Disclaimer: I own only what you don't recognise, and, I hope, that would include the plot.
Alright, let me tell you that this chapter was hell to write, and I think it's terrible, but my betas, which I think very much, all thought it pretty good, so here it is. I'm afraid that with Mark's conversation Ron comes across as worse than he actually is, almost like he's going to turn Death Eater-which he isn't, though I'm itching to write a story like that-and, terror of terrors, another Quidditch game. But don't worry, there is at least the return of the main plot, and some things going on. Now, to answer some reviewers. Lady Darkshine: Thank you very much for your compliments ^_^, I think being compared to JK is just about the best thing one can say to a HP fanfiction writer. As for Ron, his behaviour has to do in part with what you said, but it's mostly due to something that is obscure to everybody but me-and I made it so on purpose. And as for Harry explaining to Ron about Hermione…well…he's not ^_^, plain and simple, and that has its reasons as well. Trowa no Miko: WOW! Someone actually liked the last chapter! I'm so glad! And yes, Ron's a prick, and he blows things WAY out of proportion, we all know that, especially if they're particularly insignificant. Insane clutz 4 eva: You want my chapters LONGER?! Man, nearly everyone else is ready to throw rotten tomatoes at me if the chapter's more than 6000 words! But in any case, I have no intention of doing that. I find the 5000 media comfortable. And if I got away from the MAIN plot is because I thought there was reason to. Sorry you found it boring, I'm still an amateur, I know. Anyway, the plot's back here. So I hope you like.
And now, on with the fic.
Harry Potter and the Bite of No Mortibus
Chapter 10: Quidditch season and revelations
He sat there, watching the general hustle and bustle that ensued such festivities as that of Halloween at Hogwarts, not really taking it in at all. It was days like these that he missed seeing her most of all. Halloween was always one of Hermione's favourite holidays, and, despite the fact that he spoke to her nearly every waking hour of the day, Harry was finding out rather quickly that it all wasn't the same when he couldn't see her face and the myriad of expressions and gestures that she would always display as part of her nature.
Halloween was also the day that five years prior had brought Hermione to be a fixed part of his life, one that he had come to depend on without realizing it, without even appreciating it. He let a heavy sigh escape. At least he and Hermione's disappearance weren't the centre of attention anymore-smuggling the forbidden Daily Prophet had taken up that role.
"What's wrong, Harry? Worried about the game?" Mark asked from across from him, a large serving of pumpkin pie on his plate. Harry gave him an empty shrug, so Ginny replied for him.
"Hufflepuff doesn't worry Harry, Mark. And he won't get nervous about it until tomorrow morning. Then he'll come down to breakfast and pick at his food without eating it until it's time to go to the Pitch," she told him matter of factly.
"So what's wrong?" the small boy asked with a confused frown upon his freckled face.
"It's Halloween," a voice called gruffly from their left, and they found Ron shovelling food in his mouth as per his usual, and if they hadn't recognized the voice they very likely wouldn't have guessed that he had spoken.
"What are you on about now, slave driver?" Ginny asked, her tone sounding rather miffed at both his intrusion into a conversation that-according to her-he had no right to intrude upon, and his behaviour on the Quidditch Pitch which had earned him the nickname of `slave driver', or `evil incarnate' when he was in certain moods. After all, it was Ron's own fault for holding the tryouts so late that they had to cram extra time to get the team to synchronise.
"What is wrong with Halloween, Ronald?" A dreamy voice drifted to them from behind, where Luna Lovegood was making her way toward them, her feet looking as though they weren't touching the ground.
"And what do you want?" Ron asked, sounding rather rude, and offended by the formal use of his name.
"I just thought I'd come and wish you luck on your game for tomorrow. I'll be cheering Gryffindor. Never did fancy Hufflepuff much," the last was added with a breathy whisper, as though she didn't want to be overheard, the motion of her head moving closer making her radish earrings swing mightily on her ears.
