate in the end, even Colin recognised that by the time we came back. It turns out we don’t have nearly as much in common as we thought. He doesn’t even like the same classes I do.”
Harry considered what to say next. “Well, someone’ll turn up. After all, who could resist?” he said, injecting a mocking tone into his voice that he did not feel in the slightest. How could anyone fail to feel something, anything, for Ginny Weasley? She grinned at him.
“You’re one to talk, Potter. Every female in the school is after you, and you haven’t had a girlfriend in nearly two years.”
Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure you could really call Cho my girlfriend then. We didn’t really spend much time together; whenever we did we ended up furious with each other.”
Ginny chuckled. “If Ron and Hermione are anything to go by, that’s the sign of true love. So, do you still like her?” Suddenly she was all eagerness and curiosity. It was a moment before Harry realised that she was doing an impression of Lavender. He shook his head.
“No, I don’t. Don’t get me wrong, she’s great, we’re still friends and everything, but I just don’t feel like that for her anymore. Although it seems she does still have feelings for me.” He looked at her suddenly sincerely interested face and took a deep breath. “I was coming out of the great hall, and she kind of grabbed me, pulled me to one side and asked me out.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to need details, Harry.”
Harry told her everything that had happened, although he left out his reasoning why he had stopped the kiss, not to mention the conversation with Hermione. Ginny raised her eyebrows.
“Tell me again why you stopped her kissing you?” she asked, seeing through Harry’s evasion of the point in a second. Harry shifted uncomfortably.
“It just… didn’t feel right. I mean, the kiss was great, but… I don’t feel that way about her, not anymore. And I’d be leading her on, wouldn’t I?”
Ginny laughed, and Harry felt shivers go down his spine. “Harry, you are probably the most decent and most stupid boy who ever lived. Come on, let’s go and have dinner.” She stood up and he laid aside the instrument. They continued talking as they descended the stairs. They were just passing the main doors when they flew open with a clatter. Outside was a gale of noise and darkness. Rain blew in, and suddenly Harry found Tonks almost lying in his arms. She looked like she had travelled for miles, as she was soaking wet; she was in her natural form with her long, straight blonde hair plastered to her head, and her clothes seemed to be torn in several places. There was an ugly gash on her face and she was obviously severely wounded. He knelt down, Ginny beside him, and tried to comfort her while he sent Marietta, who was passing, to fetch Dumbledore. Tonks gripped Harry’s arm.
“He’s dead, Harry. Severus… he’s dead.”
***
The door of the hospital wing slammed open, and suddenly Lupin was there, by the bedside, clutching Tonks’ hand and letting desperate tears fall on the bed covers, and Tonks stroked the grey hair of their old Professor with one tired hand. Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron stood and withdrew, leaving the couple in peace.
None of them spoke as they walked to Harry’s office, the one place they could guarantee not being disturbed. Hermione had tears in her eyes, Ron’s face was oddly rigid, and Ginny’s was merely blank.
Tonks would be fine, they knew. Dumbledore had come to find them the moment Marietta had told him what had happened, and he had told them that Snape and Tonks had been on an undercover mission for the Order. Their cover had been breached, and Snape, it seemed, had died trying to cover their escape, while Tonks had simply run for it.
Harry’s mind was not paralysed now: it was in turmoil, a vicious cycle of thoughts running through his consciousness. Snape was dead. Snape, who had always seemed to hate him. Snape, who had hated his father so much. Snape, who had loved his mother with every particle of his being. He was dead.
Harry couldn’t bear to look at Ron’s face, because he could see the thoughts running through it as though Ron were screaming them to the world: better Snape than Tonks, or one of our friends, or one of us.
Harry couldn’t think that. In the end, he had probably understood better than anyone, except Dumbledore, the kind of person Snape had been, and the reasoning behind his every action. Yes, he would probably have been more upset if Snape had survived and Tonks had not, but that was far from being a happy thought. It made him feel horrible, because he knew that hardly anyone would be very sorry, or upset; hardly anyone would mourn Severus Snape, when he had deserved it more than anyone knew.
And worst of all, Harry had never gotten to speak to him again. He had wanted to tell him that he didn’t mind, that he understood, that he was sorry for resembling his father so closely however stupid that might be. He had wanted to question him, ask him about his mother, about what kind of person she was, about how she had lived her life, and he had thought that Snape would tell him, would be grateful for the communication after all that time with someone else who loved her still, though he had never known her…
Harry realised that he was crying, and he felt an arm encircle his shoulders and hug him close. It was Ginny. And for a moment Harry wanted to tell her, wanted to tell her everything, to pour out his hear to her, so that not another moment, not one more tenuous, fragile instant would go by without her knowing that he loved her more than life itself. But then the door opened, Blaise, Luna, Neville and Eleanor came in, and they all sat in silence, bearing witness to the passing of a man who might well be forgotten by the world, but whom they would never forget.
***
There was no empty seat at the top table at dinner the next evening. That seemed wrong to Harry, somehow, but it was just because Lupin was there, sitting between Dumbledore and Tonks, who was back in her guise of Professor Lawhead. The hall was subdued, students being quieter than normal… but Harry remembered two years before, when Cedric Diggory had been murdered, and how everyone had been silent, except for Cho who had sat, weeping quietly, at the Ravenclaw table. Harry looked around the room and felt that it wasn’t subdued enough: that this was no tribute to their lost Professor. Before he knew what he was doing, Harry stood up.
“Professor Dumbledore, may I say something?” The entire school was still, watching him. Even, Harry noticed, Draco Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins. They, it seemed, were upset about Snape dying: they had been unusually quiet all day, there had been no jeers, no taunts, no boasting. It had, Harry thought bitterly, been a damn wonderful day.
Dumbledore said nothing but nodded his head once, briefly. The usual sparkle was gone from his eyes; there was no jovial or serene smile on his face. Beside him, Professor McGonagall was stony faced, but Harry could tell she was fighting to hold back the emotions. He took a deep breath, then addressed the hall.
“Professor Snape was not the most well-liked of people at this school,” Harry began. He paused, sorting out in his mind what to say, and he saw some students exchanging looks.
“For many years, I disliked him. More than that, actually: I really loathed him. He was not very affirming, he was often bitter and angry, and he was generally unpleasant.” There was dead silence in the room. Everyone was looking at Harry as though he had gone mad, but there was guilt in the expressions as well. He took another deep breath.
“This year had been different. This year he was trying to mend his relationships with everyone, teachers and students, and friends as well,” he added, glancing at Lupin. “He had tried to be fair and honest and much more supportive to his students. A little while ago, I found out why.” Dumbledore looked at him sharply, and their gazes met for a long moment. Around the hall the expressions of worry for Harry’s sanity had changed to looks of curiosity. Harry shook his head.
“I can’t tell you his reasons. I don’t want to, and I know he wouldn’t want me to either. But let me assure you, his reasons were honest, understandable ones. Whatever he might have seemed, he was a good, caring, brave man who fought for what he believed in.” Harry picked up his goblet.
“I ask you to drink with me to him now. Remember him as a fighter who died for his beliefs, for what was right, and for his friends, and the students he taught. Remember him with fondness, and with kindness. He was a great man, and I honour him for that.” He lifted his glass in a salute. Draco Malfoy was the first to stand with him, followed by many of the other Slytherins, and then the rest of the school. They all drank, and Harry thought of Snape as he had last seen him: brooding over something while a potion brewed in his cauldron and thirty vials stood, ready to be marked, on his desk. Yes, that was how Snape ought to be remembered.
As they sat, Harry caught Draco’s eyes, which were red-rimmed, as though he had been struggling not to cry. Harry saw behind those eyes a world crashing down, a world where his father was a wanted criminal, his mother obsessive and possibly deranged, his name hated and feared throughout the country, let alone the school, and the one person he still had left for any kind of guidance stolen from him in a single heartbeat. Harry maintained the look and nodded once. Draco nodded back. Things were never going to be the same. Not for them, at any rate.
(AN: Laminamancy: literally ‘knowledge of blades’. Well, just about literally. The mency or mancy in various magical subjects (Arithmancy, Legilimency, Occlumency, even Necromancy) comes from the Latin word for knowledge. Lamina, as you might guess, means ‘blade’, and specifically the blade of a sword or other edged weapon. Interestingly, the Occlu in Occlumency does not refer to the eyes (Oculos) but rather the verb to occlude, meaning to shadow or cloud over, which makes rather more sense. Amazing what a rudimentary knowledge of Latin gets you, isn’t it?
Thanks once again to Serpentspawn and Lourdes. Superb beta-ing.
Think that’s about it, for once. R&R! Tom)
Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen: Admission
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: see profile
Chapter Thirteen: Admission
It was late, and dark in the deserted common room. Harry sat on a sofa, thinking about things. Life, current events, Ginny… they all had to be sorted.
The strangest was the change he had seen in Draco Malfoy. He had not said a word for a week, not in classes and, according to Blaise, at any other time either. Harry had kept a close eye on him. He began to get worried. Him, worried about Draco Malfoy? He shook his head; the world must surely be ending now. Draco hardly ate, and his normally handsome if cold features were beginning to look wasted. He seemed drained all the time, and once or twice, after lessons, he had appeared on the verge of collapse.
And then the biggest shock of all: he had turned up at the last DA meeting. True, most of the school turned up these days, but everyone had gone silent the moment the blonde boy entered. He could not meet anyone’s eyes but stared at his feet and stood at the back, listening to what was said. He didn’t join in with the duelling practice: Harry guessed that Draco knew not one person there wanted to have anything to do with him, let alone have him point a wand at him. Harry walked over.
“It’s been a long time since second year, Draco. Even then, I didn’t think either of us really won. Why don’t you show me how it’s done?” Harry spoke lightly, meaning everything he said and trying to keep his voice dead even, or possibly even attempting to make it friendly. He saw Ron, Hermione, Ginny and a few others looking at him with disbelief, no longer practicing but staring at him instead. He himself wondered vaguely what he was doing, but the only answer he could come up with was ‘what needs to be done.’
Draco looked up slowly and forced himself to meet Harry’s eyes. Harry had expected a leer, or an arrogant iciness. He had not expected the usually cold eyes to be red-rimmed, tired, and desperately sad. When he spoke, Draco sounded rather odd. “Are you sure?”
As an answer, Harry smiled briefly, held up his wand and bowed crisply. Draco did the same, and then fired off several spells in quick succession. Before anyone could so much as blink, the two were duelling furiously.
And Draco was dammed good at it. Not in the same way as Harry, or Ginny, but in his own, rather special way. For one thing, the range of spells he used was far greater than anyone else’s, and though many of them were not particularly powerful their effects were sufficiently interesting to keep Harry guessing. Also, while Harry moved fast and purposefully, and Ginny moved with reckless abandon, Draco moved with grace and elegance, almost as though he were dancing. Harry thought it admirable. He didn’t know it, but those watching thought that Harry moved in pretty much the same way, and Ginny knew that it was the Laminamancy that had caused that.
Eventually Harry caught Draco with a stunner to the torso, and he went down. Harry pulled him to his feet, muttered “speak to me afterwards” in his ear and walked off towards some others. His way was barred, though, by Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Blaise, Dean, Seamus and quite a lot of others, mostly Gryffindors. Harry stood before them and raised an eyebrow.
“Is there a problem?”
“What the hell are you doing, Harry?” Ron hissed at him. “Letting Malfoy anywhere near you, carrying a wand…”
Harry looked around. Everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing as Ron. He looked at Hermione, and at Ginny, expecting them to be, perhaps, a bit more understanding, but Hermione looked vaguely scared, clutching Ron’s arm, and Ginny was looking furiously at him, just as she had at Hagrid’s cabin, and Harry’s heart and eyes dropped.
“I have to give him the benefit of the doubt. I know how easy it is for parents to screw up their kids. Look at what the Dursleys did to me, and Dudley as well. Draco is all alone. Most of the Slytherins hate his guts; hell, most of them are here. His parents are probably insane, and tying him to the service of someone he hates and fears, and whose beliefs he doesn’t really share.” Harry looked up, and met every one of their glares steadily, and repeated himself. “I have to give him the benefit of the doubt. I’m not asking you to trust him. I don’t trust him, not yet. But he needs a chance to sort out who he is, and whether that’s who he wants to be.”
Everyone was still staring at him, looks of incredulity and some shame on every face. Ginny still looked livid. Harry turned away, feeling it cost him everything he had to do that, and went to tutor some of the younger students with the reductor curse.
***
Harry sat behind his desk in his office as Draco shut the door behind him, before sitting in one of the chairs suitable for an interview. He looked nervous, apprehensive… even fearful. But the session in the DA had given him enough courage to at least look Harry in the eye. Harry considered Draco before speaking.
“This year, I said I’d open the DA to anyone who wants to come, and I meant it. As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome, just so long as you have no ulterior motives. The others will take longer to come around, I’m afraid. Let me make something clear: I don’t trust you. Yet. I have no reason, and I have every reason to hate you. I’m really putting my neck on the line here. But, trust can be earned, and not just from me. From everyone. Is that why you came? Do you want a chance to prove yourself?”
“Yes.” It didn’t sound sullen, or drawling. It sounded like the truth. Harry slowly nodded his head.
“In that, case, I’d suggest trying to patch things up with Blaise. You may as well know, it was him who stunned all your friends in the train on the way here: he’s been our spy in Slytherin since the start of the year, not yours in the DA. But he’s a good guy. Sometimes I think he’s like I would be if my parents… well, that doesn’t matter,” Harry finished that line of thought abruptly, slightly embarrassed that he had told Draco something so personal, and not anyone else, but Draco was nodding with comprehension.
“I had noticed the similarities. He’s a good guy. He never bullied anyone, or showed off. He was never anything like me,” he said, bitterness and self-loathing entering his voice. Harry said nothing. Draco looked straight at him. “How do you cope?”
“With what?” Harry asked, considering the irony of the question. It could be any number of things. Running the DA, having to destroy Voldemort, Ginny…
“Your parents.”
Harry smiled, very slightly, though it was a sad smile. “It’s not easy. It helps that I have a family now, of sorts. People who care about me. You know, I get a lot of sympathy ‘cos I’m an orphan. I sympathise more with Neville, whose parents don’t recognise him, and who probably never will. And I sympathise with you, because your parents don’t care. They were given the greatest gift, their own child, and they didn’t care. I hoped maybe you’d realise that, and work out what really matters in life. I just regret what had to happen first.”
Malfoy laughed harshly, but there were tears in his eyes. “Bloody marvellous time to have a crisis of faith. He was the only one who ever even tried to advise me against being such a delusional scumbag, and I threw it in his face. In his way, Snape cared for me.” He swallowed. Harry recognised the symptoms: this was hard for Draco to say, but he needed to say it. “He cared for me, and I didn’t even recognise it, and now he’s gone. And the reason he cared for me? He saw too much of himself in me.”
That gave Harry pause for thought. Recently he had compared himself to Snape. Just how different were they, he and Draco? If they had had each other’s upbringings, how would they have been different? He remembered his aunt and uncle talking about a poem, something about it being obscene. Something about your mum and dad. Who wrote it? Larkin, maybe?
Draco left shortly afterwards, but stopped at the door. “I’m sorry about that thing with Ginny, too. Please tell her I… I won’t be bothering her again.”
Harry grinned mischievously. “Over her, are you?”
Draco blushed. He really blushed, not the pink tinge to his pale cheeks that meant he was livid, but a full blown, utterly scarlet blush. “I… I’m going out with Padma Patil. It’s amazing really,” he said, and for the first time Harry saw a totally genuine, bemused smile on Draco Malfoy’s face. “She really seems to like me, and to believe I’m, well, sorry. Trying to change. She’s incredible,” he finished, somewhat breathlessly. Harry looked at him, and envy filled him for a moment. Draco Malfoy, who had hurt him and his friends over and over again, had the kind of closeness with someone he liked that Harry could only dream about. He looked away.
“I’m happy for you.” Draco had nodded and left.
Harry spent this evening, like that one, alone. He didn’t play, or read. He just stared at the fire, and hoped he’d done the right thing.
***
“Harry, a word?”
Harry looked up from where he had been picking at his breakfast, alone, at the very end of the Gryffindor table. He was alone because Ron and Ginny were still angry with him over Malfoy, and Hermione was too worried about what might happen to try and mend bridges right now. Lupin was standing over him, smiling at him, and something struck Harry. Remus Lupin, the last of the Marauders… not counting Wormtail, of course… Harry felt a surge of affection for the grey-haired man. Something occurred to him to ask Lupin, but he saved it for later. “Sure.”
“Since I’m here, and… well, I really don’t want to leave right now,” he said, a faint tinge of pink creeping into his cheeks, and Harry saw him glance at Lawhead, who was busy looking stern at the top table, “Professor Dumbledore asked me to teach any seventh years who want to learn how to apparate, and everyone thought it would be wise to teach you as well. Dumbledore informed Tonks and myself of your, er, other newfound ability.” He shook his head, smiling bemusedly. “Quite, quite incredible. Trust you to break every rule ever made. Well, we thought apparition would be another skill you should know. What do you think? I’d teach you separately, in Tonk’s office.”
Harry grinned; he had been considering asking Dumbledore if he could learn for a while now: it would be useful, to say the very least. “Great! When do you want to see me?”
That evening he stood outside the defence office and knocked. Lupin opened it, smiling. “Ah, come in Harry. Sit down.” Harry grinned. He had been in this office many times, but never had he seen it looking more like… well, like a place where someone lived. It was probably due to Tonks, who was not the tidiest of people even before you took into account her extreme clumsiness. She was sitting in an armchair, and smiled up from her book as Harry entered before returning to it. Once again, she was in her natural form: Harry suspected that Lupin had a lot to do with that.
“So, Harry, what do you know about Apparition?” Lupin asked, settling himself in another armchair. Before Harry could answer there was a chuckle from Tonks.
“From what I’ve seen for myself and heard already, Remus, the whole background thing isn’t going to be necessary. Minerva told us about your most recent brand of rule-breaking;” she smirked at Harry’s obvious discomfort. “Very impressive, Harry. Showing everyone else up is obviously the way to defeat Voldemort,” she drawled. “I’m surprised he can’t Apparate already.”
“But I can!”
Tonks stopped chuckling. Both were looking at him very closely. Lupin sighed heavily. “No, I’m sorry, this isn’t making sense yet. I must still be imagining things. You’ll have to explain it to us, Harry.”
Harry took a deep breath. “I borrowed a book from Hermione after we arranged this, and I read most of it… I had a couple of free periods, and lunch, you know. It all seemed fairly straight forward, so I thought I’d go and try it. Up in my dorm. It was really easy, even though I was just going across the room.”
Lupin sighed again. “Harry, it is a very bad habit of yours, repeatedly doing what has always been thought impossible. You do know that no one is supposed to be able to apparate in the school grounds? The closest anyone can get is the house elves, and that’s not quite apparition, Wizards can’t do it.” He looked speculatively at Harry, who frowned.
“I just thought you couldn’t travel… you know, across the boundaries. I thought you could do it once you were inside.”
Lupin shook his head. “The wards cover the entire castle, not just the boundaries. We’ll have to tell the headmaster about this.”
Harry looked and felt uncomfortable, wondering how much to say. “He… well, he already knows why I can do all this stuff, that’s supposed to be impossible. He told me after the animagus thing. And no,” he said, in reply to Lupin and Tonks’ shared look of inquiry, “I’m not going to explain. It’s, well, personal.” He could feel his cheeks flushing and fought for some suitable change of subject. “Anyway, if it’s impossible, why did we meet up here?”
Lupin shrugged. “I was just going to go over the theory here, then take you to the shrieking shack, by the passageway under the willow, to start the basics. In fact, I still want to do that.” He paused, then said, “Harry, why don’t you apparate to the Whomping Willow now? I’ll meet you there soon.”
Harry nodded, and shut his eyes briefly, easing his mind to the vicious tree in the grounds. Scarcely a second later he opened his eyes to find himself there. The willow’s branches swayed with the strong breeze, and Harry closed his eyes again, feeling the air move around him and caress him. He loved the feel of the wind, on his face, in his hair, and he stretched out his arms, extending his fingers until it felt like water was streaming through them. He heard Lupin coming when he was still a long way away and stood, waiting for his old teacher. Lupin looked impressed.
“Did you realise, Harry, that you did that pretty much silently? That usually takes some practice.” Harry coloured at the compliment. He wished he were better at taking praise: it wasn’t as if he was any stranger to being given it these days. Especially, to his displeasure, from Professor Thompson. The new Potions Professor was pretty good, Harry supposed, competent, reliable… but he couldn’t hold a candle to Snape. It was only now that Harry recognised Snape for the genius he had been. At the advanced level, not only Harry and Hermione but most of the class could outperform the nervous little man who taught them now, and who was obviously much more comfortable with the relatively harmless potions they had made in their first few years at Hogwarts. He seemed amazed at the competency of the seventh years, and seemed to spend most of his time congratulating Draco, Blaise, Hermione, himself and a few others for potions that hardly seemed difficult anymore, at least not to Harry. He had begun to wonder why it had taken him so long to appreciate the simplicity of following the recipe precisely, and the satisfaction you got out of getting the potion right. But then, given his track record, being quick on the uptake was not something Harry exactly prided himself on.
Lupin looked around. “Harry… if I set up a concealment charm so no one could see you, would you be willing to transform and press the knot under the tree?”
Harry considered. The tree was beginning to lash around now, and with more than the wind moving it. Still, he was fast in his lion form. Very fast. He thought he could probably dodge the branches without too much difficulty. “OK. Which knot is it?” Lupin pointed it out, and then made a few passes with his wand, muttering words Harry recognised as a distraction incantation: no one in the school would feel the need to look out of the windows at them right now. He shifted.
As the white lion, he paced around the tree before selecting a direction of approach. He had never before had such purpose for his animal form, such a need of his physical abilities, and as he ran and leapt, this way and that, dodging branches and drawing nearer the trunk every moment, re revelled in the speed and strength that was his to command. Again he felt the wind, this time through the thick fur of his hide, and whipping through his jet-black mane, and he gloried in the freedom of it. He landed on the knot and the tree stilled, and he slipped into the passageway, running in his fast but easy lope along the damp, earthy tunnel.
He transformed when he reached the ruined house, and waited for his teacher. “How was that, Professor?”
Lupin grinned. “Most impressive, Harry. And…” he paused, then smiled more gently. “Please, call me Remus. Now, I want to see just how good you are. You remember the bedroom upstairs, where you met Sirius?” Harry nodded. “Apparate straight onto the bed, then back down here, right where you’re standing now. Try to do it as quickly and quietly as possible.” Harry nodded, and was gone, utterly silently. A moment later he was back, and Remus didn’t even see any dust rise; Harry was standing in his own footprints. He shook his head. “You know, it worries me how easily this comes to you, Harry. Sit down. Please.”
Harry did so, and the question he had thought of before rose within him. “Remus… did Sirius leave a will?”
“Legilimency too, Harry?” Remus chuckled when Harry nodded. “You didn’t read that in my mind, though. I wasn’t even looking at you, though I was thinking about it. Yes, Sirius left a will. Wills in the magical world are extremely complex, Harry, and I won’t bore you with the details, but there is a lot you need to know. I am now officially your guardian, Harry… though you’ll be seventeen in just a few months, legally an adult, so it won’t affect either of us much.
“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place now belongs to Dumbledore as head of the Order, as Sirius wished, but his estates and possessions all went to you. Combine that with the fortune your parents left you, and you are a very rich young man, Harry. You are now the head of two of the oldest and most respected families in the Wizarding world: the Potters and the Blacks. There might be a third as well, but no one is quite sure… anyway, that’s for another time. Right now, though, I want to use my power as a guardian, even though you don’t want me to.” Harry squirmed, knowing what was coming. Here it came. Number five.
“Harry, please tell me what Dumbledore explained to you, about your new powers.”
Harry sighed. This was not going to end without Remus knowing too. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want his guardian and friend to know the truth. Hell, he wanted the world to know how he felt. But he wanted Ginny to know first, and that was impossible, since Hermione, Luna, Hagrid and Dumbledore had already figured the whole thing out.
“You know about the prophecy, right?” Remus nodded. “Well, I asked the headmaster at the end of last year what power I could possibly have that could defeat Voldemort. At the time I didn’t understand his answer, but now I’m beginning to. He said my power was my love, both the love people feel for me and that I feel for others.” He stopped and swallowed, wondering how to continue. Lupin’s face was impassive, although there was a strange, shining quality to his grey eyes.
“Dumbledore said that, ever since I’ve come to Hogwarts… ever since I’ve entered the Wizarding world, there have been people who love me. The Weasleys, my friends, even some of my teachers, some of the time.” Remus grinned and Harry smiled back, feeling another surge of affection for the quiet man who had always been so wise and ready to help him, and always so unassuming. “I think what he meant was that I have a lot of power that’s, I dunno, tapped by this love. With all those people loving me to a greater or lesser extent, I’ve always needed to do what’s necessary. I’ve always coped with the problems. But, it’s always been… passive. No, that’s the wrong word. Reactive, that’s it. So, it only kicks in when the need arises. The need to find the Philosopher’s Stone, the need to save Ginny and kill the basilisk, the need to conjure the Patronus to save Sirius, even the need to escape that graveyard…”
He tailed off. Remus was nodding his head, but then he looked hard at Harry. “What’s changed?”
This was it. Harry screwed up his courage.
“I fell in love. Or, I realised I was in love. Back in the summer. Dumbledore knows, and he said that that was allowing me to use even more of my power. And not just the Apparition or the Animagus thing either. I’ve been better in lessons, although at the start I was just working harder to distract myself. Occlumency isn’t a problem now. I’ve pretty much mastered wandless magic. I’ve taught myself Laminamancy and even got pretty good at playing the ‘cello… and all because, apparently, I’m in love. And she doesn’t even know,” he finished, ruefully. He had talked himself to a standstill, and just sat, looking at his hands lying on the dusty, broken kitchen table. He did not look at Remus.
“Who is it, Harry?” Lupin’s voice was very gently, very understanding. Harry looked at him despite himself. His face was full of compassion for his ward who was suffering so much more than anyone knew.
“Do you really need to know?” There was no real hope in Harry’s voice: he was resigned to telling Remus, who nodded. “It’s Ginny Weasley.”
There was silence for a while. Then Lupin spoke. “Don’t give up, Harry. It’ll work out.”
“Will it, though?” Harry’s voice was close to despair as he voiced the fears he hadn’t told anyone. “I’m so stupid. She liked me for ages, I knew it, and I never gave her a second thought. She was always just Ron’s little sister, and now it’s too late. She’s over me. Well over, and I don’t blame her after the way I treated her. Sure we’re close, I’m closer to her than to Ron and Hermione these days, but… she just doesn’t feel that way about me anymore.” He was silent for a while, then continued.
