Chapter 29
ABSENCES
Lunch had already been cleared from the Great Hall, but the house elves piled a tray full of Yule Ball leftovers for Harry. He ate them by himself at the Gryffindor table, thinking how lonely the next two weeks would be. Dumbledore had been wrong if he'd thought Harry needed to stay at Hogwarts for his safety. It was the headmaster who required protection. Snape won't try anything when he knows I can place him with Dumbledore, Harry told himself reassuringly. Still, he rushed through his food in the hopes that the headmaster would rejoin him outside on the dragon.
No such luck. As the winter sun dipped behind the towering pines of the Enchanted Forest and Harry polished the last smudge from the statue's left big toe, he began to worry in earnest. Why had he let Snape drag Dumbledore away? Why hadn't he blurted out the incriminating statements he'd heard?
By the time Harry arrived at Filch's office to return his bucket and scrub brush, his stomach felt twisted in a knot. At first, his repeated knocks went unanswered. Just when he'd decided to dump the cleaning equipment in the corridor so he could go hunt for Dumbledore, the caretaker inched his door open. Harry recalled that in the morning, Filch had thrust the pail through just such a crack. Now he yanked it back the same way.
"Don't want boys tracking their filth on my floor," he grumbled.
"Who could blame you?" Harry replied sweetly. After the caretaker slammed his door shut, he muttered, "And say hello to your cockroaches for me."
At supper, Professor McGonagall answered Harry's anxious question with, "Albus is dining in his office. I just sent Poppy Pomfrey's owl there. Her third! He hasn't had so much attention since his wife passed on." At Harry's surprised stare, she lifted her angular jaw. "Why so stunned? Did you think professors weren't human?" With that, she pointed her wand and guided a spray of hot chamomile tea into her cup.
Remembering how Madame Pomfrey had fussed over Dumbledore after the griffin attack, Harry grinned. When he surveyed the small group of pupils and staff strewn about the Great Hall and saw that Snape wasn't among them either, his grin faded.
Two hours later, after a search of as much of the castle as he could access, Harry plodded up the steps to his dorm. Although some Gryffindors had stayed, his roommates Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus had all left to spend the holiday with family. No impromptu pillow fights to cheer him up tonight, he thought resignedly. But when he opened the door, his face relaxed into a smile. Bête Noire, surely the largest black cat he'd ever seen, was perched atop his wardrobe. In his mouth, he carried a small, silver package.
"Good evening," Harry greeted him, having learned in Magical Companions that one should talk to a familiar as an equal. "I'm sorry I forgot to bring you something to eat, but if you'd like, I could nip down to the kitchen for some tidbits."
Bête Noire seemed to shrug. Then he leapt down to the rug and strutted over to brush against Harry's legs. After a good back-of-the-ear tickling, he dropped Millicent's early Christmas present at Harry's feet.
"Want me to open it now?"
The black cat sat at attention as if waiting for him to do just that.
Harry squatted on the rug, picked up the package, and weighed it in his hand. The object was round and had a solid feel to it. Mindful of Millicent's remark that the wrapping gave instructions, he opened it by carefully peeling back the tape.
"A crystal ball," he said aloud after he'd pulled aside the silvery paper.
"A Djinn ball," corrected a squeaky voice out of nowhere.
Startled, Harry dropped everything.
"Be careful," the squeaky voice added. "Djinn balls can crack."
Harry shot a glance at Bête Noire. "Was that . . . you?"
The cat began licking his back foot.
"Or—" Harry peered down at the floor "—was it the paper?"
"Of course, it was the paper," the squeaky voice snarled. "Cats can't talk. And if you'll please pick up the Djinn ball, I'm prepared to present lesson one."
Gingerly, Harry retrieved the ball—which did look rather like crystal. But unlike the one he'd used in Trelawney's class, this was as small as a croquet ball.
"Ahem. Lesson One: Television of Familiar Locations within a Half-mile Radius. Vision, to see. Tele, distant. Not to be confused with Muggle television broadcasts of rugby matches, humorous ditties, automobile chases, or Thackery. Hold the Djinn ball to the bridge of your nose, stare into its depths, and envision the area outside your door."
The martinet voice brooked no shirking. Harry did as commanded and was surprised to see inside the Djinn ball the staircase outside his dormitory door, dimly lit by the flickering common room fire.
"Very good," the wrapping paper said. "Now proceed forward."
Harry did, feeling odd having his viewpoint descend while he stayed still. When the common room opened before him, he saw Alicia sprawled on a couch, engrossed in a paperback with a brawny, bare-chested Viking on the cover. Hearing a popping noise in the corner, he turned to see a seventh-year boy teaching a first-year boy the intricacies of Exploding Snap.
