Harry Potter and the Locket of Trinity: Chapter Six
"The Dark Lord's Warning"
A/N: Whoa Nelly! TWO whole reviews from that last chappie-chap- chapter. World record here, people, man dang I can't believe it! Wowie- zowie.
Anonymous Reviewer "E": You don't like Avril Lavigne OR Jacie?? *sniffle* WAAAAAAAAAAActually you're entitled to you're opinion, whether you like my stuffa or not. I respect it, thanks for your review anyways!
Sakura Blossom: Aww. I'm melting with flattery! The total polar opposite of Reviewer "E", for which I'm glad. Hey, get more peeps to read mine! I'm much obliged, thanks for reading.
* * * * *
Harry woke up early the next morning to try and catch Trinity before breakfast. There were quite a bundle of things for them to talk about. So, upon arriving in the Great Hall at the crack of dawn before anyone else, he was both pleasantly surprised and nervous at spying Trinny sitting all alone at the Gryffindor table.
"Hey Trinny." Harry greeted, sitting next to her.
"Good morning Harry," she replied good-naturedly. So far so good, Harry thought, no hysterics, no screaming and punching and fit-throwing. "Look, about last night, I'm sorry for running out on you like that."
Harry waved his hand. "It's fine, I was totally out of line accusing you like that."
"Well. yes you were." Trinny said.
This was not the answer Harry was expecting. "What?"
"You were out of line, trying to predict my past by assuming something horrible like that. I thought you were using the dark arts, Harry, I seriously did. You scared me half to death." murmured Trinny with a note of insincerity in her voice. Her tone was that of a well-rehearsed speech, one not really believed in the heart.
"But - but I saw it, Trinity, I saw you! And your parents, and Vol - I mean You-Know-Who, and. it was a vision. I've had them before, and I've never been wrong." Harry stammered. There was no way she was denying this!
"Well, you're wrong this time Harry Potter. This is a picture of my parents, and I'm sure you will find that they are not the same ones you saw in your so called 'vision.'" Trinny claimed, holding out a framed wizard photograph. There stood a young couple, neither short nor tall, fat nor thin, blonde nor brunette. Basically indescribable, you run-of-the-mill parents.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "These aren't them. I-I'm sorry Trinny, maybe I was mistaken." he apologized, more to shut her up than really admit he was wrong. There was no doubting her heritage to the couple in his vision, and the people waving nicely in front of him held no resemblance to the girl beside him. She had to be lying.
"Thanks, Harry. Friends again?" Trinny asked, smiling a sympathetic smile and embracing Harry. There was something about her smile, her very demeanor that didn't say 'I forgive you for wrongly accusing me.' but rather asked 'Forgive me for lying to you.'
How could Harry refuse, with her hugging him like that? "Friends again." he agreed.
(^*^)
Harry and Trinny became even closer after that incident. Nothing more of her past was ever brought up again, and by the next Care of Magical Creatures class both pals turned in permission slips signed by Headmaster Dumbledore. Harry noticed to his immense pleasure that Malfoy handed in his father's John Hancock quite begrudgingly, eying Hagrid warily as if he were signing away his soul.
"Yeh'll be fine, the lot of yeh." the half-giant stated gruffly, grabbing the parchment from Draco's hands and stuffing it in the growing stack.
That day was actually a very exciting one, quite the improvement from last term. They took notes on the different species of grindylow from around the world, and the class was separated into different groups. At each station was a different acclimated tank with a different breed caged inside it, and on its own each group was supposed to observe the behavioral differences.
It turned out that Arctic grindylows enjoyed colder water to warmer (duh), and ate kelp and seaweed and were rarely carnivorous, besides the females in mating season. And a grindylow from the Mediterranean had a taste for spicy Italian foods, and promptly made squealing noises if it was placed in salt water. This class offered a learning experience, for a change.
At the end of the hour, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Trinny went up to congratulate their professor. "Nice job, Hagrid, that was a great class!" said Ron emphatically.
"Yeah, where'd you get that idea?" Hermione inquired.
"This 'ere dusty ol' hatrack. Fin'ly let meh creative instinct take over." Hagrid answered, beaming.