“A while ago, Cho Chang told me she still liked me. She asked me out, she even kissed me. Last year I would have thought I was in heaven. Now the only thing I can do is think about how she’s not Ginny and never will be. I’d like to think that one day I’ll feel something for her again, forget about Ginny… but I don’t think it’s going to happen. Not when I keep getting hopeful because of the way Ginny acts. I’m torturing myself by being around her, but… it would hurt more if I stayed away.”
There were tears in Harry’s eyes now. Lupin said nothing, but got up and enfolded Harry in a warm hug. Harry cried silently while his guardian held him, torn apart by not being able to help the boy on whom so much depended. If anyone deserved happiness and peace, it was Harry. It just wasn’t going to happen, though. Not for a while, anyway.
***
Ginny was still being distant with him, but not because she was angry. She was busy revising for her OWLs, and the stress was getting to her. She used his office, true, but not while he was there. She left the room whenever he entered it. It felt to Harry like a stab to the heart every time it happened.
His own exams were approaching as well. He didn’t care much, couldn’t bring himself to revise: he found he already knew it all thoroughly, as though he had known it before being taught it, and that the lessons themselves had been the revision. Besides, they were only mocks for the NEWTs next year. They didn’t matter. Not much seemed to matter to him just then.
He threw himself into work with the DA, going so far as to arrange one on one meetings with members having difficulties with the harder spells they learnt: the self enchantment spells like Celeritus, The stealth spells the advanced classes were learning with Lawhead, and the Patronus charm. He spent a lot of time fighting his shadow in the room of requirements, working until his Laminamancy had become a form of time control, where he could slow everything down and evaluate exactly how he needed to move, where he needed to be the next moment, and how to operate his body to be there at the right time. He spent a lot of time alone with his ‘cello, too.
And there was Quidditch, of course. There was little doubt that Gryffindor would win the cup now, but they still had one more match to play, against Ravenclaw. The last day of May dawned bright and breezy, not quite perfect for Quidditch but flying would be a delight. Harry gave only a brief talk, mainly encouraging everyone rather than actually telling them what to do: they were a good team. They’d know what to do.
And they did. Once again Gryffindor was leading, although the Ravenclaw team was putting up a much better showing than any of the others had. At 110 to 70, Harry had to admit that Cho was an excellent Captain as well as an excellent Seeker. Once again she was keeping close to him, marking his every move, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to look in her face, afraid what he might see there. He pulled to a halt high above the pitch, looking down at the stadium, hoping for a glimpse of gold.
The wind was blowing clouds across the sun, dark, brooding clouds, and as the light changed Harry saw someone standing in the Slytherin seats, raising a wand, pointing at where Ginny had just tackled a Ravenclaw Chaser for the quaffle. Pansy Parkinson.
Time slowed, just as if he was fencing again, but still the spell moved impossibly fast, and Harry had not reached Ginny, not by a long way. The spell hit her and she fell from her broom. She was at least seventy feet from the ground, but this struck Harry as a good thing: it would give him more time to reach her.
Time recovered and Harry felt the incredible speed he was flying at, his eyes fixed on the falling figure in scarlet. Something gold flickered in the corner of his sight and he grabbed it without thinking. He still wasn’t going fast enough. He kicked the broom into its highest speed and Harry felt the wood groaning in protest but he didn’t let up. He was five feet from the ground when he caught Ginny, still unconscious. He pulled up, tossed the almost crushed Snitch to a stunned looking Madame Hooch without dismounting, and flew straight to the window of the hospital wing with Ginny in his arms. Looking back briefly he saw Draco Malfoy marching towards school, Pansy Parkinson unconscious, bound and floating in front of him, and Padma Patil at his side. He grinned. Maybe he really had done the right thing.
***
Some time later, Harry sat on a rock next to the lake, staring out into the dark waters, watching the rain teem down on the surface. He was soaking wet and freezing, but he loved it. He loved the storm and its freedom, loved the wildness of it. He would have flown more, but Madame Pomfrey had taken one look at him, staring out of the hospital wing window at the approaching clouds, and confiscated his broom, locking it in the cupboard beside Ginny’s bed. She was fine, she said, just rather in shock, and tired. The confiscation of his broom hadn’t deterred him: he had needed to be there, outside, and feel it.
He looked up and marvelled at the lightning playing above him, the game of some unimaginable power. He gloried in the blast of thunder that shook the grounds, making larger waves in the waters of the lake. This was wonderful, this was what he needed right now. He shouted something wordless and meaningless into the fury around him, and felt the exhilaration of being a part of something so powerful.
And suddenly she was there, running round the lake towards him, a smile spread over her beautiful face, her flaming hair plastered to her head. She arrived beside him and laughed in the face of the storm, a defiance Harry fell in love with all over again. She was what he needed, he knew. Someone to share everything with, whether it was the quietness of a fire or the ferocity of a storm.
“Harry, you’re missing the party! We won the Quidditch Cup! Why aren’t you celebrating?”
He grinned at her laughing face. It was funny, but before the match he had felt ready to give up. But now she was with him again, sharing this with him, and laughing with him. He nodded at the clouds above them. “I didn’t want to miss this.”
“Thanks for catching me too, Harry. And catching the Snitch on the way? Sometimes you are just a bit too lucky, Potter.” Harry shrugged.
“What was I supposed to do, let my star player smash themselves to pieces AND lose the game?” He smiled. “I’m just glad you’re OK. And amazed that you’re here; I can’t quite believe Madame Pomfrey cleared you.”
Ginny laughed again, and Harry decided something, quite suddenly. It was time to tell her, he realised. Time to tell her at least part of what he had been keeping.
“Ginny, I need to tell you something. You remember I said you would be the first I would tell?”
Ginny nodded. She was no longer laughing, or even smiling, but through the rain running down her hair and face Harry could tell she was pleased, and attentive. Harry took a deep breath.
“What smashed in the department of mysteries that night… it wasn’t a prophecy, it was the recording of a prophecy that Trelawney made to Dumbledore before I was born. Dumbledore showed me his memory of it. I can’t remember the whole thing, but the gist of it is, either I’m going to destroy Tom or he’s going to destroy me. And it’s me because he marked me. I have some power that can defeat him. And it’s why I’ve been learning Laminamancy. Because our wands won’t work against each other. I need another way to fight him.” Harry fell silent. He had imagined this moment, had pictured them being by a fire, in comfy chairs, and feeling despondent, feeling helpless, but now, with the rain pouring and the thunder crashing all around him, he felt elated. He looked at Ginny’s face and saw worry and puzzlement. He wondered how he could alleviate those things.
“Harry, why now? What’s changed? Why do you feel you can tell me this now?”
Harry laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Because right now, Ginny, I feel like I can do pretty much bloody anything,” he screamed into the storm.
(AN: Thanks again to my betas, I'd look really stupid if it wasn't for you two pointing out all my (many) mistakes.
I think the only thing that needs explanation here is the reference to the poem, which some people might not recognise: Phillip Larkin, 'They f*** you up, your mum and dad'.
I need to decide whether to write the sequel. I have a ton of ideas for it, moving the whole thing rather AU, so I need to find out whether people would want to read it. But you might not know till youve seen all of this one!
Thanks, and please review!
Tom)
Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen: The Best Birthday
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: see profile
Chapter Fourteen: The Best Birthday
Harry lent against the wall, feeling the summer breeze ripple gently through the entrance hall from the open double doors. The doors of the great hall were shut, and a busy silence came from within.
His own exams would start soon, and he had finally bullied himself, and allowed Hermione to bully him into, a little revision. There were things he had forgotten, it turned out. Not many things, though. Hermione had tested him on Potions theory the night before, and the only thing he hadn’t been able to remember was the exact amount of essence of belladonna to add to the Syrup of Stamina.
All of a sudden the doors burst open and Harry was nearly overwhelmed by the sea of fifth years running outside, cheering and whooping that their exams were finally over. Harry saw a blaze of red hair approaching him fast and was abruptly winded by Ginny hugging him very hard.
“I’ve finished! I’ve done it! I’ve… er, Harry, are you alright?”
Harry grinned and she loosened her grip on his ribs slightly. “I’m fine. Just so you know, breathing’s something I quite enjoy…”
She clouted him on the arm, laughing, and made for the grounds and some long-awaited rest and relaxation, Harry trailing after her. They walked to the lake, taking their time, chatting offhandedly about the last exam: History of Magic. Apparently it had been pretty much the same as last year, just some slightly different questions.
Last year.
Harry sat on the same rock from which he had enjoyed the storm a few weeks ago, staring out over the water, Ginny silent next to him. When her voice broke the silence, it didn’t seem like it. It seemed a natural sound, as normal as the birds singing overhead, the quiet lapping of the lake, the tiny chirping of insects and the wind swaying the tops of the trees.
“Harry, what’s wrong?”
He looked at her and smiled, though his heart was heavy. “Sorry, I’m being gloomy and you want to celebrate. It’s just…” He paused, looking at her, watching the light reflecting off the lake playing in her deep brown eyes, then looked away, out over the lake again.
“It’s been a year, Gin. A whole year. And… it still hurts. So much.”
His voice was breaking. He felt Ginny wrap her arm around him, her head on his shoulder, and took a deep breath. She understood. She felt the same way, and he put his arm around her shoulder, lightly, very lightly, before feeling bitter and sad that the only reason he had to hold Ginny Weasley like this was their mutual grief. It shouldn’t be like that. They shouldn’t need a reason.
After a long time Harry released her. She smiled back at him, but there were tears in her eyes. They didn’t say anything on the way back to the castle, which was loud with laughter and excitement. The year was drawing to a close.
***
The ride home on the Hogwarts express was just as bad this year as it had been the last: much, much too short. Harry sat with Ron, Hermione, Luna, Blaise and Ginny. Neville and Eleanor stayed for a while as well, talking, laughing, playing games, anything to pass the time, but Harry’s thoughts constantly returned to the weeks he’d have to spend with the Dursleys.
The last time, though. In just a few weeks he would be seventeen. He would legally be an adult, and there would be no more reason to inflict his presence on his relatives any longer. The wards that had protected him for so long would fall, he would be just as safe anywhere, and safest at Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place or the Burrow.
But the time dragged. While the hundreds of miles from Hogwarts to King’s Cross seemed to have taken only a few minutes, the twenty or so to Little Whinging were interminable, and the only things to distract Harry from the scared looks Dudley was giving him were the memories of his friends’ goodbyes at the station: Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Luna and Ginny had all hugged him, as had Tonks and Lupin (Tonks with blue hair today), and there had been Moody and Mr. Weasley to shake his hand, tell him they would see him soon, and to reiterate the warnings they had given the Dursleys the previous year.
Harry went up to his room when he got there. It was almost empty: Dudley had apparently decided that keeping a mountain of broken toys around wasn’t mature, so he had cleaned them out. This left Harry a great deal more room. He stowed his trunk at the end of his bed, stroked Hedwig for a while, feeling the warm feathers stirring as she nibbled his ear affectionately, and then made up his mind. He pulled parchment, ink and quill and sat at his desk.
‘Dear Ginny,
‘Now I feel really stupid. I’ve only just got back. I saw everyone just a few minutes ago, and I’m missing you all so much already that I’m writing to you. I hope you don’t mind.
‘I’m counting down the days to my birthday, too…’
***
Normally, Harry kept a little chart that counted down the days to his return to Hogwarts while he stayed at the Dursleys. This time, he measured it in correspondence. He had never sent to many letters in his life. He and Ginny kept up a veritable conversation, with each writing every other day, receiving the other’s letters in between, alternating between using Pigwidgeon and Hedwig. He also wrote to Ron and Hermione many times, giving them news and reporting any amusing events that happened… and suddenly, Privet Drive seemed to be hilarious to Harry. His relatives were, in fact, so much more odd than his friends and family in the Wizarding world, he wondered that he hadn’t noticed the funny side before. He wrote to Remus and Tonks a couple of times, to Moody, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, the twins, Bill, Charlie, Percy, even his teachers. He wrote to all at least once, and in one letter to all of them he wrote an apology for the year before, and an attempt at describing his feelings. And every one of them replied, thanking him, and reassuring him.
He had never felt so appreciated in his life. People wanted to know his opinions, wanted to understand how he felt. And, at last, he felt able to tell them.
The Dursleys left him alone for the most part. Harry was used to this, but he started to pay attention to them as he had never done before. He listened to the conversations over meals, and laughed afterwards at how meaningless they were. More than once he had collapsed into laughter writing a letter to Ron, Hermione or Ginny, after writing something like, ‘I guess you had to be there, but it was so funny! He really thought we all cared about the best thickness for a crosshead drill bit. And the others just nodded, and behaved like they were really interested, when you could tell they were thinking he should stuff his drill bit… well, you get the picture.’
Harry also noticed that a change had come over his aunt. He supposed it had been there, the beginnings of it, at the end of last year, but this summer she wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. When she spoke to him her voice was oddly hushed, and she spoke less and less altogether. It worried Harry. He was amazed to find that he cared about her, just as he had been amazed to find he was worried about Draco Malfoy. It seemed ludicrous, but it was true. He could only assume that she was worried he might bring an attack on her home, like two summers previously, and he couldn’t blame her for that.
Eventually he woke up, and a wide grin spread over hid face. It was July the thirty-first, his seventeenth birthday. He was an adult now, and he was going to see his family. His real family.
He showered and dressed in his favourite clothes, blue jeans and a black t-shirt with a silver design on it. If you concentrated hard enough and squinted a bit, it looked like a Dragon. He remembered the day he had bought it in Gladrag’s with Ginny. It had reminded him of something he had seen on that fateful day, seven years before, as uncle Vernon had driven them to every corner of the country to escape the letters from Hogwarts: the ancient, prehistoric pattern on a hillside, lines and dots dug through the turf and into the chalk beneath, which suggested the outline of a horse. Just as he was tying his shoelaces there was a rap at the window, which Harry opened. A Tawny owl flew in, dropped an official-looking envelope on his bed and flew straight out again. Harry opened the envelope. There was no explanatory note here, merely a purple and blue card printed with various runes he didn’t know the meaning of as well as the words ‘Official Licence of Apparition: Harry James Potter’. He grinned and slipped the card in his pocket, the feeling of freedom increasing.
He laid his dragon-leather jacket over his bed and proceeded to pack his belongings back into his trunk. He cleaned and shut up Hedwig’s cage (he had sent her to Hagrid with a letter the day before) and then went downstairs, to eat the last meal he was ever planning to have with his aunt, uncle and cousin.
He hadn’t told them he would be leaving today, but they noticed the moment he came in that something was different.
“What are you all dressed up for?” his uncle grunted suspiciously, taking in Harry’s still wet hair that was relatively calm at the moment. Harry took a deep breath and smiled.
“Today’s my seventeenth birthday. In the Wizarding world, that means I’m an adult, even though I have another year of school to go. I’m allowed to do magic. But you don’t need to worry, because I’m leaving. For good.”
Petunia stared at him. “But.. but… the protections… he told…”
“They don’t work any more. Because I’m not a child, all those wards and spells are inactive. So, it’s safer for me to go too, somewhere where the protections are strong. I was just going to have some breakfast and then… well, that’ll be it.” He poured some cereal into a bowl. Dudley looked shell-shocked. His aunt seemed on the verge of tears, which surprised him.
His uncle was livid. His face was pale, dangerously so, and he stood up, taking a menacing step towards Harry. “So that’s it, is it?” he snarled. “After sixteen years of looking after you, feeding you, everything we’ve done for you…”
“I hate to say it, but you didn’t do a good job of that,” Harry stated calmly. “You always hated me being here. You couldn’t stand it. I would have thought you would be happy.”
Vernon roared, and flung out his fist at Harry’s head. Harry was caught off guard and went flying backwards, slamming into the kitchen counter, feeling something in his side give at the impact. He could barely stand. He hardly knew where he was. The punch had made him dizzy and confused.
He was aware of screaming, of loud bangs and crashes, but mostly he saw his uncle charging towards him like a maddened bull. Another punch landed, on his shoulder, knocking him to the floor, and then he knew nothing at all, except the pain as fists and feet pounded every part of him. His vision was beginning to fade and he struggled to hang on, to do something…
Vernon lifted him by his collar, holding him off the ground, and drew back his fist again. He said nothing. The fist began to swing forward.
It connected. With aunt Petunia’s head. She dropped like a stone, unconscious before she hit the ground. There was deathly silence.
Vernon sank to the ground beside his wife, holding her hand and staring in horror. Dudley stared at his father. Harry regained his balance, wincing through the pain. He could feel blood on his cheek coming from somewhere near his temple. He was still very groggy, and he suspected he had a couple of broken ribs aside from some spectacular bruising and a black eye. Strangely, he felt very calm. He thrust out a hand, not bothering to speak. Vernon was pulled off the floor and slammed into the wall, held there by an invisible force. Harry looked at Dudley. “Call an ambulance. If I were you, I wouldn’t tell them what happened. We both know he didn’t mean to hit her.” Dudley nodded and left the room. Harry knelt by his aunt, and ran his hands lightly over her. Her breathing was light, her pulse steady. She was OK, but unconscious, and it was just possible she might have a minor fracture to her skull, so Harry said to his uncle, “Don’t move her. Wait for the ambulance.”
There was blood on Petunia’s bony, horse-like face. Harry found a small cut where the end of one of her earrings had dug into her skin. He pressed his finger to the place for a moment, and when he withdrew it the skin was whole. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he was still too confused to care. His whole body ached as he stood and turned to face his uncle.
“Seems I’ll have to change my plans,” he told him, his voice croaky. “Don’t worry, I’m still leaving. But I’ll be back, to check up. I think she realised that, whatever I am, I’m still her nephew. And whatever she is, she’s still my aunt. She earned my respect today. If she needs me, I think I’ll know.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs, staggering once or twice. As he reached the top he stopped, remembering, and waved his hand again. He heard his uncle’s body slump to the floor just as tyres screeched outside. The ambulance was here, surprisingly quickly too. Harry went to his room and shrank his belongings without really thinking about it, placing them in his pockets. He knew he wasn’t in a fit state to apparate, but he didn’t care. He needed his family around him. He closed his eyes, murmured the keywords that would allow him through the wards and thought of the front room of the Burrow. He managed to open them just in time to see Hermione, eyes wide with shock, screaming, and Ginny and Ron running towards him, before he fell to the floor in a dead faint.
***
He woke up to a very crowded room. His vision was blurry, but he recognised it as the twins’ old room, and his belongings were placed around it. He could not see the faces of anyone in the room, but he could tell who they were by their hair. He managed to count five lots of red hair, one of bushy brown, one of thinning brown, one of grizzled grey, one of bright white and one of unnatural blue without any of them realising he was awake. Both his hands were being held. He looked at his left hand, not quite understanding the words being spoken around him, and followed the arm up to the bushy brown hair, which was very close to one of the heads of red hair, much taller than the others. So, that meant Ron and Hermione were there. Good.
He followed his right hand in a similar way, except he didn’t need to, because it was being held very close to some more red hair, longer than the others, and his hand was damp. Damp?
“Ginny… I’m fine… don’t cry…”
His voice was very weak and almost went almost unnoticed, but Ron, Hermione and Ginny all heard it and furiously hushed everyone else.
Harry’s vision eventually came into focus, and the words started making some sense. Molly Weasley’s face swam into view. The others were behind her. They all looked very concerned.
“Harry? How do you feel?”
Harry smiled. His head ached, his body was throbbing with pain and he was having trouble breathing, stabbing sensations catching him every time he tried to fill his lungs, but he was happy. He was home after all.
“Like the Knight Bus didn’t stop. I’ll be OK, but I think I might be concussed, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a couple of broken ribs. They might need sorting out.”
Mrs. Weasley gasped and hurriedly ran her wand over him, and he felt the pain in his chest easing as he heard Tonks say in a cheerful but slightly strained voice, “You think you might be concussed? You were concussed before you tried apparating, Harry. You’ve been out of it for nearly twenty-four hours.”
Harry blinked. “No wonder I’m hungry.”
There was some laughter, but Mrs. Weasly was crying as she pulled him into a hug, albeit a gentle one, mindful of his recently repaired ribs. Then she let him go. “I’ll bring you some soup soon, Harry. You can’t expect to be straight back to normal, not after what you’ve gone through. We’ll leave you in peace now. You need quiet to get back up to strength.”
Harry nodded, but a thought suddenly struck him. He gripped Mrs. Weasley’s arm. “My aunt… is she all right? There wasn’t too much damage?”
Albus Dumbledore’s soft voice answered him. “She is fine, Harry. No fractures or any lasting injuries, but things have changed somewhat at Privet Drive. I went there myself, as soon as I found out what happened.” Harry blinked. If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Dumbledore sounded like he’d been crying. “Your uncle is devastated, and your aunt is trying to make him understand some things. About you.”
“It’s a good thing you got to him before I did, Albus,” Moody growled. “I don’t think I would have stopped to find out. That man could use some bouncing around the room as a ferret if anyone could.” Ron chuckled, but Hermione gave a dry, heaving sob and held Harry’s hand tighter. He gave it a squeeze to reassure her.
“I don’t think I would have been that restrained,” Lupin cut in. Harry saw his guardian… no, his ex-guardian standing with his arm around Tonks. He looked worn out as he often did, but there was fury blazing in his eyes. Harry shook his head.
“It was my fault. I should have explained things better, I should have known that having it sprung on him would make him react violently. And I really should have been able to deal with him even so,” he said, self disgust in his voice. “Looks like my reactions aren’t quite so good as I thought. After that first punch it was all I could do to keep me eyes open.”
There was silence for a while, and then Moody, Charlie and Percy left the room. Tonks, Remus and Mrs. Weasley all hugged Harry before leaving as well. And then Dumbledore approached. He reached down and hugged Harry as well. It was the single most vulnerable thing the headmaster had ever done, and Harry was really touched. Soon he stood up and surveyed Harry through his half-moon spectacles. The twinkle was back in his bright blue eyes, although it was greatly diminished. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I suppose I knew that life was bad with the Dursleys, but I never got myself to believe just how bad. An old man’s mistake. You need never return. They aren’t part of your life any more.”
Harry shook his head. “You’re wrong, sir. They’re family, and they might just have realised it. My aunt actually protected me from harm yesterday. For that, I have to make sure they’re OK. But I’m not tied to them any more, by obligation, at least.”
Dumbledore surveyed him for a while, then shook his head and left the room, leaving Harry with Ron, Hermione and Ginny, who was still crying silently, though she had lowered his hand from her face. They remained in silence for a while, before Harry broke it.
“Damn. I missed my entire birthday.” Ron laughed gently, Ginny smiled through her tears, and Hermione threw herself onto Harry, hugging him hard. Harry winced. “Not so tight, ‘Mione. It kind of hurts.” She released him quickly, sitting up, but she was smiling at him.
“Don’t worry mate, we’ve just rescheduled your party. And your presents are right here.” He patted a large pile of colourfully wrapped parcels on his bedside table. Harry looked at it, rather daunted.
“Er… do you think you could help me?”
“Sure.” Ron picked up an oblong present and handed it to him, grinning. “Try that one first.”
Harry found the label and read, ‘To the Seeker. This is on condition you share one with us. Happy birthday! From the Irishman, the Hooligan, the Cradle-Snatcher and the King.’ Harry snorted at the nicknames. He knew them since he, Ron, Seamus and Dean had arranged a present to Neville before the end of term, and unless he was very much mistaken the present was the same. Sure enough, what emerged from the packing was a box with not one but two bottles of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey inside. “Thanks, mate,” he said cheerfully, noting Hermione’s slight blush as she remembered her own run in with the beverage. Harry had been the only one really to appreciate it that night, but he had a horrible feeling that his roommates were going to try their hardest to get him drunk at some point. Oh well, he could live with that if he had a second bottle to enjoy.
Hermione handed him a present from her, predictably book shaped, although these days Harry didn’t mind so much. He had read more the last year than ever before. This was not, however, a book of complex spells or magical history. It was a slim black volume with words printed on the front in gold: ‘Shakespeare Sonnets’. He looked at her sharply, but she just winked at him. It appeared Ginny hadn’t come across Shakespeare, which was just as well as far as Harry was concerned.
There were other presents, of course. A large parcel of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes from the twins, a replacement for the knife Sirius had given him and which he had damaged in his fifth year from Remus and Tonks, and a new and beautiful cloudy grey cloak that was labelled from Percy and Penny. At that point Ron finally remembered to tell Harry that Percy was engaged to his old girlfriend from Hogwarts, which caused them all to chuckle for a while.
Bill and Charlie had clubbed together and got him a magnificent display case for his sword, made of some hard, dark wood with patterns around the edge in silver with raised crystal decorations and a cover of clear glass. Inside Harry found what proved to be a whetstone wrapped in a cleaning cloth. Harry immediately asked Ron to put the sword in its case, and Ron placed it on a shelf where the light caught it beautifully. There was a book from Moody about advanced magical stealth techniques that looked fascinating, and from Dumbledore his very own Penseive, with instructions on how to use it. Harry was glad of this because he realised he had never managed to get out of a memory he was reliving without help from someone else.
Ginny handed him a very small present: it was signed simply, ‘Draco’. Harry unwrapped it to find a small vial containing perfectly clear liquid. Harry gasped as he realised what it must be: veritaserum. He needed to keep that a secret, though he told the others, who were equally astonished that Malfoy had got him such a present.
“Do you know where he is now? Somehow I doubt he’s with his family.”
Ron’s expression darkened. “It looks like he’s got everyone fooled. He had his birthday not long ago, and he told his parents he was going to move out, and work on his duelling skills. Apparently they believed him. Actually, he’s now an agent for the Order, and under their protection.” Ron almost spat the words. Harry was uncomfortable, too. He still couldn’t quite trust Draco. To break the tension, he opened the last present, which was from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Hagrid. It was a bracelet. He stared at it.
It was quite beautiful. It was made of a metal he didn’t recognise. It looked like silver but whiter. It was also much stronger because although the thing was so delicate it looked like it could snap at any moment it was totally solid. When he tried, very gingerly, to flex it, it remained utterly rigid. Its main structure was three wires which wrapped right around, overlapping often but spaced apart rather than in a tight braid. The wires met at a more solid setting for the single, green stone that glimmered brightly from it. He looked at the others.
“It’s beautiful… but what is it? Why do I need a bracelet?” Harry was the only one who saw Ginny’s hand snake to her own wrist, which was covered by her loose jumper, and grip what he suspected was the bracelet he had given her last Christmas.
