Second story in which a poet has to become a hero
The next morning, Hogwarts woke up in winter. Through the windows of their tower, the Gryffindors looked at white landscapes as far as the eye could see, shimmering in the freshly fallen snow. Mist drifted among the trees of the Forbidden Forest, encrusted with hoarfrost, as if it had donned diamond jewellery to welcome the new season. And still crystals of beauty danced ceaselessly from the sky.
That would be great snowball fights, Harry thought with a smile as he waited for Ron and Hermione in the common room.
"Morning, Harry," Hermione greeted him as she descended the stairs from the girls' dormitory. "Have you seen the snow?"
"Hard to miss," laughed Harry. "Did you bring your gloves?"
"Of course. But this year I want to be in a team with Daphne. You two –"
"Don't get too excited," said Ron's voice from behind them before he stepped over to them. "I wouldn't rule out her and Hagrid forcing us to wrap the new Skrewts in warm blankets so they don't freeze."
"And make them hot chocolate and read fairy tales," Hermione added.
Harry rolled his eyes. "You are making a fool of yourself. Hagrid would of course insist on Fire Whiskey."
Laughing, the three friends made their way to the Great Hall. Just as they were crossing the Entrance Hall, several Slytherin first years came out of the dungeons, dressed in woollen caps and scarfs next to their school uniforms, their noses red and sniffing. Harry had known it was cold in the dungeons in winter, but that was remarkable. He wondered how Daphne was doing. She had already looked sick yesterday, saying she was cold. It would be best if they went to Madam Pomfrey's right after breakfast, whether she liked it or not.
In the Great Hall, they sat down at the Gryffindor table in such a way that Harry could keep an eye on the entrance and the rest of the hall. But so far there was no sign of Daphne, which was odd, because she was usually very punctual. She hated to be pressed for time, and he had only experienced that with her once, back when they had first met...
"Well, there you are, boy," laughed Uncle Vernon with an ugly grin on his face. "Platform nine – platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"
He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.
"Well then, have a good term," Uncle Vernon laughed even more spitefully than before. He left without another word and got back in the car with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. All three laughed as they drove away, leaving Harry helpless.
Already many funny looks were directed at him – because of Hedwig. Best to ask someone for directions, but who? The muggle guards passing by certainly couldn't help him, so he had to find other wizards.
Restlessly, Harry hurried along the platform, looking for people who looked at least a little like the people he had seen with Hagrid in Diagon Alley, but to no avail. Most railway passengers exuded a triteness, as if they had never seen anything magical in their entire life.
The departure of the Hogwarts Expresses drew nearer and nearer, and Harry was hurrying about in increasing panic when he was suddenly swept off his feet. In the next instant, he found himself with his backside on the hard concrete floor, his baggage trolley lying on its side. Hedwig outraged loudly. And next to them, a girl lay on the floor, her trolley also overturned. They must have bumped into each other.
The girl wore a simple, grey dress and had honey-blonde hair that reached about the middle of her back. The hair looked uncombed and now hung dishevelled all over the girl's face. Still, Harry could see that her cheeks were covered with tears.
"I'm sorry!" he called while quickly getting to his feet. "I didn't see you. Are you okay?" He held out his hand to her.
The blonde girl nodded slightly as she wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve. She took his hand, and he helped her to stand. Then she suddenly froze, her eyes – which Harry noticed were a light green – fixed on his forehead.
"You're Harry Potter," she said in surprise.
Now it was Harry's turn to be surprised. "Then you're ... you're ..." He looked around, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them; the adults were too busy with their own everyday problems. "And you're a witch," he whispered.
The girl nodded again. "I'm Daphne," she said, sniffing. "Daphne Greengrass." This time it was she who held out her hand to him, and Harry shook it delightedly. At last, he had found someone like himself!
"Do you know how –" he began, but was immediately interrupted by his new acquaintance.
"But what about your owl?", Daphne called in shock, picking up Hedwig's cage. Then she hastily set up her own trolley and took out small balls that looked like dog treats to Harry. But apparently Hedwig liked them too, for she made cooing noises as Daphne fed her.
"You're beautiful," said Daphne, her eyes shining. Hedwig cooed in agreement. "And such soft feathers. You are the most beautiful owl I've ever seen." She looked at Harry, her previous tears apparently completely forgotten. "What's her name?"
"Hedwig," he replied with a smile while straightening the rest of his baggage trolley. "She's my best friend."
"Hedwig," repeated Daphne gently, continuing to stroke the owl's plumage. "That is a fateful name. You're a fighter, aren't you, Hedwig?" Another coo of approval. "Take good care of Harry. He seems like a nice boy. There aren't that many of them in the world."
