Authors' Note: man oh man, sorry for the late up date. Had a really busy weekend! First I want to thank everyone who took time out to leave a review! That really means alot!..As I said I had a busy past couple of days. I officially became an uncle on Saturday! Went out partying Saturday night in downtown Austin (always a good time) and just preparing to head out to Iraq next week for another year to support all our troops over there! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, still kind of glossing over the surface with this one and not getting into the `meat and potatoes' of things just yet…..(saving that for the next chapter!)…anyway, enjoy and PLEASE review!
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And on the wings of a dream
So far beyond reality
All alone in desperation
Now the time has gone
Lost inside you'll never find
Lost within my own mind
Day after day this misery must go on!
So far away we wait for the day
For the light source so wasted and gone
We feel the pain of a lifetime lost in a thousand days
Through the fire and the flames we carry on!
-DragonForce `Through the Fire and Flames'
….
It was well after hours at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Heavy rain pelted the high windows of the school and a harsh, cold wind rustled the ancient tiles layered on her roof and the tops of her many towers. Frequent lightning strikes illuminated the dark, deserted corridors and the thunder claps that followed seemed to shake the walls of the old school down to her brittle bones.
However, all of this went unnoticed by the lone soul sitting at a table by the lazy fire in the Gryffindor Common Room.
The common room was warm and comfortable, the soft glow given off by the golden-orange embers in the hearth provided more than enough light and, thankfully so, more than enough heat for anyone occupying the room at this late hour.
Harry Potter was thankful for the solitude.
Harry's emerald eyes stared unfocused at the portrait hole at the other end of the common room as he replayed the day's events in his mind.
Ever since returning to Hogwarts to finish his seventh year and graduate, every day had been the same for Harry.
He was becoming more reclusive, keeping to himself more than ever before.
Even during Quidditch practice, he just sort of floats around on his broom, not really doing much of anything, much to the dismay of recently appointed coach Ginny Weasley (Harry gave up his position as coach citing that he `didn't want to be responsible for anyone other than himself'). Who, after several days of Harry's mediocre practices, benched him for the first time in their game against Hufflepuff.
Gryffindor lost 20 to 230.
School work had also been taking a toll on Harry, especially with preparing for the end of year N.E.W.T's. Thank goodness for Hermione, though; her help with keeping him caught up on his class work and N.E.W.T preparation had been invaluable.
Just then, Harry was awakened from his trance as the portrait hole opened and two figures stepped through it.
"About bloody time!" exclaimed a voice from under a heavy cloak, a puff of steam coming from underneath the hood of the figure where the mouth would be.
Ron Weasley, seventh year Head Boy and Harry Potter's best friend stepped into the common room. Making his way to the nearest armchair, he plopped onto it, pulling off his gloves and removing his scarf.
"It's a nasty one tonight," sighed Ron loudly, looking over at Harry and making himself comfortable in the chair. His cheeks, nose, and ears the same color as his red hair.
Harry gave Ron a slight smile but said nothing, his eyes now following the other figure that had entered the common room with Ron.
"Oh, hi Harry, what are you still doing up?" came a light voice, slightly chattering against the cold she had just emerged from as Hermione Granger, seventh year Head Girl, Harry Potter's other best friend, and only female member of the Golden Trio, made her way into the common room and over to where Harry was sitting.
She, too, removed her gloves and scarf as well as her cloak as she walked across the room towards Harry. That familiar scent of ginger, cinnamon, and jasmine wafted into the room, wrapping itself around Harry as he watched Hermione approach him.
She shook out her brown hair so that it fell bushier than before over her shoulders, her cheeks and the tip of her nose a light pink color.
She came to a stop in front of him, hands on her hips.
"So?" she asked, eyebrows raised and a small smile on her lips.
"What?" Harry returned (more dreamily than he would've liked), looking up at her and exhaling loudly, the warm, springtime-like scent releasing its grip on him.
"What are you still doing up?" Hermione repeated, patting Harry's leg and taking a seat next to him.
"You weren't waiting up for us, were you? That's so sweet!" rang Ron's voice from the armchair in the middle of the room, closest to the weakly glowing hearth.
"Oh," started Harry looking over to where Ron was seated. "I was just finishing up Slughorn's essay, or trying to anyway."
"Are you having trouble?" inquired Hermione, her brown eyes flashing at the idea of being able to help with Harry's assignment, as if she really had nothing else better to do.
