1.1 Harry Potter and the Crystal Ball
by Hannah
1.2 Chapter Eleven ~ Startling Truths
"So moody . . ." Frank gave Harry a playful shove as he lowered himself into a chair at the dining table.
Harry sat passively looking at his heaping breakfast plate, not moving to touch a thing. "Did you read the newspaper this morning?" he asked tiredly.
"No, haven't had time. Classes are beginning again today. I needed to prepare a lesson," Frank replied, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. His green eyes dwelled on Harry's somber face. "Why?"
Harry reached into his robes and pulled out a rather crumpled copy of the paper. He tossed it at Frank, turning once again to his breakfast, but not touching it.
Frank gingerly peeled the paper from his pile of sausages and shook it open. He read the front page, pulled a wry face, and reread it. His face drained of all color as he turned to face Harry again.
"That bad, is it?"
"Well, I suppose she knows whether she'll live through it, but she didn't tell me. And it can't be good if she gave me that odd necklace that she always wears. She never takes it off. So why now? It doesn't make sense!" Harry accentuated this last remark with a powerful pounding of his fist upon the table.
Frank swallowed resolutely and said, "There's nothing we can do, Harry. What is done is done: that's all there is to it. I'm sorry."
"I know, I know," Harry mumbled. "It's just—oh, she can be so, so . . . exasperating!" he finally exclaimed, realizing that he was at a loss of words.
"I understand," Frank said in return with a sympathetic pat of the arm. "Just try not to worry."
"Oh, yes, as though that is going to work," Harry spat bitterly.
Frank drew his arm back and managed to twist a thin smile. "Being rude isn't going to help either of us any . . . cheer up, there's a good lad."
Harry sighed resolutely, straightened, and picked at his breakfast. After reaching his classroom, he tried to organize the lesson for the day, but his mind kept wandering to the necklace he'd left in his room. And that eye he'd seen within it . . .
It had been yellow, he decided, with small flecks of brown and hazel. The pupil was a slit, like a cat's. He also remembered Hermione's gift to him. What an odd gift it had been.
Hermione. It hurt to think of her, thrashing about, not recognizing those she loved, caught under the spells and illusions of the tyrannical Voldemort, the most fearsome being of all time. And Alice was battling him at this very moment.
With another heavy sigh, Harry determined himself to get through classes, which were to begin in . . . he looked at his watch.
Hmm, how odd, he thought. Classes were supposed to start nearly a half-hour ago. Frowning, he stood to look outside the door to see if he could stop any passerby to inquire as to the delay.
As he stood, the room seemingly spun about him. He gripped the desk with a white-knuckled hand to keep himself from falling. Suddenly, a vision struck him as vividly as though it was occurring right before his eyes . . .
A dusky leopard of monolithic proportions lunged at Harry, its lethal mouth gaping and its ivory teeth bared, blood dripping from its freshest kill. The golden eyes glinted with a primordial fire of deadly savageness, their depths so endless that Harry thought himself to be falling, falling into the mysteriously melancholy fathoms of their crystal-clear splendor. Harry found himself drawing back, but getting no further or closer to the horrific revelation.
Next thing he knew, a starless night seemed to sweep over him, a gentle coolness flowed in his every vein, and he knew no more as he collapsed in a senseless heap upon the classroom floor.
"God, what a wimp," Emily muttered as she slapped Harry's face. She pursed her over-done lips as she shifted her weight from one knee to the other. Harry was still sprawled on the floor, and she was kneeling beside him, trying vainly to revive him.
"Hello?" Frank stuck his head through the door, one eyebrow raised quizzically.
"He's passed out," Emily said in mock franticness. "Please, please, help me to wake him up!" She tried to look pitiful and helpless as she began slapping his wrist.
"That's what happens to a bugger when he has no breakfast," Frank declared as he fell gracefully to his knees as well. Checking Harry's pulse, he looked her in the face and shrugged. "Dunno what's wrong with the guy. Stress? What do you think?"
Harry spluttered a choking gasp and then fell still once more.
"Oh no!" Emily exclaimed, cupping his face with her hands. "Oh, wake up, Harry, wake up!"
Frank sighed. "Not much we can do . . . look around and see if he has any water in the room . . ."
Emily rushed madly about the room, searching every nook and cranny for a bottle of water. Finally, she found one in a clustered desk drawer.
She scuttled to Frank's side as quickly as she could on her towering heels and handed the bottle to Frank. He unscrewed the cap and moaned, "I hate to do this, but . . ." and emptied the bottle on Harry's face.
He sputtered, squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and brought a hand up to claw the water from his eyes, nostrils, and mouth. Taking a gulping breath of air, Harry's eyes flew wide open and he stared at Frank and Emily.
"The cat—"
"What cat?" Emily was hard pressed to conceal her disdain at Harry's 'wimpiness,' as she called it. She thought him an insufferably petty breed of Loser.
"What are you talking about, Harry?" Frank tried to hide his concern.
"I don't know . . ." Harry made a move to sit up, but groaned and fell back onto the floor. "I think I bumped my head."
"I'll get some ice," Emily volunteered quickly. She stood once again and trotted from the room.
Harry moaned again. He straightened his glasses, which were askew and dripping somewhat from his unexpected douching. Absently, he rubbed the lenses with the soaking hem of his robe as he talked with Frank.
"I don't know what's going on. This has all been so weird, this year. It's like all my other awful experiences combined . . ." He didn't realize he was shaking.
"Yes, well, what can you expect? Great things are expected of great wizards. Maybe it's just stress." Frank shrugged.
"I don't think so . . . I had this really weird—vision. I think that's what you'd call it, since I was awake. And it was this really big leopard, and it was leaping at me."
"Might be that big cat Alice is trying to fend off," Frank suggested absently.
"That's it!" Harry sat up abruptly, and subsequently cupped his throbbing head with his hands. "She must've been sending me some sort of vision . . ."
"Wait wait wait, Alice was sending you some sort of—message?"
"I don't know . . . something along those lines, I suppose. What else would it be?"
"Harry, maybe you need some . . .rest. You've been working really hard lately, and we all know what you've been going through . . ."
"What, you think I'm going crazy? Is that it?" Harry looked sternly at Frank.
"Well, no, it's just . . ." Frank knew he was cornered.
Harry sighed. "Maybe you're right. That's probably what Voldemort wants, isn't it? For me to go mad, to kill off Alice, and then he can just take over the world. Frank, what will I do?"
"Have some fun. Don't be so serious all the time."
Harry pensively thought over the idea. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Where were all the students this morning?"
"Didn't you hear the announcement?"
"No." Harry looked puzzled.
Frank explained, with an odd, unreadable expression on his face, "Yes, they announced this morning, right after breakfast, that classes were postponed until tomorrow. Oh well . . ."
Harry rubbed his throbbing temples with his thumbs. "God, what's wrong with me, Frank?"
"Just go get some rest," Frank said with firm conviction. "I'm sure you'll feel better."
"Yes . . ." Harry stood unsteadily and tottered out the door toward his room.
"Poor man . . . he needs Alice to come back." Frank shook his head as he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Harry awoke to a gentle knock on his door. The draperies were pulled and his sheets were up to his chin. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and made a weak attempt to struggle out of bed.
"Yes? Who's there?" he called hoarsely.
