WIZARDS DUEL: SIXTH YEAR
by Patrick Drazen
a/k/a monkeymouse
3.9 Making Connections
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]
Snow started to fall on the first day of December, but it didn't stick. By nightfall the ground seemed even more bleak and barren.
Harry's nerves were on edge. Every day was a race now, and he wasn't sure who would cross the finish line first. Any minute he expected Lord Voldemort's reply, an invitation to meet–and Harry had to be ready. But in order for Harry to be ready, Dumbledore had to be ready, and Cho had to be ready…
He was in greenhouse number three that afternoon, trying to give a transfusion to a bloodwort, when he heard Cho's voice, barely above a whisper. "Don't turn around and don't say a word. Just come up to your dorm room straight after dinner."
He turned, but she was already gone.
He was so anxious to speak with Cho that he hardly ate anything. This didn't escape Hermione's notice. Ever since Cho's ghost came back to Hogwarts, Harry's appetite had gone back to normal, but now it seemed to Hermione that it was changing back to his too-despairing-to-eat diet at the beginning of the term.
"You're not eating properly again, Harry," she clucked. "If you're having problems with something, or someone, you should get them settled before you come to the table."
"What's it to you?" Ron interrupted before Harry could answer back. "Some people are always trying to run other people's lives."
"Some people aren't mature enough to run their own."
"So when did some people ask you to step in?"
"I would have thought that some people would appreciate the effort."
Lee Jordan piped up: "And some people are gonna sick up if you two don't stop it!"
Everyone laughed at that; Ron and Hermione smiled dutifully, but they clearly wanted to continue their argument. Harry took advantage of the moment to excuse himself.
"Off to the library, then?" Neville asked.
"No, er, just…" Harry left the sentence unfinished and almost ran out of the hall to Gryffindor.
When he got up to his dormitory room, he noticed that his was the only bed with the curtains drawn. "Cho?" he called.
For an answer, the curtains on his bed parted–moved by the ghostly hand of Cho Chang.
"You did it!"
"And that's not all I can do," she replied. "But you owe me, Harry Potter."
"For what?"
"For having to put up with Peeves for the past couple of weeks. If you only knew the things I had to listen to..."
"Like what?"
"It doesn't matter now. Let's just say he deserves a punch in the nose at least."
"So how did you do that?"
"You know how poltergeists always throw things? Some blame an excess of psychic energy; others say it's the emotional state of the poltergeist. In fact, it's all one–a combination of their energy and their attitude. They didn't just die with unfinished business; we all do that to some extent. But most poltergeists also have this colossal rage against the world. Maybe they had money troubles, maybe it was a love gone wrong. But their rage translates into energy. That's how they're able to toss things."
"So, can you…" He looked around the dorm floor, and saw one of Ron's slippers. "Can you pick up that slipper, then?"
"That's supposed to be too sophisticated for a poltergeist. Bear in mind that this is just brute psychic force. When I opened the drapes just now, it was because the energy in my hand had something to push against. The experts say that picking things up is too delicate for a poltergeist; they just sort of bat things around."
"That means you can't, then?"
For an answer, Cho floated over to Ron's chessboard, which was set up near the window. She lifted a pawn from the board, threw it across the room into Ron's slipper, floated back, picked up the slipper and let the piece fall into her outstretched hand.
Harry was amazed. "But you just said…"
"I told you what the experts think, but what do they know? After all, I'm not really a poltergeist."
"But you said that a poltergeist moves stuff around with his anger."
"No I didn't. I said they use emotion; anger just happens to be the commonest one."
"And what about you?"
"Harry," she smiled, "do you really have to ask what I feel, every minute of every day?"
Harry started to reach for Cho, then stopped, and sat on his bed. "What did I do right to be worthy of you?" he smiled.
"Whatever it is, you're still doing it, because I'm still here." After a moment, Cho's smile faded. "Only, now that I know the trick, I shouldn't stay here, should I?"
"Wait till next week. I need to meet with Dumbledore once more. After that, we should both know what parts to play."
"I think I know my part; I'm basically playing Seeker, aren't I?"
Harry nodded. "It'll work; I'm sure of it."
"Harry, lie back and close your eyes."
"What for?"
"I want to see if something else will work."
Harry did as Cho asked. Then he felt–something. Something gentle, yet cold, passed over his face. He knew, without even looking, that Cho had tried to kiss him–and had failed. He opened his eyes and looked at Cho. "Sorry; it felt like the wind."