"No, no trouble at all. Absolutely none. I couldn't be having less trouble actually." Harry laughed nervously, suddenly uncomfortable.
`When did it get so hot in here?' he thought to himself as he felt a warm tingle climb up his neck and onto his face.
Hermione however, unsatisfied with Harry's answer, got up and reached out to grab the piece of parchment Harry had been writing on when he quickly snatched it off the table.
He hastily crumpled up the page and stuffed it into the inside of his robes.
"You don't have to worry about it, Hermione. I have to start it again, anyway. I'll be sure to finish it, though. No problem," he finished rather quickly, giving her a weak laugh.
Hermione cocked an eyebrow at this.
"Are you sure?" she asked quizzically. "I really don't mind. I don't want you up all night working on it."
She looked over his shoulder at the mess around the table where he stood. Harry followed her gaze to the numerous crumpled pieces of parchment and only shrugged.
"I'll get it finished eventually," he admitted sheepishly.
Hermione, with her lips pressed tightly together, fixed Harry with that determined 'Hermione stare' and was just about to lecture him on the importance of getting his assignments done earlier than 'the night before' when Ron crept up behind her, wrapping his arms around her.
She let out a playful shriek as Ron hugs her tightly and kisses her gently on her neck.
Harry's eyes lowered to the ground in front of him and he made a move to go back to the armchair he was sitting in earlier.
"Stop, Ron!" said Hermione good-naturedly, her eyes on Harry as he turned away.
"What's wrong?" asked Ron, his face hidden behind Hermione's bushy hair. "I'm just giving you a good night kiss. I mean, I won't see you for the next couple of hours," Ron whispered to her as he released her from his hug and she turned to face him.
"I know," Hermione answered, looking up at him.
Even though Ron was made Head Boy, he decided to remain in his dorm with Harry, Neville, Dean and Seamus. He had made the argument that he had grown to used to sleeping in his four post and just wasn't ready to move on to something else.
"I'm a loyal friend, what can I say," he admitted jokingly to his friends one night.
Harry scoffed.
`Even though Ron chose to stay in the dorm, it's not like he spent any time in there anymore.'
During many late nights, Harry would be down in the common room finishing up class work or reflecting on his day (really anything to keep his mind off of Hermione, who was the reason he couldn't go to sleep most nights) when Ron would silently makes his way down to the common room and out to the kitchens on `official Head Boy duty' he would joke to Harry.
Harry knew exactly what was going on however. He wouldn't see Ron until breakfast the next day, or coming into the common room in the morning as everyone was heading out.
Hermione had chosen to reside in the Head Girl room just like she had stayed in the Prefects room while a Prefect.
That's where Ron was sneaking off to.
And the thought of it almost made Harry sick.
He looked back to the couple standing in front of him. Wondering how things turned out like this and why he was on the `outside looking in.'
Ron reached out his hand and tilted Hermione's chin up, a loving, caring sort of look Harry didn't think Ron was capable of expressing to anyone other than food. However, as Ron moved in to kiss Hermione, she turned her head slightly so his lips fell harmlessly on her cheek.
Ron sighed softly and looked up past Hermione to where Harry sat; oblivious to everything around him and busily writing on a piece of parchment.
Ron's blue eyes fell back on Hermione as he said, "Make sure you get that essay done, eh Harry? Can't have Hermione worrying over it, can we?"
Without another word, Ron brushed past Hermione to the other side of the room. As he started up the stairs to the boys' dorm, Harry looked up, his face devoid of any kind of sign that he had been paying close attention to what just happened between him and Hermione.
"Is that an order, Head Boy?" he laughed after him as Ron disappeared up the stairs.
Hermione's eyes followed Ron as he walked up the stairs and she let out an audible sigh. She smoothed out her robes and looked over at Harry, her cheeks still pink, but not from the cold, Harry surmised.
She took another breath and strode over to where Harry was seated on the armchair. He watched her as she stopped just short of reaching him.
Hermione reached out her arm and lightly grabbed Harry by his right shoulder.
That familiar scent takes over Harry again and his heart begins to thump heavily in his chest.
Hermione's eyes, glowing a golden brown from the smoldering remains of the fire, looked deeply into Harry's emerald ones.
"You know if you need anything, I'm here for you, right?" she said slowly, softly.
Harry sat there and stared into her eyes for a moment longer before he opened his mouth to say something. When no words came, he just slightly nodded his head and turned his attention back to the parchment he was writing on.
