It had not been a good morning for Harry, things were going wrong right from the off. The charm on the boys' shower in the dorm had gone haywire as it alternately shot out great gushes of water and tiny trickles that resembled a dried out river in a desert. It would not have been so bad had the temperature not decided to randomly switch from scalding hot to ice cold as it pleased. As a result, none of the 6th year Gryffindor boys were particularly happy when they left the dorm.
Ron in a half dazed state put his robes on backwards and only noticed once they had started on the way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Seamus missed the trick step and nearly bowled over a herd of first year girls on his tumble down the stairs, and Dean was too busy arguing with Ginny about Merlin knew what to laugh at his best friend. Neville on the other hand was nowhere to be found, but Harry figured he must have been in the greenhouses tending to his plant projects.
Breakfast was not much better as Hermione, who was entirely fixated on her final revisions of an Arithmancy assignment, knocked over her cup of tea, spilling its hot contents all over Harry's lap and more importantly, her papers.
It took a few well cast cleaning charms for the liquid to finally vanish from the front of his robes, unfortunately Hermione's papers could not say the same thing. The parchment had an aged look about it once it was dried, but at least it was completed and ready to be handed in on time. Harry could not say the same for the schoolwork he had missed during his week of absence.
It had been weeks since he had returned to his classes, enough time for the population of Hogwarts to forget about his alleged case of Dragon Lung and return to their normal admiration of the Chosen One; no longer keeping a five-foot radius of space around him. That was one of the few things Harry missed about his phony ailment, he had never found it easier to travel through Hogwarts' crowded halls or find a space in the Great Hall for meals.
Despite the time that had gone by, he finally handed in the last of his missing Transfiguration homework to McGonagall in class that morning. There was a look of exasperation on her stern face when she took the stack of parchment in hand, but her eyes were kind enough, acknowledging the fact that hers was not the only class he needed to catch up in. The remainder of the period was focused on the principles of conjuration, something Harry had been experimenting with in his free time, and was more than capable in accomplishing. By the end of the class there was a small smile quirked at the edges of McGonagall's firmly pressed lips at a cause of his casting, Harry only hoped that she would feel the same when marking the assignments he had submitted.
Unfortunately, Harry had nothing to show Professor Flitwick in the class following Transfiguration, as he had yet to finish his Charm's work. He was lucky that the half-goblin was such an amiable man, as it took only a short explanation to the professor for him to have his deadline extended a few more days at the expense of a handful of house points. The remainder of the class was spent practicing the Aguamenti charm, something he had been capable of casting since the tournament. The threat of dragon fire was a good motivator. Harry spent the rest of his time perfecting the spell silently, which was done with time to spare before the lesson ended.
It was a very wet group of NEWT students who left Charms class and its exceptionally amused professor behind as they headed down to the Great Hall for lunch.
"Blimey, you'd think Flitwick could have warned us ahead of time," Ron complained as he magically wrung the water out of his sweater into a soup bowl that he had temporarily converted into a water basin, "you think he heard our shower was broken this morning and thought he'd help us out?"
Harry laughed at his friend's joke as he wiped his glasses clean, he still had not found the time to get the charms re-applied to them.
"You do realize that you could have used the Impervius charm," Hermione stated matter-a-factly as she picked a sandwich off of a platter. Her normally bushy brown hair was a bit damp, but nowhere near as wet as the mess plastered to Ron's forhead. The Impervius charm worked wonders on inanimate objects, but was less affective on living beings.
Harry looked over at Ron and fought back the urge to laugh at his friend's dumbstruck face, driblets of water dripping off the end of his long and freckled nose. Obviously the thought had never crossed his mind.
"W-wha-what?! I look like I just jumped in the bloody Black Lake! Why didn't you tell me?" Ron's hands shot up in the air, the drenched sleeves of his robes showering water on a group of third years sitting to their right. His eyes flickered from Hermione to Harry, only to see that his best mate's robes were just as dry as hers. "You too!?"
Both Harry and Hermione burst out laughing at their friends outraged expression.
Ron chose not to respond with words, but rather dipped his hands into the bowl of water at his elbow and flung its contents at the two of them. Harry tried to turn away but was caught in the back of the head by his friend. He supposed he deserved it, the uncomfortable trickle of water slowly crawling down his back would be his punishment.
Hermione on the other hand was splashed square in the face, and squawked in indignation.
Harry smiled softly as the sound of his two bickering friends slowly faded into the background along with the sounds of the rest of the hall as the students enjoyed their lunch. The childish fun of his friends was something he forgot he had missed so much. At times it was hard to remember that they were all still teenagers. His mind wondered what it would be like to be a first year again. Did they know what was going on in the world, the danger they all were in? Innocence was something very hard to come by these days.
A moment of levity, like the one him and his friends had just enjoyed, was enough to lift his spirits, and that in of itself was a small victory. He would take as many of those as he could get. He knew he wouldn't be able to kill Voldemort with a bowl of water and his laughing friends, but it gave him strength and reminded him that he had a life outside the prophecy, even though at times it was hard to see it. Dumbledore always did say love was a powerful weapon.
Thinking of the old headmaster, Harry's eyes flickered to his place at the high table only to find it vacant. In fact, there were quite a few empty spots where the professor's normally sat each meal. Both McGonagall and Dumbledore were absent, along with Slughorn and Sprout as well. Snape was the professor who was keeping tabs on the assembled students, his darks eyes roaming the room as he sipped from his goblet. Harry could scarce look at the man, it had been a tense few weeks between the two since their encounter at Grimmauld Place.
Their interactions were limited and few words were exchanged, but Harry could feel Snape's piercing gaze boring into him at times during each Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He skipped over Harry often, practically ignoring his existence when a demonstration was needed, but Harry was not complaining seeing as how their last demonstration had gone. However, his public indifference towards Harry did not prevent him from messing with him at every opportunity.
Harry regularly found himself paired with either Crabbe or Goyle, who despite their brutishness were fairly competent in Defense. A dark whisper in Harry's mind told him that he had Crabbe and Goyle senior to thank for their sons' sudden increase in competency. It was an annoyance at first, doing his best to not get hit by curses that were clearly not the one's Snape had instructed to use, but Harry quickly learned to make the best of the situation. He had gotten quite good recently at batting away their spells, as it was much more discrete than a shield charm. He took a secret pleasure in knowing that their efforts to hex him were only sharpening his own skills.
The sound of a chorus of flapping wings brought Harry's attention to the parliament of owls swooping in with their deliveries. He hadn't noticed that the owls missed their morning delivery, too distracted by the hot tea burning his lap, but it was definitely strange seeing so many at this time of day. Usually there were only a handful of owls that stopped by with the odd letter for their owner during lunch, and the Great Hall was closed to post each evening.