No one answered.
Frowning, he went to the door. "Hello? Who are you?"
Whoever was standing on the other side of the doorway merely knocked twice more.
Harry was reluctant to open it. Everything was so mixed up at the moment . . . what if it was Voldemort, or someone connected to him? And he had this awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. That singing feeling deep in one's gut when something is amiss . . .
"Hello?" Harry reluctantly swung open the door.
Something fell into his arms. He staggered under its weight. Something crinkling engulfed him as he staggered to the bed. He struggled to push the heavy object onto his bed. Finally, he glanced down at it.
"Really, I'm fine," it whispered meekly.
"Like hell!" Harry nearly shouted. "You look fit for a burial!"
He took in every detail of Alice's appearance. Her blonde hair was a disheveled shock of tangles, her once flowing silk dress was in rags and spattered with mud and other unpleasant things, a few stains looking suspiciously like blood. Her pale face was even paler than usual, her skin was stretched tautly against her fine bones, and her eyes looked sunken in the purple bags surrounding them. He'd never seen her look so deplorable in his brief time of knowing her.
"Well, it was a tough time killing that beast," she replied. "And I'm absolutely drained of any magical power. I used the very last of it to get back to Hogwarts. Harry, would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of water?" Some note in her voice reached out to him, and he felt a little pang of guilt at exploding at her. She looked ready to fall asleep at any moment.
"No magic? At all?" he asked as he fetched her a cup.
"Not a single drop. I couldn't use my magic to pick up that pencil over there." She raised a feeble, transparent-looking hand to point to a pencil not a foot away.
Harry's face creased in worry. If Alice couldn't help Hogwarts in its current predicament, that left one person . . . himself. And he felt thoroughly incapable of handling any crisis at the moment. His nerves were as taut as they could be without snapping. Any added weight upon his over- burdened shoulders would be sure to finish him for good.
"God, Alice, you couldn't have chosen a worse time to run dry . . ."
"I know." She sounded regretful. "But a few more weeks and I'll—"
"A few more weeks could be too late."
She was silent. She sighed deeply and spoke, and when her words did come, they were the words of someone weary beyond emotion. "A fine welcome for the weary warrior. Harry, I cannot help what must be done. And the past is the past. There is no use dwelling in it. Life is too short for such. You must live for the present. It's all you have. You can't plan for the future, for what if it doesn't exist? And you can't change the past. So you must enjoy the simple pleasures as they come."
He didn't understand why she was telling him all this, but he soaked it up in quiet anticipation.
"You must learn to take responsibility. Others with more experience and knowledge will not always be there to guide you. No matter what, you must remember that fear is deadly. If you let your fright take you over, let you take it in its iron grip, it will never release you, and you will be helpless unto it. Deep inside of you, you will always know what to do. Dwell upon this secret knowledge. Use it whenever possible. And use the knowledge of others. Always listen to what others have to say, no matter how ignorant they may appear to be. We must always use the guidance of others to smooth our own paths. The easier the road, the more you may accomplish. And the more you may accomplish, the easier you make the roads of others, for you can give them more advice. If you can make the lives of others worth living, then you have served a purpose. Never let greed get in that path. It is a roadblock of such proportions that it is nearly immobile. It is a permanent setback in the twisting path before us. There are enough challenges as it is, and there is no need to make the road any harder than it is. Look to those stronger than yourself for strength, to those wiser than you for wisdom, and those more creative than yourself for ideas. And life will never fail you, no matter how hopeless it will seem at times. Never give up, Harry, for when things are at their worst, they can only get better."
He contemplated this. Suddenly he asked, "Is there a God, Alice?"
"I do not have to answer that question."
"But you pray so often . . ."
"Perhaps it's a semblance of holiness."
"Perhaps. But perhaps not."
Both were silent.
"Does Heaven exist?"
"Maybe."
"Hell?"
"It could."
"You are so elusive . . ."
"And you so inquisitive . . ." She didn't say anything for a moment. "Listen, I really need some rest if I'm to recuperate. Could I just rest awhile?"
Suddenly Harry felt worried for Alice all over again. "Of course! Make yourself at home."
"Thank you . . ." Alice was so tired that she fell immediately asleep. Harry's mind turned over the confusing words she had spoken. What had it all meant? Was trouble ahead? Oh, what should he do! He had so much weight upon his shoulders . . . had his parents struggled with these thoughts, ever? Had they ever needed to take up the burdens of countless helpless others? He liked to think so. It made him feel some relation with them, for he had never known them. He wondered what happy times they had shared. He wished that, for just a few years, they could have stuck around and he could have gotten to know them. But the closest he could come to that was to ask Lupin about his mother and father from their schooldays together. And even then, there wasn't that much he could learn of that. Sirius could probably tell him about them. But it wasn't the same! It wasn't the same as actually knowing them, actually seeing them smiling at him, actually hearing their happy voices as they told him about the many moments of triumph they had shared. He remembered what Alice had said: "Live for the present." He felt that he had unbroken ties to the past, ties which he was reluctant to break, for they were the last ties he had to the parents he had never known.
Why couldn't he be like everyone else, with so few worries and so few regrets? But—Alice had just as many troubles as he did. In fact, she had innumerable others that he could not even begin to imagine. She knew her fate. She knew what happened after death. She could see horrifying things that Harry would never want to see. And she couldn't block them. She couldn't avoid them. Life truly wasn't fair. But why, why was Alice burdened with such a 'gift' as omnipotence? Why would any mortal have such powers? How could any mortal stand such perpetual floods of knowledge?
He looked about the sun-dappled room. It looked so warm and cheerful. But outside, he knew the winds were gusting and the sleet was falling, even if the sun was shining. And he knew that Hogwarts was facing more danger than it had ever before faced, even if the merry laughter of students could be heard echoing in the hallways. Why could appearances be so deceiving?
His gaze landed on the slumbering Alice. She looked so deceptively peaceful, curled up in a defenseless-looking ball on his bed. In some dream of which Harry was no part (he hoped), her thin face crumpled into a frown and she kicked lightly at some object that dwelled in her subconscious. Harry decided she was nothing short of a goddess.
With that last thought, he too drifted off to sleep.
Frank couldn't help but beam with utter happiness at the improvement in Harry that evening. Alice sat by his side throughout the evening, no matter how peaked and utterly exhausted she appeared. She seemed happy, too, even through her somewhat bedraggled appearance. At least she'd tidied herself up somewhat. She'd brushed her hair, put on a fresh purple dress, and actually some makeup to cover the bruise-like bags under her eyes.
To Harry, she fairly sparkled. He couldn't keep his eyes from her. All throughout the supper, his eyes would wander every few moments to her face to make sure she was really there. Sometimes he would pat her shoulder or something to make sure he really hadn't gone crazy, that she was material and tangible. Throughout the whole ordeal, a weary, amused smile remained on Alice's face.
Steak had never tasted so good to Harry. He didn't even realize that Alice wasn't touching her meal. Frank did, but remained silent.
After the students were safely tucked away in their common rooms, Alice suggested they see their friends. "I want to see them again and have a nice chat. It seems like I've been gone for ages!" Harry saw her eagerness and decided that he would enjoy some time with their friends, even if he would rather spend time alone with her. With a sigh of resignation, he and Alice summoned up Frank, Emily, and Lupin.
