Seeing the Invisible 7
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or settings that are described in any of the Harry potter books. ::smiles hopefully:: don't sue me please!
~
Harry opened his eyes and looked out the window, smiling at the beginnings of illumination over the horizon that would soon be the rising sun. It was a weekend, so no one else had woken up yet. He shrugged and swung his legs off the bed, quietly getting up. Harry grabbed his robes and broom and headed off to the quidditch pitch. Walking through the frozen grass in morning twilight, Harry hummed softly to himself, thinking of diversionary tactics and field scanning. The first light of morning penetrated the thick mist that rose off of the grounds. Through the fog, Harry saw a glimpse of black, conspicuously contrasting with the white snow. Peering through his hazy glasses, his eyes focused on the black shape. It was a human figure, sprawled on the ground. Facing him in the distance lay a girl in a white nightshift, her bathrobe, and a black cloak. Her slippers were farther off than they should have been, and she lay barefoot in the ice, ravens flying overhead. Her face was pale as a sheet, though her eyelids and lips were purple. Though he was far away from her, a small hint of recognition lingered in his mind.
"No, it couldn't be…" he thought, fear gripping his throat. His eyes grew wide and he thought for less than a second before dropping his broom and sprinting towards the girl.
Harry dropped to his knees at her side, shaking her, an uncertain and frightened not in his voice, " Farrell, Farrell wake up! Farrell!!"
Harry leaned down and listened for a heartbeat. A very soft, unsteady beating sounded in her chest. He swiftly lifted her and ran back to his broom, hoisting her onto it in front of him and zooming towards the castle. He didn't even stop flying when he reached the corridors, just bent his head and flew low. Unfortunately, it wasn't too early for some people to be awake.
"Potter! What in the world do you think you're doing!" bellowed Professor McGonagall's voice from in front of him. Harry skidded to a halt in midair.
"Professor, its- well, I have to- er…- LOOK!" he stammered, pointing at the unconscious Farrell.
Harry was shocked to see how quickly Professor McGonagall set her books on the floor and ran toward them.
She touched Farrell's ice-cold hand and softly said, "Farrell…" under her breath. Then Professor McGonagall looked up at Harry and said, " Potter, get to the hospital wing, but watch out for the doors. Go," she said looking at Harry's astonished face, " NOW!"
And with that, Harry sped off, McGonagall running behind him.
~
Three hours later, once day had truly broken, Harry and Professor McGonagall sat at the side of a white cot, on which Farrell lay. Thanks to Madam Pomfrey, Farrell's health was restored, her color normal once more, though her feet and hands were bandaged (frostbite). Harry's eyes blinked open, he had fallen asleep again waiting for Farrell to wake. Beside him, Professor McGonagall had drifted off herself. Harry looked to Farrell, a strand of her ebony hair falling across her closed eyes. He reached forward and brushed it out of her face. For a moment, Harry's shaking hand lingered on her hair, and Farrell's eyes snapped open. She sat up with a jump that startled Harry and woke Professor McGonagall.
" Where is he!?" she shouted, staring around wildly, her back and neck rigid.
Professor McGonagall gently pushed her back into her pillows and said softly, "Calm down, Farrell, no one is here." Behind her, Harry stared, eyes wide in shock.
"Minerva, where is he!??! The man with the red eyes!" shrieked Farrell, fighting against Professor McGonagall's strong hands, a manic look of fear in her eyes.
"Shhh…. You must have been having a nightmare. Everything will be fine," he said kindly, helping to hold her back.
Farrell squiggled around, thrashing in her sheets. " You don't understand! He's coming! Coming for me!! He's going to use me to do something bad! I know it, I can see it in my head. I can hear him talking when I sleep, and sometimes when I'm awake- this man, he wants me to help him open something. He came for me last night! He forced me out onto the pitch! I couldn't fight! There was a-a-a….a triangle thing and he-
Professor McGonagall put her hand softly over Farrell's mouth, saying, " ssshh…don't excite yourself,"
Farrell bit her hand and grabbed her by the shoulders, " Minerva! Don't you get it? This guy is going to come, and then we'll all be dead! DEAD! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!" screamed Farrell, her eyes flicking around the room. Harry and Professor McGonagall were staring at her as though she'd gone mad (which, of course, they certainly thought she had).
"Harry, please believe me- its true! I wouldn't lie to you, I promise, Harry, I would never lie to you, I wouldn't because I-
At that moment, Madam Pomfrey couldn't take it any more; she tapped Farrell on the head with her wand, putting her back to sleep.
Harry stared at Farrell, wide-eyed, for a moment, and then walked out of the room, numb with disbelief. When he arrived in the common room, he sought out Ron and Hermione.
"Harry! Where were you? We've been looking for you for hours," said Ron, upon seeing him.
"In the hospital wing," replied Harry in a monotone, flopping onto a couch.