"Uhm…you won't be wearing another roaring lion on your head, will you?" Ginny asked, sounding rather apprehensive, and Harry could understand why, despite the fact that he had started considering the Ravenclaw a friend the year prior, he still couldn't overlook the ridiculous distracting headdress that she chose when showing support for a team.
Luna's face took an almost melancholy expression. "No, unfortunately," Harry was a little more successful than Ron at hiding his sigh of relief. "I had one prepared, but apparently it was misplaced in my dorm, and I won't have time for another one, so I'm afraid I'll only be bringing a banner this time."
"That's…great, Luna, but you don't have to, really," Ginny reassured her, probably wondering what kind of banner she would be able to come up with.
"Oh, it's no trouble, really," Luna answered dreamily, her protruding eyes turning back to Ron, as she took a seat next to Mark. "What is it that you were saying about Halloween, Ronald?"
Ron's annoyance seemed to increase each time his name was pronounced that way. "Nothing," he replied stabbing angrily at his mince pie.
Luna's appearance had made Harry forget that Ron had guessed the reason for why he was in such a mood, but then again, it wasn't all that surprising really, after all, Ron was her friend too.
Ginny, didn't seem to want to drop the subject as easily as her brother did. "No, no, no! You were saying something about Halloween, now, what could it be? Halloween-Halloween," she began muttering to herself, tapping her chin in thought. "Hmm, Halloween…Oh, bugger!" She suddenly exclaimed, slapping her hand over her mouth in realization.
"What? What's going on?" Mark asked, confused at Ginny's sudden change of demeanour.
She turned her eyes on Harry, "The troll?" she asked quietly.
Harry was actually confused. Ginny hadn't even been there in first year, and, if Ron had told his family, he was sure that the story wouldn't have centred on Hermione (he did have a tendency of making himself the hero). But he nodded, asking her "How do you know about that?"
She shrugged, giving him a sad sort of smile. "She told me," she replied simply. "You two may be her best friends, but Hermione is a girl, and a girl needs to talk to another girl when all she's got is boys," she quirked an ironic smile, "I would know wouldn't I?"
"Yeah, I guess," he relented, not really knowing what to say. He wanted to ask what Hermione liked to talk about, but thought that it might be best not to ask. Ginny, however, seemed to read his mind.
"She mostly talked about you, and Ron, and what you three would do together. And how she was always worried about you," she retold. "I probably know more about you than anyone who's not part of your triangle ever should, and I heard more complaints about Ron's loud trap then I care to count," and, for a second, she fixed Harry with a steady stare. "Did you notice how much she learned about Quidditch over the summer?"
Harry nodded. "I figured she'd been around us too long."
Ginny grinned widely at that. "Yeah, that was actually it. She said that being around you, and watching your games, and seeing the way you seem alive when you're up there halfway between earth and sky had always fascinated her, but she refused to show it to the two of you because she thought that then she'd never be able to make you concentrate on anything else." Harry couldn't keep the smile off his face. That sounded like Hermione alright. "And then, the Department of Mysteries happened, and I have no idea how she could, but she knew you were going to start acting like you did, and she thought that Quidditch might be the only thing to bring you out of it-and she was right, of course, if you remember your birthday. So she asked me to help her learn more about it while she helped me get ahead for the OWLs," she finished sadly.
"This summer was the first time she ever mentioned the troll," she started again after a brief pause. "I'd already heard about it from Ron, but I asked her about it because I know that his storytelling isn't generally very accurate," she said this with a glare directed at her brother, who had yet to lift his eyes from his plate of mince pie. "When she told it to me she said that it was one of her most precious memories."
Harry, not knowing what else to do, gave her a simple, but very meaningful, "Thank you."
"So…" started Mark, seeming hesitant to disrupt the mood that had washed over them, but too curious not to, "what happened with a troll?"