She turned back to Harry, who had followed everything with a mixture of fascination and amusement. "What I was about to ask you, Daphne," he said. "Do you know how to get to Platform Nine and Three Quarters? That's where we have to go to catch the train to Hogwarts."
"Unfortunately no," said Daphne, her face suddenly filled with panic again. "I'm looking for it too. And we only have a few minutes before the train leaves."
Just then a group of red-haired people passed close behind them, and they caught a few words of their conversation.
"Packed with Muggles, of course..."
Harry and Daphne exchanged a look, before curtly running after the family...
And shortly after, the two of them, along with Ron, the youngest son of the Weasleys, as the family had introduced themselves, were sitting together on the Hogwarts Express, which was leaving London further and further behind. The food trolley had already passed by, and Harry had bought his two new friends – What a nice feeling it was to say that! He had friends! – and himself numerous sweets, which they now ate with relish.
"Hey, Daphne," Ron said at some point, licking chocolate from his fingers. "I understand Harry, but why didn't you know where the platform is? The Greengrasses are an old pureblood family. I even think you're my fourth or fifth cousin."
Harry noticed Daphne shift uncomfortably in her seat. "Maybe," she replied quietly, her eyes on the floor. "But I got to the train station in a Muggle cab. You see, my parents have important appointments, and I didn't think about asking them."
Harry thought it wasn't her job to ask her parents such a thing, but Daphne seemed uncomfortable with the subject, so he wanted to change it.
"What is this Quidditch that you mentioned earlier?" he asked Ron, who then started an enthusiastic lecture about his favourite sport. Daphne gave him a grateful smile – at least that was Harry's impression – which he gladly replied.
What followed was an, except for a few interruptions, enjoyable and humorous train ride, during which the three children often laughed heartily. Harry was simply delighted to have met Daphne and Ron, his first human friends, not just in the wizarding world, but in his entire life to date. And even though Daphne was later sent to Slytherin by the Sorting Hat and he himself to Gryffindor, they still remained friends.
When Daphne still hadn't come after half an hour – and neither had her sister Astoria, as Harry noticed – he began to worry. That really wasn't like Daphne. Even if she were so sick that she couldn't get out of bed, she would have told him through her mirror. So what was wrong with her?
When Daphne's friend Tracey finally entered the Great Hall, dressed like the other Slytherins in thick winter clothes, Harry couldn't hold back any longer. He jumped up from his seat so that the whole table shook – much to the displeasure of Parvati, whose pumpkin juice he spilled in the process – and hurried with great strides towards the sitting Tracey.
"Hey, Trace," he called, drawing the attention of some students. Most of them, however, were used to him being around the Slytherin table a lot.
Tracey looked up, and Harry saw that her teeth were clapping hard, like she was freezing miserably. Shivering, she began to pour hot tea. "H-H-Hey," she said. "W-what's up?"
"Do you know where Daphne is?" Harry asked. "Is she sick?"
At his words, a jolt went through Tracey's body. Her trembling stopped, and she looked at him with her head tilted to one side. "What should be with her? The Ice Queen is raging," she spoke sibyllinically.
Harry froze. Ice Queen?
"What –" he began but was interrupted by the voice of their headmaster.
"Harry," Dumbledore called from his golden throne in the centre of the staff table. "Please come forward."
All eyes in the Great Hall were now on Harry. He gulped before stepping over to the staff table with a sense of foreboding that was spreading deeper and deeper inside him. From the Gryffindor table, Ron and Hermione came running over to stand by him, whatever might come.
"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him with a grandfatherly nod, his eyes twinkling as usual behind the half-moon-shaped glasses. Sometimes Harry wondered if he did that on purpose, or if some Sparkling Fireflies had simply taken up residence in his pupils. "I believe I am not the only one who noticed certain changes this morning," Dumbledore continued. "I sense a powerful magic, like an invisible spider web that has spread throughout the castle."
Ron shuddered at their headmaster's words.
"And all the threads of that web converge on you," Dumbledore said, his eyes fixed firmly on Harry. The hall had grown so quiet that the winter wind could be heard howling through the windows. "On you and another person who is not present. Can you perhaps explain to us why such an icy breeze is coming out of the dungeons, and what has happened to Professor Snape that he too has not yet come up?"
Only now did Harry notice that Snape's seat at the table was still vacant. This realization was quickly washed away by the storm of his thoughts, though. Dumbledore's words sounded as if ... no, it couldn't be...