Hermione’s brow was creased. “I have no idea. Perhaps it has some power or something. Or maybe it’s something they had made for you? Either way, ask them about it. They’ll tell you.”
Harry nodded, feeling that was about right. He looked at the presents, now arranged around the room, and felt a very small twinge. There was nothing from Ginny. Of course, he shouldn’t expect presents, he was more than used to not getting any, but he had thought she would do something. Suddenly he felt very tired, and yawned widely. He really wanted a nap. Hermione stood up, and Ron with her. “Sleep for a while, Harry. We’ll bring up your soup in an hour or so. Coming, Ginny?”
“I’ll just be a moment.” Hermione nodded and left, dragging Ron after her. Ginny sat slightly closer to the bed. “You thought I didn’t get you anything, didn’t you Harry?” she said, her voice deceptively light. Harry felt like he was walking along a very high tightrope.
“No! I mean, yes! I mean, I didn’t mind, I, I didn’t expect…”
Ginny laughed. “Oh, you are just too easy to wind up.” She smiled at him and pulled a box out from under the bed. She held it in her lap. “In here are my favourite books, and they’re all on the same subject. I know you’ve never read much fiction, but give them a try. I think you’ll like them. Besides, Mum told me you should have them, don’t ask me why.” She smiled, hugged him again, and left. Harry curiously opened the box.
From the looks of them, every single one had been second hand before Ginny had had them, which didn’t surprise Harry in the least, but since then they looked like they had been maintained lovingly, kept as well as they could. He looked at the titles. ‘The Once and Future King’, by T.H. White, one called ‘The Pendragon’, ‘La Morte d’Art’ by Mallory; these seemed to be written by Muggles, but there were some that were clearly by Wizards. ‘The Legends of Ancient Britain’, ‘Swords and Stone Circles’, ‘The Snow Mountain’… these had moving pictures, mostly of windswept landscapes. Harry was bemused; what on earth did he want with these? And why did Mrs. Weasley want him to have them? He decided that these questions could wait, and settled down to sleep.
***
“And just who is ‘Cradle-Snatcher’?” He was roused by Mrs. Weasley’s stern voice, Ron’s laughter and Hermione’s hurried explanation of Neville’s nickname. They were standing around him again, and Mrs. Weasley was holding a tray with a steaming bowl of soup on it. Harry felt better already: he still ached, but the fog had gone from his mind, and he was starving. He sat up quickly and Mrs. Weasley, smiling, placed the tray on his lap.
“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, and then remembered what he had to ask her. “Er… thanks very much for the bracelet, but… could you tell me about it?”
Mrs. Weasley smiled. “No, I’m afraid that’s going to have to wait, Harry. One day you’ll find out. But it would be a good idea to wear it. Arthur spent months researching it, trying to find where it was, and then Hagrid went to fetch it. Just… keep it on your wrist for now, and trust us.”
Harry was bemused, but smiled at her and slid the band over his hand. A peculiar buzzing seemed to fill him for a while, but it soon stopped, and Harry looked at his wrist, nonplussed. Mrs. Weasley left the room, smiling.
“What was all that about?” Ron enquired, perching on the edge of Harry’s bed.
“No idea. It felt a bit… odd for a moment there, but now it’s fine. You can’t think of anything can you Hermione?”
Hermione was frowning. Then she shrugged. “Not enough material to go on really, Harry. I mean, we have no idea what it does. All we really know is what it looks like. It’s possible that I’ve read all about it but can’t recognise it because there was no picture in the book or something like that. I’ll keep an eye out, though.”
“Thanks. Er… where’s Ginny?” Harry tried to make his voice sound casual, but Hermione gave him a sharp look and a smirk while Ron answered.
“Oh, she’s out flying. Wanted to clear her head a bit before opening her results. They arrived yesterday, but she decided to wait until you could be around before opening them.” He gave Harry a shrewd look. “You two got pretty close last year, didn’t you?”
Harry was terrified, imagining Ron’s reaction if he found out that his best friend was harbouring a secret love for his little sister. He swallowed. “Yeah, I suppose so. She’s good to talk to.”
Ron’s face wavered for a moment, but when it stopped the expression was one of contrition, a reaction Harry hadn’t expected. “Look, Harry… I’m sorry if I haven’t, well, been around much lately, but, well, you know…”
Hermione’s smirk had long disappeared and her face was very similar to Ron’s. “Yeah, sorry Harry. You know we didn’t mean to neglect you…”
Harry interrupted with a smile. “It’s OK. I’m just glad you two finally took the hints you’ve been giving each other since, ooh, third year? It got kind of annoying after a while. And yes, Ron, as you so skilfully didn’t say, that is part of the reason I’m good friends with Ginny now. It’s not the only reason, though. She… understands better than most people, too.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, and then Ron and Hermione left Harry to his soup. As he ate, Harry picked up one of the books Ginny had given him, and began to read.
***
Ginny entered just as he was finishing. Harry put down the book and raised an eyebrow at her.
“Now, do you know any more than Hermione, or are you just as in the dark as the rest of us?” he asked as she sat down on the side of his bed after placing his tray on the floor. She looked at him, puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, firstly about this,” he said, raising his wrist and showing her the bracelet, “and then why your Mum wanted me to read these books. I mean, they’re really good. I didn’t know there were books about stuff like this, but why in particular does she want me to know so much about the legends about King Arthur?”
Ginny shook her head and shrugged. “No idea. None at all. I suppose she’ll let you know eventually. And in the meantime, the books are really good. Just enjoy them, rather than try to find some reason.”
Harry sighted and nodded. Then he noticed the envelope in Ginny’s hand. “Sorry, you want to find your results. Should we get Ron and Hermione?”
A mock disgusted look crossed Ginny’s face. “I think they’re a bit busy, and I can’t wait any longer. Besides, I was the only one there when you found your results.” She grinned at him, and Harry smiled back, remembering that day. It seemed like only yesterday. Ginny ripped open the envelope, and her eyes scanned the parchment. Her eyes widened. Wordlessly, she handed the contents to Harry. He skipped through it, concentrating on the actual results.
Astronomy: E
Care of Magical Creatures: O
Charms: O
Defence Against the Dark Arts: O (Special Commendation)
Herbology: E
History of Magic: E
Muggle Studies: E
Potions: O
Study of Ancient Runes: E
Transfiguration: O
Harry looked up at Ginny, who seemed to have gone into shock, and said calmly, “Well, it’s nice to see someone following in my footsteps. Best score in Defence in the country? I don’t know, anyone would think you had a good teacher.”
She came to herself and stuck her tongue out at him, but then dived on top of him, hugging him furiously. Harry hugged her back, wondering at the warmth that seemed to flow from her into him. “Congratulations, Gin.” He winced. Something was digging into him, and Ginny pulled away, a puzzled look on her face. Harry found the annoyance and held it up, grinning, while Ginny looked first confused, then pleased, then horrified.
“Oh hell… what are Fred and George going to say when they find out?” she breathed, gazing at the prefect badge in Harry’s hand, her eyes huge.
(AN: Sorry for… well, just about everything, actually. I’m not at all sure about this chapter, and a lot of what it brings up is important for the sequel, not this fic at all, so please forgive me. Serpentspawn told me that nothing happens. Well, I think that depends on your definition of ‘nothing’, but I can see her point.
Speaking of betas, thanks yet again to Serpentspawn and Lourdes who never fail to make me smash my forehead into the computer screen in anguish over my stupid mistakes.
The next chapter… hell, I don’t know. Could be more or less any time. Should be soon, hopefully. And hopefully it will be somewhat better than this one. Tom)
Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen: Summer Daze
Friends and MoreChapter Fifteen: Summer Daze
“Hey, listen to this,” said Ginny at the breakfast table, a few days later, clutching her Hogwarts letter. All four of them had received them that morning. “There’s a PS, explaining about the prefect thing.” Hermione, Ron and Harry turned all their attention to her. Her mother paused in the middle of making breakfast. Ginny cleared her throat.
‘Dear Miss Weasley,
‘I must apologise for not explaining the presence of your new prefect’s badge in your OWL results letter. It is with regret that I must inform you that your classmate Claire Simmons, who was a prefect last year, is no longer attending Hogwarts due to concerns with security. Therefore we are offering you the position in her stead. Congratulations, Minerva McGonagall.’ She finished reading, a troubled expression on her face.
“People are getting scared, aren’t they?” Harry voiced what everyone was thinking.
“Still, I am very happy for you, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said brightly, trying to break the tension in the room. “Are the rest of you going to open your letters?”
“Just a booklist and the date the train goes,” Ron said offhandedly. Hermione’s lay by her teacup, still waiting to be opened. Harry slit open his envelope and distractedly pulled out the contents, more interested in his coffee. As he did so, a smaller piece of parchment and something small but distinctly metallic fell out. At the small ‘ping’ noise, everyone stopped moving. Harry reached for the parchment, his face showing his apprehension.
‘Dear Mr. Potter,
‘It is with delight that we inform you that the sorting hat selected you to be this year’s Head Boy. Congratulations! This role is very important. As an Assistant Professor you already have the ability to reward and penalise House Points as you see fit. This new position means that you will be made responsible for the prefects. You will essentially act as their co-ordinator and will oversee their duties.'
‘It is very unusual for the Head Boy to be chosen from those not selected to be prefects previously, but the sorting hat’s decision cannot be overruled. You may wish to consult with Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger for direction.
‘I would like to take this opportunity to say that I am very proud of this achievement and wish you the very best.
‘Albus Dumbledore’
Everyone’s eyes were on him, but he would not meet their gaze. A thought struck his dazed mind.
“Hermione… open your letter.”
Hermione did so, and a similar parchment was inside. She read it and gasped. Harry met her eyes. She looked delighted. He felt terrified. Ginny very gently tugged the piece of parchment from Harry’s hand, passing him the badge that had fallen to the table, while Hermione handed her note to Ron.
Without a word, Ron pulled her into a hug and Ginny did the same to Harry. It was odd, but she seemed to be hugging him a lot recently. ‘Get a grip,’ Harry thought to himself furiously. ‘She’s your best friend, and hugging is a thing best friends do.’ He glanced at Ron.
“Ron,” he said over Ginny’s shoulder, “you’re not…”
“What? Angry? Why on earth would I be angry?” Ron was grinning like a maniac. “This means I get to stop being guilty that I was made prefect and you weren’t. I’m still a prefect and I don’t have to worry about everyone looking at me for instructions. You and Hermione are better at that anyway. Besides, I’d rather have my best friend and my girlfriend telling me wheat to do than Malfoy or Ernie or someone.”
Harry frowned. “Since when am I good at giving instructions?”
Hermione broke her hug with Ron, but nuzzled into his chest as she surveyed him, a quizzical smile on her lips. “Harry, you do realise that after Pansy was stripped of her position after trying to kill Ginny, every prefect is in the DA? All of them are very used to doing what you say. You’ll probably have a better time of it than most, because they already trust you, and everyone respects you. You’ll be fine.”
Harry thought of something else, and pulled out of Ginny’s embrace, looking carefully at her. “Gin, aren’t you disappointed that you were only the replacement for that Claire girl?”
Ginny chuckled. “If I’m honest, now I am… but last year I was grateful not to be chosen. I thought I had just too much to do anyway, and also… well, that doesn’t matter. So, when do we go to Diagon Alley?”
Harry groaned. “If I know the Order, it won’t be any time soon. I mean, what’s the likelihood they’ll let us wander around shopping somewhere that insecure?”
“Actually, we’re going tomorrow.” Harry and the others turned and stared at Mrs. Weasley, who was looking highly amused at their reaction. “There’ll be protection, but we need to act natural, show people not to be scared. I can’t say I’m not nervous,” she admitted, “but with all the precautions, things should be just fine, as long as you stay on your guard too.”
Harry nodded, and for once he felt confident about something. They were going to have a good time tomorrow, and he was going to be prepared to make that happen if he needed to.
***
Before breakfast the following day, Harry showered and dressed in comfortable clothes before preparing his little failsafe. He reached up to the top shelf and carefully removed his sword from its case, the egg-sized rubies in the hilt glowing like blood in the morning sun. He removed the scabbard and held it for a while, until he heard a knock on the door and the slight click of the latch as it opened.
“Harry? What are you doing?”
He had known it was Ginny, even before she had spoken. He always did. Somehow the air in a room seemed to change subtly when she was around. It felt warmer, charged and energised in a way he couldn’t explain, almost like someone had just lit a fire. He turned and held the sword loosely by his side. Come to think of it, it would probably help if someone else knew about this. He held it in his right hand and suspended his left over the blade.
“Reducio.”
The blade shrank quickly until it was an exact replica of the pin on Harry’s cloak. He slipped it carefully into a small back pocket on his jeans.
“Just in case,” he said cheerfully, because Ginny was looking at him round-eyed. “Now come on, I’m starving. Busy day today. Got too many books to buy,” he complained good-naturedly as they left the room together. Ginny looked thoughtful.
“You know, maybe Mum will buy me something special today… after all, I did get to be a prefect, and the others had rewards.”
Harry smiled at her fondly. Ginny was not someone who liked things very much. She was generally content with her hand-me-down robes and patched up books, but Harry knew by now that every so often she longed for something new that was just for her, and he didn’t blame her in the slightest.
“What would you ask for?” he asked, really interested in what she would answer. She considered.
“Well,” she said eventually, “I know it would be rather copying Ron, but a new broom would be nice. Anyway, something to go faster than that Cleansweep I’ve had to use. I’m sure I could have scored at least two more in that last match if I had just been able to move faster.”
Harry laughed, and they sat down at the table where Hermione and Mrs. Weasley were already eating. Eventually Ron came down, and Hermione and Ginny started teasing the hint of moustache on his upper lip, while Mrs. Weasley went out of the room to tidy up a bit. Pretending he needed the bathroom, he followed her.
“Mrs. Weasley, can I ask you something?”
“Certainly Harry, what’s on your mind?”
“I was wondering if you were going to get anything for Ginny, for getting to be a prefect.”
Mrs. Weasley covered her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh no, I completely forgot! Oh my, what on earth shall I do?”
Harry hurried to calm her. “Don’t worry, I know just the thing she’d love. If you like I’ll even get it for her, I know you’re really busy this morning.”
“Oh, but Harry, I can’t let you pay…”
“It’s nothing,” Harry interrupted quickly. “You can pay me back later, when things are calmer. So is that alright?”
“Definitely, and thank you so much for reminding me! It would have been awful if I’d forgotten.”
“No problem.” Harry grinned at her and returned to the kitchen, where the girls were still teasing Ron, who had turned red and was trying to leave to go upstairs and find a shaving charm. Harry laughed too, but in his mind he was going over his plan. He knew just the sort of thing to get Ginny, and knew too that Mrs. Weasley would be a bit, well, anxious if it was more expensive than some things, which was why Harry decided to vet the amount he told Mrs. Weasley, or if possible distract her from the subject completely. He didn’t want anyone to think he was giving charity, because he knew the Weasleys would hate that. Ron blew up at the mere hint of it. On the other hand, it was just too tempting an opportunity to miss.
***
Diagon Alley was crowded with people, much as Harry had always seen it, but there was an edge. A kind of nervous energy seemed to fill everyone, and everyone knew it, and was overcompensating for it. This made every single person there seem almost painfully cheerful, and there was brittle desperation in every eye. Harry shook his head, realising that this would continue until he could do something about it. Ginny walked next to him, and she looked quite sad.
No one could stay downcast for long in the brand new premises of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, however. Fred and George welcomed them enthusiastically, wearing garishly multicoloured clothes that made them resemble court jesters. Harry noticed that the colour patterns were exact opposites, which made it slightly easier than usual to tell the twins apart.
“Mum! Lovely to see you here. Fancy a custard crème?”
“No thank you, dear, I’m not entirely stupid,” Mrs. Weasley answered, kissing Fred on the cheek. “I don’t fancy leaving the children helpless while I’m a canary.” Ron, Harry and Ginny were looking around with interest, and missed the ‘children’ and ‘helpless’ remarks, which was just as well. The shop was brightly decorated and stacked with merchandise. The way some of the products were piled up looked frankly dangerous, but Harry had the idea that this was deliberate, so that the atmosphere was more chaotic and exciting.
“Can we spend some time here, Mum?” Ron asked eagerly.
“I expect so, Ron, but I think you’d all better get your school supplies first. Maybe we can come here after lunch… even treat you two, if you can spare the time.” She cocked her eyebrow at the twins in an inquisitive manner, and they nodded happily. Harry grinned at them as they left the shop, calling ‘see you later’ over their shoulders.
Most of their shopping was done pretty quickly, to Harry’s relief. He needed some way of getting to Quality Quidditch Supplies on his own, which wouldn’t be easy, but seemed far less daunting once he had all his new books, potions supplies, and a new set of dress robes, since the old bottle green ones were rather too small. He picked some in a shiny, stormy grey with a dark green lining, thinking they would go well with his new cloak. Soon, though, they were on their way back to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, and Harry was getting desperate. Suddenly, he felt a tugging on his sleeve.
“Harry…”
It was Ginny, and she looked uncomfortable about something.
“What’s the matter, Gin?” he asked her, suddenly concerned. She looked at him and sighed.
“Look… I feel bad about that present I gave you. It wasn’t much, and I… kind of had something else planned, but Mum talked me out of it, or rather into giving you those books. I was wondering… could you give us a few minutes in the shop alone? I don’t know, browse somewhere or something? I asked Remus, and he said he’d keep an eye out, he’s been tracking us most of this morning.”
Harry felt both surprised and pleased. He could not have asked for a better excuse. He had considered asking for a quick browse in the Quidditch shop, but had realised that Ron and probably Ginny as well would want to go too and that wouldn’t work.
“Sure, that’s fine. I’ll be there in, say, ten minutes.” She grinned and rejoined the others. Harry heard her reassuring her mother that he would be safe. Harry turned and walked quickly to his destination, which wasn’t far away. Ordinarily, he would have looked for a long time at all the merchandise. The uniform robes, the balls, the bats and other accessories, as well as a small section of books, never failed to enthral him, but this time he went straight to the broom section and began to browse.
He had a very difficult aim in mind: he wanted a really good broom for Ginny, but one he might be able to pass off as having got second hand. He browsed through lots of wonderful brooms, many too well known to be possibilities, before his eyes fell on one at the end of a long rack of splendid models. It was long and slender, more so than his Firebolt, and made of a pale but strong looking wood. The twigs in the end were all perfectly straight but looked nicely flexible, not too rigid, and silver lettering in the handle displayed its name: The Sabre. Harry quickly looked at the information displayed near it.
‘The Sabre is one of the most advanced brooms on the market today. Although its speed doesn’t match that of some racing brooms it has an impressive acceleration, and its handling, manoeuvrability, breaking and hovering abilities are second to none: perfect for dodging and diving, and for advanced Chaser tactics!
‘The handle is finely treated Mountain Ash and the tail is formed from handpicked holly twigs, giving The Sabre superb balance and stability. It also incorporates a highly advanced security charm to prevent theft and an automatic emergency floating field, should the worst happen.’
Harry grinned, checking the price. This was perfect: just the right kind of broom for Ginny, obscure enough that Ron wouldn’t recognise it, and it wasn’t really that much more expensive than Ron’s broom. He nodded once and quickly took it and a case to the counter. The man behind the counter did a double take when he saw who his customer was, and Harry fought not to roll his eyes at the man’s overly polite manner. Finally, though, he was out of there, and walking towards Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes once more.
Mrs. Weasley was waiting outside, looking anxiously at him. “Did you find what you were looking for? Will she like it?” She was anxious, so Harry smiled at her reassuringly.
“Yeah, I think she’ll like it. She told me she’d like a new broom, and I managed to find a brand new one in the second hand rack — I think the man said the first owner changed his mind. But it’s perfect for a Chaser, so I think Ginny will appreciate it.”
She smiled, relieved, and took the long package from him before leading him into the shop. The others were chatting cheerfully around the counter, and Ron looked delighted to see Harry. “Finally! We can have lunch.” Hermione punched his arm, but they all chuckled and set off for the Three Broomsticks, leaving Lee Jordan in charge of the shop. Before long they were sitting round a table, ordering their food. While they waited, Mrs. Weasley presented Ginny with the long package. Harry saw her eyes widen and glow as she saw it and hurried to open it, Ron every bit as excited as her and the twins clearly interested.
“Oh, Mum… it’s brilliant! Just the sort of thing I wanted. When did you get this? You haven’t been away from us all morning for more than a few minutes.”
Mrs. Weasley smiled. “You can thank Harry for that: he picked it out and everything, I’ll pay him back later. Amazing what you can find in second hand piles when you look, isn’t it Harry?”
Harry felt uncomfortable now. Ron and the twins were praising his choice, and Hermione was smiling at him knowingly so only he could see, but Ginny was looking less happy, and the glances she was sending him were becoming decidedly suspicious. Luckily, at that point, though, Tom the barkeeper arrived with their food, and everyone tucked in. Ginny soon seemed to be distracted from her new broom.
As they were finishing, George nudged Ginny, who was sitting next to him. “So, are you going to give Harry his present, Gin?”
Ginny seemed shocked that she had forgotten, and handed Harry a Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes bag from under the table. Harry opened it curiously, only to find a wooden rack containing four bottles of brightly coloured potions. Harry set it on the table, slightly confused, and looked from Ginny to the twins for an explanation. Fred spoke lazily as he massaged his stomach.
“One of our more serious creations, Harry. We realised that some people would be more interested in stopping people pranking them than pranking others, so we made this to keep them happy. The blue one you can add to potions to let you know what they’ll do. The green one you drop a little onto food and it fizzes if it’s been tampered with in any way that doesn’t involve it actually being cooked. The purple one will reveal most invisible inks and spells if you rub it on the right place, and the red one… well, that one’s our little joke. Writes ‘Prank me, I dare you’ on your forehead if you touch it, although we advertise that it merely ‘increases the effectiveness of the other three’.”
“It’s true, too,” George put in. “They’re much more affective if you actually feel you need to use them.” They all laughed at this, and Harry realised just how helpful this could be. Once he got back he was going to test the potion Malfoy had given him, to make sure it really was Veritaserum.
They were walking back to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes when it happened. Five figures, cloaked and hooded, sprang out of an alleyway off to one side and disarmed all of them except Ginny before any of them could react. Harry saw more Death Eaters keeping guard, casting distraction charms so they wouldn’t be noticed as the captives were herded into the dark passage.
“You, girl,” said one to Ginny, “give me your wand. No, on second thoughts,” he amended, his voice turning into a cruel snarl, “keep it on your friend there. He’s a slippery customer.” The man, who seemed to be the leader, gestured to Harry, while keeping his own wand firmly pointed at Mrs. Weasley, who was looking aghast. Ginny, looking desperately at him, complied. Harry was assessing the situation quickly, as he saw Remus being shoved into the alley mouth, looking disgusted with himself. Harry looked straight at him, hoping that the Werewolf had at least some skill in Legilimency, and thought over and over again, ‘keep him talking’.
It seemed to work. “This won’t work, you know,” Remus said fairly clearly, his expression changed to a sneer and radiating self-confidence. The Death eater looked at him. “I’m not the only one watching. The Ministry will be here any moment… if there’s enough of you to find by that time of course.”
“Shut you mouth, creature,” the Death Eater said sharply. “I don’t want your bluffing to give your little friends false hopes.”
He couldn’t know it, of course, but Remus wasn’t bluffing nearly as much as he thought. Harry, moving slowly while the two continued to argue, worked the tiny, pin sized sword out of his back pocket and held it between two fingers, making sure Ginny could see it properly. He nodded at her and saw her eyes widening as she understood. Under her breath she murmured, “Engorgio.”
Harry leapt and whirled at the same time. The Death Eaters reacted sluggishly, firing spells as he landed, but they all missed him except one that struck the blade and rebounded straight at its caster, who crumpled. Harry crouched and then exploded into action, the Laminamancy he had developed kicking in immediately. He brought his blade round in a fast arc that sliced through the leader’s wand, causing it to explode and send him flying backwards, before elbowing another of the attackers in the face.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Ginny had already magically distributed the wands to her family, Hermione and Remus, and all were now fighting hard against the Death Eaters. Harry fought in front of all of them, using the flat of his blade on the bodies, saving the razor edge for their wands. At one point he saw a reductor curse flying straight at Ginny, and with horror he noticed that her wand was pointed in another direction. She noticed the spell, though, and lifted her left arm to head height, her fist clenched, and the curse his her wrist and rebounded off it. Harry felt very happy that his gift was being used so well.
The battle was soon over. Harry shrank his sword once more while Remus and Mrs. Weasley bound the now wandless Death Eaters, and soon Tonks, Mr. Weasley, Mad-eye Moody and several Ministry wizards appeared to take control. Ron and Ginny, though, were crouched over Hermione. Harry hurried over. Ron was nearly in tears. He was pale and shaking hard as Ginny hugged him.
Hermione was lying unconscious, and when Harry checked her breathing it was painfully light. There was a very nasty wound on her leg and a lot of blood around. Harry swiftly tore a piece off his t-shirt and wrapped it tightly around the injury before conjuring a hovering stretcher and levitating her onto it, thankful that he could do magic outside school now. He followed the others out of the alley, not hearing the whispering and quiet exclamations that were going on between those who had seen him fight.
***
It seemed only a moment before they were all aboard the Hogwarts express again, and for the second to last time, Harry realised. The end of the holiday had passed quietly, except for the daily visits to St. Mungo’s while Hermione was recovering. Even now, because of an unusual side effect of the curse that had hit her, her left leg was weak and she had to use a crutch, although she had transfigured the thing into a far more elegant staff, for the sake, she told them while smiling sheepishly, of her damaged ego.
Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all sat in the very front compartment this time. It was odd for Harry, and Ginny, as it was the first time they had done so, but he was the Head Boy, Hermione was the Head Girl, Ron and Ginny were both prefects, so it was expected of them. It wasn’t at all bad, either. Every one of the people in the carriage was in the DA, and it seemed less a gathering of prefects than of the senior members of the club, although it was a shame Neville, Blaise and Luna weren’t there.
Draco Malfoy sat quietly in a corner, being careful not to disturb anyone, but paying close attention. Harry thought he looked remarkably different. His hair had grown longer, some kind of rebellion, Harry supposed, and his eyes looked slightly darker, shadows tingeing the skin beneath them, but his manner was remarkably changed. He seemed quiet, and implacable, none of the sneering or arrogance that had been diminishing last year. Harry made a point of thanking him for the veritaserum: he didn’t mention having tested with Fred and George’s present to make sure of what it was. Draco smiled slightly and said merely “You’re welcome.”
