|
Socks | ||||||
|
Category: Alternate Universe, Post-DH/AB Characters:None Genres: Drama Warnings: None Rating: R Reviews: 41 Summary: When Dumbledore dies in the middle of Harry's sixth year, it changes everything. Years later, the war is over, but it is desperately hard to go home again. Hitcount: Story Total: 22307; Chapter Total: 1798 Awards: View Trophy Room |
Previous Next |
|
||||
|
Tangled Webs 01 March 1999 The dirty street was deserted except for two figures standing very still in the mist and shadows, staring at the ugly façade of a department store that was permanently "closed for renovations." The witch pulled her cloak in tighter around her body, shivering. The Muggles would think the mist almost natural for June in Britain — London fog, and all that — but the chill of it went deeper than the bones. Harry Potter kept his gaze fixed on the entrance to St. Mungo's. Nothing else really mattered to him, at the moment. The mist that meant a heavy presence of dementors didn't faze him, except to make his determination deeper and colder. Ron Weasley was hurt, dying even, and without one simple potion, Hermione wouldn't be able to keep him alive after another three days. Before Voldemort had taken over the Ministry almost exactly two years before, antidotes for poisons and curses had been easy to get. But now that the people in power were the ones to do the poisoning and cursing, even things like Skele-Gro were held under lock and key. And Ron needed to have several of his internal organs re-grown. Pearly white light shimmered over the ground and then coalesced into a long line, like an electrical cord, in front of the entrance to St. Mungo's. Well done, Harry thought grimly, congratulating the unknown Curse-Breaker who was helping them with their task. He gripped the witch's arm tightly and started pulling her across the road. They would have five seconds to cross the line without tripping the wards. Harry did not want to think about how complicated it was for the Curse-Breaker — maybe it was even Bill Weasley — to let down the wards enough to cross, but at the same time preserving them. The Death Eaters might find it a little suspicious to find all their protective measures gone. "Let's go," he said unnecessarily. The witch didn't say anything. He couldn't blame her. For a bare second, they stood with one foot over the line and one foot before it. All the hair on Harry's arms stood straight up, and a horrible tingle passed over hisbody. It felt similar to having the flu, and being unable to stand the touch of someone's hand or even clothes, because the skin was so sensitive. The witch sucked in a breath. The witch. Inwardly, Harry grimaced at the fact he had no clue whatsoever whothis person was. It was quite possible that he could die tonight, and still he had no idea who he would be dying with. At least with Ron and Hermione, he always knew who they were. Mad-Eye wouldn't have dared break up their team; he hadn't even wanted to. But Harry couldn't ignore the fact that he was partially to blame for these stringent security concerns, though he only felt a vague, dim sort of guilt. He hadn't known the dangers of speaking a secret out loud, and Dumbledore had died (felled by a poisoned bottle of oak-matured mead — that still seemed ludicrous to Harry, that the greatest wizard of the age had been killed by Draco Malfoy, of all people) before he could warn Harry. So Harry had told the Order of the Phoenix of the task… and Order members — his stomach felt heavy when he thought of Dedalus and the way he had died — had been tortured. Voldemort knew what they knew, for the most part, and it was really only through the paranoia of Mad-Eye Moody that they were able to keep going. Harry glanced again at the witch beside him, thinking of Moody's stringent security measures; he sometimes liked to make a game of it (not that he was often sent on missions without Ron and Hermione, but that was the point of why he was breaking into St. Mungo's tonight), trying to guess the identity of his partner. But her appearance was too fluid to do so. One moment he had the impression that her eyes were blue, and she had a pixie-cut, and the next, her hair reached the middle of her back, and her eyes were a warm brown. It was dizzying to watch, so Harry had to look away. "Are you all right?" he asked gruffly. "Yeah," she whispered, nodding, even though they were surrounded by a Silencing Charm. As long as they remained in contact — she had her arm looped through his — they could speak as loudly as they wanted to each other, and no one else could hear them. Both of them stood just over the shimmering line, which slowly faded and disappeared, signifying