Harry Potter and the Crystal Ball
by Hannah
Chapter Nine ~ Confusing Complications
Harry and Alice were sitting on the window seat in Gryffindor Tower. They were both gazing out at the scenery around them, and both were thinking very different thoughts.
Alice was pondering on the happenings of the past week and a half as she watched the snow swirl around outside the open casement. Ron's disappearance, Dumbledore's vanishing, and the whole concept of Voldemort regaining power. She was not comfortable with the whole situation. And classes had not been in session since the discovery of Dumbledore's disappearance. Instead, she was giving two two-hour lessons on the use of Dark Magic, in the most dire of circumstances.
Meanwhile, Harry was thinking about Alice. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, but she was lost deep in thoughts that he would never understand. That was the one thing that was so unnerving about her: he always felt that he was inferior to her in some way. She knew so many things that he would never even dream of knowing. But she was so perfect . . . so kind, smart, witty, and generous. Not to mention beautiful. He gazed at her long golden curls and perfectly milky complexion. And her incredibly unique eyes! The way the gold in them caught the sunlight . . .
He fumbled blindly for her hand, and upon finding it took it into his own. It was, as usual, quite chilled.
She sighed deeply, shuddering slightly. "I'm so sick of Voldemort, Harry."
"Yes, well, aren't we all?"
"Most of us. Except for those who work for him." She made a face of disdain. "I only wish that something could make him become good once again. That would be so wonderful . . ."
Harry nodded his agreement. The little sunlight that there was streamed onto his face. "I feel at times like all I want to do is crush him. He killed my parents, he's hurt my friends, and God only knows how many times he's tried to kill me."
She was silent.
"Anyway," he continued, "at times he just seems so human . . . and I don't feel that it's fair to battle him at all. Does that make any sense?"
"Does anything?" she replied blandly.
"I suppose you're right," he admitted. "As usual." Grinning wickedly, he escaped a playful swat from Alice.
"Really," she groaned. "I've had enough of all this nonsense!"
Glancing down at his pocket watch, Harry heaved a sigh. "Time for the evil lessons."
"God, that is so unnecessary," she complained, leaning her head upon his shoulder. "As though any of the first years will be able to control any of the spells we teach them. And even the seventh years are having difficulty. Such spells are dangerous in young minds. They could turn the students against us."
"I agree wholeheartedly," Harry replied, feeling rather nauseous. He hadn't really thought about any of the things Alice had just said. "So why in the name of Gryffindor are we teaching the students Dark Magic?"
"Because that's what the Ministry of Magic wants, and we have to follow their orders." Alice grimaced. "Well, let's go."
They walked down the corridors hand in hand, still deep in debate over the issue at hand.
Once they were within a few feet of the entrance door (the lessons were to be taught outdoors), they unclasped their hands. Harry pushed open the heavy door and held it with quivering arms as Alice strode outside. He released the heavy door immediately and walked through himself, his arms aching. The snow lay in drifts outside the door; the students were wrapped heavily in warm clothing to protect against chill.
Meanwhile, Alice wore only her usual silk garment. She didn't look cold, but Harry knew that she was always rather chilled. The extra cold probably wouldn't bother her a bit. Meanwhile, Harry felt half frozen already.
"Ravenclaw today? That's good, you're supposed to be the wise ones." She walked over to the students, arms folded across her chest.
Harry also made his way toward them. "Wands, everyone? Good. We have extras, if they're needed."
One small boy in the very back of the crowd of students meekly raised a hand. Harry tossed him a very battered wand made of pine; the boy missed the catch and it fell into the snow.
Harry had a slight memory of a wand that was scalding-hot . . . but he tossed it aside. The lesson was about to begin, and that meant that he would need to focus. After all, he was one of the professors.
"Okay, yesterday we learned how to throw fire. Who would like to refresh our memories on the subject?"
A blonde boy was waving his hand wildly in the air.
"Yes, you," Harry said dully, pointing his wand at the first year.
"You shout . . ."
It was dull. That's all there was to it. Harry practically fell asleep during the lengthy class session. Alice would have, but she was the one in charge, more or less, and therefore had to be exasperatingly patient with students who had no idea as to what they were learning.
After they had sent the students inside, Alice lost some of her composure.
"Dammit! How can they expect us to teach a passel of children to perform the most dangerous spells in existence? I'm sure even Voldemort doesn't understand how to use all of them!"
"True, but the Ministry always thinks it is correct." Harry was mulling over that memory of the wand. For some inexplicable reason, the thought really grated on his nerves. He timidly added, "Also . . . I was thinking today, and . . . well, remember that—that wand? The one I showed you the day of the duel?"
She looked at him quizzically. "Yes, why?"
"Well, I was just wondering what we should do with it. Should we show it to the Ministry? Who? What?"
"I don't think we should do anything with it just yet."
"But it's been weeks since we found it!"
"Yes, but we don't want mass panic. Remember: very few people know of the whole Voldemort-is-striking-people-down-oh-my-God thing either. So let's just keep our cool, shall we?"
"Fine, fine," Harry muttered miserably.
"Good. Let's go inside then, shall we? I'm freezing."
"Tell me something I don't know," Harry replied with a smile.
He took her frozen hand in his own, wincing at how cold it was. Together, they walked into the castle.
Harry sat close to Alice at the Gryffindor table that evening. He had the oddest feeling deep in his gut that something was severely wrong. Making sure that she was well guarded was the least he could do.
She did look unusually pale. It might have just been the fact that she wasn't wearing her usual garb tonight. Perhaps that was one reason that Harry felt so strange.
It was indeed different to see her in a bright red sweater and a black, ankle-length skirt, with her hair tied back in a loose ponytail.
Also, she was incredibly silent. Alice didn't say a word unless she was spoken to. Not unusually, she merely pushed the food around on her plate. However, she did attempt to shovel a few spoonfuls of lamb stew down her throat.
Sullenly, she looked at Harry after a few moments. "I wanna go back to my room for a while, Harry."
"What's wrong?" he asked with genuine concern.
