A/N Thank you for the comments. This chapter shows a bit of Harry's past. Hope you enjoy.
A few minutes had passed since he had said goodnight to Ginny in the common room. Under his covers, with his eyes open, he lay unable to sleep. He could still feel her. Each movement of her body. The tenderness of her lips when his own touched hers. The silky feel of her hair when his hands moved through the long tendrils of red. His body shivered at the mere reminder of her warm breath against his neck. Even the smell of her hair enthralled him. Those brown eyes staring up at him, filled with a combination of desire and pain, haunted him.
How could he have been such an idiot, allowing her to kiss him like that? The determination within those brown eyes had been irresistible. The worst part was, if placed in the same situation again, he knew that the outcome would be the same. Still, his anger at himself came in waves, the moment replaying vividly over in his mind. The selfish part of him wanted to shout for joy at having her in his life again. The other portion felt sickened about what he had done. How would he ever be able to tell her that he loved her when he was causing her so much pain? Could he really be in love with Ginny? Was this love?
Finally managing to get his thoughts away from Ginny, his eyelids began to grow heavy as he studied the ceiling. He was back home, in Hogwarts, surrounded by his friends whom he thought of as family. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were his family and he was sure that they felt the same way about Harry. It was doubtful that they would be able to accept Rand in the same way. Harry had been through too much with them.
Taking a few deep, controlled breaths, he began the process that cleared his mind, shielding his dreams. The process almost complete, he wondered if the Wizarding world had something similar. Vague memories of Hermione mentioning something about Occlumency tickled his mind. Thoughts and images disappeared, darkness descended over him, and sleep came.
His dreams began as confused as ever before they settled onto a vivid memory.
Propping his back against a large rock, Harry studied the stars just above the horizon. Orion was just beginning to creep up into the sky. A few more constellations that he recognized from his astronomy classes became visible. Quietly, he whispered the names to the air. They all shimmered brightly in the night sky, casting a faint light around him. The sight was breathtaking. Not even at Hogwarts had he seen a sky like this. After several evenings in the desert, he was still fascinated by the sheer number of stars visible in the evening sky and intensity with which they shone.
Gingerly, Harry touched the hilt of a sword lying next to him. The leather handle was unfamiliar in his soft hands. His sword training with Lan had gone well earlier that afternoon. He was nowhere near proficient with a sword, yet. At least he had learned which part to hold and how to defend himself against an attacker long enough to get away. Then there was magic. Even if Lan and Moraine did not know, Harry knew that he could defend himself with a few carefully chosen spells. Blocking an opponent's sword would give him ample time to strike back with a stunning spell. That is if he ever allowed an opponent to get that close to him.
Hours after finishing his training, he still sat quietly some distance from the camp. His interest was prickled when a star vanished just above the horizon, before returning a second later. Sitting up, he straightened his glasses, squinting through them. A moment later, he inhaled sharply. Another light blinked out of existence before shining again. Narrowing his emerald green eyes even more, he noticed that numerous stars vanished. Some never came back.
The loud thumping in his chest was the only indication of his growing anxiety. After a few more minutes, the dark outline of shapes that appeared to be human became distinct. Cold fear gripped his body. The people approaching could not possibly be friends.
The dark shapes grew larger and more ominous. The air around him began to stir. The evening breeze that had been still, descended down the hill into the valley where the camp and water hole were situated. Glancing back, he could not see any signs of movement. Why had the guards not called the alarm? If he could see the intruders, then surely the guards had.
Turning away from the camp, his green eyes began to blaze with intensity. Withdrawing his new sword from its scabbard, he held it out firmly, if a bit nervously, in his right hand. In his left, he now gripped his wand, which had been hidden inside his robes since arriving in this forsaken wilderness.
Sweat dripped down his face even though the night air was cool. The comfort of a Hogwarts bed was relegated to a distant memory, though it had only been a few weeks. Had he thought of running or Apparating he could have been inside the camp by now. Fleeing had, however, never been part of his mind set. Even Voldemort had not caused him to take flight.
