#12 Grimmauld Place
Her pillow was soaked. Try as she might, she could not completely stop the flow of her tears. Whenever there was a reprieve, it was only because her body simply didn't have any more tears to produce. At that point, she'd dry-heave. It hurt her body, and it hurt her soul. She had yet to decipher why it affected her in this manner, but what she did know was that she never wanted to feel like this again.
She could feel a dull ache in her heart, and despite her intellect, had neither the means nor the strength to rid herself of it. She had cried before, that much was obvious. She had been in pain before, had harsh wounds before. And yet each of those feelings paled in comparison to how she felt now.
As intelligent and brilliant as she was, she was lost in a sea of her own emotions. Inexplicably, she had no answers for once.
She hadn't cried this much since her grandmother had passed away while holding her. At the time, she had felt guilt, as if she had literally sucked the life out of the venerable woman. It was weird in a sense, being held by a loved one, so filled with life only to feel the heaviness of their emptiness moments later. She hadn't cried immediately, she had still been too young. And while, mentally, she had already been intellectually sparring with her teachers, she hadn't known the truth of what had happened. She hadn't known that she would never see her grandmother again. She had, of course, read about death, and had even seen some of her classmates and neighbors affected by it. Yet, it had never affected her. She had never known 3 out of her 4 grandparents, having passed before she was even conceived, but she had known this one. This grandmother had bought her a present that had changed her life; a book.
Her grandmother had told her that they were, or had been, very similar in their youth. Too smart for their own good. The size of the intellect was simply too much for many others. It wasn't her fault of course, everyone was born different. That had been her escape, to read. In the two weeks after the funeral of her grandmother, she had read that very first book more than a dozen times. It was a simple book really, but just reading the passages had always brought her sense of calmness.
It wasn't much of a thought connected to it, but all of a sudden she walked over to her trunk, and shifted around until she had unveiled the compartment she had tacked on. The trunk, while ordinary held one of her safe-havens. Some of her books had been shrunken in order to allow room for more. With every book memorized, she sought out more knowledge. It was the one thing that she had control over in her life. It was the one thing that never left her.
With a candle and a book, she could conquer the world. Or at least hide from it. She could hide from her nightmares, and from the pathetic tears that she shed.
Picking up her tattered but loved copy of A Wrinkle in Time, she brushed a lock of bushy brown hair out of her eyes and thought that maybe nightmares of a raven-haired wizard would cease.
Ministry of Magic
In another part of the world, a man scribbled a missive that he sent off hurriedly. He had many things that he needed to attend to, and yet many more things that he wanted to take care of. To him, some of those things easily merged and made it difficult for him to make his decisions. Well, to the eyes of his enemies anyway. To his allies, there should be no other decision for him to make.
He was the leader, or the lead politician in any case, and he made the decisions. Of course, he had to make sure that all of the right people were happy and for all of the right reasons. And yet, in some cases, he knew he needed to take control. It was likely that some people simply wanted his power and his influence. Too many of his enemies wanted him dead and too many of his allies wanted to use him. That was the game that he played though, and for a while it had been great. It had been peaceful if anything.
And now, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned. He couldn't deny it anymore, and he couldn't run from it. He had seen the being with his own eyes, in front of the smug faces of Dumbledore and the Potter boy. He could picture them all laughing at him now, hoping and praying for his downfall. Even if he went down now, he certainly had a nest-egg squirrelled away. He could get by for the next several lifetimes if all went to plan.
He should be scared, he knew. And yet, he knew and understood what it took to motivate the public. He knew what it meant to pretend to give the people what they wanted and how to go about surviving the battle ahead.
It seemed as if some of the worst things happened during his tenure as Minister. Black had escaped. Several others had escaped as well, more than likely assisted by Black. Dumbledore had been conspiring against him. Potter had been a menace at Hogwarts as usual, and finally You-Know-Who had shown his face. So many things had happened to him. And yet he had persevered. He was meant to be the Minister of Magic. He simply had to take care of a few issues, that was all.
