Author's
Notes I: Regarding the first section "London 1283", it is taken directly from
"A Tale of Two Cities". I needed an example of the ultimate friendship and
there isn't anything that surpasses that. I took the liberty in changing the
names and adding in the necklace, but all credit otherwise goes to the great
Charles Dickens himself. Apologies to Dickens' fans, and I hope Dickens would
not turn in his grave at being plagiarised for some fluffy fanfic.:-P
Author's
Notes II: Regarding the last section on World War II, the quote was actually
found on a cellar wall in Cologne which was destroyed by bombing during WWII. I
saw it used as someone's signature once and liked it so much I saved it.
Author's Notes III: The word Galadriel (as in Galadriel's Glen) comes from J. R. R. Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings". Regarding the breakfast scene with Sirius and Remus. I like to imagine them cooking without much magic. Just for the fun of it. J
Author's Notes IV: Sirius has far too many names for his own good. I was not always sure of which to use (in the narration) during the scene at Hogmeade (and for any future scenes similar this too when he takes form of the dog). Mainly I go by what comes most naturally to my head (which may or may not make sense J). It would seem that "Sirius" would be used whenever he is thinking, and pondering, as a human would. "Padfoot" when he has to present himself as a dog form, for whatever reason, but still is very much Sirius in character, and is seen by the people who know he is an Animagus (including the reader). And finally "Snuffles" would just be a sort of "stage name" for the general public, to be used only when the situation calls for pretending he is just any old dog. Hope that explains things a bit, and didn't serve to confuse you any further!
Author's Notes V: I know, I know. The shuffling regarding the players' positions for the Quidditch match is highly improbable. But when I wrote this scene and applied the circumstances, I had thought Cho Chang was a Chaser (I need to do my revision more often!). That she was something other than a Seeker actually is more suitable for the scene Harry-wise, so after I found out my faux-pas, I decided to take advantage of poetic licence. J
Usual disclaimer: It is all J. K. Rowling's. She created this whole world. I just feed off her dreams.
Now finally, on with the story!
The
crowd in the square was getting boisterous. Swarms of townspeople surrounded
the platform. A platform on which stood a foreboding-looking guillotine, its
blade glistening in the noon sun.
Slightly
off to the side, away from the crowds, was someone dressed for the gallows.
"Are
you sure about this, Francis?"
Francis
just nodded. It was too late now anyway to change his mind.
"I
just want to say… I don't know how I can ever thank you enough for this…" Colin
trailed off.
"It's
okay. I made this decision. I came up with the plan, remember?"
"But
this. To give up your life… for me?"
"For
you and Laura. I love her too, and I love you. I would do anything, to make the
both of you happy, you know that."
Silence.
"I
don't know how I can ever thank you for this. I want you to know that."
"I
know," Francis gave a small smile. "Your friendship has meant the most to me.
That in itself is thanks enough. This is my way of thanking you for the
wonderful relationship that we had. I would sooner lose my life than lose
that."
Colin
couldn't say a word. He just grabbed hold of Francis' hand tightly. At that
moment, Laura, Colin's fiancée, appeared. She looked sombre, but determined not
to break down in front of the two men. Looking steadfastly into Francis' eyes,
she said, "I'll, we'll, never forget what you did, what you gave up. You'll
always be in our hearts, forever." She moved to give Francis a kiss on the
cheek before hurrying off, before her emotions overwhelmed her.
"Here,
take this," said Colin. He removed from his neck, a chain upon which a piece of
stone, fixed as a pendant, hung.
"Your
charm?"
"Yes.
I want you to have it. As a token of our friendship. So that whenever I think
of it, I'll think of you…"
Francis
knew the charm meant a lot to Colin. He had had that pendant for ages now.
Francis had always teased him about it, about that dirty piece of useless stone
which his friend had found on his travels. But it ceased to be silly now.
Touched, Francis accepted the gift.
The
roars from the crowd outside grew louder. The executioner had arrived.
"Thanks
Colin. For everything."
"You
too. You'll always be my best friend."
The
crowd was noisy, yet to Francis, their voices and roars seemed to come from
afar. As the glistening blade of the guillotine slammed down, all Francis could
feel was a warmth in his chest, where the pendant hung.
*
"Take
the body to the furnace and burn it," the general commanded.
Francis'
body was placed in the furnace, and the door swung shut. As the flames licked
up the sides of the chamber, the pendant erupted into a display of colourful
sparks, before dying down. A warm glow remained until all that remained in the
furnace were ashes.
* * *
1995 A.D.
A chill swept over him as the cloaked creatures advanced in a circle.
No!
Terror seeped through his whole being. Coursing every vein, every muscle, every nerve.
No! I am innocent! Please God! Hear
me! LET me GO! I did not do it! I
swear!
The hooded figures continued their advance, oblivious to the desperate pleas. The Dementor closest to him reached out. A rotten, scabby hand from under the cloak. It reached up to lower its hood. Faceless, with a sucker for its mouth. It bent over him…..
The Kiss. NO!!!!!!
He tried to struggle. To run.
It… was…not……m…
The world seemed to slip away. He was falling, spinning. Downwards. Sucked forever. Into a swirl of black mist…..
A scream of terror pierced right through him, making his body go rigid.
"VOLDEMORT!"
There was a bolt of green lightning. A cold evil laugh. The world spun round once more. He was swirling in a haze of green and white mist.
A youth with a tuft of black hair, green eyes, in Hogwarts robes and wearing glasses was walking towards him.
James?
The boy was clutching onto a goblet in
one hand, and carrying a body under his other arm. His eyes and face were
etched with shock and sorrow. He stopped a couple of paces away and raised his
head towards him, a dejected plea beyond bewilderment and despair. And mouthed,"Cedric."