And, while Ginny began retelling the long story of a possessed teacher, a mountain troll that managed to infiltrated the school, and the mayhem that had been Harry Potter's first year-interrupting Ron whenever he tried to put a word in--Harry tuned himself out of the discussion, letting the buzz of conversation drift around him without bothering to catch any of it. In the back of his mind he felt a stirring, like something was stretching, and recognised it as the very subtle presence of Hermione's conscience waking.
He'd never known what Hermione was like in her sleep, since he'd never shared a room with her the way he had with Ron (there was the exception of the Quidditch World Cup, but that night his mind had been occupied with Veelas, and Quidditch and glory, and he hadn't noticed), but now, he could somewhat guess from how she became aware within him. She seemed to be rational in this as well, he could sense how uncomfortable she was, feeling like she needed to move, to reawaken her atrophied body, but, even in sleep, when consciousness slipped away, a part of her stayed, forbidding her body to move. She was an early riser, her mind sharp practically the moment she slipped out of sleep.
But, this time, along with the awareness, there was something rising, suffocating, and suppressing him from the deepest reaches of his mind. He felt the tiny hair at the nape of his neck standing at attention, his entire body covering in goosebumps, his breath coming short for no reason at all. Icy fingers wrapped around his heart, squeezing the very life out of him, a slight sheen of sweat covering his brow nearly instantly in cold heat. His heartbeat sounding a low, incredibly fast rhythm within his ribcage, making the thick vein on the side of his neck pulse mightily and stand out. He knew what it was. What was making him react the way he was.
Fear.
Raw, powerful, indescribable fear.
And it wasn't coming from Voldemort, like his first instinct could have told him, his scar quiet and completely still. It was from Hermione, and it was so strong, it was oppressing. He tried to reign in his reactions, to steady his breathing, keep it quiet so that nobody around would notice his change of disposition, try to keep the fear from showing in his bright green eyes. He had to be rational, he had to try and think like Hermione, just for once.
But just as Harry was about to call out to her, to ask her what was wrong, to find his answers, he felt a thick wall rising in front of him, preventing his voice from reaching hers, effectively blocking him out. She was aware, still awake, but she didn't want him to know what was going on, so she managed to fully block his mind from hers, much like he'd never been able to do with Snape, barely sparing a quick, "Everything's fine. Just wait."
And Harry tried, he truly tried to break through the wall that she'd lifted against him, but all he could detect was more of that fear. He could hear the quick, scared rhythm of his heart beating within his ears, and it taunted him, told him that he could do nothing, and that she was going to be lost to him, just like Sirius was.
And he felt just as afraid. What was he supposed to do? For the first time, he was the one with the impulse to tell Dumbledore everything, but Hermione's warnings stopped him. Her words came back to him. Just wait. Even in her state of absolute terror, she still thought it was dangerous to go to the Headmaster, and she'd told him to wait. Could he afford to?
Generally, he would have thrown her cautions to the wind, but that had done so much damage in other situations, he was afraid it would do much the same here. After a glance at the faculty table, he saw that Dumbledore and Larvae were scrutinising him just as much as they'd been doing, the latter having picked up on the sudden mood swing that had surged through him-not from him-and decided to follow Hermione's advice.
He would wait for some kind of signal from her, and if that didn't come, he would wait as long as his instincts allowed him, and then he would do what he had to. Whatever that might be.
*°*°*
"Hey, Harry?" Mark's small apprehensive voice came from behind him as Ron set away his Wizard Chess set and left for the dormitories. They'd had a couple of matches after the Halloween feast, and Harry had lost repeatedly, which wasn't new.
"Yeah?" Harry asked, flopping down in a squishy armchair, Crookshanks leaving the comfort of the lit fire by the hearth to jump into his lap.
"Can I ask you something?" His tone made Harry think the boy thought he might get offended by it, as he took a seat close to him.
"Sure."
Mark seemed to find great interest in his shoes as he fidgeted with the edge of his sleeves.