Apparently the Prophet hadn't done a well enough job throughout the last year. Of course, the fiasco at the Ministry didn't help one bit. Yet, he was a Fudge, a member of a family that did not give up. He had attained more than any of his prior ancestors had previously. He had become great! He had become MInister of Magic.
It would be a simple matter of crafting a manner in which to get his point across. A simple letter, written to the right person, to get the necessary issues across would suffice. He would send it immediately to make sure that his hastily laid plan could work. Nothing could go wrong for Cornelius Fudge, it would simply be a longer day in the office.
#12 Grimmauld Place
He tossed and turned, unable to break away from the horror of his memories.
It was dark, cloudy maybe, but the darkness was so great that he could not tell the difference. It scared him if he wanted to be honest about it. In the darkness, he could feel the presence of malice. A presence built upon nothing but hate, pain, and sorrow. It hurt him to be aware of it.
Suddenly, there were two pinpricks of red in the distance. They were nearly indistinguishable from the darkness around him. And yet, once he noticed them, he couldn't help but notice the pinpricks. In fact, if he focused on them, he could not help but notice that they were getting larger. It took but a moment for his mind to realize that the small red dots were getting larger because they were coming closer to him. It he could have moved, he would have, but he found himself entrenched in his position. Whether it was by fear or simple indecision, he found himself paralyzed.
And then they were there. He could see them in great detail It was almost as if he was looking in the mirror. He could feel himself within those eyes, causing some of those hateful emotions that he sensed.
"Harry Potter." A voice, snake-like in its being spoke to him. The sound reverberated through his mind. He could move again and he ran as fast as he possibly could.
Harry Potter woke up chasing his breath, hyperventilating in his attempts to run from the nightmares that plagued him nightly. It had only been a few short days since he had woken up, and each night had been the same. Fortunately, his nightmares allowed him to keep to himself in that he could eat and gather his thoughts while everyone else was asleep. His odd hours kept him from the eyes of his friends. As badly as he wanted to speak to them, a part of him knew that he was not ready for the questions that he would face. Nor was he ready for the looks of pity that he was sure to receive.
Instead he busied himself with the notes that he had taken from studying with Remus and Tonks. True to their word, they had started at the very beginning of magic and had attempted to redefine everything that he thought he had known.
In his time when he was not reviewing notes, he locked himself in the room that Remus had taken him to initially throwing himself into the practical application of his magic. It was a simple matter really. He had made it his duty to master every single spell that he had learned previously. He wanted to know every spell intimately, and learn the ins and outs of every spell as well. He, quite honestly, didn't know if he was making progress, but once he spent himself he felt better. At the very least, he was doing something.
If he were being honest with himself, he wasn't satisfied with simply knowing that there was a war going on. He needed to feel as if he was making an impact. He needed to feel as if he was changing the tide, or at least listening to the people that were trying to stem the tide. Voldemort had an entire year to gain a foothold, and Harry refused to believe that he had simply fixated on the prophecy at the end of his last year. Voldemort was simply smarter than that. He hadn't gotten to where he was by simply having one goal. He was ruthless and intelligent. A scary combination if you factor in his level of power and obsession with the idea of killing everyone.
Harry whisked through several hours attempting to sort through his nightmarish thoughts until it was time to meet with Remus. Their discussions on magic had enlightened him, so to speak. Slowly, he could understand where Hermione was coming from with her excitement to learn as much as possible. Except, in his case, he needed to know as possible. It was without a doubt that Voldemort knew these things like the back of his hand, even with all of the mutations.
"Harry, are you listening?" Remus asked, for what was likely the third time. Harry, seemingly, had spaced out again. Harry couldn't, for the life of him, remember what the discussion was about.
"I'm sorry Moony. I'm just… well, I guess I'm just unfocused. It won't happen again." Harry replied. He couldn't allow a simple straying of his thoughts to take him away from his mission, his destiny.
"It's okay Harry. Are you well enough to continue? We can cancel our meeting for today if that's what you want?" Remus asked, concern filling his eyes. Harry shook his head quickly.