*
Sirius Black woke up with a start. Cold sweat was pouring down his face and chest. He was shaking violently. The blankets lay in a heap on the floor. His mind was racing.
Taking several deep breaths to calm himself down, he slowly focused on his surroundings. He was in a room at the house in Galadriel's Glen, where Remus Lupin had been staying since his resignation as a professor at Hogwarts over a year ago, and where Dumbledore had told him to lie low at the beginning of the summer. The headmaster had called upon the two friends for their services then. To stand by, to be at hand for the battle against Voldemort. Sirius could see the faint ray of sunlight trickling in through the window. The day was early yet, with still a few hours' worth of sleep to go. But he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to bed. Not after that nightmare.
He made his way across the room, opened the window and breathed in some fresh air. Yes, the nightmare. He was still shaken by its vividness. Shaken, and disturbed. Not so much by the experience of Azkaban and the Dementors. He had had those dreams before, and although terrifying, he could learn to cope with them.
It had been his fault after all. Why? If only….. if only. Those abject, wretched words of regret. One last-minute decision that brought about a lifetime sentence of guilt.
No. The disturbing part was what he had not dreamt before, until now. The boy in the dream was not James, his best friend from Hogwarts. It was Harry. James' son. And Sirius' godson.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Sirius could not shake off the haunting sight of the pain and anguish that registered in the boy's eyes. A look that he had seen the few times he had visited Harry after that night when Cedric was murdered. A look that betrayed the loss of childhood innocence; the encounter of hatred, cruelty and betrayal; the realisation of the existence of a world where the dark side of human nature reigned supreme.
And it pained him.
"He should not have to endure that," Sirius thought angrily to himself. His heart ached for the boy, his paternal instinct rising such that the anger and heartache reached a near-breaking point. He was just thankful that James and Lily never had to see this. Sirius picked the blankets up off the floor and flung them onto the bed. He was angry for Harry, angry at Voldemort, angry at himself for being so helpless in taking away some of the painful memories.
Sirius sat at the edge of the bed, buried his head in his hands, and took several long, deep, shuddery breaths to gather his emotions. Then, shaking himself from his thoughts, he made his way to the kitchen. Might as well make himself useful by preparing some breakfast. He had just gathered the ingredients together (eggs, sausages, bacon, bread) when Remus walked in, still slightly sleep-eyed, though dressed and presentable.
"Good morning. I see that the old dog is hunting for food already."
Sirius grinned back. "Of course. Animal instinct. I like to term it having a healthy appetite. I would have thought Moony, you'd understand that instinct well."
Remus chuckled. "I try to present a civilised demeanour," he said mildly. "Animal instinct indeed."
Getting down to help Sirius with the cooking, he grew more serious as he noticed the tired eyes, and the slight sheen of sweat on his friend's face. "Didn't have too great a night's sleep I gather."
With his back turned looking for the butter, Sirius shrugged and shook his head slightly. Remus kept quiet. A couple of moments later, Sirius took a knife from the kitchen drawer and began to butter the toast rather violently. Remus raised his eyebrows and shot a look at him out of the corner of his eyes. And waited. When the two pieces of toast were haphazardly buttered, Sirius could contain himself no longer. He waved his hands about so vigorously the butter knife nearly flew across the kitchen. And he ranted.
"He is just a boy, Moony! Just fifteen! Barely. He should be out running worry-free, without a goddamned care in the world. Mucking about with friends. Getting into childish mischief," Sirius paused, nearly allowing himself to chuckle. But not quite. "He should not have to worry about his life being in danger. In feeling the guilt over Cedric's mur… death. In bearing the bloody burden of battling this, this whole…. thing," he ended almost resignedly, his animated hands hanging rather limply by his side.
"I take it you mean Harry," said Remus quietly.
Sirius said nothing, jabbing the knife into the toast. Twisting it absently round and round, he recounted the dream to his friend, though leaving out the Azkaban part. He didn't want to recount that. He didn't want the concern, nor the pity. Not that Remus needed to be told anyhow. He had heard Sirius' screams, seen the haunted look in those eyes, only too many times.
Remus allowed a few moments to pass after Sirius had finished. "The boy is tough, you know. He has proved time and again he is able to handle the things that are thrown at him. He has shown courage and resourcefulness beyond all we could have anticipated."
"I know," Sirius sighed, "but that doesn't mean it is right. He doesn't, shouldn't, have to go through all of this."
Remus silently agreed. Besides, with Sirius having his fiercely protective instinct going on overdrive, there would be no saying otherwise anyway. In an ideal world. To break the tension, he reached over and took the knife from Sirius.
"Padfoot pal, I don't know about a dumb, over-protective, lovable mutt, but this werewolf prefers his morning toast to remain intact, thank you very much."
Sirius pulled out his wand and muttered a spell to patch up the dismembered toast. "Who're you calling dumb? Who as the one who got 12 O.W.L.'s and all top N.E.W.T.'s?"
Remus rolled his eyes. Even back in the old days, Sirius never resisted the opportunity to toot his horn when it came to the O.W.L.'s. He had outstripped both Remus and James, and Lily too, by one. And had even beaten Severus Snape in Potions, which many would have thought unfeasible. James used to swear the teachers must have graded him on a "Mischief and Trouble" course for him to have gotten that extra O.W.L., and that he had "darned well not be so damn cocky because Moony, Wormtail and myself all contributed too."
"Morning toast, huh? So I am entitled to meddle with the afternoon ones."
Mischief and trouble O.W.L. alright. Some things never change.