"Well," he began hesitantly, "that guy, at dinner, with the red hair…that you were just playing with…Ginny's brother…"
"Ron?" Harry asked surprised. Mark nodded. "What about him?"
"Well…isn't he supposed to be your best friend?" There was an embarrassed blush colouring his face brightly, but his eyes were trained on Harry, who nodded back. "Well, it's just…I don't know…it's like, he's there, and he talks, and sometimes he laughs, but he's not really there at all, or like he's here just to be here. It's like he doesn't really want to be there."
Harry had noticed that, after finding out that he wasn't an insane criminal, Mark had taken quite a liking to him, which was returned, yet he didn't think that it would lead him to being so observant of him, though he knew from personal experience that those forced to watch their own back saw more than most thought. He sighed, scratching his cheek in thought. Harry had made a few attempts to reach Ron-things like asking to play Wizard's Chess a few moments ago. Ron accepted most of the time, and they'd have conversations like they used to, and Ron would win as always, but there seemed to be something entirely off with the way they were with each other, and Ron did seem particularly distant. "Yeah," Harry spoke in a huffed breath. "I can't really blame him." Mark's eyebrows raised in question. "I haven't been a really good friend to him lately."
"Because of your godfather?" Harry was tempted to ask how he knew, but he figured that it could be attributed to Ginny-who had also taken a real liking to the small first year-so he simply nodded. "Ginny said that you were weird, but she said that Ron wasn't really trying, either."
"Don't think he knew how to handle that sort of thing," Harry shrugged, using the past tense only for the boy's sake, since, in actuality, he was still behaving quite a bit like that. "Ginny didn't either, though she's been better lately. Hermione was the only one that could."
"But she's not here, now."
"No, she's not."
"But he's still not trying," Mark insisted.
Harry looked at him, long and hard. He knew that Ron was being distant, but it seemed like everyone was trying to point out something more to him. "Maybe I should be the one trying," he suggested.
"You know what else Ginny says?" Mark asked, seemingly out of the blue. Harry shook his head in reply. "That you need to be away from your memories, because they hurt you and because Ron doesn't understand that they hurt you, and that's why you're not trying with him, but he doesn't understand that." And Crookshanks, as though agreeing Mark, jumped in the young boy's arms and purred loudly. Even the cat seemed to be holding a grudge against Ron at the moment. And Harry didn't know what to think anymore.
A short while later, he made his way to the dorms, Mark's words weighing heavily on his mind. Maybe the reasons that he'd given for Ron's-and his own-behaviour were true, and maybe he was trying to escape memories, which the castle was already full of, but, didn't that make him selfish? Or maybe, he had always been selfish, and never realised it.
Maybe he was a truly inconsiderate friend. Or maybe, he was just lonely, but didn't find it in himself to seek human comfort, unless Hermione was in a condition to have the same privilege. Crookshanks, in his arms while he contemplated this, seemed to agree with the latter, but for some reason he kept glaring at Ron's bed.
*°*°*
"And Neville Longbottom makes a marvellous play of defending Ginny Weasley from yet another stray Bludger, Weasley passes to Bell, quick volley to Lopez, and some real clever flying, and back to Ginny Weasley who overhead volleys with the hind of her broom! Hufflepuff can't catch it, and it's SCORE for Gryffindor!" Harry heard a fourth year Gryffindor girl, by the name of Rebecca Larson, commenting enthusiastically. She was quite good, she didn't side too obviously, and she liked to get the crowd involved.
So far, it had actually been one of the best games that he'd ever played in-and one of the longest, as it was well past two hours already, but bloody hell! Were they in horrible Quidditch weather!
There was an incredible amount of fog, mostly due to the fact that the temperature had gone up several degrees in respect to the previous day and the Pitch was so close to the lake.
