Voices
"Hullo?" Harry called out anxiously. "Hermione, are you there? Herm…" He waited a few seconds and when Hermione didn't reply, he absent-mindedly pushed the button to end the call.
He sat, staring derisively at the phone as if it was the reason for Hermione's sudden departure and he expected it to somehow rectify it. "She hung up on me," he said in disbelief. He thought momentarily about calling her back, in hopes that they had somehow just lost their connection. She said goodbye, he thought, remembering with reluctance, her final word to him.
He stood up and slowly walked over to place the phone back on the wall. What happened? He wondered, as he replayed the last of their conversation in his head. He knew that whatever happened hadn't made her angry so much as sad, he could sense it-or quite possibly, he could feel it…he wasn't exactly sure which. "Well, I'll just wait for her to call me back again," he said aloud, forcing his voice to sound normal although he was speaking to no one but himself. "I just hope it doesn't take long," he added, casting the phone another derisive look.
He walked about the kitchen and the living room like a tiger trapped in a cage. The rain was still beating down and now, in the distance, he could hear the low, rumbling sound of thunder.
"Forget it!" he said, slamming his hands down on the counter. He felt the anxiety about the way Hermione had ended their call begin to consume him and quick, irritated glances at the phone did nothing to ease his concern. He ran to his room to grab his coat from the closet, then he put on his shoes and walked to the glass door, sliding it open as he went. The sudden rush of cool air awakened him, making him feel alive. His eyes widened with excitement and even in his agitated state, he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.
He stepped out onto the porch and looked out around him. From what he could see through the driving rain, the beach appeared deserted. He walked down the deep steps and strode purposefully toward the ocean. The cold of the rain soaked through his coat, penetrating his skin, and stretching its icy cold fingers all the way down into his bones. He shivered violently as its first touch instantly relieved him of any warmth he'd garnered from being inside the house.
He walked quickly toward the beach, slipping a little every now and then when his feet hit a particularly damp spot of sand or tuft of wild grass. He maintained his balance and kept moving, his excitement and desire to escape his escalating anxiety driving him onward.
His footprints melded into the sand as he reached the beach. The sloshing noise they made each time he raised his foot seemed magnified through the sound of the falling rain. A thousand tiny beats of rain in tandem with the squashing sound of his footsteps combined to make the kind of music he could listen to forever. He looked back at the deepened imprints he'd left and watched as the sand seemed to heal itself before his eyes, leaving barely a trace of his recent trek across its surface.
Harry spread his arms and turned his face to the sky, letting the rain wash away all of the negative emotions he'd suddenly found himself buried under…if only for a few short minutes. "I love this," he said, laughing as the cool rain cleansed his soul.
He looked across the short expanse of beach to where the tide washed ashore. He hesitated only briefly as his aunt's voice came back to haunt him-"Harry Potter! You will not bring that mess into my house. Go and rinse off those shoes and find a place to stand until you dry out. I'll not have you mussing my clean floors."
"Here's to your clean floors, Aunt Petunia!" he hollered as he ran forward, shoes and all, and jumped into the oncoming waves. The cool water seeped unmercifully through his jeans, stiffening his body in an instant. He trudged back toward the shore slowly, albeit as fast as his cold, stiff legs could carry him. His jeans were waterlogged, his coat drenched, his shoes full of sand and water and still he walked on…feeling lighter than he had in a very long time.
He slipped, the lapping of the waves around his ankles preventing him from maintaining his balance, and he fell to his knees and began to laugh. He dropped his hands to the ground and crawled the rest of the way, covering his entire body in sand. When he reached the edge of the shoreline he struggled to stand up, his saturated clothing making the otherwise simple task seem nearly impossible.
When he finally got to his feet, he looked down the beach as far as he could see. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "My playground," laughing harder at his childish, albeit carefree outburst. His shout seemed to echo in his head…the words seeming all-too-familiar. His laughter stopped. He stood stock-still. His arms dropped lifelessly to his sides. "My playground," he repeated, his voice much quieter and far less enthusiastic. He closed his eyes, as the words continued to play in his head. "Where have I heard that?" he wondered aloud. He turned his head and eyes skyward before his conscious mind processed what was happening. He scanned the sky expectantly. "Buckbeak," he whispered. "Where are you boy?"