"Who would'a thought you'd have such natural teaching skills?" Harry asked, slapping his friend on the overly large shoulder.
"Yeah, nice one Hagrid." added Trinny.
"Oh, by the way 'Arry, I went inter Hogsmede and grabbed the muggle post yeh've been askin me ter." Hagrid remarked in passing, handing a stamped and addressed envelope to Harry.
"Is that a REAL muggle letter?" Ron asked in amazement.
"Just a little bit there, Ron." Harry replied sarcastically.
"Hey, why's it addressed to St. Byron's School for Boys, Sweden?" asked Hermione, noticing the phony address.
"Erm, no reason." Harry evaded. Though unsuccessfully.
"Who's it from, who's it from?" Ron chanted.
"Nobody!" cried Harry, fending off greedy hands.
"It's from your GIRLfriend, isn't it?" guessed Ron.
"Shh!" insisted Harry.
"Harry's got a girlfriend, Harry's got a girlfriend!" sang Ron.
The embarrassed boy hit him over the head. Ron shut up with a tiny swear. Risking risked a quick glance at Trinny to see of she noticed, praying once again for a loss of hearing, to Harry's dismay he noted that she was bright red. Her fists were clasped into tight balls, and her lips were pursed.
"She's NOT my girlfriend." Harry muttered.
"Ah, leave 'im alone, y'all." Hagrid ordered, and with that Ron finally closed his pie hole.
Harry wandered off to the castle lagging behind the others, and tore open Jacie's answer hurriedly. It had been about a week since he'd sent his uber-platonic letter.
My Dear Lightning-Bearer:
Things are boring, as usual, here in Stonewall. I have developed a new theory on school, and it goes something like this:
"Of all the things we learn in school, none of them are taught by a teacher. People skills, sharing, flirting, negotiation. in fact, if you think about it, after learning how to read and write, children would be better off just going to a party for the further levels of education."
Taa-daa! How does it stack up? I thought you might be starving for culture out there in Sweden all alone, surrounded by boys day in and day out. I know I would be, at least.
I miss you every day, but something tells me that we're not that far apart. Mixed up intuition, I guess. Go figure. I hope to see you during winter break, it's been too long!
With love, The amazing Jacie Lagne
Harry's heart beat faster as he read her words. He missed that girl a lot! Her hair, her theories, her Herman. and then he caught himself as Trinny popped into his head. He liked both of them so much it hurt, and it hurt ten times worse to know that he was being 'unfaithful' in a small way. His letter was supposed to give off a 'just friends' vibe, and instead he gets "With love" in reply. Harry was quite frustrated.
"What's wrong, Mr. Pouty Pants?" Trinny asked in her oddball way.
"Nothing." mumbled Harry angrily, stomping off ahead of her at a fast pace.
Trinny quickened her pace and caught up with him. "Hey now, I know that face. The ladies man is having some lady-problems, eh? Am I right?"
Harry shook his head. "No, its. nothing, just plain nothing, I swear." He almost was tempted to tell Trinny all about Jacie and his struggle to just choose one of them already, but caught himself in time. Imagine the disaster that would ensue!
Trinny looked hurt that she wasn't telling him the truth, and hugged his arm comfortingly. "Well, I hope that 'nothing' gets better soon, whatever it is." she cooed.
Harry smiled and squeezed her shoulder, happy at least that she was willing to be there for him anyway.
(^*^)
So far that year, there had been nothing mentioned of the battle against Voldemort. Since Harry was the only student that knew the magnitude to which the Dark Lord had risen again, the rest of the school just blew it off. The true enormity of the tragedy wasn't conceived. or was refused to be conceived.
To the trained eye, signs of action were being taken all over. Harry noticed that the teachers stood outside their classrooms during passing period, monitoring the passers-by. Also, very formal looking owls passed by the flock in and out of Headmaster Dumbledore's quarters, sometimes three or four at a time. Arthur Weasley was an informant in the Ministry sending Dumbledore information, deceiving Cornelius Fudge, the figurehead Minister of Magic, into thinking he was actually making any decisions at all. When, in fact, Dumbledore was the real brains behind the operation. Well, at least they were in capable hands.
