This time, This place
Misused, Mistakes
Moving with slow awkward steps a young woman hesitantly moved toward a place she hadn't been to in so many years' years. The icy cold wind howled around her, blowing her thick hair out of place. Emitting an irritated groan she impatiently pushed the unmanageable masses securely behind her ears once again. Tightening her cloak she looked to the sky. Thick grey clouds promised rain later but for now the angry weather was held at bay.
Her eyes shifted back to her destination she felt the familiar pull in her chest. The smoky air that still clung to the air made her stop in her tracks reminding her of that fateful day. Involuntarily her eyes closed. For a moment his unwanted face popped into her mind, his soft smile started spreading across his face. The girls eyes jerked open and she pushed the long ago memory away. Taking a shaky breath in she forced herself to pick up her feet and start moving again. Her eyes grazed across the charred woods. The trees that once had been strong and full of life were now black and lifeless. The sight left an infill able hole in the pit of her stomach.
She tried not remembering how things had once felt, how things use to be. When the grass she was walking across was actually green and tall instead of crunchy and brown. Brushing her hand gently across a stone she felt the coldness of it soak through the tips of her fingers as she gently brushed her hand across the top. But she wasn't paying heed to this; instead they were fixed on something a few feet away. Suddenly her foot caught on an unearthed rock and she fell hard to the ground. She didn't have to look up to know what was in front of her. Squeezing her eyes shut tightly she tried ignoring the stinging in her eyes. This time as the image of her past rose from the dead she could not stop the onslaught of memories hurled at her.
"Harry!" A voice yelled, the voice sounded faint to the boys' ears as he shot backward in a shock of white light. He smashed against the jagged stone wall behind him. His glasses feel off his face and fell into the darkness around him. "Harry," the voice screamed again.
"Lumos," a deep male voice whispered, a sparked of bright light shone fro the top of what appeared to be a wand. "Bloody hell he's knocked out cold."
"Ron, be quite! For all we know, they could be here, - waiting," A girl hissed. "We've got to get him out of here."
"Hermione, we can't just leave, we have to know if he's dead," Ron shot back. "We can't just leave him here; this could be our only chance to finally destroy him."
"Take him to St. Mungo's," a voice said softly. The two turned around to face their teacher, McGonagall. "It's alright, he's gone."
"For good then, he's actually gone?" Ron stammered, his eyes widening.
"You seen what happened, Harry did it; you don't see Voldemort standing there still, do you?" McGonagall snapped harshly.
"What about the others?" Hermione dared venture; she almost didn't want to know. McGonagall shifted her eyes down.
"This is neither the time nor place to discuss such things. Take him to St. Mungos's they'll be able to help him. We should be fine here."
A glow of red light hit the boy vehemently in the chest, knocking him to the ground. His frosty breath exhaled in a sharp gasp. "You will meet your end, Potter!" a voice rang out cruelly. Harry desperately tried to grab his wand that had fallen from his fingertips when he had hit the ground. The figure standing over him laughed. "You cannot defeat me." The boy's startling green eyes flashed dangerously, and in one fluent motion he tripped his offender while dodging a jet of green light that was shot at him. "Wanna bet?" he scowled, pointing his wand at the cloaked figure. It flared its snake-like nostrils, muttering something under its breath. Harry watched as a jet of pure white light shoot out of the tip of his wand. The beam connected inches away from Voldemorts heart.
"Ahhh!" Harry shot up from the riveting re-enactment of that night.
"Harry!"
Harry opened his eyes, seeing nothing but some shapes. He immediately started searching for his glasses.
"Here," a quiet voice said, handing them to him.
"Is he gone?" Harry groaned after his glasses were in place on his nose.
"I believe so, Harry," the voice said steadily, causing a sparkle to enter his dark eyes. He looked up at the Transfiguration professor in relief.
"Are you alright, mate?" Ron asked fearfully. "You've been out for days." Harry nodded and tried to move, but immediately clutched his side in pain.
"Erm … as right as I can be," he muttered in response.