Alice sighed in contentment when they were finally all squeezed into her bedroom. "I'm so glad to be home!"
"We're glad you're home, too," Lupin interjected with an absent pat of her hand.
She smiled at him. "Why thank you."
Emily looked impatient. "Yes, we missed you a lot."
Alice smiled at her, too, but this time it looked different. Almost nasty. "How kind of you to say so," she said in an aloof manner that made everyone present raise their eyebrows.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry to be cross. I've had a very hard past few days . . . please forgive me."
Emily just looked at her disdainfully. "As if I want to!"
"Forgive and forget." Alice's voice was ominously low and melodic.
"Think about what you say before you say it." Emily's voice was mocking.
"Who wants to play Firestones?" Frank asked.
"Firestones?" Lupin wrinkled his nose. "What's that?"
"It's a trust game," Frank replied. "These little stones are bewitched. Of course, someone here has to make the stones. Anyway, you take turns asking each other questions, and each person has to answer with the truth. If they do not, the little stones light up, like fire, and each person gets to take a bonus 'penalty shot' at the offender."
"So why is it called Firestones?" Harry inquired.
"Weren't you listening?" Emily asked.
"Oh, yeah, right, of course," Harry mumbled. "But—who's going to make the stones?"
"Alice, of course," Lupin stated in a matter-of-fact way.
"Nope nope," Alice said with a grin.
"Why not?" Frank questioned, obviously somewhat bewildered.
"I'll tell you how to make them, but I am clean out of magic," she claimed.
"Dear God," mumbled Emily. "Now we're in for it."
"Jumping dragons," exclaimed Lupin.
"We might as well kill ourselves now, before Voldemort can get to us," Frank groaned.
"Now, now . . . to make Firestones . . . first, make stones."
Frank did so.
"Then shout, 'Crucilis Relinous Freuflion!'"
Frank again did so.
"And there we have our Firestones. Who dares ask the first question?"
There was a moment's silence. Then Harry asked, "Emily, did you ever care for me?"
She looked somewhat uncomfortable. "Why, of course, Harry—"
One of the stones began to glow faintly green. One by one, they lit up: purple, red, yellow, orange, blue.
"Oooh, bad start, m'girl," Frank clucked. "I'll start . . . why lie about it?"
"Well, I felt bad just saying plain-out 'no.'"
"Why did you ever lead me on to believe that you might have cared if you didn't?"
"Well, because . . . you're Harry Potter. Every girl is head-over- heels about you. I thought that it might look good for me."
"Doesn't that kind of thinking make you feel guilty?" Lupin cajoled.
"No," was the blunt reply.
"Aren't you ashamed?" Frank questioned.
"Can't honestly say I am, and that's what this game is all about, isn't it?" she replied icily.
"Lastly, do you admit to being a common doxy who likes nothing better than stealing the hearts of honest, wonderful men and then trampling them in the dirt?"
She screwed up her face. "Yes."
Alice pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows in a gesture that said all-too-well, "I told you so." "Well, I guess you get to ask a question now."
"Lupin: what woman means the most to you of anyone, and why?"
He looked pensive for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. "Well, I must say that it would be Alice." Everyone waited for him to finish answering the question. "Because . . . well, remember how she was shipped all over the place, since she was an orphan? I took care of her for several months."
No one said a word. Alice lowered her eyes and swallowed hard.
"You see, I was wonderful to her . . . and she was a perfect little angel. Stole my heart. I felt like I was needed for the first time ever, because I was her father, or as close as I could become to one. That was around the time she started seeing visions and that sort of thing. She needed the help of a wizard, someone who at least understood magic, although I must admit, I was as puzzled as any Muggle would be . . . well, things went well enough until the committees in charge of foster and adoptive parents found out that I was—not normal. A werewolf. And—" His voice cracked. He took a deep breath. "They took her away from me. I didn't think I'd ever see her again. But then I was hired here, at Hogwarts, in your third year, Harry. And I met a girl with blonde curls and purple eyes and skin far too pale to mistaken for that of any other child . . . but that even was a short-lived reunion. We tried to keep in touch after she left after her fourth year, but it was tough, with her travelling about so often. Of course, by the time I had met up with her at Hogwarts again, her odd gift was full-blown . . . she could communicate with me through some system I could only describe as telepathy. We could talk through each other's minds . . . anyhow, you can imagine how thrilled I was to find her back at Hogwarts this year. And I apologize if I've been quite—paternal—toward her, but I was her father for at least a few months, and the relationship has always been that way."
Alice smiled and patted his hand absently as she laid her head upon his shoulder. "Dear, dear 'Papa Lupin,'" she sighed. "You were the best foster parent I had."
"I know," he said none too modestly. He patted her blonde head fondly.
Harry just shook his head in amazement. "Well, I suppose it's your turn, Lupin."
"Harry: how much do you love Alice? I think we're all curious."
Harry didn't even hesitate. "As much as I love myself."
"How much is that?" Alice interjected promptly.
This time Harry had to take a moment to think. "I'm not sure . . . but hey, it's not your turn, anyhow."
"Yes, yes. As I thought. Your question."
"Frank—what do you think your purpose in life is?"
"To help others to live better lives so they may in turn make the lives of others easier." Frank looked thoughtful. "I just hope I can help others and make their lives worth something. Otherwise I feel like I'm doing nothing. I don't think 'me me me' like so many people do. I know it seems odd, but I can't. It's such a selfish outlook on life that doesn't in any way improve our culture. If we want to advance the human race in any way, we have to look past the present and into the generations yet to come. And the only time we can look back is to find the advice left us by others. For otherwise, we waste time dawdling in that which is not worth our time and efforts."
"Well said," Harry agreed with a nod of his head. "Well, your turn to ask a question."
"I suppose I must ask Alice, then," he mused, "for she's the only one who hasn't been asked a question as of yet."
"Yes, that's true," she replied.
"Will Voldemort succeed in overthrowing Hogwarts, or whatever the hell he's trying to do?"
"Of course not," she proclaimed openly.
Everyone sat stunned for a moment at the bluntness of her answer. She always answered questions dealing with the future in riddles, always claiming that it was "to keep them from trying to do anything about it." Which was silly, for they all knew that whatever was planned for the future was planned, but could not be changed. Or could it?
"All right . . . well, I guess you get to ask the next question." Lupin had stopped stroking her blonde curls and had stood. Even Alice's luxurious bed was uncomfortable after a while, especially when she was digging her bony frame into your body.
Suddenly, the door opened, and a slight draft crept into the room. They all looked toward the door to see who could possibly be standing there.
"Ron!" Harry walked briskly to the door and threw his arms around his best friend's neck. Ron returned the embrace in a careless, dazed manner. Harry drew away and patted Ron's flaming red head.
"What's up, man? Come on, sit down with us. We're playing Firestones."
"I haven't played that for ages," Ron admitted.
"Neither have any of us. Come, sit, and join the fun. We've rather done the introductory round. Now I think we can delve more into the juicy stuff."
"Oh good, then I didn't really miss anything." Ron smiled, but his eyes looked every bit as melancholy and shadowed as they always seemed nowadays. Harry realized sadly that without Hermione, Ron was a mere shadow of his old self. And with Voldemort at the head of this operation, there was always the possibility of Hermione's terrible fate being permanent.