"No, I need to know these things. Where were we?" Harry continued, noting that Remus looked as if he needed and wanted to ask a question. With a deep sigh, the werewolf continued on as before.
"What do we know about magic so far?" Remus asked. Harry took a moment to take a sip from his bottle of Butterbeer before responding. The conversations with Remus, being informal, helped him to define magic for himself, which was far better than the definitions that the school tended to force down the throats of their students.
"We know, or rather the general consensus is, that magic is fluid. Apparently, it can't be confined to one place, it can't be trapped, and in many ways it is completely uncontrollable." Harry responded. Remus nodded at the short summary.
"Good. Which is why incantations and wand movements are used to guide the magic. Now, how do you use your magic?" Remus asked. For once, Harry was a bit stuck on this one.
"I dunno, I just do I guess. I don't know that it was ever a conscious thought. Once I had the wand in my hand, it all seemed to click." Harry thought with a shrug.
"Well let's look at it this way Harry. Have you seen Dumbledore use magic?" Remus asked.
"Yeah, all the time, but mostly at the Ministry where he dueled Voldemort." Harry replied, an unconscious shiver rushing through his body as he remembered the sheer power of the battle.
"Ah yes, I heard about that battle. Did you notice anything in particular that has to do with our lecture for today?" Remus asked, trying to rephrase the question.
"Well, for the most part they talked as they exchanged spells that could level entire buildings it seemed. And they always knew where the other was. Voldemort was fairly aggressive, but I think Dumbledore was actually pushing him back. When they talked – Bloody Hell, they didn't use any actual spells." Harry said excitedly.
"Excellent. For the most part, most accomplished adults do away with words and in most cases can do away with wand movements as well. What does this tell you?" Remus asked.
"Bloody hell if I know." Harry said with a chuckle.
"I'll give you this one. Magic is all about intent and willpower. Most witches and wizards use these incantations as a way of shaping their intent, and then use their willpower to guide the magic. Does that make sense to you?" Remus asked.
Harry took a moment before confidently shaking his head with a small grin. "No, not really."
"Well, let's look at it this way. When you are using the spell Expelliarmus what's your process? And I don't mean now, it's probably second nature by now. I mean when you first learned it, how was it taught to you?" Remus asked.
Harry thought for a second, trying to remember back to his second year when he had first learned the spell. Technically, he had learned the spell watching Snape and Lockhart duel and read up on it a bit later. From the book he could remember that the wand moment was a quick thrust in the direction of the enemy, the incantation, and then picturing the result of the spell. He said as much to Remus.
"The key point there, Harry, is picturing what the spell is supposed to do. That allows you to use your willpower to fuel your intent. Would the spell work if you said aloud Expelliarmus but pictured them floating?" Remus asked. Harry shook his head visibly.
"I suppose not. Is it hard to do?" Harry asked.
"Well, it isn't easy, but with all things all you have to do is practice. The parrying trick that we talked about is simply a silent shield spell that is used at the precise moment. All it takes, is a bit of intent and a lot of willpower. Can you see how helpful this will be in a duel?" Remus responded.
"Yeah, makes it tough for the enemy to defend if they don't know the spell that you are calling out." Harry thought aloud. "But, that would mean that as a defender, I would need to have a good grasp on the spells myself, right?"
"Yes and no. I can see where you are coming from here, but keep in mind that the best defense is moving. If you don't recognize the spell, don't hesitate to move out of the way. Some spells look remarkably similar, but once you get a feeling for your own magic and the way that the spell works, you'll be more adept at identifying magic in general."
"Wait, why is that? How can your magic get used to an enemy's spell?" Harry asked, confused.
"Well, would you say you have a good grasp on the Patronus Charm?" Remus asked. At Harry's nod, he continued further, "I'd reckon then that you could feel another Patronus being cast nearby. The trick is feeling your magic."
"So, we're back to square one then?" Harry asked. At Remus' nod, Harry groaned. "How does one feel their magic?" He continued.