Letters fluttered in front of the recipients and the larger packages landed with a loud smack on the long wooden tables of the four houses, the hall quietened slightly as students reached for their deliveries.
Not receiving anything, Harry helped himself to some pumpkin juice and a rather large sandwich that looked to be stuffed with more meat than the others. He could see Hermione pulling off the twine of her copy of the Daily Prophet out of the corner of his eye.
"Anyone we know dea-" Ron started the same question he asked every morning, but was cut off by a sharp gasp from Hermione.
A lead weight dropped into the pit of his stomach and Ron looked green, they both knew what that meant. Without a word, Hermione passed the newspaper to Harry with a shaky hand a tears brimming at the edges of her eyes. It was with great trepidation that Harry accepted.
It did not take much searching to spot what Hermione had found. Spread right across the front page of the Daily Prophet was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Strikes as Abbott Home Is Attacked. Beneath the headline was a photo of a burnt out shell of a house that at one point must have been rather impressive. What was most disconcerting about the photograph wasn't the destroyed home, but was the sickly green image that pulsed in the air above it, a snake slithering up and through a skull that glowed with malice.
Harry furrowed his brow as he processed what was in front of him. Voldemort was definitely getting bolder if the Dark Mark was now being used again, which in turn meant he was growing in confidence. A confident Voldemort was a dangerous one, and Harry found himself wondering how the Order and the Ministry would respond to this.
"Bugger me…" Harry heard Ron mutter from his shoulder, "she's dead."
Harry had fallen behind in the article, too busy in his own head, and quickly scanned to find what Ron was talking about. He found it finally, just a few simple words on paper, but powerful in their meaning and what they would do to a young teenage girl. Hannah Abbott's mother was dead, and father was critically injured in St. Mungo's.
Instinctively, Harry turned his head around to the Hufflepuff table behind him. He wasn't the only one, as it seemed that every other student in the Great Hall was looking there as well, except for Draco who was desperately trying to peel himself away from Pansy as he left the hall. The Hufflepuff's stared back, stony-faced, as if daring someone to speak up and ask the question everyone wanted to know. It was clear by the way they were all bunched together, students from first to seventh year, that they were privy to this knowledge before the prophet had broken the news. They were acting as Hufflepuff's should, and Harry was pleased to see Ernie and Zacharias leading their house.
Hannah was noticeably absent for obvious reasons, but Harry noticed that Susan was gone as well. It was then that he remembered how close the two girls were, and how she had been living with the Abbott's ever since her aunt died. Another person she cared deeply for had just been torn from her life. It also explained why they hadn't seen Neville today. Him and Hannah had grown close over the last two years, and Harry was fairly certain that they were dating or were on the cusp of doing so. Neville would be good for her, he was a victim of the war as well, and knew better than most how to bear the pain.
It hadn't been official until now, but the war had finally come to Hogwarts. Lines had been drawn in the sand, tensions were high, and students had been pulled out suddenly while others hadn't shown up at all at the beginning of the year. But, this was the first clear event that hit Hogwarts directly. Harry could scarce imagine what the repercussions of this would be.
"Of course it happened today," Harry said grimly as he spun back around and pushed his plate away no longer feeling hungry, "he planned it that way."
"Mate… what are you talking about?" Ron looked at him confused, his mouth still hanging open from the shock of what they had read.
"Voldemort," Harry responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Ron and Hermione both gave much more visceral reactions to the name than normal, and a few of the surrounding students yelped as well.
Not wanting to be overheard, Harry pulled out his wand and incanted Muffliato in his mind. His friends were caught off guard as the spell took effect; Hermione especially, who's watery eyes narrowed, doubtless knowing where he had learnt it from.
"Voldemort planned this attack out especially for today," Harry leaned in as he spoke.
"But it said in the article that Death Eaters attacked the home late last night and fled when the Aurors came," Hermione pointed out, her normal countenance returning as she gained control over herself.
"Yes, and that is why the prophet was delivered late today. They held back the edition so they could report on the story," Harry pointed out.
"What does that have to do with anything, they were bound to report on the attack at some point. They had to, after the mess last year they can't hide things from the public anymore."
"Sure, but why not attack some family last week, why not hold out and murder some ministry employee for all to see… say tomorrow?" Harry's voice continued to rise in pitch as he elaborated his point. "Why use the mark and openly attack a Hogwarts family last night?"
"Because today is Halloween," Ron supplied. "He did it that way because he wanted the news to break today."
"Exactly!" Harry slammed his hands down on the table, some sick sensation of passion building in his stomach, "It's a game to him. He knows what today means, and now that he's back he doesn't want anyone thinking about his first defeat."
"Rather than celebrating his downfall, people will be too busy fearing him and what he might do next. It's genius… but horrid," Hermione looked ill.
"He did it for me as well, I know he did. He knows how much I hate this day, and it's his way of reminding me that he's out there… waiting for me," hot rage bubbled inside him at how Voldemort just played with innocent lives as if they meant nothing to him.
"But why Hannah? Her family is mostly pure-blooded and they don't even work in the Ministry," Hermione wondered aloud.
"It says-err, in here," Ron was pale as he spoke and pointed in the newspaper, "that her father was tortured extensively under the…" he gulped, "Cruciatus Curse and won't likely survive."
Bellatrix. It didn't mention any suspects in the paper, but he knew without a doubt who it was. "Neville."
Harry could see the realization of his statement dawn on his friend's faces. He knew they did not want to believe it, but Death Eaters were more than well known for their cruel tactics. "But… b-but how would they even know about Neville and Hannah. They're hardly obvious with their affections, and even then we're only suspecting that they are dating."
"I didn't tell you guys this before, but during Hogsmeade weekend the day before I got sick," Harry started as Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick look, "I thought I spotted Bellatrix apparate into Hogsmeade, but she disappeared in the village before I could follow her. Maybe she saw the two of them together…" Harry trailed off. They all knew Bellatrix and her sick obsession with Neville given their shared history, and it made him shudder to think of what lengths she would go to hurt him.
"Are you sure it was Bellatrix, Harry? Why would she be in Hogsmeade?"
"I don't know! Maybe she had a mission or something," Harry protested. He knew what he saw. Despite Dumbledore's reassurances, he simply could not take Snape's word that she was out of the country.
"Mate, I know you thought you saw something, but if she wanted to hurt Neville why not just attack him there? Bellatrix isn't known for her patience, she's bloody mad, she probably would have just done him in right there."