"I happen to take toast only in the mornings," Remus replied coolly. "Sorry to disappoint you. I know it ruins your fun."
Sirius' eyes glinted in a way Remus knew only too well. "My fun can never be ruined. I'll just have to satisfy its demands elsewhere." He poured some oil into the frying pan Remus had in front of him on the stove, twisted around to face his friend, and beamed. "I am sure you understand."
"Oh yes," thought Remus, as he fought to keep a straight face. Any trace of amusement would only serve to egg the mutt on further.
The oil heated up as Sirius pottered about at the back, putting the kettle on, and making the coffee. All the while pacing up and down with nervous energy, betraying the fact that he was still uptight over the dream.
"I wonder if I should owl Dumbledore. Or visit him even. You know, just to see how things are. And to get news for any plan of action." He paused, then added, "I am tired and nervous about having to just wait, I'd say he has something planned."
"Great lying, Padfoot," complimented Remus, as he slid the sausages into the frying pan. "You are not wanting to ask Dumbledore about any plan of action. You just want to happen to bump into Harry."
This was addressed as a plain statement. Sirius stopped pacing up and down the kitchen, faced his friend, and tore at his hair.
"Dammit Moony! You know me so darned well it is bloody annoying!" he said gruffly.
Remus gave a casual shrug, but grinned inwardly. Coming from Sirius, he would take that as a compliment. "I'm your best friend. It's my job."
"Hrrmmphh," grumped Sirius as he continued to pace up and down, magicking the coffee-pot, milk, sugar, cups and saucers onto a tray and sending it out to the dining table in the living room.
"He is up to something," thought Remus, studying his friend's face as he added the bacon. He let a few minutes pass, and when all the sausages, bacon and eggs were done, and he was carrying the plates out, he turned to Sirius.
"Tell me, Padfoot. You are not going to charge into Hogwarts looking for Harry, are you? I doubt if the Fat Lady would appreciate another bout of cosmetic surgery."
Sirius turned to him with an injured look on his face. "Really Moony!" he melodramatically clapped his hand to his heart, "you underestimate me."
Remus' eyebrows shot up out of sight. Recovering from his "hurt" remarkably quickly, Sirius thrust a full sausage into his mouth and said, "uhhh haff vagger blans dan daadd."
"Manners, Padfoot, manners."
Sirius swallowed hard, in such a vigorous manner that Remus almost expected to see his Adam's apple bob up and down.
"I have better plans than that," repeated Sirius, taking a gulp of coffee. "Ack! Hot, hot."
"Plans?" asked Remus, ignoring Sirius' burning mouth.
"Of course," said Sirius brightly, turning back to his food and shovelling up a forkful of eggs.
And Remus knew enough not to go about extracting any more information when that grin appeared. He just hoped that whatever Sirius was coming up with, that he would be mindful enough not to walk slam into the Ministry.
*
Harry had told his godfather in his last letter about the unusually early first trip to Hogsmeade. About how Ron had been rambling on about the butterbeer from The Three Broomsticks, about how Hermione had been the walking advertisement for a "Kleen 'n' Eezy" smudge-free ink and quill set available at Dervish and Banges, about how the Weasley twins had planned to raid Zonko's, and how practically everyone was looking forward to Honeydukes.
It was easy to weave in and out among the crowds without attracting much attention. Ambling down the main street, Padfoot helped himself to a piece of Honeydukes' chocolate caramel Neville had dropped earlier on. He had forgotten how much he missed the stuff and reminded himself to ask Remus to get some the next time he visited Hogsmeade. Looking down the road, he caught sight of the distinctive shock of red hair emerging from the post office. Ron. Strange that he was on his own, usually he, Harry and Hermione were joined at the hip. Padfoot ambled up to him.
Ron seemed rather distracted, talking to himself, and nearly knocking over an old wizard shuffling down the street.
"Kids," grumbled the wizard, as he managed to dodge Ron just in time, "never look where they are going."
"Hermione? I was just wondering if you, I mean, I would like to…like….. No no no no no. Er. Okay," Ron straightened himself up and cleared his throat. "Hermione? I have something to ask you? Would you grant me the honour of…..pah! How mimsy-pimsy proper can I get? Er, right. Ah-hem. So Hermione, I gather you heard what Dumbledore said the other day. Well, duh, of course you would have. Em, have you thought of who you are going to the dance with yet?"
Ron paused, considering his last attempt. Padfoot nudged his hand. Ron absent-mindedly patted him on the head and slipped him a toffee crème. If he could, Sirius would have let out a guffaw at that point. Instead, he nearly choked on the sweet. Oblivious, Ron continued to wander, lost in thought, up the street, with Padfoot trotting beside him in amusement.
"Have you thought of who you are going to the dance with yet? Hmmm, maybe not. God, how do you do it. Why can't girls do the bloody asking. Okay. Hermione? I was thinking…. I would really like it if… no. I would hoping to ask …. nah. DARN!!!"
Ron threw his head back in frustration. Then taking a few deep breaths, muttered "Hermione, would you like to go to the dance…thingy….with me?"
"Dance thingy?" wondered Sirius.
"Ron!" Pause. Then, "Siri…..SNUFFLES?!"
Padfoot jerked up his head to look further along the road. His heart leapt when he saw Harry come out of a small gift shop with Hermione following closely behind, stuffing a card into her pocket. Ron jolted out of his daydream and looked first at his two friends running towards him, and then at the black dog beside him.
"Snuffles?" he repeated dazedly.
"When did he join you, Ron?"
"Er, I don't know…I was in the post office and… I guess he just…appeared?"