"Yes, well, you missed some things, of course, but nothing really important," Emily informed him. "Lupin was Alice's foster father, Voldemort is not going to win this whole ordeal,"—Ron's eyes lit up somewhat at the mention of this bit of information—"Frank's trying to be a saint, I'm a slut, and Harry loves Alice, big surprise."
"You were her father?" Ron asked incredulously.
Lupin looked exasperated. "I suppose you could put it that way," he finally stuttered. "Now let's continue with the game. Alice, it was your question." Lupin repositioned himself on the bed as Alice cleared her throat.
"Ron, what can we do to help you?"
"Nothing." His reply was blunt, bored. "The only thing I can do is to find the person at the head of this conspiracy and kill them."
"Yes . . . well, good chap, your question," Frank interjected quickly. No one particularly cared for the mad gleam in Ron's eyes as he said this.
"Alice—will I ever get Hermione back?" Ron's voice seemed pathetically weak. She squared her thin shoulders and took a deep breath in preparation to give him some befuddled answer when he pleaded, "Please, Alice. I swear, if I can have a definite answer to this question, I will be contented."
She let out the breath in one elongated sigh. Closing her eyes, she mumbled, "Yes."
"What?" Harry hadn't heard.
"Yes," she stated somewhat louder.
Before anyone knew quite what was happening, Ron began to cry. "Thank God," he exclaimed. All the people on the bed draped an arm about his shoulder. "Oh, praise God! I don't care if I don't see her again 'til I'm fifty—well, I do, but . . . I'll see her again! Oh, thank you Alice, thank you. You are a saint!" He hugged her fiercely.
Harry felt so choked up he could hardly speak. "I'm so glad," he finally managed to gasp. "So glad." He was quite pleased to see some of the old Ron reenter the desolate face of his closest comrade.
"Okay, Alice, your question. But you can't ask Ron, or you'd have to accept a penalty question from each player," Harry reminded her. "You can't monopolize the game."
"All right, seeing as you're so intent upon staying in the game," she said with a wicked smile, "how about answering this question: what was your first impression of each of us?"
"Oooh, um . . ." Harry concentrated. What had he thought of each of these people? "Well . . . I'll start with Ron. I thought that you were very . . . unusual looking. No, wait, don't look that way . . . I also thought you looked an extremely kind person, if not somewhat . . . shabby. I'm sorry, please, don't look that way! I must tell the truth, you know. Lupin looked like a far better professor than any of the Dark Arts teachers had so far been. He also seemed an extremely kind person, one in whom I could confide and with whom I could talk about things that I might not want to share with people my age. Because no matter how much you trust a person your age, well . . . the topic of discussion always seems to get around sooner or later. Alice . . . you were—incredible. I'd never met anyone like you. You looked so different while be so extraordinarily beautiful that I couldn't help but pick you out of a crowd. I knew right away that you were someone with whom I could truly be close. I felt a certain comradeship with you, you just seemed to . . . radiate kindness, or something of the sort. Frank, you seemed almost cold the first night I met you, but I suppose we were all somewhat uptight after that long journey over here and all that. You seemed much kinder after I'd gotten to know you. At first I'd almost thought . . . well, almost thought that you were some dark wizard working for Voldemort or something. And Emily . . . Emily, Emily . . . you were so beautiful. I thought, for a while, that maybe, just maybe, I loved you. But no, it was lust. Because I've found the real person I love." He smiled at Alice. She caught his gaze and held it, and the look that passed between them was so intimate that no one could speak for a few moments.
Finally, Frank cleared his throat and said, "Hrmph, well. It always is interesting to see what people first think of you . . ."
"Isn't it, though?" Alice inquired with a sparkle in her eye. "Well, Harry, do continue. We don't want to hold up the game."
"No one's mad at me?" It wasn't even a question, just a very meek inquiry.
"Heavens no, sport," exclaimed Lupin. "Quite pleased, quite pleased."
"Why should I be? It was my fault that I came across as moody," Frank admitted.
"Oh no, how could I be? I'm not disappointed by anything.
"It was all the truth, so I suppose not," Ron added.
"Hell yes, but I'm not going to let it pull me down," Emily said with her head held high.
"Good girl," Frank commemorated enthusiastically as he patted her hand.
"Well, let's continue, shall we?" Ron said by way of a none-too- subtle hint.
"Of course, of course," Harry exclaimed. "Hmmm . . . I don't know. Are any of you getting sick of this? Shall we just continue it later? We should gather ourselves back together tomorrow."
"Yes," Ron prattled with a sigh, "I'm so tired. I really think that we ought to get going to bed. And Hermione! Oh, I will see her again. Thank you, Alice, thank you oh-so-much! I now have something to look forward to—"
"Oh, do be quiet, you ninny," Lupin muttered. "I'm developing a terrible headache.
Alice stood with a smile. "Thank you for coming, all of you. Same time, tomorrow night?"
"Yes, of course," everyone exclaimed mutually.
"All right then. Off to bed we all go!" She accentuated this last remark with a none-too-subtle yawn.
Everyone scrambled off the bed and scuttled towards the door. Alice saw them all out into the hallway. Harry was last, lingering behind.
"Yes?" she ventured with a smile.
"I never did give you back your necklace . . ."
"Oh, don't worry about it—yet. Just give it back to me tomorrow morning."
"Alice?"
"Mm-hmm?"
Harry skidded the toe of his shoe shyly against the carpet. "Could you teach me how to read a crystal ball?"
Sighing, she reached up onto a shelf where she picked up an elaborate crystal ball, set in ebony and gold. "Look deep into it, Harry. Let me warn you: you must want to know the future to see it. At least, that's how it is in a crystal ball." She let the well-concealing mask slip from her eyes for one moment and he managed to see the terrible sadness they held. She veiled them quickly. "You must want to see the future, Harry. But so few people do. They think they do, mind you, but deep within themselves, they find that they don't want to know the details of their demise. For once you know, there is no changing it. And once you know, it will haunt you. So very few people can look into the crystal ball and see what they wish to see. For, when they gaze into the crystal, they see what deep within them they really want to see: nothing. They don't want to see the future, real or otherwise. I recommend that you do not learn the art of crystal gazing, but if you must, go back to your room, take out that crystal ball that Hermione gave you, and search. And if you really want to find it, you will."
"Thank you." Harry put his arms around her and gave her a light peck on the forehead. "Good night."
She turned her face from his. "And to you as well, Harry."
He stood, looking back at her, for one short moment. Then he turned and walked away. If she was indeed crying, like Harry thought, he knew instinctively that it was best to not interfere.
Back in his room, Harry had unpacked the crystal ball that Hermione had so lightheartedly sent him for his eighteenth birthday. He set it down on the small, scuffed table that was in his room, sat in a chair nearby, and just looked. Looked, and looked, and looked.
The ball just sat there, on its delicate stand of inlaid rosewood, and Harry sighed deeply. Hours and hours passed, but he tried ever so hard to get beyond that feeling of foreboding. He knew Alice had tried to warn him not to look, not to see, but no matter how hard he tried to get past that fact, he just couldn't do it.