"Oh, just tired, that's all." It may have been well rehearsed, but it was a lie just the same.
"Let me walk you over."
"You need to stay with the students, don't you?" Knowing she'd been caught, the remark was somewhat heartless.
"No. I'm only a year older than the seventh years, you know," Harry replied. "They can take care of themselves. And others, if need be." He stood and took Alice's arm with obvious force. As she lifted herself from the chair, she didn't fight him. On the contrary, she willingly allowed him to lead her from the room. Nobody paid them much attention.
Once safely in the hallway, Harry hissed, "What's wrong with you, Alice?"
"I'm feeling somewhat ill," she said. She looked it. Harry was reluctant to release her arm because she looked so dizzy. Frazzled and scared were the first two words that came to Harry's mind as he led her down the dimly lit corridor.
"How so?"
"I . . . oh, I'm not sure," she said with a weak shake of her head. Her response was no more than a whisper. He noticed that she was biting her inner lip, and he thought that he saw a trace of blood.
"Are you all right?"
"No," she replied with an effort.
Suddenly her feet became entangled with one another. She let out a small gasp as she almost fell to the stone floor. Harry still had her firmly by the arm; he jerked her back up and kept her from falling to the ground.
Her form was limp in his arms. "Not again," he muttered. Checking her pulse, Harry noted with relief that she was still alive. He didn't want to just leave her there, but he couldn't possibly heft her along as he went for help.
He reluctantly leaned her against a cold stone wall. Slumping slightly toward the right, eyes squeezed tightly shut, face as white as chalk, she looked like a fresh cadaver straight from the morgue. Harry glanced over at her as he quickly made his way down the hall and back to the dining area.
Not wanting to draw unnecessary attention, Harry only walked over to talk to McGonagall, Lupin, and Frank. The color drained from all three faces as he related what had happened.
The four rushed out of the room and down the hallway to Alice's inanimate figure, which was now lying on the floor.
"What happened?" Frank asked frantically, dropping down on one knee to check her pulse and breathing.
McGonagall looked ready to go into hysterics.
Harry shrugged, feeling all the more nervous with his friends' frantic responses to the situation. "I'm not exactly sure . . . she said that she was feeling ill and wanted to go to her room, and then she just tripped over and fell unconscious . . ."
"I'm going to fetch Madam Pomfrey. I'll be right back," Lupin stammered.
"Yes, yes . . ." Frank mused absently.
Harry just stood there, somewhat shocked. What had happened?
Not five minutes later, Lupin was rushing toward them with the nurse stumbling around behind him. She looked utterly winded.
Leaning over the prostrate body, she carefully examined it. "Looks like a strong potion to me," she finally exclaimed, heaving herself to her feet.
"But wouldn't she be able to detect—" stuttered Frank, obviously very confused.
"Not if she was the one who planted it," she replied reasonably.
"Are you inferring . . . suicide?" Harry suggested incredulously.
"No, we're not going to jump to conclusions," was McGonagall's reasonable reply. She brushed a lock of her graying black hair from her face and adjusted her square-framed glasses. "Now let's get her into Madam Pomfrey's office. Can you help her to recover? How long will it take?"
Poppy Pomfrey stood undecided for a moment or two. "Oh, a day, maybe two . . ."
"All right then." Frank was silent for a moment, and then said, "Well, let's get her into the recovery room, then. Shall we?"
Each person helped to lift her. With so many helping hands, it was like holding an infant. She was extremely light and very easy to carry up the five flights of stairs that it took to get to Madam Pomfrey's room.
Laying her on a bed in the sick room, they stood awkwardly for a moment. Lupin and Frank took their leave, so that only Harry, Madam Pomfrey, and Professor McGonagall remained.
"Do you really think it was suicide?" Harry asked in disbelief.
"I, certainly, do not!" McGonagall exclaimed. "I think it was destined to happen. I'm surprised that the poor girl doesn't go crazy, with all that she has to do that she probably would much rather avoid."
"Well," Madam Pomfrey said acidly, "I don't see how the poor girl could purposefully swallow poison without any qualms whatsoever."
"Well, she did look somewhat worried and upset about something," Harry added helpfully.
"How so?" McGonagall was all ears.
"I'm not exactly sure. She was moody and sullen all evening. Awfully quiet. And she wasn't dressed in her normal attire, either. She seemed indifferent about everything. It was almost like she was forcing herself to do something that she absolutely despised doing."
"Like poisoning herself!" Madam Pomfrey added pointedly.
"Like allowing herself to eat poison even though she already knew it was there," McGonagall mused.
"Perhaps," Harry added. He was completely clueless and confused.
"Well, what do you plan on doing?" McGonagall inquired, directing the question towards Madam Pomfrey.
"I think I'll give her some extract of polifinasia, to make her vomit the poisonous potion. I'm pretty sure it was Gytinner's Fluid—"
"Gytinner's?" McGonagall asked in amazement. "Isn't that almost fatally strong?"
"It depends on how much you ingest," Madame Pomfrey replied indifferently. "She never eats much . . . skinny as a pole . . . probably too in just enough to make her nauseous and pass out. She'll be fine in a few days," she assured them.
"So is that all you can do?"
"Bed rest, of course," she added. "Plenty of it. And few visitors!"
Harry hid a smirk. Wasn't that just like Madam Pomfrey? She hadn't changed a bit.
"Well, we'll let you get to business," McGonagall asserted. She led Harry from the room.
"Will you be all right, Harry?" She was genuinely concerned.
"Yeah, yeah: fine." Harry was just numb for now.
"Just tell me if you need anything. And don't worry: I'll make sure that Madam Pomfrey let's you visit."
Harry allowed a ghost of a smile. "Thanks."
"No problem," she said sincerely. "Now you go rest. I'll take care of Gryffindor."
Harry was too exhausted to express his gratitude.
It wasn't until the next morning that reality hit Harry full-force.
Rolling over in his bed to keep the sun from shining in his eyes, Harry groggily awoke. Sunlight was streaming through the window in his room. Gray sheets tangled from a restless night's sleep, he found himself attempting to untwist from them.