Bracing himself against an onslaught that he knew was about to hit him, he was surprised at the utter calm within himself. He was afraid. Death was close enough that he could feel its touch, but his mind was at peace. A bit of Ginny still warmed him. The sound of hundreds of feet began to echo around the valley and suddenly shouts reverberated from the tents behind, "Trollocs! Trollocs!" The camp was far away and what the voices called Trollocs were nearly on top of him. Like so many times in his life before, Harry Potter found himself alone.
With his heart racing, he waited. The shapes still grew in size and a terrible realisation dawned on him. "Stupefy!" Harry shouted in panic. A disgusting feeling pulsed through his body making him feel nauseous. The curse caused a bright red beam of light to shoot out from his wand, which went soaring towards his attackers. The short span of time that the Trollocs were illuminated, caused Harry's heart to almost stand still. Whatever he had thought Trollocs were, he was horribly wrong. They were worse than his most hideous nightmares. Not even the vile snake-like Voldemort was so horrifying. Trollocs appeared to be part man and part animal. In the brief instant of illumination, he could see them. They had heads of goats, bulls and things he could not describe, all of them on shoulders of men. Not only were they huge, but they were close and even more numerous than he had previously imagined. Was this going to be Potter's last stand?
Calming himself, he began shouting stunning spells as fast as he could. There was little point in holding back. The bitter truth, he knew, was that stunners would not be enough. The words of the killing curse sat on the tip if his tongue, but he could not gather the nerve to shout out an Unforgivable. The sound of their feet was coming closer, perhaps only twenty paces when his nerve shattered. It was kill or be killed and he shouted the words that changed him. His voice sounded unattached to his thoughts, almost as if they belonged to someone else. "Avada Kedavra!" the words ordinarily would have chilled him, not now. A sickly beam of pale green light tore through the night sky. The glow highlighted the beasts closing in around him. The ghastly jet of death vanished upon striking Harry's first victim, a ram like creature. It tumbled to the ground with a crash.
A dam broke, innocence had been lost. A glimmer that had been in his bright green eyes dimmed. The words rang out again and the perspiration on his face began to form drops that dripped from his face. The curse was much more draining than any normal stunning spell.
They were almost on top of him. Green jets of light went flying into the night air, without pause, despite his growing weariness. Each beam struck another beast, the mass of bodies made it impossible to miss. His time was running out, his right hand gripped the sword tighter. The blade would be needed soon. He felt like laughing, so much for keeping his enemies at a distance!
His palms were growing moist even as his throat began to go dry from shouting. Closing his mind to distractions, he could hear the words Lan had spoken earlier that evening, "The Apple Blossoms in the Wind." Relaxing the grip on his sword, he gathered himself into the stance as taught by the blade master. The sword was held in a low guard ready to move with his body.
The first Trolloc appeared before him, its face snarled in anger. The shoulders of the creature were immense and powerful arms glistened in the green light that shot out from Harry's wand into the animal's companion. From his stance, Harry parried the Trolloc's dark blade before countering with a smooth movement, slicing the dark creature across the stomach. The blade glistened darkly when it was removed, but he kept flowing. There was no time to think, no time to comprehend what he had done. Killing the Basilisk had been the actions of a boy, unsure. Tonight he was killing with intent and full awareness.
Effortless smooth movements of blade, wand and body coupled with his sharp eyes honed through years of seeking snitches kept him alive. All the while Lan's voice spoke to him, "The Branch in the Storm." His blade moved in a horizontal slash, effectively blocking another almost-black blade before it could slice into his skin. His muscles began to ache, the strength required to move his sword about was wearing him down. Unlike Gryffindor's sword, this was no ornament he held in his hand. It was a plain device, made for a single purpose.