"Well, the theory is for a normal magic user, about 10 years. But I know that you don't necessarily have the luxury of waiting. Some say that Occlumency helps, but I'm rubbish there. Plus, being werewolf gives me my own mental shields of sorts. Do you know Occlumency?" Remus asked, seemingly unaware of the disaster that Snape had been a part of last year.
"Yep. Dumbledore made me take it with Snape." Harry responded, the sneer in his voice. Remus could not help his incredulous expression.
"He had someone that you hate repeatedly go into your mind? Let me guess, he made every effort to tear you down and fish for every negative memory?" Lupin asked, starting to get upset himself.
"Pretty much. And, it's not that I hate him exactly, I just wish he had never been born." Harry said with a smirk. "He kicked me out after I snooped in his Pensieve. Speaking of that, I didn't know my father was a bully." Harry spoke, hoping that he had caught Remus off guard with the question.
"We were all young then. I wouldn't say that James was a bully. No, if anything he was very fair. We did a lot of pranking in Hogwarts days, but we weren't the only ones. Some people were okay with the good natured pranks, and others wanted to get us back." Remus took a break, his eyes holding a faraway look. "The problem was, truly, that this particular event was around the time that Voldemort's reach was lengthening. Students were being yanked out of school, and had their family members murdered. Some took the pranks a bit seriously. Snape was one of those, despite never being shy about doing his own bit of pranking."
"So, this was what, a random event?" Harry asked, still trying to put the pieces together.
"I see." Harry replied simply. There was nothing more that needed to be said. It was decades ago, and Snape still hated him for it. It was no matter as Harry knew he had bigger fish to fry.
"Let's get back to talking about magic, ok?" Remus stated with a sigh. It was years ago, but that didn't lessen the depth of their idiocy.
Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office
Dumbledore sat back with a sigh. He had watched the memory of Harry fighting for his life several times. With each repetition, the tear in his heart grew greater and greater, and the pain hurt. Not exactly a physical pain, no, but a pain that he felt deep within his being.
For all of his titles, and all of his skills, and all of his power, he had still been unable to protect the boy. A part of him did realize that he had indeed saved Harry in a way, but his logical mind would not allow for him to settle for that. He was upset that it had even had a chance to happen in the first place.
What was worse, he was scared of how the event would add further stress to the already burdened young man. Harry had so much on his plate, and every day seemed to only serve to add more hardship and pain into his life.
"Albus," Mad-Eye Moody spoke nearly startling the Headmaster, and his long time friend. Truly, Albus had forgotten he was there. "You called me here, urgently? What's the matter?" His gruff voice continued.
"I wanted you to watch a memory with me. I believe you have been briefed on the situation that occurred with Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked, looking over his half-moon glasses.
"Situation? Bloody catastrophe in my eyes. The Deatheaters are getting bold Albus, very bold. They aren't hiding anymore." Moody replied, his magical eye twirling observing all of the portraits in the office. One would think he suspected them of an attack.
"Indeed. I was able to ask Harry to provide me with a copy of the memory. I wish to see what we can decipher from this. I think, perhaps, that the answer may lie in what didn't happen, as opposed to what did. Will you join me?" Dumbledore asked, already knowing the answer. A stiff nod was all that he received.
Almost at once his Pensieve flew over from the cabinet without a spoken word or gesture from its owner, a casual display of his complete mastery of the summoning charm.
"Damn show off." Moody muttered with a maniacal grin. He too knew a bit of wandless magic, but Dumbledore was seemingly in a class of his own. Albus simply smiled in response to his old friend. Together they stood over the pensive and dived into the memory.
The scene started immediately with the explosion. Dumbledore had already determined that there were likely delayed Reducto's implanted in the ground. It had been a fairly busy day on that particular avenue, so the explosion had caught several cars filled with a varying number of people. Truthfully, the Deatheaters had struck with frightening precision and destruction. Dumbledore had long since followed every detail of the battle, and immediately went to the rumpled car that had belonged to the Dursleys.