She tried to smile, but her heart wasn't in it. "Well, it's a step closer. See you tomorrow, my love." She practically raced through the wall and out of Gryffindor.
xxx
The next day was a Saturday; no classes. Harry came down to breakfast and found Hermione idly picking at her own food.
"Now who's got problems?" he said as he sat down.
"You shouldn't gloat, Harry."
"Sorry; didn't mean to. How are things at home?"
"Ah. Well. They performed the second surgery, and they swear they got everything this time. Of course, that's what they said after the first operation. They're watching her, to make sure she's all right."
"Is she?"
"How can anyone be all right after something like that? Bad enough just to have that kind of operation. It changes the way you see yourself. At least she and Daddy can see each other every day and comfort each other."
"What about you?"
"What about … me?"
"If you're off your feed, does that mean you don't…"
"Don't what?"
"Well, if you ever needed comforting…"
"I'm going to say this once, and then I'll thank you not to inquire further into my business. It so happens that I have … someone I can talk to about all this, if I feel the need for, erm, comfort. And I'd rather just leave it at that." Before Harry could say anything else, she got up and left. Except that she'd forgotten her copy of "Advanced Potions and How to Brew Them Without Blowing Up Your Cauldron". She stopped at the door, turned back, walked to the Gryffindor table, picked up her book without a word to Harry, and walked out.
xxx
Monday started out with a double Care of Magical Creatures class, held indoor in one of the dungeons because the weather was turning colder. Draco Malfoy hung back with the other Slytherins, but seemed to have his eyes on Harry the whole time. Hagrid had brought in a box of Mokes and was trying to explain the unique properties of moke-skin, but Harry couldn't concentrate.
After class, he heard it: "Wait a minute, Potter."
Harry stood there, facing Draco as steadily as he could—which wasn't easy. The prospect of this being the message he had waited for left him both excited and terrified.
"I hope you appreciate that my father thinks I'm a complete nuisance," Draco drawled, "but he's passed your message up the line and gotten back a reply. You'll be receiving word in a day or two from Lord Voldemort, and you'd better be prepared to meet him the same day."
But now that he had delivered the message, Draco didn't leave. "Is there something else, Malfoy?"
Draco looked around to see if there was anyone who could overhear them. "Look here, this feels awkward, but I know what you're trying to do. Do you really think you can take on the Dark Lord by yourself? Whole armies have fallen before him…"
"That's ancient history, Malfoy."
"You didn't do so well against him the last time."
"He didn't do so well, either—even with a new body and his Death-Eaters to help."
"And you think you've grown in power enough to defeat him. Don't you think he's grown in power too? Or do you think he's just sat idly by waiting for you?"
"Why should you care?"
"Because! Because, well, I remember you. I remember seeing you at Malkin's, when we were getting fitted for robes. I didn't think to ask your name, but I reckoned our paths would cross again. Actually, I hoped they would. I knew right away you were a wizard of considerable power, even if you hadn't the first idea of how to control it."
Harry interrupted. "Look, you're making us both late, so say what you want to say."
"What's going to happen?" Draco blurted out. "I have to know. What are you planning to do?"
"Placing bets on the outcome, are you? I remember too, you know. I remember how you cheered on the attacks from the Chamber of Secrets. I remember how you applauded the murder of Cedric Diggory. If you want to find out what's going to happen, ask Madam Trelawny." Harry started out of the classroom.
"You could win!" That stopped Harry with his hand on the door. "You've done some impressive stuff here. You're a great Seeker—fine, I'll admit to that. You've fought your way around or through hazards and spells I don't even want to remember. And I've had to face the possibility that you could defeat Lord Voldedmort."
"Draco, I can't say anything about what may happen."
"Potter, you're no help. What do I do?"
"What are you asking me for? You make your own choices. You've chosen to follow in your father's footsteps. He wants power, he hates wizards who are less than pureblood, and he's stuck by his choice, whatever it may cost him. I've made my choice, and I'll stick to it no matter what. You have to do the same. Make a choice."
"But which choice?"
"It doesn't matter! Are you looking for a safe choice? Sorry, but there isn't one. Don't you see; there's going to be pain no matter what you choose. There's no avoiding it. So just grow up, make a choice and deal with the consequences." He turned his back on Draco and walked back to the door.
"POTTER!" Harry stood still, waiting. When Draco spoke again, his voice was almost too soft to be heard. "What if it's … too late?"
"There's no such thing," Harry said. "If you decide to do the right thing, you'll lose a few old friends along the way, but there'll always be someone to welcome you aboard." With that, he left Draco in the dungeon.