Harry shook his head, trying to determine why he would be looking to the sky for Buckbeak. He trudged slowly forward, away from the water. He turned to watch as the waves rolled over each other in an increasingly brutal fight for dominance. He looked around as though expecting people to suddenly appear on the beach. "My dream," he whispered, casting his eyes about the beach in anticipation. An onslaught of what he'd seen in his sleep seemed to attack him as images of his parents and the Weasley's and all the others flashed before his eyes.
Suddenly it all seemed so real. Sirius, his parents, Hagrid, Ron and Luna, Neville and Ginny….
A voice echoed in his head, the words and the anguish with which they were spoken driving him to his knees. "Find me, Harry," the distant voice called. "Find me, before it's too late."
Who are you? he asked silently. Where can I find you? When is it too late? He looked around, the dream images swimming before him. Everyone he loved was there-everyone but…everyone but...
He looked around anxiously then closed his eyes and shook his head hard from side-to-side, trying to clear his besieged mind. "Hermione!" he shouted, opening his eyes and squinting against the pain that erupted in his head. Hermione was always there when he needed her and he needed her now. He spun in circles, his eyes continuing their frantic search. "Hermione, where are you?"
He rose from his knees, his body shaking violently from the cold, and he suddenly felt an overwhelming desperation. The voice in his dream continued to deluge him. Hermione's words, "Find me Harry," combined with the words of the promise he'd made to her, "I promise you, Hermione. I will find you. I'll find you first." All three thoughts were thundering in his head, crashing and rolling over one another much like the ocean's waves. Finally, mercifully, they gave up their battle for control and merged into one coherent, albeit unbelievable thought…the voice in his dream had been Hermione's and she wanted him to find her. She told him in his dream world, and made him promise in his reality. Can it really be a coincidence? he wondered.
He put his hand to his head and closed his eyes, concentrating hard on clearing his mind. Whatever he was thinking, wherever his mind had planned to take him, he had no intention of going. "It's just that strange connection me and Hermione have," he said, laughing with relief at the sudden realization. "There isn't even anything to think about. I can't believe I thought there might be more…"
The voice in your dream sounded desperate, his inner voice interjected.
"Only because Hermione wanted me to call," Harry replied to it, forcing a laugh from deep within his throat.
Is that what this is going to be about? You lying to yourself and trying to `find' yourself at the same time? This should prove to be an interesting journey.
"She wanted me to call. She wanted it. She was sending me messages and I heard them through my dream," he said assuredly. "She said `find me' but what she really meant was `call me,'" he added, hoping that his logic, no matter how hard-pressed he was to find it, would be enough to dispel the voice in his head.
Harry stood for a moment, waiting for the voice to return. When it didn't, he gave a triumphant nod and turned a slow circle on the beach. A hesitant smile returned to his face and he felt as though he'd somehow scored a victory against his own conscious. He blinked his eyes and furrowed his brow as that niggling feeling returned to the pit of his stomach. "Score one for Potter," he said quietly, placing his hands on his lurching stomach. His heart suddenly felt weighted with doubt.
He lowered his head and walked slowly back across the sand to his house. He climbed the steps, holding fast to the railing as his jeans clung heavily to his legs, making it difficult for him to raise them. When he got to the door, he reached for the handle, his hand finding nothing but air. He looked sharply at the open door. His senses on high alert, he put all of his worries behind him and crept stealthily through the door and into the house. He looked around fervently, noting that nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary in either the kitchen or the living room. He quietly slid the door closed and locked it. He slipped off his wet shoes to prevent them from squeaking when he walked across the floor.
Slowly, his eyes peeled for any type of movement, he crept to his room. He walked straight to the table beside his bed and grabbed his wand. He waved it across his body and instantly his clothes were dry and warm against his skin…although the chill inside him still lingered. As quietly as he could, he removed his jacket to allow himself more freedom of movement. He walked all around his room and, finding nothing out of the ordinary, he silently walked through the door and all around the rest of the house. Everything looked as it did when he'd left.
