Chapter 21: The Day After The Night Before
Dumbledore didn't speak much as he led the way out of the forest. Harry thought it best not to pursue the questions running around his head. He had pretty much worked out that Aberforth must have been sent to France on Dumbledore's orders, and that it was he who called Fawkes to Harry when he was listening to them outside the cabin window. That was the first time he was attacked by the Death Eaters, hence the blood Harry found there.
Harry could barely bring himself to look at Hermione either. She had hurt her shoulder when she landed after being on the end of Harry's Banishing Spell and Harry felt a churning sickness every time he watched her wince in pain. She seemed to realise this and Harry cold feel her looking at him, though he still couldn't bare to meet his gaze.
More than anything, though, Harry felt a surging impression of guilt and stupidity. He had been so concerned about Hermione's parents' reaction to him joining them on their holidays that he forgot totally about the wider implications. He hadn't considered the fact that away from places like Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place he was as vulnerable as anybody. He had been so pleased with himself for being granted special privileges from the Ministry to use magic outside school that he hadn't thought about the severity f situations where he would need to exploit the rule. Thinking about it now, Harry felt he had been very arrogant to think the ruling was for him.
After all, Voldemort was a threat to everyone. Hagrid had said once that Voldemort had never been able to take Hogwarts, did this mean he wanted to? Was this part of his new plan? Had the Ministry, under the control of Dumbledore and Mr Weasley, decided to arm the students against such a threat? Come to mention it, how much power did Dumbledore wield to be able to install a Minister for Magic? And of his own choosing. Harry was feeling pressure the likes of which he had almost forgotten.
He had been blinded, blinded by his feelings for Hermione. This was a pretty good excuse, he comforted himself, and not one to be ashamed of. But why didn't he integrate the two? Why didn't he make use of Hermione's brains and intellect and together they could have been some use to Dumbledore and the Order. Maybe. Harry began kicking stray branches and clumps of snow in his frustrations. He couldn't get rid of the inadequate sensation settling inside him.
They arrived back at the complex, subdued and silent - a stark contrast to the people celebrating at the party inside. Harry felt like he had last year, after Sirius had died. There were people just metres away who were carrying on without a care in the world, as though things were ok. Harry wished he could be one of them.
It was little surprise to Harry when Dumbledore advised them to return early to Hogwarts. He informed the Grangers of the situation and left Harry and Hermione with a portkey while he went to talk privately with Hermione's parents about offering them protection from Voldemort. Harry wondered just how many different things a person could be Secret-Keeper for at one time.
Harry and Hermione didn't wait for Dumbledore to return. Hermione's discomfort from her injuries led them to return to Hogwarts as soon as Dumbledore left them. Harry barely flinched as he touched the cracked old teacup-portkey; the swirling colours, rush of air and spinning of the world as they rushed forwards meant little to him. They landed, quite appropriately Harry thought, in the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey was waiting for them.
'My dear girl!' she cried as Harry helped Hermione up from the floor, 'Professor Dumbledore said you mind need a little mending but this was not what I expected. And you too, Mr Potter! Though I am less surprised at you; you seem to have a penchant for incurring injuries and ailments not becoming with someone your age. Come, sit down, let me see to you.'
Harry sat and watched as Madame Pomfrey tended to Hermione. She gave Harry several smiles, which Harry took to mean she wasn't mad at him, but that didn't seem important. Harry flinched as Madame Pomfrey exposed Hermione's injured arm, which was deep, angry purple and twice its normal size. Hermione gave many a pained little squeaky 'ouch!' and with each one Harry felt more terrible. He had done this to her, maybe not directly, but the fault was his.
He knew now that he hadn't taken Dumbledore's words seriously enough. He hadn't listened properly when he had been told that Voldemort preyed on strong emotion, that he knew that Harry could be gotten to through his heart. Harry got up and started pacing, Madame Pomfrey too busy with Hermione to order him back to bed. Had he taken Dumbledore's claim that no-one could hurt Hermione with Harry around and just flirted with the danger? It certainly felt like it.
The night was cold and still outside. Mafame Pomfrey had finished with Hermione, who Harry was relieved to see looked good as new, and was trying to fix him. Harry shrugged her off, his injuries were minor, nothing more than a few cuts and bruises. He would live. Besides, he wanted to feel the pain. Madame Pomfrey took one look into his eyes and decided not to argue.
Harry wanted to talk yet wanted to be angry with himself at the same time as he and Hermione made their way towards Gryiffindor Tower. Hermione, as was her way with Harry's state of mind, seemed to know what he was thnking, deciding it was best to let him speak first. As they entered the common room they found it empty, Harry's feeling to stupidity intensifying as he remembered everyone was away for another week. Only a few people were in the common room, those who had remained at Hogwarts for the holidays, and they looked very surprised to see Harry as he entered, especially as he looked like he had been run over several times by the Knight Bus.