"Not unless Voldemort gave her orders against it," Harry returned, to which Ron shrugged his shoulders and Hermione gave him a sad, small smile.
Frustrated that his friends didn't believe him, Harry turned his head and peered behind him across the hall. It might have been because of the discussion at hand, or the questions flying through his mind, but Harry's attention was instantly drawn to the empty space beside a pouty Pansy Parkinson.
Hermione must have noticed where he was looking, or she had spotted the gleam in his eye when he turned back around, "You can't be serious, Harry. He's a bigot, yes, but he's only a student," she looked over to Ron for support, but he was less convinced.
"I don't know…" Ron putt up his hands to placate his friend, "my family has hated the Malfoy's for years, and his dad is a Death Eater. But Malfoy has always been all talk, I don't know how involved he would be, if at all."
"When I ran into him in Diagon Alley, he practically admitted that he was speaking to his aunt. It must be him!"
"Just wait, Harry," Hermione called getting his attention, "Even if he was the one who told his aunt, and she was the one who attacked the Abbott's-"
"Of course she was!" Harry protested.
"We don't know that," she replied.
"Of course we do!" Harry shouted, his frustration and anger of the situation started bleeding into his voice.
"Oi, stop yelling at Hermione mate!" Harry could feel the strength in Ron's grip warning him to calm down.
Harry took several deep breaths to calm his mind. He was letting things get to his head again, and his temper was starting to run away.
He sent an apologetic smile to Hermione.
She gave him a gentle one in return. "I'm not against you, Harry… never," her voice cracked with emotion. "I'm saying that we don't have proof, and without any there isn't anything we can do even if we wanted to."
"It's true," Ron loosened his grip on Harry and patted him on the shoulder in a good natured way.
Harry couldn't sit here anymore. He was feeling restless, he needed to get up and do something. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, Harry pulled out the Marauders map and opened it with a spoken phrase. His eyes scrutinized the map, travelling floor to floor and hallway to hallway, examining the castle. Most of the school was in the Great Hall at the moment, but he spotted Slughorn in his chambers and Crabbe and Goyle up near the seventh floor, which was odd since they never passed up the opportunity for a meal.
"You're not planning on confronting Malfoy are you?" Hermione questioned, but judging by the way she asked, she already knew the answer.
"Easy Hermione," Ron spoke up, "Harry's just looking for him, he's not going to murder him." Ron turned back to Harry, "Right?" he chuckled awkwardly.
"Curse maybe," Harry muttered under his breath.
He couldn't find Malfoy anywhere on the map. Just as he was about to restart his search, his eye caught the figures of Dumbledore, Neville, Hannah, and Susan moving through the courtyard and towards the main gates.
Harry stood abruptly, closing the map and stowing it back in his pocket.
"Harry," he heard Hermione's voice call to him as he stepped over the bench. "It's not Malfoy," he called back over his shoulder. He brushed past Ginny on his way out of the hall, who had just left Dean and Seamus to make her way to where he had been sitting with Ron and Hermione moments before. A slender brunette down the hall waved for his attention, but Harry didn't have time to see what they wanted. The halls were starting to fill with students pouring out of the Great Hall, making their way to their next class of the day following lunch. Harry was off for the rest of the afternoon since his normal double potions section was cancelled yesterday by Slughorn, it gave him the freedom to head outside.
Dashing around a collection of students playing Gobstones, Harry glimpsed the retreating figures further ahead of him on the cobblestone path. He needed to jog to catch up with them, and he only did so once they reached the main gates. He could hardly see Hannah who was curled up so tightly to Neville's torso, it was a wonder he was still able to walk in a straight line. There was a tightness to Neville's broad shoulders, and Harry found himself wondering what was going through his friend's mind.
"Your aunt should arrive any moment Miss Abbott," Dumbledore announced in a sorrowful voice as he pulled his wand down the surface of the great iron gates of Hogwarts, decorated with the coat of arms of the four houses. Harry could feel the spells unlock with a great force that rocked through his body, he was awestruck at the powerful protections that guarded Hogwarts… and that was just the gate. "You have my utmost condolences. If you and your loved ones are ever in need, there will always be space for you in Hogwarts," the headmaster placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, to which she gave a shaky nod into Neville's chest.
Dumbledore wore a more subdued set of purple robes that were so dark they almost looked black, but the funny green hat remained on his head. His robes rippled behind him in the cool autumn air as he turned to depart back to the castle, sparing only small smile to Harry as he passed by.
He felt an arm loop through his own and a head lean gently on his shoulder, before whispered breath tickled his ear, "She's leaving. Her aunt and uncle are taking her away and I don't think she is coming back."
Harry could hear the devastation in Susan's voice as she spoke. "And you are going with her?" he asked back, his eyes taking in the scene of Neville comforting the broken blonde he cared so much for.
"No," he felt her head turn and could feel her eyes staring up at him, but still he looked forward, "I need to stay."
Harry wasn't sure if it was because she needed to stay behind, or if she felt like she needed to stay behind. He wasn't going to ask; it wasn't any of his business. All Harry knew was that she had just lost her best friend, and the last person she could confide in. Susan was truly alone now, and that was something he could sympathize with.
"Are you going to be okay?" Harry asked, finally turning to look at the girl at his side. He wished he hadn't. Her eyes were endless blue pools that threatened to swallow and drown him in the desolation that lay beneath.
She dipped her head slightly, her eyes hidden partially by her lashes, "Yes, I think so. I have Professor Sprout and the rest of Hufflepuff, some of…" she paused for a moment fresh with grief, "auntie's friends as well, and I have you."
She was so innocent when she spoke, her eyes looked up at him with something he could not return. His throat hurt it was so hard to speak. How could he tell this girl that he had chosen different from her, how could he cause her more pain at a time where she had more than enough. He knew it was wrong, he knew he should have told her that it just was not meant to be, but he couldn't do it. Instead, he brought her in to a gentle hug.
They stood there a while, in silence, until the crack of apparition announced the arrival of someone just outside the boundaries of the gate. It was a middle aged woman that arrived, who would have looked quite beautiful if it weren't for the puffy redness of her eyes and her dishevelled pair of casual robes. Hannah slowly detached herself from Neville as he quietly whispered in her ear and led her to her aunt.
"Hannah," Harry called out, his voice bringing the girl up short in surprise, having not been aware of his presence until now. Her aunt's eyes widened slightly at the sight of him as he approached. He laid a gentle hand upon her arm, and was stunned for a moment when she pulled him in to an embrace.
He did not know what to say in the moment, he hadn't planned that far in advance. For whatever reason, he was not entirely sure why, he asked, "Do you have your galleon?" He could feel her nod against him, understanding what he was asking. It would have seemed a queer question to anyone that was not in the D.A. "You know what it represents, we are always there for each other, no matter what."
