Futile Attempts
Chapter Three: Running With the Sun\
Samsara
Ron Weasly and Hermoine Granger entered the Leaky Cauldron with high spirits. Finally the duo would be able to search for Harry after years of being stuck in school and helpless to Harry. The Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley were their first stops on the trip. They planned to spend the day at Diagon Alley picking up any essentials they needed to search for Harry in Albania. Then they could spend a last relaxing night at the Leaky Cauldron and finally set out on their journey.
The pair strode down the streets, hustling through the chilly streets. Diagon Alley had changed so much after Harry's Disappearance. Now, every wizard and witch was searched upon entry into most stores and into Diagon Alley itself. Only people with special cards could enter the Ministry of Magic Building, and it took a month to get one.
The entire attitude of the population had been turned around. No children ran about the streets now, laughing and yelling mock curses and hexes. Everyone always was on the lookout, always ready to accuse an innocent of siding with the Dark Lord. Silently they stalked, in and out of stores, flipping through spell books and re-reading old class notes.
The Leaky Cauldron was nearly empty that night, save for a few patrons. Ron and Hermoine were the only people staying the night, and old Tom was sitting at the bar, drunk as usual. (His name is tom, right?) Ron and Hermoine glanced warily about the room, carefully remembering all the old times of happiness they had had here. Now, the pub was only a memory of long gone.
"Ron, come here for a bit, I want to go over some spells, okay?" Hermoine's voice was soft and her smooth fingers spread across is clothing and tugged ever so gently.
The boy nodded dumbly before disappearing inside his own room for a moment. Later, he appeared in her room, wand at hand.
" What did you want to go over?" he asked slowly, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"A few curses and spells. This one is called the Thought Reflection. We never went over it in school, and it would help us. It's a spell were you can pick up on a person's thoughts and see what they see," she explained, opening up a very rusty old book and flipping through the pages.
Ron stood up and moved to her.
"How does it go?"
------
It was nearly 12 am before Ron left Hermoine's room for his own. Diagon Alley was completely silent, and the only noise to be heard was soft movements from Tom downstairs. The lights were all diminished except for one, a candle, which was serenely positioned next to Hermoine's bed. She wasn't reading, or shuffling thru notes, but thinking and brushing her hair.
Ron had changed since Harry disappeared. Well, of course he changed, but more than the others and in a more drastic way. He had become more determined and had stopped goofing off to learn more. He had ended up as Head Boy, even without ever being a prefect. His eyes that had once shone with enlightenment and endearment of the highest had become icy cold. His body stiffened at the mention of Harry's name, and now, he refused to be touched.
Anything that Harry had ever given him, letter or trading card, was now a sacred artifact.
//Don't try to hide it, Ron, I know you love him. It's so easy to see, and it has always been easy to see. You'd never tell me the truth though. I know why. You think I'm in love with you. Someday, I promise, you and Harry will be living happily somewhere, totally in love like you should be. Harry loved you back, and he still does if he can recall the feeling. Maybe Viktor and I will get married, after he finishes those extra courses he's taking. Everything will be just as it should. You can't be dead Harry, I know you would never surrender to death that easily. I promise, that we will find you.\\
Over the years, Hermoine and Viktor had stayed a true couple. It was obvious they were going to wed, but only after Harry was found and Viktor finished his extra schooling. Viktor had always wanted Harry as his best man.
-----
Tom looked up sullenly from his tankard of beer to gaze heavily at the tall man who entered. The pub was still open, and it had been a while since a customer had come in at night. Suddenly, the old bartender's mood swung to that of triumphant happiness.
"Hail Stranger, what can I get you t'night?" he questioned blissfully. The man stopped for a moment as if star struck. He did not wear traditional wizarding robes, but was dressed in extremely baggy black pants and a grey hooded sweatshirt. His face was hidden by the hood, but the air about him seemed familiar.
Slowly, his feet worked again and brought him to a stool at the bar.