Harry and Hermione were looking at him strangely. Sirius could hardly contain himself. If he were human now, he would be winking and mouthing at the two of them this very moment. For now, though, he just went up to Harry who grinned and fondled his ears. "Missed you," he said softly.
The three of them (with Ron still looking rather out of it) and Snuffles made their way up the road. The two boys and the dog sat down on a bench set in the open space outside The Three Broomsticks while Hermione went inside the pub to get their drinks.
Harry glanced at Ron, who seemed to be still deep in thought and talking to himself. Catching a few of the words, Harry chuckled and turned to Padfoot, giving him a wink and jerking his head towards Ron. Padfoot replied with a low "woof". Harry could swear he could see a cheeky glint in the dog's eyes.
"It's great seeing you," he said, keeping his voice low in case the people close by should catch him talking to a dog. "Even though you can't exactly talk back," he sighed, making a face. Padfoot pawed back playfully at him.
Hermione returned soon with three mugs of foaming butterbeer. "Sorry Snuffles old pal. I'm afraid Madame Rosmerta wouldn't exactly be pleased if she saw a dog drinking out of her mugs."
Sirius didn't mind really. Ron snapped out of his own little world when Hermione appeared, and the three of them spoilt him by feeding him with their Honeydukes supply, and it was bliss listening to them chattering away to each other, and to him.
When five o'clock approached, they joined the other students gathering at the front of Honeydukes, some still getting their last-minute sweet top-ups before leaving for Hogwarts. George, Fred and Lee were huddled together, planning mischief no doubt. Harry, Hermione and Ron bid a quick, discreet goodbye as Snuffles made his way out towards the countryside.
It had been great seeing Harry, even though they couldn't exactly "talk". There had been far too many people around that day, Hogwarts teachers included, to for them to have snuck out where Siurius could have transformed in safety. Still, it was just nice seeing him. And of course, Hermione and Ron were wonderful too. Sirius was relieved Harry had such loyal and dependable friends to fall back on. Like James and Remus. The anxiety he had had over his godson ever since that dream with Voldemort and Cedric lessened a little after seeing Harry chattering and laughing this afternoon.
Plus it was just nice to have seen Harry in person. God, if he could, he would kidnap Harry and keep him under his watchful eye twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I'm thankful you don't have any kids Padfoot, Remus had told him once. I dread if you did. For the sake of the child's sanity, your nerves, and if it is a daughter, her future boyfriend's Spanish inquisition.
Sirius chuckled. He had playfully cuffed Remus' ears for that. Though, he admitted, frowning slightly, that he really wasn't that far off the mark. But there was a reason. Sirius hadn't been there for James and Lily. He would darned well be there for their son, even if it killed him.
The "missed you" from Harry had been wonderful, and heartbreaking, at the same time. He knew Harry had meant it more than just not having seen him since school began, and he took it so. He knew it to mean the hopes of one day being able to share a home together, when Sirius' name was cleared. He knew it to mean for Sirius to take care and be careful. And, although Harry would never openly admit to it, he knew it to mean that Harry wished for him to just be around and to comfort, and even to guide, him through these difficult and unpredictable times.
Sirius gritted his teeth. He would make sure that that promise be kept. He would make certain that they would share a home together. He would make sure to look after Harry as well as any parent ever would. If it meant endless nights of searching and investigations to track down Pettigrew (Sirius' muscles tensed and he nearly bit his tongue in half in venomous rage when he thought of the cowering fool); if it meant dealing face to face with Voldemort; if it meant ripping the Dark Lord limb to limb, flesh from bone with his bare hands; so be it.
He sighed. He knew his fantasies were… fantasies. A naïve perception of the battle that was yet to come. No one just goes up to the Dark Lord and rip him apart with his bare hands. No one would even get so far as to touch him. But, for his godson, James' son, he would sooner charge headlong into a raging Hungarian Horntail's den than see Harry come to any harm.
* * *
Siberia, 1578 (Muggle world)
The
doctor hurried along the streets. It was bitterly cold, the snow settling up to
12 inches on the ground. He made his way to the poorest part of the village,
where the only fitting word to describe the housing was "slums". The stench of
rats, dirty water, disease, and death, was overpowering. He made his way into
one of the most derelict-looking buildings of the derelict-looking buildings.
Inside,
the roof was leaking, the wind blew in through the cracks in the walls. The
fire, poorly fed, was close to dying out. He was taking off his hat when an old
lady hurried up to the door.
"It's
the doctor!"
"How
is she?"
"The
mother is dead. She died half an hour ago, soon after the baby was born."
"And
the baby?"
"It
is dying," was the sombre answer.
The
old lady showed the doctor to a grubby mattress in the corner of the room. A
young girl lay there, very pale, with dark curly hair. She would have been very
pretty had it not been for the bluish tinge of cold on her skin. In her limp
arms lay her baby daughter, born just over an hour ago. There were times when
nothing could be done. The doctor sighed as he carried the weak baby, in an
attempt to warm her until she too, lay limp in his arms. He was placing the
baby back beside her mother when he noticed a small dirty piece of stone. He
picked it up.
"Oh
that," said the old lady, noting his questioning look. "It was the mother's. It
was the only thing she had to give her child before she died. Nothing much at
all, but I guess it was something tangible, something to show the child her
love. Bless her," she paused, "I guess they don't need it now…"
The
doctor turned away. The old lady showed him to the door, and tossed the stone
into the dying fire as they went past.
"What's
that?" The doctor suddenly turned and stared at the fireplace. He could have
sworn he caught sight of a few multi-coloured sparks from the fire.
"What's
what?" asked the old lady, shivering in the doorway.