"Visiting hours are over, immediate family only," the nurse called from behind the group.
"We're the only family he's got," a tired voice challenged.
"Yeah, honestly woman, everyone knows that," an identical one bounced back. "It doesn't take a genius to figure it out."
"Fred, George, this is not the time!" Ginny pleaded.
"Oh honestly, Ginny!" George started.
"George, please!" she begged.
"Everyone knows how you – I mean, how V-Voldemort killed Harry's family, unless they're thick," George said.
Fred eyed the nurse curiously. The blonde blushed, mumbling something about just doing her job and then quickly scuttled out of the room.
"Fred! Georrge!" Ginny exclaimed angrily, sounding like the replica of Mrs. Weasley. They looked down at his feet, blushing to the roots of their hair. "Well, we'd better go. See you later, Harry."
Harry nodded and the group of people shuffled slowly out of the room. Hermione and Ron gave him a pat on the shoulder before hurrying after the clan. Harry watched them go with wary eyes and for some reason the hair on the back of his neck pricked up before he fell back asleep.
A few days later, Harry lay quietly in his hospital bed, his green eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, horrors from the battle replaying in his mind like a never-ending movie. He couldn't believe how everyone could be celebrating the demise of Voldemort when so many had fallen at his hand. He shook his head angrily; Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard alive, was gone, and everyone was acting like it was the best thing that had ever happened.
"Harry?" a soft murmur came from the doorway,
"Yeah, Hermione?" he answered, not taking his eyes off from the ceiling,
"You okay?" she asked, sitting on the familiar chair beside him.
"Does it look like I'm okay?" he snapped at her. She sighed and pulled on some of her bushy brown hair.
"Harry, I don't underst –"
"Why would you?" he muttered.
"Well, I'm trying to! If you would just talk to me, Harry! I don't know why you're so sad, he's gone. Doesn't that mean something? Doesn't that mean it's all going to be okay?" Hermione cried out in frustration.
"It will never be okay, Hermione!" Harry burst out, clutching his side in the process. Hermione bit her lower lip.
"And why not?" she prodded gently.
"Because nothing will ever be the same. Dumbledore's gone, Lupin's gone…" He trailed off, his usually bright eyes dulling over.
"Harry," Hermione started, but stopped since she didn't know how to continue.
"Don't give me that load of bull about me not being able to save everyone that they died for the 'greater good!'" Harry exclaimed bitterly. Hermione took his hand and squeezed it gently.
"Harry, they fought knowing they could die. It doesn't have to be the same as before, but it can be okay for the time being. You can't keep dwelling on what has happened; start thinking of what is happening," Hermione expressed fervently, still trying to think of the right words to tell her friend. "Harry, please! Listen for a second and stop wallowing! They died! But they would not have wanted you to … to be like this!"
"How do you know?" he asked quietly after a time of silence.
"Because, Harry, they spent so much time in their life trying to make you happy." She stared into his eyes.
Harry looked away from her and returned to staring at the ceiling. Hermione sighed.
"She's right, mate," Ron muttered, coming out from the shadows. "There's no use trying to convince yourself otherwise."
Harry again didn't respond. Ron and Hermione looked at each other sadly. "Think about it, mate. We'll come and talk to you later."
"Bye, Harry," Hermione said, walking out of the Hospital room with Ron.
Tap, tap, tap.
Harry's eyes opened. Reaching for his black-rimmed glasses on the bedside table, he put them on hastily and glanced around the clean room before looking at the closed window.
Tap, tap, tap. The noise came again. He tried propping himself on his elbows, but was unable to and fell back onto his pillows. He sighed and pushed the nurse button. Almost as though she had been waiting right outside the door, Martha Willow, an old medic-witch, came scurrying into his room.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Potter?" she asked kindly, a wide grin appearing on her face.
Harry motioned toward the closed window. Martha walked hastily to it, her wand in hand. She peered out, and a small gasp escaped her thin cracked lips. "It's beautiful," she whispered mostly to herself.