And still, the whole school was waiting for his answer, even Ron and Hermione were looking at him curiously. Harry opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
He got out of answering when suddenly there was a loud bang above their heads. Eyes turned upward to see a cloud of snow hovering over the staff table – even snowflakes were falling; within seconds the brims of McGonagall's hat were completely white. What really captivated the students and teachers, however, was the figure sitting on the cloud, giggling and bobbing back and forth. It was a small, white monkey, the likes of which Harry had never seen before. On the other hand, he had heard this giggle many times before, even if it had never sounded as sardonic as it did at that moment.
"Harry goes round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush," the voice of Astoria Greengrass began to sing from the mouth of the snow monkey. "Harry goes round the mulberry bush, on a cold and frosty morning."
"Tori?!" Harry exclaimed, puzzled. How could that be? Daphne's sister, a snow monkey?
„Yeeees!" called the snow monkey, doing a somersault. "Yeeees, that's my name!"
Harry could still feel the looks of the assembled student body on his back, and he could literally hear the gears rattling in Dumbledore and Hermione's heads.
"But ... what ... why are you a monkey?" he asked. "And what are you doing there?!"
"Because of you, hahahaha," giggled Tori. "I'm here because of you. You created me, silly-billy, don't you remember?"
Harry blinked at her, baffled. Even if his assumption was correct, a metamorphosis of Astoria was not part of it...
"You wrote about the Ice Queen and thus gave her life, you created her," Tori continued gleefully. "And with it, me, too. For where she is, I am not far away, for the opposite is also part of the whole. And soon you will all be snowmen. Oh, it's going to be so much fun! I can't wait!" She burst out laughing before starting to sing again:
„They're little snowmen, short and fat,
Here are their scarves!
And here are their hats!
When I see the snowflakes, hear me shout!
All you children, you will soon be out!"
There was another loud bang, and a cold wind ruffled Harry's hair. He called after Tori, but she had already disappeared, as had the cloud; only scattered snowflakes remained, slowly melting in the warmth of the candles.
The Great Hall was quiet as a mouse, before Dumbledore's voice finally broke the silence.
"It seems to me," he said calmly, "as if you, Harry, are indeed at least partially responsible for what is going on here at the moment, whatever it is."
Harry nodded, lost in thought, too busy processing what he had just experienced. Everything pointed to only one possibility, but that couldn't be ... he just had ... it wasn't possible, was it?
As if from far away, he heard his name reach his ears. Blinking, he recognized the faces of Ron and Hermione standing in front of him.
"Harry," Hermione spoke up. "What did the … what did Astoria mean by that? That you wrote about an Ice Queen?"
"Your story!" said Ron. "You were working on some story all night? Is that the one?"
Harry felt like he was getting a headache. He wanted to put his head in a vat of ice-cold water to clear his mind, but unfortunately, that didn't seem possible. The entire school looked at him to hear his response.
"But ... I was just writing," he said hesitantly. "I can't use it to..." He faltered.
"It is said that once there were storytellers whose stories had such inherent magic that they could weave the threads of reality itself," came Dumbledore's voice. Their headmaster had risen and was now standing in front of Harry, stroking his hand thoughtfully through his long white beard. "That is why these people were also called Fairy Weavers. I believe the last one to be credited with such power was the writer Hans Christian Andersen, who, as I believe you learned recently, was one of your ancestors, wasn't he, Harry?"
Harry returned Dumbledore's gaze. Was he implying that he had woven the threads of reality?
"Of course, to be more certain whether you did the same, we need to know what kind of story you wrote," Dumbledore continued, as if he could read his mind. "Could you get it, please?"
He was right, Harry thought. Whatever was going on, they needed to understand the origins of all this wondrousness before they could act, especially since he couldn't remember every detail himself. If his suspicions were confirmed, Daphne was in mortal danger. What a pathetic idiot he had been...
He nodded to Dumbledore, before taking his wand out of his pocket and saying, " Accio, my story."
After a minute, during which murmurs had gradually erupted in the hall, the parchment scrolls on which he had been writing just a few hours ago finally came flying in. It flew straight into Harry's waiting hands, which were shaking with nervousness.
"Please read, Harry," said Dumbledore.
Instantly, the hall was silent again. Ron and Hermione stood on either side of him.
"We're here for you," whispered Ron.
"Whatever it is, together we'll fix it," Hermione added.