After a preliminary chat Hermione took over, setting out what the prefects were supposed to do this year and then asking them to patrol the train for a little while, to make sure everyone was behaving themselves. He and Hermione were to stay there to field any problems anyone might have. Ron and Ginny were just leaving with the others when Harry asked them to stay with him and Hermione for a minute. He had been putting something off, and it was time to come clean. Ron settled next to Hermione, draping his arm around her shoulders in such a familiar way that Harry couldn’t help a pang of jealousy. Ginny seemed to guess what was coming and sat down next to him, close enough to lend moral support, for which he was very grateful.
“Ron… Hermione… there’s something I need to tell you. And you’re going to get angry with me for not telling you sooner, but it just hasn’t been the right time. But you need to know this.”
He took a deep breath. Ron and Hermione were looking carefully at him, but not as though they were worried or angry, which he took to be a good sign. Ginny nodded to him.
“The thing that smashed at the Department of Mysteries wasn’t a prophecy. It was just the recording of one. The actual prophecy was made to Dumbledore just before I was born, and he showed me it that night.
“I’ve already told Ginny this, and I still can’t remember the exact wording. Professor Trelawney tends to go a bit funny when she makes real predictions, and I was watching this in a Penseive. It was kind of a struggle even to understand what it meant, but the gist was that it foretold my birth as the only one who could defeat Voldemort.
“It mentioned him marking me as an equal, which,” and he gestured to his scar, “he most certainly has done, and also that I have some power that Voldemort doesn’t understand, and that’s the key to the whole thing. Dumbledore only has theories about what that might be, though.
“But the whole thing boils down to one line I can remember: ‘Neither can live while the other survives’. Voldemort and I are linked by more than this scar. One of us is going to die.” He fell silent, watching Ron and Hermione absorb what he had told them. Ginny laid one hand on his arm, and he swallowed, for once not thinking about the affect her proximity was having on him, but instead grateful for the presence of someone who understood entirely.
Hermione was the first to recover. “Well, that explains a lot. Almost everything, in fact. But, honestly Harry, considering all the times you faced him, all the things you achieved, all the times you won through, didn’t you ever consider that maybe it would be you who finally beat him?”
Harry sighed. “Yeah, I guess I did, but I never thought it would have to be me, just maybe that it might be. And, if I’m honest,” and he closed his eyes, sorry to even consider the possibility, “Once or twice… I’ve wanted it to be me. I’ve wanted to kill him for all he’s put me and everyone else through. And that’s really awful, because I really don’t want to kill anyone.”
“Harry.” Ginny’s voice was very gentle. “This is something no one should have to do, but someone must. It needs doing. It’s horrible that it has to be you, but no one will blame you for destroying Voldemort, and we’re going to make sure you forgive yourself afterwards, since we all know that’s when the real problems are going to begin.”
Harry couldn’t help smiling at her half-teasing statement. “You know me far too well, Weasley. I’d hate to think I was getting predictable.” Ginny chuckled and patted his arm, while Hermione nodded, seemingly satisfied by his reaction.
Ron cleared his throat. “Well, thanks for telling us, mate. It can’t have been easy.” He sounded rather unsure of himself, but looked Harry steadily in the eye. “It doesn’t change anything, you know. We’ll still fight with you, everyone will, and we’ll win, Harry. We’ve got our own lives to lead, and that scumbag isn’t going to stand in our way.”
Harry smiled at him, and shortly afterwards Ron and Ginny left to do some patrolling. Harry sat quietly for a while, remembering the end of the holidays. Much to his disgust he had been splashed across the front of the Daily Prophet the day after the attack, and since then they had been kept under very close observation, unable to even leave the Burrow to play Quidditch without someone keeping an eye on them. Harry sighed as he thought about how complex life was just now, until Hermione brought him back to the present abruptly.
“Harry, we need to talk. About Ginny.”
Harry looked at her quickly, anxious about what she would say. Hermione sighed and smiled at him fondly, as though at someone struggling with something difficult.
“Harry, you are going to have to tell her how you feel at some point. All these hints and gifts and everything… you know she’s going to work it out. And you’ll feel better if she knows.”
Harry slumped in his seat. “Will I? You said it yourself, she’s given up on me. I know I have to tell her, but, I don’t know, I keep picturing telling her and then her getting… upset.” He struggled for the words. “I used to think she’d get angry, but now I think she’d get sad and guilty, and I don’t want that. This isn’t her fault, not by a long way.”
“Harry.” Hermione sounded quite stern now, and looking at her with her serious expression, long black robes and staff, Harry was reminded more forcefully than ever of Professor McGonagall. “Ginny is your best friend, and you have to trust her. What you told me and Ron earlier means it’s even more important that you tell Ginny, because you need to be in the proper frame of mind to face Voldemort. Obsessing over this isn’t going to make the job easier.”
Harry nodded sullenly, and then burst out, desperate for Hermione’s help. “How do I do it, though? How do I tell this girl I’ve known and loved for ages how I feel?”
“What girl?”
Harry whipped around so fast his neck clicked. He winced, and then winced again. Ginny was standing in the doorway to the compartment, looking at him with raised eyebrows.
“Who do you love, Harry?”
Harry coloured. No, this wasn’t the time. Hermione was looking at him closely. He wished she wouldn’t. “Ah… doesn’t matter now, Gin. I’ll tell you another time.”
Ginny didn’t look very happy with this, but went back to her patrols, leaving Harry with a disapproving Hermione. They remained in the compartment, talking quietly until the other prefects rejoined them and the train rolled to a halt in Hogsmeade station.
***
“I have a few words for you all now that we are well fed up and agreeably drunk.” Dumbledore’s voice rang through the hall, over the smilingly happy and well-fed students. Harry, looking around, noticed that there weren’t as many students as there should have been, though. He frowned, and then turned his attention back to Dumbledore, who had just finished his usual notices, including the forbidden nature of the Forbidden Forest, if any of the first years couldn’t guess by the name.
“We welcome to the teaching ranks Professor Delacouer, whom many of you will remember from the Triwizard Tournament three years ago. She will be teaching the Defence Against the Dark Arts course this year. I would like to remind you also that the Defence Association will be open to all this year, run by our new Head Boy, and will be supervised by Professor Delacouer.”
This had been as much a surprise to Harry and the others as the rest of the school. They hadn’t heard the slightest hint that Fleur would be teaching them this year; in fact, they had hardly seen Bill at all, except when he had blushingly come to announce that he and Fleur were engaged. Mrs. Weasley was going frantic with two of her sons getting engaged at pretty much the same time.
“Lastly,” Dumbledore concluded, “this year we will be holding a school ball on Halloween night. It will be open to all students in fourth year and above, and so that the lower years do not miss out they will have their own feast at lunchtime on that day. I don’t need to remind you that dress robes are to be worn, and that I expect everyone to behave responsibly at this exciting event. It is important, at this most difficult time to keep our spirits raised and our hopes high. It is vital, when fighting for our very lives to remember what that life is, and to live it to the full. It is my hope that this celebration of youth and unity will bring us closer together as a school. This is a chance to settle old rivalries and add excitement and wonder to a time that is so full of darkness and uncertainty. And now I will wish you all a good night.”
As they left the hall Harry and Ginny looked at each other with identical looks of exasperation. As if everything else wasn’t enough, there was now something else to worry about, even if it was somewhat more trivial than the other issues. Ron helped Hermione up the stairs while Ginny, Harry, Colin and the two new Gryffindor prefects herded the seemingly terrified first years up to their new second home.
(AN: Argghh! Sorry! Sorry! Gomensai! Please, please don’t hurt me (yes, Nim, I’m looking at you)! I’m really sorry this chapter took so long, and that it’s not up to much. Console yourselves with the fact that the next two chapters won’t take so long, and should be much more enjoyable. Think you can forgive me?
That aside, thanks again to my wonderful and, yes, sparkly betas (whatever Serpentspawn might state to the contrary), who keep me on the straight and narrow. More or less.
If anyone other than Serpentspawn and Lourdes can tell me in a review the significance of the wood The Sabre is made from, I’ll… I dunno. Give a special mention, or use a name they suggest in the sequel, or something like that.
Lastly, thanks to Serpentspawn for telling me to do a Halloween ball. I really needed something between the start of term and Christmas, and this was ideal.
Thanks for reading. —Tom)
Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen: The Halloween Ball
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: see profile
Chapter Sixteen: The Halloween Ball
Harry leant against the wall, a slight groan escaping his lips, and looked up towards the enchanted ceiling above him. Streamers of cloud were blowing everywhere, masking the stars every so often. Around him the noise and chatter that accompanied every DA meeting was diminishing, for which he was sincerely grateful. He had the grandmother of all headaches, partly due to the copious amounts of Firewhiskey that had been forced down his throat by his roommates the night before. He felt hot and stupid, and knew that he hadn’t been up to scratch for the meeting.
There was, of course, the other problem. It was already mid October, and Halloween was drawing nearer. Dumbledore told the prefects and the Head Boy and Girl at that all of them were expected to attend, with no exceptions. Harry felt his heart plummet. He didn’t want to go and thought he could enjoy a night of relative peace in the Common Room, rather than banishing himself to his office as he usually did to get some quiet.
Not that he wouldn’t have gone, with the right partner. He had wondered for a while about asking Ginny, just as friends, and in a totally non-romantic way, but his hopes had been dashed. Ginny had accepted an invitation from Anthony Goldstein, one of Michael Corner’s Ravenclaw friends, and seemed very happy about the situation. Harry had more or less resigned himself to going alone, when the invitations had started.
He should have expected it. He really should, especially after his experience at Valentine’s Day earlier in the year. For some reason he couldn’t fathom why girls found him totally irresistible, something that seemed to have increased with his new status as Head Boy. It disturbed him how many times he would look up from chatting to a friend over a meal and find at least one second, third or even fourth year looking at him with glazed expressions. He tried to ignore it.
“Erm… Harry?”
Harry looked down and into a pair of worried, deep blue eyes. He blinked a few times to gain some perspective, and look at the person rather than the eyes. The girl standing in front of him was from his year, but he didn’t know her at all, except that she was in Ravenclaw and had been brought to the DA by Padma Patil. She was tall, nearly as tall as him, and her hair was long and dark. The eyes Harry had first noticed were a very deep shade of blue, almost violet, and there was something fascinating about them.
“Er… Mandy, right? Mandy Brocklehurst?” She nodded, looking away, seeming to radiate nervousness. “What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering… have you got a date for the ball yet?”
Harry almost sighed, but caught himself. That would be really rude, and she was being perfectly polite, even if she was clearly embarrassed. He could see a pink tinge spreading over her cheeks. In fact, Harry realised, she was very pretty.
“No, I haven’t yet. Why, do you need a partner?”
“Sort of. Well, no, but… it’s kind of hard to explain…” Harry smiled encouragingly, and she seemed to pull herself together as she smile back. “The thing is, I really wanted to go with Terry Boot. Do you know him?”
“Yeah, I think so. Nice guy. He’s one of the new Ravenclaw Chasers too, isn’t he? Why wouldn’t he want to go with you?”
Mandy blushed still deeper, reminding Harry of Ginny a long time ago. He felt a sudden pang of nostalgia for those simple days. Days when Ginny had still liked him. “I asked one of his friends, and he told me that Terry doesn’t think I’d accept if he asked me. Now he’s arranged to go with Sally-Anne Perks, so it’s all really confusing.”
Harry frowned slightly. He sympathised with Mandy, but… “Sorry, I don’t mean to be thick, but how can I help? I mean, I can’t tell Terry to ask you or anything.”
Mandy was scarlet by now. “Well, I thought that you probably were going alone, you see. Everyone knows that your single, and how popular you are. I thought that you might be reluctant to go with anyone because of not really liking them. But, if I went with you, you’d know I didn’t like you… in that way… oh hell, this isn’t coming out right at all…”
Harry grinned. “No, it’s OK. I think I understand. And you are absolutely right. I’d be grateful to go with someone as a friend. And who knows? Maybe Terry will come to his senses. So, will you go to the ball with me, Mandy?”
She beamed at him. “Oh, yes! Thanks loads, Harry, I really owe you for this.”
He smiled again. “It’s no problem. I’ll meet you in the entrance hall on the night, then? Around six thirty?”
“Sure. Thanks again!” She smiled once more and walked out of the great hall, almost skipping with delight. On the way out she passed Fleur… no, Professor Delacouer, who was leaning against the door and looking at Harry with an amused expression. Harry walked over to her and raised an eyebrow.
“What?” Of course, in private he always called her Fleur. They had become good friends due to working together so closely. Fleur had a wicked sense of humour, something Bill had mentioned attracted him to her that wasn’t one of her Veela abilities, and she always treated him as an equal. She grinned, and turned her head ever so slightly, sending a shimmering wave down her silvery hair.
“Oh, aren’t you ze noble ‘ero, ‘Arry?” She smirked. “Sacrificing your own enjoyment for ze sake of anuzzer.”
He glared at her. “Better someone who’s not going to expect anything than someone who’ll hang off me all evening. With any luck, she’ll spend most of the evening with Terry, and everyone else will leave me alone. In fact, I might just have to do some matchmaking to make sure I get some peace.”
She laughed out loud, the tinkling, bell-like laugh that so affected many of her students. “And she is gorgeous, of course.”
Harry grinned as they began walking towards their offices, which were next door to each other, in easy companionship. “That’s a bonus. Never hurts to have a beautiful lady on your arm.”
Fleur pouted. “In zat case, I am disappointed you deed not ask me, Assistant Professeur.”
Harry was silent for a moment. It was sometimes difficult to tell with Fleur, but he had a strange feeling she wasn’t kidding. “I thought you might ask if Bill could come over for the evening.”
She sighed, and Harry was pleased to note that it was genuine. “Bill ‘as to work. ‘Onestly, what with Gringott’s and all ‘e does for ze Order, we ‘ardly see each uzzer.” She grinned at him suddenly, her melancholy forgotten. “So I ‘oped you would step in for ‘im.”
Harry paused. She really was serious. “Don’t you think it would be a bit… inappropriate? With you being a teacher and everything?”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “You are a teacher too zough, ‘Arry,” she said seriously. “And, ze ball aside, I don’t zink anyone would find it too ‘inappropriate’, as you said. Everyone recognises zat ze rules are razer different for you. And of course, everyone knows you’re much better at defence zan I am.”
She said this so matter-of-factly that Harry almost didn’t react. They were opening their offices by now and he turned to look at her fully. “What? What are you talking about? You’re the teacher, Fleur, I’m just a kid!”
She shook her head, sending weird reflections off her hair again. “Remember, ‘Arry, I am only three years older zan you. You ‘ave much more experience zan I. I might know ze theory a leetle more, but I couldn’t ‘ope to best you in a duel.” Then she smiled seductively and leaned in towards him. “I always like powerful men, ‘Arry… are you sure you don’t want to go wiz me to ze ball?”
Harry stuttered incoherently as he backed away and fled into his office, hearing Fleur laugh teasingly from behind the door. “Oh well. Maybe I shall go, ‘ow do you say? Stag. Save a dance for me, ‘Arry!” He heard her shut her own door behind her, still laughing.
***
Quidditch practice had finished a long time ago, but Harry still flew in the gathering night. He left the Quidditch pitch, which was empty and dark, and went to the roof instead. For a time he sped around, testing his reflexes and the broom’s response, using the multitude of turrets, walkways, buttresses and gargoyles as obstacles to be overcome. Finally he alighted on the roof of Gryffindor tower, lying back against the steeply sloping slate tiles, watching the sunset and breathing deep of the free air.
It was nearly Halloween. He thought back to the momentous occasions of his life that had occurred on the portentous day. His parents had been killed on his second Halloween. On his twelfth, just after he had started Hogwarts, he and Ron had become friends with Hermione. A year later had been the first attack by the Basilisk, something he really didn’t want to think about. Fourth year, his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. Yes, it was a momentous occasion, but he couldn’t help but feel that the best one, the most important one, had been the year before, when he had watched as his two best friends got each other drunk, and he had looked after them. It was the most normal, ordinary event he could remember in his life, and he thought of it warmly. He just wished Ginny had been there to laugh at them with him. That would have made it perfect.
The sky darkened, and the sun was now an angry, vibrant red against the dark landscape, the sky around it a shocking purple, and Harry thought forward, taking a deep breath. Somehow he knew. The attack would come, the last, worst attack, before the school year was out. By the end of the year, as things stood now, he would be dead.
He accepted that, at least for now. He knew without question that, whatever his abilities, whatever his wondrous and newfound talents, there was nothing he could do that could defeat Voldemort. Wandless magic wasn’t much of a defence. Tom could do it too. Animagus form? No, it was merely a distraction, no matter how much he enjoyed roaming the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest at night. All his illusions and stealth wouldn’t mean anything to Tom. He was a skilled Legimens, and that meant he’d be able to see through anything Harry tried. Probably even Laminamancy would be no use. And Harry knew, with a certainty he couldn’t explain, that if he even could bring himself to kill Tom, to say the two words he hated more than any others, he would do no more than what he had done at the age of one: rip him from his body, maybe, but not destroy. Hagrid had been right, that first time he and Harry had met. Voldemort wasn’t human enough to die.
No, he wasn’t ready. There was a lot missing, and Harry knew he didn’t have much time left to prepare. He looked down, and saw the sword pin glittered up at him. It was the reminder he always carried with him of Ginny, and the trust he held. He clasped it in his hand and concentrated, before peering through the roof of the tower and down into the dormitory below. His own. Seamus was there, with Lavender. Harry let go of the pin quickly, not meaning to spy, but smiled all the same: it was good to know that people were still able to be happy.
As he lowered his hand, he felt it clunk against the slates, and he looked at the bracelet on his wrist. True to Mrs. Weasley’s request he hadn’t removed it, but he was still intrigued as to what it was, what it was for. He held it up and gazed, almost unseeing, at the green stone. As the sun sank lower and the wind picked up around him it seemed to swirl and spin, a green fire at its heart flaring brightly. He pulled his eyes away to look at the sunset again, just in time to see something fly across it.
At first he thought it was a Thestral, but as he looked closer, and it changed direction and came towards him, he saw that it was, in fact, a Dragon.
Or was it? Harry stood up, not even occurring to him to be afraid as the huge creature flew nearer and nearer. From the books he had on Dragons, Harry knew what most breeds looked like, and this one was completely new to him. It was smaller than most. Its body was sleek and streamlined, more so than any dragon, although not so serpentine as the Hungarian Horntail had been. It was a strange colour, its scales shifting from sky blue to slate grey over its body, and it’s wings were the sails of a storm cloud. The eyes shone with an intelligence he had not seen in the Horntail, and the ridges along its spine were elegant blades, shaped like waves, rather than the spines he had seen before.
The creature stopped in mid air, beating its wings to remain level with him, and Harry thought that it was regarding him, almost inspecting him. Harry looked back, not frightened, but aware that he was being… tested, somehow. He looked back into those deep, green, sparkling eyes and hoped that he was not found wanting.
And then it was gone, flying away in the direction from which it had come. Harry felt slightly disappointed, but then mounted the Firebolt again and flew down to the entrance hall. He ran straight to the Owlery, and wrote a long letter to Charlie Weasley.
***
Harry woke up early on Halloween morning. He discovered he was quite looking forward to the evening. He showered and dressed before going down to breakfast with Ginny, Ron and Hermione. There was a slightly giggly atmosphere in the great hall, as anticipation for the upcoming ball filled the air. Harry was just sipping at a goblet of orange juice when two owls landed in front of him. He didn’t recognise either of them, and they both flew off straight after dropping their letters. Interested, he opened the first one and read.
‘Dear Harry,
‘I’m not entirely sure what I’m hoping to achieve by writing to you. It seems silly now. You made your feelings quite clear before I left Hogwarts. Please don’t think I’m trying to change your mind. I know you well enough to know how much you’d hate that.
‘I thought I might tell you a bit about my life post Hogwarts, though. You might not know it, but you are one of my best friends, and I’d like you to know what I’m doing. The summer after I left I was all set to start training as a Healer. It was my childhood dream. And like many dreams, I soon realised that it wasn’t to be. Well, it was, but I didn’t want it. The fact that it was my dream had blinded me to what was involved. I took a long hard look at myself and realised how unsuited I was to the profession. With all that I learnt about defence, and my enjoyment of charms work, I realised that I would probably die of boredom doing four years (four!) of training. I couldn’t tell anyone this, though. Everyone was so proud of me. I resigned myself to the job.
‘Except that that was about the time I got the letter from Dumbledore. I had hardly ever spoken to him before, except about prefect stuff and, of course, Cedric’s death. He really helped me a lot after that. Made it slightly easier to cope. But this letter was totally unexpected. He was asking me to join the Order of the Phoenix, and more than that, he’s given me a special mission. I can’t tell you much about it, I’m sorry, but I’m a long way from home and enjoying every moment of it, even if it is dangerous. It’s good to feel like I’m making a difference. That I’m helping… well, helping you. I realised something in the DA: no one, not even Dumbledore, has a better chance of defeating Voldemort (argh, it’s hard even to write the name!) than you do, Harry. It’s in you, the way to defeat him. Don’t stop looking for it, and never give up. I believe in you. Heck, most of the school believes in you.
‘My parents weren’t all that thrilled when I first told them about my change of plans. I suppose it might be unusual, but it was their dream for me to be a healer, just like it was mine. But I persuaded Dumbledore to help me talk to them, and they came around. They worry about me all the time, I know they do, but they do support me. I miss them a lot, actually. It helps that I’m so busy. Not so much time to get home sick.
‘Well, I think I’ve rambled for quite long enough. I’d better finish. But I wanted to tell you that I’ve realised something, just recently. I do still feel deeply for you, as I said, but it’s totally different from what I felt for Cedric, or any of the other boys I dated. I feel like I’m safe around you. That you won’t let anything happen to me. And I feel like you’re my friend, and always will be. I can share things with you I just… couldn’t with anyone else, not even Marietta. It may seem weird, since you’re younger than me and everything, but I think I might feel for you like I would an older brother. I wouldn’t know, I suppose, since I haven’t got any brothers or sisters, but that’s what I think. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.
‘Good luck on your NEWTs, Harry, and keep going. Don’t let it all get to you. Find a way to kill the dork and then you can get on with your life. I hope I might have some place in it, somewhere.
‘Yours,
‘Cho’
He read the letter again, smiling. It meant a lot to him. Cho was a good friend, and he had been afraid he had lost that friendship when he refused her, but he now felt closer to her than he had ever been. He decided that he would write back the next day. Then he slit open the other letter, recognising Charlie’s untidy scrawl.
‘Harry, good to hear from you mate.
‘You know, it had to happen to you, didn’t it? You’re just plain awkward. The wards around Hogwarts are supposed to keep anything like dragons out of the grounds. Also, your description doesn’t match anything I’ve ever come across before. There aren’t that many breeds of dragon in the world, as you probably know, and what you described doesn’t fit with any of them. Looks like it’s not a dragon. It might be a species we’ve not come across before, I suppose. And wouldn’t it just have to be you who discovered it without trying, rather than poor old me who slaves away with the beasts every day of the damn week?
‘That aside, this intrigues me. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, maybe even do a little digging and see what’s out there. It might even have been one of the Dragonkin, Dragons born with extraordinary powers, but there hasn’t been a sighting since Merlin helped Arthur defeat the Afanc in his time, and that was about a millennium and a half ago. You might know the story. Didn’t my Mum persuade Ginny to give you all those books she’s forever reading?
‘Well, that’s all from me. Keep out of trouble, right?
‘Charlie’
Harry smiled and put both letters in his pocket, returning to Hermione and Ron’s discussion about the music that had been arranged for the ball.
***
He ate lunch with Ginny in his office, after a very enjoyable double charms lesson. Professor Dumbledore had provided all the fourth years and above with magical picnic hampers, so that they wouldn’t disturb the younger years’ feast. Ginny was looking at him with an appraising expression. Harry suddenly felt nervous as he bit into a chicken leg.
“What?”
“Did you hear any of what Ron and Hermione said about the music when they were arguing this morning?”
Harry shrugged, a bit confused by the question. “No, I tend to tune them out when they’re wrapped up in each other. They tend to be either arguing or on the verge of snogging, and I find both hard to deal with. Why?”
Ginny chuckled at his little summary. “Well, apparently most of it’s being done by an in-school band.”
“I didn’t even know there was an in-school band. What about the rest of it?”
“Well, that’s the interesting thing: Dumbledore hasn’t made any declarations, but their have been hints. Some people think he wants an impromptu talent show as well as a dance.”
Harry stiffened suddenly, finally realising where she was going with this. She was looking at him slightly amused now, one eyebrow raised in that way Harry found completely impossible to argue with. Almost. “Gin… no. I am not going to…”
“Harry, I didn’t say anything. That’s your own conscience.” She grinned impishly at him. “I’ll just say that, if it is something like that, it would be a shame if you didn’t take part. You’re really good, but it’s wasted if, as I suspect, you and I are the only ones who ever hear you.”
Harry blushed deeply at the compliment, but continued to frown. Ginny changed the subject soon though, and Harry relaxed a little, forgetting the anxiety that had settled round him briefly. It returned in full force, though, when Dumbledore knocked on his office door that afternoon. Afternoon classes had been cancelled for the upper years, but Harry had free periods anyway. The headmaster’s eyes were sparkling as usual, but there was something in them that reminded Harry forcefully and unpleasantly of the twins.
“Harry, I was wondering if I could have a word.” Harry looked at him suspiciously as the Dumbledore folded his tall frame into a comfortable chair and looked at him.
“You know I’m always glad for your cooperation with school events, since you are Head Boy.” Harry tensed himself for the blow. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours about the little concert I have planned for tonight. I was wondering if you would agree to play for it.”
Harry winced and took a deep breath, covering his eyes with his hand as though suffering from a severe headache. “I don’t want to. I’d rather the ground opened up beneath me. But, I think that one of my so-called friends would be highly vexed if I didn’t and would make my life hell.”
“I assume you are talking about Miss Weasley.” Harry nodded. “That makes sense. After all, it was she who asked me to approach you.” Before Harry could form a reply to that, the headmaster was at the door. He looked back at Harry. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be right at the end.” He winked and left swiftly. Harry groaned to himself, resigned.
***
The evening was drawing closer. Harry was the last in his dormitory to use the shower. He had decided it would be kinder, since all the others were more nervous about the ball than he was. When he finally got out only Ron was still there, fiddling with the collar of the midnight blue robes with silver trimming the twins had got him, true to Harry’s instruction.