Anyways, the outside world was none the wiser about Voldemort's uprising. That is, until one fateful evening in late September.
Harry had been lying in bed since five o'clock that night, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had retired with a mug of warm milk, hoping the comforting beverage would settle his nerves. Something was going to happen, he could feel it. Harry's nerves had been on edge all day. but he didn't know why. As the night progressed, the feeling just got worse until, without warning, at precisely 7:59 it stopped. It was like the eye of the hurricane, one final gulp of air before the waves pressed you below the churning water once more. Exactly one minute later, Harry's head exploded with pain.
Flashes of incomprehensible pictures flooded his mind. Families, wives, mothers, daughters, sons, parents. all being ripped away. Harry knew none of these mysterious strangers, and yet felt so intimate with them at the same time. His legs twitched, he felt clumsy footsteps and then falling, falling, even though he was lying on his bed. Rough cobblestone rushed up to meet him, paved roads, gravel drives, he was everyone and he was no one, all at once. He stared through the eyes of strangers, seeing their last fleeting moments of life, their last taste of freedom before death shackled their hearts and minds. Hooded figures loomed over Harry, the vision taking on a greenish swirl, and then frozen images of the last thing ever conceived before blackness conquered.
It was all over in a matter of seconds.
Harry fell asleep then, if you could call it that. Unconscious was more like it. Dreams of those far away lives haunted him the rest of the night.
The first time anybody heard a hint of the news was the following drizzly Thursday morning, when students and teachers alike were reading the Daily Prophet over breakfast. Ron and George were discussing the oncoming quidditch season when Hermione suddenly gasped and her cereal spoon clattered to the floor.
"Twenty-three muggles dead." she declared solemnly, and anybody within earshot immediately fell silent. Then, she began reading aloud, voices all around the Great Hall quieting as the word spread throughout the room.
"Yesterday evening, promptly when the bell tolled eight o'clock, unsuspecting muggles from all over the world dropped dead in a display of some sick synchronized scheme. Immediately afterwards, shots of the infamous Dark Mark went up all over, marking the spots where these innocents fell. Nobody knows the culprit, nobody knows the reason, and nobody knows what will ensue, but panic and foreboding have gripped the very hearts of magical and muggle peoples everywhere.
"Kashir Mennikir from the Ministry of Arabia remarked, 'I have never seen such a display of warning in my life. Something is going to happen, and it is happening soon.' Well, whatever is going on, all we can do is sit here and wait, whether for death or a savior no one knows."
Hermione finished the grim article to find a complete stupefied silence around her. Even the teachers were shocked, and Professor Sprout was drying her eyes with the hem of her robes. This was horrible.
Harry, of course, was the most terrified of all. He lay in bed, having been long awake but too haunted to open his eyes. His roommates had left him alone in bed that morning, realizing how painfully ill the poor boy was.
Thoughts of fear invaded his mind. Voldemort was back. and Harry had been forced to witness every face of the muggle that was killed, every final thought, every last spasming muscle and, in the end, every blank and fathomless stare. He could already hear the article that Hermione was dictating to the Great Hall many floors below him.
When Harry didn't show up for morning classes, Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, Professor McGonagall was worried.
"Where's Harry?" she inquired breathlessly.
"Sick, Professor." Dean Thomas answered.
"We left him in our dormitory this morning, he looked terrible." supplied Ron. At once the old witches' face was overtaken with concern and she quickly left the room, without so much as an explanation to the class. Hermione heard her muttering, "The poor boy, his connection. I'd forgotten."
Minerva McGonagall burst into the fifth year boys dormitories not two minutes later, huffing and puffing but paying no heed to her own discomfort. Of course he was sick, any time The Dark Lord cursed or killed, Harry felt and experienced it. "Harry. Harry, are you alright dear?" she whispered softly, peering at the messy black haired boy buried under the covers. She took note that his hair was plastered to his head in places from sweat.
"Up you get," she urged, and with the aide of a few well-chosen spells, the old woman took Harry to the hospital wing.