He sat down next to the fire and though he'd sat in the chair hundreds of times he never thought it had been as comfortable as it was now. Hermione sat across from him nd fixed him with her soul-piercing stare. Harry knew it was time to talk.
'You think its your fault, don't you?' Hermione asked.
'Well…isn't it?' Harry asked hopelessly.
'No! Of course not! Its mine if anything.'
'How do you work that one out?' Harry asked incredulously.
'Well, you wanted to stay here. I made you come away. I was so obsessed with spending the holidays with you that I ignored the dangers. I was just blinded by my-'
'-feelings,' interrupted Harry quickly, 'me too. But this isn't your fault if it isn't mine! We've had the same problem here. I wanted to spend time alone with you, wanted to show off my new privileges and I didn't think. I put you in danger, you cant take the blame for that.'
'I put myself in danger,' said Hermione, 'I usually do the thinking, but I didn't this time. I should have know what the dangers were, should have talked them through with Dumbledore. But I didn't. I should have listened to you, I should've stayed with you rather than taking you skiing. I just wanted you alone.'
'Me too,' confessed Harry, 'I just stopped thinking with my brain. I should have insisted on staying here. I wont make the same mistake again.'
'Me neither,' said Hermione vehemently, 'at least if we're both thinking clearly we might not have to do this again.'
'I wonder what Dumbledore will say to me,' said Harry sulkily.
'What do you mean?'
'Well, think he'll blame me for his brother's death?'
Hermione didn't want to answer at once. Harry saw her move her mouth as if about to speak but then closed it to rethink her answer.
'I don't know,' she said honestly after about a minute of consideration, 'no…what a I saying? Of course he wont. There was no way he could have been certain that we would be attacked. He probably just sent his brother to watch us just in case. He was in the pub at the French Village, probably expecting us to go in there, he was around the cabin site. He must have expected that an attack was at least possible.'
'Yeah but it was my fault,' moaned Harry, 'I was the one who made the Death Eaters fire spells that stopped Aberforth. He was doing ok up till then. He probably had a plan to escape and I caused his death. I don't want Dumbledore to be mad at me.'
'I don't think he will be. Just talk to him in the morning, clear your head. Otherwise, it'll just eat away at you.'
Harry knew she was right. They spent much of the remainder of the night discussing the events. Harry was very glad he was with her alone, feeling that Ron would have pointed out all the most pessimistic of the events had he been there. Harry considered that the conversation must have sounded very bizarre to the handful of younger Gryffindors in the common room but such was his guilt he wanted everyone to know, just so he could be made to feel awful and have his guilt pacified.
He didn't sleep well that night. He spent most of the time sat up, strangely panicked at the emptiness of the dormitory. He felt alone when he needed company. He even got up once to go and try sneaking into Hermione's dormitory before deciding against a night of sliding down the stairs as they became anti-male access. Instead, he paced around the room, or glowered out across the Forbidden Forest, or else stared blankly into the shadowy corners.
When he did manage to nod off for a while he kept dreaming over the battle; the howls of laughter as Aberforth died, the malice in Voldemort's actions, the anger of Albus Dumbledore as he marched on the scene. Harry hoped sincerely that he would never have to face the wrath of Dumbledore. He needn't have worried.
It was almost as if he was expecting Harry to visit him. He said as much himself, as Harry awoke late next morning to find Dumbledore sitting in the chair under the window and watching the owls swoop around the grounds.
'But why? How did you know I'd want to see you?' Harry asked, slightly awestruck by Dumbledore's never ending qualities.
'I knew, because I know you, Harry,' smiled Dumbledore. 'I know that you are probably feeling responsible for Aberforth's death, much as you did with Sirius last year. You feel, I would imagine, that your actions in wanting to spend time alone with Miss Granger has blinded you to the dangers outside. There may be some truth in this but Harry, never think of this as a weakness or a failing. That your feeling towards Miss Granger are so strong that they rid you of the thoughts of such a threat as Voldemort is a great strength.'
'How so?' Harry asked, feeling increasingly perplexed.
'It shows you know how to live, how to be alive. Voldemort lives only to destroy and to dominate. He cannot be defeated by those who seek the same things. It has been proven time and again. Those who wish only to destroy him have failed.'
'That's why you didn't kill him at the Department of Mysteries?'
'My reasons for that are my own, Harry. But that may well be one of them. It may have transpired that my will to destroy him would not have been able to do so. You see, I would he destroyed him for my own sake; it would have been rather personal and rather selfish, both things that lead down a dark road. Voldemort must be defeated by something more pure, something without any selfish intent. Something more selfless without the quest for glory or fame. You'll understand when the time is right.'
Harry had to raise one more concern before he let Dumbledore exonerate him completely.
'And what about your brother, sir? I cant help but feel I caused what happened.'
