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Friends and More | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP Characters:All Genres: Angst, Fluff, Drama, General Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: G Reviews: 147 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. Hitcount: Story Total: 69896; Chapter Total: 4726 |
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Friends and More Disclaimer: 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) |
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