Child of Nienna
Harry slept for a long time after his near escape from Voldemort - the potion for dreamless sleep decided that. Or was it truly dreamless? Afterwards Harry thought that what happened was a dream. It was foggy enough to be one, and it didn't quite make sense, either; but the completely empty bottle of sleeping potion next to his bed where a half- empty one had been the day before was enough evidence to convince him of the truth. And because past and future meld into present in the human memory, all moments are one and the dream which was not a dream is still happening.
Harry woke up in the dead of night to find that the Weasleys and Hermione were gone. He sat up and reached for his glasses, but when he put them on the world was foggier than before. For a minute he was reminded of the polyjuice potion that had transformed him in to [crabbe or goyle?] in his second year, when he did not need his glasses because he was seeing through [crabbe, goyle]'s eyes. Reaching up and taking them off greatly improved Harry's vision, although he couldn't understand why: he wasn't anybody else, was he?
"I see you are willing to look at the world of Truth."
Harry started and looked wildly about the room, wondering if the sleeping potion he had taken possessed hallucinatory side effects. But no; there was a tall, slender young woman with dark hair, standing in the middle of the room. He couldn't make out how he had missed her. She was clad in a long dress of silvery-blue which rustled when she moved, and in her eyes, which were sea-grey and flecked with green, were depths of blackness. It was not an empty blackness, but rather a full one: a comforting blackness, as of the trust of a blind child in his mother's arms. The apparition spoke again, in her moderately low, musical voice.
"So many would not have dared to leave off looking with their eyes." There was something vaguely disturbing in that voice, and in her manner; something that stirred up all the sadness you had hidden inside you that you wished to forget. Harry's eyes blurred with tears, and he fell back onto his pillow as he remembered all of the deaths that had come out of Voldemort's wand. He was almost surprised that, instead of Cedric, the first people that came to mind were his mother and father. He had thought he had dealt with that grief long ago.
The figure moved towards Harry's bed, and the noise was like a slow, steady drip-drip of water. As she laid her hand on his scar, a wave of sadness flowed over him. It did not leave him, and only increased as his sobs spilt out all of the tears that he had, until he could cry no more. Then, and only then, did she take her hand off of his forehead; immediately his grief lessened. "Who. who are you?" he finally managed to gasp, in the dry, raspy voice that follows after weeping.
She sighed. "Who I am would take more time than we have here, indeed more time than we would have if we spoke for your whole life and ten times more. To the peoples that lived in the ancient past, when the worlds of Truth and Reality were one, I was called Nienna. That, roughly translated, is Sorrow: that is the name by which you may call me."
Harry was convinced now that it was a dream. I thought the magic was supposed to be for dreamless sleep.
"The real Magic can not be present without dreams."
Harry looked up at the face of the woman, and for the first time noted that, as well as being beautiful, it was delicately lined and engraven with all of the cares that the world had ever known. It was not merely Sorrow; it was Pity, it was Grief, it was Pain. Here, he felt, was one who had been through much more than his own, unimportant self, and still shared in the sadness of others.
After a pause Nienna continued. "Do not confuse true Magic with your school-learned 'magic.' Actual Magic no longer exists in the world of Reality; only in the world of Truth can it survive. If you can tap into the world of Truth, you can use the real Magic. For example," she pointed herself, "what do you see?"
Putting on his glasses, Harry looked at her. "I see. nothing!"
"No, you can not. But now look with your eyes unaided."
Upon removing his glasses, she was again visible.
"Good. You may be able to go a step further. Look with your sorrow."
"What?!?"
"Wisdom can not exist without sorrow, without grief. In the old days Nienna was the word for both concepts. You are not wise until you are sorrowful. Only the truly wise know what it is like to be truly sad; and upon having a grief that great you can never know full happiness again. Which path will you choose?"
"Your words are doubtless full of meaning, yet they are meaningless to me," said Harry, echoing her style.
"You are at a turning point. A person can not live full lives in both worlds; they must choose one or the other to reside in. You are on the brink of entry into Truth. Will you choose Truth or Ignorance? Sorrow or Happiness?" She turned, and went to the door of the room.
"I have others to visit tonight. Think over the choices and arrive at your decision."
The dream, or whatever it was, was still fresh in Harry's head on the day of the end-of-year feast. He did not speak to Ron nor to Hermione of it; no-one, he felt, could help him with his decision. He stared off into space, wondering what the choices meant - could you not know Truth as well as Happiness? Suddenly he found himself looking into the same eyes that had haunted his sleep for the last few nights. It was not Sorrow, though, but a seventh-year Ravenclaw that he found himself looking at. She had little resemblance to the phantom figure, being of about average height, with light brown hair and a largish nose. The eyes, though, were the same sea color, and the same warm, empty, liquid blackness resided in the pools that were her pupils. She looked at him, too, and saw in his eyes that, unlike her, he had chose happiness over wisdom. Nienna sighed inside her, but resigned herself to Harry's decision.
After the feast, the girl came up to Harry. "I know what your decision is," she said before Harry could even greet her, "and I have come to carry it out." She took Harry's hands and folded them together, then brought them up near to her face and let two tears fall on them. In a solemn voice she said, "The deaths that have haunted you can not leave you; you would not be yourself without them. But the excess of sorrow I replace with my mirth, and may the sun shine on you again when over me the clouds are grey and I dance in the fountain of Nienna."
So it was that Harry boarded the train with a lightened heart, and afterwards he was able to talk of what had happened without grief. But Nienna, who keeps all sorrow in her heart, took the true Magic that is the Wisdom of Sorrow, and the door to Truth will be to Harry Potter forever closed.