He didn't notice the sadness Hermione's eyes held as a brief moment of absolute silence passed; the rain outside drumming softly against the window.
Hermione released her hand from Harry's shoulder and muttering a quick "G'night," gathered her belongings and turned to walk out of the common room.
Harry, holding his breath, not wanting her to go, not wanting to feel that cold wind of reality on his skin, watched Hermione until she stepped through the portrait hole and out of sight.
Leaving him alone.
………
The tip of the quill in his hand bleeds truth, a steady flow of crimson ink.
Telling a story in bold letters, he pauses as familiar thoughts begin to cloud his mind, convincing him that what he is doing is something that has to be done, that needs to be done.
His words, no, his lies that he continues to tell his heart echo in his mind.
'Being alone is better. If I push everyone away, even those I love most, then they will be safe. She will be safe. She loves Ron. Too many have died because of me. Too many loved ones gone.
Because of me.
A small smile plays on his lips, betraying the emotional and spiritual battle raging inside of him.
"Loved ones," he whispers to himself, his emerald eyes focusing on a far gone memory, a time long since passed.
A cold heart beats.
He's back to the present, the here, the now.
The voice that clouded his mind earlier is no longer there, dissipated it seems.
'It's never really gone, though,' he thinks to himself, the slight smile he had earlier making a similar exit, all traces of it having really been there gone.
"I should have known better," he tells himself, eyes falling on the piece of parchment he was writing on.
How much time have I spent writing this letter? Or other letters just like it? A lifetime?
These letters, all of them, can fill volumes of books as he tries to forget her. Volumes of books that line a dusty, forgotten shelf, never picked up to have their inner secrets revealed.
Understood.
Loved.
"Books, huh," he says softly.
"Even when I try to forget her, I'm reminded of her," he sighs.
Memories remind him of sparkling brown eyes and a bright smile. Eyes he thought saw him and only him, saw him for what he truly was, not just as 'the boy-who-lived.'
"I should have known better," he reprimands himself again.
Tears begin to dot his eyes and fall on the parchment with the crimson red ink as if to dot his i's.
As his blurry vision tries to focus on the parchment, he notices it. A line creases his brow as he realizes he hasn't written anything at all. The unshed tears in his eyes disappear as he tries to figure out what is going on.
He's spent the entire evening writing this letter!
Hours and hours have passed and yet he's looking at a blank piece of parchment.
"What...," his says in a hushed tone as he looks at the quill in his right hand, crimson red ink dripping from it.
His eyes dart to the crumbled pieces of parchment around him and his hand reaches out and grabs the nearest piece. Both hands work feverishly as he opens up one of his many failed attempts at this letter and he suddenly stops, gazing at the ruffled parchment in his hands.
Nothing, not one word, not one solitary crimson dot, can be found on the page. He lays the parchment on the table and begins to smooth it out, running his hands over and over it, making sure to straighten out the bent corners of the page, hoping to find the slightest bit of evidence that his quill left some kind of mark on it.
Nothing. Blank.
Frantic now and with eyes wide, Harry grabs the next piece of parchment closest to him and inspects it just like the first, making sure this time to turn the piece of parchment over, hoping that there might be something, anything, on the back side.
And again, just like the first letter, it's blank. There should have been words written in crimson red ink, words that his heart would speak and his mouth would not. Words that, if read by the intended recipient, would lift a great boulder off his shoulders and free him from his torment. Instead, the parchment in his hand reflects nothingness, a seemingly vast expanse of blank canvas waiting to be painted upon with his heart's truths.
Suddenly, a searing pain shoots down his left arm, forcing the air from his lungs. His vision goes hazy for a moment as he drops the quill. His right hand grips his left forearm, as if attempting to strangle the pain into submission.
After a moment, the pain slowly begins to subside and he removes his hand from his forearm. Blinking his eyes several times, he lifts his hand to wipe away the beads of sweat that glisten on his brow.
That's when he sees it.
One of the pieces of parchment he was writing on earlier laying on the floor in front of the portrait hole. From where he was standing he could clearly see writing on it in red ink.
His writing.
`How did it get over there?'
He quickly walked around the table and made is way towards it.
He froze.
He heard a muffled sound coming from the other end of the portrait hole and knew someone was about to enter the common room. Harry remained standing there, a few feet from the parchment that held is hearts biggest secret when the portrait swung open and a figure stepped through.
Harry watched as a gloved hand reached down and picked up his letter.
His confession.
After a brief moment, a calm voice that made Harry's blood run cold came from the shadow of the portrait where the figure stood.