that the wards were up again fully; they were trapped. And to be trapped here in the wards was basically a death sentence, Harry knew. Several members of the Order of the Phoenix had died here. Fred and George Weasley, included. It was as though a hot poker had been applied to his intestines. It had been over a year since Fred and George had died, but being here just brought it all back. What was worse was that Harry could envision how it must have happened. Fred and George must have been too slow, too suspicious. The wards had been activated, and they'd been trapped in a web of magic, unable to free themselves. And then the Death Eaters, like poisonous spiders, came and killed them. Harry no longer stopped to consider the ramifications of a hospital being more heavily guarded than the Ministry of Magic (Harry knew this for certain - he, Ron, and Hermione had broken into it just last week to retrieve the locket Horcrux). The Death Eaters were running amok in the country; it only seemed natural that not only did they steal the lives of fathers and mothers and children, but that they tightly control access to healing. "Those assholes are just hard to believe," the witch said in a low, fierce voice. "Who?" he asked, already turned to stare at the window that would lead them to the inside of St. Mungo's. She waved her arm expansively. "It seems like a hospital should be neutral territory," she said. But before Harry could ask her what world she lived in and whether it was possible to Floo or Apparate or take a Portkey to this reality, she added, "Not this world, though, eh?" "Nope," Harry answered. She stepped forward through the barrier first, this time pulling him along. Once inside, both of them were very quiet. It was very simple: if anything went wrong badly enough, they would die. Harry briefly wondered (as he had since Moody had implemented the 'No Charm, No Mission' policy) if they got caught now, whether the Death Eaters would kill him, or if the prophecy hanging over his head acted as a shield, and he could only be killed by Voldemort. The witch jerked him suddenly to the side. "Death Eater," she breathed. Harry swiveled his head up and down the corridor. A man in a black cloak lounged against a wall, speaking to someone Harry couldn't see. Probably chatting up a mediwitch, he thought. "Let's just keep going," he said firmly. She paused for a moment. "All right," she said. Harry couldn't believe that Moody had placed him with someone obviously inexperienced. "Listen," he said. He really didn't have the time to hold her hand through a dangerous situation. Ron's life was at stake. "If you're scared, you can stay here. Because I really don't need to babysit-" "I'm not scared," she replied. "I just think it might be a good plan to cast an Obfuscation Charm after us. I thought, oh, I don't know, maybe it would be a good idea to maybe protect ourselves a little more? Especially now that we know there are Death Eaters or Enforcers in the building?" Harry grimaced inwardly. It had been a very long time since anyone had actually called him on anything. And this witch had been just as firm about it as Ginny Weasley had always been. While he'd been thinking about it, the witch had cast the charm, attaching it to a nearby doorknob, so that anyone who passed it would feel a very gentle sort of confusion. "No time for apologies," she said breezily, marching forward. Harry followed her, scowling. The potions supply room was located in the basement, only reachable by stairs; from the first floor, the lift only went up. The stairs were stone, and the walls damp and cold. No portraits hung here; very few hung in St. Mungo's at all anymore. Most had been exiled to a storage room for insurrection, Harry had been told. "The point of no return," the witch said softly. "Yep," Harry agreed. If they were caught here, they were dead. Think of Ron. Ron is definitely dead unless you get the antidote. He pushed away the part of him thatwas afraid, and didn't hesitate as he continued down the stairs and into the basement. It was more well lit than he expected - it was more similar a level in the Ministry of Magic than the dungeons at Hogwarts. Somehow, without even being aware of it, Harry's hand had slid from her elbow to her hand. Her palms were damp. It suddenly struck him as slightly funny that the first time he held hands with a girl since Cho Chang, it was while in the bowels of a hospital while on a dangerous mission. And he didn't even know the girl's name. Maybe Hermione is right, Harry thought. Maybe I have gotten jaded. The witch twisted her head around, looking behind him, and distracted him from his thoughts and brought him back to