Incessant blows drove him to his knees. Tired, he managed to parry another sword, but only half way. Biting his tongue until it bled, he held back a cry of pain as the edge of a sword cut into the flesh of his shoulder. Warm blood began to flow down his left arm from where he had been cut. With a slash from his right hand he cut into the Trolloc before firing a killing curse into its chest. The creature collapsed at his feet.
Panting heavily, Harry knew that he could not last much longer. His physical strength was leaving him and his ability to perform magic was being strained to its limits. Only vaguely aware of his surroundings, he hardly noticed the flames that erupted around him. Death was near.
Harry's breathing came in short sharp rasps. The wand in his blood-soaked hand felt heavy. The burning pain from his shoulder stole his strength. He halted any attempts at offensive cuts or thrusts, it took all his strength to defend his exhausted body. His now-multiple wounds made him want to cry out in agony, but he could not. He needed the breath for spells. The orange light of flames merged with the conjured green light of death. Behind him, he could hear swords clashing, coming nearer. Perhaps help was almost there.
White light erupted next to him. Trollocs began to fall back. Blinking a few times to clear his eyes from the sweat that had dripped into them, he noticed that no Trollocs remained near him. He wanted to laugh, but instead tears began to roll down his cheeks. His body convulsed as waves of emotion surged through him.
Nothing stirred around him. He was alone. Collapsing to his knees, he let the sword drop to the ground. His upturned palms covered his face. His wand, dangling from his fingers, fell. The ground was littered with corpses, all of them Trollocs. The sight of them would have made him heave, but he was too tired to look, let alone see. There was no energy left in him. Alone, he wept into his hands. Why could he not be tucked away within the safety of Hogwarts, with Ginny to make him laugh?
Lifting his head, he let his left arm lay limply on his lap. His face, covered in dust and his own dried blood, was streaked with tears. Kneeling there, each and every cut began to draw his attention. The only comfort being that the injuries were not as painful as a Cruciatus curse. With his good hand he wiped away the moisture from his face. Breathing deeply, he waited for his heart to settle. The rhythmic thump in his chest refused to slow. The air around him felt stale and a stench had already begun to rise from the dead and dying. Reaching to the ground, he gripped the sword again. With it he pushed himself to his feet, his legs were injured the least of all.
After two steps, he lost his balance and would have crashed to the ground, if a strong hand had not caught him. Too weary to glance up at his saviour, he merely hung onto the man who felt like an unyielding rock. "You did well, Master Potter," Lan's usual hard voice came from the man holding him.
He was safe, but still alone.
In the darkness of the boys' dorm, his eyes began to blink. He could tell that it was still early. Glancing at his watch, he groaned. It was only five. It was too early to go down for breakfast and most people would not wake for another few hours. With the memory of the battle vivid in his mind, he decided that he needed to exercise. Sleep would not come again. Besides, if he was not careful, he would begin to grow weak, both physically and in the Power. The last thing that he wanted was to be the scrawny little boy who left two years ago who could not handle his powers.
With an effort, he heaved himself up and out from under his warm covers. The night air felt cool against his body. Dressing in tight fitting but comfortable robes of black, he silently began to move his way out of Gryffindor Tower. The Heron mark sword, hidden from view, was once again attached to his back. The Fat Lady did not seem impressed with him being awake so early, but a quick explanation of exercise convinced her to open. It was odd for wizards to train, but not unknown. Many witches and wizards from Muggle families kept to strict training schedules. A few obsessed Quidditch players, like Wood, had been known to wake early as well.
The castle itself was empty, even the portraits were fast asleep. Walking rapidly, his elegant strides made it appear as if he was gliding above the floor. His soft footfalls made no sound. Emerging from the main entrance onto the grounds, he was surprised to find the weather slightly warmer than he expected, considering the cold from the tower. The air was still and the cloudless sky still held a few dim stars. Glancing up at them, he longed for the clear desert sky that he had known for a few weeks. The rising sun would soon be near the horizon where it would begin to shine down upon the grounds.
