Harry Potter and Gryffindor's Secret
Ch. 17: In Which Something Major Happens
By: Lin-z
"You coming to practice tonight mate?" George asked, sliding into the seat next to Harry at breakfast.
"Of course I am!" Harry responded enthusiastically. Madam Pomfrey had released him from the hospital wing the day before, and, after over two weeks in the hospital; he had been only too ready.
"Wicked!" Fred said. "We have to figure out how we're going to fill the vacancies on the team, and now that Wood's gone, we need a new captain too. Tonight at 7 alright?"
"I'll be there!" Fred and George smiled, clapped him on the back, and went to go 'talk business' with their friend Lee.
The windows snapped open, and the Great Hall was suddenly flooded in a barrage of owls of all shapes and sizes. A brown post owl dropped the "Daily Prophet" on Hermione's plate. A midnight black owl swooped in, soaring gracefully through the air. Harry and his friends stared as the owl sped past the Slytherin table to drop a sleek black envelope right in front of Harry.
"What is that?" Hermione asked.
"A letter for Harry," Ron answered sarcastically with a smirk.
Hermione ignored him. "Who's it from?"
Harry picked it up and inspected it. There was no name or address, but as he turned it over in his hands, something caught his eye that sent his stomach into painful tumbles. Stamped in bright green sealing wax was the Dark Mark.
"So who's it…" Ron trailed off as he leaned over and caught a glimpse of the seal. He paled instantly, which caught the attention of Hermione, who was sitting facing them on the other side of the table. Worried, she plucked the envelope from Harry's hands.
"Oh no," she whispered. "Harry, you should see Dumbledore about this… It could be bad," she said, slowly handing it back.
Harry took it back and stared at it, brows furrowed in determination. "No," he shook his head gently. "I need to open it." With that, he stood and left the Great Hall.
He strode quickly from the hall, willing his friends to leave him alone. He didn't know precisely where he was going, but rather felt a sort of pull that told him where he needed to go. He climbed staircase after staircase, some up, some leading back down, until he came to a darkened corridor on the fifth floor.
The portraits on this corridor were dark and sleepy; they barely noticed the boy as he strode down the deserted hallway. He felt compelled to stop in front of a painting towards the end of the corridor. This one contained an older man of about forty-five years, tall with long black hair pulled back in a scarlet band. The blue eyes were bright, and it looked as though this was the one portrait that someone had actually been bothered to care for. He was dressed in ancient battle regalia, with a silver sword in one hand and in the other, a shield with a rampant lion.
The man smiled when Harry came to a stop in front of his portrait. "Hello, young Mr. Potter," he said. The man had a cheerful smile, lighting his visage and transforming it to an almost entirely different person.
Barely surprised at being recognized, Harry responded with a soft "Hello, Sir."
"I am called Sir Rutherford of the Hollows, and I have been awaiting you," the man said, swinging forward to grant Harry entrance.
"Thank you, Sir Rutherford," Harry said, stepping into the room behind the painting.
The chamber, though large and spacious, had a comforting feel about it. The room was circular, shaped in much the same manner as the Gryffindor common room. A fire sparked and its tendrils of vibrant flames reached up, tickling the flue. A portrait of a man hung in an antique golden frame above the fireplace. The man looked strikingly familiar to Harry, though he couldn't pinpoint just why. He had long black hair, green eyes that held a hidden fire, and was dressed as some sort of warrior from long ago.
The letter in Harry's hand grew warm, reminding Harry of the reason he was there in the first place, and the butterflies in his stomach returned with a vengeance. With a deal of trepidation, he made his way to one of the high-backed crimson chairs situated in front of the fireplace. Slowly, he broke the waxen seal and began to unfold the parchment within.
Immediately after he pulled it open, the quiet stillness was wrenched by the sound of pained screams. They reverberated around the walls, invading Harry's mind and sending his stomach to the floor as he recognized the voice – it was Ginny. Voldemort had Ginny.
Ginny's cries continued, joined shortly by an icy cold cackle that Harry recognized at once.