"Nothing,"
he muttered, shaking his head. He really needed to get more rest. The overtime
he was putting in due to the winter illnesses that rampaged the village was
wearing him down. He glanced back at the fire. "Your fire seems to have sparked
up somewhat."
The
old lady took a look. It was true, a warm glow was now emitting from the
previously dying smoulder. She shrugged, "maybe it found one last piece of
coal."
"Maybe."
The
piece of coal lasted for an unusually long amount of time, while the old lady
gazed sadly at the mother and daughter on the mattress until she could bear it
no longer and covered the two up with a sheet.
* * *
1995 A.D. (Hogwarts)
"We
are going to be absolutely blinded," moaned Alicia Spinnet.
"Better
than the rain where you can't see anything," said Katie.
Ron
was shut off from all the talk at the breakfast table. He looked terrible, to
put it mildly. He had hardly gotten any sleep the night before, and was playing
about with the crust of his toast.
"Ron,"
prodded Hermione. "I really think you should attempt to eat something. You
hardly ate any dinner last night either!"
"I
can't. I'm too nervous. I'll just throw it all up," mumbled Ron, jiggling his
feet about anxiously. He took the smallest bite of toast and seemed to chew it
for an age. Eventually, Hermione gave up and just gave him an encouraging look.
"You'll
be okay. I don't think there is a goal you hadn't been able to stop. So it
isn't likely to start now."
Ron
couldn't answer. He just stared blankly at the bacon in front of him. Harry was
nervous too, though only half of the nerves were for actually himself playing
in the match. He was worried about facing Cho. It was the worst of luck they
played the same position. Harry already felt so guilty over Cedric he didn't
know how he could face beating her in catching the Snitch. He didn't want the
Gryffindors to lose the game of course, but he didn't exactly want to hurt Cho
any more either. He sighed, wondering how great the possibility would be for
the match to be like a rerun of last year's World Cup where Ireland won despite
Krum getting the Snitch.
Just
then, Parvati came hurrying to the table, and rapidly helped herself to what
remained of the breakfast.
"I
was just talking to my sister," she said as she speared up the last of the
sausages. Her twin sister Padma was in Ravenclaw. "One of their Chasers is out
sick with a nasty 'flu, so they have to use their reserve."
"Who's
their reserve again?" asked George.
"Terry
Boot," replied Parvati, buttering a slice of toast while devouring the
sausages.
"Hmmm,
he's not that known as a Chaser, is he?" wondered Katie out loud. "I mean, he's
good," she said hurriedly, "but I would have thought more as a Seeker."
"He is
the Seeker," replied Parvati, draining her glass of pumpkin juice.
"What?
But I thought…." began Harry, confusedly.
"The
team swapped round positions," Parvati explained, smacking her lips. "They are
using Cho Chang as Chaser, and Boot'll replace her as Seeker. And Cho isn't
half bad as a Chaser, Padma will tell you that," she added, turning to
Angelina, Katie and Alicia, who were the Chasers for Gryffindor.
"Are
you sure?" asked Harry, his spirits lifting slightly at the news.
"I
haven't seen for myself, but apparently Roger Davies had said back when she
joined the team two years ago that had a Chaser opening been available, he'd
have made her that instead of Seeker."
"No,
no, no, I didn't mean that. I meant are you sure about the swap?"
"Oh
that! Yes. In fact," Parvati said giving Harry a wink, "when I was over with
Padma, Cho was just warning Terry of your Wrontski Feints."
Harry
felt a wave of relief wash over him. All that worry for nothing. He didn't have
to worry about upsetting Terry by trying to beat him to the Snitch.
"It'll
only be for this match though," added Parvati. "It'll go back to normal when
their regular Chaser is back."
Harry
didn't care. There wouldn't really be a next time unless they both made it to
the Quidditch House Cup final. And Harry will worry about that come the time if
that was the case. So for now, it would simply be preventing his concentration
from possibly lapsing in the middle of the game.
"Focus," he told himself firmly, "just focus."
After
breakfast, the Gryffindor team headed to the changing rooms to change into
their scarlet robes. Angelina gave all of them one last pep talk, clapped Ron
encouragingly on the back, and sent them out onto the pitch.
Alicia
had been right when talking about the scorching sun. The players were all
squinting hard, trying to shield their eyes from its ferocious glare. Harry
could hear Terry Boot muttering something about sunglasses.
The
game began, and caught on fast. Quaffles and Bludgers were flying in each and
every direction. Within the first ten minutes, Katie Bell scored Gryffindor's
first goal.
"Alright!"
cried George, giving her a huge wink.
The
game continued on. Ron saved four goals, while Kenneth Coulter blocked three
attempts. Two by Alicia and one by Angelina. Still, there was no sign of the
Golden Snitch. Both Terry and Harry encircled the pitch, straining to spot it.
The only times they geared into action were a couple of sightings of something
glinting, which turned out to be only false alarms, caused by the sun's glaring
into the distance.
After
Ravenclaw scored its first goal, a Quaffle that came shooting unexpectedly
halfway down the pitch, a time out was called for the players to cool down and
relax in the shade.
After
ten minutes of resting, the game recommenced. Floating above the furor of
Quaffle exchanges and Bludger hits, Harry's eyes fell on Cho, sailing through
the air chasing after the Quaffle. Padma had been right. She was good.
He wondered about her. How she was feeling. Does she still have Cedric on
her mind everyday? Does she carry the same image of Cedric as he did? Not the
actual scene with Voldemort's curse of course, but the sight of Harry tumbling
out of the Portkey clutching to Cedric's limp body. How much does she miss him?
What goes through her mind, what sort of nightmarish pain does she harbour?