The first thought that came to his mind was Alice. She wasn't going to be there today. She'd be lying in the sickroom, probably doubled over in pain.
He tried to shake the thought, but it just wasn't possible.
Sighing deeply, he threw on a black robe that was lying in a heap on the floor of his bedroom.
Suddenly, a sickening thought hit him. I'm going to have to teach the Dark Arts class myself today.
Of course, he knew he could do it. After all, hadn't he defeated Voldemort all those times? But Alice was omnipotent, while Harry was far from it.
Perhaps I can ask Lupin . . . Remus . . . to help me, he decided.
Tugging the swollen door open (it was very damp inside Harry's portion of the castle), Harry stepped out into the hall to run into none other than Emily Rightsee.
She looked slightly startled at first, but then she smiled broadly. "Harry," she oozed, "it's so nice to see you again. I'm so sorry about Alice."
Harry had to swallow his anger. "Yes, well . . . thank you."
"So, Harry, are you two the newest item?" Her eyes were unreadable.
Harry flinched. "I guess. I'm not really sure." He frowned thoughtfully. "But I have to go, all right? I suppose I'll talk to you later."
"Yes, of course, whatever you want, Harry." He thought he detected a hint of mockery in her voice, but he couldn't be certain. She was gone before he could say anything else to her.
"Fine, if she wants to be that way," Harry muttered to himself as he walked purposefully to the infirmary.
Knocking heavily upon the wooden door, Harry waited anxiously for someone to answer. He heard someone unclasp a latch and open the door very slowly.
Madam Pomfrey, a very sleepy Madam Pomfrey, greeted him sullenly. "Minerva said I just had to let you see her," she grumbled crossly. "Well, I suppose I have to follow her orders. She is headmistress now."
She led Harry through the dimly lit room to a bed in the far corner. A rather tousled Alice smiled weakly at him as he drew up a battered, ancient wooden chair and sat.
He looked her over very carefully, and she grasped his hand in hers.
"I'll leave you two alone," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed grudgingly. "For a while," she added severely.
Harry tried to hide a smile. "Thank you, Poppy."
"Sure, sure," she mumbled, bustling out of the room and closing the door behind her.
As soon as they were alone, Harry glared at her sharply. "You don't look so good, Alice."
"No, I'm fine," Alice protested, raising herself onto one elbow and then leaning against the headboard. She closed her eyes and put a hand to her head. "Somewhat dizzy," she admitted.
"What happened?"
Tossing her hair, she exclaimed, "Don't be so concerned!"
"Easy for you to say," Harry mumbled.
Her voice softened. "Harry, really, I can look after myself. I'm not helpless. I may have many obstacles stacked before me, but I have a lot of knowledge as well. I am a self-sufficient person."
"Are you?" Harry's voice was ominously soft.
"More so than you." It wasn't much more than a whisper. "There are many things that you choose to keep secret about your life, Harry. And I can see them all. I know your fears, your thoughts, your desires." Harry blushed; she continued. "You can't fool me like others, Harry."
"Wonderful," Harry moaned, grimacing slightly.
Alice smiled. "Oh, don't be such a softie," she teased.
"Would you want me any other way?"
"Probably not." Her eyes were laughing. "And that's a compliment," she added, "seeing as I know the thoughts and substance of every man that has lived, is living, or will ever exist."
Harry thought this over. "So confusing," he said at last, shaking his head.
"Isn't it though?" She seemed very cheery.
"But you were still poisoned last night," Harry added. "And you know who it was. You're deliberately hiding it from me."
"And why should I raise red flags were there is no need?" She looked more severe now. "Really, let me be my own judge, Harry."
"Fine, fine," he said, relenting.
Heaving a deep sigh, Alice plucked at a small ball of lint on the woolen blanket that covered her. "Anyway . . ."
"Yes?" Harry prompted.
"I dunno," she laughed, "I was hoping you would say something."
He smiled. "I'm quite speechless."
"I don't know what to say," she repeated pleadingly.
"Then don't say anything at all," Harry whispered, leaning closer.
He saw her close her eyes for a moment, but then opened them again. She reached up to gently remove his glasses, which she placed on a stained bedside table. His lips touched hers—
And she drew away. "She's coming," Alice mouthed, and Harry turned a deep shade of red. Reaching for his glasses with quicksilver speed, Madam Pomfrey strutted into the room.
She found a very pale Alice picking at the lint on her blanket, and a very red-faced Harry adjusting his glasses. Looking severely at both, she said, "Just checking on you two. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Once again, she slammed the door behind her as she left the dank room.
"That was close," Harry muttered when he thought it was safe.
"Sure was," Alice replied. She was still awfully pale.
"Want to try again?"
"Not right now," she admitted. "But I should be free of this prison by this evening, if you want to—"
"Yes?" Harry was smiling.
"Well, where's somewhere we can meet, where none of our students would see us together? It wouldn't be a good idea to reveal any relationship between us, yet."
"True. How about an office," was Harry's immediate response.
She looked thoughtful. "All right. Mine. Seven o'clock."
Doubtful, Harry considered this. "I suppose. But you have always told your students that they can come to your office for help."
"There haven't been any lessons recently." Her head was lowered; he couldn't see the expression on her face.
"True," he mused to himself. "But still—"
"Really, Harry! All we want is a harmless chat and a bottle of wine, perhaps. If you'd feel better, bring the invisibility cloak here at five, when I'm to be discharged, and we can hide under it. How's that?"
"Sounds good to me."
"Fine. Five o'clock, here." She gazed upward in thought. "But wait . . . what are you going to tell the students?"
"I'll figure out something," Harry assured her, although he knew that she knew exactly what was to be done.
"Tell them that you have work to do in your office, and that you aren't to be disturbed."
"Fine. Okay," Harry replied.
"All right. Five." Alice smiled slightly.
Harry stood and leaned over her, giving her a brief kiss on the forehead. "Get well, all right?"