Finally, with a weary sigh, Harry stood abruptly. Throwing himself onto the bed, he fell almost immediately into the deepest of sleeps. And he dreamt of the crystal ball.
by Hannah
1.2 Chapter Eleven ~ Startling Truths
"So moody . . ." Frank gave Harry a playful shove as he lowered himself into a chair at the dining table.
Harry sat passively looking at his heaping breakfast plate, not moving to touch a thing. "Did you read the newspaper this morning?" he asked tiredly.
"No, haven't had time. Classes are beginning again today. I needed to prepare a lesson," Frank replied, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. His green eyes dwelled on Harry's somber face. "Why?"
Harry reached into his robes and pulled out a rather crumpled copy of the paper. He tossed it at Frank, turning once again to his breakfast, but not touching it.
Frank gingerly peeled the paper from his pile of sausages and shook it open. He read the front page, pulled a wry face, and reread it. His face drained of all color as he turned to face Harry again.
"That bad, is it?"
"Well, I suppose she knows whether she'll live through it, but she didn't tell me. And it can't be good if she gave me that odd necklace that she always wears. She never takes it off. So why now? It doesn't make sense!" Harry accentuated this last remark with a powerful pounding of his fist upon the table.
Frank swallowed resolutely and said, "There's nothing we can do, Harry. What is done is done: that's all there is to it. I'm sorry."
"I know, I know," Harry mumbled. "It's just—oh, she can be so, so . . . exasperating!" he finally exclaimed, realizing that he was at a loss of words.
"I understand," Frank said in return with a sympathetic pat of the arm. "Just try not to worry."
"Oh, yes, as though that is going to work," Harry spat bitterly.
Frank drew his arm back and managed to twist a thin smile. "Being rude isn't going to help either of us any . . . cheer up, there's a good lad."
Harry sighed resolutely, straightened, and picked at his breakfast. After reaching his classroom, he tried to organize the lesson for the day, but his mind kept wandering to the necklace he'd left in his room. And that eye he'd seen within it . . .
It had been yellow, he decided, with small flecks of brown and hazel. The pupil was a slit, like a cat's. He also remembered Hermione's gift to him. What an odd gift it had been.
Hermione. It hurt to think of her, thrashing about, not recognizing those she loved, caught under the spells and illusions of the tyrannical Voldemort, the most fearsome being of all time. And Alice was battling him at this very moment.
With another heavy sigh, Harry determined himself to get through classes, which were to begin in . . . he looked at his watch.
Hmm, how odd, he thought. Classes were supposed to start nearly a half-hour ago. Frowning, he stood to look outside the door to see if he could stop any passerby to inquire as to the delay.
As he stood, the room seemingly spun about him. He gripped the desk with a white-knuckled hand to keep himself from falling. Suddenly, a vision struck him as vividly as though it was occurring right before his eyes . . .
A dusky leopard of monolithic proportions lunged at Harry, its lethal mouth gaping and its ivory teeth bared, blood dripping from its freshest kill. The golden eyes glinted with a primordial fire of deadly savageness, their depths so endless that Harry thought himself to be falling, falling into the mysteriously melancholy fathoms of their crystal-clear splendor. Harry found himself drawing back, but getting no further or closer to the horrific revelation.
Next thing he knew, a starless night seemed to sweep over him, a gentle coolness flowed in his every vein, and he knew no more as he collapsed in a senseless heap upon the classroom floor.
"God, what a wimp," Emily muttered as she slapped Harry's face. She pursed her over-done lips as she shifted her weight from one knee to the other. Harry was still sprawled on the floor, and she was kneeling beside him, trying vainly to revive him.
"Hello?" Frank stuck his head through the door, one eyebrow raised quizzically.
"He's passed out," Emily said in mock franticness. "Please, please, help me to wake him up!" She tried to look pitiful and helpless as she began slapping his wrist.
"That's what happens to a bugger when he has no breakfast," Frank declared as he fell gracefully to his knees as well. Checking Harry's pulse, he looked her in the face and shrugged. "Dunno what's wrong with the guy. Stress? What do you think?"
Harry spluttered a choking gasp and then fell still once more.
"Oh no!" Emily exclaimed, cupping his face with her hands. "Oh, wake up, Harry, wake up!"
Frank sighed. "Not much we can do . . . look around and see if he has any water in the room . . ."
Emily rushed madly about the room, searching every nook and cranny for a bottle of water. Finally, she found one in a clustered desk drawer.
She scuttled to Frank's side as quickly as she could on her towering heels and handed the bottle to Frank. He unscrewed the cap and moaned, "I hate to do this, but . . ." and emptied the bottle on Harry's face.
He sputtered, squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and brought a hand up to claw the water from his eyes, nostrils, and mouth. Taking a gulping breath of air, Harry's eyes flew wide open and he stared at Frank and Emily.
"The cat—"
"What cat?" Emily was hard pressed to conceal her disdain at Harry's 'wimpiness,' as she called it. She thought him an insufferably petty breed of Loser.
"What are you talking about, Harry?" Frank tried to hide his concern.
"I don't know . . ." Harry made a move to sit up, but groaned and fell back onto the floor. "I think I bumped my head."
"I'll get some ice," Emily volunteered quickly. She stood once again and trotted from the room.
Harry moaned again. He straightened his glasses, which were askew and dripping somewhat from his unexpected douching. Absently, he rubbed the lenses with the soaking hem of his robe as he talked with Frank.
"I don't know what's going on. This has all been so weird, this year. It's like all my other awful experiences combined . . ." He didn't realize he was shaking.
"Yes, well, what can you expect? Great things are expected of great wizards. Maybe it's just stress." Frank shrugged.
"I don't think so . . . I had this really weird—vision. I think that's what you'd call it, since I was awake. And it was this really big leopard, and it was leaping at me."
"Might be that big cat Alice is trying to fend off," Frank suggested absently.
"That's it!" Harry sat up abruptly, and subsequently cupped his throbbing head with his hands. "She must've been sending me some sort of vision . . ."
"Wait wait wait, Alice was sending you some sort of—message?"
"I don't know . . . something along those lines, I suppose. What else would it be?"
"Harry, maybe you need some . . .rest. You've been working really hard lately, and we all know what you've been going through . . ."
"What, you think I'm going crazy? Is that it?" Harry looked sternly at Frank.
"Well, no, it's just . . ." Frank knew he was cornered.
Harry sighed. "Maybe you're right. That's probably what Voldemort wants, isn't it? For me to go mad, to kill off Alice, and then he can just take over the world. Frank, what will I do?"
"Have some fun. Don't be so serious all the time."
Harry pensively thought over the idea. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Where were all the students this morning?"
"Didn't you hear the announcement?"
"No." Harry looked puzzled.
Frank explained, with an odd, unreadable expression on his face, "Yes, they announced this morning, right after breakfast, that classes were postponed until tomorrow. Oh well . . ."
Harry rubbed his throbbing temples with his thumbs. "God, what's wrong with me, Frank?"
"Just go get some rest," Frank said with firm conviction. "I'm sure you'll feel better."
"Yes . . ." Harry stood unsteadily and tottered out the door toward his room.
"Poor man . . . he needs Alice to come back." Frank shook his head as he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Harry awoke to a gentle knock on his door. The draperies were pulled and his sheets were up to his chin. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and made a weak attempt to struggle out of bed.
"Yes? Who's there?" he called hoarsely.
No one answered.