"He's in shock." Madame Pomfrey declared upon Harry's arrival, as the boy lay unmoving upon the hospital bed. He hadn't even objected when the nurse took his temperature or pressed the cold metal stethoscope against his chest to find a quick, scared pulse.
"I can only imagine the things he's witnessed about last night." Professor McGonagall uttered, shaking her head.
"I'll give him a potion for dreamless sleep, it should relax and stabilize him a bit too, and you go fetch the Headmaster. I know Albus'll want to talk things over with the boy when he awakens." the trained nurse recommended.
"But Poppy, Dumbledore's out. Went off first thing this morning, after hearing about the deaths and all. Up at the Ministry, probably, taking care of the hailstorm of owls they're getting up there."
The old nurse's face paled. "Who's in charge, then?"
Minerva looked puzzled, as if she hadn't given this problem much thought. "I suppose I am, then. Oh, God help us all."
(^*^)
Chaos had broken out by lunch, students (namely first years) were terrified at the realization of Voldemort's return had struck them. And then rumors that Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived was gone, had disappeared, began circulating. By the end of afternoon classes, the rumor had turned into an elaborate tale of him being captured, wrestled out of his room, and then later killed at the hands of Death Eaters. The Slytherins, namely, fed these rumors with a hopefulness that they might come true.
In real life, Harry Potter was sitting peacefully in the Hospital Wing, dreaming of nothing interesting in particular and being fed pureed greens by Madame Pomfrey, a thing he would've been repulsed by had he been conscious.
Minerva McGonagall was holed up in the Headmaster's office, filling out reports and paperwork about broken toilets, an expensive china set that Peeves had broken in a tantrum, and a mad ferret that was loose in the school somewhere. She had had no idea that being head of a school was so hard, and wondered what Albus' secret was to how he handled it all.
When the woman went down to the Great Hall for a well-needed dinner break, she got none. Instead she was bombarded by angry letters from parents demanding the assurance of their precious children's safety, and the wails and whinings of scared students from all around her. When Professor Flitwick politely asked for her to pass the potatoes, she snapped and yelled, "WHY CAN'T ANYONE HELP THEMSELVES AROUND THIS BLOODY CASTLE?!?!" to which the poor wizard shrank down into his seat. Professor Sprout patted him on the shoulder comfortingly and grabbed the potatoes herself, handing them to the tiny, startled man.
It was at this bad of a time that Trinity McGundron-Philips decided it would be suitable to go up and ask the substitute headmaster exactly what had become of her missing friend.
"Professor McGonagall?" Trinny asked politely.
"What do YOU want?" the woman snapped unintentionally.
"I was just wondering, ma'am, where Harry is."
Minerva's face softened a bit at the mention of the poor boy, for whom she had a bit of a soft spot. "He's in the hospital wing, dear. You know how - erm, well, what he goes through during an attack of The Dark Lord."
Trinny's eyes fell and she bit her lip. She had heard some of his horror stories during one of their long conversations. "I had totally forgotten, of course. may I go visit him?"
"He's dead asleep, and won't be up until tomorrow. You can if you really want to, though." Professor McGonagall answered, not really expecting the girl to spend all night by Harry's side in the hospital wing, holding his hand and whispering supporting and comforting things to him throughout the night.
But that is exactly what Trinity did.
* * * * *
A/N: Aww, Trinny is there for Harry in his time of need. And what a time of need. Voldemort's baaa-aaack, and more pissed off than ever. Tune in next Saturday for another installment of (da da dummm) HARRY POTTER AND THE LOCKET OF TRINITY!!!!!!
Love from,
Saranimal
HaloGal5@aol.com
P.S. Hey, I have to ask y'all a quick question about the first Harry Potter book: When Harry, Ron, and Hermione went after the Sorcerer's Stone, why were the chess board and Snape's logic puzzle vials unused when they got there? How did Quirrell get through the chess board w/o messing it up, and pass through the fire thingy w/o using up the elixir? I was confused by this.. of course, it's the fiftieth time I've read the book and I just caught it now, so yah, jus wondering. Talk to y'all later, taa-taa, and thanks for the input I'll hopefully get!!