“Hurry up, Harry,” Ron said nervously. “I really don’t want Hermione thinking I’ve stood her up.” Harry chuckled and pulled on his own new robes. Despite not being one for ‘primping’, he found that he liked the way the metallic, dark grey material brought out the green of his eyes when he looked in the mirror. He paused, thinking, and then attached the cloak as well, since he planned to spend some time outside tonight, and away from all the chatter. He was about to leave, but Ron thrust something into his chest. Looking down, he saw that it was his sword in its scabbard. He frowned at his best friend.
“Why don’t you wear it, Harry?”
“What, you mean apart from how difficult it will be to dance with this thing?”
“You can take it off to dance. Just wear it to go in. Everyone heard about Diagon Alley, they’ll want to see it.”
“Then they can go on wanting. They’ll probably see it before too much longer anyway.” Ron frowned at him, but Harry just returned the sword to its case in his trunk. At that point he remembered his conversation with Dumbledore. Cursing under his breath he shrank the ‘cello and put it in his pocket. Ron was giving him an odd look, but Harry ignored it, and together they went down the spiral stairs.
Hermione was waiting by the portrait hole, looking incredibly beautiful and elegant. She wore the same periwinkle blue robes as she had at the Yule Ball, but had draped a silvery, translucent shawl around her shoulders and twisted her unusually sleek, straight hair into a long braid with star shaped silver clips in it. Ron went bright red at the sight of her standing there, grinning nervously at them, but strode over and took her arm, leading her out of the common room, Harry following behind.
Mandy was waiting for him at the bottom of the main stairway, and Harry had to admit that, if he hadn’t been head-over-heels for Ginny he could well have fallen for her. Her robes were almost the same colour as Ron’s, but sleeveless and form fitting, and the colour brought out the blue highlights in her black hair, as well as her incredible eyes. She smiled when she saw him, and Harry noticed a necklace round her neck, a star with diamonds hanging from a thin silver chain with matching diamond stud earrings. He smiled back and offered her his hand. If tonight didn’t get Terry’s attention, he didn’t know what would.
They walked into the hall and found, as at the Yule Ball, that the room was filled with many round tables as well as the normal teacher’s table. Harry asked Mandy if she minded sitting with Ron and Hermione, and she smiled and said no. The four of them sat down together, and the last two seats were soon filled by Neville, who was wearing scarlet, and Eleanor who looked terrified but quite pretty anyway in robes of pale blues and greens. They talked and joked for a while, waiting for everyone to come in and the meal to start, but Harry’s attention was fixed on the door: he did not seen Ginny yet, and he was starting to get nervous.
Fleur caught his eye, and they shared a wave and a grin as she sat next to tiny Professor Flitwick. She looked absolutely stunning, of course. She wore figure-hugging robes of a deep, forest green with a filmy, pale green overrobe on top. Her silvery hair was loose and wavy, reflecting the bright light of the torches around the room. Harry turned back to the doorway and gasped.
There was an angel standing there, on the arm of a boy who didn’t seem to be able to believe his luck. Ginny was astonishing, and her nervous hovering, so unusual for her, meant that everyone was looking at her and Anthony, who was looking decidedly average next to her. Her robes were long and quite loose, and a fantastic white that seemed to shimmer with gold in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. The robes had no sleeves, but rather folds of the gorgeous material hung from her shoulders to her wrists, attached by strong golden threads. There was a delicate circle of gold nestled in her hair, which was plaited with more threads of gold so that it seemed to burn brighter than ever before, and Harry could see plainly, even from here, the gold bracelet on her wrist and the lion pendant round her neck.
Pretty much everyone in the hall was gaping at her as she and Anthony spotted a table and went to sit down. Harry mentally substituted ‘Greek goddess’ for angel. He was aware that he had probably been staring and turned quickly back to the conversation at his table. Only Hermione seemed to have noticed his reaction, but she was looking just as gob-smacked as Harry was.
He felt a light touch on his arm and turned to see Mandy’s startlingly blue eyes on his. “Harry… Terry’s over there. Just so you know.” She blushed, but Harry grinned at her and turned to look at Terry. He was talking with Sally-Anne in a friendly sort of way, but Harry noticed that his eyes kept straying towards their table and the stunningly beautiful witch sitting next to him. He smiled. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all. He leaned towards Mandy.
“I have a plan.” She looked at him interestedly. “We dance the first dance, right? But we make sure we finish near them, and I propose a partner swap. After that, you need to charm him for all your worth, and I don’t mean the wand-waving variety. It shouldn’t be too hard. He can’t take his eyes off you.”
She blushed again, but Harry knew she was pleased. At that moment, though, Dumbledore stood up. “Welcome to all of you to the Halloween Ball! I will not keep you long, as I’m sure you all wish to proceed with this evening of enjoyment and relaxation, but there are two things I must tell you.
“The first is that this evening’s music is kindly being produced by a band of your fellow students, the highly talented ‘Furvarosa’.” There was some applause to this. Dumbledore waited until it subsided. “However, there will be a brief interlude to allow our musicians a small reprieve. During that time we have a small concert for your entertainment. Five students or groups have bravely agreed to perform for you, so I hope you will support them as much as possible.” Harry winced at this: he was trying not to think about his first performance.
“The other thing I wanted to say was that to order food, as at the Yule Ball three years ago, simply make a selection from the menu,” he waved a hand and menus appeared in front of them all, ‘speak the words clearly to your plates and then enjoy.” He smiled at them all and then sat down, speaking lightly to Professor Thompson. Harry felt a pang once again at Snape’s absence. It seemed impossible that he would ever have missed the hook-nosed and unpleasant man, but it was a fact: Harry did miss him. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and ordered some food.
The meal was over before long, and as the students stood and the tables were swiftly stacked out of the way, five people walked onto the stage, who seemed to be Furvarosa: They were all dressed in black, two boys and three girls, and every one of them wore a sheer half-mask in bone white that effectively concealed their identities while leaving their mouths free for singing. The three girls, one the lead vocalist, one a guitarist and the third holding a violin, wore identical black roses with silver-edged petals woven into their hair, while the two boys, a drummer and the other carrying a bass guitar, had the outlines of roses embroidered in silver on their black robes. It all looked very professional, and Harry was looking forward to hearing them. As they began to play and the first couples stepped on to the dance floor, Harry took Mandy’s hand, kissed her knuckles with a wink and led her out as well.
Dancing seemed much more enjoyable now than it had three years before, Harry decided. It was probably a combination of his understanding of music through playing the ‘cello and the athletic quality and subconscious grace he had gained through his Laminamancy, although he didn’t know that of course. He just wondered at how much more fun he was having now, as he and Mandy span gently. He saw many people looking at them from the sidelines and from elsewhere on the dance floor, including, he was pleased to note, Terry Boot, while Sally-Anne seemed more interested in someone who was waiting at the side.
However, more often than not Harry found his eyes straying to where Ginny was. Anthony was a better dancer than Neville had been, as he didn’t step on her toes, but that was about all that could be said for him. He seemed wholly focused on spinning slowly on the spot. Even so, Ginny looked incredible, the light from the torches glimmering on the coppery strands of her hair and the shimmering material of her gown as well as her golden jewellery, causing her to appear to be some fiery avatar. Her face glowed in ethereally beautiful, almost mythic, relief.
The song ended, and Harry managed to pull off his plan perfectly. He and Mandy finished right next to Terry and Sally-Anne, and Harry immediately proposed a partner-swap. So, as the next dance started, Harry was dancing with Sally-Anne, who was very friendly and funny, pleasant to be with, while Harry kept his eyes on Mandy and Terry, who were murmuring softly to each other the whole time, and who were steadily dancing closer and closer together.
Harry found himself really enjoying the Ball, and danced most dances. After Sally-Anne was whirled away by one of her friends he danced with Padma Patil who was there with Draco, with Luna when she could be drawn from Blaise’s clutches, with Hermione when Ron sat down for a song having turned around too fast and hit his head on a table as he fell over, and even with Eleanor, who seemed to have gotten over her initial fear. Soon, though, Furvarosa stopped playing, and Harry realised what was coming. Everyone applauded as they left the stage and sat down on the floor or on benches round the edge of the hall. Harry found himself sitting between Fleur on one side and Ron on the other, who was still looking a little dazed but quite happy with Hermione’s head resting on his shoulder.
Dumbledore stood at the edge of the stage and beamed at them all. “So, our first extra act: The Patil Sisters, singing ‘Fly Me to the Moon’.”
There was wild applause as the twins rose to the stage, looking both nervous and excited. They had wonderful voices and the song was beautiful, although Harry, who was starting to feel really nervous as his turn grew closer, didn’t appreciate it as much as he might have. After the twins there was a dance routine by some of the fourth year girls, Dennis Creevy sang a song by Frank Sinatra that had everyone cheering, and then a different band of various people came on and played a song that they had written themselves, which was funny and very enjoyable.
Harry had been using some of the Occlumency techniques he knew so well to calm himself, and thankfully he felt calm and detached as he climbed onto the stage, took the ‘cello case from his pocket, enlarged it, conjured a stool to sit on and began to play, strong and confidant. And, as he played, something strange began to happen. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them he was looking down on the hall from above, floating above hundreds of heads all glued to the stage where he could see himself playing, looking somehow unreal and blurry in the ethereal grey robes. What was really strange was that he could still feel his eyelids closed, as well as the ‘cello gripped between his knees and the bow clasped firmly in his hand, drawing it back and forth across the strings.
The music floated around him as he took in the expressions on everyone’s faces. Quite a few were staring at him in astonishment, Ron and Professor McGonagall among them. Others were smiling gently, enjoying the smooth tones and melodies filling the room. But Harry sought out the one face in the room he really wanted to see. Ginny was sitting a little apart, right at the back, and gazing at him with something a little like sadness in her deep brown eyes. Harry didn’t want her to be sad, and not knowing anything else to do, he drifted closer and kissed her, very gently. He felt no contact, only a warmth spreading through him. Smoothly he was drawn back to his body, seeing in her eyes as he removed away the sadness giving way to peace.
He finished the piece, and there was a slight pause before the room erupted in huge applause. Harry blushed as he stood and bowed before shrinking the ‘cello, vanishing the stool and leaving the stage. Furvarosa started again soon, and Harry danced once with Fleur before going outside for some air and then coming back in to sit at the side of the room and just watch. He couldn’t help but think that, maybe, what he had just done was the closest he would ever get to kissing the girl he loved.
The evening was almost over, the last dance was starting. Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up into Ginny’s radiant face. “That playing, that was really… well… wow,” she said almost breathlessly. Then she tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile on her lips.
He smiled and stood, asking the question before she could. “Would you like to dance?” She beamed at him, and they strode onto the dance floor to share their first dance. As he held her by the waist and the hand she looked straight at him.
“Do you like the robes?”
Harry swallowed. He had been dreading the question all evening. He nodded dumbly. Ginny smiled.
“Amazing really, I just found them in a parcel on my bed, addressed to me and everything. No note though. I wish I knew who got them. I need to thank them.” She sighed and rested her head against him, and Harry felt his breath catch. All too soon the band finished playing, the ball was over and Harry was lying in his bed, looking at the ceiling. His last thought before he fell asleep was,
‘You’re welcome, Ginny.’
(AN: Before I forget, thanks to Serpentspawn for her help with the name of the band: I think we decided the name means 'Dark Rose', hence the unusual uniform. Speaking of which, thanks to her as well for her help when thinking up some of the costumes. I had no clue.
Thanks are, as ever, due to my wonderful betas, who continue to steer me in the right direction. Thanks, guys.
I suppose it wouldn't be revealing too much to say that there are quite a few elements in this story that refer to the sequel rather than the plot of this fiction. This is deliberate, to make you want to read it. *Evil, maniacal laugh.* I do so enjoy torturing the readers...
Thanks for reading. Reviews welcome! Tom)
Chapter 17: Chapter Seventeen: Adoreum
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: see profile
Chapter Seventeen: Adoreum
Christmas was drawing steadily closer. Harry was glad. Despite the work seeming easier to him since the start of his sixth year, the sheer volume of the stuff being piled on them was getting beyond a joke. Essays, journals, research and spell practice occupied almost every moment that wasn’t already taken up with Occlumency practice, Quidditch, Laminamancy, the DA and all the other little things it was his responsibility to do as Head Boy. He could do with a little rest, and some time to catch up.
Something that was really bothering him was that he had less and less time to spend with his friends. He was with them in class and they did homework together, but there was no longer the time to stop and talk to them. Often Harry would try to make time, after everything else was done, to catch up with Ron, Hermione or one of the others and have some time to let off steam, but usually he was so tired that he ended up nodding off on the sofa before waking with a start and making his way up to bed, where he fell asleep instantly.
The worst thing was that he hardly had exchanged a word with Ginny since Halloween. This was really upsetting him. He missed their quiet conversations, their shared jokes, comfortable silences and even the occasional row. Inevitably they disagreed about some things, but they kept their disagreements to themselves and worked through them as best they could, and always parted friends. That was important. Harry missed her more than he could say, and he knew that her absence from his life was affecting him. He was becoming more distant, more withdrawn, and his friends and even some of his teachers were beginning to worry about him.
The holidays would sort it out, though. Almost the entire school was returning home for the break, since parents wanted their children safe at home while not at school, but Dumbledore had persuaded Mr. and Mrs. Weasley as well as Mr. and Mrs. Granger that it would be far better for Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry to remain at school, since there was probably nowhere safer, and that they, with any other Weasleys who wanted, could come and spend Christmas Day, even staying overnight if they so wished. It turned out that the four of them were the only ones who were staying, apart from Luna, who got permission to stay with the others in the Gryffindor common room for the duration, and she, Ginny and Hermione agreed to share a single dorm, rather than have Hermione on her own.
The reason for all the caution and anxiety was also another reason why Harry was feeling a bit depressed. Death Eater attacks were on the increase. They had even gone so far as to attack Muggles in highly populated and very public places: there had been news in the middle of November about an assault on a shopping centre in the centre of Birmingham. Harry felt helpless in the castle, unable to help or do anything, and he also felt a little guilty, since he couldn’t shake the belief that he should be doing something to try and plan a way to destroy Voldemort, but nothing came to him, nothing sprang to mind. He spent hours in the mornings, looking up at the velvet canopy of his four-poster bed, and trying to come up with an idea, anything that would help, but it was a lost cause. He was stumped.
Finally the holidays began. As snow fell around the silent castle, Harry breathed a deep sigh of relief. Midwinter afternoon found him curled up in his favourite armchair in front of the fire in the common room, his friends around him talking quietly, and felt properly relaxed for the first time in weeks. Four days to Christmas. Harry went through in his mind his presents for everyone: a slightly more tasteful than usual Chudley Cannons sweatshirt for Ron (he thought that white with a modest orange logo would clash less with his friend’s hair); a descant recorder for Hermione (who had been showing an interest in music since Halloween); a set of multi-coloured quills for Luna; a set of gobstones for Neville and a book he had found on British myths and legends for Ginny, just the sort of thing she would appreciate. Of course, there was the other present…
At that precise moment, Harry’s scar, which had been dormant for a long time thanks to his improvement in Occlumency, seared with incredible pain. Harry couldn’t quite suppress the cry that escaped his lips as he clutched his hands to his forehead, his eyes screwed up. Through the pain and his friends’ alarm he tried desperately to make out an emotion. What was Tom feeling? It felt like… excitement? Anticipation?
Eventually it subsided, but his forehead was still throbbing painfully. He opened his eyes to see all his friends gathered around him, Ron and Hermione gently but firmly pressing his shoulders down onto the couch.
“Harry, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Hermione sounded panicked and flustered. It had been a long time since Tom had last got to him so badly, and it was obvious that his friends had really been caught off guard. Ginny laid a cool hand on his forehead, which he realised was dripping with perspiration.
“I think we need to get Dumbledore,” Ginny said firmly. Harry leapt to his feet, despite the efforts of Ron and Hermione.
“We’re all going. Whatever this is, it’s big. Tom is really excited about it. I’d really feel better if we weren’t separated.” The others nodded, and hurried to the portrait hole. Luna paused there. “What’s the matter, Luna?”
The blonde girl’s expression was one of absolute focus and determination, completely different from her usual dreamy vagueness. “Are you sure there’s nothing you might need from here?”
Harry paused, then smiled at her. He raised his hand towards the boys’ dormitory staircase. “Accio Marauders’ Map!”
The grubby sheet of parchment shot down the stairs and into Harry’s hand. Feeling extremely grateful that he had left his trunk open, Harry placed his wand tip to the aged paper. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” The ink lines spread quickly across the paper. Harry glanced at it. “There are no Death Eaters here… yet. Dumbledore’s in his office. Let’s go.”
They sprinted through the corridors, the empty castle echoing to the sound of their shoes hitting the stone floors. Before they knew it they were at the stone gargoyle. Ron reached it first, as Harry paused often to check the map. “Ice Mice!” The gargoyle leapt aside and within moments they had jogged up the moving staircase and were hammering on Dumbledore’s door.
“Come in!”
They all burst through the door. Professor Dumbledore looked rather puzzled for a moment, but one look at their faces was enough to let him sense that something was terribly wrong. “What’s happened?”
Harry didn’t wait to be polite. “Sir, I just had a flash of Tom’s emotions, and it was so powerful it got through my barriers. He’s very excited about something. I’m certain that he’s going to attack Hogwarts!”
“Are you sure?” Harry nodded decisively. “Then I want the five of you to go back to the common room. I will summon the Order. We will handle this. My priority is your safety.” Harry didn’t like this much, but nodded again, rather curtly, and led the way back through the door and down the staircase.
Dumbledore was still trying to keep him out of the way, still treating him as though he couldn’t take care of himself! Harry knew that he had probably faired better against Death Eaters than most of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. And to be shoved out of the way like this, with his friends, who had all faced death before with him, was almost more than he could bear. His frustration mounting, he pulled out the map again and studied it. There was still nothing, but his eyes were drawn to the lines reaching from off the page to the depths of the castle and the grounds. The secret passageways…
Of course! Wormtail knew all about them, didn’t he? Harry’s eyes scanned the very edges of the map. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he could detect some ink moving right at the crinkled side. Tracing back, he realised that it looked like they were in Honeyduke’s, and that if they tried to penetrate the castle from there they would come through the statue of the one-eyed, hunchbacked witch Harry had first used to get into Hogsmeade in his third year. He stopped and the others crowded around him.
“I think the attack is going to come from the Honeyduke’s passage,” he told them quickly. “I’m going to try and head them off… you don’t have to come, but I’m not going to try and stop you.” Hermione looked ready to argue, but a look at Ron silenced her and she nodded with the others. Harry made his way quickly to the statue, the others behind him. The corridor was dark and quiet when they got there. Harry looked at the map again. There was still nothing clear, but the disturbance of ink at the very edge was more pronounced, definitely not a figment of Harry’s imagination. He beckoned the others closer to him.
“Find a place to hide, and make sure you keep out of sight. Use anything you can think of from Defence or the DA. I’ll be behind the statue. Watch for my signal. If I think we can take them, I’ll put my thumb up a bit before they arrive. If I don’t, I’ll stick it down. If that happens, we’ll follow them and take them from behind when the battle starts. If we attack them here, work in pairs, one shielding and countering, the other cursing. Everyone understand?” They nodded briefly and separated. Ron and Hermione disappeared into an alcove a little way down the corridor, while Luna and Ginny moved to an empty classroom opposite the statue and Harry could just see Luna’s eye peeking round the slightly open door. He thought that Ginny was probably using the lion pendant to look through the solid wood.
Harry crept to his position and used the breathing techniques he had learnt in Occlumency practice to calm himself. He held his wand steady in one hand, and his other hand was poised, ready to cast a spell. Recently he had managed to cast simple spells like stunners, shield charms, reductor curses and impediment jinxes without saying the words associated with them, and even managing to cast two spells at once, one with the wand and one without.
He looked at the map again and took in what he was reading quickly. There were at least fifteen Death Eaters coming up the passage, although because they were crowded together he couldn’t for the life of him make out the names. There were too many to be taken out by the five of them. They might get the first two or even three as they came out of the statue, but after that the rest would be prepared, and Harry didn’t like the odds of five students, albeit highly trained and powerful students, against more than ten full-grown adults, some of who would doubtless be quite strong themselves: Harry recalled that Lucius Malfoy was still at large. That was one person he wouldn’t underestimate. The man might be a total creep, but he was still powerful and cunning, and had a cruel streak that could easily put them at a disadvantage unless they were very careful.
Harry poked his hand around the edge of the statue and pointed his thumb downwards, hoping they had all seen, and settled to wait, as silent and still as a midnight shadow. They were nearly at the entrance now. Harry narrowed his eyes, intent on seeing everything he could. There was a small noise as the witch’s hump opened, revealing the staircase underneath, and Harry saw two robed and hooded figures emerge and look around, one tall and straight, the other small and bent-backed. The tall man spoke.
“Well, Wormtail, you seem to have gotten us into the castle, as you said.” The voice was soft, drawling and as cold as ice. Harry had been right: the lackey-in-chief himself had put in an appearance. “On the other hand, we know that he school is all but empty, and we must assume that Dumbledore is aware of out invasion. We will stay together, I think, and make for the great hall. We can prepare an ambush there.”
He and the smaller man, obviously Wormtail, stood back and ushered the other Death Eaters into the seemingly abandoned corridor, and then they set off towards the Great Hall. Harry beckoned the others out and they followed at a safe distance. Harry glanced down at the map and noticed that not only was their quarry moving slowly, cautious for any prowling teacher or ghost, but they were also taking a long route, missing a certain passage that went behind a tapestry and cut between to classrooms to considerably shorten the distance. Along this passageway Harry led his friends, and at the other end they sprinted silently into the empty great hall. They would let the Death Eaters set up their ambush, and just when they sprang it would launch their own.
It was some minutes before the Death Eaters arrived. By that time Harry and the others were safely hidden under the long house tables and had clear shots at the doors. Their unknowing adversaries concealed themselves clumsily, pressing themselves against the walls on either side of the doors that were standing open. Harry thought that Dumbledore would probably guess what was waiting for them. He glanced at the map and saw that a group of people was just leaving the Headmaster’s office. Some of the names he didn’t recognise, but as well as Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall he saw Bill and Fleur, Arthur Weasley, Tonks and Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody.
The tension was rising. Harry saw some of the Death Eaters fidgeting, clearly nervous. The Order members paused s little way outside the hall. Harry couldn’t see on the map what Dumbledore said, nor did he hear the spell, but the doors slammed closed almost instantly. He gave Ron, who was next to him, a very pointed nod. It was time. He passed the unspoken message along.
The doors flew off their hinges, exploding into the room and knocking two Death Eaters out of the way before the battle had really started. Soon stunners and other spells were flying everywhere. Although the Order had negated the ambush, the Death Eaters still had superior numbers and were fighting hard, bringing the battle to a stalemate. Harry stood up and pointed his wand at the straight back of Lucius Malfoy.
“Stupefy!”
Soon everything was chaos. The Death Eaters, finding themselves attacked on two fronts, were now fighting desperately. Curses were going wild, smashing windows and splintering the tables, but it was soon clear that the battle was all but over. Harry paused, having just used the full body bind on his opponent, and surveyed the hall. Malfoy had gone down with Harry’s stunner and had stayed down, but Harry had seen no sign of Wormtail. It was imperative that they catch him, since it would take the advantage of the Marauders’ knowledge from the Death Eaters. Scanning quickly, Harry spotted the small, balding, nervous man he hated nearly as much as Voldemort in the middle of the hall, between what was left of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. He looked nervous, but his eyes alighted on a target and he raised his wand. Harry’s world turned to slow motion.
He saw the wand rise, saw it pointing to a definite target: the Weasley red hair.
He saw Ginny rise and turn in one fluid movement, unutterably graceful as she fought with abandon, seeing the threat from behind, too late to do anything about it.
He saw Wormtail’s mouth form the word.
“Crucio!”
The world turned to normal speed as Ginny’s piercing screams filled the room, everyone pausing to take in what was happening, but Harry was already moving, his mind a blank, the only thought driving him was to stop Ginny from hurting so much. He didn’t want Ginny to be in pain. He shouldn’t be hurting her like that. So he ran, ran to Ginny faster than ever before, faster than many people watching believed possible, and he placed himself in the path of the unforgivable curse.
The double shock of being placed under the Cruciatus curse and having it removed was too much for Ginny and she blacked out, falling to the floor and hitting her head rather hard on the flagstones. Harry was in incredible pain, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to make sure Ginny was all right. The pain was stopping him from doing that, though. He thrust his hand out in the direction the pain was coming from. It seemed to work, because the pain went away immediately.
The watchers, for all the participants had stopped to see what was going on, saw Peter Pettigrew hurled across the room when Harry threw out his arm. If anyone had been near enough, they would have noticed the little man’s eyes widening with horror when he saw who was taking his curse. They might also have noticed that he was dead before he hit the opposite wall. Only Dumbledore could see this, though. He stored it away for later.
Harry dropped to the floor beside the unconscious Ginny, and cradled her head in his lap. There was some blood on her head, from the impact with the floor. He put his hand over it, and the blood covered it before he focused, as he had done with his aunt, and closed the skin beneath it. She was still unconscious though. He was crying now, and words were pouring through his mouth. He had to tell her, tell her now, in case it was too late…
“Ginny? Wake up Ginny. Please! Don’t die, Ginny, please don’t die! I love you. I love you. You can’t die. You mustn’t. Please, Ginny, speak to me. Come on, Ginny, come back to me. I love you, Ginny. Wake up, please, I love you.”
He ignored everyone and stood up, Ginny’s body cradled in his arms as if she weighed nothing, and strode out of the room towards the hospital wing, while his friends and the Order members quickly stunned and incarcerated the remaining Death Eaters. Harry was still mumbling, almost incoherent through his tears. He saw Ginny’s eyelids flicker, but not open.
“Harry?” The voice was painfully low, a croak from the edge of wakefulness. Harry hugged her to him tighter. “I’m here, Ginny, I love you, you’ll be fine, stay with me Ginny…”
He kept talking as she slipped back into unconsciousness.
***
Harry sat, his thoughts shattered, in the deserted common room. Snow was falling outside, white against the dark sky of midwinter, a fall of stars shrouding the world. He had been herded out of the hospital wing a few hours ago, told he needed to eat and sleep, but he could do nothing. Many people were celebrating, in a subdued sort of way. They had come through a major attack by Death Eaters and while there were many casualties there hadn’t been a single fatality among the five students and the Order members. But Harry couldn’t think of that. The only things he saw, repeating in slow motion endlessly in his mind, was Pettigrew’s wand rising, the curse hitting Ginny, her scream, and her unconscious body in his arms. He had sat with her for hours, holding her hand, but she hadn’t come round again. He had thought dimly that he would wait here until she came back to the tower, whenever that was.