" Red Dragon Ale, please," his voice was ruff and untamed, as though he were a wild man from the furthest reaches of the world.
"Comin' right up. So stranger, what brings ye here at this time a night?" the man set about the order, his bones happily creaking with the enjoyment of finally being able to serve someone.
"I was hoping for some old time fun. I guess that has run out like everything else," the comment was dry and well chosen. The bartender raised an eyebrow.
"I can't say I've ever seen you here," he replied, placing the drink in front of his patron.
"Indeed not. I've only been in Diagon Alley. That's what I meant," his voice cracked at the last part causing the other eyebrow on Tom's face to rise.
"I see," silence befell the pair as the mysterious guest drank down the burning liquid in several mouthfuls at a time. His eyes glimmered softly as he peered about the room, a soft green twinge reflecting off his tankard.
His drink was half done when he was spoken to again.
"You seem a bit on the downside. Anything I can help you with? Hard times are these, and everyone needs to stick together," Tom said, leaning on his side of the counter. The man dumbly shook his head.
"No, nothing. Just, the usual, for me at least." he answered calmly. His drink was finished.
"Thank-you," was all he replied before flipping some coins onto the table as payment. Suddenly the coins became lost to Tom, as the elder man gazed in wonderment at the stranger's hidden face. His eyes were the only feature visible, but in the lamplight they glowed with harmony and simple, passionate courage. Abruptly, the stranger turned, and had his hand on the door latch, when Tom strode over a placed a warm hand on his shoulder.
"Harry..."
-----
Ron tossed and turned in his sleep, clutching vainly at the bedclothes. In his mind, he was holding Harry. They gazed softly into each other's eyes, but suddenly, Harry would disappear. Ron would reach out, only to grasp the wisps of fading hair, lips and cheek. The dream, or nightmare, had always been the same. Eventually, Ron would awake, gasping for breath and clutching the air where Harry had been.
Quietly Ron crept out of his bed, the springs not daring to creak and give his presence away to the night. Ron was still wearing his day clothes, and indeed, he never wore nightclothes anymore. After being attacked in bed, Ron made sure he was always ready for such attacks. The tall youth stalked out the door, his intentions on downstairs. Hopefully Tom would be up to talk to. The man was quite comfortable to talk to. He had just closed his door when a loud cry sounded from downstairs sounded.
"RON!!! HERMOINE!!! GET DOWN HERE NOW!!"
Ron leapt down the old wooded stairs as Hermoine emerged groggily from her room. Tom stood as the door, nursing a cut to left forearm and panting heavily.
"Tom! Are you alright? What happened?" he asked, shredding his robe to give his old friend a bandage.
"Blast it Ron!" Tom growled, meaning his wound, " Harry was here just now! I swear my life on it! Please, you have to go after him! He's running through Diagon Alley now!"
Ron gasped, silently berating himself. How come he had not come sooner? Nodding wildly, Ron bounded to his feet and barged out the door, mind intent on Harry. Hermoine would help Tom then follow.
------
Harry raced through Diagon Alley, his feet and heart looking for escape. Dammit! How could he have been so careless? Walking into the Leaky Cauldron where someone was bound to recognize him. He couldn't face anybody if they caught him. What would they say when they found out? What would Ron say?
No, he couldn't take that. He couldn't stand rejection from the one he lov- shut up! a cruel voice yelled at him from within. If you are to save her, you have to abandon all feelings and submit. There's no choice. Harry would willingly love Ron for eternity if lives weren't at stake here. Unfortunately, they were. He was nearing the end of the Alley and to the crossing points of the roads to all the other alleys. He could loose whatever followers he had gained here. Unfortunately, he presence was discovered. He had given the people hope. Now rumor would spread that Harry Potter was indeed alive, and quite dangerous. He had proved that by slashing Tom's arm. Harry now knew he would be in trouble. His master wouldn't like that, not one bit.