"The Dark Lord's Warning"
A/N: Whoa Nelly! TWO whole reviews from that last chappie-chap- chapter. World record here, people, man dang I can't believe it! Wowie- zowie.
Anonymous Reviewer "E": You don't like Avril Lavigne OR Jacie?? *sniffle* WAAAAAAAAAAActually you're entitled to you're opinion, whether you like my stuffa or not. I respect it, thanks for your review anyways!
Sakura Blossom: Aww. I'm melting with flattery! The total polar opposite of Reviewer "E", for which I'm glad. Hey, get more peeps to read mine! I'm much obliged, thanks for reading.
* * * * *
Harry woke up early the next morning to try and catch Trinity before breakfast. There were quite a bundle of things for them to talk about. So, upon arriving in the Great Hall at the crack of dawn before anyone else, he was both pleasantly surprised and nervous at spying Trinny sitting all alone at the Gryffindor table.
"Hey Trinny." Harry greeted, sitting next to her.
"Good morning Harry," she replied good-naturedly. So far so good, Harry thought, no hysterics, no screaming and punching and fit-throwing. "Look, about last night, I'm sorry for running out on you like that."
Harry waved his hand. "It's fine, I was totally out of line accusing you like that."
"Well. yes you were." Trinny said.
This was not the answer Harry was expecting. "What?"
"You were out of line, trying to predict my past by assuming something horrible like that. I thought you were using the dark arts, Harry, I seriously did. You scared me half to death." murmured Trinny with a note of insincerity in her voice. Her tone was that of a well-rehearsed speech, one not really believed in the heart.
"But - but I saw it, Trinity, I saw you! And your parents, and Vol - I mean You-Know-Who, and. it was a vision. I've had them before, and I've never been wrong." Harry stammered. There was no way she was denying this!
"Well, you're wrong this time Harry Potter. This is a picture of my parents, and I'm sure you will find that they are not the same ones you saw in your so called 'vision.'" Trinny claimed, holding out a framed wizard photograph. There stood a young couple, neither short nor tall, fat nor thin, blonde nor brunette. Basically indescribable, you run-of-the-mill parents.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "These aren't them. I-I'm sorry Trinny, maybe I was mistaken." he apologized, more to shut her up than really admit he was wrong. There was no doubting her heritage to the couple in his vision, and the people waving nicely in front of him held no resemblance to the girl beside him. She had to be lying.
"Thanks, Harry. Friends again?" Trinny asked, smiling a sympathetic smile and embracing Harry. There was something about her smile, her very demeanor that didn't say 'I forgive you for wrongly accusing me.' but rather asked 'Forgive me for lying to you.'
How could Harry refuse, with her hugging him like that? "Friends again." he agreed.
(^*^)
Harry and Trinny became even closer after that incident. Nothing more of her past was ever brought up again, and by the next Care of Magical Creatures class both pals turned in permission slips signed by Headmaster Dumbledore. Harry noticed to his immense pleasure that Malfoy handed in his father's John Hancock quite begrudgingly, eying Hagrid warily as if he were signing away his soul.
"Yeh'll be fine, the lot of yeh." the half-giant stated gruffly, grabbing the parchment from Draco's hands and stuffing it in the growing stack.
That day was actually a very exciting one, quite the improvement from last term. They took notes on the different species of grindylow from around the world, and the class was separated into different groups. At each station was a different acclimated tank with a different breed caged inside it, and on its own each group was supposed to observe the behavioral differences.
It turned out that Arctic grindylows enjoyed colder water to warmer (duh), and ate kelp and seaweed and were rarely carnivorous, besides the females in mating season. And a grindylow from the Mediterranean had a taste for spicy Italian foods, and promptly made squealing noises if it was placed in salt water. This class offered a learning experience, for a change.
At the end of the hour, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Trinny went up to congratulate their professor. "Nice job, Hagrid, that was a great class!" said Ron emphatically.
"Yeah, where'd you get that idea?" Hermione inquired.
"This 'ere dusty ol' hatrack. Fin'ly let meh creative instinct take over." Hagrid answered, beaming.