The circular room was very dark, the only illumination coming from the fire, which was burning with a strangely red flame, reminding Harry of the blood that was now dried on his hand. Ginny’s blood. He pressed it to his cheek and began to cry, silently. He hadn’t cried like this since the night after OWL results, and then too it was about Ginny, but he couldn’t help it. The blood became damp and liquid again, until the vivid red stained his face, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t stop even when he heard the portrait open and close behind him and Ginny’s throaty but beautiful voice speaking.
“Harry?”
Harry stood and turned to face her, his arms falling to his sides and tears still falling down his cheeks. She stood a few paces away, and Harry thought that she had never been more beautiful. In the shadows her hair was less red-orange than usual, but seemed a deep, vibrant, living crimson with streaks of gold here and there. The fire was reflected twice in those large, dark eyes, and it seemed to Harry that what he had always known was there was visible here and now. He felt his heart throb for her, but she didn’t love him. She couldn’t. He was the source, the cause, of every single bad thing that had ever happened to her and to everyone she loved. He knew what he must look like right now. His hair spiked even more wildly than usual. His stupid green eyes a shameful red at the edges. His face messy with blood and damp with tears. It was simply impossible. He stood there gazing at her for a moment that lasted a terrible, agonising lifetime.
And then she was there, her body pressed against his, her arms circling him, cradling him, and her face buried in his chest, her own tears soaking his tattered, filthy robes. For a moment he struggled to retain his balance, too overwhelmed to believe what was happening was real and not one more illusion in his life. But then he lowered his relatively clean cheek till it rested on her beautiful head, the tears falling gentler now as they tumbled into the crimson waves, and she was there, in his arms, with him, holding him, giving him strength just as she used what strength he had to offer. They had hugged before, many times, but it had never been like this. Never before had there been such tenderness and such desperation at the same time. Such insatiable, mutual need.
She didn’t release him, but merely looked up into his face. Her eyes were even brighter than ever, fresh tears gathering in the corners, and Harry gazed into those eyes, trying to lose himself in the warm depths. He realised that her expression no longer held anger, or hurt, or pity, or sympathy, or contempt, or embarrassment, or even friendly liking or any of the other things he had seen in them. The expression was a totally new one in those eyes, but Harry recognised it only too well, because he had seen it in his own eyes every time he had looked in a mirror since well before his realisation, that first night at the Burrow eighteen months ago. Those eyes were filled with love.
And now he cried with joy and hopeful disbelief. Could it be? Could she love him? After everything that had happened, after all his mistakes and all his ignorance and, yes, arrogance, could she possibly feel for him as he did for her?
“I love you, Harry.”
The words were no more than a whisper, but they were more than enough.
Together they sat, on the floor by the fire that radiated warmth into their tired and cold bodies, still clutching each other tightly. They leant back against a sofa, and Ginny used a sleeve of her robe to wipe Harry’s bloody cheek while he held her close and told her how much he loved her, and how long he had felt that way. Ginny cried softly for a while, over all the misunderstandings, over Luna and Dean and Colin and Cho, and everything that had conspired against them, while Harry rocked her and comforted her, kissing her head every so often. When she stopped crying she looked at Harry again, and he saw in those eyes a joy that he thought he would never find. Almost without thinking he bent forward, and she did the same, meeting his lips with her own.
At first Harry was hesitant. He had only been kissed twice, and both had been dreadful in different ways. The first time, Cho had been crying and he was not able to think about anything. The second time he was wracked with guilt because he had felt like he was betraying Ginny. Now, though, he understood perfectly everything that was happening. He and Ginny were kissing each other, not because they were sad and needed comfort or out of some misguided sense of obligation: they were two people very much in love, and they were demonstrating that love in the simplest way possible. He brought his hands up, one gently caressing Ginny’s cheek, the other supporting her head, stroking the nape of her neck and getting lost in the soft cascade of red. She responded by moving her arms under his and up behind him until her hands rested on his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. All the time their mouths moved together, sometimes light and tender, at others deep and passionate, their tongues mingling and dancing together.
Again and again they would pull apart, breathing in not only the air of the common room but also the expression in each other’s face, before moving together again, never wanting to part. Eventually they did pull apart and, exhausted by all the terrible and wonderful things that had happened that day, they fell asleep on the floor of the common room. They were still wrapped in each other’s arms. Harry’s final thought was that he was, now, complete. She was there, in his arms and in his heart, and if he had anything to do with it she wouldn’t leave ever again. And he chuckled lightly as he heard her mumble something that sounded suspiciously like,
“You’re not going anywhere, Harry James Potter. I’ve got you now. Forever.”
***
Harry awoke the next morning to wintry sunlight streaming through the window and onto his face. He was happier than he had ever been at any point in his life, even though his arm was asleep, unpleasantly numb in that way that whispers snidely of the pins and needles to come. Regardless, the reason for the numbness was that Ginny Weasley had been lying partially on the limb for several hours, and since she had told him the night before that she was in love with him, he was still happy about it.
The light seemed to caress her body like fingers of gold, and, tousled as she was from sleep and still wearing the torn clothes from the battle the day before, he still thought she was beautiful. He felt like he could count and then name every single freckle that stood out so vividly against her creamy skin.
She looked incredibly peaceful, but Harry was becoming aware of the aches and pains that come from sleeping on a hard floor all night when you are used to something rather softer. Hoping to prevent that somewhat for Ginny, he gently extricated his arm from underneath her, stood up and held his hands over her sleeping body. She rose steadily one, two, three feet from the floor, and then drifted to the sofa nearby and settled comfortably on it and Harry pulled down a curtain, transfigured it into a soft, warm blanket and tucked it round her before stretching himself to get rid of the lethargy sleep had left him with.
He looked at his watch and realised that the morning was already quite far advanced, and that he was starving. He ruefully recalled that the last time he had eaten anything was lunchtime the day before. Thinking that Ginny was probably in a similar predicament he apparated quickly down to the portrait of a bowl of fruit seven floors below. He tickled the pear and it laughed and squirmed before turning into a door handle. Harry opened the door into the kitchen and felt something hit him at high speed. Looking down, he realised that he had a Dobby attached to his leg.
“Harry Potter sir! Harry Potter! You has come to see Dobby sir, and after such a battle just yesterday! Dobby is hearing all about it sir, oh yes. Harry Potter was so brave, protecting his Wheezy!”
Before Harry could reply to this he felt something else hitting his other leg, almost knocking him over. The voice that spoke this time was even higher and squeakier than Dobby’s.
“Harry Potter! Oh, Winky has so wanted to talk to you, Harry Potter sir! Winky is wanting to say that she is very, very sorry for the way she behaved before. Was shameful, sir!”
“Don’t worry about it, Winky. You were upset, it was only natural. You seem to be doing better now, though.”
It was true. Dobby was dressed in his normal, Harlequin way, the bobble on his tea cosy bobbing ridiculously. Winky, on the other hand, was wearing a neat dress, as she had before, but it was now spotlessly clean and tidy. She smiled up at him.
“Harry Potter is too kind, sir. Is there anything Dobby and Winky can be doing for you, sir?”
“Well, I was wondering if I could have a tray with some breakfast on it for me and someone else. After last night I don’t really think we’d want to go to the great hall.”
The two House Elves beamed and nodded briskly before rushing to do just that, and it wasn’t long before Harry was holding a large tray with several dishes, each one covered with a lid that had a heating charm placed on it, as well as a coffee pot and a jug of pumpkin juice. Harry thanked his friends profusely and, after promising to come back and see them again soon, he apparated back up to the common room.
Ginny was still asleep. Harry set the tray down on a table near the sofa and perched on the arm next to her head, gently stroking her silky hair. She woke slowly under his attention and smiled up at him.
“Good morning,” Harry whispered. She said nothing but lifted her head and kissed him gently. Harry was nearly bowled over again by the enormity of it all. When she pulled away she laughed softly. “What is it?”
“You,” she chuckled. “You’ve got a really goofy grin on that adorable face of yours.”
Feeling a bit light headed, Harry came back with, “Well, I think I have something to be happy about.”
“Oh really?” Her eyebrow was raised again. Harry loved it when she did that. Her voice was teasing him. He stroked her cheek lightly and planted a small kiss on her forehead.
“I love you,” he said seriously. “And I’m so sorry it took me so bloody long to say it.”
Ginny stoked his face in the same way, and Harry felt chills running up and down his spine. “I love you too, Harry. I have ever since that night, so long ago. I died in that chamber, and then I came back to life, and part of that was that I loved you. It wasn’t just a stupid crush. I’d do anything for you, because I know you were ready to give up everything for me then. And you still are.”
Harry was quiet for a long time. Finally he spoke. “I may have only realised how I felt a year and a half ago, Ginny, but I’ve loved you since that moment too. You were always there, in the back of my mind, and I’m just so sorry it took me so long to work it out.”
They were silent for a while. When Ginny spoke next her voice sounded light and casual, but there was a ring to it of some kind of bitterness or regret.
“I knew, you know. That day when you arrived at the Burrow, and I flooed home and you caught me, I could see it, in your eyes. You were looking at me like… I don’t know. I couldn’t describe it, but for a little while I was certain that you really liked me. A lot. And then I got confused and hurt when you got that letter from Luna. Then at the party I thought we were getting close, but you went to talk to me, and then the moment you spotted Dean you said you were going to write to Luna again. I was so angry. And so stupid.” She hugged him tightly and buried her face in the crook between his shoulder and neck. “Can you forgive me?”
Harry kissed the top of her head and nestled his cheek in her soft red tresses. “Love, there’s nothing to forgive. I was being an obtuse prat. Think about this: it took you being tortured to persuade me to actually tell you how I feel. I had decided that I would tell you, but not when. I would probably have kept on and on procrastinating. Apart from anything else, I was convinced that you had gotten over me.”
She looked up at him. “What gave you that idea?”
Harry looked at her blankly for a moment. “Well, you started talking to me. That in itself was fine, but then you were dating other boys. And lastly, Hermione actually told me that you had given up on me.”
Ginny shook her head slightly, and smiled a little sadly. “At the point I started going out with Michael, yes, I’d given up on you.” She chuckled at the horrified look that plastered itself across Harry’s face. “What you need to remember is that there is a big, big difference between giving up on someone and getting over someone. I may have given up on you for a while, finally realising that you were never going to see me as more than a friend, but I never got over you. Never.” She sighed, closed her eyes, smiled and nestled closer to him. “I’m still the pathetic, love-struck little girl who ran to keep up with the Hogwarts Express.”
Harry chuckled at the memory and hugged her closer, revelling in the warmth coming from her and the fact that he could do this now. Twenty-four hours ago he had been thinking about exams and classes and all the things keeping him busy. Now none of that seemed to matter. He was curled up on a sofa with the girl he loved, and who he now knew loved him back. As he served her some breakfast from the tray, he felt… not normal, not really. But, he felt right. It wasn’t a feeling he’d ever had before, but he knew that, as long as Ginny loved him, he would have it for the rest of his life.
(AN: Thanks as ever are due to Lourdes and Serpentspawn. I'm sorry I'm such an obstinate idiot guys. Thanks for sticking with me.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. A certain part of it was written between chapters two and three. No prizes for guessing which bit.
Lastly, thanks especially to Nimbirosa, who came up with the chapter title, which means 'a reward for valour' in Latin. I had considered the same thing in English, and then realised it looked stupid. Tom)
Chapter 18: Chapter Eighteen: Completely and Utterly
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: see profile
Chapter Eighteen: Completely and Utterly
When they had finished eating, Harry and Ginny went up to their respective dormitories to freshen up. As much as they wanted to spend time together now, to revel in their newfound relationship, they had spent the night wearing the clothes from the previous day, and both recognised the need for a shower. The dormitories were deserted, and Harry hoped that, wherever Ron and Hermione were, they had included Luna. He didn’t want the younger girl to feel she was being pushed away.
When they were both ready they met back in the common room, sharing a brief kiss that sent butterflies whirring through Harry’s stomach, making him feel giddy for a moment. Ginny giggled at him, and then her expression became inquisitive.
“So, Assistant Professor Potter, what do we do now?”
Harry couldn’t resist reaching out and stroking her silky soft hair as it fell past her ear, and lightly grazing the smooth, creamy skin of her cheek at the same time. She shivered and pressed her face to his hand, and Harry was amazed at her reaction, wondering why she could enjoy his touch so much. It made him feel oddly humble, but powerful at the same time. With an effort he dragged his thoughts back to her question.
“Well, as unromantic as it is, the first thing I want to do is inform Ron.”
Ginny looked at him for a moment as though he’d gone mad, and then laughed and hugged him close. “You’re right, you know. Best get it over with. Even if it is his problem if he doesn’t like it.” They left the common room together, holding hands and maintaining an easy silence. Harry vaguely remembered his walk to Hogsmeade with Cho on Valentine’s Day, two years before, his first and only (so far) date. They had struggled with an uncomfortable silence, only able to talk about Quidditch and, briefly, how much they hated Umbridge. With Ginny, they didn’t need to be talking the whole time. It was a wonderful kind of freedom.
They entered the great hall and found Ron, Hermione, Luna and the teachers cleaning the room up after the battle of the previous night. Harry suddenly felt sick when he saw a dark red stain on the far wall, starting high up and spreading downwards like a paint stroke. Just as they came in, however, Professor Flitwick waved his wand and the mess evaporated like so much early morning mist.
Ron looked up as they entered, stared at their joined hands for a moment, then gave them a faint smile and went back to the cleaning. Harry watched as Hermione looked at them with a smile and nodded gently. Ron understood. They all did. Harry was glad, and felt Ginny squeeze his hand slightly.
They made their way to Dumbledore, who was rearranging the myriad shards in a smashed stained-glass window. The look on his face was unreadable, even to Harry, as the elderly headmaster concentrated entirely on his task. Slowly the picture began to take shape again, and Harry noted with surprise that one of the things it showed was a creature exactly like the one that had come to him before Halloween. Still, he filed that information for later and stepped up to Dumbledore, who looked down and smiled warmly at them.
“Good morning! Or, perhaps I should say, good afternoon.”
Harry blushed, realising how late it was and that they probably should have been around a lot earlier.
“Er, I wondered if you wanted any help, sir.”
Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling at such a rate that it almost made Harry dizzy. “No, I thank you Harry, but I think we have everything under control here. Why don’t you go outside and enjoy the day a little? We will have lunch in a short while.”
They nodded and left the room, noting the satisfied smirks on Hermione and Luna’s faces.
“Well, that was subtle,” Ginny said as they left through the main doors.
“What?”
“Dumbledore,” Ginny answered, as though it should have been obvious. “He wanted us to spend time together.”
“Yes, and I for one am not complaining,” Harry said firmly as he pulled her into a tight hug. She laughed, and Harry felt the ripples of her amusement in his own body. It was so close to hers. He kissed her softly and then they walked towards the lake. The huge expanse looked solid as a rock, but they knew better than to trust appearances. With such depth, only the surface was frozen and attempted ice-skating would probably be terminal. It didn’t take them long to find the rock where they had watched the thunderstorm together after winning the Quidditch Cup the year before. This time, though, Ginny sat in front of Harry, leaning back against his chest and with his arms tight around her. A thought occurred to him.
“You know, this is what I’ve wanted. All the time.”
Ginny leaned her head back a little, until her hair was brushing the hollow of Harry’s throat, tickling his Adam’s apple. “What is?”
“Just being with you, and being close, like this. Being quiet together. I mean don’t get me wrong. Talking to you is great. Kissing you,” he placed a small kiss on her ear-lobe, “is bloody fantastic, but I really love the way we don’t need to talk, and we can just sit here quietly, all cuddled up, and enjoy each other’s company.”
Ginny’s hand found Harry’s, and she absently played with his fingers, weaving hers through them and tracing the length of them. “You’re right. Maybe this is what we’ll be remembered for.”
“Remembered for?”
“As a couple. They’re all remembered for something. Like Ron and Hermione arguing, and Lavender and Seamus snogging at the most inappropriate times.” Harry suppressed a chuckle. “We’ll be remembered for just sitting together without talking.”
“Sounds preferable to those other options. And just think. If I’d stayed with Cho we would be remembered for her crying all over me.” Ginny giggled at that, though Harry hadn’t been cruel in the way he said it. “I just hope we can carry on doing this for a long, long time.”
There was silence. After a while, Harry realised that Ginny was worried about something. He couldn’t see her expression, but he could almost feel the anxiety coming off her in waves, as though she was far away. The feeling of distance was new, and unpleasant. “Ginny, what’s the matter?”
There was silence again, but Harry knew that it was just because she was working out what to say.
“You… you’re going to push me away, Harry.” Her voice was resigned and sad, but there was just a hint of steel in it. Harry said nothing. “You’re going to try to protect me by hiding your feelings and push me away, aren’t you Harry?”
This time Harry did answer, very quietly. “That would be my instinct, normally.”
“I won’t let you, Harry, I don’t care if I’m in danger, or if it’s awkward for the Order, or any of that. I’ve waited for you for six years, and you’ve waited for me for two, and now I’ve got you, and you’ve got me, and I’m not going to give it up, not even for Vol…”
She had been speaking fast and almost breathlessly, but she trailed off as she realised what he’d said. What he had actually said.
“Would be?”
Harry took a deep breath. “Part of the prophecy said that I would have a power the Dark Lord knows nothing about, and when I asked Dumbledore what that meant, because I didn’t have any special powers or anything, he told me. He told me why Tom was forced out of my body when he had tried to possess me. He said it was because of love.”
Ginny said nothing, but watched the few birds circling over the trees on the far bank of the lake, featureless black shadows against the dull, grey-white sky. Harry continued.
“You’ve noticed it yourself, Gin. How I’ve been able to do so many things more recently. Let’s see. There’s the Occlumency that was so hard two years ago, Laminamancy, I can Apparate if I have to. Then I was getting so good at all my lessons, and also the really big one, I’m an animagus too.” He felt her stiffen in his arms, and decided to take a gamble. “Just like you.”
There was a tiny gasp of surprise, and Harry knew he was right. Extra lessons with McGonagall, her look of shock and, yes, recognition when he had received his licence. It was fairly obvious if he hadn’t been so blind. He stroked her hair gently. “Even playing the ‘cello so well in such a short time. Dumbledore had said that before, I had people loving me, all sorts of people, your family, my friends, Remus, Sirius, all of them, and that kept me alive. It protected me for five years from so many dangers, so many adventures.” His tone made a mockery of the word. But then he squeezed her tightly.
“But, from the moment I realised how much I love you, and how central you are to my entire existence, all these things started happening. It looks like I do have power, a lot of it, but I could never get to it until I accepted the fact that I love you. Does any of that make sense?”
“Yes, Harry.” Ginny’s voice was faint, barely more than a whisper, but Harry caught it and was glad.
“Good. Because I think that now I’m pretty much invincible.”
She twisted almost violently to stare at him, her brown eyes huge, boring into his.
“What?”
Harry smiled at her and kissed her very gently. “Against Voldemort, against Tom… I don’t think he can stop me, now,” he whispered to her in a sly bid to make her come closer to him which was a resounding success as she twisted on to her side and nuzzled right into him, burying her face in his chest. “Now that we know, now that we’re both sure, I think I can beat him. In fact, I know I can beat him, Ginny, but only if you’re there with me.”
She gave no reaction to this but to nuzzle deeper against him, and he lay back against the rock so that she was lying half on top of him. Finally she spoke.
“I’ll be with you, Harry. Right to the end. But I’m bloody terrified.”
Harry squeezed her tight, an almost convulsive reaction. She was scared, so he hugged and comforted her. “I am too, love, but I know that we can win. And then… there’s the whole future in front of us. We can live our lives. Maybe I’ll have some hope of being normal.”
Ginny snorted. “Not likely. The one who beats Voldemort isn’t exactly going to get away with a normal life. If you think fame is bad now, wait until you’ve actually won.”
Harry smiled. They were talking so naturally about life after Voldemort, as though it was a foregone conclusion. That was nice. “Maybe I’ll become a hermit. Avoid everyone.”
Ginny raised her head slightly and looked down at him with a quizzical look on her face.
“Even me?”
Harry stood up and lifted her into his arms. She struggled a bit, from surprise, but soon relaxed as he kissed her again. “Never you,” he whispered. “I couldn’t live without you, Ginny Weasley. Keep that in mind.” He set her on her feet. “Come on, I’m cold. Let’s get back up to the castle and see if they’ve finished yet.”
~*~
Later that afternoon, neither Harry nor Ginny was surprised by the summons they received to meet with Dumbledore in his office. The office, once they reached it, was warm and bright as ever, and Fawkes was blinking peacefully from his perch. Dumbledore smiled as they entered, his eyes twinkling as much as ever.
“Well, it’s been quite a time, hasn’t it? Such excitement. I asked you here actually to see if either of you had any questions.”
The two teenagers sat next to each other on a small couch that Dumbledore conjured in front of his desk. Something had been niggling at the back of Harry’s mind for a while now, so he asked the question. “Sir… what happened to Pettigrew?”
Dumbledore’s face fell a little. “I’m sorry, Harry, I thought you knew. Peter Pettigrew is dead.”
“How?” Harry’s voice was oddly calm as he asked this. Dumbledore took a deep breath.
“Pettigrew owed you a life debt, Harry. He has ever since you saved his life in your third year. And, whatever the reason, last night he placed an Unforgivable Curse on you. It is that that killed him, the price for harming in so violent a way a person to whom he owed his life. But also, when you thrust his curse off, you used wandless magic unintentionally. He was thrown across the hall, but he was dead before he hit the wall.”
Harry was shell-shocked. The truth was slowly sinking into him. He had killed someone. Not intentionally, perhaps, but the truth remained. He was a murderer.
Ginny hit him hard on the arm. He turned to her in surprise, rubbing where she had hit him, and found her glaring at him.
“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this, Harry Potter,” she snarled, and Harry felt a lurch of fear in his stomach as he surveyed his enraged girlfriend. “This is a war and people die, and you did not kill him. As I understand it, he killed himself when he used that curse on you.”
Harry looked at her, bemused, but nodded slowly. It was true, he realised. She moved closer to him, settling into the bend of his arm and setting her head against his shoulder in so natural a way it was as though they had been together for many, many years, not less than a day. Harry saw that the familiarity was not lost on Dumbledore, whose eyes twinkled more than ever.
“I did also want to speak about your newfound… feelings for each other, and how they affect matters…”
Ginny, to Harry’s surprise, interrupted their headmaster. “Hardly newfound, Professor. Just… newly recognised.”
Harry cut in after her, not allowing Dumbledore to interrupt. “And we’ve already talked about things, sir. About the prophecy, and my powers. You know,” and he spoke very seriously, looking straight into the twinkling, startlingly blue eyes, “that I’ve always obeyed you, sir, even when I haven’t liked what I had to do. But not even you would keep me from Ginny, now or any other time. We don’t care if it’s a security risk, or that it is dangerous. We are staying together, whatever happens.”
Dumbledore smiled. “Then that is all I need to know. I wouldn’t dream of trying to separate the two of you. Quite apart from seeing the two of you far happier now than you ever have been, from a practical point of view I must conclude that your chances of defeating Voldemort… Tom,” he corrected, smiling at Ginny, “are now dramatically increased.”
Ginny spoke up. “I… I sort of hope it happens soon,” she said, rather hesitantly. “I’d rather it was over than hanging over us. I want to be able to think about the future.”
Dumbledore nodded, smiling, but Harry noticed a spark of something in Dumbledore’s mind, before his Occlumency skills covered it. Something about the future…
They left the office and went to dinner, where Ron and Hermione offered their own congratulations.
~*~
Late that night Harry sat on his bed, the covers drawn up around him, the curtains closed and a piece of parchment on his lap. As he considered what to write, running the feathery end of his quill over his lips and staring at the blank parchment, he felt strangely comforted by the regular sound of Ron’s gentle snores from the next bed.
Today had been… incredible. There was no other word to describe it.
He felt like he had basked all day, soaking up Ginny, her presence, her conversation, her very essence, like a lizard on a rock absorbing the sun’s heat. He had thought before, but now he knew: he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, making her happy in any way he could. Hence the piece of parchment on his lap.
Much as he hated being parted from Ginny for even a second, this was important, and better done alone. Finally he dipped his quill into his ink and began to write.
‘Dear… you know, I don’t know what to call you any more.
‘Mr. and Mrs. Weasley? I don’t know, that sounds silly.
‘Molly and Arthur? Possibly, if you don’t mind.
‘Mum and Dad?
‘I think that remains to be seen.
‘I need to come clean about something, and it’s probably best if I just say it. I am completely and utterly in love with your daughter. This may come as a shock to you. Maybe it won’t: I’ve felt this way for a long time, and I’m sure I wasn’t much good at hiding it. And I’m sure everyone suspected.
‘Well, since the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts I’ve found out something very interesting. Something wonderful. Ginny loves me too. I’ve spent a day with her and I’m now totally convinced that I want to spend the rest of my life loving her, and being worthy of her love.
‘Sorry, poetry really isn’t my strong point.
‘So, to the point. I really wanted to do this in person. I had this picture in my head of how it would go, but I don’t think it’s an option, really. I’m sorry for that, not least because I believe you deserve this to be done properly. Some people might call it old-fashioned, but I think it’s important.
‘I’m writing this letter to ask your permission to marry Ginny, if she’ll have me, and make me the happiest man alive… although I’m aware that everyone says that. Even so, I think it’s true, and I really would like your blessing.
‘Maybe you think I’m acting too soon. We’re both still at school after all. Not to mention, my chances of survival are not the ones to be looked for in a future son in law. So, let me reassure you.
‘I haven’t asked Ginny yet, and I still won’t until Voldemort is gone. Completely and utterly. I hope that won’t be too far off, because the war is still destroying lives… although I’ve heard there haven’t been any more attacks since the one here. I can’t help feeling, with all the Death Eaters we’ve captured, Tom must be running out of little friends to do his dirty work for him, and almost all the senior ones are in custody. Or dead.
‘Even if I do get to ask that question soon, I think it’s safe to say we’ll be sure to take things slowly. Ginny has another year of school to complete, and I doubt she’d appreciate being married and away from her husband for that long.
‘I’ve rambled on far too much, I know, but I hope you don’t ignore this as the enthusiasm of a besotted teenager (even though I am enthusiastic, besotted and still a teenager). I’m being serious: I wouldn’t feel right about this without your approval.