…to be continued…
by Patrick Drazen
a/k/a monkeymouse
3.9 Making Connections
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]
Snow started to fall on the first day of December, but it didn't stick. By nightfall the ground seemed even more bleak and barren.
Harry's nerves were on edge. Every day was a race now, and he wasn't sure who would cross the finish line first. Any minute he expected Lord Voldemort's reply, an invitation to meet–and Harry had to be ready. But in order for Harry to be ready, Dumbledore had to be ready, and Cho had to be ready…
He was in greenhouse number three that afternoon, trying to give a transfusion to a bloodwort, when he heard Cho's voice, barely above a whisper. "Don't turn around and don't say a word. Just come up to your dorm room straight after dinner."
He turned, but she was already gone.
He was so anxious to speak with Cho that he hardly ate anything. This didn't escape Hermione's notice. Ever since Cho's ghost came back to Hogwarts, Harry's appetite had gone back to normal, but now it seemed to Hermione that it was changing back to his too-despairing-to-eat diet at the beginning of the term.
"You're not eating properly again, Harry," she clucked. "If you're having problems with something, or someone, you should get them settled before you come to the table."
"What's it to you?" Ron interrupted before Harry could answer back. "Some people are always trying to run other people's lives."
"Some people aren't mature enough to run their own."
"So when did some people ask you to step in?"
"I would have thought that some people would appreciate the effort."
Lee Jordan piped up: "And some people are gonna sick up if you two don't stop it!"
Everyone laughed at that; Ron and Hermione smiled dutifully, but they clearly wanted to continue their argument. Harry took advantage of the moment to excuse himself.
"Off to the library, then?" Neville asked.
"No, er, just…" Harry left the sentence unfinished and almost ran out of the hall to Gryffindor.
When he got up to his dormitory room, he noticed that his was the only bed with the curtains drawn. "Cho?" he called.
For an answer, the curtains on his bed parted–moved by the ghostly hand of Cho Chang.
"You did it!"
"And that's not all I can do," she replied. "But you owe me, Harry Potter."
"For what?"
"For having to put up with Peeves for the past couple of weeks. If you only knew the things I had to listen to..."
"Like what?"
"It doesn't matter now. Let's just say he deserves a punch in the nose at least."
"So how did you do that?"
"You know how poltergeists always throw things? Some blame an excess of psychic energy; others say it's the emotional state of the poltergeist. In fact, it's all one–a combination of their energy and their attitude. They didn't just die with unfinished business; we all do that to some extent. But most poltergeists also have this colossal rage against the world. Maybe they had money troubles, maybe it was a love gone wrong. But their rage translates into energy. That's how they're able to toss things."
"So, can you…" He looked around the dorm floor, and saw one of Ron's slippers. "Can you pick up that slipper, then?"
"That's supposed to be too sophisticated for a poltergeist. Bear in mind that this is just brute psychic force. When I opened the drapes just now, it was because the energy in my hand had something to push against. The experts say that picking things up is too delicate for a poltergeist; they just sort of bat things around."
"That means you can't, then?"
For an answer, Cho floated over to Ron's chessboard, which was set up near the window. She lifted a pawn from the board, threw it across the room into Ron's slipper, floated back, picked up the slipper and let the piece fall into her outstretched hand.
Harry was amazed. "But you just said…"
"I told you what the experts think, but what do they know? After all, I'm not really a poltergeist."
"But you said that a poltergeist moves stuff around with his anger."
"No I didn't. I said they use emotion; anger just happens to be the commonest one."
"And what about you?"
"Harry," she smiled, "do you really have to ask what I feel, every minute of every day?"
Harry started to reach for Cho, then stopped, and sat on his bed. "What did I do right to be worthy of you?" he smiled.
"Whatever it is, you're still doing it, because I'm still here." After a moment, Cho's smile faded. "Only, now that I know the trick, I shouldn't stay here, should I?"
"Wait till next week. I need to meet with Dumbledore once more. After that, we should both know what parts to play."
"I think I know my part; I'm basically playing Seeker, aren't I?"
Harry nodded. "It'll work; I'm sure of it."
"Harry, lie back and close your eyes."
"What for?"
"I want to see if something else will work."
Harry did as Cho asked. Then he felt–something. Something gentle, yet cold, passed over his face. He knew, without even looking, that Cho had tried to kiss him–and had failed. He opened his eyes and looked at Cho. "Sorry; it felt like the wind."