Harry couldn't shake off the utterly stricken look she had on her face when she
found out about Cedric. The sunken feeling once more settled at the pit of
Harry's stomach. Does Cho blame him for Cedric's death?
A
shout from Ron jolted him out of his thoughts. He turned to Ron at the end of
the pitch, just in time to see his friend nodding to the left before nearly
throwing himself off his broom doing a Starfish and Stick to save a Quaffle
flying into the hoop to the right. The Gryffindors below cheered.
"Oh
nice save!!" shouted Hermione.
Harry
grinned at Ron, before turning to the left. There, he saw Boot shooting
downwards determinedly.
"The
Snitch! He must have seen it," thought Harry as he
shot off after him, close to his tail.
Harry
squinted in front of him. The sun was blazing, but he could not see any shimmer
of gold indicating the presence of a Snitch. There wasn't not even the
sparkling of the sun's reflections.
Further
and further down the two Seekers dived. It occurred to Harry that the Terry
might be deviously feinting, and he was about to remind himself to watch out
for the fast approaching ground instead when he caught sight of the familiar
twinkle of gold out of the corner of his right eye. He yanked his Firebolt to
the right so abruptly, he almost knocked over the Ravenclaw Beater who was
closely tailing him with the Bludger. The Bludger hit him square in the
shoulder, and the knock, along with the force of changing direction suddenly,
caused Harry to dangle precariously from his broomstick. A gasp shot through
the crowds below. Clutching to his Firebolt for dear life, Harry swiped blindly
at the air where he saw the Snitch. His hand closed round the smooth, hard,
winged ball.
An ear-splitting roar sounded in the stalls as the
Gryffindor supporters leapt up to their feet screaming. Scarlet banners and
scarves were tossed and waved. Lee Jordan was shouting down the microphone in a
deafening roar, "and Harry Potter gets
the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!"
With
the Firebolt now just floating casually in the air, Harry climbed back onto it,
the Golden Snitch still in his had, its wing beating helplessly against his
palm. The rest of the Gryffindor team gathered round him, thumping him on the
shoulder and high-fiving. Ron was grinning so hard his face looked as if it
would split into two. Harry felt a rush of pride towards his friend.
"Great
saves, Ron!" he called out.
"Yeah,"
said the twins in unison. "Our baby brother, what a smashing Keeper!"
Ron
pretended to scowl at them calling him "baby" but failed miserably. The twins
grabbed a hold of him and tossed him into the air, and the team collapsed in a
triumphant heap on the ground. Harry felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to
face Terry Boot.
"Great
job. I guess you weren't fooled by my Wrontski Feint," he winked
Harry
laughed and clapped him on the back. "No, but nice try!"
Terry
laughed. "Darn!"
Harry
caught sight of Cho Chang over Terry's shoulder. He felt a compulsion to go
over and say something to her, but he didn't know what. He debated what to do
and had turned away, deciding to leave it until later when he felt another tap
on his shoulder. It was Cho this time.
"That
was a wonderful catch Harry. I can see you are rather fool-hardy," she said
warmly, giving him a quick wink. "Congratulations."
"Er,
thanks," Harry mutterd. Cho turned to leave.
"And
Cho?" he said hurriedly.
"Yes?"
she asked turning towards him.
"I
just want to say, I am really sorry. About, er, I mean, I couldn't…"
Cho
read his mind. Her face grew serious, and saddened. But she looked at Harry
straight in the eye.
"It's
okay Harry. It was not your fault. We all know that. You did your very best,
which was probably more than what most of us could have done. So don't let
anyone else, or yourself, convince you otherwise."
She
paused, trying to control the surge of emotions engulfing her. "If anything, I
have to thank you for bringing back….. Cedric's body," she finished with
difficulty. Giving Harry a quick squeeze in the hand, she turned and walked
swiftly away, trying to cover up the hasty wipe of her eyes with her blue Quidditch
robes.
Harry
turned back to Ron, and the two trudged over to where Hermione and Katya were,
discussing the details of the match excitedly. They all stood, rooted in the
stands chatting, as the other Gryffindors skipped past them on the way to the
Great Hall for the celebratory feast.
"Hurry
up you lot! You have a feast to attend!" cried Seamus, as he and Dean raced
back to the castle with the others.
"Right!
Be there in a sec!" called back Harry.
The
four made their way back slowly, with Ron simultaneously ranting on about his
saves, and looking proudly round the pitch and at the very few people left
scattered around in the stands. He seemed to have been floating on air the
second the match had ended. Gazing round rather smugly as Harry talked for the
tenth time about Boot's feinting, Ron caught sight of a witch with Madam Hooch,
and gave a low whistle.
"Oh look, Hermione," he nudged, grinning. "It's your favourite journalist."
Hermione
glanced up and scowled. A witch swathed in magenta robes descended upon them.
Sporting a distinctively elaborate hair-style and clutching to a crocodile-skin
handbag, it was the unmistakable figure of the Daily Prophet's reporter, Rita
Skeeter.
"I
wonder what she wants," she grumbled.
Stopping
in front of the four, the notoriously gossipy journalist threw Hermione a look
of utter contempt before turning to Harry, ignoring the others.
"Mr.
Potter, congratulations on just a spectacular match!"
"Er,
thanks," muttered Harry, eyeing Rita warily. He wondered what she was up to
now. The journalist had caused him more than enough grief last year with her
gossipy column in the Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter pulled out a roll of
parchment and her long acid-green quill in a business-like manner, settling them
in front of her in an exaggerated flourish.
"Would
you care to describe to me the match, in your own words?"