His feet paused at the crossroads, confused and weary. Where would he go? Because of his mistake, Harry would have to hang low for a while before continuing his mission. The boy's childish side was revealed as his thumbs and index fingers pinched and re-pinched the hem of his sweatshirt. It was raining heavily now. The faint glimmers and sounds of London rang and clanged about him, but he was lost. He was lost in running towards the sun.
Suddenly his ears swiveled. Footsteps, pounding hard against the muddy earth. He was being followed. Dammit!
His feet worked again, picking the closest route. If he got lost, he could always sort himself out later. His ears picked up a new ringing, a voice perhaps? It screamed out a name, repeatedly, but it obviously fell on deaf ears.
-----
"HARRY!! HARRY!!" Ron screamed, his voice ragged. He was racing after his old friend and prospective lover, but his goal was not stopping. What had happened to Harry? Why was he running away?
"Curse you Harry. I will catch you! I'm NOT LOSING YOU AGAIN!!" Ron shouted the last part out, as though it were his battle cry. The rain pattered down heavily, weighing him down. All the fears of rejection and loss faded with the flood of rain and tears as Ron sped after the dark haired boy.
----
Harry's feet weakened with each step. His chaser was closing in, and now he was penned in. A dead end lay up ahead, and if he were to escape, he'd have to retrace his steps back to the crossroads. His only chance was hiding, and that was miniscule. Crying out in pain and self-disgust, Harry threw himself to the mud and into the corner of the dead end. His fists balled up and tears stroked his gentle complexion. Why was this happening? He would be dragged back to wherever and he would have to face Dumbledore, Hermoine, Hagrid, Sirius, the Weaslys.... and Ron. He couldn't do that to them! How could he tell them how he had failed the; had let them down? Bitterly he stood, prepared to face his pursuer.
-----
Ron gasped for breath as he entered the dead end. Harry stood, face still hidden, in the corner, pressed against the wall. He looked... different, and odd. He seemed so afraid and alone as he stood, firm muscles pressed hard against the walls, seeking freedom. Ron strode forward firmly, and cornered the man before him.
"Harry?" He asked gently, reaching for the hood.
"Leave me alone!" came the haughty reply. Harry now shook with cold, fear and anger. How dare someone make him face his fears!?
"No! I'm not losing you again! Let me help you! It's me, Harry, me! Ron! Ronald Weasly!" Ron answered gravely. Harry stopped moving entirely, disbelieving his ears. Ron? Not you! Not now, not here! Timidly his captor stretched forward his hand, and removed the hood.
Harry's eyes weren't glimmering as they should, but instead were dull; lifeless. His nose was stronger, and looking like he had been punched there several times. His lips were trembling and chapped, and he sniffled from crying. His pretty face was streaked red, but otherwise pale. Fading bruises and cuts shone in the rain and moonlight.
"God, Harry, what happened?" the redhead asked sensitively, stroking his friend's dirty forehead.
"Nothing! Nothing!" Harry yelled back, instantly reaching for his knife hidden round the back of his waist. His move was detected however. Ron's callused hand grabbed Harry's resolutely, drawing it up to his chest. Their bodies were pressed close now, and they were within kissing distance. Ron knelt forward so that his lips nearly touched the other boy's ear.
"Don't Harry. I want to help you, please," Ron pleaded, his voice a mere exhale.
"Damn you, Ron. Can't you see I want to be alone," the words came out a simple lie, " that I ought to be dead?"
Ron drew back instantly, searching Harry's face for mirth or delight. There was none.
"Don't you dare say that, Harry. Ever. You hear me? That is not true, and you . bloody. know it!" Ron answered, his voice deathly and full of threat. Harry ignored the threat however.
" It is true! I know it is! I know it is! I should be dead and rotting 6 feet under by now..."Harry was crying now, his voice shaky. Wearily, Harry collapsed against Ron, his breath ragged.
"Harry? Harry!" Ron yelped and felt his friend's forehead. He had a high fever and had passed out. Ron gently cradled the boy against his wet self, turning back to the Leaky Cauldron. He would find out what was with Harry, that much he promised.