Frowning, he went to the door. "Hello? Who are you?"
Whoever was standing on the other side of the doorway merely knocked twice more.
Harry was reluctant to open it. Everything was so mixed up at the moment . . . what if it was Voldemort, or someone connected to him? And he had this awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. That singing feeling deep in one's gut when something is amiss . . .
"Hello?" Harry reluctantly swung open the door.
Something fell into his arms. He staggered under its weight. Something crinkling engulfed him as he staggered to the bed. He struggled to push the heavy object onto his bed. Finally, he glanced down at it.
"Really, I'm fine," it whispered meekly.
"Like hell!" Harry nearly shouted. "You look fit for a burial!"
He took in every detail of Alice's appearance. Her blonde hair was a disheveled shock of tangles, her once flowing silk dress was in rags and spattered with mud and other unpleasant things, a few stains looking suspiciously like blood. Her pale face was even paler than usual, her skin was stretched tautly against her fine bones, and her eyes looked sunken in the purple bags surrounding them. He'd never seen her look so deplorable in his brief time of knowing her.
"Well, it was a tough time killing that beast," she replied. "And I'm absolutely drained of any magical power. I used the very last of it to get back to Hogwarts. Harry, would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of water?" Some note in her voice reached out to him, and he felt a little pang of guilt at exploding at her. She looked ready to fall asleep at any moment.
"No magic? At all?" he asked as he fetched her a cup.
"Not a single drop. I couldn't use my magic to pick up that pencil over there." She raised a feeble, transparent-looking hand to point to a pencil not a foot away.
Harry's face creased in worry. If Alice couldn't help Hogwarts in its current predicament, that left one person . . . himself. And he felt thoroughly incapable of handling any crisis at the moment. His nerves were as taut as they could be without snapping. Any added weight upon his over- burdened shoulders would be sure to finish him for good.
"God, Alice, you couldn't have chosen a worse time to run dry . . ."
"I know." She sounded regretful. "But a few more weeks and I'll—"
"A few more weeks could be too late."
She was silent. She sighed deeply and spoke, and when her words did come, they were the words of someone weary beyond emotion. "A fine welcome for the weary warrior. Harry, I cannot help what must be done. And the past is the past. There is no use dwelling in it. Life is too short for such. You must live for the present. It's all you have. You can't plan for the future, for what if it doesn't exist? And you can't change the past. So you must enjoy the simple pleasures as they come."
He didn't understand why she was telling him all this, but he soaked it up in quiet anticipation.
"You must learn to take responsibility. Others with more experience and knowledge will not always be there to guide you. No matter what, you must remember that fear is deadly. If you let your fright take you over, let you take it in its iron grip, it will never release you, and you will be helpless unto it. Deep inside of you, you will always know what to do. Dwell upon this secret knowledge. Use it whenever possible. And use the knowledge of others. Always listen to what others have to say, no matter how ignorant they may appear to be. We must always use the guidance of others to smooth our own paths. The easier the road, the more you may accomplish. And the more you may accomplish, the easier you make the roads of others, for you can give them more advice. If you can make the lives of others worth living, then you have served a purpose. Never let greed get in that path. It is a roadblock of such proportions that it is nearly immobile. It is a permanent setback in the twisting path before us. There are enough challenges as it is, and there is no need to make the road any harder than it is. Look to those stronger than yourself for strength, to those wiser than you for wisdom, and those more creative than yourself for ideas. And life will never fail you, no matter how hopeless it will seem at times. Never give up, Harry, for when things are at their worst, they can only get better."
He contemplated this. Suddenly he asked, "Is there a God, Alice?"
"I do not have to answer that question."
"But you pray so often . . ."
"Perhaps it's a semblance of holiness."
"Perhaps. But perhaps not."
Both were silent.
"Does Heaven exist?"
"Maybe."
"Hell?"
"It could."
"You are so elusive . . ."
"And you so inquisitive . . ." She didn't say anything for a moment. "Listen, I really need some rest if I'm to recuperate. Could I just rest awhile?"
Suddenly Harry felt worried for Alice all over again. "Of course! Make yourself at home."
"Thank you . . ." Alice was so tired that she fell immediately asleep. Harry's mind turned over the confusing words she had spoken. What had it all meant? Was trouble ahead? Oh, what should he do! He had so much weight upon his shoulders . . . had his parents struggled with these thoughts, ever? Had they ever needed to take up the burdens of countless helpless others? He liked to think so. It made him feel some relation with them, for he had never known them. He wondered what happy times they had shared. He wished that, for just a few years, they could have stuck around and he could have gotten to know them. But the closest he could come to that was to ask Lupin about his mother and father from their schooldays together. And even then, there wasn't that much he could learn of that. Sirius could probably tell him about them. But it wasn't the same! It wasn't the same as actually knowing them, actually seeing them smiling at him, actually hearing their happy voices as they told him about the many moments of triumph they had shared. He remembered what Alice had said: "Live for the present." He felt that he had unbroken ties to the past, ties which he was reluctant to break, for they were the last ties he had to the parents he had never known.
Why couldn't he be like everyone else, with so few worries and so few regrets? But—Alice had just as many troubles as he did. In fact, she had innumerable others that he could not even begin to imagine. She knew her fate. She knew what happened after death. She could see horrifying things that Harry would never want to see. And she couldn't block them. She couldn't avoid them. Life truly wasn't fair. But why, why was Alice burdened with such a 'gift' as omnipotence? Why would any mortal have such powers? How could any mortal stand such perpetual floods of knowledge?
He looked about the sun-dappled room. It looked so warm and cheerful. But outside, he knew the winds were gusting and the sleet was falling, even if the sun was shining. And he knew that Hogwarts was facing more danger than it had ever before faced, even if the merry laughter of students could be heard echoing in the hallways. Why could appearances be so deceiving?
His gaze landed on the slumbering Alice. She looked so deceptively peaceful, curled up in a defenseless-looking ball on his bed. In some dream of which Harry was no part (he hoped), her thin face crumpled into a frown and she kicked lightly at some object that dwelled in her subconscious. Harry decided she was nothing short of a goddess.
With that last thought, he too drifted off to sleep.
Frank couldn't help but beam with utter happiness at the improvement in Harry that evening. Alice sat by his side throughout the evening, no matter how peaked and utterly exhausted she appeared. She seemed happy, too, even through her somewhat bedraggled appearance. At least she'd tidied herself up somewhat. She'd brushed her hair, put on a fresh purple dress, and actually some makeup to cover the bruise-like bags under her eyes.
To Harry, she fairly sparkled. He couldn't keep his eyes from her. All throughout the supper, his eyes would wander every few moments to her face to make sure she was really there. Sometimes he would pat her shoulder or something to make sure he really hadn't gone crazy, that she was material and tangible. Throughout the whole ordeal, a weary, amused smile remained on Alice's face.
Steak had never tasted so good to Harry. He didn't even realize that Alice wasn't touching her meal. Frank did, but remained silent.
After the students were safely tucked away in their common rooms, Alice suggested they see their friends. "I want to see them again and have a nice chat. It seems like I've been gone for ages!" Harry saw her eagerness and decided that he would enjoy some time with their friends, even if he would rather spend time alone with her. With a sigh of resignation, he and Alice summoned up Frank, Emily, and Lupin.