She looped her arms around his shoulders. "Don't worry about me Harry. Honestly!"
Smiling, he untangled himself from her arms and exited the room.
Harry stood at the infirmary's door at five o'clock. A few minutes later, Madam Pomfrey opened the door and Alice stepped out, looking completely fresh. She smiled at him once Madam Pomfrey had gone back into the sickroom and closed the door.
"Invisibility cloak?" she asked. Her voice echoed in the marble- floored hall.
"Yes. Right here." He drew out a silvery, shimmering cloak large enough for two or three people.
"All right. Let's go."
Harry drew the cloak over the both of them as they headed toward Alice's office. They tried to soften the sharp sounds that their shoes made upon the floors.
Finally, they reached her door. She took a key from a pocket in her gown and carefully unlocked the door to the room.
Stepping inside, Harry immediately removed the cloak from their heads. He took off his glasses and set them on her desk. He then began to kiss her.
"Harry!" she gasped between kisses. "Goodness. Isn't this going rather quickly?"
"No. At least, I don't think so." He kissed her again.
"I give up!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him in return.
He pressed her against the black wall, his mouth still upon hers. He drew away and looked into her face. His hungry eyes saw such emotion that he kissed her again.
There was a small gasp from the hallway. Harry turned abruptly to find the small, intent face of a fifth year peering into the office. Her hazel eyes were like saucers.
Harry, confused by the horrified look in her eyes, glanced downwards. He then realized that the invisibility cloak still partially enveloped them both; It looked like the heads of Alice and Harry, as well as her hands around his neck.
"Please, don't be alarmed," Harry stammered. Instantly removing the rest of the cloak, he saw a hint of relief in the pale child's face. "It's just an invisibility cloak. Really, you can try it . . ."
She shook her blonde head stubbornly and fled the room.
"Damn," he muttered. He then turned accusingly to Alice. "You knew this was going to happen," he said sternly.
She shrugged. "All the world is a stage, Harry. What can I tell you? I am the only great actress you will ever know. I know all the lines. I know when I will die, when you will die, who my husband is to be . . . all I need is to rehearse the lines."
"Do you love me?" His voice cracked a bit. He sat down on her desk. This was so utterly confusing!
"Don't you ever question that," she scolded, sitting beside him and stroking his hair.
"But you just said—"
"It doesn't mean that I don't love you," she corrected. "It doesn't mean I don't hate Snape, or that I'm not very close friends with Frank and Lupin, or that that Emily—" She stopped abruptly, and then continued. "It merely means that I know everything that will happen between all of us. That's all."
"Well then, in that case . . ." Harry smiled as he encircled her waist and kissed her again. "I love you, too. And I'm not scared to say it anymore."
"Good." She too smiled as she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm glad it's this way."
"Me too," Harry whispered. "Me too."
Harry sat alone in the Gryffindor common room. He was exhausted, but couldn't seem to sleep. Every time he came close to dozing off, he would suddenly remember that little blonde head poking through the door and gawking at Alice and him. What would become of the whole situation?
Usually, teacher romance was no huge event. Sure, the couple would receive a few sideways glances and giggles, but other than that, they were ignored. But Alice and him—
That was different. Two of the most famous wizards in the entire world, dating? That would be sure to raise eyebrows!
But for some reason, he didn't care as much as he should. For Harry knew that, if he indeed loved Alice, nothing could possibly come between them. And he was certain that he would let nothing get in the way of their blossoming relationship. Nothing.
The fire was a mere rosy glow in the grate by the time the winds began. They howled as they whistled through the chinks between bricks and screeched through the open window. Harry stood to close the window, and found himself nearly blown over by the force of the air that pummeled his face.
"Damn, what's going on?"
Harry turned to see a very sleepy-eyed sixth year boy standing in the doorway between the common room and the dormitories.
"I'm not sure—hey, give me a hand with this window, will you?" he replied.
"Yeah, no problem," the curly haired boy responded. He seemed more alert now; at least he wasn't rubbing his eyes and yawning anymore.
"What's your name, anyway?" Harry asked the student.
"My name's Roy. I'm actually a new student; I just got transferred from a school back in America."
"Oh, well, that's nice," Harry stammered as he and the boy managed to latch the casement in place. "Miss Oak, one of the teachers, is from America. I, myself, have never been. But it always has sounded like lots of fun."
The boy shrugged. "Yeah, well, for me, England always sounded like a great time. I suppose it always depends upon where you're from."
"Wise words for a youngster," Harry commented. He looked the boy over more carefully.
He was wearing a worn pair of striped pajamas patterned in very faded blue and white. His brown locks were tangled and unruly, probably from tossing in bed for an hour or two. Deeply set hazel eyes were prominent in his thick olive face. He wasn't of slight build. On the contrary, he was quite tall and somewhat heavy, but he appeared to be mostly muscle. Harry could detect a dimple in his left cheek.
"Anyway, I suppose I ought to be heading back for bed." The boy released another loud yawn.
"Stop that," Harry teased. "You're making me tired, too."
"Why weren't you asleep, anyway?" the boy inquired.
"I'm not sure . . ." Harry fibbed. He knew that he had much more on his mind than he could handle at the moment, but he wasn't about to tell that to this new student who he'd never met before.
"Well, try warm milk. That always helped me when I was little. G'night!" The boy headed up the stairs to the boys' side of the dormitory.
"G'night," Harry replied. He found himself yawning. Time to turn in.
As he turned to face the doorway to Gryffindor Tower, he couldn't suppress a gasp of fear.
The portrait hole was open, and a pale, silvery mist filled the gap.
Harry reached within his robes and fumbled for his wand. His hands finally closing around it, he grasped a spell from deep within himself. "Grokminiclus!" he shouted. Alice had taught him the spell; it would give knowledge of anything which you requested. As newfound knowledge seeped into Harry's mind, his face slowly bleached to a shade of white. "Oh my God," he muttered, collapsing into a chair and allowing his head to sink into his hands. He looked toward the window, and found the same film to cover it.
