Thursday
I can't stand this. I really don't think I can handle much more of this. Sometimes, to be perfectly honest, I hate being Harry Potter. Ron's still not speaking to me because of the whole Goblet incident. He's convinced I put my name in there somehow! I would never do that! Doesn't he realize that Dumbledore would know if I put my name in?! Hermione says it's because he's jealous that I get more attention than he does. Well, he can have it! I'd trade places any day. No, no, no I wouldn't. I wouldn't wish this on anybody, not even my worst enemy. I wonder if things would be any different if my parents were still alive, and I hadn't survived that stupid curse. Then I'd be like everyone else. I'd be just Harry, not "famous Harry Potter with the rotten scar on his forehead that brandishes him as some great wizard that he's nowhere near being". It's, I don't know, a bit like living under my parents' shadow sometimes. I've never wished more that they were here, just because I get so tired of it all. Yesterday Hermione and I tried a Vanishing Spell to get rid of some of it. It worked, but it was too late. Everyone already knows the story. Plus, Ron walked in on us doing the spell, and he was fuming. *he was livid – LOL Damion!!!* He started ranting about me thinking I was so great, I didn't need the scar to prove it…I'm not sure exactly, but it hurt. Quite honestly, if anyone's jealous it's me.
"I can relate," said Abby softly, closing the diary and returning it to its hiding place. Transfiguration was about to start. "You are 'just Harry' to me."
For the past few weeks the diary had been her saving grace. Classes weren't going nearly as well as they had been. Since the Monday after her birthday, it seemed none of her spells went right. The goblet she was supposed to transfigure into a pincushion shuddered the moment she pointed her wand at it, then shattered into a thousand pieces. Her Befuddlement Potion made Elizabeth McKinsley, one of her Slytherin classmates, a genius, and her floating charms were complete duds. She chalked it up to nerves, but whatever it was, it was killing her. Often she found herself returning to her father's diary. It was comforting to find someone else who shared her troubles, even if it was nearly 20 years ago. Since the boy who lived *no pun intended…really J* inside these pages was her age, she had stopped calling him "Dad". To her he really was simply "Harry". He was a friend, one who understood her better even than she understood herself. He was the only one who understood. Giving a great sigh and promising to return after dinner, Abby left the room and headed for class.
They had been working on liquid transfiguration for a few weeks now, mostly with just a lot of notes. Today Professor Granger had something else in mind. When Abby walked in, there was a glass of water atop her desk – as well as on everyone else's. She looked up nervously at her teacher.
"Good afternoon, class. Now, I've had a talk with Professor Flitwick, and it seems you've all been learning a few Floating charms. I've decided that it would be excellent preparation for mid-year exams to practice those charms with what we've been learning in here. After all, Transfiguration and Charms go hand-in-hand; they're very closely related. They stem from the same origin, in fact. Anyway, I want you first to change the water in the glasses in front of you into something solid. Let's say a porcupine quill. Charm it, lift it out of the glass for a few moments, then drop it back in. Ten points to anyone who can transfigure it back into water."
Abby glared at her glass as though its contents were poison. Excellent preparation? More like a dirty trick. She took a deep, steadying breath, pointed her wand firmly at the glass, and clearly spoke the words "Arlio Finnicus". *I got tired of using Latin; I made that one up myself. Wonder if it means anything…* The tip of her wand glowed to a brilliant green shade, but that was the only reaction she got. She repeated the spell five, six, seven times, but the most she got was a misty fog on the surface of the water. Meanwhile, Paul – and nearly everyone in the class – had already turned the water into quills. Several were even zooming around the room.
Her eyes brimming with tears of frustration, she got to her feet and aimed the wand right into the water. This was her best subject! Why couldn't she do this? She had spent the summer absorbed in this book; she knew almost every spell by heart. If she couldn't do transfiguration, she couldn't do anything. This thought hovering hauntingly in her mind, she shouted, "ARLIO FINNICUS!" A single tear trickled slowly down her cheek despite her best efforts to hold it back. But then, with a very loud pop! the water became a porcupine quill.