------
Chapter Three: Running With the Sun\
Samsara
Ron Weasly and Hermoine Granger entered the Leaky Cauldron with high spirits. Finally the duo would be able to search for Harry after years of being stuck in school and helpless to Harry. The Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley were their first stops on the trip. They planned to spend the day at Diagon Alley picking up any essentials they needed to search for Harry in Albania. Then they could spend a last relaxing night at the Leaky Cauldron and finally set out on their journey.
The pair strode down the streets, hustling through the chilly streets. Diagon Alley had changed so much after Harry's Disappearance. Now, every wizard and witch was searched upon entry into most stores and into Diagon Alley itself. Only people with special cards could enter the Ministry of Magic Building, and it took a month to get one.
The entire attitude of the population had been turned around. No children ran about the streets now, laughing and yelling mock curses and hexes. Everyone always was on the lookout, always ready to accuse an innocent of siding with the Dark Lord. Silently they stalked, in and out of stores, flipping through spell books and re-reading old class notes.
The Leaky Cauldron was nearly empty that night, save for a few patrons. Ron and Hermoine were the only people staying the night, and old Tom was sitting at the bar, drunk as usual. (His name is tom, right?) Ron and Hermoine glanced warily about the room, carefully remembering all the old times of happiness they had had here. Now, the pub was only a memory of long gone.
"Ron, come here for a bit, I want to go over some spells, okay?" Hermoine's voice was soft and her smooth fingers spread across is clothing and tugged ever so gently.
The boy nodded dumbly before disappearing inside his own room for a moment. Later, he appeared in her room, wand at hand.
" What did you want to go over?" he asked slowly, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"A few curses and spells. This one is called the Thought Reflection. We never went over it in school, and it would help us. It's a spell were you can pick up on a person's thoughts and see what they see," she explained, opening up a very rusty old book and flipping through the pages.
Ron stood up and moved to her.
"How does it go?"
------
It was nearly 12 am before Ron left Hermoine's room for his own. Diagon Alley was completely silent, and the only noise to be heard was soft movements from Tom downstairs. The lights were all diminished except for one, a candle, which was serenely positioned next to Hermoine's bed. She wasn't reading, or shuffling thru notes, but thinking and brushing her hair.
Ron had changed since Harry disappeared. Well, of course he changed, but more than the others and in a more drastic way. He had become more determined and had stopped goofing off to learn more. He had ended up as Head Boy, even without ever being a prefect. His eyes that had once shone with enlightenment and endearment of the highest had become icy cold. His body stiffened at the mention of Harry's name, and now, he refused to be touched.
Anything that Harry had ever given him, letter or trading card, was now a sacred artifact.
//Don't try to hide it, Ron, I know you love him. It's so easy to see, and it has always been easy to see. You'd never tell me the truth though. I know why. You think I'm in love with you. Someday, I promise, you and Harry will be living happily somewhere, totally in love like you should be. Harry loved you back, and he still does if he can recall the feeling. Maybe Viktor and I will get married, after he finishes those extra courses he's taking. Everything will be just as it should. You can't be dead Harry, I know you would never surrender to death that easily. I promise, that we will find you.\\
Over the years, Hermoine and Viktor had stayed a true couple. It was obvious they were going to wed, but only after Harry was found and Viktor finished his extra schooling. Viktor had always wanted Harry as his best man.
-----
Tom looked up sullenly from his tankard of beer to gaze heavily at the tall man who entered. The pub was still open, and it had been a while since a customer had come in at night. Suddenly, the old bartender's mood swung to that of triumphant happiness.
"Hail Stranger, what can I get you t'night?" he questioned blissfully. The man stopped for a moment as if star struck. He did not wear traditional wizarding robes, but was dressed in extremely baggy black pants and a grey hooded sweatshirt. His face was hidden by the hood, but the air about him seemed familiar.
Slowly, his feet worked again and brought him to a stool at the bar.