Harry and his students were trapped within Gryffindor Tower, with no form of escape.
by Hannah
Chapter Nine ~ Confusing Complications
Harry and Alice were sitting on the window seat in Gryffindor Tower. They were both gazing out at the scenery around them, and both were thinking very different thoughts.
Alice was pondering on the happenings of the past week and a half as she watched the snow swirl around outside the open casement. Ron's disappearance, Dumbledore's vanishing, and the whole concept of Voldemort regaining power. She was not comfortable with the whole situation. And classes had not been in session since the discovery of Dumbledore's disappearance. Instead, she was giving two two-hour lessons on the use of Dark Magic, in the most dire of circumstances.
Meanwhile, Harry was thinking about Alice. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, but she was lost deep in thoughts that he would never understand. That was the one thing that was so unnerving about her: he always felt that he was inferior to her in some way. She knew so many things that he would never even dream of knowing. But she was so perfect . . . so kind, smart, witty, and generous. Not to mention beautiful. He gazed at her long golden curls and perfectly milky complexion. And her incredibly unique eyes! The way the gold in them caught the sunlight . . .
He fumbled blindly for her hand, and upon finding it took it into his own. It was, as usual, quite chilled.
She sighed deeply, shuddering slightly. "I'm so sick of Voldemort, Harry."
"Yes, well, aren't we all?"
"Most of us. Except for those who work for him." She made a face of disdain. "I only wish that something could make him become good once again. That would be so wonderful . . ."
Harry nodded his agreement. The little sunlight that there was streamed onto his face. "I feel at times like all I want to do is crush him. He killed my parents, he's hurt my friends, and God only knows how many times he's tried to kill me."
She was silent.
"Anyway," he continued, "at times he just seems so human . . . and I don't feel that it's fair to battle him at all. Does that make any sense?"
"Does anything?" she replied blandly.
"I suppose you're right," he admitted. "As usual." Grinning wickedly, he escaped a playful swat from Alice.
"Really," she groaned. "I've had enough of all this nonsense!"
Glancing down at his pocket watch, Harry heaved a sigh. "Time for the evil lessons."
"God, that is so unnecessary," she complained, leaning her head upon his shoulder. "As though any of the first years will be able to control any of the spells we teach them. And even the seventh years are having difficulty. Such spells are dangerous in young minds. They could turn the students against us."
"I agree wholeheartedly," Harry replied, feeling rather nauseous. He hadn't really thought about any of the things Alice had just said. "So why in the name of Gryffindor are we teaching the students Dark Magic?"
"Because that's what the Ministry of Magic wants, and we have to follow their orders." Alice grimaced. "Well, let's go."
They walked down the corridors hand in hand, still deep in debate over the issue at hand.
Once they were within a few feet of the entrance door (the lessons were to be taught outdoors), they unclasped their hands. Harry pushed open the heavy door and held it with quivering arms as Alice strode outside. He released the heavy door immediately and walked through himself, his arms aching. The snow lay in drifts outside the door; the students were wrapped heavily in warm clothing to protect against chill.
Meanwhile, Alice wore only her usual silk garment. She didn't look cold, but Harry knew that she was always rather chilled. The extra cold probably wouldn't bother her a bit. Meanwhile, Harry felt half frozen already.
"Ravenclaw today? That's good, you're supposed to be the wise ones." She walked over to the students, arms folded across her chest.
Harry also made his way toward them. "Wands, everyone? Good. We have extras, if they're needed."
One small boy in the very back of the crowd of students meekly raised a hand. Harry tossed him a very battered wand made of pine; the boy missed the catch and it fell into the snow.
Harry had a slight memory of a wand that was scalding-hot . . . but he tossed it aside. The lesson was about to begin, and that meant that he would need to focus. After all, he was one of the professors.
"Okay, yesterday we learned how to throw fire. Who would like to refresh our memories on the subject?"
A blonde boy was waving his hand wildly in the air.
"Yes, you," Harry said dully, pointing his wand at the first year.
"You shout . . ."
It was dull. That's all there was to it. Harry practically fell asleep during the lengthy class session. Alice would have, but she was the one in charge, more or less, and therefore had to be exasperatingly patient with students who had no idea as to what they were learning.
After they had sent the students inside, Alice lost some of her composure.
"Dammit! How can they expect us to teach a passel of children to perform the most dangerous spells in existence? I'm sure even Voldemort doesn't understand how to use all of them!"
"True, but the Ministry always thinks it is correct." Harry was mulling over that memory of the wand. For some inexplicable reason, the thought really grated on his nerves. He timidly added, "Also . . . I was thinking today, and . . . well, remember that—that wand? The one I showed you the day of the duel?"
She looked at him quizzically. "Yes, why?"
"Well, I was just wondering what we should do with it. Should we show it to the Ministry? Who? What?"
"I don't think we should do anything with it just yet."
"But it's been weeks since we found it!"
"Yes, but we don't want mass panic. Remember: very few people know of the whole Voldemort-is-striking-people-down-oh-my-God thing either. So let's just keep our cool, shall we?"
"Fine, fine," Harry muttered miserably.
"Good. Let's go inside then, shall we? I'm freezing."
"Tell me something I don't know," Harry replied with a smile.
He took her frozen hand in his own, wincing at how cold it was. Together, they walked into the castle.
Harry sat close to Alice at the Gryffindor table that evening. He had the oddest feeling deep in his gut that something was severely wrong. Making sure that she was well guarded was the least he could do.
She did look unusually pale. It might have just been the fact that she wasn't wearing her usual garb tonight. Perhaps that was one reason that Harry felt so strange.
It was indeed different to see her in a bright red sweater and a black, ankle-length skirt, with her hair tied back in a loose ponytail.
Also, she was incredibly silent. Alice didn't say a word unless she was spoken to. Not unusually, she merely pushed the food around on her plate. However, she did attempt to shovel a few spoonfuls of lamb stew down her throat.
Sullenly, she looked at Harry after a few moments. "I wanna go back to my room for a while, Harry."
"What's wrong?" he asked with genuine concern.