She stared at her own wand in disbelief. As a matter of fact, so was Professor Granger. *I keep wanting to put 'McGonagall'* The water was supposed to group together into the shape of a quill. It wasn't supposed to just suddenly become, and definitely not accompanied by a "pop" sound. Nonetheless, she had done it, and that gave her a sense of relief. With a slightly trembling hand she murmured "Nedeelius Leviosa" and flicked her wand. A few more flicks and the quill was out of the glass. She struggled to make it hover the glass…but it kept going…now it was over her head…she couldn't control it…
pop! The spell was broken. The quill transfigured itself back into water, which poured down on her head and completely drenched her. No one sitting near her got so much as a drop on them; she got it all. She cried out in frustration. "I can't do this!" she exclaimed, shoving the glass away from her. "I'm a horrible witch. I can't even do a simple Levitating charm! No, Paul, let's face it – the daughter of the great Harry Potter is nothing more than a plain old ordinary squib. I HATE MAGIC!" Luckily the tears now streaming down her face were easily written off as the water she'd tried to transfigure. * ~wants to smack Abby for being such a crybaby~ LOL* The entire class gawked at her. Professor Granger rushed over, towel in hand. She had anticipated a spill, but not one like this. Abby read the slight disappointment in her teacher's eyes. Harry's words came back to her: "I hate this. I really do. I'm not perfect, so why does everyone think I am?"
"Abby, class is almost over," said Professor Granger kindly. "Why don't you go see Professor Dumbledore? He asked me to send you to his office after class, anyway." Abby nodded, wrapping her long hair inside the towel like a turban of sorts. As soon as she had set the soggy mess on her head, Lily, who sat behind her, gasped.
"Abby – your scar!" she exclaimed. Abby used the end of the towel to dry her dripping wet cheeks. She rolled her eyes at the comment, getting up to leave.
"Lily, please. It's been hurting me for weeks. You know that. It must be incredibly vivid right now, and if you please I'd really rather not hear any more comparisons of it to my father's," she said, thoroughly agitated. But her friend's penetrating stare would not leave her forehead. Come to think of it, now Paul and Professor Granger were also staring hard at the scar. Her cheeks flushed to a royal red shade. She already resented the fact that everyone knew her name and based their opinions of her on that alone. She hated the stares she got when she walked through the corridors. This was absolutely unbearable.
"No, it's – just that it's – it's brilliantly green," said Paul in a hushed whisper. Abby's eyes widened. Brilliant green? It had never done that before. Could it mean…she shuddered at the very thought. She fit her turban-like towel snugly over her forehead, struggling to disguise the mark. It's my own Dark Mark, really, she thought, scooping her books into her arms. That was it. Her and Harry's scars were nothing more than their own private Dark Marks, distinguishing them from the world for better or worse.
Professor Granger lifted an eyebrow. "Hurting you for weeks? Perhaps you'd better go to the hospital wing after you visit with the Headmaster. Go on now, he's expecting you." Abby swallowed hard and forced herself to nod. It really hadn't been hurting as much as it was aching dully, but maybe a visit to the peaceful, quiet hospital wing would do good for her. Besides, it would stop everyone gaping at her, at least for an evening. Paul and Lily jumped to walk with her, but she insisted on going on her own. She needed time to think.
What did Dumbledore want to see her for? Maybe he found out that she hadn't done a spell right for weeks. Maybe he wanted to tell her, sorry, we've made a mistake, you're not really magical. *yes, those are the same things Harry thought in book 1 when he was about to be Sorted. Bravo for noticing!* Maybe, she thought glumly, he's told my parents and they've come to take me home. She winced at the thought of her father staring down at her in disappointment. What happened to the daddy she used to play out on the swings with? What happened to "just Harry"? Certainly they were nowhere near the man who shook his head so sadly at her in her thoughts.
Her head held high with forced determination to be strong, she stepped inside Headmaster Dumbledore's room.