I can hear Ginny in the kitchen.
By now, she has probably finished making the shepherd's pie we're having.
Ron and Hermione will pop in. No kids, no pets – only the four of us. Saying I'm looking forward to it would be an understatement. It's been so long since last time. Hermione is busier than usual, and that's saying something. With some luck, this evening will divert her mind to other things than her job.
It'll be great.
I suppose there's no point in telling anyone what actually happened. It's hardly the kind of incident you tell people about. What they do know is more than enough. McGonagall, poor thing, was in a right state after seeing Dumbledore's portrait. The painting will never be restored, or so they told me.
How did I get back to Hogwarts, anyway? I can't recall, try as I might. All of a sudden, I had simply returned to the Headmistress's office. My wand was on the floor and the Pensieve was on the desk – perfectly unbroken and functional, as if nothing had happened. And no one seems to remember the sky turning black in the blink of an eye.
Maybe the whole experience following my cracking the Pensieve was a dream, after all. My memory of all that happened is fading rapidly, as a dream would. I only know it was an absolutely mad adventure. In strange places, with strange people.
But I must admit I do feel a bit … lighter. Like taking off robes, jacket and sweater after a long day. And I feel well rested – more so than in many years. The weather is clear and I'm chugging along at a firm pace.
…
Yet an uncanny sensation keeps prodding me. This vague feeling of someone … watching. It's like walking through the Forbidden Forest again. The roofing of thick branches putting everything in shadows. Like I'm not only seeing and hearing, but being seen and heard. By unknown eyes and ears, hidden behind bushes and trees. Watching my movements. Reading my thoughts. At … at this very moment.
Ah, well. It doesn't matter.
Guess I should shove off to the kitchen. Can't lie here all day, staring at the ceiling. 'It does not do to dwell', as Dumbledore would have said.
Hah! How I remember his light-hearted speeches at the start-of-term feasts. Stringing together a few words without any proper connection whatsoever. It was so brilliantly pointless. Like a train without a destination.
I should offer some similar little quip at the table before we help ourselves to shepherd's. They'll appreciate the nostalgia, no doubt.
Let me think … Only a few words …
Swingle. Underarm. Budgie. Latitude. Anchovies.
Pip pip!