‘Hopefully,
‘Harry’
Harry read through his letter before shaking his head in a rather rueful manner and got out of his bed, tied it to Hedwig’s leg and, with a caress of her feathers and a few murmured words, sent her out into the cold night. The letter was shockingly bad. It didn’t sound anything like him at all. Still, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do better and, feeling like he had made an important step, he got back into bed and dreamed of a young witch in the other turret of the tower, her brilliant red hair spread over a white pillow.
~*~
Christmas arrived quietly and almost before Harry realised what was happening. He was still rather dazed, and he spent most of the time sitting with Luna, Ginny, Ron and Hermione in the common room, reading or playing chess or talking or just being quiet. It didn’t really matter what they did. He and Ginny became comfortable with each other, still best friends as they had been before, except that their relationship had taken on a deeper, more profound nature.
They all went to bed early on Christmas Eve. A blizzard was battering at the castle, and they all welcomed the idea of curling up, warm and safe in their beds, while outside, the white fury reigned. Harry woke up at six o’clock in the morning when the window of the seventh year boys’ dorm blew open with a loud bang, amazingly not rousing Ron, who continued to snore peacefully. Harry shut and secured the window and turned back towards his bed.
He didn’t feel like going back to bed, though. After his early night, and being used to not sleeping for long, Harry felt wide-awake. He spied a pile of presents at the foot of his bed and sat down with them, inspecting each as he read who they were from, but not opening them. At the bottom of the pile was the usual bulky, squashy package from the Weasleys, but there was also an envelope attached to it. Harry’s heart skipped a beat as he realised what it was.
He gently detached the envelope from the package and walked slowly down the stairs to the empty common room. The fire was no more than embers, but Harry waved his hand and the flames grew warm and bright once more, consuming the newly conjured logs with ease.
He sat in a comfortable armchair near to the fire, slit open the envelope and read the letter inside by the flickering light.
‘Dear Harry,
‘I must say, both of us were very surprised when we read your letter. It was very touching, bad poetry aside, and before I say anything else (Molly and I decided that I should write this) we appreciate you asking us. It means a lot to us.
‘I still remember fondly the first time I met you, Harry. I got in from a night shift, sat down to breakfast and almost didn’t notice the one black head amongst all that red. I know I must seem a bit eccentric to you, what with my fixation (yes, I do realise I’m obsessed) with things that strike you as perfectly normal, but please believe me when I say that for as long as we’ve known you, Molly and I have thought of you as a son, one who looks a little different, maybe, but just as dear to us as any of our own.
‘And in some ways, you’re so much more. Personally speaking I owe you my life, Harry. I know you think it was some sort of failure on your part, allowing Voldemort to enter your mind, but I wouldn’t be alive today if you hadn’t witnessed that snake’s attack.
‘And of course, there’s Ginny. You might not know this, but I knew about her feelings. Ginny has always been very special to me. Her name was chosen as something of a joke on me: when she was first born she was happier with me than anyone else, and Molly decided that Arthur had to have his Guinevere. She told me after you saved her life in her first year that she had fallen in love with you. At the time I was inclined to disbelieve it, knowing about her crush and how she must have felt indebted to you, but I watched her, over the years, and you yourself, and I came to realise that it was true, that she really did love you. Even when she was going out with other boys, her heart was never really in it, and she was constantly watching you, whether you knew it or not.
‘Harry, we could not ask for a better son in law. We know you for what you are, and we are very happy. We know that you would do anything for Ginny, because yes, we knew even from that summer at our home two years ago, what your feelings were. We’re also very happy that you found each other so early in your lives. The earlier you start, the longer and happier your time together will be, and that is important. All the same, we’re glad you’re planning to wait a little while before starting. At least until Ginny finishes school.
‘One thing. You might think that you have a chance against Voldemort. We know. You are going to beat him, Harry, and we look forward to a wonderful future for you and our daughter, and the whole family. Remember that we love you, and that we will always support you.
‘We gladly give our blessing for you to propose to our daughter, whenever you feel the time is right.
‘Much love,
‘Mum and Dad’
Harry felt his eyes growing moist but controlled his emotions without too much effort. He reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and pulled out two similar boxes. One held the redish-gold ring he had bought for Ginny more than a year ago. The fire danced in the large, central ruby and the surrounding chips of emerald. The other… he returned it to his pocket and examined the gold band. He had engraved and enchanted it not long before, and it read, around the inside, ‘And is never shaken.’ He replaced it in the box and waited.
Before long he heard footsteps on the spiral staircase leading to the girls’ dormitories. He looked towards the entrance and was pleased to see Ginny emerge alone, wrapped up warm in a flannel dressing gown and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She smiled drowsily at Harry before sitting down on his lap and curling up against him, as if about to go to sleep again. Though Harry had been wide-awake, the combination of the fire, Ginny’s warm weight against him and her warm breath against his cheek began to make him feel comfortably lazy too. Still, he wanted to give her her present before that happened, and produced the little box… making sure it was the right one.
“Merry Christmas, Gin. I don’t think this one needs to be anonymous.”
Ginny took the little box, the light of recognition shining through the grit sleep brings to tired eyes. She opened it and gasped, pulling out the ring and inspecting it against the firelight.
“Oh Harry, it’s beautiful!” she breathed, examining the inscription that ran around the inside. She looked straight at him and kissed him soundly. Harry felt he had never been thanked for a present in a better way. She leaned back against him, slipping it onto her finger and admiring the flashing green and red stones. “You gave me the others too.” It was a statement, not a question.
Harry nodded against her, delighted by her reaction. He began to tell her about the day after Halloween two years before, when Hermione had a hangover and then they had had their conversation, and the sonnet she had told him. He recited the whole thing to Ginny, having memorised it a long time ago, and she smiled and nuzzled herself against him, her expression suddenly a little sad.
“You were really suffering, weren’t you?” He said nothing, and she continued. “You know, I always wondered if it might be you sending them… but then I would always think that I was fooling myself, and that you didn’t feel that way about me.” She sighed, and lapsed into silence before speaking again. “They must have been really expensive, enchanted jewellery is really rare.”
Harry coloured a bit and Ginny turned to face him. “Er… it wasn’t actually enchanted when I bought it. I did that myself. And the inscriptions.”
Ginny smiled fondly at him. “I should have known. Enchanting things takes a lot of power, but then this is you we’re talking about. The boy made more powerful by unrequited love.” She was smirking now. Harry growled at her.
“It was bloody hard work, thank you very much.”
She cuddled close to him again. “I’m sure it was,” she said in a placating tone of voice that made Harry melt. “So, are you going to tell me what this one does?”
Harry shrugged. “It’s a Portkey, activated by pressing hard on the emerald chip nearest the tip of your finger. It’ll bring you and whoever you’re touching to wherever I am instantly. Handy for getting out of trouble, or for impromptu rescue parties.”
A grimace crossed her face at that, but then she frowned as a thought struck her. “Harry… how long have you known I’m an animagus?”
Harry shrugged. “I dunno. It kind of occurred to me gradually. The extra lessons with McGonagall were the biggest clue. Why?”
She frowned deeper. “So… you didn’t know when you bought the jewellery? And you don’t know what my animagus form is?”
Harry was about to reply when he realised what was bothering her. The pendant, of course. “You’re a lioness, aren’t you?” She nodded. “Well, I had no idea at the time I bought that,” he said, gesturing to the gold chain he could just see above the dressing gown, “but it seemed appropriate. I suppose it was more appropriate than I thought,” he finished, smiling. She nodded and kissed him again.
“You know me too well, Harry Potter.”
Harry grinned at her. “It’s a good thing you know me so well then, isn’t it?”
She laughed, then looked into his eyes. “Do you want to see?”
They spent quite a while in their animagus forms after that. Ginny’s form was just like the decoration on the pendant, a sleek and strong lioness with a reddish-gold pelt and deep brown eyes. She seemed delighted by Harry’s own animagus shape, marvelling at the similarities and differences between them. They only changed back when the sounds of a sleepy Ron and Hermione drifted down the spiral staircases.
~*~
It was New Year’s Day. Harry had been thinking while Luna and Ginny were testing each other on charms. He had a feeling that before too much longer Voldemort was going to make his big move against the castle, and he suspected that when it happened he would throw everything he had at the castle. Harry had been trying to imagine the scene in his mind.
One advantage they had that he had never really considered before was that Hogwarts was, after all, a Castle, more or less designed to withstand a siege. On the other hand, Harry knew that Voldemort had at his disposal the living equivalents of Siege Towers: the Giants. He knew that they were supporting Tom, and that they hadn’t been used yet. What with Death Eaters, Giants and Dementors, if it came to a pitched battle in the grounds Harry didn’t care too much for their chances.
A memory stirred from somewhere deep in his subconscious. He remembered sitting in the living room with the Dursleys, - not too close to any of them, of course, - and seeing a film on television, called ‘the Empire Strikes Back’. His aunt and uncle didn’t like it, but Dudley did so they let him watch it. Harry remembered watching as, near the beginning of the film, a group of spaceships used cables to trip up and immobilise huge, walking machines intent on destroying a base of some sort. Harry hadn’t understood it then and he didn’t really now, but the idea was appealing. Tripping the Giants… but surely no human could move fast enough to do it, could they?
In a flash he was at Dumbledore’s office door, the gargoyle jumping aside before he’d even spoken as Harry hurtled towards it, determination etched on his face. He pounded at the door, and Dumbledore looked quite concerned when he opened it.
“Harry, what’s the matter?”
Harry was almost feverish in his intensity. “Sir, I need to talk to you, but I need Professor Firenze here as well. Can we go down to his classroom?”
Dumbledore raised his bushy silver eyebrows. “Certainly. He is usually to be found there at this time of day. Come.”
They strode through the halls and corridors together, and Harry’s mind was still working at the corners of this plan. It was dangerous, and might well not work… but just supposing it did…
They knocked on the door to the new Divination classroom and entered into the familiar indoor forest glade where Harry had found, if not an aptitude for the subject, then at least some respect for it. Firenze came trotting towards them, his serene expression mingled with mild curiosity.
“Headmaster. Mister Potter. What can I do for you?” The Centaur’s quiet voice helped calm Harry. He was still thinking hard, but not so erratically.
“I’d quite like to know myself, Professor,” Dumbledore said, looking at Harry with his twinkling eyes. “It seems Mister Potter has something to tell us.”
Harry took a deep breath. “Professors, I’ve been thinking, about when Voldemort attacks the castle… which is pretty much inevitable, I think. I realised he’s going to come with giants to help him, and that there won’t be much we can do against that kind of enemy. Not even the DA would have the slightest idea how to fight a Giant.”
Dumbledore’s shoulders slumped slightly. “You are, of course, correct, Harry. It is a problem I myself have been contemplating for some time.”
“Well,” Harry said slowly, not quite sure how to continue, “I think I’ve had an idea. The problem is, it would need the Centaurs to fight for us, and I know they’re not likely to do that at the moment.”
Firenze’s brow furrowed. “Why would it need the Centaurs, Mister Potter?”
“Because I think that the best way to deal with Giants is to trip them up. We know that they’re not bright, and not all that fast either. Think about it: a few Centaurs, carrying ropes tied to trees, galloping round and round the legs of giants.” Harry saw a slight gleam appear in Dumbledore’s eyes. “Once they’re on the ground, I’m sure they could be made to stay there somehow.”
“The idea has merit,” Dumbledore agreed, “but you are correct, Harry. The difficulty will be in persuading the Centaurs.” The headmaster, in the absence of a seat, leant against a nearby tree-trunk. Harry thought for a moment, then looked at him.
“Professor, what sort of attitude do the Death Eaters have towards Centaurs?”
Dumbledore shrugged. “They are not fond of any part-humans, other than werewolves they can bend to their wills. Centaurs are particularly distasteful to them, because they are extremely intelligent as well as dangerous to cross. You saw how they were with Dolores Umbridge two years ago.”
Harry smiled. “So, what we need to do is persuade them that they are in as much danger as the rest of the Wizarding world.”
Firenze raised his eyebrows. “And who is going to do this persuading?”
Harry looked determined. “Professor Dumbledore, Ginny and me.”
~*~
The meeting between Harry, Ginny, Dumbledore and Magorian, the leader of the Forbidden Forest’s Centaur herd was one of the most nerve-racking of Harry and Ginny’s lives. They entered the forest that same afternoon, after deciding on a plan of action, and it wasn’t long before they found their intended audience.
The first instinct of the horse-men was to attack the invaders, two of whom had faced them before. This time, however, things were very different. Dumbledore, of course, was much too powerful for any Centaur to face, and though Harry and Ginny had to work hard, two competent wizards who could also turn into fierce lions… lions moreover with the intelligence of humans… was too much for their opponents. Magorian came forward slowly and cautiously, while his herd backed away.
“We only wish to be left alone,” the proud stallion said clearly, his voice carrying to the Centaurs ranged around the forest clearing. “We do not wish to fight, but we will fight any who interfere with us. Please just leave us alone.”
Dumbledore nodded at Harry, meaning that he should speak. Harry took a deep breath and spoke with a loud, clear voice that could be heard by all, while Ginny held his hand tightly, giving the support she could.
“You say you wish to be left alone, and that you will fight those who interfere. I can’t fault you for that. Most of the time I’d like nothing better than to be left alone. But, I know of the powers, the sight of the Centaurs, the knowledge you’re always searching for. You must know what’s coming, and coming soon. I know that you want to stay neutral, but if Voldemort and his followers take the Castle, it won’t be long till they come to flush you out of the forest as well. Will you be able to drive back an army of dark wizards, Dementors and Giants?”
There were murmurs and mutters all around. Harry spotted two Centaurs he knew, Ronan and Bane, arguing heatedly, their voices hushed but their gestures almost violent. He could tell something had touched a nerve, and he continued.
“We cannot survive the coming attack on our own, and I doubt that you will survive what happens afterwards if we lose. The choice seems simple to me. Together we can win, and we can all survive.”
The arguments and questions were louder this time, and Magorian had to call for silence from his people. Then he turned to Harry. “Whatever the motivations, we are not war-like, except in the protection of our home and our way of life. How can we help against the army you just described?”
Harry smiled. He thought he might just be able to manage this now that he had their attention.
“Centaurs are naturally fast and agile. You have to be to move fast inside the forest,” he said confidently, gesturing to the tangle of branches and undergrowth not far away from him. “Giants are fierce and strong, but compared to your people they are slow and unbelievably stupid.” There were shouts of ascent, and even some laughter at this. Harry grinned and felt Ginny relax the almost painfully tight grip she had been keeping on his hand.
“If a Giant can be tripped over, it can be made hard for them to get up again. My idea was that, with your speed, you could entangle a Giant’s legs quickly, causing him to fall over, and I don’t think you would be in too much danger.”
Magorian considered this. “This may be true, but how are we to survive against the wizards and Dementors? We have little magical ability, and Dementors affect us as much as any other creature.”
Harry kept his composure. This was going to be the hardest part. He had to convince the Centaurs to trust humans.
“I’ve been training a lot of students at the Castle in ways to defend themselves, how to fight Dementors and protect each other,” he explained carefully. “If they were there to combat the Death Eaters and Dementors, would you be willing to help us?”
There was silence in the glade. Magorian considered for a long time. Then he turned and trotted away towards his waiting herd. Over his shoulder he replied clearly,
“We will be ready.”
(AN: Anyone else notice the confusing colour imagery in Harry Potter? Especially red and green. Take red. Red is for Gryffindor and the Expelliarmus spell, and therefore good, but is also Voldemort’s eyes, and bad. Green is Lily’s and Harry’s eyes, but also Slytherin and Avada Kedavra, and so bad. Too complicated for me to figure out.
Let’s see… this is the penultimate chapter. Yes, hat means that Friends is coming to an end. Fear not, the sequel is coming… ever closer…
Oh, and I’m really sorry this took so long. Too much beta-ing/reading/work/writer’s block. Hopefully the final (!) chapter won’t take so long.
Thanks as always to Serpentspawn and Lourdes for being generally wonderful people. Tom)
Chapter 19: Chapter Nineteen: Into the Light
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: see profile
Chapter Nineteen: Into the Light
A month and a half passed, and life continued as normal at Hogwarts. News arrived of Lucius Malfoy and a couple of other Death Eaters escaping, yet again, but there were no other reports of activity from Voldemort or his supporters. Gryffindor played their Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, and won with relative ease. People were beginning to bemoan the fact that Harry and Ron would be gone by the next year.
Lessons continued as normal as well, and Harry was kept very busy with homework, Quidditch practices, extra training with Dumbledore and the DA. Everyone seemed relatively happy and worry-free, especially since there had been no attacks of any sort since the one on Hogwarts before Christmas, and no one had been seriously harmed then.
Something that really did surprise Harry was the ease with which everyone accepted the change in his and Ginny’s relationship. One day in mid January Harry asked Hermione about it, while she was helping Lavender and Parvati with some Transfiguration homework. Hermione hesitated before answering, and Lavender jumped in.
“What’s different?”
Harry blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Well, we’re going out now.”
Parvati’s eyebrows rose. “Weren’t you before?”
Harry spluttered. “No! We were friends… best friends, but after the attack we, well, started going out.” Harry glared at Hermione, who wasn’t helping in the slightest. After the initial interruption she seemed to decide that this conversation answered Harry’s question as well as anything she could say, so she just sat there, looking amused. Lavender frowned.
“But you spent all the time together… and everyone knew you fancied each other.”
“She went out with other people! How could everyone have known?” Harry was getting a bit angry now. Were he and Ginny gossiped about so much? His temper wasn’t improved when all three girls started laughing at him. “What?”
This time it was Hermione who answered. “Oh, Harry,” she said, laughing so hard she was nearly crying. “Have you never heard of denial? I mean, just look at me and Ron! The only reason we’re not in exactly the same situation is that you and Ginny don’t fight as much as we do.”
Harry stalked away, seething, until Ginny came into the common room and got him to give her a cuddle, which in turn made him really think about what had been said. He smiled ruefully, and Ginny noticed.
“What are you smirking about?”
Harry kissed her hair before replying. “Oh, just the fact that everyone else knew about us a long time before we did… or at least, before I did. I suppose that you, oh shining star of wisdom, knew for quite a long time.”
She smiled up at him, her brown eyes shining in the firelight. “I didn’t know for certain until the Halloween ball. You didn’t have to be so obvious when you were ogling me, you know,” she teased. Then a thoughtful look crossed her face. “Oh, and by the way…” She trailed off and kissed him deeply, pressing his lips with her tongue to gain entry, which he granted gladly, stroking her tongue with his own. They drew apart when they realised some of the younger students were staring at them in fascination and alarm, perhaps wondering how on earth they could go so long without breathing.
Harry looked deep into the twin brown pools. “What was that for?” he asked, somewhat breathlessly. She smiled at him.
“Does there have to be a reason?” she chided. “But, actually, I realised I never thanked you for those dress robes.”
Harry shrugged, looking sheepish. “You told me you liked them, and I’m sure you knew then that I got them, so I felt like you had thanked me… not that I’m complaining, you understand.” He captured her lips again, but lighter this time, and then pulled her to him. “If you knew then how I felt, and you felt the same way about me, why did it take us more than a month to get anywhere?”
Ginny looked sad now, almost sorrowful. “I wanted you to say it. Not just wanted; needed. I needed to be sure of it, that it wasn’t my hopeful imagination making stuff up, which it has done in the past.”
Harry was sad as well now. “I’m sorry it took what it did to bring me to my senses. I should have told you so long ago…”
Ginny placed her fingers on his lips, silencing him, a loving smile replacing the regretful expression. “We’re together now, Harry, and besides, how could I expect a thick seventeen year old to realise I liked him? I think I might have overestimated quite a bit.”
Harry smiled at her disarmingly, before attacking her with tickles in retribution for the barb. When her shrieks had died down, they settled together quietly again, Harry stroking Ginny’s soft, crimson hair gently. “Speaking of seventeen year olds,” he said slowly, a sly note creeping into his voice, “I believe, Miss Weasley, that your birthday is fast approaching.”
Ginny fluttered her eyelashes, pretending to flirt. “Why yes, good sir, as it so happens it is. Can I expect a truly special day?”
“Let’s just say I have plans for the evening,” he said softly, his tone decidedly mysterious. Ginny turned to him, looking puzzled, curious and slightly alarmed, but Harry merely kissed her again, winked, and went off to his dormitory for the night, leaving Ginny feeling rather worried.
~*~
Ginny woke up on her birthday feeling happy but… apprehensive somehow. It was a cold day, snow still thick on the lawns and the forbidden forest and with no signs of melting, but the sun illuminated the grounds until they almost glowed white, and the pale sky didn’t suggest more snow to come. The breeze was cold and stiff, and Ginny hastily shut the curtain of her dorm room again, shivering slightly, but that blast of cold air had done more to wake her up than a gallon of coffee would have.
She dressed quickly and warmly and hurried down to the common room, hoping to meet Harry to go down for breakfast, but he wasn’t there and when she asked around it seemed he had gone down already. She went as well, thinking she might join him there, but he was nowhere to be seen. He must have gone already. She sighed and sat at the Gryffindor table, pouring a glass of orange juice for herself.
She was just about to take a sip when Hedwig soared towards the table. The beautiful snowy owl was hard to mistake amongst all the brown, beige and grey of the other owls. Ginny wondered what she was doing, since Harry wasn’t here. Hedwig swooped down right in front of her, chirping cheerfully. Ginny reached out and stroked the soft, downy feathers gently.
“Good morning, Hedwig,” she said softly, and the round amber eyes blinked at her in acknowledgement. “Are you looking for Harry? He’s not here.”
Hedwig took no notice of this, but simply held out her leg, on to which were tied two envelopes, both addressed to Ginny, and in Harry’s untidy scrawl. She untied them quickly, and Hedwig, after stealing some bacon rind from an abandoned plate, flew up into the rafters again. Ginny opened the first envelope, which was a bright, gold-yellow. Inside was a birthday card, showing a snitch on the front that darted around, trying to avoid the reader’s gaze. She chuckled at that, realising how much it must have appealed to Harry, and opened the card.
‘Dear Gin,
‘Happy seventeenth birthday!
‘Just think of all those things you’re legally allowed to do now…
‘Your present will be waiting on your bed at lunchtime. Watch out for Ron: he should be giving you a bottle of Firewhiskey. Don’t let him fool you into thinking it’s something else. The idiot has no appreciation for it and is quite capable of wasting the lovely stuff on trying to get people drunk. Utter waste…
‘Have a great day.
‘Lots of love,
‘Harry’
Ginny smiled, feeling the stirrings of excitement in her stomach. Her present at lunchtime? Very interesting… and all this cloak-and-dagger stuff made it all the more intriguing. She slipped the card into her bag and opened the other envelope, which was a weird, metallic colour, shimmering somewhere between grey and pink. The card inside was black, with a square of gold foil in the centre, the image of a lioness clearly impressed on it. She grinned, delighted at the amount of effort Harry had put in to this, and read the message inside.
‘My darling Ginny,
‘I hope you have a wonderful Valentine’s Day, and that you remember that I love you more than anything. At seven o’clock, after dinner, use the gift I gave you at Christmas in the way I told you about. Dress warmly.
‘I’ll be thinking of you all day,
‘Harry’
Ginny’s heart was beating faster now. It was clear that Harry wanted to keep his celebration of her birthday and their first Valentine’s Day together as a couple separate, but… what was he planning? Why couldn’t he tell her where to go, instead of telling her to use the Portkey ring? It made little sense to her. He must be planning something special, though. What could it be?
Her mind provided her with an answer. She blushed to the roots of her hair.
Surely, he wouldn’t have planned… that.
Surely.
He wouldn’t, would he?
Ginny cursed herself. Of course he could. He was, after all, a warm-blooded, male teenager, in love, and in a very steady relationship. Neither of them doubted the other loved them utterly, and what better time than this to…
She couldn’t even bring herself to finish the sentence.
She could barely concentrate for the rest of the day, her distraction evident to her teachers who all asked whether she was quite all right, and whether she needed to visit the hospital wing. She declined each one, but the concern of her classmates and Professors didn’t help her anxiety. It was alleviated briefly when she got up the courage to go to her dorm room at lunchtime and find her present.
It was hardly easy to miss.
A magnificent cloak lay on her quilt, a stunning, beautiful thing made of some material as light and soft as silk, but as warm as the thickest wool. In fact, it was probably silk enchanted with a permanent heating charm. She ran her hands over it, revelling in the almost decadent feel of the fabric. The colour was a rich, dark red, exactly the colour of her hair, except for dark gold embroidery around the hem and collar, which traced the shape of tongue-shaped flames as if they were licking at her feet. The fastening was gold, and in the shape of a Gryffindor lion, rampant and with claws outstretched, except that it had no mane. She realised it was actually an image of her.
She couldn’t resist, but tried it on immediately. Looking at the mirror, the idea of the fire was brought further into dominance, because every time she moved, every flap of material or shimmer across her body, sent ripples of light down the length of the cloak, until it almost looked like a distant bonfire, or the glow of dying embers. She realised at once that she had to wear this tonight; after all, the message had said to dress warmly.
Unfortunately, that brought her mind back to what she was certain was coming that evening, and she froze for a moment before carefully taking off the cloak and dashing to the great hall for a hurried lunch. Needless to say, Harry was nowhere to be found.
Lessons were finished for the day, and Ginny was getting nervous. She would go to Harry, of course she would. She loved him too much to deny him that. She was frightened, though. She couldn’t help wondering what she was doing. Earlier she had planned to eat as early as possible, since she had eaten very little for lunch, but she found that she had no appetite.
Soon, though, she went back up to her dorm, forcing herself to breathe normally, and she found herself becoming almost numb to the anticipation, calmly detached in a way she wasn’t completely sure she liked. She failed miserably when she tried to distract herself with homework, and soon resigned herself to getting ready for her special evening.
At the stroke of seven in the dot, she pushed the tiny emerald on her ring, feeling the warmth of the cloak and the comfort of her magical bracelet and pendant. At once the familiar feeling of her navel being jerked violently hit her, and she stumbled slightly as she landed in the snow and the dark, when a strong pair of hands caught her from behind.
At first she was scared. Looking around wildly, not really taking in the hands grasping her, she realised that she must be deep in the Forbidden Forest. The sky was dark now, and there was no moon. She could just make out a few stars between the shadowy branches, but apart from that there was no light, despite the fact that she could see the white snow against the dark trees all around her. She was in a clearing, the ground so tangled with thick, gnarled roots that there was no room for trees. Suddenly she realised she was being held gently and whirled around, but the sight before her made her almost melt in relief.