She tried to smile, but her heart wasn't in it. "Well, it's a step closer. See you tomorrow, my love." She practically raced through the wall and out of Gryffindor.
xxx
The next day was a Saturday; no classes. Harry came down to breakfast and found Hermione idly picking at her own food.
"Now who's got problems?" he said as he sat down.
"You shouldn't gloat, Harry."
"Sorry; didn't mean to. How are things at home?"
"Ah. Well. They performed the second surgery, and they swear they got everything this time. Of course, that's what they said after the first operation. They're watching her, to make sure she's all right."
"Is she?"
"How can anyone be all right after something like that? Bad enough just to have that kind of operation. It changes the way you see yourself. At least she and Daddy can see each other every day and comfort each other."
"What about you?"
"What about … me?"
"If you're off your feed, does that mean you don't…"
"Don't what?"
"Well, if you ever needed comforting…"
"I'm going to say this once, and then I'll thank you not to inquire further into my business. It so happens that I have … someone I can talk to about all this, if I feel the need for, erm, comfort. And I'd rather just leave it at that." Before Harry could say anything else, she got up and left. Except that she'd forgotten her copy of "Advanced Potions and How to Brew Them Without Blowing Up Your Cauldron". She stopped at the door, turned back, walked to the Gryffindor table, picked up her book without a word to Harry, and walked out.
xxx
Monday started out with a double Care of Magical Creatures class, held indoor in one of the dungeons because the weather was turning colder. Draco Malfoy hung back with the other Slytherins, but seemed to have his eyes on Harry the whole time. Hagrid had brought in a box of Mokes and was trying to explain the unique properties of moke-skin, but Harry couldn't concentrate.
After class, he heard it: "Wait a minute, Potter."
Harry stood there, facing Draco as steadily as he could—which wasn't easy. The prospect of this being the message he had waited for left him both excited and terrified.
"I hope you appreciate that my father thinks I'm a complete nuisance," Draco drawled, "but he's passed your message up the line and gotten back a reply. You'll be receiving word in a day or two from Lord Voldemort, and you'd better be prepared to meet him the same day."
But now that he had delivered the message, Draco didn't leave. "Is there something else, Malfoy?"
Draco looked around to see if there was anyone who could overhear them. "Look here, this feels awkward, but I know what you're trying to do. Do you really think you can take on the Dark Lord by yourself? Whole armies have fallen before him…"
"That's ancient history, Malfoy."
"You didn't do so well against him the last time."
"He didn't do so well, either—even with a new body and his Death-Eaters to help."
"And you think you've grown in power enough to defeat him. Don't you think he's grown in power too? Or do you think he's just sat idly by waiting for you?"
"Why should you care?"
"Because! Because, well, I remember you. I remember seeing you at Malkin's, when we were getting fitted for robes. I didn't think to ask your name, but I reckoned our paths would cross again. Actually, I hoped they would. I knew right away you were a wizard of considerable power, even if you hadn't the first idea of how to control it."
Harry interrupted. "Look, you're making us both late, so say what you want to say."
"What's going to happen?" Draco blurted out. "I have to know. What are you planning to do?"
"Placing bets on the outcome, are you? I remember too, you know. I remember how you cheered on the attacks from the Chamber of Secrets. I remember how you applauded the murder of Cedric Diggory. If you want to find out what's going to happen, ask Madam Trelawny." Harry started out of the classroom.
"You could win!" That stopped Harry with his hand on the door. "You've done some impressive stuff here. You're a great Seeker—fine, I'll admit to that. You've fought your way around or through hazards and spells I don't even want to remember. And I've had to face the possibility that you could defeat Lord Voldedmort."
"Draco, I can't say anything about what may happen."
"Potter, you're no help. What do I do?"
"What are you asking me for? You make your own choices. You've chosen to follow in your father's footsteps. He wants power, he hates wizards who are less than pureblood, and he's stuck by his choice, whatever it may cost him. I've made my choice, and I'll stick to it no matter what. You have to do the same. Make a choice."
"But which choice?"
"It doesn't matter! Are you looking for a safe choice? Sorry, but there isn't one. Don't you see; there's going to be pain no matter what you choose. There's no avoiding it. So just grow up, make a choice and deal with the consequences." He turned his back on Draco and walked back to the door.
"POTTER!" Harry stood still, waiting. When Draco spoke again, his voice was almost too soft to be heard. "What if it's … too late?"
"There's no such thing," Harry said. "If you decide to do the right thing, you'll lose a few old friends along the way, but there'll always be someone to welcome you aboard." With that, he left Draco in the dungeon.
…to be continued…
