Chapter 13: The Holidays I
AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Today's chapter is back on Harry.
The last chapter really hurt my confidence. I did not get any flames or negative reviews. I instead got no reviews. I want to know what you think, like dislike. Telling me you hated lavender would have been so much better than radio silence.
Ok enough with my self-pity.
I promised you this would be longer… I lied. I got distracted this week and read the entirety of The Denarian Series by Shezza. If you haven't read it, it is amazing. A crossover with Dresden Files which requires no background in The Dresden Files (I sure haven't).
As always, I really need a beta. I make little mistakes in grammar and spelling and could use help in phrasing.
The Holidays.
Harry promised himself to never ride the carriages of Hogwarts. A horse team, that replaced the horse with a sinister being, pulled each one. The creature appeared horse-like, with four legs and an elongated head. Its neck appeared more curved and only the hind limbs had hooves; the front held scaled talons. As the scales dissipated a tight leather skin took over, stretching directly over the bone. A pair of humongous wings attached from below the shoulder to the tip of the tail, veiny and bat-like, they stretched wider than twice the beast length. Its tail whipped with powerful muscles and came to a forked tip, sharp enough to pierce anything in Harry's possession. The monster's strangest piece is its head, long and thin with a beak that led to more leather skin hugging the face. A crown of bone horns pierced the back of its skull and the piercing white eyes watched without pupils. What is worse is how they watched him, following his movements and beckoning Harry to ride with them, calling to him with whispers on the wind.
He ignored them.
Instead, he pulled his cloak tight and took a side path to the castle, the same that brought him to Hogsmeade station. The peppering of stars developed into a caking as he stepped through the soft wood.
"Hey, Potter, I'm talking to you." Tracy Davis screeched again.
The sky looked perfect tonight, calm and gorgeous without a hint of the terror it held. What lay beyond earth did not read in his future, the monsters beyond were not his enemy to fight. Instead of dwelling on that, he focused on the path ahead, the soft crunching of fresh snow over dead growth filling the quiet sounds of the path. To his right, a giggle erupted as a monster drawn carriage closed in on his path. The roads converged before the Entrance Hall of the school. Students freely walked in and out of the enormous doors, open on the rare occasion, as fridged air wafted into Hogwarts. In the entryway, the fat friar floated until he saw Harry. He retreated immediately upon eye contact.
The ghost reminded Harry of the promises of Binns. His teacher had yet to approach and tell Harry anything about his odd interactions with the specters of Hogwarts. Something gripped the back of his robe, halting his thoughts and walk forward.
"I was talking to you." Davis looked down and a rush of guilt overtook him. Why did he ignore her? He opened his mouth to talk, but the right words didn't come out. She peered up with wet eyes, pleading for him to do anything. Davis's grip fell limply at her side as she fled up the castle steps.
"Hi, I'm Harry Potter." He whispered to no one since no one around him cared.
The Holidays.
He waded through waist-high snow as more fell around him. Already his hands sported blue flesh, no matter the cloth he covered them with. Slowly the world filled, growing higher with the white frost, the bone-chilling cold that ate at the soul. Around him stretched flatlands for as far as vision carried, the weight of snow hampered him further, as his shoulders bore the mass. He walked forward, heavy steps pushing him on, a crack beneath his foot the only indication of newness. Reaching down he grabbed it, the white indifferent to the ground. Snapped in two, his yew wand emitted heat, weeping over its deformed state. Harry also wept, holding the wood near his heart, a last bit of heat to warm his body, after his hours of travel he ended where he began. He marched, one half of his wand in each hand, struggling through the frozen expanse. Higher the banks grew, taller than him. He climbed, fingers cracking in the soft snow. He sank, no footing to bring him up, the sun above, disappearing in a clear crypt. Every suck of air hurt as pins punctured his lungs, every exhale exhausted the oxygen more. He struggled to escape, clawing at the surface with deformed hands only hurt his lungs further.
A large exhale brought Harry into his familiar room, sitting on his Hogwarts bed. With the moon still lighting the world, the thunder of his roommate absent. He clenched his fist as his nails drew blood and the soft air of the warm castle filled his willful lungs repeatedly. The familiar motion of standing woke his aching muscles as his morning routine ran smoothly.
He failed to don a robe today, preferring a warm sweater to ease his unnatural chill. The common room danced green upon an empty canvas as he left through the hole in the wall and into the castle proper. Harry strolled the quiet halls which longed for life, the castle's blood abandoned it for a long month, as silent corridors that used to house experimentation and laughter echoed in memory only. Harry being the first student to arrive in the Great Hall to eat breakfast was a daily occurrence. He grabbed a light meal and proceeded to read from a library text, a small writing on tasseography, or tea leaves readings.