"Avada Kedavra," Voldemort said. The screams stopped, and the room was suddenly filled with a silence almost more deafening than the screams had been. "You really should keep better track of your friends Mr. Potter… Miss Weasley would still be alive today if she thought someone cared for her."
Stifling stillness descended upon the room once more, and Harry was barely aware of the warm tears sliding down his cheek. Another friend was gone because of him; his best friend's sister was dead.
Ginny was dead.
The parchment burst into flames, burning quickly till there was nothing left but a small pile of soot in his hand. Dazedly, he got up and threw the ashes into the flames. He couldn't get his mind away from Ginny's screams, and Voldemort's menacing voice declaring that she could be alive today if someone had cared enough for her. She could be eating breakfast with her brothers, but instead… Harry didn't even want to think of it.
Anguished thoughts of Ron began to fill his head – how was he going to break this to his best friend of four years? Some best friend he was- because of him, Ron's sister was dead. A decidedly sick feeling filled his stomach as he thought of how to break the news.
After a few minutes of tormented indecision, he decided the only thing to do now was to tell the Headmaster. Deliberately he got up from the chair, wavering as an unbelievable pain hit him fiercely in the stomach. He found himself hoping he wasn't getting sick again as he headed for Professor Dumbledore's office.
He ignored Sir Rutherford's inquiries and didn't stop until he had reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. He realized he didn't know the password, and stood there for a moment staring at it, willing it to open. A gentle tap on his shoulder startled him from his concentration, and he spun around to face Professor Dumbledore, recently returned from breakfast.
The headmaster's smile faded quickly as he noticed Harry's puffy red eyes. "Would you like to speak in my office?" he said gently.
Harry nodded despondently and followed the headmaster up the spiraling staircase to his office.
Dumbledore sat behind his creatively cluttered desk and pushed aside some of the parchments he had been working with the previous day. He silently beckoned Harry to take a seat, and folded his hands, politely waiting until the boy was ready to begin on his own.
"I…" Harry began, twisting his hands in his lap, staring at an ornate swirl on the rug. "I got an owl from Voldemort today," he paused. "I- it's Ginny… she's," at this point Harry faltered a bit before continuing. "She's… dead, sir." He put his head in on his palms, and Professor Dumbledore could tell from the shaking of his shoulders that Harry was trying diligently not to cry.
Quietly the headmaster rose from his desk and took the chair nearest to Harry, putting a comforting arm about the boy's shoulder.
"It's my fault," Harry mumbled, almost inaudibly, a few moments later. "He said she would still be alive if she thought someone cared about her." His forehead still rested in his palms, though his shoulders were no longer trembling.
"Harry, look at me please," Dumbledore said, waiting until Harry's head lifted enough that he could see the boy's eyes. Fawkes chirruped softly from his perch in the corner, and Dumbledore took a deep breath before continuing. "Harry, Voldemort has his own agenda. He will do whatever he will do, and I want you to know that whatever Voldemort does is not your fault. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded slightly to show that he understood. "I just feel like none of this would have happened if I had just died with my parents that Halloween night. I've done nothing but put my friends in danger since I came here…"
Dumbledore sighed as he stood. "Harry, your life will be full of 'what- ifs.' God only knows mine is. But what you need to understand is that what has happened has happened, and we must do all that we may do to assure that the future will be better. Now, imagine for a moment that you had died that night. Voldemort would have lived, and he would have gone on to kill many others. He would have continued to rise in power, and who knows what life would be like for those who survived. Granted, he has been restored, but there were thirteen amazing years in which the Wizarding world was able to live in peace, without threat of Voldemort. Think of all the lives that have been saved, Harry! Not to mention the friends you've made…" Dumbledore paused as he went to kneel in front of Harry, looking him straight in the eyes. "Harry, I want you to know that you have made a difference, and that Miss Weasley's death is in no way your fault."
Harry turned away from the professor's gaze and nodded. "How am I going to tell the Weasleys? They're all going to hate me now…"
"Don't worry about that," Dumbledore said, "I'll see to it that they're told. Now, would you like to go to class today? Or would you rather I called Sirius over? Nevermind, silly question really," Dumbledore said to himself as he made his way to the fireplace. He tossed a bit of purple powder into the flames and shouted for 'Sirius Black.' The fire returned to normal, and the two of them waited until Sirius came flying in, out of breath.