Alice sighed in contentment when they were finally all squeezed into her bedroom. "I'm so glad to be home!"
"We're glad you're home, too," Lupin interjected with an absent pat of her hand.
She smiled at him. "Why thank you."
Emily looked impatient. "Yes, we missed you a lot."
Alice smiled at her, too, but this time it looked different. Almost nasty. "How kind of you to say so," she said in an aloof manner that made everyone present raise their eyebrows.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry to be cross. I've had a very hard past few days . . . please forgive me."
Emily just looked at her disdainfully. "As if I want to!"
"Forgive and forget." Alice's voice was ominously low and melodic.
"Think about what you say before you say it." Emily's voice was mocking.
"Who wants to play Firestones?" Frank asked.
"Firestones?" Lupin wrinkled his nose. "What's that?"
"It's a trust game," Frank replied. "These little stones are bewitched. Of course, someone here has to make the stones. Anyway, you take turns asking each other questions, and each person has to answer with the truth. If they do not, the little stones light up, like fire, and each person gets to take a bonus 'penalty shot' at the offender."
"So why is it called Firestones?" Harry inquired.
"Weren't you listening?" Emily asked.
"Oh, yeah, right, of course," Harry mumbled. "But—who's going to make the stones?"
"Alice, of course," Lupin stated in a matter-of-fact way.
"Nope nope," Alice said with a grin.
"Why not?" Frank questioned, obviously somewhat bewildered.
"I'll tell you how to make them, but I am clean out of magic," she claimed.
"Dear God," mumbled Emily. "Now we're in for it."
"Jumping dragons," exclaimed Lupin.
"We might as well kill ourselves now, before Voldemort can get to us," Frank groaned.
"Now, now . . . to make Firestones . . . first, make stones."
Frank did so.
"Then shout, 'Crucilis Relinous Freuflion!'"
Frank again did so.
"And there we have our Firestones. Who dares ask the first question?"
There was a moment's silence. Then Harry asked, "Emily, did you ever care for me?"
She looked somewhat uncomfortable. "Why, of course, Harry—"
One of the stones began to glow faintly green. One by one, they lit up: purple, red, yellow, orange, blue.
"Oooh, bad start, m'girl," Frank clucked. "I'll start . . . why lie about it?"
"Well, I felt bad just saying plain-out 'no.'"
"Why did you ever lead me on to believe that you might have cared if you didn't?"
"Well, because . . . you're Harry Potter. Every girl is head-over- heels about you. I thought that it might look good for me."
"Doesn't that kind of thinking make you feel guilty?" Lupin cajoled.
"No," was the blunt reply.
"Aren't you ashamed?" Frank questioned.
"Can't honestly say I am, and that's what this game is all about, isn't it?" she replied icily.
"Lastly, do you admit to being a common doxy who likes nothing better than stealing the hearts of honest, wonderful men and then trampling them in the dirt?"
She screwed up her face. "Yes."
Alice pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows in a gesture that said all-too-well, "I told you so." "Well, I guess you get to ask a question now."
"Lupin: what woman means the most to you of anyone, and why?"
He looked pensive for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. "Well, I must say that it would be Alice." Everyone waited for him to finish answering the question. "Because . . . well, remember how she was shipped all over the place, since she was an orphan? I took care of her for several months."
No one said a word. Alice lowered her eyes and swallowed hard.
"You see, I was wonderful to her . . . and she was a perfect little angel. Stole my heart. I felt like I was needed for the first time ever, because I was her father, or as close as I could become to one. That was around the time she started seeing visions and that sort of thing. She needed the help of a wizard, someone who at least understood magic, although I must admit, I was as puzzled as any Muggle would be . . . well, things went well enough until the committees in charge of foster and adoptive parents found out that I was—not normal. A werewolf. And—" His voice cracked. He took a deep breath. "They took her away from me. I didn't think I'd ever see her again. But then I was hired here, at Hogwarts, in your third year, Harry. And I met a girl with blonde curls and purple eyes and skin far too pale to mistaken for that of any other child . . . but that even was a short-lived reunion. We tried to keep in touch after she left after her fourth year, but it was tough, with her travelling about so often. Of course, by the time I had met up with her at Hogwarts again, her odd gift was full-blown . . . she could communicate with me through some system I could only describe as telepathy. We could talk through each other's minds . . . anyhow, you can imagine how thrilled I was to find her back at Hogwarts this year. And I apologize if I've been quite—paternal—toward her, but I was her father for at least a few months, and the relationship has always been that way."
Alice smiled and patted his hand absently as she laid her head upon his shoulder. "Dear, dear 'Papa Lupin,'" she sighed. "You were the best foster parent I had."
"I know," he said none too modestly. He patted her blonde head fondly.
Harry just shook his head in amazement. "Well, I suppose it's your turn, Lupin."
"Harry: how much do you love Alice? I think we're all curious."
Harry didn't even hesitate. "As much as I love myself."
"How much is that?" Alice interjected promptly.
This time Harry had to take a moment to think. "I'm not sure . . . but hey, it's not your turn, anyhow."
"Yes, yes. As I thought. Your question."
"Frank—what do you think your purpose in life is?"
"To help others to live better lives so they may in turn make the lives of others easier." Frank looked thoughtful. "I just hope I can help others and make their lives worth something. Otherwise I feel like I'm doing nothing. I don't think 'me me me' like so many people do. I know it seems odd, but I can't. It's such a selfish outlook on life that doesn't in any way improve our culture. If we want to advance the human race in any way, we have to look past the present and into the generations yet to come. And the only time we can look back is to find the advice left us by others. For otherwise, we waste time dawdling in that which is not worth our time and efforts."
"Well said," Harry agreed with a nod of his head. "Well, your turn to ask a question."
"I suppose I must ask Alice, then," he mused, "for she's the only one who hasn't been asked a question as of yet."
"Yes, that's true," she replied.
"Will Voldemort succeed in overthrowing Hogwarts, or whatever the hell he's trying to do?"
"Of course not," she proclaimed openly.
Everyone sat stunned for a moment at the bluntness of her answer. She always answered questions dealing with the future in riddles, always claiming that it was "to keep them from trying to do anything about it." Which was silly, for they all knew that whatever was planned for the future was planned, but could not be changed. Or could it?
"All right . . . well, I guess you get to ask the next question." Lupin had stopped stroking her blonde curls and had stood. Even Alice's luxurious bed was uncomfortable after a while, especially when she was digging her bony frame into your body.
Suddenly, the door opened, and a slight draft crept into the room. They all looked toward the door to see who could possibly be standing there.
"Ron!" Harry walked briskly to the door and threw his arms around his best friend's neck. Ron returned the embrace in a careless, dazed manner. Harry drew away and patted Ron's flaming red head.
"What's up, man? Come on, sit down with us. We're playing Firestones."
"I haven't played that for ages," Ron admitted.
"Neither have any of us. Come, sit, and join the fun. We've rather done the introductory round. Now I think we can delve more into the juicy stuff."
"Oh good, then I didn't really miss anything." Ron smiled, but his eyes looked every bit as melancholy and shadowed as they always seemed nowadays. Harry realized sadly that without Hermione, Ron was a mere shadow of his old self. And with Voldemort at the head of this operation, there was always the possibility of Hermione's terrible fate being permanent.