"Hmm, I think we need to talk about this, mate."
The shadow took a step forward into the dim light.
It was Ron.
"Harry!"
"Wha..!?" Harry's body jolted awake at the sudden sound of his name and the next thing he knew he was laying on the cold, hard stone floor.
He let out a sharp gasp and scrunched up his eyes at the sudden pain in the back of his head.
He heard muffled laughter all around him. His glasses lay crooked on his face, obscuring his vision.
A hand reached down as Ron's voice inquired in an amused tone slightly above a whisper, "Sleep soundly did you?"
Harry straightened his glasses on his face and looked up at his friend, whose hand was still extended out to him.
"Not quite." Harry answered grumpily as he reached up and took his friends hand.
A goofy grin was pasted on Ron's face as Harry was hoisted to his feet, a slight wave of dizziness coming over him. Exhaling a low groan, Harry stretched his aching body.
"Personally, I prefer my bed to a table any day," said Ron smartly, smiling.
Harry had barely heard Ron, his mind was elsewhere.
'What happened?' he thought to himself.
"Made a right mess in here, didn't you Harry?"
Harry turned his attention to the voice.
Seamus Finnigan was picking up crumpled heaps of parchment along with Neville, Dean, Pavarti and Lavender that lay littered all over the common room floor.
Harry went white.
There was nothing he could do.
They would all find out.
He could see them now, a greedy gleam in their eyes at the new bit of knowledge they possessed.
The look on Hermione's face when they corner her and tell her what they've come across.
How Ron would feel...
"Tsk...Tsk, I don't think Hermione is going to be happy about this."
Harry's head spun around so fast he thought it might pop off.
He saw Ron with a wrinkly bit of parchment in his hands, his eyes on Harry.
Harry took a step forward.
"Listen Ron, I can explain." he said quickly, his mouth dry, his hands sweating.
"I don't see what you can say that can get you out of this," Ron explained as he turned a blank piece of parchment over to Harry.
"Not finishing your essay when you told her you would. You're braver than I am."
Harry was dumbstruck.
He stood gazing at the blank page with his mouth open, the other members of Gryffindor House stacked equally blank bits and rolls of parchment on the table he was sleeping on.
"Well we'll get a start on breakfast before 'Ron the Ravenous' gets a chance at it," laughed Dean, patting Harry friendly on the back as he, Neville, Seamus, Pavarti and Lavendar all filed out through the portrait hole.
"Honestly, you need to learn to clean up after yourself Harry." scolded Pavarti before the portrait swung closed.
"Just hope you never go up to our dorm!" called Ron after her, a smile on his face.
Returning his attention to Harry, he sighed loudly, scratching his head.
"You have got to stop doing this to yourself mate."
Harry swallowed hard. He felt the color returning to his face.
"... Up all night doing class work, sleeping on a table in the common room?"
Ron continued talking, surveying the common room before his eyes returned to look over at Harry.
Harry shot Ron a sort of weary smile.
"Don't tell Hermione?" Harry managed to say, more of a suggestion than a request.
Ron laughed as he gathered his belongings. "Oh no, my lips are absolutely sealed! I'm not stepping in between you two on this one! I've worked too hard to get 'Mione to even smile at my jokes to put my head on the butcher's block for you!"
He winked at Harry and headed for the portrait hole. "See you at breakfast!" he sang out and laughed diabolically as the portrait swung closed behind him.
Harry's mind was reeling.
'A dream?'
`It couldn't have been. It felt too real. I remembered the warmth of the fire on my face, the sound of the quill scratching on the parchment I was writing on, I remember Hermione....'
Hermione.
He hadn't seen her in the common room just now with everybody else.
`Where was she?'
`Already down at breakfast?'
`Attending to her Head Girl duties?'
Harry turned to the stacks of parchment on the table and took a breath.
"Thank Merlin those pages were blank!" he heard himself say.
He let out a laugh as he thought about everything that just transpired.
'It was just another nightmare,' his mind reasoned, 'I was down here trying to finish Slughorn's essay and I just fell asleep. That's all.'
He smiled sadly at himself.
He knew it wasn't just another nightmare. Trying to convince himself otherwise was all he could do to keep the reality of it from striking him full on in the face.
Harry headed to the stairs leading to the boy's dorm so he could at least shower and change into some clean robes before going to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Something serious, something that just doesn't feel right was happening to him.
He just has no idea what the hell to do about it.
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