He watched as Harry regained consciousness and located his glasses. From there, he watched the wizard cautiously sneak up on the obvious still shaken Harry Potter. From the first time that Dumbledore had seen this part of the scene, he had immediately feared for the life of his student. The very first rendition though, showed a side of Harry Potter that most people never got the chance to see, a survivor.
From his vantage point, he and Alastor were able to see the faraway look in the eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived. Albus was sure that he had run through his limited options and had adapted a plan of action that likely saved his life. A few short sentences later, and an impossibly fast pivot, the Deatheater was unconscious on the ground. Alastor gave a rough grunt in appreciation of the move as the scene moved forward.
The scene with the muggle man had brought a tear to the aged Headmaster's face. He knew of the student, fleetingly of course, and mourned for her loss. Since the incident, he had already had her placed with friends from Hogwarts and watched by a house elf as she came to grips that she would never see her father again.
Harry's familiarity with pain and with death was most apparent here as he told the man that he would die. For such a young soul, Harry had seen too much pain and heartache. In normal situations involving death, the person afflicted had time and opportunity to mourn. It was not the case for Harry who had to immediately dive out of the way of the spell that claimed the lives of so many before it.
What always took Dumbledore's breath away was the fact that the boy had taken the Cruciatus curse with merely a grunt. He noticed that sharp intake of breath from Alastor, likely in appreciation of the inner strength of the young man.
The demise of Vernon Dursley merely brought a grimace from Alastor, as both of his eyes continued to soak in the scene that he was seeing. Even knowing the outcome, it seemed that the legendary auror wanted to see for himself what the duel was like. For the longest moment, the needless torture of Vernon Durlsey carried on, and Harry looked frozen by inaction.
Once again though, Dumbledore noticed the faraway look in the eyes of Harry Potter and watched his wand seemingly appeared in his hands. From that moment, he witnessed what was likely one of the most powerful applications of the Disarming Charm he had ever witnessed, as the force of the spell hurtled the Deatheaters several meters.
It had been ingenious of course, to use the weakened body of one enemy as a weapon, effectively giving yourself the advantage once more. He mentally tipped his hat in the direction of the Boy-Who-Lived.
He continued to watch as the young man managed to cast an elemental shield spell that was well beyond NEWT level. Though the two Deatheaters didn't necessarily appear to be very powerful, Dumbledore knew the vast difference between mature magic and young magic. He knew that any normal 5th year would have died in that instance. For this one in particular to be able to cast such an advanced spell, spoke volumes in regards to the depths of his magic.
The counter-attack launched by Bellatrix had been a clever move that instantly caused a high level of pain in Harry. The fact that Harry stood again always took Dumbledore's breath away and he could see that it had the same effect on his companion.
Harry's first kill was one made by both desperation and rage driven magic. Without a word, he had easily lifted an automobile and had thrown it at his attackers. With such a large object, they could do nothing but attempt to defend against it. Dumbledore again tipped his hat to the young man.
The lightning spell that Harry sent forth to had at first raised an eyebrow and a disbelieving look. Since the first time Dumbledore had seen that particular scene, he had managed to only always gasp. The thing was, elemental magic was always considered delicate. Most students were taught very basic elemental spells, such as Incendio, and Augementi as a means of introducing the field and the dangers posed. The upper level spells were usually only taught out of necessity for the testing. The logic was the idea that most students would stick to the more basic versions of the spells. The upper level spells were always tricky in that the spells themselves seemed to have a life of their own.
One could take the examples of Fiendfyre in the history books. It was a fire with a life of its own and only wanted to cause destruction. Those that wanted to master the spell were told that the single most important thing would be mastery of their own mind. If the life and will of the spell was stronger than their own, they would fail and likely die as a result. A great deal of power and control had to be exercised over the spells. Harry having done one in a battle spoke to great power and focus on his objective. The spell did exactly what he wanted it to do without causing backlash and hurting the caster.
The messy death of another Deatheater attracted the attention of Dumbledore again. Again, the young man had killed, though without meaning to. That would be key in any form of debriefing Harry. The retaliation from the Deatheaters was swift and painful, and saw Harry coughing up a huge volume of blood. It had been a miracle that he had managed to stand, let alone hold up a shield that had become very battered.