"Yes, well, you missed some things, of course, but nothing really important," Emily informed him. "Lupin was Alice's foster father, Voldemort is not going to win this whole ordeal,"—Ron's eyes lit up somewhat at the mention of this bit of information—"Frank's trying to be a saint, I'm a slut, and Harry loves Alice, big surprise."
"You were her father?" Ron asked incredulously.
Lupin looked exasperated. "I suppose you could put it that way," he finally stuttered. "Now let's continue with the game. Alice, it was your question." Lupin repositioned himself on the bed as Alice cleared her throat.
"Ron, what can we do to help you?"
"Nothing." His reply was blunt, bored. "The only thing I can do is to find the person at the head of this conspiracy and kill them."
"Yes . . . well, good chap, your question," Frank interjected quickly. No one particularly cared for the mad gleam in Ron's eyes as he said this.
"Alice—will I ever get Hermione back?" Ron's voice seemed pathetically weak. She squared her thin shoulders and took a deep breath in preparation to give him some befuddled answer when he pleaded, "Please, Alice. I swear, if I can have a definite answer to this question, I will be contented."
She let out the breath in one elongated sigh. Closing her eyes, she mumbled, "Yes."
"What?" Harry hadn't heard.
"Yes," she stated somewhat louder.
Before anyone knew quite what was happening, Ron began to cry. "Thank God," he exclaimed. All the people on the bed draped an arm about his shoulder. "Oh, praise God! I don't care if I don't see her again 'til I'm fifty—well, I do, but . . . I'll see her again! Oh, thank you Alice, thank you. You are a saint!" He hugged her fiercely.
Harry felt so choked up he could hardly speak. "I'm so glad," he finally managed to gasp. "So glad." He was quite pleased to see some of the old Ron reenter the desolate face of his closest comrade.
"Okay, Alice, your question. But you can't ask Ron, or you'd have to accept a penalty question from each player," Harry reminded her. "You can't monopolize the game."
"All right, seeing as you're so intent upon staying in the game," she said with a wicked smile, "how about answering this question: what was your first impression of each of us?"
"Oooh, um . . ." Harry concentrated. What had he thought of each of these people? "Well . . . I'll start with Ron. I thought that you were very . . . unusual looking. No, wait, don't look that way . . . I also thought you looked an extremely kind person, if not somewhat . . . shabby. I'm sorry, please, don't look that way! I must tell the truth, you know. Lupin looked like a far better professor than any of the Dark Arts teachers had so far been. He also seemed an extremely kind person, one in whom I could confide and with whom I could talk about things that I might not want to share with people my age. Because no matter how much you trust a person your age, well . . . the topic of discussion always seems to get around sooner or later. Alice . . . you were—incredible. I'd never met anyone like you. You looked so different while be so extraordinarily beautiful that I couldn't help but pick you out of a crowd. I knew right away that you were someone with whom I could truly be close. I felt a certain comradeship with you, you just seemed to . . . radiate kindness, or something of the sort. Frank, you seemed almost cold the first night I met you, but I suppose we were all somewhat uptight after that long journey over here and all that. You seemed much kinder after I'd gotten to know you. At first I'd almost thought . . . well, almost thought that you were some dark wizard working for Voldemort or something. And Emily . . . Emily, Emily . . . you were so beautiful. I thought, for a while, that maybe, just maybe, I loved you. But no, it was lust. Because I've found the real person I love." He smiled at Alice. She caught his gaze and held it, and the look that passed between them was so intimate that no one could speak for a few moments.
Finally, Frank cleared his throat and said, "Hrmph, well. It always is interesting to see what people first think of you . . ."
"Isn't it, though?" Alice inquired with a sparkle in her eye. "Well, Harry, do continue. We don't want to hold up the game."
"No one's mad at me?" It wasn't even a question, just a very meek inquiry.
"Heavens no, sport," exclaimed Lupin. "Quite pleased, quite pleased."
"Why should I be? It was my fault that I came across as moody," Frank admitted.
"Oh no, how could I be? I'm not disappointed by anything.
"It was all the truth, so I suppose not," Ron added.
"Hell yes, but I'm not going to let it pull me down," Emily said with her head held high.
"Good girl," Frank commemorated enthusiastically as he patted her hand.
"Well, let's continue, shall we?" Ron said by way of a none-too- subtle hint.
"Of course, of course," Harry exclaimed. "Hmmm . . . I don't know. Are any of you getting sick of this? Shall we just continue it later? We should gather ourselves back together tomorrow."
"Yes," Ron prattled with a sigh, "I'm so tired. I really think that we ought to get going to bed. And Hermione! Oh, I will see her again. Thank you, Alice, thank you oh-so-much! I now have something to look forward to—"
"Oh, do be quiet, you ninny," Lupin muttered. "I'm developing a terrible headache.
Alice stood with a smile. "Thank you for coming, all of you. Same time, tomorrow night?"
"Yes, of course," everyone exclaimed mutually.
"All right then. Off to bed we all go!" She accentuated this last remark with a none-too-subtle yawn.
Everyone scrambled off the bed and scuttled towards the door. Alice saw them all out into the hallway. Harry was last, lingering behind.
"Yes?" she ventured with a smile.
"I never did give you back your necklace . . ."
"Oh, don't worry about it—yet. Just give it back to me tomorrow morning."
"Alice?"
"Mm-hmm?"
Harry skidded the toe of his shoe shyly against the carpet. "Could you teach me how to read a crystal ball?"
Sighing, she reached up onto a shelf where she picked up an elaborate crystal ball, set in ebony and gold. "Look deep into it, Harry. Let me warn you: you must want to know the future to see it. At least, that's how it is in a crystal ball." She let the well-concealing mask slip from her eyes for one moment and he managed to see the terrible sadness they held. She veiled them quickly. "You must want to see the future, Harry. But so few people do. They think they do, mind you, but deep within themselves, they find that they don't want to know the details of their demise. For once you know, there is no changing it. And once you know, it will haunt you. So very few people can look into the crystal ball and see what they wish to see. For, when they gaze into the crystal, they see what deep within them they really want to see: nothing. They don't want to see the future, real or otherwise. I recommend that you do not learn the art of crystal gazing, but if you must, go back to your room, take out that crystal ball that Hermione gave you, and search. And if you really want to find it, you will."
"Thank you." Harry put his arms around her and gave her a light peck on the forehead. "Good night."
She turned her face from his. "And to you as well, Harry."
He stood, looking back at her, for one short moment. Then he turned and walked away. If she was indeed crying, like Harry thought, he knew instinctively that it was best to not interfere.
Back in his room, Harry had unpacked the crystal ball that Hermione had so lightheartedly sent him for his eighteenth birthday. He set it down on the small, scuffed table that was in his room, sat in a chair nearby, and just looked. Looked, and looked, and looked.
The ball just sat there, on its delicate stand of inlaid rosewood, and Harry sighed deeply. Hours and hours passed, but he tried ever so hard to get beyond that feeling of foreboding. He knew Alice had tried to warn him not to look, not to see, but no matter how hard he tried to get past that fact, he just couldn't do it.
Finally, with a weary sigh, Harry stood abruptly. Throwing himself onto the bed, he fell almost immediately into the deepest of sleeps. And he dreamt of the crystal ball.