He flopped down into the armchair and breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. He cast his eyes toward the door and studied it, trying to remember whether or not he'd closed it when he left. Determining that he must have left it open, he silently cursed himself for being so easily distracted…and so much on edge.
He laid his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. Trudging through the sand, rain, and water had exhausted him and in no time he found himself in the midst of yet another dream…
Much like the dream that had gotten him to his lonely beachside retreat, he found himself standing in the middle of a darkened room, surrounded by doors leading nowhere. He was shouting, "What now? What happens now?" His voice echoed around him in an endless parade of shouts. He dropped to his knees, placed his hands over his ears, and begged for the noise to stop.
He started when he felt the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder. He raised his head. Mercifully, the noise was gone. He blinked as a soft, subtle glow cut through the darkness and enshrouded him with its light. He didn't look behind him, fearing she would vanish…he wasn't prepared to let her go. Instead, he placed his hand over the one on his shoulder and tenderly caressed the back of it with his thumb. He squeezed her fingers and laid his head down upon his shoulder, reveling in the nearness of her.
"Follow your heart," she said, her voice light and airy, as though it had drifted to him on the wind.
"I'm trying," he replied softly. "It's confusing to me."
"What do you want, Harry?"
"To find myself."
"And after that?"
Harry sighed and closed his eyes. "Someone to love?" It was a question more than a statement and he was surprised to hear himself ask it.
"What if you discover them together? If one completes the other. Are you prepared for that possibility?"
"How would that work? If I don't know me, how could I give myself to someone else? I don't think it matters if I'm prepared for the possibility…not when what you ask isn't possible."
"You've come here to discover a part of yourself. To find what you feel is missing. What is it that you want to know, Harry? What is it that you're really looking for?"
"A way to express myself. A way to show that I'm alive. I've never felt alive, not really. I want to feel at peace with myself. I've done nothing but fight. With the Dursley's I fought for my sanity and for just one ounce of self-worth…just one. For the past seven years, I've literally had to fight for survival. I'm 17 and I've spent nearly my entire life fighting. I don't want to fight anymore. I just want to live…I just want to be free."
"Do you think that being free and having someone to love are two separate ideals? Harry, I understand that you are young. I understand that you are hurting and that you need to discover who you are. And I understand that its hard for you to let someone into your heart…I mean, completely into your heart. What I don't understand," she moved to stand in front of him, "son, is why you feel that you can have only one or the other. There is love out there for you. You've seen it. You've felt it. And its waiting, son. It's waiting for you."
Harry stared at the figure before him, unable to believe she was standing before his eyes. She knelt in front of him, and placed her hand on his knee. He looked into her eyes, so much like his own. "Mum?" he whispered hoarsely. "How did…where did…?" he stammered.
She reached a hand up to gently caress his cheek. She brushed his hair back from his forehead and lovingly traced his scar. She leaned forward and kissed it before she looked into his eyes and spoke again. "Never mind son, save those questions. This isn't about me and how I came to be here. This is about you. For once, Harry, it's all about you. There's no one left to save, son…no one but yourself," she said softly, the pain in her eyes nearly bringing him to tears. She moved her hand from his scar to his heart. "And, naturally, the young woman who has taken residence in your heart," she said on a choked whispered.
Harry placed his hand over hers. "You're the only woman who's ever lived there," he said honestly. "How do I know who else to look for?"
With her other hand, Lily reached up and wiped a tear from her eye. "When you are ready, you will know. I'm here to tell you only this…don't ignore the messages of your heart. For years, your heart has spoken `through' you…now, it's ready to speak `to' you. All I ask is that you listen, Harry. Just listen."
"How long will you be here for?" Harry asked anxiously. "Can I call on you? Will you answer me? Or, will you disappear the minute I wake up? Will I remember this?"