Harry was standing behind her, holding her arms softly and she could tell he was smiling. With a gesture he lit up the clearing until Ginny was almost dazzled and his green eyes seemed to shine with the reflected light. He bent close and kissed her twice.
“Once for your birthday, and once for Valentine’s day, honey,” he said softly, and Ginny glowed at his use of the nickname. She pretended to pout.
“Only once each?”
Harry chuckled and drew her into a close hug, and Ginny felt as though she was almost burrowing into his chest, they were so close. He was wearing his favourite silver-grey cloak over a dark green sweatshirt and black jeans, and she thought he had never looked so handsome. Still, she was getting confused. If he had been planning… she coloured… that, why bring her out here, so far from the castle?
“So…” she began, attempting and failing to sound nonchalant, “why are we all the way out here?”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Well, I thought it would be… well, romantic, I suppose, if we spent the evening out here, and maybe exploring it in our animagus forms.” He eyed her shrewdly. “Why? What did you think I was planning?”
“Oh, nothing in particular,” Ginny lied quickly. Harry looked suspicious, but Ginny couldn’t help smiling, both in relief and at his plan: it sounded wonderful. Despite her ability, she hadn’t actually spent much time in her lioness form, as much as she liked it, and hadn’t spent any time as a lioness in the forest at all. Harry had, learning to find his way around with the extraordinary senses granted by the animal body. She was actually becoming quite excited by the idea, and soon Harry extinguished the illumination charm, but that didn’t matter because they had both transformed in an instant and could see perfectly with their feline vision.
Ginny had been to the forest before on occasion; not as many times as Ron, Hermione and Harry, certainly, but she had had a few Care of Magical Creatures classes in the outskirts when Hagrid would show them some of the wonderful and fascinating creatures that lived there, and there was also the time she, Ron, Neville and Luna had gone in to find Harry and Hermione, two years before, and had ended up leaving on Thestrals. Never before, though, had she realised how alive the forest was. The very ground pumped with verdant life, and she could hear the rustling of insects and small creatures in the undergrowth, the distant movement of larger creatures, all of whom kept well clear of the two lions, sensing the danger there.
Her innate tracking skills also alerted her to every mark in the earth, every irregularly broken branch and every concealed pile of droppings that indicated the presence or passing through of some creature, perhaps a deer, a centaur or even a Unicorn. Despite the fact that there was no prey, for the first time in her life Ginny Weasley felt what it was like to be the hunter, the predator. The sensation of it thrilled and excited her, and she butted her head lightly against Harry’s white flank, silently thanking him for this wonderful gift, showing her affection the only way she could right then. He turned to face her and bared his teeth in an unmistakable smile.
They walked on, through the dark, cold night, silent as shadows and alert to every unexpected motion. Soon, though, Ginny began to get tired and, realising that it would probably take a while to get back to the castle, transformed.
The cold was shocking after her time in her warm pelt, even with the charmed cloak wrapped tightly around her, and suddenly she was no longer able to see and hear everything. She saw the dark shape that was Harry blur and straighten into his human shape. He looked at her enquiringly.
“Sorry, Harry, but I’m getting pretty tired. Do you think we could head back to school?”
Harry smiled. “Sure. It might be nice to get warmed up by the fire for a while, too.” They transformed again, and started back towards the open grounds.
They hadn’t gone too far when they heard crashing noises in the bushes all around them. Harry snarled, but just then a Centaur with wild-looking black hair charged over a sapling, saw them and changed direction. Bane didn’t bother to greet them: he knew who they were.
“It has started. They are at the gates. Come, follow me. I will show you the quickest route.” He said no more but sprang away into the undergrowth, and the two lions charged after him, feelings of dread and anticipation filling their bodies.
They were careering wildly, all sense of direction gone, their only clue the shape of Bane in front of them. Branches whipped and tore at their bodies but they ignored them, racing desperately to reach the advancing army. Soon they reached the tree line. They couldn’t see the Death Eaters, Dementors and Giants that undoubtedly were on the grounds by now, but Harry transformed rapidly, conjured a piece of parchment and wrote on it rapidly with his wand.
‘Hermione, this is it, the big one. Voldemort’s here.
‘I don’t want loads of people in danger, but we are going to need some help. Get as many reliable Patronus casters as possible outside on the steps, and make sure each one has a partner to defend them. The Centaurs will deal with the Giants for us, but we need to protect them from the rest.
‘Ginny and I will be there very soon. Good luck. See you, Ron and everyone when it’s all over.
‘Harry’
He tapped the parchment with his wand, banishing it straight to Hermione’s side, or so he hoped. Then he and Ginny ran, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, until they reached Hagrid’s hut.
The sight that met them there froze Harry’s blood, and he felt Ginny stiffen beside him.
Two bodies lay on a patch of rapidly darkening snow. One was massive. The other was no bigger than them, but was topped by a head of bright, silvery-blonde hair. Over this figure another was kneeling, as though trying to embrace it, dark hair spilling over her face.
Harry and Ginny approached and Padma Patil looked up at them, tears streaming down her face as she hugged Draco’s lifeless body to her. There was blood on her robes as well, and Harry felt sure that some of it must be her own, but his gaze was drawn repeatedly back to the two bodies.
Hagrid looked strangely peaceful, his black hair and beard as wild and rugged as ever, his moleskin coat soaked with snow and blood. Harry could hardly believe it. Hagrid. Hagrid, his first ever friend, before even Ron… he was dead. Gone. It didn’t hit him for a moment, until he heard the hut’s door opening and Fang walking slowly to his master’s dead body, and the boarhound’s whining as he nudged the unresponsive corpse.
Draco’s expression was full of hatred, but also a determination that Harry couldn’t help but admire, and he was sure Padma, who was still crying softly, had a lot to do with that. She mumbled a few words through the tears. “His… his own father… how could anyone do… that to their… own child?”
Ginny sobbed and buried her face in Harry’s shoulder, and Harry hugged her close, before moving to Padma and embracing her as well, sensing the Indian girl’s need for comfort. Two dead already. He had never really trusted Draco, but the Slytherin really had changed sides, if he was killed by his own, inhuman father. Harry wanted to scream and lash out at the injustice of it all, but there was no time. Already, the sounds of battle were reaching them, the cries of the Centaurs and the roars of the Giants floating clearly over the snow. He wanted to mourn, to grieve for two good people who deserved better, but he couldn’t. Not now. Because he was needed. He hugged Ginny to him again, and addressed Padma.
“Look, you’re injured. You can’t fight like this, and you can’t stay here. Go into the hut and stay there. Someone will come for you when it’s over.” He watched her hobble painfully to the door, and as she sank on to the bed he made a very subtle hand gesture. She slumped onto the bed immediately, the deep, dreamless sleep only magic could provide claiming her quickly as Harry closed the door, making sure Fang was inside as well. Then he and Ginny, trying not to think about what they had already seen, transformed again and sprinted towards the battle that was raging on the grounds.
The sight was almost surreal. Giants loomed, blacker against the black sky, while Centaur shapes whipped round them, dodging fists, hammers and clubs with phenomenal speed. One or two of the Giants were already on the ground, thrashing against the magically enhanced ropes that Dumbledore had provided and which now lashed them to the frozen earth.
Patroni of many different shapes charged around the lawns, ploughing over and scattering groups of fluttering Dementors wherever they went. Harry recognised Hermione’s lightning-fast otter and Ron’s enormous bear among many others, seeming to fight together, before they reached the stairs to the castle, beyond the approaching dark wizards before they knew it.
The members of the DA by the huge double doors were, understandably, alarmed by the very sudden appearance of two lions from amidst the throng of darkness into which they were firing spell after spell, and only the presence of Professor McGonagall, who of course recognised the pair of them, kept the students in their places long enough to see them transform back to human shape. A few gasped in surprise as their leader and his girlfriend appeared where the lions had been, but they didn’t have time to consider the miracle, because now the spells were being returned.
The Death Eaters had been struggling, until now. The snow was deeper than they had thought, and the way to the castle uphill. The confusion around them, coupled with the bright lights of the Patroni disorientating them and destroying their night-vision, caused them to have to fight hard even to reach their opponents. Now, though, they were within range, and the lights spilling from the castle illuminated its defenders clearly enough for them to attack, which they did, hard.
The partner strategy was a good one, devised by Ron and demonstrated to the DA by Harry and Ginny fighting off eight other members. The idea was that, while one of the pair concentrated on shielding the two of them from enemy curses and hexes, the other would fight back, able to think clearly and focus, not worrying about defending themselves. It was difficult, though. It required a measure of power unusual in most students to be able to shield two people satisfactorily, and an even greater measure of trust on your defender to be able to focus entirely on retaliation. Not many of the members had mastered it, and all those who had were on the steps, battling for their own lives and the lives of everyone inside.
Harry realised he was running on almost pure adrenaline right now, and that sometime soon he was going to have to rest for a long time, just to give his body a chance to catch up. He couldn’t stop, though, not while Tom was still there, still alive. This was the night. It finished now. He saw one or two people to his side go down, without time to see who they were or whether they were dead or just injured.
“Avada Kedavra!”
All of a sudden, he felt a curse coming, and knew instinctively that it was from Tom. It was also aimed right at Ginny, and she couldn’t defend herself from it. He swung his arm up and across, his arm covering her face, but it wasn’t enough, it was going to hit…
It hit the blade of his sword, there in his hand suddenly, appearing as timely as when he had pulled it from the sorting hat in the Chamber of Secrets. The green jet flickered off it insanely fast at a steeply acute angle, bouncing back into the mass of cloaks, hoods and masks. One fell to the snow, not knowing how or why.
Ginny clutched Harry’s arm, and he realised that silence had settled over the battle temporarily, as everyone regained their breath and stared at the shining silver sword in Harry’s hand. He felt energy entering him, empowering him, from the sword yes, but also from where Ginny was holding him. He straightened up, slowly and deliberately, and carefully slotted his wand into the ruby-encrusted hilt. He then pointed it towards the Death Eaters.
He didn’t know, even years afterwards, how he knew what to do just then. The knowledge was simply there, in his head, without the need of learning or memory. He drew the sword to his side, held high, angling the blade towards the now fearful Death Eaters, and brought it slashing across his body in wide arc, so that it finally came to rest in front of Ginny, guarding her from harm. The blade hit nothing, but a band of red light, trailing in the wake of the silver blade, shot outwards, catching every Death Eater in the chest and throwing them back fifty feet. Professor McGonagall recognised a stunner when she saw one, but had never seen a spell so powerful that it could take out so many enemies at once. And Harry had not even said the word…
One tall, dark, hooded figure remained standing. The Dementors had long since retreated, gliding back away from the castle in the face of the Patroni assault. The Giants were all immobilised, bound to the ground and guarded by Magorian’s herds. Only this one figure remained, dark against the white snow, and he slowly lowered his hood, revealing two slit-like nostrils and serpentine, red eyes.
Every student backed away as the hatred rolled from Voldemort like a wave, pressing them back towards the doors as he strode deliberately forwards. Harry confidently and resolutely walked towards his nemesis, Ginny moving determinedly at his side. Voldemort stopped, surveying the two who opposed him. He sneered.
“Very touching.” His voice was low, a strangled hiss, and laced with a cruelty that made Harry shiver in spite of himself. “And very impressive too, Potter. I admit, I might have underestimated you. You obviously have some power. But nothing compared to mine, I think.”
Harry raised the sword again, his arm level, and pointed it straight at Tom, who looked interested. “Ah yes, the sword of Godric Gryffindor. I believe you used it before, to slay my basilisk. Remarkable. To think that you are now with the person who attacked all those mudbloods…” There was murmuring at this, since no one knew that it had been Ginny who had controlled the basilisk, but she held firm, clutching Harry, holding him to her and glaring down at Riddle, her wand raised.
“Truly symbolic, but you are not the only one who has thought beyond the brotherhood of our wands, Potter.” And with that he withdrew from his robe a weapon that Harry had never seen before, but he knew what it was, and almost, at that very moment, laughed at the cruel irony: the dark lord, employing a morningstar.
Voldemort noticed Harry looking at the weapon and took it for fear. “Yes, it is rather intimidating isn’t it, Potter? But fitting, I think for me to crush your skull in front of everyone, so that none will be left in doubt any longer that I am all-powerful!” His voice rose in pitch and volume, becoming a shriek as he lifted the handle of his weapon and began to whirl it round his head, the spiked ball of iron at the end of the chain an invisible blur in the air. Then he charged.
Harry stepped towards him but away from Ginny. His Laminamancy kicked in without him having to think about it, and soon he was ducking and weaving, evading the whirling ball of death by inches and landing cut after cut on Voldemort’s body, although they didn’t seem to harm him, and Harry realised that there was some kind of shield protecting his body. He didn’t turn, but could almost feel Ginny’s anxiety along with the love she was pouring at him. Her thoughts seemed to run into his, he felt them coming from her, until he could no longer tell which of them was thinking, although he knew it didn’t matter. ‘The sword doesn’t hurt him… but that thing will really hurt if he hits me with it. I’ve got to end this.’
The thought was firmly implanted in his mind, and he knew what to do. As Voldemort raised the morningstar above his head, ready to crash it down, Harry darted forwards and thrust the sword upwards. He felt the impact as the chain hit the blade, beginning to wrap around it, and straight away he kicked Voldemort in the chest and swung the sword downwards. Voldemort was thrown back by the kick and the morningstar was jerked out of his hands. Its momentum carried it, flinging it off the sword, but Harry had aimed it a good distance away, too far for Voldemort to retrieve it. Voldemort rose to his feet, his eyes flashing with hatred, but the sword was raised, the point levelled at his heart, and Harry felt Ginny by his side once more, by his side and in his mind and in his heart. He held her close.
Voldemort raised his wand, still deadly, still hating. “This is not over, Potter,” he spat. “I am still more powerful than you. I have spent decades increasing my strength and my abilities. I can do things you could not imagine in your worst nightmares, and I tell you now that you are going to die, slowly and painfully, but before you die you will watch your precious Ginny screaming for the pain I will put her through.”
Ginny twirled her wand in her hand and pointed it at herself. “I’ll kill myself before I let that happen,” she growled, but Harry hugged her tighter, his hand and arm still level and steady as stone, his eyes still on the burning coals of his enemy.
“So, one of us is going to die, Tom,” he said, his voice soft but carrying through the still air. “That’s what the prophecy said, you know, that one of us would kill the other. Of course, it also said that you would mark me as your equal, which of course you did… you gave me this scar,” he said, running his finger over the lightning bolt, “and a certain amount of your powers as well. But the prophecy also said that I would have a power you wouldn’t. Something you could never understand, let alone have. And that’s why I’m going to win.”
Voldemort hissed, his rage growing in his eyes, but he could do nothing with the sword still aimed straight at his heart, his face.
“Let’s say you kill me tonight, Tom.” Harry’s voice was light and casual, as though the prospect of his own death and the inevitable doom of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds were somehow inconsequential. “Let’s say I die and you live. No one will be able to stop you, you know that. You’ll take the castle, eventually, and kill, enslave or convert everyone here. And then you’ll take the rest of the country, the Ministry, and then the Muggle community as well. I really believe that you could take over the entire world, and you would only gain in power. Maybe you’ll find the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone and live forever, an absolute ruler for eternity. Is that what you want?”
The students, teachers and even Voldemort himself couldn’t even guess what Harry was getting at. Why talk like this, now? But then Harry spoke again, and his words jarred something deep inside Voldemort.
“Sounds a bit rubbish to me, Tom.”
There was silence, although Voldemort seethed.
“You might live forever, but you’ll grow old. And you’ll be the loneliest creature on the entire planet. Your friends… if you can call them that, of course… will die in your service. You wouldn’t share that ultimate power with them, would you? That would be monumentally stupid, after all.
“Do you honestly believe life with unlimited power but with no one around you would be worth living? Oh yes, there would be people to kill and torture, to terrify and dominate, but no one would actually care. Not really. They’d fear you, hate you, and eventually one of them would overcome you. Eventually. It would probably take a long, very long time, but someone would find a way. And then you’d die, alone, and old, without having experienced the best life can offer.
“I, of course, will have been dead a long time… dead and forgotten, unless you choose to make some mockery of my memory, which, knowing you, you probably would.
“But I still will have won.”
Voldemort flinched, his eyes flashing with anger but also a strange feeling almost like fear.
“I might be dead, but I will have lived my life the best way I can. Sure, I have a few regrets, but I’ve known the best life can offer. I can die knowing what it’s like to hug my best friend, to feel the wind in my hair, the snow against my cheek. I can remember what it’s like to ride a Hippogriff, and I can relive how excited I was after beating your memory and killing the basilisk. I’ve seen a lot of bad things, but I’ve led a pretty brilliant life. Not least because I know what it’s like to love someone, and have them love me back.”
Harry had lowered his voice by now, so that only Ginny and Tom could hear him, but his arm remained completely steady. He felt Ginny curled into his arm, feel the love and pride and small amount of sadness coming from her. He tightened his grip.
“That’s why I’ve already won, Tom,” he whispered. “Because I have that, and it’s something you never will, because you sacrificed any ability you had to experience love when you devoted yourself to power and hate. You lost that moment, before you tried to kill me, before I was even born I expect.
That’s also why I can’t hate you any more, Tom. Yeah, you’ve done bad things to me, really bad things. You took away any family I ever had, but I found I still had one, which was something of a surprise. And I used to be frightened of you, too. I don’t fear you anymore either, Tom, because you can’t do anything worse to me than what you’ve already doomed yourself to. I can only pity you.”
That was it. That was more than Voldemort could take. Every one of Harry’s words had slammed home as surely as any spell, and damaged the evil man more than any could have guessed, as though Harry was shooting fiery darts at him, not speaking more than he ever had in one go before. Tom’s rage finally broke loose, a terrifying wave of it pulsing out in all directions, causing the students at the top of the steps to whimper in fear, but it passed over Harry and Ginny. Harry remained silent, staring down at Tom, knowing what was coming and hoping against hope that what he thought only tentatively was true and would work. Tom raised his wand again.
“AVADA KEDAVRA!”
The green light was streaking straight at him, just as he remembered from his infant dreams, but he felt no fear. Instead all he could feel was Ginny clutching him, holding him, loving him, and he knew what he had to do. Just as at Christmas, two years before, the words were in his mind and on his lips before he knew it. He raised the silver sword to meet the oncoming flight of death.
“PROTEGO AMORA!”
The green light hit the very point of the sword.
For a moment there was silence. And then Harry felt the sword pulse in his hand.
In an instant the blade was enveloped in blinding, pure white light that spread from the metal to Harry and Ginny, still clutching each other tightly. It grew and softened and then grew again, fluxing around the point where the killing curse had hit the sword. A roaring sound filled their ears, and Harry and Ginny felt consumed by fire and wind, but not destroyed or harmed in any way. Instead they felt strengthened, almost purified.
After a little while the light seemed to diminish, pulsing closer to the blade every time, until the silver metal simply glowed white. Harry looked along the blade and straight into the fearful, red eyes of Tom Riddle. He felt he had to say something.
“I’m sorry, Tom.”
The blast was so bright everyone closed their eyes. A beam of the same, pure white light shot along the blade of the sword and straight into Voldemort’s chest. For an endless moment he was held, rigid, head thrown back and face screwed up in a pain so intense it almost seemed like ecstasy. Then the beam appeared on the other side of him, completely impaling his body, and continued unimpeded into the grounds, illuminating the startled faces of the Centaurs. For a second, time seemed to freeze as Tom fought the inevitable.
The light spread all around the tall, demonic body, wreathing Voldemort in white fire, and it consumed him just as it had Harry and Ginny. With him, though, Harry could feel all the hatred and grred and arrogance and fear and bitterness that had made Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort dissipating like morning mist. It was hard to see anything through the white inferno, but Harry though he glimpsed for a moment, the face ot Tom Riddle, the sixteen year old boy, his face no longer marred by the fevered lust for power that had led him to open the Chamber of Secrets, mouthing at him two words: 'thank you'.
And then his body flew through the air along the beam of light, until it slammed into the snow thirty metres away. He made no sound, and when the light faded the body was only recogniseable because of its shape, but no one there that night ever doubted that he was dead.
Harry slumped to the ground, his body suddenly registering its exhaustion and the fact that it was numb with cold. Ginny sank down with him, pulling him into a proper hug, as the people on the steps started to check each other, making sure they were all alright. For the moment no one seemed to want to disturb the two of them, and that was fine by Harry. His brain, groggy as it was, tapped him on the shoulder and reminded him he had something to do. He finally let go of the sword, his knuckles white from gripping it, and fumbled in the pockets of his jeans. He brought out the other box, opened it, and held it out to Ginny.
“Ginny…” he croaked, “Will you marry me?”
His voice was so slurred that, for a moment, Ginny didn’t understand what he was saying. And then the meaning filtered through, and she felt so happy she didn’t want to move from the snow and the night and Harry’s arms ever again.
“Oh… Harry… yes of course!”
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. Vaguely she heard him muttering, almost as if to himself, but it was actually to her. “I wanted to do it… ages now… love you… had to be sure… had to make him go away… I love you so much…”
“I love you too, Harry,” she sobbed, before looking down at the exquisite ring he was still holding out to her. It was a very thin band of silver, and extruded outwards in a small crescent moon at the top, as though surrounding something that wasn’t there, and this arc was set with three small, perfect diamonds. Harry clumsily took it and slid it onto the same finger as the other ring. It fitted to the gold band perfectly, looking like extra decoration, the three diamonds highlighting the fire in the ruby and the emerald chips. It was the most beautiful thing Ginny had ever owned, and she flung her arms around Harry again.
After a while, though, they realised they were cold and stumbled to their feet. Ron and Hermione were waiting for them at the top of the stairs.
“Harry, you did it!” Hermione screamed and threw herself on him, and Harry, weaker than he realised, almost fell under her, but Ron was there, giving him a brotherly hug and supporting him at the same time. Then the same thing happened to Ginny. They were just about to go in, when Harry heard the sound of hooves crunching in snow. Harry turned and saw Magorian. Harry could not fathom the expression on his face.
“We have fulfilled our duty. Our woods are safe, though five of my Centaurs lost their lives, and more are wounded.”
Harry lowered his head. “I’m so sorry,” he croaked. “I thought you would be safe.”
A thin smile crept across his face. “And how many more would have died had we not fought now? No, Harry Potter, this is the best way. We knew the dangers when we agreed to work with humans, and though we have suffered losses, the victory was ours. We go to mourn tonight, and tomorrow is a new day… in every way. Tomorrow is the start of the new world. And we thank you for giving us the chance to see it.” In a sign of unprecedented respect, Magorian bent his front legs in a dignified bow. Harry, too stunned to do much else, returned the gesture. Then Magorian rose, nodded slightly, and headed back to his herds, who were returning to the forest.
Harry was silent for a moment, but then returned to the others and came to the entrance hall. Hermione was speaking excitedly.
“Professor McGonagall told us to go to the great hall. The whole school’s being summoned!” She made to go, but Harry put a gentle hand on her arm.
“Hermione, you should know. Draco and Hagrid didn’t make it. They were killed. And someone needs to get Padma from his hut…” Parvati Patil and Dean who were passing on their way to the hall, nodded briskly and set off into the grounds. Hermione’s face had gone from joy to pain so fast it seemed unnatural. She began to cry, softly but strongly, and Ron pulled her to him, stroking her hair gently but looking just as sad. The full enormity of it hit Harry then, and he wanted to curl up in a corner and cry just as Hermione was doing… but Ginny leant her head against his shoulder, and he realised there would be time for that later. There would be time to grieve. He turned to Ron.
“How are the DA?”
Ron tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. All alive, thank God,” he began quietly. “A couple are out cold in the hospital wing and will be for a while, and Colin’s got a devilish cut right across his face, but everyone will be fine.”
Harry nodded, took a deep breath, then reached out towards Hermione’s cheek and wiped away the tears. She looked at him and smiled sadly. Then her eyes caught something.
“Harry, I thought you said your sword said Godric Gryffindor?”
Harry lifted the weapon and looked at the blade. It was then he realised it was very different. The metal was no longer silver, but what looked like white gold, and there was only one ruby, small and modest, right in the crosspiece. There were other stones, though: a sapphire, an emerald and a diamond, set into the crosspiece with the ruby, forming the shape of a circle. And along the blade was inscribed one word: ‘Peredur’.
Harry shook his head. He couldn’t think about this now. He sheathed the sword and looked at his friends.
“Come on. They’re waiting for us.”
And with that, the four of them walked into the noise and the light.
(AN:
...)
Chapter 20: Epilogue
Friends and MoreDisclaimer: see profile
Epilogue
Albus Dumbledore felt very, very tired. This might have been because he had just climbed the North Tower after a very long, hard day. During the battle he and some of the other teachers had held off a second front of Death Eaters who had attacked from the greenhouses. He had tried his hardest to get to the main battle, but by the time he had, it had been all over.
He couldn’t have been prouder of Harry or Ginny. They had done it. They had defeated Tom Riddle with the power they shared because of their love. Suddenly, as though his task was over, he felt as though he no longer had much of a reason to stay. Still, he had this duty to perform. Professor Trelawney, the hermit that she was, still had not heard the news about the battle, and he felt that he had to inform her.
He poked his head through the trapdoor and pulled himself into the room, his aged joints complaining at the mistreatment. He looked around. Sybil was sitting in a high backed chair facing away from him, so he could only see a small amount of her profile. He walked around her and stopped, staring at her absolutely rigid face. When she spoke, her voice was harsh and loud, quite unlike her own, and he had only heard it like that first hand once before.
“The dark lord falls, but another foe approaches… shadows in the forms of those who live not, yet feed… the four shall rise, one for each element… the one who achieved the grail, returned… the one who was unfaithful, redeemed… the one who deceived, forgiven… the one who served, rewarded… the four rise, their shapes animals… the four great creatures are called… the four come to face the shadows…
She trailed off and sat, unconscious. Dumbledore was silent. Then he spoke. His voice sounded exasperated, but there was a familiar twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Oh dear, not another one…”
To be continued in ‘Harry Potter and the Blade’s Edge’.
(AN: *chuckles* Oh come on, what did you expect? You know how much I love torturing you...
Anyway, thanks as always go to my wonderful betas, Serpentspawn and Lourdes. Thanks, guys, I'm glad you agreed to keep working with me. And also thanks to people who reviewed: XiaoXiao, Destin4fl, loads of others, and lastly thanks to everyone who reads. It really means a lot to me to know that people read this insanity and actually seem to enjoy it,
See you... and sooner than you might think!
Tom)