Taking a half step back, Hannah looked up at him and smiled. There was a certain strength behind that smile, and in that moment Harry knew that no matter what life threw in her way, Hannah Abbott could handle it.
"We'll beat him, I promise you," Harry said for as much her sake as his own.
"I know you can do it, Harry," her small voice whispered through the wind, and for just a second he believed her.
The warmth of the fire in the hearth of the common room had no effect on him. He was cold, as he always was on this night. There was an empty void within him that chilled his soul, and nothing would ever fill it. It was a night for reminiscence, a night for dreaming, a night to think of what was stolen from him.
Dinner was a subdued affair once the news of Hannah's departure had been spread throughout the school. The usual celebration of October 31st was contrasted with the clinks and clanks of cutlery, and the soft murmuring of students in the silent hall. Harry had found the atmosphere much more fitting to his own feelings of Halloween.
The fire crackled in front of his eyes, and he remembered the few times he had spoken to Sirius in secret here in the dead of night. He wondered if Sirius was happy now that he was reunited with his parents. Would his parents be happy when he finally joined them?
"Harry!" Ron's voice caught his attention as he approached with Hermione. "You coming with us?"
"Where?" Harry didn't know they were planning on going anywhere.
"He doesn't know about it, silly," Hermione told Ron before turning to Harry, "the D.A. is getting together tonight."
"Oh," Harry did not know what to say, he hadn't gone to any meetings since the first.
"We thought that it would be a good boost of moral after what happened today," Ron explained, "get people's minds off things."
"We have quite a few new people who are wanting to join as well!" Hermione added excitedly. Pride rang through her voice at how successful the D.A. had become; it was initially her idea after all.
As much as he wanted to go, and practice, and spend time with his friends, he could not. Tonight was not the night. It was a time for reflection, and he felt that it would be better for him if he missed the meeting. He had debated on the idea of visiting Professor Slughorn today, knowing how much he hated Halloween as well, but decided against it. The man hadn't been seen all day, but the map showed that he hadn't left his chambers. It was clear the man wanted to grieve on his own, and Harry could respect that.
"Sorry, tonight is just not a good time. Have fun for me," Harry smiled at his two best friends, who gave him understanding ones in return before exiting the common room.
Just as he was about to close his eyes and let his mind slip away, he heard a figure approach from behind him. Leaning his head over the edge of his couch, Harry saw the upside-down image of Demelza Robins come toward him. "Hi Demelza," he greeted as he turned to face her.
"Hi Harry," she waved shyly.
"Ron and Hermione just left for the D.A." he told the girl, remembering that she had joined earlier this year.
"Oh, uh I'm not going tonight. I need to finish some charms homework… it's not my best subject," she mumbled under her breath.
"Do you need any help? I'm pretty good at charms, and I'm sure Flitwick reuses a lot of his assignments each year."
"No, no, it's okay, I was actually just about to go to a tutoring session in the library. Cho Chang said she'd skip the meeting as well and help me."
"Don't let me hold you up then," Harry replied quickly. Harry and almost forgotten that Cho still went to Hogwarts, he hadn't seen much of her since the first day of classes.
"Actually, I have a note to give to you," she said suddenly, "it's from the headmaster. I've kind of been chasing after you all day to hand it over, and only just caught you," she blushed slightly.
"Thanks a lot, Demelza," said Harry as he took the piece of parchment out of her hand, "and good luck with your Charms."
Dear Harry,
On nights like these, I find that it is best to share a drink with those you care about. I would be happy if you could join me this evening in an attempt to confront the past and build towards a brighter future.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. You will find me at the second finest establishment in all of Hogsmeade.
Harry smiled to himself as he curled up the letter and tossed it into the flames. It turned out that his evening would be more interesting than he first imagined. He quickly ran up to the dorm room and threw on a heavy cloak overtop the white shirt of his uniform that he was still wearing. After exiting the portrait of the Fat Lady, he slipped into an alcove and covered himself in his father's invisibility cloak. Dumbledore may have invited him out of the castle, but he was certain the other professors wouldn't believe his story for a second if they caught him trying to leave. It was a good thing he did, as he nearly ran into both Professor Flitwick and Professor Babbling on the way to the statue of the One-Eyed Witch.
"Dissendium," Harry whispered as he slipped through the secret passage, and travelled through the dark tunnel that led to the cellar of Honeydukes. He spent what felt like hours, but was likely a handful of minutes, waiting underneath the hatch for the owners to close up for the evening. Spiders crawled on the underground walls around him, but after sleeping with them for years and escaping a colony of acromantula, he paid them no mind. Finally, after the owner had left, he was able to slip out of the store unnoticed.
Walking down the dimly lit main street of Hogsmeade, Harry passed the Three Broomsticks and the raucous noise that was bursting from within. Rosmerta likely had a few specials running since it was such a popular holiday. Some of the older students each year always tried to sneak out to the Halloween celebrations that ran late into the night.
The noise slowly faded as he walked further into the village, his breath came out in great puffs in front of his face with each step. It was a good thing he had thrown on his thicker cloak, it certainly was getting cold, especially at night.
He was approaching the edge of the wizarding village when he spotted the tall figure of Dumbledore standing outside a rundown old building, staring up into the sky.
"The Three Broomsticks too busy for you, sir?" Harry asked as he approached the headmaster. Dumbledore gave him a kindly grin as he passed over an already open bottle of Butterbeer, holding his own bottle in his gloved hand.
"The Hog's Head is special in its own right," his blue eyes flickered to the well-worn sign that hung crookedly. "The butterbeer should taste the same, if not a bit stale," he chuckled.
Harry pretended he did not hear the last part and kept drinking.
"Tell me Harry, how well versed are you in apparition?"
That caught Harry off guard, it was a bit of an odd question to ask. "Not very, sir. I have only side-along apparated a couple of times, and Ministry lessons don't start until later in the year."
Dumbledore stood silent for a moment, "Do you know much about it?"
"I remember Fred and George talking about the three D's," the twin's had spent an afternoon describing their newfound ability to apparate during the summer of 5th year when staying at Grimmauld Place.
"Destination, Determination, and Deliberation," Dumbledore chuckled to himself. "The Ministry can be quite clever when they want to be." Having noticed that the two of them had finished their beverages, Dumbledore vanished the empty bottles. "Do you think you could apparate, Harry?"
This time, Harry was shocked by the question, "Don't I need to have my license, sir?"