" Red Dragon Ale, please," his voice was ruff and untamed, as though he were a wild man from the furthest reaches of the world.
"Comin' right up. So stranger, what brings ye here at this time a night?" the man set about the order, his bones happily creaking with the enjoyment of finally being able to serve someone.
"I was hoping for some old time fun. I guess that has run out like everything else," the comment was dry and well chosen. The bartender raised an eyebrow.
"I can't say I've ever seen you here," he replied, placing the drink in front of his patron.
"Indeed not. I've only been in Diagon Alley. That's what I meant," his voice cracked at the last part causing the other eyebrow on Tom's face to rise.
"I see," silence befell the pair as the mysterious guest drank down the burning liquid in several mouthfuls at a time. His eyes glimmered softly as he peered about the room, a soft green twinge reflecting off his tankard.
His drink was half done when he was spoken to again.
"You seem a bit on the downside. Anything I can help you with? Hard times are these, and everyone needs to stick together," Tom said, leaning on his side of the counter. The man dumbly shook his head.
"No, nothing. Just, the usual, for me at least." he answered calmly. His drink was finished.
"Thank-you," was all he replied before flipping some coins onto the table as payment. Suddenly the coins became lost to Tom, as the elder man gazed in wonderment at the stranger's hidden face. His eyes were the only feature visible, but in the lamplight they glowed with harmony and simple, passionate courage. Abruptly, the stranger turned, and had his hand on the door latch, when Tom strode over a placed a warm hand on his shoulder.
"Harry..."
-----
Ron tossed and turned in his sleep, clutching vainly at the bedclothes. In his mind, he was holding Harry. They gazed softly into each other's eyes, but suddenly, Harry would disappear. Ron would reach out, only to grasp the wisps of fading hair, lips and cheek. The dream, or nightmare, had always been the same. Eventually, Ron would awake, gasping for breath and clutching the air where Harry had been.
Quietly Ron crept out of his bed, the springs not daring to creak and give his presence away to the night. Ron was still wearing his day clothes, and indeed, he never wore nightclothes anymore. After being attacked in bed, Ron made sure he was always ready for such attacks. The tall youth stalked out the door, his intentions on downstairs. Hopefully Tom would be up to talk to. The man was quite comfortable to talk to. He had just closed his door when a loud cry sounded from downstairs sounded.
"RON!!! HERMOINE!!! GET DOWN HERE NOW!!"
Ron leapt down the old wooded stairs as Hermoine emerged groggily from her room. Tom stood as the door, nursing a cut to left forearm and panting heavily.
"Tom! Are you alright? What happened?" he asked, shredding his robe to give his old friend a bandage.
"Blast it Ron!" Tom growled, meaning his wound, " Harry was here just now! I swear my life on it! Please, you have to go after him! He's running through Diagon Alley now!"
Ron gasped, silently berating himself. How come he had not come sooner? Nodding wildly, Ron bounded to his feet and barged out the door, mind intent on Harry. Hermoine would help Tom then follow.
------
Harry raced through Diagon Alley, his feet and heart looking for escape. Dammit! How could he have been so careless? Walking into the Leaky Cauldron where someone was bound to recognize him. He couldn't face anybody if they caught him. What would they say when they found out? What would Ron say?
No, he couldn't take that. He couldn't stand rejection from the one he lov- shut up! a cruel voice yelled at him from within. If you are to save her, you have to abandon all feelings and submit. There's no choice. Harry would willingly love Ron for eternity if lives weren't at stake here. Unfortunately, they were. He was nearing the end of the Alley and to the crossing points of the roads to all the other alleys. He could loose whatever followers he had gained here. Unfortunately, he presence was discovered. He had given the people hope. Now rumor would spread that Harry Potter was indeed alive, and quite dangerous. He had proved that by slashing Tom's arm. Harry now knew he would be in trouble. His master wouldn't like that, not one bit.