"Oh, just tired, that's all." It may have been well rehearsed, but it was a lie just the same.
"Let me walk you over."
"You need to stay with the students, don't you?" Knowing she'd been caught, the remark was somewhat heartless.
"No. I'm only a year older than the seventh years, you know," Harry replied. "They can take care of themselves. And others, if need be." He stood and took Alice's arm with obvious force. As she lifted herself from the chair, she didn't fight him. On the contrary, she willingly allowed him to lead her from the room. Nobody paid them much attention.
Once safely in the hallway, Harry hissed, "What's wrong with you, Alice?"
"I'm feeling somewhat ill," she said. She looked it. Harry was reluctant to release her arm because she looked so dizzy. Frazzled and scared were the first two words that came to Harry's mind as he led her down the dimly lit corridor.
"How so?"
"I . . . oh, I'm not sure," she said with a weak shake of her head. Her response was no more than a whisper. He noticed that she was biting her inner lip, and he thought that he saw a trace of blood.
"Are you all right?"
"No," she replied with an effort.
Suddenly her feet became entangled with one another. She let out a small gasp as she almost fell to the stone floor. Harry still had her firmly by the arm; he jerked her back up and kept her from falling to the ground.
Her form was limp in his arms. "Not again," he muttered. Checking her pulse, Harry noted with relief that she was still alive. He didn't want to just leave her there, but he couldn't possibly heft her along as he went for help.
He reluctantly leaned her against a cold stone wall. Slumping slightly toward the right, eyes squeezed tightly shut, face as white as chalk, she looked like a fresh cadaver straight from the morgue. Harry glanced over at her as he quickly made his way down the hall and back to the dining area.
Not wanting to draw unnecessary attention, Harry only walked over to talk to McGonagall, Lupin, and Frank. The color drained from all three faces as he related what had happened.
The four rushed out of the room and down the hallway to Alice's inanimate figure, which was now lying on the floor.
"What happened?" Frank asked frantically, dropping down on one knee to check her pulse and breathing.
McGonagall looked ready to go into hysterics.
Harry shrugged, feeling all the more nervous with his friends' frantic responses to the situation. "I'm not exactly sure . . . she said that she was feeling ill and wanted to go to her room, and then she just tripped over and fell unconscious . . ."
"I'm going to fetch Madam Pomfrey. I'll be right back," Lupin stammered.
"Yes, yes . . ." Frank mused absently.
Harry just stood there, somewhat shocked. What had happened?
Not five minutes later, Lupin was rushing toward them with the nurse stumbling around behind him. She looked utterly winded.
Leaning over the prostrate body, she carefully examined it. "Looks like a strong potion to me," she finally exclaimed, heaving herself to her feet.
"But wouldn't she be able to detect—" stuttered Frank, obviously very confused.
"Not if she was the one who planted it," she replied reasonably.
"Are you inferring . . . suicide?" Harry suggested incredulously.
"No, we're not going to jump to conclusions," was McGonagall's reasonable reply. She brushed a lock of her graying black hair from her face and adjusted her square-framed glasses. "Now let's get her into Madam Pomfrey's office. Can you help her to recover? How long will it take?"
Poppy Pomfrey stood undecided for a moment or two. "Oh, a day, maybe two . . ."
"All right then." Frank was silent for a moment, and then said, "Well, let's get her into the recovery room, then. Shall we?"
Each person helped to lift her. With so many helping hands, it was like holding an infant. She was extremely light and very easy to carry up the five flights of stairs that it took to get to Madam Pomfrey's room.
Laying her on a bed in the sick room, they stood awkwardly for a moment. Lupin and Frank took their leave, so that only Harry, Madam Pomfrey, and Professor McGonagall remained.
"Do you really think it was suicide?" Harry asked in disbelief.
"I, certainly, do not!" McGonagall exclaimed. "I think it was destined to happen. I'm surprised that the poor girl doesn't go crazy, with all that she has to do that she probably would much rather avoid."
"Well," Madam Pomfrey said acidly, "I don't see how the poor girl could purposefully swallow poison without any qualms whatsoever."
"Well, she did look somewhat worried and upset about something," Harry added helpfully.
"How so?" McGonagall was all ears.
"I'm not exactly sure. She was moody and sullen all evening. Awfully quiet. And she wasn't dressed in her normal attire, either. She seemed indifferent about everything. It was almost like she was forcing herself to do something that she absolutely despised doing."
"Like poisoning herself!" Madam Pomfrey added pointedly.
"Like allowing herself to eat poison even though she already knew it was there," McGonagall mused.
"Perhaps," Harry added. He was completely clueless and confused.
"Well, what do you plan on doing?" McGonagall inquired, directing the question towards Madam Pomfrey.
"I think I'll give her some extract of polifinasia, to make her vomit the poisonous potion. I'm pretty sure it was Gytinner's Fluid—"
"Gytinner's?" McGonagall asked in amazement. "Isn't that almost fatally strong?"
"It depends on how much you ingest," Madame Pomfrey replied indifferently. "She never eats much . . . skinny as a pole . . . probably too in just enough to make her nauseous and pass out. She'll be fine in a few days," she assured them.
"So is that all you can do?"
"Bed rest, of course," she added. "Plenty of it. And few visitors!"
Harry hid a smirk. Wasn't that just like Madam Pomfrey? She hadn't changed a bit.
"Well, we'll let you get to business," McGonagall asserted. She led Harry from the room.
"Will you be all right, Harry?" She was genuinely concerned.
"Yeah, yeah: fine." Harry was just numb for now.
"Just tell me if you need anything. And don't worry: I'll make sure that Madam Pomfrey let's you visit."
Harry allowed a ghost of a smile. "Thanks."
"No problem," she said sincerely. "Now you go rest. I'll take care of Gryffindor."
Harry was too exhausted to express his gratitude.
It wasn't until the next morning that reality hit Harry full-force.
Rolling over in his bed to keep the sun from shining in his eyes, Harry groggily awoke. Sunlight was streaming through the window in his room. Gray sheets tangled from a restless night's sleep, he found himself attempting to untwist from them.