Dumbledore laughed lightly, "I suppose that would be the legal way of doing things," he readjusted the glove on his hand. "However, it simply is a formality. As long as you are not caught apparating in the wrong place at the wrong time, I see no harm in you knowing."
"You are going to teach me?"
"I will pass on the appropriate knowledge, lead you in the right direction, and the rest will be up to you. Although, I feel as though it won't take us long," there was a knowing gleam in his eyes.
Slowly, he strode around the edge of the old inn and led Harry through a rickety gate into what looked like an animal pen. There was a wooden beam that encircled the small area on four sides, and a poor excuse for a shed in the far corner. "There used to be goats back here once upon a time," Dumbledore commented.
"That's an odd choice for a pet," Harry frowned.
Dumbledore gave a great big belly laugh at that. "Apparition can be quite tricky, many witches and wizards don't bother with it simply because they can't learn it. Now, do you remember what the ministry method is?" Dumbledore asked, to which Harry nodded, "Good, forget it."
Harry stared at the old wizard with confusion written across his face.
"The Ministry method, or the three D's as you like to say, are a streamlined, ministry approved method to learn how to apparate. Your friends will hear all about the benefits of this method and how it was perfected by ministry experts during their official lessons. I'm sure you know just how affective Ministry approved material is..."
"About as affective as trying to use a stick for a wand," Harry replied.
"Precisely," Dumbledore's eyes shined in amusement, "The Ministry method is blunt, forceful, and involves gathering and releasing your magic at once, which results in the deafening crack you hear so often. Grab hold of my arm Harry, and tell me what you feel," the moment Harry grasped Dumbledore's outstretched arm he felt an uncomfortable pull, before reappearing beside the shed across the pen.
"I felt a pull, but different to the tug you feel when using a portkey," Harry started and Dumbledore encouraged him to continue on. "It felt like I was tugging on a string, before slowly unravelling on the spot. It wasn't violent either, uncomfortable yes, but gentle. There was a moment where I felt like nothing, almost as if I didn't exist, and then I saw the shed just before I felt my body come together again."
"Aptly put, my boy, I did not expect any less," there was a keen look on his old face. "You mentioned a string and a pull, might I push you further into deducing what that sensation was."
Harry paused for a moment to think. He distinctly remembered the feeling of a loose thread being pulled, but afterwards it felt as if he was being blown by the wind or carried by the waves of the ocean. There was a natural path he had followed, one that already existed both in and around him and eased his travel through space and time. "Magic," Harry stated causing Dumbledore to perk up, "I was following the seams of magic in the space around me."
Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling now, "Our world is filled with magic, and it is a shame so many are blind to the beauty around us. For those like you and me, Harry, who see and feel the power available at our fingertips, we can use and manipulate it to our advantage."
"Why is this not the method taught at Hogwarts?" Harry enquired.
"Alas, not everyone is you, Harry. This method, although more efficient, is far trickier than what the Ministry teaches. There is a reason the three D's are taught to the masses," Dumbledore gave him a wink before taking two steps to Harry's side, "Would you be so kind as to apparate back to where we were before?"
"Now?"
"Yes, anytime this evening would be agreeable, the sooner the better," there was a cheeky smirk on his face. "Remember what you told me," he advised.
Harry took a deep breath to center himself and gripped his wand at his side.
"Ah, I knew I had forgotten something. Your wand please Harry," he put out a wrinkled hand, palm facing upwards.
"Don't I need it, sir?"
"Why would you, if you are capable of apparating without?" was the headmaster's response as he took hold of Harry's wand.
Harry wished he knew why Dumbledore was so confident that he would be able to apparate, even though he had never attempted it before.
Doing his best to feel the magic around him, Harry closed his eyes and thought back to the moment he had stood in the center of the storm at the orphanage. He could feel the wind whipping violently across his face and the magic saturated air. Like a seeker snatching after a snitch, Harry grasped out at a stream of magic that flew past him. He latched onto the seam and gently followed its flow as he felt himself slowly unravel. He was floating in space, consciousness without a body, and for a split second he panicked when the image of his destination did not appear. He forced the image back into his mind, and landed harshly on the ground with a loud crack.
Opening his eyes slowly, he found himself standing at his desired location, and went to wipe the sweat off his brow in relief. However, the sweat on his brow remained untouched, driblets stinging his eyes behind his glasses. He made to wipe it again, but his arm never moved.
He heard laughter coming from behind him, and turned awkwardly to Dumbledore. "It seems you left something behind," he cocked his head to the side, pointing to where a floating arm rested in the air.
Out of all the possible reactions he could have had, Harry laughed. It was much better than screaming, crying, or fainting, but it was strange enough. There was something comical about a floating arm, he had to admit in a dark way.
Dumbledore twisted his wand around in a series of complicated twirls, and a terrible slurping sound pierced the silent night just as Harry felt his arm pop back into its rightful place. Rotating his arm around like a windmill, Harry tested it extensively making sure it wouldn't fall off. That was something he never wanted to experience again.
"An admirable first attempt Harry, but you lacked faith. You must have faith in your destination if you are ever to make it there in one piece," he laughed at his own joke, and Harry grimaced unconsciously touching his arm. "Splinching can lead to devastating consequences if not done in a controlled setting," he warned. "One more time, Harry, back to me."
Closing his eyes again, Harry was able to feel the magic around him much easier. Like the rivers or roads on a map he was able to trace it in his mind and grab hold. He felt himself pulled along the path, just as the image of the shed flashed into his mind. Rather than forcing himself to his destination like before, he felt his body unify as it did with Dumbledore, and with scarce a sound he reappeared again.
"Wonderfully done, Harry," he heard the light sound of clapping beside him.
"Thank you, sir," Harry replied gratefully, delighted at his success, but more so that his arm was still attached this time. "Beside the lack of sound, are there other advantages to this form of apparition?" he was genuinely curious to know.
"There are a few I can count, but I am certain there are even more than I know of," he admitted as he passed Harry's wand back. "Distances aren't so great when carried by magic, and I have found that following its trails in apparition has made it rather difficult to keep me out of places I should not be; however, there are places that even I cannot slip into without the aid of Fawkes."
"Like Hogwarts for people who aren't the headmaster?"
Dumbledore inclined his head, his silver beard shimmering in the moonlight. "The night is still young Harry, and we have only just acquired our transportation for this evening." Pulling out an ostentatious gold pocket watch with more hands and faces than necessary, Dumbledore checked the time before looking back at Harry, "If we are quick enough, we might just be in time for some dessert and tea."
"Where are we going, sir?"
"Godric's Hollow."