"Who would'a thought you'd have such natural teaching skills?" Harry asked, slapping his friend on the overly large shoulder.
"Yeah, nice one Hagrid." added Trinny.
"Oh, by the way 'Arry, I went inter Hogsmede and grabbed the muggle post yeh've been askin me ter." Hagrid remarked in passing, handing a stamped and addressed envelope to Harry.
"Is that a REAL muggle letter?" Ron asked in amazement.
"Just a little bit there, Ron." Harry replied sarcastically.
"Hey, why's it addressed to St. Byron's School for Boys, Sweden?" asked Hermione, noticing the phony address.
"Erm, no reason." Harry evaded. Though unsuccessfully.
"Who's it from, who's it from?" Ron chanted.
"Nobody!" cried Harry, fending off greedy hands.
"It's from your GIRLfriend, isn't it?" guessed Ron.
"Shh!" insisted Harry.
"Harry's got a girlfriend, Harry's got a girlfriend!" sang Ron.
The embarrassed boy hit him over the head. Ron shut up with a tiny swear. Risking risked a quick glance at Trinny to see of she noticed, praying once again for a loss of hearing, to Harry's dismay he noted that she was bright red. Her fists were clasped into tight balls, and her lips were pursed.
"She's NOT my girlfriend." Harry muttered.
"Ah, leave 'im alone, y'all." Hagrid ordered, and with that Ron finally closed his pie hole.
Harry wandered off to the castle lagging behind the others, and tore open Jacie's answer hurriedly. It had been about a week since he'd sent his uber-platonic letter.
My Dear Lightning-Bearer:
Things are boring, as usual, here in Stonewall. I have developed a new theory on school, and it goes something like this:
"Of all the things we learn in school, none of them are taught by a teacher. People skills, sharing, flirting, negotiation. in fact, if you think about it, after learning how to read and write, children would be better off just going to a party for the further levels of education."
Taa-daa! How does it stack up? I thought you might be starving for culture out there in Sweden all alone, surrounded by boys day in and day out. I know I would be, at least.
I miss you every day, but something tells me that we're not that far apart. Mixed up intuition, I guess. Go figure. I hope to see you during winter break, it's been too long!
With love, The amazing Jacie Lagne
Harry's heart beat faster as he read her words. He missed that girl a lot! Her hair, her theories, her Herman. and then he caught himself as Trinny popped into his head. He liked both of them so much it hurt, and it hurt ten times worse to know that he was being 'unfaithful' in a small way. His letter was supposed to give off a 'just friends' vibe, and instead he gets "With love" in reply. Harry was quite frustrated.
"What's wrong, Mr. Pouty Pants?" Trinny asked in her oddball way.
"Nothing." mumbled Harry angrily, stomping off ahead of her at a fast pace.
Trinny quickened her pace and caught up with him. "Hey now, I know that face. The ladies man is having some lady-problems, eh? Am I right?"
Harry shook his head. "No, its. nothing, just plain nothing, I swear." He almost was tempted to tell Trinny all about Jacie and his struggle to just choose one of them already, but caught himself in time. Imagine the disaster that would ensue!
Trinny looked hurt that she wasn't telling him the truth, and hugged his arm comfortingly. "Well, I hope that 'nothing' gets better soon, whatever it is." she cooed.
Harry smiled and squeezed her shoulder, happy at least that she was willing to be there for him anyway.
(^*^)
So far that year, there had been nothing mentioned of the battle against Voldemort. Since Harry was the only student that knew the magnitude to which the Dark Lord had risen again, the rest of the school just blew it off. The true enormity of the tragedy wasn't conceived. or was refused to be conceived.
To the trained eye, signs of action were being taken all over. Harry noticed that the teachers stood outside their classrooms during passing period, monitoring the passers-by. Also, very formal looking owls passed by the flock in and out of Headmaster Dumbledore's quarters, sometimes three or four at a time. Arthur Weasley was an informant in the Ministry sending Dumbledore information, deceiving Cornelius Fudge, the figurehead Minister of Magic, into thinking he was actually making any decisions at all. When, in fact, Dumbledore was the real brains behind the operation. Well, at least they were in capable hands.