Harry slept for a long time after his near escape from Voldemort - the potion for dreamless sleep decided that. Or was it truly dreamless? Afterwards Harry thought that what happened was a dream. It was foggy enough to be one, and it didn't quite make sense, either; but the completely empty bottle of sleeping potion next to his bed where a half- empty one had been the day before was enough evidence to convince him of the truth. And because past and future meld into present in the human memory, all moments are one and the dream which was not a dream is still happening.
Harry woke up in the dead of night to find that the Weasleys and Hermione were gone. He sat up and reached for his glasses, but when he put them on the world was foggier than before. For a minute he was reminded of the polyjuice potion that had transformed him in to [crabbe or goyle?] in his second year, when he did not need his glasses because he was seeing through [crabbe, goyle]'s eyes. Reaching up and taking them off greatly improved Harry's vision, although he couldn't understand why: he wasn't anybody else, was he?
"I see you are willing to look at the world of Truth."
Harry started and looked wildly about the room, wondering if the sleeping potion he had taken possessed hallucinatory side effects. But no; there was a tall, slender young woman with dark hair, standing in the middle of the room. He couldn't make out how he had missed her. She was clad in a long dress of silvery-blue which rustled when she moved, and in her eyes, which were sea-grey and flecked with green, were depths of blackness. It was not an empty blackness, but rather a full one: a comforting blackness, as of the trust of a blind child in his mother's arms. The apparition spoke again, in her moderately low, musical voice.
"So many would not have dared to leave off looking with their eyes." There was something vaguely disturbing in that voice, and in her manner; something that stirred up all the sadness you had hidden inside you that you wished to forget. Harry's eyes blurred with tears, and he fell back onto his pillow as he remembered all of the deaths that had come out of Voldemort's wand. He was almost surprised that, instead of Cedric, the first people that came to mind were his mother and father. He had thought he had dealt with that grief long ago.
The figure moved towards Harry's bed, and the noise was like a slow, steady drip-drip of water. As she laid her hand on his scar, a wave of sadness flowed over him. It did not leave him, and only increased as his sobs spilt out all of the tears that he had, until he could cry no more. Then, and only then, did she take her hand off of his forehead; immediately his grief lessened. "Who. who are you?" he finally managed to gasp, in the dry, raspy voice that follows after weeping.
She sighed. "Who I am would take more time than we have here, indeed more time than we would have if we spoke for your whole life and ten times more. To the peoples that lived in the ancient past, when the worlds of Truth and Reality were one, I was called Nienna. That, roughly translated, is Sorrow: that is the name by which you may call me."
Harry was convinced now that it was a dream. I thought the magic was supposed to be for dreamless sleep.
"The real Magic can not be present without dreams."
Harry looked up at the face of the woman, and for the first time noted that, as well as being beautiful, it was delicately lined and engraven with all of the cares that the world had ever known. It was not merely Sorrow; it was Pity, it was Grief, it was Pain. Here, he felt, was one who had been through much more than his own, unimportant self, and still shared in the sadness of others.
After a pause Nienna continued. "Do not confuse true Magic with your school-learned 'magic.' Actual Magic no longer exists in the world of Reality; only in the world of Truth can it survive. If you can tap into the world of Truth, you can use the real Magic. For example," she pointed herself, "what do you see?"
Putting on his glasses, Harry looked at her. "I see. nothing!"
"No, you can not. But now look with your eyes unaided."
Upon removing his glasses, she was again visible.
"Good. You may be able to go a step further. Look with your sorrow."
"What?!?"
"Wisdom can not exist without sorrow, without grief. In the old days Nienna was the word for both concepts. You are not wise until you are sorrowful. Only the truly wise know what it is like to be truly sad; and upon having a grief that great you can never know full happiness again. Which path will you choose?"
"Your words are doubtless full of meaning, yet they are meaningless to me," said Harry, echoing her style.
"You are at a turning point. A person can not live full lives in both worlds; they must choose one or the other to reside in. You are on the brink of entry into Truth. Will you choose Truth or Ignorance? Sorrow or Happiness?" She turned, and went to the door of the room.
"I have others to visit tonight. Think over the choices and arrive at your decision."
The dream, or whatever it was, was still fresh in Harry's head on the day of the end-of-year feast. He did not speak to Ron nor to Hermione of it; no-one, he felt, could help him with his decision. He stared off into space, wondering what the choices meant - could you not know Truth as well as Happiness? Suddenly he found himself looking into the same eyes that had haunted his sleep for the last few nights. It was not Sorrow, though, but a seventh-year Ravenclaw that he found himself looking at. She had little resemblance to the phantom figure, being of about average height, with light brown hair and a largish nose. The eyes, though, were the same sea color, and the same warm, empty, liquid blackness resided in the pools that were her pupils. She looked at him, too, and saw in his eyes that, unlike her, he had chose happiness over wisdom. Nienna sighed inside her, but resigned herself to Harry's decision.
After the feast, the girl came up to Harry. "I know what your decision is," she said before Harry could even greet her, "and I have come to carry it out." She took Harry's hands and folded them together, then brought them up near to her face and let two tears fall on them. In a solemn voice she said, "The deaths that have haunted you can not leave you; you would not be yourself without them. But the excess of sorrow I replace with my mirth, and may the sun shine on you again when over me the clouds are grey and I dance in the fountain of Nienna."
So it was that Harry boarded the train with a lightened heart, and afterwards he was able to talk of what had happened without grief. But Nienna, who keeps all sorrow in her heart, took the true Magic that is the Wisdom of Sorrow, and the door to Truth will be to Harry Potter forever closed.