Finding the path that worked its way down to the lake, Harry began to jog. A good workout always started with a run. It loosened some muscles and warmed the body. The darkness faded slowly around him as sunrise approached. Blood flowed through his veins with each beat of his heart. The calm surface of the lake mirrored the orange sky as he made his way around it to the far side. It was hard to believe that beneath the placid surface there was a thriving, often violent community of magical creatures.
The jog had not been long, the pace slow. His breathing was even and calm when he found a nice grass-covered clearing that would allow him to practice. The area was small, but the ground was flat and hidden from view, which to him was more important than the size. Settling himself onto the damp grass, he began to stretch out his muscles. Flexibility, coupled with strength, was vital when maintaining his sword forms. Together they provided freedom of movement and balance.
Satisfied with his preparations, he unsheathed his sword, studying the intricate Heron engraved onto the blade. How much had he given to obtain the honour of owning one? Removing his long black cloak and shirt, he poised himself. Standing motionless, the air chilled his bare skin. The cold contrasted with the burning sensation of the Dragons on his forearms. Those twin Dragons glistened against the sun when it rose above the horizon.
He ignored his surroundings, he was focused on his blade, he was one with the sword. Working rapidly through each form his muscles began to ache from the constant strain of balancing his body during each extreme movement. Some of forms were rapid strikes while others demanded balance to be maintained for long periods. Not all the forms were meant to be used in a sword fight, but they were all designed to condition the mind and the body. As his tempo increased, droplets of sweat began to form on his pale upper body before running down his back, their paths occasionally diverted along the lines of multiple white scars.
An hour after he had begun, he arrived back at the tower. A few students were already awake when he entered the common room. To his surprise, Ginny was one of them. Her expression mirrored his own when she saw him coming in.
Her appearance made him feel guilty again. Instinctively, he brushed his hand through his dishevelled and sweaty hair. He had worked himself hard and he had set a brisk pace when jogging back to the school.
"Morning," he managed to greet her without sounding too surprised or sad. He was sure that she was not a morning person. The slightly hollow look in her puffy eyes and the dark rings under them told him what he needed to know. Ginny, the girl that meant the world to him, had been up all night crying.
"Morning," Ginny greeted, getting to her feet too, trying her best to sound excited. She failed miserably.
"I am rather sweaty at the moment," Harry said holding up his hands when she was almost near him. At that moment, all he could think to do was distance himself from her.
She smiled faintly, closing the remaining distance. "Really, like I care about a thing like that." He laughed and allowed her to give him a quick kiss. Warmth flooded back into him. Light filled her eyes again. Relieved and oblivious to the surrounding students, the kiss deepened with longing.
Around them heads turned to face them, each holding a pair of eyes wide with shock. The worst of all was Dean Thomas. His knuckles white from the force with which he held a piece of scrunched up parchment in his hand showed what he thought.
When Harry stepped away from Ginny, he paused. Heat rose up his neck, his cheeks reddened. The room was silent. Ginny, still alongside him, blushed spectacularly. Glancing around, Harry did not need to see Dean's eyes to know that they were filled with anger. The boy's expression and posture were enough. Harry knew the look. Dean wanted a fight.
"Is he a boyfriend of yours?" Harry asked, suddenly nervous. Everything that he had heard the past few days led him to believe that she had not been seeing anyone while he was gone.
Ginny glared up at Harry, her eyes sending a clear message. "No!" she breathed out through clenched teeth, too low for anyone to hear. With the kiss over, most of the students returned to what they were doing. Dean alone seemed unable to move on. "I can handle the idiot," she muttered again. Her arms were crossed across her chest, her eyes filled with fire. If Dean knew what was good for him, he would let this go.
Deciding it wise not to create another scene on his first day, and knowing that Ginny could take care of herself, he made to leave. "I need to take a shower. Meet you down here in a few minutes," Harry said to Ginny before giving her another kiss.