It turned out that side-along apparating with someone was not very different from normal apparition, only that there was a bit more resistance while travelling. It was unusual that just the name Godric's Hollow was enough for Harry to know where they were going. The picture of a quaint town square with a solitary church entered his mind, and he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he had been there once before. Perhaps it was simply the vague imprints of his memories as a baby that were reawakening.
They arrived in a darkened alley made safe for wizards to apparate into the town, given that they shared the historic area with muggles.
"Don't worry about our clothes, Harry, we will fit right in," Dumbledore said as they strode out into the open, obviously noting the way Harry's eyes kept flickering between their odd dress. He wasn't lying either, as children with their parents, small groups of teenagers, and couples alike were still wandering around town dressed up for Halloween. Dumbledore was stopped more than a few times in congratulations of his fantastic costume, to which he graciously thanked his fans. Harry scoffed internally, as if the man needed any more reason to dress outrageously.
The crowds thinned as they pushed on through to a tall obelisk that stood in front of a cemetery that ran in behind and alongside the small church. The closer they drew, it appeared as if the obelisk was shimmering in the air. Finally, when they were the only two around, the magic in the air shifted and the obelisk morphed into a statue of what appeared to be a couple lovingly huddled together. It was only when he spotted what was held within the couple's arms, that he was brought up short.
His breath hitched, white smoke pouring out of his mouth, as tears stung his eyes. It was hard for him to believe what he was seeing. He half stumbled and half ran towards the statue that eternally depicted his family and their love.
He had seen his parents for the first time in the Mirror of Erised and had an album full of photos collected for him by Hagrid, but he never had a picture of him and his parents together. It was always hard to imagine what it would have looked like for him to be with his parents, it never felt real, but here it was in front of him. Him and his parents immortalized. Lily and James Potter looking down at the son in their arms, love in their carved stone eyes.
"They wished to commission a piece in honor of the Boy-Who-Lived," Dumbledore's somber voice reached his ears. "I managed to convince Millicent, the Minister at the time, to make the sculpture in honor of the Potter's… the way I knew they truly were," Harry turned to see that Dumbledore had matching tears to his own, running down his wizened cheeks.
"Thank you, sir, it means a lot," Harry hardly noticed that one of his hand's instinctively moved on top of his parent's own entwined ones. It was only when Dumbledore led him softly by the shoulder, that he realized how difficult it was for himself to release the cold stone.
Together the two wizards passed through a set of gates and slowly traversed the cemetery. It was an odd assortment of tombs that filled the burial ground, both muggle and magical, some practically leaking magic from beneath the earth. They ranged from graves marked with freshly cut granite to those so old that the names and dates of those beneath were lost to time.
It was a depressing game of who's who he found himself playing, with Abbotts and Greengrass', Smiths, Turpins, and many more lying in rest beneath the surface.
He was drawn to an old worn tomb that lay flat along the ground, an odd symbol of a triangle engraved over top of a half-faded name. Judging by its appearance, it looked to be one of the oldest tombs in the cemetery.
"The grave of one of your ancestors," said Dumbledore as he stepped behind his student.
Harry was surprised to hear that, he couldn't make out the whole name, but it definitely did not say Potter.
"Ignotus Peverell," Dumbledore continued as if reading Harry's mind, "an ancient family linked with folklore and the mysteries of magic. You have him to thank for that wonderful cloak of yours."
Harry's hand dug into his pocket and fingered the material of the cloak, he could feel it pulsing like the heartbeat of a living being. "How was he related to me?"
"The last daughter from his line married a Potter, and the cloak has been passed father to son since. At least, that was what James told me when he lent me the cloak to examine before your parents went into hiding."
He knew his cloak was old, but he had no idea it was that old. It had been passed through his family for hundreds of years. Every other invisibility cloak he had ever come across, like Moody's, lasted only a handful of years and never compared to his own to begin with. Why was his cloak so special?
"One day I'm sure you will be passing on that cloak to a son of your own, just as James wanted to do for you. There wasn't a day that went by without Sirius and James bragging about you for one reason or another," a melancholic smile graced his lips as his eyes stared out into the past.
Harry wanted to both laugh and cry, it definitely sounded like something his father and Sirius would have done. The thought of having a son of his own filled him with a wistfulness he had never experienced before. He warmed at the idea of being the father that his own was never given the chance to be.
Only if he defeated Voldemort… only if he survived.
The chill in the air grew, sending a shiver down the base of his spine as he continued past the rows of tombstones. Dumbledore had stopped behind him moments before, but his eye was drawn to a single grave separated from the rest. There was something tragic about the white marble tomb that shone in the darkness.
They were lain together, Harry noticed as his legs carried him off the stone path and onto the uncut grass, leaves crunching beneath his feet. The world around him was cut off, his sole focus on what was in front of him. It wasn't what he had been expecting, though in all honesty he did not know what to expect. It felt so final, like it was the culmination of some journey he had unknowingly completed.
It was as he stared at the inscription of their names, the names of the two people he treasured most, that he noticed just how young they were. They were twenty-one, hardly out of their teens, and gone before their time. What cruel God would take their lives away before they were even given the chance to live? The same cruel God that sealed the fate of an unborn child to have the power to defeat a Dark Lord, a part of his mind supplied.
They gave their lives so he could live, and it looked as if he was on track for dying younger than they did.
"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."
Harry's finger traced the message. He wondered who had chosen the inscription, but quickly figured that it must have been Dumbledore. His parents had very few friends alive by the end of the war, Sirius was locked up in Azkaban, Remus was Merlin knew where, and the Longbottoms had been sentenced to a lifetime in St. Mungo's. There must have been a funeral of some sort, but not the one his parents deserved. They were heroes, his heroes.
He found the words to be fitting. There was a poetic truth to them that he could not deny. He thought his parents would have liked it.
He wanted to speak to his parents, to tell them about his life, his worries, and his uncertainties of how he would survive this war; but no words came to him. It would have done him no good, his parents wouldn't have responded, they were unable to give him counsel, soothe his fears, and pass on their love. A few whispered words in front of a tombstone would not have done them justice. Simply sitting here, in the town where they had spent the little time they had together, was good enough.
A breeze ran through the air, brushing through his mess of hair, and caressing the back of his neck and ears. It wasn't a harsh chill like the wind before, but gentle. For a moment, with his eyes shut to the world, he was able to imagine it was his parents there beside him. The moment did not last nearly as long as he hoped it would, and before he knew it they were gone.
He would return one day, and when he closed his eyes, maybe they would come join him again.
Harry turned back from his parents' resting place, and found Dumbledore standing where he had stopped before, staring unblinkingly at a twin pair of headstones. The old wizard's posture was hunched, and his head dipped in what looked like shame. He did not look like the imposing figure who had taken down Grindelwald singlehandedly and stood against Voldemort, he simply looked like an ordinary old man.