What happened next always managed to drive the breath from his chest. He could see the fire of the defiance left in Harry as he spat blood at his enemies. He could see the last breath that he took before the spell took his life. Those images would stay with him for the rest of his life.
What he finally noticed, though, was the flash of a golden light that encompassed his student as the Avada Kedavra ripped through him. This was another moment in which he tipped his hat to another Potter, this one a red-head.
Back at his desk, and after a shot of Firewhiskey for Alastor, there was nothing but silence.
"Bloody Hell Albus." Mad-Eye Moody intoned, his eyes riveted on the penseive.
"Indeed my friend." Dumbledore replied with a nod. "What did you see?" He continued, looking closely at the ex-Auror before him. Long ago, he had noticed that Mad-Eye Moody saw everything, which was likely the reason he was so paranoid. He had always been a perceptive person, and his magical eye did not limited to seeing through objects. In most cases, he could see magic as it was being used.
"The boy has a bit of fight in him. Managed to take out two fully-trained, evil wizards. He knew magic that he probably shouldn't have. His instincts….they were impeccable, and in some ways evening the playfield for him. I had always heard that he was good at quidditch, but blimey, he could be unstoppable if he wanted to be." Mad-Eye said, his face full of awe.
"And?" Dumbledore gently prodded.
"There really wasn't a way for him to avoid a fight. Bloody Deatheaters beat him up bad. But he survived dinnit he?" Alastor spoke, looking back at his long time colleague.
"Yes, though I do not know how or why," Dumbledore replied, interlocking his fingers under his chin. "I'm not yet sure of how this will change him. He has been very, er, persuasive in his last conversations with me. I am afraid that he no longer trusts me as strongly as before. He may even come to you for help, with your particular skills. You have my blessing to train him if you see fit, but do not go easy on him. From what we have watched, we have seen a young man with a powerful will to live and a strong determination to protect himself and others."
"You're always one to have a plan old friend, what's it this time?" Alastor asked. Dumbledore thought deeply for a time before resigning himself to a shrug.
"For once, I am at a loss for words." The aged headmaster stated, eyes holding a distant look.
#12 Grimmauld Place
Hermione Granger watched her bestfriend sit and stare into the flames of the fireplace. She had been watching him for some time now, not counting the previous years that had kept them together.
She had long ago abandoned any attempts to see into the room the Professor Lupin and him often vanished into, only to come out hours later sweaty, battered and bruised. She wasn't the smartest witch of her generation for naught. She knew without a doubt that it was highly likely that Harry was going through some sort of training. She was okay with that, mostly. What mattered to her the most was the fact that Harry hadn't allowed himself time to properly recuperate.
She could only grasp at the faintest edges of her imagination to come up with what he had been through. From the look of his tattered corpse, just a week before, she could not believe that he had held the strength necessary to stand, let alone whatever the professor had in mind for him. She had only seen Dumbledore once or twice, but the man seemed to avoid any area of the house that Harry was in. She had managed to keep to herself, rarely showing her face for meals and hardly talking to the other teens in the house. Likewise, it was hard to tell that there were other humans in the house at times.
Since she and Ginny no longer shared a room, she had plenty of time to herself. She suspected that the same could be said for Ron. The Twins had their own flat above their shop, and Molly had taken to fluttering back and forth between the Burrow and Headquarters. Dumbledore had spoken to everyone and told them to give Harry his space, as he would need it. His tone had left no argument. All in all, it made for a nearly lonely place to be, but that suited her just fine.
What she had done is try to get as much rest as possible in the daylight. At night, the house did nothing for her except empower her nightmares. Mr. Weasley had been nice enough to silence her room after he had been walking by and heard her muffled screams through the door. After making sure of her decency, the warm man dried her tears and left her with a few words of reassurance.
What she needed now, though, was her bestfriend.
"Harry." The word left her lips before she had made a conscious thought to form them. He looked startled at first, immediately going for his wand, before his brain made the connection between the word and her voice. He threw his wand on the cushion next to him roughly.