reality. "It's clear," she said. Her voice trembled a little. It was only then that Harry realized they stood in front of the potions room. I'm the inexperienced one, Harry thought ruefully. Or maybe he was just the Horcrux had been great for about an hour, and then Harry had realized how much further they had to go. The unknown Horcrux was still exactly that: unknown. And... He silently cast the spells that would alert him to lurking dangers, and then opened the door. Begrudgingly, he said a silent thank you to Severus Snape, who had imperfectly cast the security charms on the door in the first place, making it simple to get in. She shut the door behind them. "Right," he said in a normal voice. "We're looking for Argamenthumus. I'm told it's in a small phial - not one of the large ones - and it's a smoky blue color. And it bubbles," he added helpfully. They set to work straightaway. Harry glanced down at his watch, grimacing. They only had seven and a half minutes until they had to cross the wards outside again. "I'll look over here," he said, gesturing. The witch shrugged, and let go of his hand. Immediately, a rushing filled his ears and subsided. He wouldn't be able to hear her until they had physical contact again. Shaking his head, he strode over to the nearest shelf, and began scanning the names on the bottles, wishing he could just use his magic to summon it, but knowing it was inadvisable. Using magic in the supply room would set off all sorts of alarms. Draught of Peace. Limmertentia. Rigorfis. The titles blurred and he read quickly, and it was only through chance that he saw the witch make a hurried movement out the corner of his eye, and watched as a large phial full of bright orange liquid fell to the floor, shattering. The witch hopped backward, and Harry met her in the middle of the room, catching her by the elbow. "All right?" he asked. "Fine," she said. "I've - damn, my leg is cut." They both stared down at the rapidly spreading stain; Harry's dismay grew. They couldn't risk using magic- As though reading his mind, the witch knelt and began to scoop the liquid in cupped hands, and sweeping it under the shelf. This was unnecessary, however. It immediately began to change color to match the stone floor. Relief bubbled up in his stomach. If it would stay hidden, then they'd be in the clear. "Well, that was lucky," the witch said, staring down at her hands. But Harry was already returning to his side of the room. Bottle after bottle, phial after phial, swam in front of his eyes. He was so solely focused on finding Ron's antitode, the potion that was save his life, that when the witch tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped a mile. "Watch it!" she said fiercely. She held out a small phial with smoky blue liquid bubbling inside it. "I've got it." Harry stared at it, slightly alarmed to feel his eyes sting. Save it for later, Harry told himself sternly. Save it for when Ron's got all his internal organs again. "Let's go!" she said urgently, tugging at him. "We've only got two minutes to get out!" Harry shook himself and practically flew out of the room, pulling her behind him, and speeding toward the stairs. But they were already too late. They were only halfway to the entrance when their time ran out. Both their wands made the sound of a gong which only they could hear. And they were trapped. Ten terrible seconds pulsed by. The blood thundered through his brain. This was it. He'd be trapped here. The spiders would come. Then the witch grabbed his hand. Hers dripped with sweat. His was cold. His entire body felt cold. But then the witch was moving; her body was almost strolling. He forced himself to breathe with her. Harry watched as her shoulders moved up and down, he mimicked her smooth gait. He pasted a half smile on his face. There was no way to know if he looked like a patient from the Closed Ward getting out for a walk, but they strolled for minutes, hand in hand, and not one person stopped them. "In here," the witch at his side murmured. She opened a door and pulled him inside. It was a closet, dark and cluttered. It reminded Harry of his first bedroom. There was space to stretch his legs even. "Do you think we–" Harry closed his eyes. The witch was babbling. "Don't you agree that–" He was tired from his adrenaline surge. Harry knew he was being abominably rude, but he was trapped. He could die at any moment. And a man he thought of as a brother was dying. Harry had to admit that, despite himself, the witch's (and he was going to have to start thinking of her as something else, a nickname, if only inside his head), chatter was keeping his mind off things like Ron dying, and being trapped at St. Mungo's, and