"Are you all right?" asked Hermione, concerned.
"Fine," answered Harry, his voice flat.
Ron and Hermione shared a worried glance.
"Then what's wrong?" Ron asked, confused, " and where is Farrell?"
"Farrell's in the hospital wing, that's what's wrong, and I'm sure things could be better," said Harry, looking down.
"What? Why is Farrell in the hospital wing? How did she get there?"
"Well, she's there because I found her on the quidditch pitch, laying unconscious in the snow, and I took her there, but…well, I think it's a bit more complicated now," replied Harry, sighing.
" Complicated? What are you on about, Harry?"
Harry looked up, and Ron was startled by the troubled look in his eyes.
"She's mad. There's nothing else to it. When she woke she was yelling at us about how she- how she was lured onto the quidditch pitch by a red-eyed man who spoke to her in her dreams and was going to use her to…was going to use her to kill us all," Harry said, speaking in a low voice and biting his lip as he stared towards the floor.
Ron and Hermione were blown away by this news. For several minutes they just sat in silence, staring at one another.
~
Word spread over the next week that a fifth year Gryffindor had gone insane and was lying in the hospital wing and only woke to have screaming fits. People crowded at the door of the hospital wing, trying to peek in and find out if the rumor was true. Finally, Farrell decided that she needed to get up and move around, she couldn't hide from her life in the hospital wing forever. She begged Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey to let her go, but it was several weeks before she could prove to them that she could leave. Though voices still haunted her mind, she could control her mouth and temper, and returned to Gryffindor Tower. During her stay in the hospital wing, she had refused to eat for a large amount of time, making her look pale and gaunt, like a ghost almost. She frightened most of the people who she'd usually be on good terms with, and she herself was frightened to go near Ron, Harry, and Hermione, for fear of something happening to her, making her hurt them.
For months, Farrell skidded around her former best friends in the halls and sat as far from them in classes and at meals as she could. She rarely went to see Professor McGonagall, though when she did, it was only for a brief period, and they just discussed schoolwork in a dim, expressionless way. Minerva worried about her, but didn't want to say anything. If you had known the girl she was before, you would have thought someone was lying if they'd told you who Farrell Branwen was now. Her face was dark and expressionless, as though it was hewn from rock, and her eyes no longer shone with interest and merriment, but flickered with a flame of constant fear. Even in the frozen weather and swirling snow, Harry would watch Farrell march to the lake every day after her lessons and just stare into the water for hours.
During the first few weeks that Farrell had gone "mad" Harry missed her greatly, and pitied her. Though now, in late May, Harry's pity was replaced with fury. He cursed her for leaving them, for acting as though she did not know Ron, Hermione, and himself, or for hating them. For the last couple of months, Harry had been colder than he would have towards Farrell, ignoring her completely, or glaring at her during class. Ron questioned his behavior, but Harry pretended that he did not know what Ron meant. Though he thought he hated Farrell, that was only a shell. Inside, he longed to run towards her and hug her as he did before, he yearned to see her smile, but would not show his disappointment.
Several days later, in the middle of the night, Harry woke with a start. He had heard a noise from downstairs. He pulled on his invisibility cloak and headed down the stairs.
In the chair that was closest to the fire, someone was curled up. Someone in khaki pants and a brown sweater who was softly sobbing, head hidden in her arms. Her small, gaunt frame shook with sobs and her pale fingers clutched the arm of the chair. Recognition flickered in Harry's eyes. He recognized this girl as one who used to be his friend, who he used to love, this girl who used to be the Farrell that he knew. For a moment Harry completely forgot about hating her and was ready to rush forward and hold her. But then he remembered.
A piece of parchment lay on the floor beside her chair. Harry slowly moved forward and picked it up, hoping Farrell wouldn't see. Luckily for Harry, she wasn't thinking about invisible people stealing her personal letters at that very moment.
The letter read:
Dear Miss Branwen,
It is with great regret that I must inform you that Longtree Magical Orphanage has been destroyed by Lord Voldemort. Unfortunately, no one survived the attack. We will arrange a place for you to stay once the term has ended. My apologies. If you need to talk to someone, do not hesitate to ask. Enclosed in the letter is a locket that was left in the pocket of Miriam Fairfax. I thought you might like it.
Sincerely,
Professor Dumbledore
Harry instantly felt horrible, guilt sweeping over his insides as he looked to Farrell one more. She was no longer sobbing, but silent tears streamed down her face as she fastened a silver locket around her neck. Closing her eyes, she leaned back into the chair and spoke aloud.
" Potter, I-I know its you. I can hear you. Please…" she seemed to be unable to find her voice for a moment. She took a breath and started again in a very soft voice, " please leave me…I couldn't bear to hurt you."