Anyways, the outside world was none the wiser about Voldemort's uprising. That is, until one fateful evening in late September.
Harry had been lying in bed since five o'clock that night, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had retired with a mug of warm milk, hoping the comforting beverage would settle his nerves. Something was going to happen, he could feel it. Harry's nerves had been on edge all day. but he didn't know why. As the night progressed, the feeling just got worse until, without warning, at precisely 7:59 it stopped. It was like the eye of the hurricane, one final gulp of air before the waves pressed you below the churning water once more. Exactly one minute later, Harry's head exploded with pain.
Flashes of incomprehensible pictures flooded his mind. Families, wives, mothers, daughters, sons, parents. all being ripped away. Harry knew none of these mysterious strangers, and yet felt so intimate with them at the same time. His legs twitched, he felt clumsy footsteps and then falling, falling, even though he was lying on his bed. Rough cobblestone rushed up to meet him, paved roads, gravel drives, he was everyone and he was no one, all at once. He stared through the eyes of strangers, seeing their last fleeting moments of life, their last taste of freedom before death shackled their hearts and minds. Hooded figures loomed over Harry, the vision taking on a greenish swirl, and then frozen images of the last thing ever conceived before blackness conquered.
It was all over in a matter of seconds.
Harry fell asleep then, if you could call it that. Unconscious was more like it. Dreams of those far away lives haunted him the rest of the night.
The first time anybody heard a hint of the news was the following drizzly Thursday morning, when students and teachers alike were reading the Daily Prophet over breakfast. Ron and George were discussing the oncoming quidditch season when Hermione suddenly gasped and her cereal spoon clattered to the floor.
"Twenty-three muggles dead." she declared solemnly, and anybody within earshot immediately fell silent. Then, she began reading aloud, voices all around the Great Hall quieting as the word spread throughout the room.
"Yesterday evening, promptly when the bell tolled eight o'clock, unsuspecting muggles from all over the world dropped dead in a display of some sick synchronized scheme. Immediately afterwards, shots of the infamous Dark Mark went up all over, marking the spots where these innocents fell. Nobody knows the culprit, nobody knows the reason, and nobody knows what will ensue, but panic and foreboding have gripped the very hearts of magical and muggle peoples everywhere.
"Kashir Mennikir from the Ministry of Arabia remarked, 'I have never seen such a display of warning in my life. Something is going to happen, and it is happening soon.' Well, whatever is going on, all we can do is sit here and wait, whether for death or a savior no one knows."
Hermione finished the grim article to find a complete stupefied silence around her. Even the teachers were shocked, and Professor Sprout was drying her eyes with the hem of her robes. This was horrible.
Harry, of course, was the most terrified of all. He lay in bed, having been long awake but too haunted to open his eyes. His roommates had left him alone in bed that morning, realizing how painfully ill the poor boy was.
Thoughts of fear invaded his mind. Voldemort was back. and Harry had been forced to witness every face of the muggle that was killed, every final thought, every last spasming muscle and, in the end, every blank and fathomless stare. He could already hear the article that Hermione was dictating to the Great Hall many floors below him.
When Harry didn't show up for morning classes, Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, Professor McGonagall was worried.
"Where's Harry?" she inquired breathlessly.
"Sick, Professor." Dean Thomas answered.
"We left him in our dormitory this morning, he looked terrible." supplied Ron. At once the old witches' face was overtaken with concern and she quickly left the room, without so much as an explanation to the class. Hermione heard her muttering, "The poor boy, his connection. I'd forgotten."
Minerva McGonagall burst into the fifth year boys dormitories not two minutes later, huffing and puffing but paying no heed to her own discomfort. Of course he was sick, any time The Dark Lord cursed or killed, Harry felt and experienced it. "Harry. Harry, are you alright dear?" she whispered softly, peering at the messy black haired boy buried under the covers. She took note that his hair was plastered to his head in places from sweat.
"Up you get," she urged, and with the aide of a few well-chosen spells, the old woman took Harry to the hospital wing.