Harry had not been able to hover in his favourite position above the game, because from there the fog was too thick to see the bottom of the Pitch, the area that Snitches seemed to prefer when visibility was scarce. That didn't mean that he could stay close to the grass either, because from there it was impossible to see above. So that left only one position, and that was right in the middle of the Pitch, close to the action, which, at the moment, was the most dangerous place to be. Bludgers were everywhere. The Beaters were hitting them away from the playing area, afraid of possibly targeting their own players otherwise, but, as it happened, the Bludgers had minds of their own.
The Gryffindor Chasers, thankfully, had only thrown the Quaffle the wrong way a few times, probably due mostly to the fact that they recognised their own team's flying style, quite different from Hufflepuff. The score was currently 210 to 150 in favour of Gryffindor, but the game had already been endless, and all the players were extremely tired. Neville was beginning to have trouble with his broom, he probably didn't have the will to control it after all the effort he'd already put.
One of the Hufflepuff Chasers had gotten hold of the ball, and was quickly making his way to the Gryffindor posts, but Katie had managed to tackle him, though she'd dropped the ball, which had been caught by Ginny, who had to do some seriously clever broom work when two of the opposing Chasers began tailing her. And there, finally, out of the trail left by Ginny's broom in the fog, Harry saw it. The Golden Snitch, hovering in the middle of the action, twittering madly among the commotion.
He didn't think the opposing Seeker had seen it, since he had been out of sight for nearly the entire duration of the game, but, if Harry hesitated too long, he might lose his chance. With a quick glance around to make sure nothing might unexpectedly come hurling at him, he dove into the action as quickly as he dared, avoiding zooming players, random Bludgers, and anything else that might be hidden behind the fog.
And then he was there, the whistle sounding as he pulled out of the dangerous position he was in with that little elusive ball fighting against his fist and the wonderful feeling of fulfilment that permeated his entire form whenever he managed to catch it, and, as he heard the wild roaring of the crowd, he began to fall.
It was as though, for a second, everything had gone completely numb, and then, suddenly, there was a pain so intense it was maddening, and he instantly lost control of everything, his eyes rolled in the back of his head, his limbs thrashed of their own accord as though he were possessed, something akin to a high pitched screeching was buzzing in his ears, that he didn't even realise had been coming from his own mouth. it felt like thousands of smouldering hot blades had pierced every portion of his skin, his insides were melting, his body was hit by violent spasms, and he felt as though the bones within his body were disintegrating. From the outside, it looked like his jaw might break just for how wide it was opened in his unstoppable cries of pain, blood was liberally pouring from a deep cut on his lip that he'd made when trying to keep quiet, his hands, of their own volition, trying to claw at his own body, ripping the front of his brand new robes as though they were paper.
He knew what this was, he'd felt it before. But it hadn't been directed at him, it was rather coming from within him. And he knew. He knew with a certainty, that the Cruciatus that he was feeling had been cast on Hermione, and that he was feeling some of it through their strange connection. Yet, as the ground was quickly rising to meet him, his thoughts weren't so much on his blinding pain, but on how, if he felt this much, Hermione must be feeling it tenfold.
The force of multiple Cruciatuses cast on her at once.
°*°*°
His skin felt as though he were blistering, being cooked from within, his throat hurt due to the force of his screams, and his insides were scorching. It was hitting him again, but this time, he could think through it, which was a great improvement. He could register what was around him.
Naturally he couldn't see, since his eyes were rolled in the back of his head, and, in any case, it didn't feel as though he were wearing his glasses, but, through the screams that he still could not hold within, he recognised that he was in the hospital wing from the heavy scent of healing potions that permeated the air.
Voices were reaching his ears. "Here comes another attack! Quick, immobilise him before he starts to hurt himself again!" That was Madame Pomfrey, did she sound worried? And there were strong hands holding him down to something that must have once resembled a mattress. His natural instincts telling him to fight against this restriction, needing to claw at something, to bite something, to inflict pain on something so that his wouldn't be as intense.