"I've always been here, Harry. Sometimes the voices you hear don't belong to those who are living. Sometimes they belong to those of us who refuse to truly die, to those of us who remain behind to watch over you…so we can guide you, just as I'm doing now. Your father and Sirius are here for the same. Together, we'll guide you. Always believe that. We love you, son." She ruffled his hair affectionately and pulled him into her arms. "You will remember, Harry. When you need to, you will remember everything."
"I…" Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting all of his emotions pass through him in that release of breath. "I love you…"
Somewhere in the distance Harry heard the loud trill of a bell and slowly he began to shake himself awake, his heart beating rapidly with the shock of the sudden noise. "Mum?" he muttered, reaching his hand out to touch her once more. The bell continued to sound. Her image began to fade, a soft, angelic smile alighting her beautiful face. As he watched her fade away, Harry finally shook himself from the last remaining vestiges of his dream.
His eyes followed the noise to where the phone continued to ring upon the wall. Two rings later and Harry ran for it, fumbling with it as it slipped out of his hands.
"Hullo? Hullo? Hermione? Are you there?" he cried eagerly into the phone.
"Hey," the voice on the other end said loudly. "You sound mighty English, what with that accent and
all. You from England?
"London, yes," Harry said hesitantly. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"I'm looking for Kristin," the voice on the other end of the line articulated slowly. "Is Kristin there?"
"I'm sorry," Harry said dejectedly. "There's no Kristen here, you have the wrong number."
"Well, this is the number I've got," the voice replied. "Can you tell me what number I dialed? Maybe I dialed it wrong."
"Yeah, it's um…" Harry paused to find the paper he'd been staring at earlier, "574-2182."
"Oh, I did dial it wrong. I have 574-5182 written down here. Sorry for the intrusion. Hope I didn't interrupt anything."
"No problem," Harry sighed.
They both hung up the phone and Harry stared at it. "Hermione, where are you?" he said quietly, falling heavily back against the wall.
He looked up at the clock and realized with great annoyance that only a few hours time had gone by. His art supplies weren't due to arrive until tomorrow, and he had a whole lot of today left to burn.
"I need a shower," he mumbled, pulling himself off from the wall.
Harry walked back to his room to take a long, hot shower. The water felt like warm rain as it washed over him. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift away. Thoughts of his dream and of his mum's words traveled gently across his mind. There were no harsh invasions, no epiphanies, no…anything, just the feel of the water and comforting thoughts of his family.
After twenty minutes or so he reluctantly made his way out from beneath the steady, warm flow of a thousand tiny `rain' drops. As he was climbing out, he narrowly avoided stepping into the sand that had pooled at the bottom of the shower. He thought briefly of cleaning it Aunt Petunia's way, on his knees with soap and a sponge. He chuckled and waved his hand at the mess with a scoff. "Later," he mumbled.
After getting dressed, he walked back to the living room to get his wand. He took it to the bathroom and flicked it in the direction of the shower, "Scourgify," he said loudly. He smiled at the mental image of his aunt always down on her knees scrubbing and cleaning one thing or another. It was an image that, if he allowed himself to shift it just enough, would alter its façade and show Harry a picture of himself doing that very same thing…from the time he was old enough to hold a sponge. He closed his eyes and cringed. "You do it your way, I'll do it mine," he muttered, waving his wand once more for good measure.
He walked to the kitchen to fix a late lunch and eyed the pens and paper that lay strewn across the counter. "…don't ignore the messages of your heart. For years, your heart has spoken `through' you…now, it's ready to speak `to' you. All I ask is that you listen, Harry." He contemplated his mother's words as he ate, he couldn't help but wonder if his heart had a message for him now.
He put on his coat and grabbed the paper and a pen from the counter. He stepped out the sliding glass door and sat down at the table. The pitter patter of the rain on the roof of the porch chilled him. It was the first time he could remember being so in tune with the different sounds of something so simple as the rain.