"Hermione." His voice sounded, full of exhaustion. There was pain there too, of that she was certain. She moved across the room and sat next to him, joining him in staring into the fire.
The silence seemed to be infinite, but that suited her just fine. She didn't see much of him, or any of him at all recently, so she took her time to study him briefly. Some of the scars on his arms and legs had receded a bit. The bruises were smaller too, and he seemed to sit almost uncomfortably on what was likely the most comfortable couch in the entire house. He seemed slightly taller if her estimations were accurate, and even had a bit more weight on him as well. And yet, she still sensed a weakness in him. Call it a woman's intuition or simply years of spending nearly every day in his company, but Hermione Granger knew Harry Potter.
"Your hair's a mess." Hermione spoke suddenly, another moment of speaking before her thought was fully formed. Harry tended to have that effect on her sometimes, not that she would ever admit it to him.
"Your teeth are large." Harry replied after a moment of silence. It was a game of theirs that they only used when they were absolutely certain they were alone. Each was a bit of themselves that they truly had no control over, and it was always a way to prevent an argument between them. As a result, a smile graced Hermione's face.
'He hasn't forgotten about me.' She said, her mental smile far larger than her physical.
"Your scar is ugly." She continued the game. Technically, it had no definable end to it, a bit like their friendship.
"You're tired." He muttered, as he turned in his seat to face her. His face may have masked the pain at the moment, but she saw the slightest flicker in his eyes. He was still hurting, but would never complain about it.
"I don't sleep well," She mumbled back evasively. He didn't need to know of her nightmares; after all; most of them centered around him. "You're still in pain." She continued, hoping to turn the side of the conversation back to him.
He simply nodded in response, she was proud that he didn't ever try to argue with her about most things. He was stubborn when need be, but if Harry trusted you, he was capable of being rational. Well, sometimes.
"It's nothing that I haven't felt before." He replied. It was true, and she couldn't dispute his claim with any success.
"Have the potions not been working?" Hermione asked, concerned. His sheepish look felt different, but she knew she wouldn't like his response.
"Well, that or I haven't really been taking them," Harry muttered. "They don't seem to help."
"Harry James Potter!" Hermione whispered harshly. She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "Can you do it for me, please?" She spoke. The widening of his eyes let her know that he had be prepared to fight force with force. He hadn't expected that talent, and he couldn't reasonably deny her request.
"Yes," Harry sighed. "I will take the damn potions."
"Thank you," Hermione responded quickly. "What's wrong Harry?" She carried on, cutting to the heart of the issue.
"I'd rather not talk about it." Harry responded, a bit heatedly.
"And I'd rather talk about it. Such a quandary don't you think?" Hermione responded with a bit of her own force.
"Let's talk about your nightmares. What are they about? Are they the reason that Arthur placed a silencing charm on your room? Is that the reason that you look dead tired at all hours of the day? Is that the reason you are always moments away from tears?" Harry asked, his questions quiet and deadly. Hermione looked at him with what he probably took as a look of fierce indignation. She schooled her features and looked him steadily in the eye.
"I see a Harry Potter, lying still, dead to the world. I wake up to the image of my bestfriend falling in front of me, bleeding from untold wounds, trying to fight what seems to be the inevitable. I wake up because every dream starts the same, and ends the same. I scream because of the pain. Harry, I'm scared." What had started as a rant fueled by fire was snuffed out by the tears she tried to keep in. With the battered reality of her nightmares in front of her, she could hold back no more.
The angry visage of Harry had turned to one of shock and finally pain, as he began to understand the pain she had been dealing with. It took her by surprise when he suddenly reached forward and brought her into a crushing hug. She had felt that he had opened his mouth to respond when suddenly there was the sharp tap of an owl at the window.
"Are you expecting a letter, from Viktor maybe?" Harry asked. She could have sworn she felt his body relaxed, almost as if he was happy for a change of topic. As he stood up to open the window, she threw the closest pillow at him, only to miss terribly. "Good thing you're not on the Quidditch team eh?" He continued, a soft chuckle emanating from him.