Harry never experimented with tasseography, never having the time to read his own. Hogwarts awoke the possibility to try unfamiliar divinations so after a brief study and a chart before him he took his tea glass with floating leaves and drank, pondering over the direction to go. With a meager bit of tea left, he swirled the cup three times and tilted it over his serving plate and waited. With a slight professional flourish, he picked up the cup and glanced inside, studying the mess inside. He lined up the handle with himself and read around the rim, his past moving into his present on a counterclockwise turn.
The first recognizable shape along the rim was a small heart, a distant love; his parents. As he continued the tip of another symbol graced the rim, he ignored it for now until he encountered a linked circle cluster, a chain, liking to a trident shape. A series of events and choices; Hogwarts? His present had the wheel and cross, and a star. Change and additions, success. As his rotation returned Harry to the start, he continued, ready to move deeper into the cup to see his future. The first shape was the continued long-form from before, a wavy line which had an oval within, a single speck held inside a snake which tongue lapped into the bottom of the cup. Poor fortune and evil, which started in his childhood and continued to the distant future. More wiggles entered his future, challenges and changes, arrows pointing in many directions showing yes, no, and smooth travel. The symbol of man, knots, anchors, and keys lined within the wiggles. Symbols of action, stability, and cation lay ahead. His distant future was an odd dichotomy, the grim and a fish, death, and good fortune.
After adding more tea to his cup, he surveyed the room. The teachers' table started gaining members, with McGonagall giving an odd look in his direction, Dumbledore had yet to arrive. A few Ravenclaws broke fast in small groups, perhaps six members total spread over the long table. At the Gryffindor table, a lone red-headed prefect sat reading a thick tome. Hufflepuff and Slytherin housed one person between them, only Harry. He doodled on some parchment from his bag, the symbols and their readings, and how to interpret them. With an aching hand, he prepared to return the text to the library. Another read of Egyptian stories and myths would get him through the long break. Tracy entered with two other Slytherins whom Harry didn't recognize before he could leave.
He sat back down he waited, confused about yesterday's events still. They never talked before, so what was her reason. Why did she cry?
The older Slytherins sat near the professor's table and Davis sat more to Harry still allowing the distance between. Her eyes were down as she dished her meal, her eyes crusted from the morning. She also donned nontraditional clothing, a loose green sweater, and a light blue skirt. His stomach called to the library where his heart longed for kinship. The battle wrestled on to a queasy standstill. Her hair looked nice, a curly mass of brown fluff against her nape and the brim of her shoulders framing her unblemished cream face. Only after minutes passed did he notice the color appearing in her cheeks, breaking eye contact from her hazel eyes.
"Hi, I'm Harry, Harry Potter."
She coughed into her sweater as bits of food spurted out. "What?"
"My name, It's Harry Potter."
"I know your name." Her reddening did not decrease.
"And I know yours, it is still polite."
"I doubt it, you told Blaise during the sorting you didn't care about learning names."
"No, I didn't." As her voice increased in volume, he did the opposite.
"I trust Blaise."
"Davis."
She bore a strange look and Harry searched her face for any answers. He met her eyes and noted the gold hue that branched into a field of green. Loneliness and abandonment. She had an argument with Daphne, something about the Black Christmas. He probed deeper, pulling on the topic of Christmas. Tracy always did it with the Greengrass's. Why not her parents? They smiled and looked like a family, but this year they were invited to celebrate with the Blacks. Tracy's name did not appear on the invitation, they accepted and snubbed her from the happy family. Why? He pushed into places she hid, turned corners she blocked, half blood. Mother is a witch father is a muggleborn. An odd dichotomy of the mind as muggleborns still was magical.
Harry looked down as a moment of nausea overtook him. Tracy had wide eyes and a mouth slightly agape. A hand landed on Harry's shoulder and he noted her eyes went past him to the person behind.
"Come, Harry. We need to talk." Dumbledore's soothing voice always confronted him.
"I need to pack." A lazy flick had Harry's belongings neatly stashed in his bag, not a word was needed for the spell.
They left the hall.
"Won't you be hungry, sir?"
"Harry, you will soon find Hogwarts has a way of seeing to its resident's needs."
The Holidays.