"He's in shock." Madame Pomfrey declared upon Harry's arrival, as the boy lay unmoving upon the hospital bed. He hadn't even objected when the nurse took his temperature or pressed the cold metal stethoscope against his chest to find a quick, scared pulse.
"I can only imagine the things he's witnessed about last night." Professor McGonagall uttered, shaking her head.
"I'll give him a potion for dreamless sleep, it should relax and stabilize him a bit too, and you go fetch the Headmaster. I know Albus'll want to talk things over with the boy when he awakens." the trained nurse recommended.
"But Poppy, Dumbledore's out. Went off first thing this morning, after hearing about the deaths and all. Up at the Ministry, probably, taking care of the hailstorm of owls they're getting up there."
The old nurse's face paled. "Who's in charge, then?"
Minerva looked puzzled, as if she hadn't given this problem much thought. "I suppose I am, then. Oh, God help us all."
(^*^)
Chaos had broken out by lunch, students (namely first years) were terrified at the realization of Voldemort's return had struck them. And then rumors that Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived was gone, had disappeared, began circulating. By the end of afternoon classes, the rumor had turned into an elaborate tale of him being captured, wrestled out of his room, and then later killed at the hands of Death Eaters. The Slytherins, namely, fed these rumors with a hopefulness that they might come true.
In real life, Harry Potter was sitting peacefully in the Hospital Wing, dreaming of nothing interesting in particular and being fed pureed greens by Madame Pomfrey, a thing he would've been repulsed by had he been conscious.
Minerva McGonagall was holed up in the Headmaster's office, filling out reports and paperwork about broken toilets, an expensive china set that Peeves had broken in a tantrum, and a mad ferret that was loose in the school somewhere. She had had no idea that being head of a school was so hard, and wondered what Albus' secret was to how he handled it all.
When the woman went down to the Great Hall for a well-needed dinner break, she got none. Instead she was bombarded by angry letters from parents demanding the assurance of their precious children's safety, and the wails and whinings of scared students from all around her. When Professor Flitwick politely asked for her to pass the potatoes, she snapped and yelled, "WHY CAN'T ANYONE HELP THEMSELVES AROUND THIS BLOODY CASTLE?!?!" to which the poor wizard shrank down into his seat. Professor Sprout patted him on the shoulder comfortingly and grabbed the potatoes herself, handing them to the tiny, startled man.
It was at this bad of a time that Trinity McGundron-Philips decided it would be suitable to go up and ask the substitute headmaster exactly what had become of her missing friend.
"Professor McGonagall?" Trinny asked politely.
"What do YOU want?" the woman snapped unintentionally.
"I was just wondering, ma'am, where Harry is."
Minerva's face softened a bit at the mention of the poor boy, for whom she had a bit of a soft spot. "He's in the hospital wing, dear. You know how - erm, well, what he goes through during an attack of The Dark Lord."
Trinny's eyes fell and she bit her lip. She had heard some of his horror stories during one of their long conversations. "I had totally forgotten, of course. may I go visit him?"
"He's dead asleep, and won't be up until tomorrow. You can if you really want to, though." Professor McGonagall answered, not really expecting the girl to spend all night by Harry's side in the hospital wing, holding his hand and whispering supporting and comforting things to him throughout the night.
But that is exactly what Trinity did.
* * * * *
A/N: Aww, Trinny is there for Harry in his time of need. And what a time of need. Voldemort's baaa-aaack, and more pissed off than ever. Tune in next Saturday for another installment of (da da dummm) HARRY POTTER AND THE LOCKET OF TRINITY!!!!!!
Love from,
Saranimal
HaloGal5@aol.com
P.S. Hey, I have to ask y'all a quick question about the first Harry Potter book: When Harry, Ron, and Hermione went after the Sorcerer's Stone, why were the chess board and Snape's logic puzzle vials unused when they got there? How did Quirrell get through the chess board w/o messing it up, and pass through the fire thingy w/o using up the elixir? I was confused by this.. of course, it's the fiftieth time I've read the book and I just caught it now, so yah, jus wondering. Talk to y'all later, taa-taa, and thanks for the input I'll hopefully get!!