His mind drifted back to his time on the beach and he began to write…
I watched as the sand on the beach seemed to heal itself today. Footprints, the only evidence of my existence within that infinitesimal space of time, vanished behind me almost immediately as I continued my journey across its surface. Is that what life is like? As we move forward, do the traces of what we left behind disappear? Are they forgotten? If so, how quickly? Do the things we step on along the way heal as quickly as the beach did today? What then are we left with, when all we have is before us and yesterday lies forgotten?
I don't want to look back. There's so little in my past that I want to remember…so little worth remembering at this point. My healing will take longer then the sand, I know that, the question now is…Will it come in time? And, will it be as complete as the healing sand or will there always be an outline, a shadow, or a trace to remind me?
I'm feeling melancholy now. Saddened by all that I've seen…yet emboldened by all that I haven't. So much more lies ahead then what could ever be left behind. I just have to find the path that gets me there. So many questions and so few answers…and now I wonder-
Do I really have to find them alone? I've always thought so…until now.
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated hard on his mother's image…
Are you out there, mum? Can you hear me? Do you know my thoughts? Can you feel this seemingly infinite sadness?
If you can, don't worry. It'll pass, the same way it always has…silently and swiftly. Now that I know you're with me and I can feel you surrounding me, the light will speed toward me faster…or, I toward it. Either way, this darkness will pass.
Harry smiled when he imagined the feel of his mother's comforting hand on his shoulder.
He opened his eyes and looked out at the world around him. He had no idea how long his eyes had been closed or how long he'd been sitting outside. The sky had become darker and thunder rumbled low across the sky. A crash and the dark became light, as a sheet of lightning crackled across the sky. There were no lightning bolts formed like the scar on his forehead. Here, the lightning blanketed the sky and for brief moments, shadowed images flashed around him.
He sat for a while watching the storm. Then he went inside to sit at the counter and write just a little more…
I've never much cared for storms…the loud, wet, chaotic scenes that they are. But tonight, tonight I see it differently. There is a lot more to a storm than just thunder, lightning, wind, and rain. It's a pattern of sights and sounds that when put together in the right way, became an awesome display of power. This is nature at its finest. There are no battles for control; the elements work in tandem, each of them a braggart in their own right as they perform.
The rain beats against the roof, the wind whistles through the cracks, the thunder roars, and the lightning crashes. A symphony of sounds that culminates in a show of light, only to repeat over and over as the storm rages on.
I wish you were here to watch with me. I wonder what you'd think of it. Would you be scared? If you were, would your hand in mine bring you comfort? I think that's important, don't you? Finding someone who can offer you comfort when you're scared or companionship when you're lonely.
Lonely…that's a lonely word isn't it?
Harry dated his paper, set his pen on the counter, and straightened the mess in front of him. He didn't want to go back and read what he'd written. It was done, it was over, and he would revisit all of it when the time came. He wasn't sure he wanted to dwell on any of it anymore.
He stood from his stool and, out of what felt like habit at this point, glanced at the phone on the wall. A number 1 flashed repeatedly back at him. He slowly walked over to it, his eyes focused solely on the flashing red number. He studied it for a moment and found the word `play' and pressed the button.
A beep indicated he had a message and the voice on the machine told him the date and time he'd received it. Harry waited anxiously for what came next…
"Harry, it's me. I guess you're not there now, huh? I'm sorry I missed you. It's late here, and I really shouldn't be on the phone but I just didn't feel right about the way I left things earlier. I don't know what to say, Harry, other than I'm sorry. I had a long talk with mum tonight and, well…I just…" she paused and sighed. "Maybe its better that you're not there. There are things I want to say, but really…I don't know where to begin. Love you, Harry. I hope you're not too angry with me for leaving you the way I did, I'm not sure I could take that. We'll talk soon."
Harry reached for the phone and dialed her number. His finger hovered above the `talk' button. He looked at the clock on the wall and realized that it'd been over an hour since she called him. His hand shook as he reluctantly placed the phone back on the wall. He closed his eyes and dropped his head, resting his forehead against his hand where it still held tight to the receiver. He sighed as a fleeting thought entered his mind…
When did thoughts of Hermione start making the loneliness seem lonelier?
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