Moving past her, he walked up the staircase. "I'll be here," she said as he ascended the first step. If Dean wanted to start a fight with him then it would be best to grant him some time to cool down. Hopefully, Dean would have released enough anger to avoid a confrontation by the time Harry finished his shower. With a rueful grin, he wondered if Dean would survive Ginny.
Only when he stood under the shower did he begin to berate himself again. Starting a relationship with Ginny was the first thing that he wanted to do, but definitely the last that he should have done. Seeing her tired face this morning confirmed his fears. She was struggling with her feelings. Yet, what could be done to put an end to their mutual attraction? They were drawn to each other, it was just that simple. Neither could deny what each felt for the other. The way that Ginny managed push aside her feelings for Harry proved just how strong his pull on her was. Perhaps he really was as strong a ta'veren as they had always claimed. Rand had always just been so much more – negating Harry's influence on the pattern.
The warm water running through his hair and over his body helped to sooth his worries like it so often did. His fingers brushed over a few scars as he remembered how they were formed, the thick white line on his left shoulder being the first. Formed by a cursed Trolloc blade. It was actually second, the lightning bolt being his first.
The other notable scar, a thick white streak between his shoulder blades, held the most pain. Not because of the pain, or his near death, but rather what it had cost him in the end. What was physical pain compared to the loss of someone so dear to him?
There was one comfort. To the world he was just Rand Damodred, a foreign student who was here for his seventh year. He was not Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, who had a large target on his back. The target had not only been for Voldemort, but the ministry and fellow students as well. Even though he had barely interacted with other students, he could already feel the difference. He was beneath notice, a comforting change, something that he had always desired. Maybe, just maybe, he could spend a decent amount of time with Ginny without having to worry about her safety. He was being selfish, he thought, as he pounded a fist against the wall.
Closing the taps he dressed in a fresh pair of clothes. He wanted to strap his sword, which now lay in his trunk, onto his back. However, with Ginny so near to him now, he could not afford for her to feel the scabbard, or the invisible hilt that stuck out above his shoulder. Something that she was bound to do sooner rather than later. You never knew where a fiery, bouncy girl like her, would end up. The image of her jumping onto his back made him smile.
Halfway out the dorm, he realized that he had forgotten about Moiraine. He would need to get to her soon, seeing as the main reason for them being here was to find and kill Voldemort. He sighed loudly, Ginny was truly messing with his mind. Time management – he had to find the time to get to everything.
Descending the staircase he was greeted by the sounds of an intense argument, Ginny's voice being the most vocal. The other came from Dean Thomas who was standing in front of her. His whole body was bent in rage, his face purple. "How could you just throw yourself at this guy!" he shouted at her. Apparently, someone had been refused a few times. Harry paused.
Harry did not want to interfere, but one look at Ginny told him that she needed support. "This guy?" Harry's voice was not loud, but it carried across the room. Dean's head whipped around towards him, his eyes burning heatedly. Ginny's entire body sagged in relief.
Harry slipped into the void, saidin pulsed through him, as he approached Dean. The One Power crashed around inside him, fighting for dominance. "I hope you did not harm her," his voice was calm but cold as ice, all the while he fought to control saidin. He would not let anyone harm Ginny. The contradiction was not lost on him, but he pushed it aside.
"You think that you can just walk in here and take the first girl that you lay eyes on!" Dean roared before coming to stand in front of Harry. The way Dean moved indicated to Harry that he was no threat. Being Muggle born, he might have had some martial arts or other forms of training as a child.
Harry's gray eyes, unblinking, bored into Dean's. "I hope that you will apologize to Ginny for this outburst," Harry replied slowly. Ignoring the enraged Gryffindor, he stepped past Dean towards Ginny to take her hand in his. "Hi," his voice was gentle and reassuring. "Are you ready for breakfast?" Harry asked, before giving her a reassuring kiss. As his lips touched Ginny's, Harry was almost certain he heard steam pouring out of Dean's ears.