With that, Farrell rose again and ran up to her dormitory, picking up the letter on her way, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or settings that are described in any of the Harry potter books. ::smiles hopefully:: don't sue me please!
~
Harry opened his eyes and looked out the window, smiling at the beginnings of illumination over the horizon that would soon be the rising sun. It was a weekend, so no one else had woken up yet. He shrugged and swung his legs off the bed, quietly getting up. Harry grabbed his robes and broom and headed off to the quidditch pitch. Walking through the frozen grass in morning twilight, Harry hummed softly to himself, thinking of diversionary tactics and field scanning. The first light of morning penetrated the thick mist that rose off of the grounds. Through the fog, Harry saw a glimpse of black, conspicuously contrasting with the white snow. Peering through his hazy glasses, his eyes focused on the black shape. It was a human figure, sprawled on the ground. Facing him in the distance lay a girl in a white nightshift, her bathrobe, and a black cloak. Her slippers were farther off than they should have been, and she lay barefoot in the ice, ravens flying overhead. Her face was pale as a sheet, though her eyelids and lips were purple. Though he was far away from her, a small hint of recognition lingered in his mind.
"No, it couldn't be…" he thought, fear gripping his throat. His eyes grew wide and he thought for less than a second before dropping his broom and sprinting towards the girl.
Harry dropped to his knees at her side, shaking her, an uncertain and frightened not in his voice, " Farrell, Farrell wake up! Farrell!!"
Harry leaned down and listened for a heartbeat. A very soft, unsteady beating sounded in her chest. He swiftly lifted her and ran back to his broom, hoisting her onto it in front of him and zooming towards the castle. He didn't even stop flying when he reached the corridors, just bent his head and flew low. Unfortunately, it wasn't too early for some people to be awake.
"Potter! What in the world do you think you're doing!" bellowed Professor McGonagall's voice from in front of him. Harry skidded to a halt in midair.
"Professor, its- well, I have to- er…- LOOK!" he stammered, pointing at the unconscious Farrell.
Harry was shocked to see how quickly Professor McGonagall set her books on the floor and ran toward them.
She touched Farrell's ice-cold hand and softly said, "Farrell…" under her breath. Then Professor McGonagall looked up at Harry and said, " Potter, get to the hospital wing, but watch out for the doors. Go," she said looking at Harry's astonished face, " NOW!"
And with that, Harry sped off, McGonagall running behind him.
~
Three hours later, once day had truly broken, Harry and Professor McGonagall sat at the side of a white cot, on which Farrell lay. Thanks to Madam Pomfrey, Farrell's health was restored, her color normal once more, though her feet and hands were bandaged (frostbite). Harry's eyes blinked open, he had fallen asleep again waiting for Farrell to wake. Beside him, Professor McGonagall had drifted off herself. Harry looked to Farrell, a strand of her ebony hair falling across her closed eyes. He reached forward and brushed it out of her face. For a moment, Harry's shaking hand lingered on her hair, and Farrell's eyes snapped open. She sat up with a jump that startled Harry and woke Professor McGonagall.
" Where is he!?" she shouted, staring around wildly, her back and neck rigid.
Professor McGonagall gently pushed her back into her pillows and said softly, "Calm down, Farrell, no one is here." Behind her, Harry stared, eyes wide in shock.
"Minerva, where is he!??! The man with the red eyes!" shrieked Farrell, fighting against Professor McGonagall's strong hands, a manic look of fear in her eyes.
"Shhh…. You must have been having a nightmare. Everything will be fine," he said kindly, helping to hold her back.
Farrell squiggled around, thrashing in her sheets. " You don't understand! He's coming! Coming for me!! He's going to use me to do something bad! I know it, I can see it in my head. I can hear him talking when I sleep, and sometimes when I'm awake- this man, he wants me to help him open something. He came for me last night! He forced me out onto the pitch! I couldn't fight! There was a-a-a….a triangle thing and he-
Professor McGonagall put her hand softly over Farrell's mouth, saying, " ssshh…don't excite yourself,"
Farrell bit her hand and grabbed her by the shoulders, " Minerva! Don't you get it? This guy is going to come, and then we'll all be dead! DEAD! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!" screamed Farrell, her eyes flicking around the room. Harry and Professor McGonagall were staring at her as though she'd gone mad (which, of course, they certainly thought she had).
"Harry, please believe me- its true! I wouldn't lie to you, I promise, Harry, I would never lie to you, I wouldn't because I-
At that moment, Madam Pomfrey couldn't take it any more; she tapped Farrell on the head with her wand, putting her back to sleep.
Harry stared at Farrell, wide-eyed, for a moment, and then walked out of the room, numb with disbelief. When he arrived in the common room, he sought out Ron and Hermione.
"Harry! Where were you? We've been looking for you for hours," said Ron, upon seeing him.
"In the hospital wing," replied Harry in a monotone, flopping onto a couch.