"Who was the owl for?" Hermione asked, curious. As if in answer, Harry slit the envelope open and begin to read the letter within. Although his back was to her, she could see the sagging of his shoulders as he read further into the letter.
"Fucking bastards!" Harry spit out suddenly, any sign of a chuckle evaporated. Hermione knew that Harry wasn't the potty-mouth that Ron was, yet and still she was surprised at the strength of swear word. Before she could even open her mouth, he handed her the letter, closing the window after the owl that hadn't bothered to wait for a response.
"It's from the Ministry," He stated simply. "Apparently, they want to charge me with some things."
"This doesn't even say what the charges are! It's almost as if they aren't sure themselves." Hermione replied, already on her second reading. She readmuch faster than Harry did.
"Yeah, and it's in two days. Some warning." He responded bitterly. "I guess I should tell Remus."
"Tell Remus what?" The mentioned werewolf spoke, having been quietly walking past. Wordlessly, Hermione passed the letter to him.
"I bet this is an attempt for Fudge to save face. I'm sure the Ministry has a way to shut the The Prophet down, or feed it the stories to publish. He can't have had a grand time at the end of the year when Voldemort stood in the middle of the Ministry of Magic itself." Hermione spoke, her mind racing.
"Hermione is right. I know offhandedly, that he was still trying to work on a way to keep Dumbledore from all of his titles. But, he spent an entire year doing absolutely nothing to stop Voldemort, and everything to stop the very people that knew what they were talking about. My guess is that he is trying to appease his allies, most of whom have questionable associations." Remus replied, handing the letter to the addressee.
"I can't catch a break can I?" Harry asked, shaking dark locks. Hermione could sympathize with him. Though, he hadn't yet opened up to her about what was plaguing him, she knew that this would do nothing but make him close up further.
"Don't worry Harry, I'll help you. I wasn't able to last time, but the last visit to the Wizengamot had me doing as much research as possible." Hermione replied earnestly. She longed for a way, anyway to help her bestfriend with his troubles.
"I'll help too Harry. Between the two of us, we should be able to come up with a way to prepare you for what's ahead." Remus followed.
"Thank you guys. I appreciate it, really. I need to go lie down." Harry replied, before heading up to his bedroom.
Remus and Hermione shared a look, understanding the weight that the departed young man was shouldering.
"Well, what do you know about the Wizengamot Professor Lupin?" Hermione started.
Harry's Room
Harry had barely made it to his room before a flash of fire erupted near his bed. Fawkes, the beautiful red phoenix alighted on the desk in his room with a letter in his beak.
"Hello Fawkes, I don't suspect that you will be bringing me good news today?" Harry asked, nearly pleading. Almost as if the bird could understand his words, and he probably could, Fawkes seemed to be reluctant to actually had Harry the letter. It was from Dumbledore:
Greetings Harry,
I have just received news that the Ministry, namely Minister Fudge, is orchestrating a hearing for you. While I do not know the details as of yet, I am certain that it has to do with the incident at the end of the school year. Fudge is not one to go down without a fight. While I am uncertain of the case that the Ministry hopes to build against you, I am certain that you will prevail. If not, we will come to that hurdle when we do.
That however, is not the reason for this letter. I received a missive from Gringotts requesting your presence for the reading of Sirius' Will. As I am down as your magical guardian, they thought to send it to me. Ironically, they have scheduled the reading of the Will to be a few hours before your hearing. I do not know what is written in the Will, as Sirius had it changed several times after his imprisonment.
I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news once more.
With regret,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster, Hogwarts
Supreme Mugwump
Harry almost ripped the letter the pieces, but a short note from Fawkes stilled his angry hands. He hadn't realized that he had sat down on the bed while reading. Roughly, he threw the letter to the side and lay completely on the bed, his hands behind his head as he stared at the dingy ceiling above him. The weight of the phoenix fluttering to his bedside table nearly unsettled him, but the soft melody of the bird easily calmed his spirits.
He would be asleep before he knew it, his dreams normal for a change.