The headmaster's statement was proven true as the pair entered his office to the smell of an English breakfast. Added to that were two steaming cups of coffee. The pair sat as Harry drank his tea, leaves floating free, in silence. Once Dumbledore had made it to his own tea, he did a similar process to Harry that morning, swirling the drink and flipping it onto its serving tray before pushing the drink to Harry.
"Sir?"
"Read it, practice helps in all forms of magic."
Harry lifted the cup and peered at the contents within. Where Harry had a speckling of symbols and shapes the headmaster held a litany of them. The cup appeared awashed with the tea leaves, symbols appearing and reappearing in a vicious cycle through past, present, and future. His past had rats, symbolizing loss, with wiggles reappearing over the present and future challenges were constant. His future also housed filled in stars, showing hope for the future, but clouded showing trouble. Was the trouble in his hope, or did trouble exist without the hope? As he moved more to the future, the cups shapes merged and became a clump of black and green, a future so clouded with decisions it could not be pulled apart into events.
"What do you see?"
How to phrase his thoughts to the headmaster? "Your past was difficult, full of turmoil and loss, and you oft see yourself repeating the mistakes, this repetition will continue." Dumbledore nodded, "You hope for the future, with just reasoning, but trouble both clouds your hope and lies ahead," another nod, "Beyond that I cannot say, your future is too cluttered to make sense of it."
"Very well done, I would have you in divination if they allowed me." He said after retaking the cup and peering into it. "Alas, it only allows for those of third year and up."
"Where is Fawkes?"
"I assume the Forbidden Forest; he enjoys hunting there." He tapped his fingers on the desk. "You need to be careful, Harry."
"With what?"
"Your legilimency."
"My what?"
"Ignorance will not save you in the court of law Harry, legilimency is highly coveted and illegal to practice, more so on a minor."
"Headmaster, I don't understand. What is legilimency?"
A brush passed through his mind, a soft touch. Soon it retreated.
"That. Did you feel me?"
"Were you the- presence?"
"Yes, that is legilimency. It is an art that pulls memories from the target, forbidden to teach the general populates, it is an art that few know of; how are you capable?"
"I don't know." Harry sank into his chair.
"Harry you must know, who taught you, how did you learn."
"Sir, no one has taught me anything."
Dumbledore matched Harry's depressed stance. "When do you remember being able to do it, Harry. To look and see what people think, know, and feel."
How to explain when you first noticed color? To explain when you first heard something. The first food upon your mouth, Dumbledore wanted the impossible. His gentle caressing of everyone's minds was constant, only trying to cover the thoughts like a boy covering his ears could he block them. Eyes were the window to the soul, and every glance showed the soul within. How to explain your first touch? Was it evil, cruel, breaking the privacy of everyone? "Headmaster, help me." The walls collapsed and Harry became one with the void.
The Holidays.
He breached the ice and crawled forth into a new unknown, the ground a wasteland. In the distance a shape rose, a tower stretching into a sky-less sky. Harry walked along the broken ground, long rivers lacking water apposed his trip, the climbing up and down tore his hands and ripped his robe. The hours of travel led the tower to appear ever stagnant on the edge of the horizon. He walked and walked through the hellscape, breathing in a rotten air, burning his lungs with every breath. His wand sat in his hand loosely, whenever he didn't climb, reformed and weary of the place they lived.
Day and night cycled many times. The cruel air pushed harder on his lungs and his skin erupted in a rash. Soon the black tower neared, eclipsed by massive walls standing taller than Hogwarts with weapons upon the battlements. The walls formed of the same black stone that built the tower, an inky black withering stone. Behind the walls, enormous buildings were ravaged and broken, though the walls which defended them stood tall and undamaged.
He ventured for two more cycles of darkness and light, the source of them unknown, around the perimeter of the wall, finding the gate that led inside. A portcullis larger than Number Four blocked the path into the walls, though the spaces of the gate did not. With a rough squeeze, he pushed himself through the rusted metal, cutting his arm in the process. A makeshift wrap, destroying his robe, prevented the bleeding from continuing. The cityscape awaited.
The tower peered over the buildings and ruin as Harry stalked the streets, hiding behind rubble and watching for enemies, though none existed. The travel to the tower took another two cycles through the streets of collapsed stone.
The tower stood undamaged in the center of the ruin, tall and proud it watched over its domain of destruction and dirt. The door lay open and Harry entered. The tower appeared as empty as the city. He climbed floor after floor, his aching legs being pushed on by his desire to escape. Harry climbed high enough that through the windows the city below disappeared.