But it wasn't all that intense, not like the first Crucio he'd been inflicted directly some months prior, and definitely not like the indirect multiple attack from the Quidditch game. This was a tickle compared to those, yet he still had no control over his body, his muscles twitching madly, his bones feeling as though they were all going to start snapping like twigs.
"Here! Put this between his teeth so that he doesn't break them," the school nurse instructed again, and he felt something being placed in his mouth the second that he'd opened it to scream, a stick of some sort, and he closed his jaw over it, feeling some semblance of relief at the simple action.
And then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, the curse lifted, his whole body still burning as though he'd been put to roast. He felt something soothing, a curative spell of some sort, going through his whole body, and relaxed slightly. "Keep holding him," he heard Pomfrey say, "he's going to be going through the after effects soon and he'll spasm."
And, as though she'd charmed them to, his limbs began to thrash of their own accord, the pain from the curse gone, but his muscles still on fire from the ordeal, and it hurt. At least now the pain was bearable, and his eyelids shut tightly, his head whipping from side to side. Some might have considered this more painful than the actual curse, but Harry found solace in the fact that now he was regaining his senses as his own. He didn't scream, tried to hold in any other sound, not able to help the heavy panting breaths that escaped his nostrils while he bit down hard on whatever had been shoved in his mouth.
After an eternity, he finally calmed, his body finally went still. Still breathing heavily, as though he'd been underwater too long and needed to make up for what he'd missed, he opened his eyes, seeing nothing but blurs, mostly red blurs, some black ones, and two more. "Here, give him his glasses," someone ordered, and he felt the slight weight of his frames back on his face, the world coming into focus quickly. He saw right away that the red blurs belonged to his Quidditch team along the left of his bed, still dressed for the game, Neville the closest to him, meaning he was one of those that had been holding him down, Mark was over to the left of him, looking terrified next to Ginny (who didn't look much better), on his right stood Madame Pomfrey, Tonks, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Larvae, Luna Lovegood (what was she doing there?), and most surprising of all, Professor Snape, who must have also been holding him still. He blinked stupidly at them, while his breaths turned from the heavy panting, to a strangled wheezing. What? It was like his throat had become too small to let air pass to his lungs.
"Oh, right!" the nurse said, coming closer to him and pulling a vial from one of her pockets with one hand, and removing a stuffed roll of fabric, what he'd been biting down on, from his mouth. "Open up, Potter," she ordered briskly, and Harry, with a great effort, opened his mouth slightly, his muscles weren't responding well, and that was the best he could manage at the moment. It seemed to be enough though, and, without ceremony, she took his chin in her hand, tilted his head back, and poured the contents of the vial in his mouth, forcing his mouth closed, telling him to be completely still so that the liquid would make its own journey to destination.
Nearly instantly, he felt his windpipe returning to normal, the flow of oxygen to the lungs restored. He tried to speak, but his vocal cords didn't allow anything but a wispy wheeze through. "You won't be able to use your voice for a couple of days, Mr Potter, since you heavily damaged your vocal cords, and I will need to keep you here until I deem it safe for you to leave your bed," Madame Pomfrey explained. He looked down to what he was lying on. It hadn't felt like a bed.
"Or what's left of it," Snape sneered, his lip curled in a well known expression of distaste. Harry realised that the lump he was lying on must have once been a mattress, but it looked like some wild animal had ripped what it could to shreds. And then he saw his hands, his nails broken, his skin rough, and some blood crusted on his fingertips. He'd done it himself.
"Wotcher, Harry," he heard Tonks say from his side. He would have grinned, but his lips were split in several different places, so he simply nodded, acknowledging her salute. It seemed to be enough, so everyone began talking at once, the sudden noise making Harry's head feel like it was going to explode.
"QUIET!" The nurse's shout had actually made Harry groan in pain, but it made the rest shut up, so he really couldn't complain very much. "All of you, out, right now!" She ordered, not leaving them any space to argue. "Potter needs to rest, so you will not be able to visit today. You may come back tomorrow, but no more than two at a time. Now out!" And Harry could hear the reluctant shuffling of his friends feet, some of them saying half hearted get-well-wishes, others promising to visit the coming day.