"Well, let it in," Harry snapped impatiently, but after seeing her smile fade he immediately regretted his harshness.
Martha opened the small window, letting a blast of cold air in and a phoenix. "Fawkes!" Harry exclaimed. The bird flew over to him. In its beak, there was a letter addressed to Harry in the familiar handwriting of Albus Dumbledore. Harry took the letter and thanked the phoenix before opening the envelope slowly. His trembling fingers unfolded the letter:
Harry, Come to think of it, Harry, I'm in a better position to watch over you now; a bit like Sir Nicholas Claus who loves Muggles so much he freezes time once a year to spread them a bit of Christmas cheer. Of course, unlike him, I shall not watch you at every moment – that would be impossible. I do, after all, have people to annoy and bother now that I am on the other side, so to speak. (Other side of what, I am not certain, but I imagine it would have the consistency of Jell-O. Perhaps the flavour changes for each person. In that case, mine shall be liquorice.)
Since this letter was found, I can see that Sir Quiller has done his job quite nobly. A thought occurred to me: perhaps Sir Quiller would love a promotion to the new Headmistress' scribe. Would you do an old man a favour, and knight him for me? I am also enlightened that Fawkes still has not abandoned those that remain loyal and indeed am very grateful for this letter might never have reached you otherwise. At any rate, I shall now know what happens to all those socks that just happen to go missing in Muggle dryers. But that, my friend, will have to wait till we meet again, for now I can only say that I'll enjoy it because I can forever dance without that annoying popping in my knee that started midway through the last century.
Harry stopped reading for a second, a look of amusement clouding his face. Liquorice-flavoured Jell-O?
Well, Harry, no use beating around the bush. You remember, of course, in the days after Cedric's death when I told you that no spell can reawaken the dead? While this has not changed, rest assured that there are those of us who do not see death as a curse, but as a blessing. Yes, it is possible. Life is such a brief flicker in existence itself, and we must do all we can to better our fellow witches and wizards before we, too, flicker out. You may recall with perhaps a twinkle in your eye, for I believe we were discussing your confiscated well-wishing gifts after your struggle with Quirrel, that I always saw death as an adventure. While this may sound foreboding and, in the very least, expected Harry, if you hold this parchment in your hands, it means that I have embarked upon this journey. I do not see it as being cruelly taken from this world, but as a means to understand and embrace the new life that lies before me. You hold in your heart the ability to bring peace to our world, and I wanted you to know that you will never be alone. We (as I am in the best of company here) will always be with you in your heart and in your memory. Honour us by living well, exceeding with grace and heart, and loving without boundaries. Love is your most precious gift, Harry. It has helped you through many hard times and made many happy ones better. Count on your friends to help you. I remember an old Muggle movie that said, 'No man is a failure who has friends.' This is very true in my case, for I am proud to call you my friend. Now it's time to be getting on with this living business. Good luck to you, Harry, until next time. Your headmaster and friend, Albus Dumbledore
Harry sighed and lowered the letter, rubbing his eyes. He then noticed Martha was still in the room.
"Everything alright, Mr. Potter?"
Harry nodded silently.
"For what it's worth, I think that what you have done for us is something you should be proud off. Dumbledore once told me, 'It's not good to dwell on the past and forget to live.'" Harry stared at the old witch in surprise. "Well, I must be off, more patients to see," she said cheerfully, and hobbled out of Harry's room, turning off the light on her way out. Harry lay in complete darkness, slowly digesting what Dumbledore had written. He noted the fact that maybe Hermione was right … maybe it was time for him to start thinking of the present, and not the past.
Authors Note: Hey, i'm reposting this story again. I hope you all like. It's my rewrite of Everything He Is (my old story). Any questions don't be afraid to ask. Please leave a review and tell me what you liked and of course what you didn't so i can improve.
Chapter quote: It's a mistake to think that you can solve any major problems with just potatoes -Douglas Adams
laughableblackstorm is my beta, (thank you!) The song quote at the top is from Far Away-Nickleback