actually having one hand wrapped around her ankle and the other around a small phial of the potion that would re-grow Ron's internal organs. It didn't make these things go away, just easier to bear. Babble, maybe, he thought. Or Chatter. She poked him in the leg. "You didn't answer my question," she said, exasperated. "I didn't know you stopped talking," Harry retorted. "I've decided to call you Grumpy," she said darkly, making a face at him. "As a friendly little nickname, you see," she hurried to clarify. "Friendly?" Harry arched his brow, but couldn't help but smile. "Perhaps Taciturn or Brooder would work better," she spoke as though he had not said anything. She affected a thoughtful mien, pursing her lips and stroking her chin. Despite their situation — and the fact that she now appeared to be insulting him — Harry was amused. "I've been calling you Nosy in my head for the last hour," he told her, lying. A small part of him sort of wanted to offend her, but he was happy when her lips twitched. Still, he was slightly afraid when she drew her wand. But instead of hexing him, she tapped him on both shoulders and then the top of the head. For a brief instant, he thought she was completely foolhardy, and had no concept of why Moody would allow her in the field. But when she withdrew her hand, Harry saw it tremble. And her jaw wasn't so much set as it was clenched. "I dub thee Grumpy," she said quietly. "Now. Are you going to answer my question?" "What was it?" he asked begrudgingly. He'd already been forced to answer whether he preferred boxers or briefs, though, so he didn't feel it could get that much worse. "If you were — do you know what the Mirror of Erised is?" she asked. "Yes," he said slowly. It actually could get more personal. "What would you see if you were standing in front of it?" Harry wanted to blow off her question, but the more he looked at her face, the more he realized how wary and frightened she was. And she was talking to alleviate her fears, and it was distracting both of them. In a good way. Harry was almost painfully aware of every little sound; he didn't need to feel any more intense. He might explode. But how the hell would he answer the question? An image of Ron rose up in his head. He wanted his best mate to be better; he did not want to see Ron's ghastly pale skin, or hear his thready, weakening voice. But was that his heart's desire? Where would that leave all of them? Right back to where they were a week ago, before Ron had been cursed, with two Horcruxes left, but having no idea where or what they were. Would he see himself destroying those unknown Horcruxes? Or show him finally defeating Voldemort? It seemed, in a way, that his heart's desire was so impossible that he couldn't even desire it, not anymore. Maybe seeing Voldemort's dead body, Harry thought. "Socks," he said finally. If Dumbledore can lie about it, why can't I? "I'd see myself holding a thick pair of wool socks." She knew he was lying. He knew that she knew he was lying. But she didn't challenge him or make a big deal about it. Amazingly, some of the icy fear in his belly that had nothing to do with being trapped at St. Mungo's, melted a little. Harry was just preparing himself to ask her the same question — really, it was only polite — when she made it easy on him. "I think I'd see everything the way it used to be," she said quietly, looking down at her robes, and plucking at them with slim fingers. Her throat worked. Harry suspected that she might be struggling against Mad-Eyes safety charms, and might have revealed something that gave away her background or her name. "Just the way it used to be. Maybe even better," she finished. Something in the slump of her shoulders and the sound of her voice told Harry that she felt the same way he did: weary. Like she was just as tired as he was. Tonight was the most he'd cared about a mission in months, because Ron's life was at stake, but a lot of the time, he just wanted to be at the finish line already, come what may. He was so tired of jumping over hurdles and whittling away at Voldemort in tiny increments. "It just sometimes seems like it'll never end," she shrugged, echoing his thoughts. "And we'll never be able to just go home." For the first time, it struck Harry that this witch (Nosy, he thought) was probably his age — maybe she'd even been in Dumbledore's Army. Which meant that she was young, and maybe even longed for her home the way he longed for the Burrow. For some inexplicable reason, he didn't want Nosy to feel the way he did. "We'll all be able to go home eventually, Nosy," he said robustly. She snorted. "Nice try, Grumpy," she said dryly, hooking her hair over her