The first thought that came to his mind was Alice. She wasn't going to be there today. She'd be lying in the sickroom, probably doubled over in pain.
He tried to shake the thought, but it just wasn't possible.
Sighing deeply, he threw on a black robe that was lying in a heap on the floor of his bedroom.
Suddenly, a sickening thought hit him. I'm going to have to teach the Dark Arts class myself today.
Of course, he knew he could do it. After all, hadn't he defeated Voldemort all those times? But Alice was omnipotent, while Harry was far from it.
Perhaps I can ask Lupin . . . Remus . . . to help me, he decided.
Tugging the swollen door open (it was very damp inside Harry's portion of the castle), Harry stepped out into the hall to run into none other than Emily Rightsee.
She looked slightly startled at first, but then she smiled broadly. "Harry," she oozed, "it's so nice to see you again. I'm so sorry about Alice."
Harry had to swallow his anger. "Yes, well . . . thank you."
"So, Harry, are you two the newest item?" Her eyes were unreadable.
Harry flinched. "I guess. I'm not really sure." He frowned thoughtfully. "But I have to go, all right? I suppose I'll talk to you later."
"Yes, of course, whatever you want, Harry." He thought he detected a hint of mockery in her voice, but he couldn't be certain. She was gone before he could say anything else to her.
"Fine, if she wants to be that way," Harry muttered to himself as he walked purposefully to the infirmary.
Knocking heavily upon the wooden door, Harry waited anxiously for someone to answer. He heard someone unclasp a latch and open the door very slowly.
Madam Pomfrey, a very sleepy Madam Pomfrey, greeted him sullenly. "Minerva said I just had to let you see her," she grumbled crossly. "Well, I suppose I have to follow her orders. She is headmistress now."
She led Harry through the dimly lit room to a bed in the far corner. A rather tousled Alice smiled weakly at him as he drew up a battered, ancient wooden chair and sat.
He looked her over very carefully, and she grasped his hand in hers.
"I'll leave you two alone," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed grudgingly. "For a while," she added severely.
Harry tried to hide a smile. "Thank you, Poppy."
"Sure, sure," she mumbled, bustling out of the room and closing the door behind her.
As soon as they were alone, Harry glared at her sharply. "You don't look so good, Alice."
"No, I'm fine," Alice protested, raising herself onto one elbow and then leaning against the headboard. She closed her eyes and put a hand to her head. "Somewhat dizzy," she admitted.
"What happened?"
Tossing her hair, she exclaimed, "Don't be so concerned!"
"Easy for you to say," Harry mumbled.
Her voice softened. "Harry, really, I can look after myself. I'm not helpless. I may have many obstacles stacked before me, but I have a lot of knowledge as well. I am a self-sufficient person."
"Are you?" Harry's voice was ominously soft.
"More so than you." It wasn't much more than a whisper. "There are many things that you choose to keep secret about your life, Harry. And I can see them all. I know your fears, your thoughts, your desires." Harry blushed; she continued. "You can't fool me like others, Harry."
"Wonderful," Harry moaned, grimacing slightly.
Alice smiled. "Oh, don't be such a softie," she teased.
"Would you want me any other way?"
"Probably not." Her eyes were laughing. "And that's a compliment," she added, "seeing as I know the thoughts and substance of every man that has lived, is living, or will ever exist."
Harry thought this over. "So confusing," he said at last, shaking his head.
"Isn't it though?" She seemed very cheery.
"But you were still poisoned last night," Harry added. "And you know who it was. You're deliberately hiding it from me."
"And why should I raise red flags were there is no need?" She looked more severe now. "Really, let me be my own judge, Harry."
"Fine, fine," he said, relenting.
Heaving a deep sigh, Alice plucked at a small ball of lint on the woolen blanket that covered her. "Anyway . . ."
"Yes?" Harry prompted.
"I dunno," she laughed, "I was hoping you would say something."
He smiled. "I'm quite speechless."
"I don't know what to say," she repeated pleadingly.
"Then don't say anything at all," Harry whispered, leaning closer.
He saw her close her eyes for a moment, but then opened them again. She reached up to gently remove his glasses, which she placed on a stained bedside table. His lips touched hers—
And she drew away. "She's coming," Alice mouthed, and Harry turned a deep shade of red. Reaching for his glasses with quicksilver speed, Madam Pomfrey strutted into the room.
She found a very pale Alice picking at the lint on her blanket, and a very red-faced Harry adjusting his glasses. Looking severely at both, she said, "Just checking on you two. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Once again, she slammed the door behind her as she left the dank room.
"That was close," Harry muttered when he thought it was safe.
"Sure was," Alice replied. She was still awfully pale.
"Want to try again?"
"Not right now," she admitted. "But I should be free of this prison by this evening, if you want to—"
"Yes?" Harry was smiling.
"Well, where's somewhere we can meet, where none of our students would see us together? It wouldn't be a good idea to reveal any relationship between us, yet."
"True. How about an office," was Harry's immediate response.
She looked thoughtful. "All right. Mine. Seven o'clock."
Doubtful, Harry considered this. "I suppose. But you have always told your students that they can come to your office for help."
"There haven't been any lessons recently." Her head was lowered; he couldn't see the expression on her face.
"True," he mused to himself. "But still—"
"Really, Harry! All we want is a harmless chat and a bottle of wine, perhaps. If you'd feel better, bring the invisibility cloak here at five, when I'm to be discharged, and we can hide under it. How's that?"
"Sounds good to me."
"Fine. Five o'clock, here." She gazed upward in thought. "But wait . . . what are you going to tell the students?"
"I'll figure out something," Harry assured her, although he knew that she knew exactly what was to be done.
"Tell them that you have work to do in your office, and that you aren't to be disturbed."
"Fine. Okay," Harry replied.
"All right. Five." Alice smiled slightly.
Harry stood and leaned over her, giving her a brief kiss on the forehead. "Get well, all right?"
She looped her arms around his shoulders. "Don't worry about me Harry. Honestly!"