Pulling away from her, Harry studied Ginny. Her dull, weary eyes of earlier were now intense and full of fire. Like a true Weasley, her cheeks were flushed in anger at Dean. Seeing Harry completely at ease with the situation seemed to soothe her temper. "Sure, Rand," she answered, giving Dean another meaningful look. For his part, Harry prayed that Dean got the message.
With her hand in his, Ginny and Harry turned to leave the common room. Thankfully, Ron was still nowhere to be seen and had probably not heard about Harry's altered relationship with Ginny. If he had, Harry was sure that he would have been standing alongside Dean threatening him. Breaking the news to Ron was another scene that he was hoping to avoid. Then again, the Ron on the train had been vastly different from the Ron of old. Harry would have to ask Ginny one day if Hermione had given Ron a good lashing. Perhaps Ginny herself forced an attitude change.
They had almost reached the portrait hole when the sound stomping of feet reached him. Within the void the harsh footfalls reverberated inside his head. In a single fluid motion he turned, pushed Ginny behind him and effortlessly blocked a fist that was aimed at his head. Holding Dean's hand firmly in his own, Harry studied Dean. The boy's mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish's, while soft, unintelligible words escaped his lips.
"Really, I did not have a Gryffindor down as a coward who attacked a man's back," Harry said emotionlessly. From within the void, the disappointment he felt could not be conveyed. "It would be wise never to do that again." The tone of his voice was much more threatening than his words. His gray eyes, having lost none of their intensity, made Dean flinch.
Releasing the void Harry fumed suddenly with rage as he glared at the guy that had once been a friend. The overwhelming desire to knock sense into him was almost overpowering. Yet, violence rarely solved any problems. Dean paled slightly under his gaze before beginning to move away. The crowd inside the common room was staring at him peculiarly, as if they could not make up their minds. On the one hand, they appeared to be afraid of him, on the other they looked pleased to have him in their house.
The unfortunate Dean had not backed away far enough. A bundle of fury, called Ginny, came around from behind Harry and threw a punch into Dean's unsuspecting stomach, doubling him over. "That's for trying to hit, Rand," she stated. Dean barely had time to utter a response, before she kicked him hard against the backside. "And that is for being an idiot!" she shouted this time. Dean collapsed onto the floor groaning. A very smug looking Ginny stood over him. "And I didn't even need magic," she whispered, so that only Harry could hear.
Harry cocked his head thoughtfully then smiled. "Nicely done," he complemented her before helping her out of the room. Not only did he want breakfast, he was afraid of what she might do next. The common room was silent as they left. Ginny Weasley had just let her temper loose in front of the guy and he just smiled, that was unheard of. Harry in fact loved it, her strong character was what drew him to her in the first place. She reminded him of Nynaeve with her stubbornness and temper. Perhaps women like them required men as hard as Lan and himself, they needed someone strong who would not break against their relentless pounding.
"Thanks," Ginny said, bouncing up and down as she beamed with pride.
"Not a bad block there yourself," she added and he thanked her. Dean could be glad that he had only received a punch and a kick from Ginny. A strike from Harry would have left a lot more damage, to his body that is. On second thought, Ginny's punch and kick had damaged Dean's ego a lot more than any punch from Harry ever could have.
The rest of the trip down to the Great Hall was done in silence. Harry was thinking about their new relationship. The glint in her eyes led him to believe the she was reliving Dean's humiliation. They entered the hall and crossed towards their house table. Sitting down across from Ron and Hermione they piled food onto their plates. Ron was still looking slightly displeased about Harry being around Ginny, but he kept things to himself. It was a pleasant change.
"Mr Damodred," Professor McGonagall said from behind Harry.
Turning around slowly he faced the professor. Her face was rigid and focused solely on him. "Morning, Professor." He refrained from bowing his head formally, barely. She would most likely take it as mockery.
"I need to ask you what classes you will be taking during the course of the year," her voice sounded slightly agitated. If he suddenly decided to take a strange combination of classes then she might have to redo everything just to accommodate him. It was something that would have irritated him had he been in her position.