"Arianna and Kendra, my mother and my sister," Dumbledore spoke, his voice raw with hurt, as Harry approached him. "To my shame, I haven't been here in many, many years. My brother kindly reminds me of the fact whenever I see him."
Harry didn't know what to say in that moment. Dumbledore rarely ever spoke of his family, and much of what he had just heard was new information to him.
"They died a lifetime ago, Harry, and I have always been a private man," he supplied, knowing Harry's train of thought.
"You grieve them."
"There is not a day that goes by when I do not," he replied solemnly, "but that is only natural for those who have lost loved ones, wouldn't you agree?" Harry nodded.
"You mentioned a brother…" Harry trailed off, his question clear in the statement.
"Aberforth," Dumbledore chuckled in an odd way, "my younger brother, although he is not so young anymore," Dumbledore scratched the crook of his nose. "You have met him before."
Harry was certain Dumbledore was mistaken, he would have remembered meeting such a man. His mind came up empty in its search, until he remembered where they had met this evening. The Hog's Head was an odd place for a meeting at any time, he knew that first hand from their not-so-secret D.A. recruitment rally. He remembered the large, grizzled wizard who manned the bar, and Dumbledore mentioned there was something special about the inn. "Surely that can't be him?"
Dumbledore let out a genuine laugh at Harry's disbelief. "Oh yes," Dumbledore's gloved hand muffled his remaining laughter, "as different as night and day we are, but brothers all the same. He is not the gentlest of men, but that is necessary in his line of work."
"Your brother owns the Hog's Head?" Harry could still hardly believe it.
"Don't let that fool you, Harry, looks may be deceiving, but still he is an adequate wizard. He simply chose to live the quiet life my father had always dreamed of, or as quiet a life as owning a pub can be."
Harry turned back to look at the headstones, noticing now that one was missing.
"My father was buried on Azkaban upon his death," Harry could practically feel the heartache of his professor.
"Were you never able to claim his body?"
"The graves on the island are unmarked," he answered, "I suppose I could have eventually found his remains if I dug around enough, but I believe it is for the best if some of the spirits there remain untouched."
Harry saw the wisdom in that line of thinking, there were some monstrous people who had died and were buried there.
"I want to thank you, Harry," Dumbledore spoke up suddenly, after a moment of silence.
"For what, sir?" Harry enquired.
"I would not have had the strength to come here tonight if not for you. The past is a beautiful and terrible thing, and my own is one I have run from for a long time. It was time for me to confront my demons and make piece before it was too late, and I have you to thank for accepting my invitation."
"It was nothing, sir, I'm glad I accepted. This," Harry gestured around him, "was special for me. Sirius had mentioned Godric's Hollow in passing, but I never knew how much I needed to visit until now. I would have spent the evening brooding in front of the fireplace in the common room, otherwise."
"My sister," Dumbledore broke the gentle silence between them, "was the joy of our family, the apple of our eye, and the favorite, though my mother and father wouldn't admit it openly. Aberforth doted on her most of all…" Dumbledore breathed deeply as he paused for a moment, "Everything changed after my sister's attack. My father was gone, my mother was a shell of the woman she used to be, and my sister's magic had been fundamentally altered. Her attack had left her mentally scarred beyond what any of us imagined, she repressed her magic, fought the gift she had been given… and even hated it to an extent I believe. Magic is a part of every which and wizard and should be nurtured, and when it isn't terrible things happen."
"Her magic was twisted, violent, and came out in destructive bursts. It was a wonder we had managed to control her for so long. Aberforth was best at it, she loved him most of all," he sighed, stroking his long beard with a trembling hand, "Our luck ran out one day when in one of her fits, Arianna accidently killed our mother. It was no one's fault but my own, I should have seen her for what she was, it was suicide to keep an Obscurial at home."
"Obscurial?" Harry had to grasp on to something in Dumbledore's tragic tale, it was all too much to take in.
"It is when a parasitic dark force, an Obscurus, forms within a child that represses their magic. I would not worry too much about the specifics Harry, it is not particularly important. You may do your own research on the topic in the future if you so interested, or better yet you could ask Miss Granger to do so for you."
"How do you treat an Obscurial?" Harry did not want to imagine the nightmare it would be to try and fight your own magic. Any attempt would be hopeless.
"Not much is known on the subject, only that the Obscurus must be removed from the Obscurial. However, the affliction often proves to be fatal before anything can be done."
"Then why do you blame yourself, sir? There wasn't anything you could have done; you were still a student at the time weren't you?"
"An old man's folly, Harry. It is much easier to place blame on yourself than to accept the futility of a situation. Alas, it is not so much my inaction that burdens me, but my attitude towards my poor sister. I resented Arianna for her condition and what it did to our family. I was a star student, proclaimed to be a prodigy not even a year into Hogwarts. I felt as though I was bringing notoriety back to the Dumbledore name after my father's scandal, but at the same time my family was hording this dark secret. No matter what award I won, discovery I made, article I published, people still spoke of the sad little Dumbledore girl who had no magic and the poor muggleborn mother who didn't know how to properly raise magical children. I threw myself deeper into my studies, searching for glory, while letting Aberforth clean up the scraps of our home life. I was proud, I was vain, and I tore my family apart."
A broken man stood in front of Harry now, weeping over the mistakes of his youth. He was a man who had buried his shame and grief and pain, and was exposing his deepest regrets for the first time in his life. Dumbledore wasn't perfect, Harry already knew that, but this only further proved the fact. He was a man not a God, as mortal as anyone else. Harry appreciated that, and loved the old wizard even more because it.
It was how he found himself leading his headmaster by the hand out of the cemetery.
They eventually made it to the main square of the village, now empty of the previous crowd, when Dumbledore pulled out his pocket watch again.
"If I am not mistaken, we have timed it just right," Dumbledore's tone was jolly, but it was much more forced than it normally was, dry tears marred his face. In the blink of an eye, the powerful, confident man returned, and he took the lead as he led the pair of them down the narrow, winding streets of Godric's Hollow.
Dumbledore paused at an intersection before turning to Harry, "Down this road is where your parent's lived," Dumbledore pointed to the street that turned towards the outskirts of the small town.
Dread coiled deep in his gut, as the unspoken question hung in the air.
"No," he answered as his stomach flip-flopped. "I don't need to see it, there's only pain there for me. Just being here, and seeing them is enough. Maybe one day when this is all over… but not now."
Dumbledore smiled at him kindly, before continuing down their previous path. "A wise choice. You will find no answers there, only darkness. The house remains in its damaged state, another monument of the ministry. I must admit I am partial to the one we visited earlier, it serves as a better reminder of what we live for."