Harry smiled gratefully at his friends before starting to read with a pounding heart:
Once upon a time, far away from the world of the Muggles, there was a small magical land. In this land lived all sorts of strange creatures. Flower Fairies, as small as a finger, who loved to scribble poems on the leaves of trees. Mighty giants, towering higher than even the most majestic mountains, often hiding the face of the sun. Ugly trolls, devious goblins, prophetic centaurs, and many other mythical beings. People also lived in this land. People of all ages and looks. From old wizards with long white beards to young witches of such indescribable beauty that even the goddess Aphrodite admired them with awe.
One might think that all these creatures could never live together peacefully, but they did. For it was, remember, a land of magic. Hate and envy did not exist there, also no diseases and wars. In this land, there was always summer, and the air was filled with bright, carefree laughter.
But where there was light, darkness also lurked. Perfect bliss could not remain unchallenged forever. And so it came about that one day a wizard, skilled in even the darkest forms of magic, created a mirror, for he could not bear the beauty of this paradise on earth. This mirror had the property of reducing everything good and beautiful that was reflected in it into practically nothing, but whatever was fit for nothing and looked bad grew more pronounced and became even worse. The loveliest landscapes looked like boiled dragon dung in the mirror, and the best of people became disgusting and utterly hateful. When a ray of sunlight hit the glass of the mirror, it suddenly became unnaturally cold, and hoarfrost covered the flowers that had been blooming until then. The evil wizard wanted the whole world to look into his mirror until it would become as corrupt as himself.
But there were some who resisted. Courageous men and women stood in the way of the evil wizard and fought for the triumph of light. And eventually, after many battles and losses, the evil wizard was defeated by the power of a loving mother. But that is another story.
It was the last clash between light and darkness, mere moments before the End of Nothing and the Beginning of All, when a curse hit the mirror, which then shattered into thousands, millions, and even more pieces. And now they caused a whole new misfortune, for some of the pieces were scarcely as big as a grain of sand, and these were now flying around in the wide world. And wherever they got into people's eyes, they stayed put, and then those people saw everything wrong or only had eyes for what was bad about something, for every speck of the mirror had retained the same power the whole mirror had possessed. Some people even got a tiny mirror-shard in their hearts, and that was quite horrible – the heart became like a lump of ice, alien to the love and warmth that brings life to fulfilment.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed the thoughtful looks on his friends' faces. They already seemed to recognize what it would come to. Dumbledore, too, was looking at him with a pensive expression. The rest of the Great Hall listened to his words with bated breath.
Many years have passed since the victory over the evil wizard and the destruction of the mirror, when a boy and a girl sat together by a large lake. The two children were best friends and they loved each other very much. The warm sun smiled down on them from above, the birds chirping around them and cool water washing over their bare ankles, while the boy braided the girl's hair and she read to him from her favourite book, even though she had done that so often that he felt he knew it inside and out by now.
"Yeah, you two do that a lot," Ron murmured with a smile on his lips.
Suddenly, however, it glittered over their heads, just as if a ray of sunshine had struck a crystal of ice. An unusually cold gust ruffled both their hairs as the girl said, „Ouch! Something stuck me in the chest."
Immediately the boy bent over his friend, but there was nothing to be seen. No cut fabric or bruised skin.
"Whatever it was, it's gone," he said, but it wasn't. For it was one of the specks of glass that came from the mirror, the magic mirror – remember – the horrid glass that made everything large and good that was reflected in it become tiny and horrible, but what was evil and nasty became more obvious and everything wrong with something was immediately noticeable. The poor girl! She had just gotten one of the tiny shards right into the heart. Soon her heart would be like a lump of ice. It no longer hurt, but it was still there.
And suddenly the girl pushed the boy away, her countenance a reflection of shudder. "But what are you doing there?" she asked. "Leave me alone. I don't need you." She glanced at the book in her hands. "Ugh! What disgusting creatures! Just like the stupid title. The Great Dragon Encyclopaedia for True Dragon Lovers? As if there could be such a thing as love!" And with that, the girl threw her favourite book far into the lake.
"Hey, what are you doing?" the boy cried, and seeing his terror, she snorted contemptuously and walked away from the boy, her best friend, who loved her so much. Just at that moment, several snowflakes began to fall from the sky.
If the boy hoped that his friend's gloomy disposition would brighten up again, he was bitterly disappointed. Later, when they sat together at dinner with other children, she avoided his gaze, and when he tried to take her in his arms as usual, she pushed him away again. "Stop that!" she hissed. "I'm not your toy, but my own master."
The boy just looked at her in confusion. What did she mean by that? Of course, she wasn't a toy, but still they could show their affection, couldn't they?