"Sure, um… let me think… Defence, Potions, Charms and Transfiguration," Harry replied with a smile. Those four, he was sure, were bound to be rather common in combination. The classes were not that important. He was really only here for one reason. Hogwarts was the ideal place to look for Voldemort.
She nodded, allowing a brief smile. Then with a wave of her wand, over a piece of parchment, she created a timetable. A relieved McGonagall handed him his schedule. Taking it from her, Harry wondered if she had changed over the years or if it was just his improved ability to read people. He was sure that she had never shown such signs of displeasure or relief before.
Glancing at his schedule, he noted that he only had Defence and Transfiguration lined up for the day. His first two periods were free, which would give him time to see Moiraine as well as to exercise.
The fight against Voldemort would take time to become organized. Determining ways to discover his whereabouts would be difficult. Perhaps he should have asked the Sorting Hat to place him in Slytherin when he had the chance. It was too late to change that, so he pushed it aside.
What he needed to do was find a way for Moiraine to be part of the Order of the Phoenix, that much had been discussed and decided. The how was the difficult part. He thought about just going to Dumbledore as Harry, but that would mean a secret that Dumbledore would have to keep. That secret would eventually be told to the Order and he was sure that there were spies within the organisation. Even if there were none, Dumbledore might find a way of revealing his identity in order to gain the higher ground somewhere. No, it was best to keep his secrets close to his chest.
The more unnerving reason for not telling the Headmaster was because Harry was not entirely sure that he could trust Dumbledore. The old man had withheld various pieces of information from Harry in the past. He had also placed him with his Aunt and Uncle. Even if they did not harm him physically, the mental damage had been profound. A small trickle of fear laced his worries, what other secrets had Dumbledore kept from Harry all those years ago? What vital knowledge of Voldemort's resurrection was locked inside the Headmaster's head?
With two hours before his first class, he knew that he had ample time to visit Moiraine. After breakfast, Ron and Hermione left the Great Hall before Ginny and he. Hermione had Ancient Runes to attend while Ron, as the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, had trials to organize. Ron took his position seriously and Harry was looking forward to actually working with him. That is if he could still fly a broom. Harry almost tripped over his own feet. He did not have his own broom.
Ginny's eyes looked him over after his small stumble. "I guess I will be seeing you at lunch," Ginny said to Harry as they walked out of the hall together.
"Of course," Harry replied warmly. He wanted nothing more.
Fidgeting nervously with her robes as they walked, she looked rather hesitant to let him out of her sight. "I'll miss you," her voice low and unsteady.
"I will be in the Great Hall for lunch," Harry said with a smile.
Ginny nodded slowly, unsure. Pulling her close, he gave her a reassuring kiss. Some of the tension left her body. "Promise," she whispered.
"Promise."
With that, she turned to leave. There was neither a smile on her lips nor any joy in her features.
Taking a step to the entrance, he paused. Ginny's unease was too great to ignore. "I'll walk with you," he added, before rushing to come up alongside her.
Ginny brightened considerably, letting go of her robe she slipped her hand into his. "Thank you," she whispered, leaning against him. His hand squeezed hers, gently, but reassuringly.
"So, what class do you have first?" Harry asked kissing the top of her head.
He almost shouted aloud at his inability to leave Ginny alone. She was crying herself to sleep at night and here he was giving her even more reason to do so or maybe he was helping her. Honestly, he was growing more confused by the minute.
"Arithmancy," she sighed. "It's a shame that you are only taking those four subjects. I could have tutored you in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy."
"I would have liked that," he replied sincerely. "But I will have enough catching up to do in my other four classes. Perhaps you could help me with those."
She smiled brilliantly. "Perhaps." Straightening herself, she walked faster. Classes were about to begin and she most likely did not want to be late. Upon reaching the right door, she gave him a quick kiss. "Thank you," she said pulling away. Without waiting for his reply, she scurried inside.