The throne room sat atop the tower, a singular gargantuan chair amongst a sea of empty, overlooking the wasteland Harry crossed to arrive here. The chair was elaborately carved with symbols Harry recognized but did not understand, writing from his book in the language unknown.
"Welcome, Harry," a voice echoed into the chamber, the first voice Harry heard in days. "Welcome to the Great Forgotten City." He searched for the voice, deep and smooth, but none showed themselves.
"Thank you, it is beautiful."
"Thank you for being polite, it is collapsed, forgotten, and destroyed, you need not lie to me." From the rafting, a blur flew and perched on the arm of the throne, a red speck against the sea of black. "You may approach."
Harry stepped forward, to the only company he knew. The tiny beast was red and vaguely humanoid, having a head, nipples, and legs. Atop its head was a crown of horns, crawling over elongated ears. Its hands and feet held clawed appendages and protruding from its back were long leathery wings. Off its butt, a long tail with a barbed end twitched. It colored itself in an infernal red with piercing black eyes.
"What is your name?"
"You may call me Alastair."
"Why am I here Alastair?" he gestured to the winding hell expanse behind him.
"Because you needed to journey here to speak to me." He then spoke an abhorrent sounding sentence, shaking Harry to his core. The only understandable word was Alastair. "Remember these words, Harry." He spoke it again. "We will meet again." He flew and touched Harry's forehead, but Harry never saw Alastair, instead of from the chair a massive, beautiful man, reached out with a ringed hand and brushed Harry's mind, recoiling Harry out of the tower and to the ground below.
The Holidays.
The sun shone into the white familiar room; a clear blue sky pictured through the window. After grabbing his glasses on his bedside, he glanced around for company, none existed. A long wait followed before the headmaster entered the hospital room, worry writ on his face until he saw Harry, his furrowed brow dissipated, and his frown inverted.
"Harry," he whipped out his wand and waved it in a strange motion, crafting a chair from the empty space near Harry's bed, "I am so glad you are alright." He leaned over, checking Harry for any ailment, he found none.
"What happened?"
"We were talking, and you collapsed."
"How long was I out?"
"A full day," it felt so much longer, "I wish we could talk more, but I have to be back at the Wizgamont, I have already delayed the proceedings of today for too long." He dropped a small book onto the bed and started to the door.
"But sir, you forgot your…"
"Oh, dear me, I hope I did not forget anything, that would be a shame."
After Dumbledore's exit Harry looked down at the cover of the text, Guide du débutant pour ouvrir l'esprit by Iris Bellegarde. French, fantastic.
The Holidays.
The library had little regarding learning French, nothing near his text translating Egyptian. Instead, Harry settled for a basic learner's guide on the language and devoured it in his common room. The cool green danced over the text, an unfamiliar and unattached language to the others he learned, different rules, and different letters. Another soon joined his lonely sitting, Davis sat across from him, swimming through the empty room with him.
"Where were you?" Her voice sounded meek.
"In bed, sleeping."
"All day?"
"… Yes."
He focused back on his book. If the headmaster gifted him something it must have importance. Now, learning French is the priority. No matter his wish to have friends, this took precedence.
"Why did the headmaster speak with you?"
"Why does it matter?" He marked the text and closed it, closing his eyes, and squeezed hard.
"I have seen you with him before."
"He is the headmaster of the school I attend." The 'is' was stressed.
"Don't you understand?" She sounded angry, "no one talks to the headmaster as much as you. I doubt the teachers talk to him as often as you."
"We talk. That is not a crime." Defensive, he rarely felt defensive.
"How? Why? About what?"
"Why do you care?"
"Because I want to have friends. My only friend left me, and… I don't know." She hid her face, though for what reason Harry couldn't understand, he already saw the tears fall.
Crying girls, or anyone, for that matter, was a novel experience for Harry. Dumbledore cried before him once, though in sorrow for misdeeds of the past, offering forgiveness Harry could easily do. Harry had no knowledge of comforting someone of loneliness and heartbreak. Did he hug her? Probably not.
She worked through tears and stared him down, her hazel eyes creeping with red. "Be my friend."
Not, 'will you be my friend?'.
"Why?" was not the correct response as she cried again. "I meant, why me?"
"Why not? I can't be as bad as the headmaster; that stuffy old man is most likely extremely boring." The headmaster was entertaining, having many stories, knowledge, and many more jokes. That does not include when Fawkes joins.
"You are right. Davis, let's be friends."
"Please, call me Tracy."