Together they finally approached a rundown old home that stood next to a vacant lot. Dumbledore let himself in, the door creaked behind him, and upon entering, Harry found himself inside a small interior crammed full of books everywhere the eye could see. It would have been easy to mistake the home as a muggle residence, if not for the unusual titles along the spines of the mounds of books he tried to not topple over.
With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore lit a lamp at the end of the hall just as a crooked old woman came hobbling down the stairs. She stopped at the bottom step, before slowly turning her aged body around having noticed she wasn't alone. She was a doll of a woman, her lined face was mostly hidden in the shadows, but the rest of her appeared so. "Albus?" her old voice croaked from lack of use, "Albus is that you?"
"Hello Bathilda," there was a smile in his greeting.
"Oh, Albus it has been years since I last saw you," the woman hobbled up to him with more speed than Harry thought she could manage. Harry was better able to make out her small figure as she stepped closer to the lamp, her deep brown eyes, white hair, all wrapped up in an ancient nightgown. "You caught me again, haven't you?"
"You were always fond of your midnight snacks, Bathilda," Dumbledore took the old woman by the hand as he led her to what Harry guessed was the kitchen. "I recall my sweet tooth had me joining you more often than not each evening."
"I never could pass up on some treacle tart before bed," she spoke as she took a seat at a small wooden table, and laid out a tray of desserts. "Who is the young lad with you?" she asked as she sipped some tea she had just heated with her wand.
"Ah, Harry I would like you to meet Bathilda Bagshot. I'm sure you have read her history textbook," Dumbledore introduced the two as he took his own cup of tea and strawberry and lemon tart.
"It's nice to meet you ma'am," Harry intoned, "your book helped me a lot in history class."
"I had to make a good one didn't I? Binns is worthless and I couldn't let generations of students fail history, too many people overlook it to begin with. They don't realize how much there is to learn from the past."
Harry moved to take a seat at the table as well, and when he stepped into the light of the kitchen he caught the way Bathilda's eyes widened.
"Little Harry Potter?" she spoke quietly to herself as she twisted her head from him to Dumbledore and back again.
"Yes, err… I'm Harry," he answered awkwardly as he saw an amused smile spread across Dumbledore's face.
"You look so much like your father did… Oh! And you have Lily's beautiful eyes," she repeated the words he had heard so many times, but still they sounded heartfelt coming from her croaky voice. "I used to stop by to visit and look after you when you were just a baby."
Harry wasn't expecting that. He picked up a large piece of treacle tart and bit into it in order to by himself some time to think.
"You like treacle tart do you?" she asked with a wrinkled smile.
"It's my favorite," Harry coughed out between bites.
"Well of course it is, I used to sneak you pieces whenever your parents weren't looking. James caught me once, but he told me he didn't care as long as I took the blame when Lily found out," she let out a wheezing laugh, amused at her own tale. "They were good people your parents, it's a shame what happened."
Harry had nothing to say to that.
"But they made you," she picked up again, "and what a child you turned out to be. You were doing accidental magic so early and so often, I knew you would be great. Just as great as mein schatzi," Harry saw Dumbledore tense across the table.
"Thank you, it's very nice meeting someone who knew me as a baby, especially someone as well-known as you," Harry replied.
"I dream of him often, mein schatzi, and the times when I wasn't so lonely. It was always so much fun having two young men who were just as fascinated by history as I was. Although, you always were more interested in folktales and legends of old," she spoke to Dumbledore, her mind lost in the memories of her past. "Did you ever find what you were looking for?"
A tense silence settled over the air for a prolonged period of time, as Dumbledore processed the question. His blue eyes slowly looked down to his gloved hand before they moved back up and stared directly at Harry rather than Bathilda. He shook his head, "In truth… I never did."
There was something about Dumbledore's words that caught Harry's attention. He had the feeling that something important had just been said, but he was clueless as to what.
"A shame…" Bathilda spoke up after finishing her tea, "I never found out if mein schatzi did either," she reached a shaky hand underneath the neckline of her shirt and pulled out a silver chain that held a small photograph. Squinting, Harry leaned in closely and managed to make out what appeared to be a willowy young man, with blonde hair and a serious look on his handsome face. "He was such a sweet boy, I never found out what caused him t-"
Before Bathilda could finish, a glowing ball of white light shot into the room before coalescing into the shape of a tabby cat. "Albus, you are needed at once," McGonagall's sharp Scottish brogue filled the air, "there's been an emergency. Pansy Parkinson has been attacked."
AN
I hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter. There was quite a lot going on in one day, but since when have Harry's Halloween's ever been uneventful? Harry's suspicions of Draco are growing, the war is picking up outside of Hogwarts, and all of this just means that we are in store for some exciting times in the future.
No Dumbledore memory this time, instead he chose to spend quality time with his favourite student, while still teaching him in his special way. There will be more and more Dumbledore and Harry in the coming chapters, as they further expound their relationship and continue their lessons. It might be one more chapter before we see the return of Fleur, but we will definitely be heading back to that situation in the near future as well. Some action will be returning in the coming chapters as well. Oh... and maybe just a hint of Trelawney for some added weirdness.
Harry visiting Godric's Hollow in Deathly Hallows really tug at my heartstrings, so I decided to bring the mentor and student out there for one of their outings. I also imagine that Godric's Hollow was a place of significance for Dumbledore as well, given everything that happened there in canon and how his mother and sister were buried in the same cemetery as James and Lily.
In response to some of the reviews:
-There is a quote in HBP where Hermione says that Harry has never been more fanciable then he was during 6th year. Of course a lot of girls are going to be interested in him, crush on him, or whatever. He's an attractive young man, famous, The Chosen One, so in the eyes of a lot of people things look very good for him. Not everyone knows about his struggles, inner demons, and darkness that is a very real threat over his life, only those very close to him do. I will also say, that not every girl is attracted to Harry in that way, and everything is not always what it seems. Definitely will not be a harem, I can swear to that.
-Daphne is always up to something or hiding something. She's a Slytherin's Slytherin in this story, and I'm having a fun time playing with her character.
Let me know your thoughts on the chapter! Hannah's departure, Harry's impromptu lesson, their trip down memory lane, good old Mrs. Bagshot who has yet to be turned into snake food, the ending, or anything you might have picked up on. You can PM me or leave a review for any suggestions you have for me, they help me grow as a writer and improve my story, or anything else really I'm open for a chat. I love hearing from you all, and I am thankful to all those who left me in-depth reviews on their thoughts on the story.
Until next time