"Affection?" the girl laughed coldly when he shared his thoughts with her. Outside, meanwhile, a terrible snowstorm began that would not end. "What nonsense are you talking about? There is no affection, no love, no peace between man and woman. Only those who are too weak, and pay for it with their blood and tears."
And it stayed that way. Whenever the boy wanted to talk to his friend about his feelings, whenever he wanted to show her how important she was to him, how much he loved her, she turned away, not letting any warmth get to her. And so the girl's heart turned more and more to ice, until it finally became as cold as the never-ending winter that had settled on the magical land.
And one day, the girl never appeared again. Unnoticed by her old friends, she had completed her transformation. The lovely girl no longer existed, and in her place was the Ice Queen, as sublime and as terribly beautiful as the icy polar sea. Freed from all human bonds, she flew above the black clouds to her distant castle, the storm roaring and raging around her as if it were singing old songs. She flew over forests and rivers, over dark canyons and icy deserts. Beneath her the cold wind roared, the wolves howled, the snow glittered, with black screeching crows flying above it, but above everything, the silver moon shone on the magical land in winter. And the boy gazed at it with tears in his eyes when he heard about the disappearance of his best friend, not knowing if he would ever see her again, if he would ever hear her laugh again, if he would ever be able to warm her heart again. He couldn't be happy without her, he knew that.
" Oh Harry," Hermione whispered.
And so the boy set off with two friends, with whom he had already experienced many adventures, to search for her, against all odds. For if you were not willing to fight for your dreams, you had already lost, he was convinced, and so taught the heroes of the past. He would not give up until he found his friend, the girl he loved with all his soul.
Harry paused, remembering how difficult he had found it last night to describe the boy's despair and fear, which were his own.
"I think that is enough for now," said Dumbledore. An oppressive mood had spread through the hall. "A bit unpolished now and then, but for it being your first work, not bad at all. Although, of course, it is quite clear to see which of your great-grandfather's fairy tales you drew inspiration from."
He smiled at Harry, who acknowledged it with a puzzled look. Was he being serious, launching into a literary critique? But then Dumbledore suddenly clapped his hands, and the sound was so loud and unexpected that Harry winced, as did all the other students and teachers.
"To me, all this suggests only one possible conclusion," the headmaster said. "You, Harry, along with your two friends beside you" – he pointed to Ron and Hermione, who already had determined expressions on their faces – "must go down in the dungeons, for that seems to be where the unnatural cold that has settled over the castle is coming from."
Just at that moment, the candles in the hall began to flicker before going out one by one. Only the sun, hidden by clouds and shining through the invisible ceiling, illuminated the room, which had already become noticeably colder. The first students began to put on their winter gloves.
"There you must find the Ice Queen and rescue the girl, who, I conclude, is the lovely Miss Greengrass from your year."
"But why just us?" Harry asked. "Why can't you help us, Professor? Or one of the other teachers?"
"Because it is not our story," replied Dumbledore. "We cannot give you a greater power than you already have. And by that I don't mean the power of having created this fairy tale story. Your power, Harry, is deep in your heart. It originates in what makes you human. If you cannot get to the Ice Queen yourself and free Daphne from that shard of glass, we cannot help."
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"Now off you go, brave poets and heroes, that you may save the fair maiden from an icy fate. And us as well."
"Albus, a little more seriousness please," McGonagall reprimanded from the side.
"Oh, I am perfectly serious," said Dumbledore. "In fact, I think I have even caught a cold." Hagrid handed him a handkerchief as big as a tablecloth, which Dumbledore used to blow his nose noisily. Then he continued, "Only you can save Hogwarts from an eternal winter now. But you must hurry, for the magic unleashed by Harry is growing stronger. I wish you luck in the hope that you will not need it."
And with a quick wave of his wand, a large mountain of winter clothing appeared in the middle of the Great Hall. The students didn't wait for a prompt from their headmaster before they darted on the clothes. Harry, Ron, and Hermione also began dressing for their upcoming quest.
"I wouldn't have thought that you were such a drama queen," whispered Ron.
"Stop it, Ronald," Hermione hissed. She had already put on a bright, neon yellow snowsuit and was currently struggling with her new boots. "This is going to be a beautiful love story that they'll tell their grandchildren about, you'll see."
Harry hoped so much that Hermione would be right in her words, but the most important thing now was to save Daphne. To save her from his own stupidity. He should have just endured her wishes in silence, as much as it would have hurt…
With one last look at the assembled Hogwarts students and faculty, who waved encouragingly after them, the trio finally strode down the stairs to the dungeons. And if you strained your ears very well, you could hear icy laughter far in the distance.