"Erm…"
"I
am sure it would be fabulous, just wonderful, if readers could
experience that match from a player's point of view. And I am sure you have
plenty to tell us."
She
fixed her eyes, framed by her jewelled spectacles, onto Harry. And his scar.
Harry shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.
"Players?
I am sure there are others here," he glanced up at Ron, who was desperately
hiding behind Katya, mouthing, "No! No way!"
"Tell
me, your father was a Quidditch player too, right? And there are tales of
exactly how amazing he was. How does it feel to live up to his reputation?"
Harry's
face hardened, becoming unreadable.
The
Quick-Quotes Quill started scribbling, in its own will, on the sheet of
parchment:
Harry Potter still remains in painful silence whenever the discussion of his beloved late father arises. It is apparent a tangible hurt lies within his soul, and tears threaten to overflow at the mention of his courageous parents.
"I do not have tears
threatening to overflow," roared Harry.
Leaping to the defence of such uncontrollable emotions, Mr Potter's anger is only a shield masking the terrible anguish of his heart.
"It's not! I
don't want to…"
Katya, who had
been reading the quick quotes notes in amazement, couldn't hide a smirk.
"Ekaterina
Vyacheslavovna Karvitskaya," growled Harry, ignoring Rita Skeeter altogether,
"don't you even dare think of laughing."
At the mention
of Katya's name, Rita swivelled round, as if noting the others' presence for
the first time.
"Karvitskaya?
Ekaterina Karvitskaya?"
"Yes?" replied
Katya guardedly, seeming suspicious at how this overly dramatic journalist
would seem to recognise her name.
"Daughter
of the great Irina Fyodorovna Drushkina?"
Hermione
gasped. Ron and Harry looked blank. Katya's expression grew cagey. The
Quick-Quotes Quill trembled with excitement as it rapidly scribbled:
"Tell
me," Rita pressed on, oblivious to the closed off look on Katya's face, "when
did you enter Hogwarts? You were not here last year, I do not think. What made
you decide to change schools?"
Katya
remained silent.
"How
is it like to have such a celebrated mother? What is your experience of
You-Know-Who?"
"I
don't want to say….."
"What?!"
hollered Harry. "That is not true!"
"True
for Ekaterina here maybe?" whispered Rita loftily. "Tell me child, how is it
like to grow up without a mother?"
"My
father did a great job," replied Katya, through clenched teeth.
"Does
he talk a lot to you about her? You do know the circumstances
surrounding the defeat of her circle of Aurors, don't you?" asked Rita silkily.
"A rare show of incompetence?"
At
that point, Katya stiffened, biting her lip so hard Hermione could see a drop
of blood seeping from underneath her teeth.
"Excuse
me, but I have to go," she said in a low but even voice. And with that, she
turned and hurried off before anyone could stop her. Rita stared after her for
a few moments and then turned back to Harry.
"So,"
she said brightly, as if nothing had happened at all. "I hear Cedric used to be
a Seeker as well. How…."
Harry
paled, and then glared at the infuriating woman.
"How
dare you mention Cedric!" he spluttered, before he too, turned and
followed Katya. Ron and Hermione fixed murderous glances at Rita. Hermione made
a snatch at the Quick-Quotes Quill and missed, finding herself staring
face-to-face with the irritating reporter.
"I
thought I made you promise not to write untruths," she said tightly, her jaw
set hard.
Clearly
undaunted, Rita threw her a knowing look. "The truth, er? Why don't you just
ask your friend?" She tossed a lofty glance over to where Katya was, marching
rapidly back up to the tower. And with that, she gathered up her quill and
parchment with a flourish, and swept away.
*
Ron
and Hermione found Katya curled up in a chair in the common room, with Harry
sitting on the floor in front of her.
"Kat,
she's like that. She gave me endless grief last year when she came to
interrogate me, claiming she was covering the Triwizard Tournament. You saw
what that quill was writing yourself," Harry was saying when Ron and Hermione
climbed through the portrait hole.
"And
Hermione here," he continued, nodding his head toward the two coming up to join
them, "sure got more than her fair share of tabloid mistruths."
Hermione
made an angry noise. "Tell me about it! It got Ron's mum against me for ages!
She wrote that I was mistreating Harry!"
She
paused, and then asked quietly, "Kat, how come you never mentioned who your
mother was?"
Katya's
eyes flickered up to meet her for a brief moment. "The subject never came up,"
she lowered her gaze once more. "And besides there isn't much to say."
"There
isn't much to say?" exclaimed Hermione incredulously. "Katya, your
mother was Irina Fyodorovna Drushkina!" Calming down slightly, she carried on,
"I never realised. It never occurred to me. I mean, you don't have the same
family name to begin with."
"She
kept her maiden name for her profession," replied Katya.
"Okay,
I have to ask, who is this Irina person?" asked Ron. Harry nodded too,
as if wanting to know the answer himself. Hermione clicked her tongue in
impatience.
"She
was only just the most amazing Auror the Soviet Union ever had," she
replied sarcastically. "If you guys would only read more, or pay
attention during Professor Binn's classes."
Ron
rolled his eyes. "We do not camp out in the library Hermione, and the History
of Magic is boring!"
Hermione
waved off his excuses. "She was amazing, Ron. About the Russian equivalent of
Mad-Eye Moody."
"What
happened? What was Rita talking about when she mentioned the defeat and this
rare show of incompetence?"
"It was not a rare show of incompetence," flared up Katya. The other
three turned to look at her as she uncurled herself from her chair. "They were
betrayed," she continued more steadily. "There was a Death Eater spy who was
working for the Ministry, leaking secrets to the Dark Lord. And the Aurors were
hit when they least expected it."
