Chapter 23 - Preparation
Harry was leaning inside the door of his Head Boy Room with his palms pressed into his eyes, as if trying to think hard for a solution to a problem. He mind was walking mindlessly with no purpose though he wasn't thinking. He looked up and found himself looking out of the window behind his desk. The night sky was clear and he could see the stars clearly, twinkling brightly.
Harry sighed and walked over to his wardrobe, opened its swinging doors, and began to undress in silence. He put on his pajama bottoms and a hooded sweater and rolled up the sleeves. He had just put his green dress robes on the hanger when he heard a tapping noise at his window behind his desk, that cut the silence so severely, it made Harry jump. He glanced at the window, halfway between putting up his dress robes in the wardrobe, and saw Hedwig. He rushed over to let her in.
"Hi Hedwig," said Harry, still holding on to the hanger that held his dress robes. She flapped through the window and landed on his desk, glaring at him.
"What are you doing back so early?" she asked curiously. "Is the Ball over?"
"No," said Harry shortly, crossing back to his wardrobe, storing his dress robes inside and closing the door. "But, it's over for me," he added in an unnatural nonchalant way. He sat down behind his desk, grabbed Secrets of Potions: Made Easy from his desk drawer, and turned to the page of the Memory Potion that interested him.
"What happened Harry?" asked Hedwig consolingly, taking a few steps toward him on his desk.
"Do I even need to say?" said Harry, and when there was a silence, he added, "It was terrible!"
He told Hedwig about what had happened at the Valentines Day Ball, from admitting that he didn't have a date to Ron, Hermione, Rachel, and Ernie, to everyone dancing on the dance floor but him, to his sneaky escape from the Great Hall, making sure to leave out the images that ran in his head.
"Plus," continued Harry, catching his breath, "you were wrong Hedwig, I was the only one to either to go to the Ball without a date, or to not have found one at the Ball."
Hedwig blinked and looked like she was trying to say something.
"I'm not mad at you or anything," said Harry, and he truly looked it, though his voice was low and disappointing. "But, I really do think that me going to the Ball was… just a waste of time."
He sadly turned a page, studying carefully the ingredients he would need for the difficult potion. He didn't even know if he really wanted to do it anymore… if Hermione didn't see the way that he felt about her, then what was a point in doing anything… showing Hermione he loved her was worthwhile…
"Is there anything I can do?" asked Hedwig gently. She couldn't really find anything to say to him, but she did feel sorry for him nonetheless. He had gone through pain and suffering simply to receive the love of another, and embarrassment at the Valentines Day Ball too…
"You can help me get some ingredients for this Memory Potion I want to make," said Harry pleadingly, looking up at Hedwig from Secrets of Potions: Made Easy and making way to pull a small cauldron out from his desk.
And so they did; Harry went up and down the corridors (glumly listening to the echo's of the music coming from the Great Hall) of the school to get ingredients for his potion, sometimes sneaking into Snape's office to nick some items. Hedwig assisted Harry as much as she could and particularly became of help when a plant came up on the list that Harry was sure they were not going to find. She remembered a fresh batch of it growing right behind Hagrid's cabin.
"Thanks Hedwig," said Harry as she flew into his open window with the plant in her beak. She thrust it unto the table, as if she were spitting out something sour from her mouth.
"That stuff is awful!" she said disgustedly. "It tastes like rotten dragon dung!"
Harry, who grinned, and wondered the circumstances and when Hedwig had ever had dragon dung in her mouth (rotten ones too to note) and started his potion.
It seemed like hours on end that Harry worked on his potion, adding the necessary ingredients at the times when he needed to, stirring in the right direction (with big or little circles), and waiting exactly the right time to add the next ingredient. He worked so hard on the potion that he would have given Snape a run for his money. Why couldn't he ever do this well on potions when he was in class? Hedwig watched thoughtfully as Harry worked in silence; however, he became distracted as he could still hear the faint music coming from the Great Hall that made him sick.
"Why can't they play that music any softer?" said Harry grumpily, as he added the plant that Hedwig had gotten for him.
"You want me to go peek at whatever they're doing down there?" asked Hedwig. As the last words came out of her mouth, she knew it was a bad thing to say.
"Do whatever you want!" spat Harry, wiping a patch of sweat on his forehead. Brewing the potion gave his room an odd and humid feeling, making his take off his hooded sweater and forcing on a t-shirt instead. Hedwig didn't move from her spot, understanding that Harry had every right to be upset right now.
About two hours passed when Harry was finally done with his potion; it was an oddly white murky looking liquid. He felt revolted when he could still hear faint music coming from the Great Hall. That thing was still going on?
"Ok," said Harry to Hedwig, sighing with frustration, "it says don't add a bit of yourself until you are sure you want to start the countdown."
"Countdown?" asked Hedwig, frowning. "A bit of yourself?"
Harry reread a passage from Secrets of Potions: Made Easy.
"It says that the countdown will start immediately when you put a piece of yourself, like some of the hairs on my head, into the potion," explained Harry, paraphrasing what he just read. "If you wait for one minute, the memory dating back will be equivalent to that of about one day."
"Well, go on then," persuaded Hedwig, motioning him to test it. "Put just a small bit of that into a smaller goblet, so you don't have to waste the rest."
"Good one," said Harry, rummaging through his desk to pull out a small goblet. He picked up the small cauldron and carefully poured about half a cup of the murky liquid into a smaller goblet. He set the cauldron down and pulled a strand of hair from his head, adding it to the liquid in the goblet; it turned a familiar orange color.
"Harry, NO!"
About ten seconds later and without considering the possible dangers of ingesting something for the first time, Harry took the small goblet, lifted it to his mouth, and chugged the potion in one gulp. He felt the substance trickle down his throat and filled his body with a warm tingling sensation; unexpectedly, it tasted a lot like pumpkin juice.
"How… is it?" asked Hedwig tentatively, worried that he had just taken some sort of poison. She watched him sway in his spot and blink a few times, as if he was trying to clear his sight.
"I need to sit…" said Harry drowsily, and he did. He fell into a slouch right into the chair behind his desk, his arms dangling over the armrests. His vision was blurred, though he had his glasses on, and everything seemed to be spinning. His head bobbed on his neck that sent Hedwig into a fit.
"Harry!" she screeched, looking terrified, flying and landing on his lap, his glasses sliding crookedly halfway down his nose. He looked like he had just got off a very dizzying ride. She put two wings on the side of his shoulders even if Harry didn't seem to notice. "Harry! What's the matter!"
Harry blinked. His breathing was very slow, labored, and deep and he could make the outline of Hedwig's white body on his lap. He felt so weak and tired, like if he didn't close his eyes he would die, but he fought to keep them open as well. It felt like a dementor was sucking the energy from his body…
He could fight it no more as his eyes felt like there were weights on them; all he remembered was Hedwig's outline on his lap slowly… slowly… getting blacker… and blacker…