The hour already was late so after the confirmation, Harry separated and went to bed, an enormous grin over his face. The tea leaves were correct: change, addition, and success.
The Holidays.
Harry entered the Great Hall with newfound confidence the following morning. His past miseries were a thing of the past, and he had a good night's sleep. The open hall again only possessed him and one other, the older brother of Weasley, Weasley, his nose buried in a book. After writing him off Harry hustled to his seat, until he glanced at the book the elder Weasley read, a familiar script etched the pages. Harry assumed that some form of divination magic guided him, as the book was too distant to read. After a quick deliberation, he strode to the Gryffindor table and sat next to the occupant.
Despite living in the same hall, the table was different. The atmosphere invited him to stay; whereas the Slytherin table kept him on his toes. It also housed a different food selection, homier, and less refined.
"Can I help you?" Harry refocused on the prime subject of his adventure, the handsome youthful man. He wore an annoyed face. The redhead appeared like the youngest Weasley in many ways: freckled, tall, lanky, red-head, and hazel eyes. He also appeared proud and knowledgeable, different from Ronald in that sense. Weasley, the older, was obviously growing confused at the silence to his question.
"I wish for you to teach me," Harry said.
"What?"
"You are learning, or know, French," Harry gestured to the book, "a subject I need to learn."
"What?" Again, the boy looked confused.
"I need to learn French. I understand you are busy but please help me." Harry looked down and away; peering into his soul would do nothing to further his goals. Asking for help with matched eyes never resulted in a success or a good experience, Petunia and Vernon's lessons ran deep.
"Why?" Perhaps Harry overestimated his knowledge, he sounded as intelligent as Weasley-the-youngest.
Harry explained. He quickly rattled off a lie about a trip to France with his host for the summer.
"… And I will owe you a favor." Favors, a currency used often in his common room. Gold had value, that was undeniable, but the power of a favor was a currency many wished to curry. Favor's often had an unsaid equivalency around them, the favor would never exceed that which it purchased. The consequences were purely social, but humans were strange and stuck to social norms.
"A favor. From you?" The dance of emotions was amazing to watch, switching from confusion, to hate, to glee in mixed orders.
"Of course," Harry didn't quite understand. Why was a favor from a first year enough to incite glee in a fifth year prefect?
The next minutes were a comparison of timetables. Percy had a loaded card with muggle studies, ancient ruins, arithmancy, and introduction to government. He also added a list of study sessions with different classmates for different subjects. The consensus was after dinner on Mondays.
Percy, he learned, aspired to join the ministry when he graduated; to go through promotions till he stood as the Minister of Magic. The gleam in his eyes told Harry that Percy would do anything to achieve his goals, a mindset of a Slytherin. As a head start, he worked in his father's, Arthur Weasley: Head of the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, work during the summer and had impeccable grades. Despite Gryffindor not finishing first in the house cup, Percy scored the most points and the highest grades over his five years at the school.
All these facts only confused Harry further; Why did the boy wish to help him?
Before Percy could start discussing OWLS, a rambunctious pair entered the hall. Twins sporting the red hair of Clan Weasley, a number Harry believed to own most of the school, joked and yelled as they moved to the table. His housemates cursed the Weasley Twins for cruel pranks which led to damaged property, sickness, and missing homework. As he watched them enter, Harry knew he needed to depart. Percy stood to dress down his brothers and Harry scooted back to his table, sitting alone again.
The hall filled again, as it did every morning, as sounds bounced around the acoustic room. Harry studied his new text, wrestling with the most familiar language he ever attempted, making it that much more difficult. The words and phrases were not foreign in design and did not follow different rules in grammar. Compared to the rough Greek and the assuming nature of Egyptian, the writing of France was the same as English.
"Where were you?" Tracy slammed onto the opposite side of the table, the last of the staying Slytherins to do so, "I waited and waited, and you were not there."
"Sorry?"
"Really?" Her blank stare crushed his soul.
"Why are you mad?" He held up his text as a shield.
Her lips tightened and her cheeks puckered, "You were supposed to wait with me to go to breakfast," she raged, stomping her feet for good measure. "We should have walked here together." Abandonment.
Harry looked away before seeing more. The familiar touch on her brain brought him to Dumbledore's office again. What he did was wrong. Steeling himself, he met her gaze, ignoring the longing to peer into her heart. He threw up a lazy grin, the first smile he had given a classmate since the first week of school. "Well then, tomorrow I guess I will have to wait."
The Holidays.