Smiling, he untangled himself from her arms and exited the room.
Harry stood at the infirmary's door at five o'clock. A few minutes later, Madam Pomfrey opened the door and Alice stepped out, looking completely fresh. She smiled at him once Madam Pomfrey had gone back into the sickroom and closed the door.
"Invisibility cloak?" she asked. Her voice echoed in the marble- floored hall.
"Yes. Right here." He drew out a silvery, shimmering cloak large enough for two or three people.
"All right. Let's go."
Harry drew the cloak over the both of them as they headed toward Alice's office. They tried to soften the sharp sounds that their shoes made upon the floors.
Finally, they reached her door. She took a key from a pocket in her gown and carefully unlocked the door to the room.
Stepping inside, Harry immediately removed the cloak from their heads. He took off his glasses and set them on her desk. He then began to kiss her.
"Harry!" she gasped between kisses. "Goodness. Isn't this going rather quickly?"
"No. At least, I don't think so." He kissed her again.
"I give up!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him in return.
He pressed her against the black wall, his mouth still upon hers. He drew away and looked into her face. His hungry eyes saw such emotion that he kissed her again.
There was a small gasp from the hallway. Harry turned abruptly to find the small, intent face of a fifth year peering into the office. Her hazel eyes were like saucers.
Harry, confused by the horrified look in her eyes, glanced downwards. He then realized that the invisibility cloak still partially enveloped them both; It looked like the heads of Alice and Harry, as well as her hands around his neck.
"Please, don't be alarmed," Harry stammered. Instantly removing the rest of the cloak, he saw a hint of relief in the pale child's face. "It's just an invisibility cloak. Really, you can try it . . ."
She shook her blonde head stubbornly and fled the room.
"Damn," he muttered. He then turned accusingly to Alice. "You knew this was going to happen," he said sternly.
She shrugged. "All the world is a stage, Harry. What can I tell you? I am the only great actress you will ever know. I know all the lines. I know when I will die, when you will die, who my husband is to be . . . all I need is to rehearse the lines."
"Do you love me?" His voice cracked a bit. He sat down on her desk. This was so utterly confusing!
"Don't you ever question that," she scolded, sitting beside him and stroking his hair.
"But you just said—"
"It doesn't mean that I don't love you," she corrected. "It doesn't mean I don't hate Snape, or that I'm not very close friends with Frank and Lupin, or that that Emily—" She stopped abruptly, and then continued. "It merely means that I know everything that will happen between all of us. That's all."
"Well then, in that case . . ." Harry smiled as he encircled her waist and kissed her again. "I love you, too. And I'm not scared to say it anymore."
"Good." She too smiled as she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm glad it's this way."
"Me too," Harry whispered. "Me too."
Harry sat alone in the Gryffindor common room. He was exhausted, but couldn't seem to sleep. Every time he came close to dozing off, he would suddenly remember that little blonde head poking through the door and gawking at Alice and him. What would become of the whole situation?
Usually, teacher romance was no huge event. Sure, the couple would receive a few sideways glances and giggles, but other than that, they were ignored. But Alice and him—
That was different. Two of the most famous wizards in the entire world, dating? That would be sure to raise eyebrows!
But for some reason, he didn't care as much as he should. For Harry knew that, if he indeed loved Alice, nothing could possibly come between them. And he was certain that he would let nothing get in the way of their blossoming relationship. Nothing.
The fire was a mere rosy glow in the grate by the time the winds began. They howled as they whistled through the chinks between bricks and screeched through the open window. Harry stood to close the window, and found himself nearly blown over by the force of the air that pummeled his face.
"Damn, what's going on?"
Harry turned to see a very sleepy-eyed sixth year boy standing in the doorway between the common room and the dormitories.
"I'm not sure—hey, give me a hand with this window, will you?" he replied.
"Yeah, no problem," the curly haired boy responded. He seemed more alert now; at least he wasn't rubbing his eyes and yawning anymore.
"What's your name, anyway?" Harry asked the student.
"My name's Roy. I'm actually a new student; I just got transferred from a school back in America."
"Oh, well, that's nice," Harry stammered as he and the boy managed to latch the casement in place. "Miss Oak, one of the teachers, is from America. I, myself, have never been. But it always has sounded like lots of fun."
The boy shrugged. "Yeah, well, for me, England always sounded like a great time. I suppose it always depends upon where you're from."
"Wise words for a youngster," Harry commented. He looked the boy over more carefully.
He was wearing a worn pair of striped pajamas patterned in very faded blue and white. His brown locks were tangled and unruly, probably from tossing in bed for an hour or two. Deeply set hazel eyes were prominent in his thick olive face. He wasn't of slight build. On the contrary, he was quite tall and somewhat heavy, but he appeared to be mostly muscle. Harry could detect a dimple in his left cheek.
"Anyway, I suppose I ought to be heading back for bed." The boy released another loud yawn.
"Stop that," Harry teased. "You're making me tired, too."
"Why weren't you asleep, anyway?" the boy inquired.
"I'm not sure . . ." Harry fibbed. He knew that he had much more on his mind than he could handle at the moment, but he wasn't about to tell that to this new student who he'd never met before.
"Well, try warm milk. That always helped me when I was little. G'night!" The boy headed up the stairs to the boys' side of the dormitory.
"G'night," Harry replied. He found himself yawning. Time to turn in.
As he turned to face the doorway to Gryffindor Tower, he couldn't suppress a gasp of fear.
The portrait hole was open, and a pale, silvery mist filled the gap.
Harry reached within his robes and fumbled for his wand. His hands finally closing around it, he grasped a spell from deep within himself. "Grokminiclus!" he shouted. Alice had taught him the spell; it would give knowledge of anything which you requested. As newfound knowledge seeped into Harry's mind, his face slowly bleached to a shade of white. "Oh my God," he muttered, collapsing into a chair and allowing his head to sink into his hands. He looked toward the window, and found the same film to cover it.
Harry and his students were trapped within Gryffindor Tower, with no form of escape.