ears. "But I've already learned that not everyone gets to go home, and even when they do, it's different. Now, I'm just hoping that when all is said and done, I'm not the only person who calls the same place home," she added. Harry's gut twisted painfully. He had no clue what it was about this dark closet in the middle of enemy territory, but he was suddenly feeling things that he hadn't. Not for a while. The Burrow wasn't even his home, not really, but it was the closest thing he had to it. And already three people were missing — Fred and George had died, and Percy was estranged. His hand dipped into his pocket, feeling around for the small phial of potion. He gripped it tightly with a palm that was suddenly slick with sweat. If Ron died… He didn't want to lose any of the other Weasleys, but Ginny and Ron were the ones… he didn't even want to think about it. But he had to. Ginny was safe at Hogwarts, he knew, probably resenting the hell out of all of them, but if she'd joined the Order, it would've killed Mrs. Weasley. But Ron… Ron was dying, unless Harry got this potion to him on time. Remarkably, he hadn't stopped to consider what it would mean if he didn't get to it in time. He took deep, even breaths. "I want the same thing," he said quietly. Her thumb stroked his hand gently, and he stared at it. Hermione and Ron were always touching each other, comforting each other, and Harry had never really understood why. Now he did. A small, warm hand closed over his forearm. Nosy had shifted her body to scoot closer to him without him even being aware of it. "It's personal, isn't it?" she asked, indeterminately-colored eyes wide in her subtly shifting face. "The potion. It isn't just a — a mission Mad-Eye sent you on, is it?" He shook his head. "No. Not just another mission." To his own surprise, he found himself opening his mouth to tell her it was his best mate at stake; but Moody's enchantment prevented him from getting any words out. That's a bit frustrating, he scowled. Harry was so used to the privilege of knowing he was with Ron and Hermione that it was deeply annoying to have restrictions. "I can't tell you why," she whispered. Harry looked over at her; her expression must match his. Struggling against Moody's charm, probably, though he didn't know why. "Tell me why what?" Harry asked, confused. "Why we're closer to victory," she said. "We are closer than we were before even last week–" Harry knew this, already; they'd found a Horcrux last week, finally. But still. Harry didn't think that that kind of information was given to random members of the Order of the Phoenix. He eyed Nosy appraisingly; Moody must trust her an awful lot if she knew about it. Mad-Eye did not hand out information like this like Chocolate Frogs. "We are closer," she said again. "Listen — do you know Harry Potter?" "Do you?" Harry countered. "Sort of," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "I know enough about him to know that he isn't going to give up. He — he won't let You-Know-Who win." Harry opened his mouth, but had no idea what to say. I'm tired of fighting. I want to go home, too. He wanted to tell her that he was only human, and he'd do the besthe could, but Voldemort might win, and it wasn't fair of her to assume that he could do it. But at the same time, it wasn't just Moody's charm that stilled his tongue, but it was an unexpected balm, to know that someone had such faith in him. Blind faith, yes, but– His thoughts were abruptly halted by a most unwelcome sound: heavy footfall outside their closet. Time seemed to slow, and Harry gripped his wand tightly. Nosy's fingertips convulsed and dug into his skin. But a shushing sound told him that she too prepared to cast a spell as soon as the door opened. His heart beat heavily in his chest. He could feel Nosy's increased heartbeat too, as she pressed tightly against him, whether for comfort or for better aim, he wasn't sure. If they open the door, they still can't hear us or see us, Harry reminded himself. But if whoever it was stepped inside just a little, they would know someone was there. And if whoever it was actually sought Harry and Nosy… Step. Step. Step. Something clattered to the floor. "Shit," someone muttered, muffled through the door. "Of all the god damn — I'm coming! Hold your hippogriffs," he said in a low, resentful voice. Harry's breathing slowed down as the footsteps retreated again. He glanced down at his watch. Two hours left until Moody promised to have the wards crossable again. His nerves gradually settled and he swallowed hard, turning his head to see if Nosy was all right. She was very close. "That was…" she breathed. But Harry kissed her before she could finish