His feet paused at the crossroads, confused and weary. Where would he go? Because of his mistake, Harry would have to hang low for a while before continuing his mission. The boy's childish side was revealed as his thumbs and index fingers pinched and re-pinched the hem of his sweatshirt. It was raining heavily now. The faint glimmers and sounds of London rang and clanged about him, but he was lost. He was lost in running towards the sun.
Suddenly his ears swiveled. Footsteps, pounding hard against the muddy earth. He was being followed. Dammit!
His feet worked again, picking the closest route. If he got lost, he could always sort himself out later. His ears picked up a new ringing, a voice perhaps? It screamed out a name, repeatedly, but it obviously fell on deaf ears.
-----
"HARRY!! HARRY!!" Ron screamed, his voice ragged. He was racing after his old friend and prospective lover, but his goal was not stopping. What had happened to Harry? Why was he running away?
"Curse you Harry. I will catch you! I'm NOT LOSING YOU AGAIN!!" Ron shouted the last part out, as though it were his battle cry. The rain pattered down heavily, weighing him down. All the fears of rejection and loss faded with the flood of rain and tears as Ron sped after the dark haired boy.
----
Harry's feet weakened with each step. His chaser was closing in, and now he was penned in. A dead end lay up ahead, and if he were to escape, he'd have to retrace his steps back to the crossroads. His only chance was hiding, and that was miniscule. Crying out in pain and self-disgust, Harry threw himself to the mud and into the corner of the dead end. His fists balled up and tears stroked his gentle complexion. Why was this happening? He would be dragged back to wherever and he would have to face Dumbledore, Hermoine, Hagrid, Sirius, the Weaslys.... and Ron. He couldn't do that to them! How could he tell them how he had failed the; had let them down? Bitterly he stood, prepared to face his pursuer.
-----
Ron gasped for breath as he entered the dead end. Harry stood, face still hidden, in the corner, pressed against the wall. He looked... different, and odd. He seemed so afraid and alone as he stood, firm muscles pressed hard against the walls, seeking freedom. Ron strode forward firmly, and cornered the man before him.
"Harry?" He asked gently, reaching for the hood.
"Leave me alone!" came the haughty reply. Harry now shook with cold, fear and anger. How dare someone make him face his fears!?
"No! I'm not losing you again! Let me help you! It's me, Harry, me! Ron! Ronald Weasly!" Ron answered gravely. Harry stopped moving entirely, disbelieving his ears. Ron? Not you! Not now, not here! Timidly his captor stretched forward his hand, and removed the hood.
Harry's eyes weren't glimmering as they should, but instead were dull; lifeless. His nose was stronger, and looking like he had been punched there several times. His lips were trembling and chapped, and he sniffled from crying. His pretty face was streaked red, but otherwise pale. Fading bruises and cuts shone in the rain and moonlight.
"God, Harry, what happened?" the redhead asked sensitively, stroking his friend's dirty forehead.
"Nothing! Nothing!" Harry yelled back, instantly reaching for his knife hidden round the back of his waist. His move was detected however. Ron's callused hand grabbed Harry's resolutely, drawing it up to his chest. Their bodies were pressed close now, and they were within kissing distance. Ron knelt forward so that his lips nearly touched the other boy's ear.
"Don't Harry. I want to help you, please," Ron pleaded, his voice a mere exhale.
"Damn you, Ron. Can't you see I want to be alone," the words came out a simple lie, " that I ought to be dead?"
Ron drew back instantly, searching Harry's face for mirth or delight. There was none.
"Don't you dare say that, Harry. Ever. You hear me? That is not true, and you . bloody. know it!" Ron answered, his voice deathly and full of threat. Harry ignored the threat however.
" It is true! I know it is! I know it is! I should be dead and rotting 6 feet under by now..."Harry was crying now, his voice shaky. Wearily, Harry collapsed against Ron, his breath ragged.
"Harry? Harry!" Ron yelped and felt his friend's forehead. He had a high fever and had passed out. Ron gently cradled the boy against his wet self, turning back to the Leaky Cauldron. He would find out what was with Harry, that much he promised.
------