Harry stood there for a while, staring at the door. Why was he letting her control him so easily? He was sure that he had learned something over the past two years about self-discipline. Eventually he managed to leave. Knowing the castle well allowed him to find a secluded corner away from the prying eyes of students and portraits. Weaving a gateway, he stepped through into the house they had bought in Hogsmeade.
Moiraine stood quickly, smoothing her robes in the process with her hands. "Morning, Harry Sedai." Her greeting was formal and held proper respect. Not that he deserved it, the one thing that he had been adamant about he had already contradicted.
"Morning, Moiraine Sedai," Harry replied sitting down on a chair opposite her. He released the weaves around him allowing his natural hair colour and eyes to be visible. It felt good to be himself again, even if it was just with her.
"From the look on your face, things have gone either horribly wrong or extremely well," her eyebrow was raised drawing attention away from her knowing smirk.
There was no point in denying. "Light! I just can't stay away from her," his hands worked furiously through his hair in frustration before his fist thumped down onto the wooden table causing it to creak in protest. "I tried to keep her away, but she just kept on coming back and I kept moving closer." His head fell backwards and he stared up at the ceiling. A cry of pure frustration echoed around the room.
"I never suspected any less, honestly," she said slowly taking a sip of her tea. "This tea here is rather nice."
"What am I to do?" Harry moaned in frustration, ignoring her comments about tea. He sounded like the immature seventeen year old that he was.
"Tell her. It will solve a lot of problems for both of you," Moiraine idly took another sip of tea, her smooth ageless face staring at him, studying. Her dark eyes filled with wisdom and understanding.
"But…" he began before stopping. Could it really be the best way to solve most of his problems? What Moiraine said held some truth. He knew that Ginny would be able to keep his secret and it would remove a large burden from her. The mere idea of her not having to cry herself to sleep every night was worth it.
He sat in silence thinking. Days of confusion and frustration warping his thoughts. It was all a jumble. Not only did Moiraine's advice hold some truth, it made sense. The tangled webs in his minds began to unravel, forming clear precise thoughts. A sigh escaped his lips. He really had been thick.
"Tonight then," Harry agreed with a faint nod.
"Good, that will give me something to do," Harry gave her a quizzical look. "Well if she knows about you then you can tell her about channelling. That means that I can train her."
"Of course, sorry," Harry replied with a shake of his head. Ginny really was messing with his mind. Forgetting something even that simple could be disastrous. That made him even surer about his decision. Ginny had to be told, for both their sanity's sake. By revealing more of himself and his part in the prophecy to her, he could move on with what was required. Three days he had been here, and he had barely given any contemplation to how he was going to fulfil his prophecy.
"What have you been up to?" Harry asked finally.
"Nothing much really, I walked around town yesterday. Not much here. So I went to Diagon Alley." She paused, her dark eyes locked on Harry's. "The Weasley Wizard Wheezes was an interesting store." Harry's eyes darted up towards hers, sparkling.
"Weasley!" he said loudly smacking his palm loudly against his leg. "I knew they could do it, I knew it!"
"Are the owners related to your Weasley?"
"Older twin brothers. I gave them some money that I had won in the hope that they would be able to start their own business," his voice was filled with enthusiasm. He paused; he had not shown so much in years. He had become so good at guarding his thoughts.
"Harry, it is good to see you so full of life," Moiraine said very informally. Harry almost reacted, but he waved it off. Here he was just Harry Potter, no more no less. He smiled, there was no need for him to hide behind a wall of stone.
That did not mean that he should become careless. It just meant that he could allow himself to live his life a little more than he had allowed himself before. Making another decision, he, got to his feet.
"I will see you later, Moiraine Sedai."
"Take care, Harry," she added. He smiled, being informal was a nice change.
"I will, Moiraine." It felt like a small burden had fallen from his shoulders.
A gateway began to grow before him. Knowing what he wanted and where he had to go, he stepped through. His hair and eyes shimmered and then morphed into red and gray. Harry Potter would have to wait just a few more hours.