her sentence. He didn't know where the impulse came from, or why his brain had suddenly turned off. Perhaps it was a combination of danger, conversation, camaraderie, and the fact that she seemed to have faith in him. Or maybe it was just because she smelled good — Harry couldn't pinpoint the scent, that fell under 'defining characteristics' and Moody's charm took care of that, but he knew that he liked it, whatever it was. After several seconds, and a shocked inhale of breath, she kissed him back, moving her lips underneath his. Nosy slipped her tongue into his mouth, and quite suddenly, they just weren't close enough. Harry tugged at her arm and pulled her into his lap, not caring that he was hard and surely she could feel it. He didn't even spare a thought to how his arousal had even happened without him even being truly aware of it. She pressed herself against him and he swore. They rubbed against each other almost violently. The air felt heavy and thick and there was a tightness in Harry's chest and back that hadn't been there. His hands slid up her sides up and down as they rocked against each other. Then they found her breasts, firm and full. He squeezed them gently, and she arched her back, moaning, and pulling her lips from his. He licked her neck. She whimpered, and then her hands came between their bodies and fumbled with the front of his trousers. Her fingers were not gentle, and he winced. "Sorry," she muttered. "Don't," he said. She finally got his trousers open. Harry wiggled, helping her free him, and he hissed when her hand wrapped around his penis, stroking it almost frantically. He took his right hand off her breast, and without even thinking about it, slid her robes up, traced his finger along the silky smoothness of her thighs, and found the juncture of her thighs. She was hot and her knickers were damp and a dim part of Harry's mind was amazed that he could get a girl wet when he'd never done anything like this before. Harry tried to concentrate on rubbing her and also on the way she was rubbing him, but found it difficult to do. Her thumb brushed against the tip of his penis and he shuddered. Nosy was telling him to do something, but he couldn't figure out what until she abruptly stood up halfway– "No," he protested. She didn't answer him but shuffled around. Harry heard a soft sound and he felt a twinge in his stomach when he heard soft cloth hit the floor. Please let that be her knickers, he thought. She straddled him again, and he could feel wet heat without a barrier. "Yes," he said. "I've never–" she said breathlessly. "Me either," Harry said. She wrapped her hand around him, and suddenly he was right there… pressing inward… now he was fully surrounded by warmth and wetness. Move,his body demanded. He rolled his hips. "Hold still a second," she said, sounding uncomfortable. It was agonizing to disobey what his body was ordering him to do. His breath came out in harsh pants. Nosy wrapped her arms around him, buried her head into his neck, and rocked against him. "You can move now," she whispered. He groaned and thrust at the same time, instincts taking over as his hands went to her hips. But she didn't need any urging, not really. She rode him. Harry was a little embarrassed at how swiftly his orgasm was coming on him, even given the fact that sitting on the hard ground was not exactly comfortable. The pressure in his back built. She leaned against him, forcing him to slide further down the wall, and she pressed down until Harry didn't think he could possibly get any deeper. She continued to move, and so did he, until his back felt like it was on fire from the effort of trying to keep it in, and breathy little cries escaped her mouth. Nosy gasped and then he felt her clench around him. Harry's last thought before he exploded inside her was that he hoped that clenching feeling around his penis was what it felt like when a witch had an orgasm. He grunted and thrust up into her with abandon, letting her body milk him. Once his body calmed down, a wave of disorientation hit him. I just had sex! But what was most stunning was that he didn't regret it. Maybe he would later, but as his breathing returned to normal, he was still inside Nosy, and he honestly couldn't remember the last time he felt this alive. Years. "I can't believe that just happened," she said, sounding almost awed. Awed and strangely vulnerable. "It's all right, Nosy," he said. And it really was all right, sort of. Or enough all right. "Grumpy," she sighed. "I don't feel so tired anymore," he admitted. It wasn't romantic, but he didn't feel romantic toward her. He felt… connected. The things that she'd said had resonated, and made him feel