"No need to jerk about," the squeaky voice scolded. "Navigate with your mind."
Soon, Harry was racing along all the Hogwarts corridors he'd covered just a short while before. With the wrapping paper's coaching, he learned to think himself past closed doors, then past walls. He sneaked up on Professor McGonagall talking to Professor Daine in a corner of the staff room. Neither gave any sign of noticing.
"I'd never thought to see that lock opened. I'd assumed the key was mangled and the bolt rusted tight. But now that you've managed it, I ask you to be careful. What is inside is a lot more fragile than one would expect. If you break it, it were better you'd not unlocked it at all."
Professor Daine laced her fingers, obviously taking the older woman's words to heart. "Break it. That's the last thing I'd ever want to do."
Quickly, Harry scanned the rest of the lounge. Not finding Snape, he left the ladies to their talk of enchanted treasure boxes and resumed probing the castle. Dumbledore's office. He'd been there before. According to what the wrapping paper had taught him, he should find it easy to project his senses back again through the Djinn ball. But when he reached the gargoyle, Harry found he could go no further. He could see the headmaster's quarters in his mind, but that was all it was—a mental image, a memory.
"What did you expect?" the squeaky voice piped up. "Even a Djinn ball can't counter really potent magic."
For an hour, Harry explored—looking high, looking low, backtracking, and revisiting. When he caught Myrtle moaning in her corner toilet, he felt a twinge of guilt. In the stairwell outside Snape's empty office, Nick's Almost Axed Acrobats were flipping and whirling. Harry smiled to see Dobby and Winky sharing an apple beside the kitchen hearth, though he was surprised when both darted him quick glances. Nobody else detected his presence—not Madame Pince hauling decrepit volumes off the library shelves for their yearly dusting, nor Wilhelm Avery directing a first-year Slytherin to move his chess pieces as he played Felix Moon, nor Draco Malfoy fretting over a letter to his mother. Because he'd once been in the Slytherin dungeon, Harry returned there easily. Since he'd never seen Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, he didn't know how to enter.
By the time he lowered the Djinn ball to go to bed, Harry felt cross-eyed. He removed his glasses, rubbed his nose, and rose stiffly to his feet. Dumbledore's office. That's where the pair had to be. He just hoped the headmaster was all right. For a moment, he thought of writing Cho—trying to patch up their awkward farewell. Tonight, like the night before, he couldn't.
"Nay, Harry. Yeh're picturin' it all wrong," Hagrid said, twitching his nose as if something tickled it. "Sev'rus would never do anythin' to harm Albus. He looks up to him, depen's on him. Why, yeh saw how choked up Sev'rus got when he presen'ed the Father Chris'mas crown."
"Choked up?" Sunday morning, after neither Snape nor Dumbledore showed up at breakfast, Harry had hurried to Hagrid's hut. Now that he'd unloaded his misgivings into the most sympathetic adult ears he could find, the contrariness of his friend's interpretation perplexed him.
"Sure, now. Sev'rus was so moved, he c'barely speak."
Moved? Couldn't his friend see that Snape's awkwardness had been evidence of a guilty conscience?
Hagrid pinched his nose hard. "An' wha' yeh didn' see was how fran'ic he got when Albus an' you got shocked. While yeh was out cold, he was kickin' hi'self fer bein' no expert on magical plants an' praisin' Neville 'cause he was."
Vaguely, Harry remembered hearing, Well-done, Neville. You've done your parents proud. Could that voice have been Snape's? "No. Surely, he was putting on an act—trying to cool suspicion. I told you what I heard—"
Abruptly, Hagrid swung his head aside and buried his face in his tea towel. The sneeze he exploded rocked the cups and saucers. "Wha' in the—Harry! Have yeh been pettin' a c-c-c-c-at?"
Hastily, Harry rose from the table and backed across the cabin. "Yes. I'm keeping Bête Noire company while Millicent's away."
"Oh, n-n-n-n-no." Hagrid gave himself up to a series of sneezes, each worse than the one before.
Harry stared at the black hairs clinging to his robes where Bête Noire had nestled on his lap. "I'm so sorry. Next time I visit, I'll change first."
Hagrid waved weakly, still coughing and snorting and trying to catch his breath. Chagrined, Harry left, closing the door behind him.
Author's Note: When I wrote this, I hadn't guessed Dumbledore was gay and JKR hadn't revealed it yet. But Madame Pomfrey did fuss over him a lot in the early books. Please review!