"Just
like Neville's parents," thought Harry, recalling
what he saw in Dumbledore's Pensieve earlier in the year.
"It
happened years ago, during the last few months before the Lord's fall from
power," she said glancing at Harry before continuing. "I wasn't even one then.
You-Know-Who found out about their plans and the Death Eaters ambushed a secret
meeting the Aurors were having at the time."
Hermione
gazed at the fire, not quite knowing what to say.
"I
was raised then by two Muggles. My father, and my godmother. It was a
magic-free life, except for when I was accepted into Rastorovsky's, of course.
But I didn't mind that. I loved just living a regular non-magic life, especially
given the circumstances of my mother's death. My godmother was fabulous, it was
just like having a real mother. But when she died last year from a cancer
related to the Chernobyl disaster, Dad decided it was time to just start anew.
Hence he accepted the transfer to England." She swallowed hard.
"Chernobyl?
What's cancer?" asked Ron.
"Oh,"
Katya faltered, trying to think of a way to explain it, and eventually shrugged
and said, "it's a Muggle disaster and a Muggle disease."
Ron
nodded. "Still, it is surprising you haven't even mentioned it before," he
pressed on. Harry remained silent, thinking how Neville never mentions his
parents.
"Well,
as I said, there isn't much to tell. I don't know an awful lot about her."
"Don't
know an awful lot?" asked Hermione in astonishment. "There are books upon books
on Aurors in the Eastern European nations, and all of them mention Irina
Drushkina! She is like, legendary. I have read so much about her. Fancy being
her daughter!"
"Sure,
I have read a lot about her in just about every history book around," said
Katya softly, pleating her robes into neat folds. "And everybody mentions her
much the way you do now, Hermione. The awe and respect and admiration she
inspired in just about everyone. It is pretty cool," she looked up
smiling wanly. Then looking down at her pleats once more, she carried on, "but
as a daughter, I don't want to learn about how she fought against the Dark Side
and what powers she was capable of, or how she and her troops captured thirty
six Death-Eaters once in Siberia. I… I want to know her as….. as a mother.
I want to have experienced how life would have been like with her. I want to
know what she was like in the kitchen, what her cooking was like, her voice, if
she could sing, her hobbies. Did she play Quidditch? Could she draw? What did
she like best in school, or what was she best at? I want to know about her
favourite colour, or book, or song. I want to be able to distinguish her by the
scent of her perfume, or to hear her laughter or to feel her embrace. To have
had her put braids in my hair when I was younger, to visit the toy stores with
her. And to chuckle over girly stuff with her as I grew older, to ask her
advice on, or joke with her over, clothes, make-up, or dates. But I'll never get
to find all that out. And so there isn't really very much to say."
There
was a silence as this sank in. Hermione's eyes filled with tears.
"I'm
sorry," she whispered. "Could you not ask your father?"
Katya shook her head. "I've tried before, lots of times. But he doesn't like
talking about it much. He shuts off when I mention her. They were so incredibly
in love, he was in shock when she was murdered. I don't think he has ever
gotten over her death, and it is so painful for him to recall those memories. I
don't like evoking them because it just hurts too much."
The
others looked on sympathetically. There really wasn't very much to say. Katya
fumbled about her robes and pulled out a silver locket on a chain, which she
had kept hidden underneath her robes. The locket had a rounded oval shape,
forming hollow space within. Through the celtic-like design of the cover, Harry
could just about make out a dull amber and blue coloured object encased in the
hollow.
"This
was my mother's," Katya said, fingering it tenderly. "Dad told me it was her
charm. A sort of talisman. She kept it with her at all times, ever since she
got this shard of stone for Easter when she was sixteen." She opened the locket
and took out the dull piece of stone so the others could take a closer look.
"This shard had been passed down the family for centuries and it was sort of an
heirloom thing, and then she made it into a charm for herself."
Putting
the shard back into the locket, she went on, "Dad had said he was going to give
it to me when I turned sixteen. But after my godmother died, he thought it was
more appropriate then, so here it is."
"I
think that is a lovely idea, the talisman," murmured Hermione.
"Aren't
you afraid the locket would open accidentally and the shard falls out?" asked
Ron.
Katya
grinned, lightening up the first time since her meeting with Rita Skeeter.
"Really Ron! Am I a witch or not? I put a locking charm on it." She touched her
wand to the locket and muttered, "serreia!" before tucking it back
underneath her robes once more.
* * *
Fighter
planes roared overhead. Gunshots sounded from all corners of the trenches.
Bombs fell around like pelting rain.
"Whatcha'
writin'?"
"Nothin'."
"Yeah
right."
His
friend moved up to take a closer look.
"I believe in the sun, even when it is not shining.
I believe in love, even when I do not feel it.
I believe in God, even when He is silent."
"You got some
faith haven't ya, ole pal?" The friend was teasing, but the teasing tone could
not mask the hint of admiration in his voice. Many people wished they had the
faith and belief that George here had. It seemed to keep him going at the
roughest of times, giving him the morale and courage to keep fighting, fuelling
his desire to live.
George shrugged as he tossed aside the piece of
stone he had been using to scrawl the quote. Being at war posed more
disadvantages than one would think. The lack of pens and paper was one of them.
"I
wish I had your faith, pal," said his friend, after a moment's silence. "It is
so beautiful and meaningful to have such a belief to live for."
A
deafening roar of bomber planes passed overhead. And a few seconds later, all
that was left of the cellar was a crater in the ground. A soft warm glow lay
half-hidden, embedded in the earth and rubble. No one noticed, but it remained
there until night fell, and the bitter cold sank in.
* * *