"Very well, Harry, I shall be calling on you tomorrow with Ronald then," he could hear Luna say as she walked out, sounding as though it had been her choice to leave, and she wasn't being kicked out. Ron didn't seem to pleased at the idea.
"Yeah, bye, Harry," he could hear Mark call, sounding small and looking terrified, "I'll come after classes, okay?" He sounded as though he was asking permission. Harry managed a very weak wave, but it pleased Mark endlessly, and he left next to Ginny, who'd given him a worried wave of the hand as well. The only ones that remained were Tonks, Madame Pomfrey, Snape, Larvae, McGonagall, and Dumbledore.
Surprisingly, it was the Potions master to start speaking. "Potter," he began, his tone barely civil, "I will be asking you some questions, and all you have to do is think of the answer clearly, and Professor Larvae will interpret for us," that interested Harry, it seemed that, if one made his thoughts as clear as possible, it was almost like telepathy for the Oculus Immensus. "Understood?" Harry tried to nod, but changed his mind and formed his thoughts into an affirmative answer.
He could see his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor smile at him, her lips widening but her cheeks remaining smooth, as though she hadn't moved a muscle. "He understood," her startling deep voice sounding somewhat proud.
"Have you ever felt what you did at the game, and just now?" Snape questioned, his tone completely devoid of interest. He gave an affirmative thought, which Iridis Larvae announced. "What do you think it was?"
The promptness with which he gave the answer through Larvae was startling to most around him, Snape in particular. "Crucio," the ethereal lady spoke certainly, not allowing her own feelings to seep into her voice. "Several of them," she added.
"Do you know how you ended up feeling it?" Snape asked after a moment of silence. Harry hesitated. He should tell, he knew that now, but he didn't figure he could do so with so many people watching.
"Yes," Iridis Larvae answered for him. "But I won't talk about it now."
Snape seemed nearly enraged at this, and Harry made sure not to make eye contact with him in any way. "And when will you talk about it?"
"When I leave the hospital wing," the Oculus Immensus spoke with the certainty that he felt. "I'll go to the Headmaster's office."
And it went without saying that the discussion had reached it's end, contrary to somebody's wishes.
*°*°*
True to his words, three days later, Harry stood in front of the stone gargoyle, sprouting random names of sweets, his palms sweating, feeling as though he were about to betray his best friend. At `Canary Cream' the statue jumped aside, and he found himself ascending to the door of Headmaster Dumbledore's office, moving as though her were on autopilot, and, before he even knew it, he was sitting in a chair across from the desk occupied by the ancient wizard.
"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore greeted, with a knowing smile, "Lemon drop?" Harry shook his head, his voice still not fully returned. The older man seemed to understand that it was not the time to make small talk, so he cut straight to the chase. "Care to tell me what happened?"
"Well," Harry began, his voice still flimsy. It wasn't exactly easy describing what happened. "I guess the first thing to say would be that I know Hermione's alive." If Dumbledore was surprised or not, he didn't show it.
"And how is it that you know this?"
"Because," Harry continued, knowing that the most powerful wizard alive was soon going to start thinking him a nutter, "I can…feel her," and, with a heavy heart, at Dumbledore's questioning gaze, he continued. "She speaks to me…in my head."
But, to Harry's utter surprise, the Headmaster seemed relieved, and hopeful.
And Harry was confused.
To be continued.
Author's notes: Just to let you people know, in the next chapter a LOT of questions should be answered, the chapter is already finished and has already been sent to my betas, which I thank profusely. Thank you Stargurl, Madame of Sarcasm, and especially J Choo! Anyway, if you had any opinion whatsoever on this, I'd like to know (reviews are dwindling, you know, and I'm starting to wither away, since I live on those).
Thank you
Pearl
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