less lonely. And maybe that was pathetic, but… somehow through her words and maybe the sex, he'd… woken up. "Me either," she said in a low voice. Harry got the feeling that she struggled with the regret-but-not-regret that he did. Slowly, deliberately, she slid off his lap and started groping around for her knickers. Harry pulled his trousers back up. Nosy sat down next to him, shoulder brushing against his. He could tell she was quivering. She drew her knees up to her chest and laid her head on them. Harry knew without seeing it or hearing it that she was crying. And for a brief, horrible instant he was transported back to his fifth year, and wondered if every girl he kissed would cry. But then he realized that he wasn't that far from tears himself. It shocked the hell out of him — he couldn't remember the last time he cried. But he felt like he'd really lost something, beyond just his virginity, but that he'd gained something too. He didn't know which was worse. Instead of giving in, though, he placed his hand on Nosy's back and rubbed circles. "I'm sorry," she said. "I never cry," she said fiercely. "The last time was right after–" but her words cut off abruptly. "It's been a while," she told him, sniffling just a little. Harry didn't know what to say, so he was quiet. Four hours later, they were clear of St. Mungo's and standing once more outside the supposedly derelict building. Dawn was just beginning to touch the horizon, and the air had the hushed, still quality that came just before the sun. Harry gripped Nosy's hand tightly, and stole a look at her face. They weren't alone: Mad-Eye Moody, Severus Snape, and two others stood just across the street. But her face did not register that she thought it odd that he was met with a welcoming committee, nor that the Order of the Phoenix had gone to great lengths to get them out of there. Harry knew that this was because of who he was, but Nosy didn't appear to realize this. A part of him wanted her to know. They'd had sex with each other. Twice. And he wanted at least one of them to know the other's name. That way if the war ended, and they both survived, she could find him. If she wanted to. But Harry thought she might want to. Even if the first time had been heated and due to fear and hormones, the second time had been less feverish. Slower and gentler. Harry definitely wanted to find Nosy again. After the war. But there was no time to tell her so. "Report," Mad-Eye said in his gruff voice. Snape and the others remained silent and stoic, hands clasped behind their backs. Harry and Nosy tripped over themselves, explaining what had happened, why they had been too slow, how it had occurred that they had gotten themselves trapped. Harry had expected disappointment and annoyance from Mad-Eye. Instead, the old Auror's magical eye remained fixed on Harry's face, and he appeared to barely be listening. "At least you got the potion," he said finally, looking at Nosy. He nodded crisply in her direction. "You may go." "But I-" "I have something to discuss with your temporary partner," Mad-Eye told her. "I think you'd want me to-" But Mad-Eye cut her off again, waving his arm impatiently as though shooing her away. "Later," he said heavily. Nosy sighed, squeezed Harry's hand, and then slid hers out of his grasp. "I hope someone gives you lots of socks," she said, by way of farewell. Her ever-changing eyes were fixed on his. "I hope you get to go home again," Harry said quietly. His face flushed, and he wanted to say something more, but couldn't. Not with four people around him. She gave him a lop-sided grin, spun on the spot, and Apparated away. Harry watched the empty spot for long seconds, wondering if he'd ever see her again, or find out her name. "Who was she?" Harry asked. Mad-Eye cut a glance at the people around them. "You know I'm not going to tell you that," he said evasively. There was a strange flickering out of the corner of his eye, and Harry glanced at the two other people he didn't know, only to find that he did. Arthur and Bill Weasley suddenly stood before him, with odd expressions on their faces. "Shouldn't we be going somewhere else?" Harry asked. It seemed too exposed here all of a sudden. He did not like the way everyone was looking at him, as though they had very bad news and had no clue how to tell him. He was even more deeply unsettled that Snape's expression was the same. His stomach curdled. "We have to - is it Ron? What's happened?" "Ron can wait a few moments longer," Arthur said quietly. "It's time you were told the truth," said Mad-Eye. He gestured toward Harry's forehead. "About your scar, and your connection to You Know Who." |
| Reviews 41 |
Previous Next
|