"Are you all right?" asked Hermione, concerned.
"Fine," answered Harry, his voice flat.
Ron and Hermione shared a worried glance.
"Then what's wrong?" Ron asked, confused, " and where is Farrell?"
"Farrell's in the hospital wing, that's what's wrong, and I'm sure things could be better," said Harry, looking down.
"What? Why is Farrell in the hospital wing? How did she get there?"
"Well, she's there because I found her on the quidditch pitch, laying unconscious in the snow, and I took her there, but…well, I think it's a bit more complicated now," replied Harry, sighing.
" Complicated? What are you on about, Harry?"
Harry looked up, and Ron was startled by the troubled look in his eyes.
"She's mad. There's nothing else to it. When she woke she was yelling at us about how she- how she was lured onto the quidditch pitch by a red-eyed man who spoke to her in her dreams and was going to use her to…was going to use her to kill us all," Harry said, speaking in a low voice and biting his lip as he stared towards the floor.
Ron and Hermione were blown away by this news. For several minutes they just sat in silence, staring at one another.
~
Word spread over the next week that a fifth year Gryffindor had gone insane and was lying in the hospital wing and only woke to have screaming fits. People crowded at the door of the hospital wing, trying to peek in and find out if the rumor was true. Finally, Farrell decided that she needed to get up and move around, she couldn't hide from her life in the hospital wing forever. She begged Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey to let her go, but it was several weeks before she could prove to them that she could leave. Though voices still haunted her mind, she could control her mouth and temper, and returned to Gryffindor Tower. During her stay in the hospital wing, she had refused to eat for a large amount of time, making her look pale and gaunt, like a ghost almost. She frightened most of the people who she'd usually be on good terms with, and she herself was frightened to go near Ron, Harry, and Hermione, for fear of something happening to her, making her hurt them.
For months, Farrell skidded around her former best friends in the halls and sat as far from them in classes and at meals as she could. She rarely went to see Professor McGonagall, though when she did, it was only for a brief period, and they just discussed schoolwork in a dim, expressionless way. Minerva worried about her, but didn't want to say anything. If you had known the girl she was before, you would have thought someone was lying if they'd told you who Farrell Branwen was now. Her face was dark and expressionless, as though it was hewn from rock, and her eyes no longer shone with interest and merriment, but flickered with a flame of constant fear. Even in the frozen weather and swirling snow, Harry would watch Farrell march to the lake every day after her lessons and just stare into the water for hours.
During the first few weeks that Farrell had gone "mad" Harry missed her greatly, and pitied her. Though now, in late May, Harry's pity was replaced with fury. He cursed her for leaving them, for acting as though she did not know Ron, Hermione, and himself, or for hating them. For the last couple of months, Harry had been colder than he would have towards Farrell, ignoring her completely, or glaring at her during class. Ron questioned his behavior, but Harry pretended that he did not know what Ron meant. Though he thought he hated Farrell, that was only a shell. Inside, he longed to run towards her and hug her as he did before, he yearned to see her smile, but would not show his disappointment.
Several days later, in the middle of the night, Harry woke with a start. He had heard a noise from downstairs. He pulled on his invisibility cloak and headed down the stairs.
In the chair that was closest to the fire, someone was curled up. Someone in khaki pants and a brown sweater who was softly sobbing, head hidden in her arms. Her small, gaunt frame shook with sobs and her pale fingers clutched the arm of the chair. Recognition flickered in Harry's eyes. He recognized this girl as one who used to be his friend, who he used to love, this girl who used to be the Farrell that he knew. For a moment Harry completely forgot about hating her and was ready to rush forward and hold her. But then he remembered.
A piece of parchment lay on the floor beside her chair. Harry slowly moved forward and picked it up, hoping Farrell wouldn't see. Luckily for Harry, she wasn't thinking about invisible people stealing her personal letters at that very moment.
The letter read:
Dear Miss Branwen,
It is with great regret that I must inform you that Longtree Magical Orphanage has been destroyed by Lord Voldemort. Unfortunately, no one survived the attack. We will arrange a place for you to stay once the term has ended. My apologies. If you need to talk to someone, do not hesitate to ask. Enclosed in the letter is a locket that was left in the pocket of Miriam Fairfax. I thought you might like it.
Sincerely,
Professor Dumbledore
Harry instantly felt horrible, guilt sweeping over his insides as he looked to Farrell one more. She was no longer sobbing, but silent tears streamed down her face as she fastened a silver locket around her neck. Closing her eyes, she leaned back into the chair and spoke aloud.
" Potter, I-I know its you. I can hear you. Please…" she seemed to be unable to find her voice for a moment. She took a breath and started again in a very soft voice, " please leave me…I couldn't bear to hurt you."
With that, Farrell rose again and ran up to her dormitory, picking up the letter on her way, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.