'As I suspected you might, but again I must take the fault away from you and place it on myself. You may feel that Aberforth's death was your fault. Both you and Miss Granger will likely believe that you ignored the risks of such a holiday at such a time and are therefore culpable for the events of last night. The fault is mine. I knew the dangers and I ignored them. Both yourself and Miss Granger knew the risks but were too caught up by your happiness at the chance of spending time together that you didn't consider them. Again, I repeat that this is not a flaw; it is the kind of thing that will help you gain the upper hand on our enemies.'
'Aren't you upset?' Harry asked.
'Of course,' smiled Dumbledore, 'but I have grieved and will continue to in my own way. Remember, death is but the next great adventure for the well organised mind. Though I remain unconvinced that Aberforth had such a well disciplined mind academically I believe he was on a high plain in terms of magic and spirituality. I'm not sure he ever learned to read but his powers didn't depend upon literacy. In any case, think of the goats of the world; in that light, Voldemort has done them quite a service!'
Harry couldn't quite believe he was hearing Dumbledore talk about his dead brother in such a way. It was clear, though, that the discussion was over. Dumbledore rose and left the room, graciously accepting Harry's mumbled thanks for his Christmas presents. Harry took a while to get up but eventually made his way downstairs and met Hermione in the common room. She was reading a mixture of Harry's Christmas present and several books on house elf history. Harry assumed her way of dealing with the recent events was to throw herself into her work and her books.
Harry noticed over the next week how vast Hogwarts was without the usual throng of students. Chilly corridors seemed wider and longer, the suits of armour creaked more squeakily and classrooms were lifeless and boring. Harry checked several times in the classroom where Ginny had walked through a wall but all four sides were solid and hard. He thought Ron must've been right, he must have seen Ginny go through the door and mistook it, even though this would mean admitting he was an extreme fool.
Hermione, much to Harry's surprise, didn't talk much about the events of the last day in France. Her normal tact of wanted to get everything out in the open and discuss it to death had been abandoned and Harry had the impression that he wasn't the only one Dumbledore had had a little chat with. Hermione was bright and cherry and Harry was heartened by her love of his Christmas present that at least one good thing had come from the trip to France.
The Hogwarts Express pulled in loud and smoky at the end of the week. Harry and Hermione waited at Hogsmeade station for Ron, eager to exchange stories of their holidays. They had to prize him away from Luna, to whom he seemed a lot colder than Harry had come to expect. They walked down the path towards the Thestral-drawn coaches and climbed into one. Harry thought Ron was walking differently and not slouching as much, but couldn't put his finger on what it was so said nothing and avoided looking silly.
Ron listened intently as Harry and Hermione recounted the tales of their trip to France, careful to leave out some of the more intimate and potentially blush-inducing moments. Ron seemed interested but his tone was almost indifferent when he finally replied.
'Well,' he said, 'it was a bit obvious, don't you think. I mean, you two go off to France in the wide open, could have been attacked by anyone. And you were in the end. The Dark Lord isn't exactly the kind of person you give a free shot to, is he?'
'The Dark Lord?' Harry asked, 'Since when do you call him that? What's wrong with "you-know-who"? Got boring or something?'
'Does it matter?' Ron asked looking flustered, 'Same guy isn't it?'
'Yes it is. Now, tell us about your holiday before you start asking us loads of questions. I see you did something to your hair,' said Hermione.'
'I did?' Ron said, sounding bemused.
'Yeah, it looks a lot lighter than before. Did you colour it or something?'
'What…um…no, must have been the sun. You know, its really strong in winter over there. Must have done something.'
Just then Ron knocked his goblet to the floor and made quite a fuss of picking it up, fiddling with his shoes as he did. He quickly refilled his goblet and drank quickly, burping loudly as he came up for air. This, more than anything, made Harry more comfortable that Ron was being himself after all.
They went to bed directly after the feast, Harry having to make do with Hermione blowing him a kiss rather than actually giving him one. Harry thought it best not to test Ron's endurance of them too much at this stage. They had held hand sunder the table during the feast but seemed to agree silently that it was best to ease these things in.
As Harry reached the dormitory he went to the window to look out at the sky, wondering what the weather would be like for the Care of Magical Creatures class on the first morning of the new term. He turned around to find Ron in his bed.
'Um…Ron. What are you doing?'
'Going to bed?' Ron said questioningly.
'Haven't you got enough people willing to share your bed?' Seamus sniggered as he poked his head out of his four-poster.
'Yeah, what are you doing in Harry's bed, Ron?' Dean asked.
'Is this yours? Really? I could have sworn it was mine. Two weeks away, see, and I get delusions of grandeur.'
Ron hopped out and into his own bed and was sending out genuine snores a few minutes later. Harry got into bed himself and tried to sleep, trying to ignore the strange feeling of invasion that his bed was now giving him.
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