"Is something wrong, headmaster? Is Harry alright??"
"He's fine, Mr. Black, but I think it would be beneficial if you could take him out for a bit."
"Certainly," Sirius answered as he stepped further into the room. He came around to where Harry was sitting, staring off into space. He gently rested his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Care to go for a walk?" Harry nodded and stood up, and Sirius escorted him from Dumbledore's office.
Once they had left, Professor Dumbledore retired to his desk, taking up a quill and a piece of parchment. Slowly he penned a note requesting the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in his office as soon as possible…
So there it is, another chapter. Yes, it's short, and yes, it was a long time in coming, but hey, at least you've got it, right? Let me know what you think. Thanks to Essence of Magic for her excellent task-driving skills… :)
Ch. 17: In Which Something Major Happens
By: Lin-z
"You coming to practice tonight mate?" George asked, sliding into the seat next to Harry at breakfast.
"Of course I am!" Harry responded enthusiastically. Madam Pomfrey had released him from the hospital wing the day before, and, after over two weeks in the hospital; he had been only too ready.
"Wicked!" Fred said. "We have to figure out how we're going to fill the vacancies on the team, and now that Wood's gone, we need a new captain too. Tonight at 7 alright?"
"I'll be there!" Fred and George smiled, clapped him on the back, and went to go 'talk business' with their friend Lee.
The windows snapped open, and the Great Hall was suddenly flooded in a barrage of owls of all shapes and sizes. A brown post owl dropped the "Daily Prophet" on Hermione's plate. A midnight black owl swooped in, soaring gracefully through the air. Harry and his friends stared as the owl sped past the Slytherin table to drop a sleek black envelope right in front of Harry.
"What is that?" Hermione asked.
"A letter for Harry," Ron answered sarcastically with a smirk.
Hermione ignored him. "Who's it from?"
Harry picked it up and inspected it. There was no name or address, but as he turned it over in his hands, something caught his eye that sent his stomach into painful tumbles. Stamped in bright green sealing wax was the Dark Mark.
"So who's it…" Ron trailed off as he leaned over and caught a glimpse of the seal. He paled instantly, which caught the attention of Hermione, who was sitting facing them on the other side of the table. Worried, she plucked the envelope from Harry's hands.
"Oh no," she whispered. "Harry, you should see Dumbledore about this… It could be bad," she said, slowly handing it back.
Harry took it back and stared at it, brows furrowed in determination. "No," he shook his head gently. "I need to open it." With that, he stood and left the Great Hall.
He strode quickly from the hall, willing his friends to leave him alone. He didn't know precisely where he was going, but rather felt a sort of pull that told him where he needed to go. He climbed staircase after staircase, some up, some leading back down, until he came to a darkened corridor on the fifth floor.
The portraits on this corridor were dark and sleepy; they barely noticed the boy as he strode down the deserted hallway. He felt compelled to stop in front of a painting towards the end of the corridor. This one contained an older man of about forty-five years, tall with long black hair pulled back in a scarlet band. The blue eyes were bright, and it looked as though this was the one portrait that someone had actually been bothered to care for. He was dressed in ancient battle regalia, with a silver sword in one hand and in the other, a shield with a rampant lion.
The man smiled when Harry came to a stop in front of his portrait. "Hello, young Mr. Potter," he said. The man had a cheerful smile, lighting his visage and transforming it to an almost entirely different person.
Barely surprised at being recognized, Harry responded with a soft "Hello, Sir."
"I am called Sir Rutherford of the Hollows, and I have been awaiting you," the man said, swinging forward to grant Harry entrance.
"Thank you, Sir Rutherford," Harry said, stepping into the room behind the painting.
The chamber, though large and spacious, had a comforting feel about it. The room was circular, shaped in much the same manner as the Gryffindor common room. A fire sparked and its tendrils of vibrant flames reached up, tickling the flue. A portrait of a man hung in an antique golden frame above the fireplace. The man looked strikingly familiar to Harry, though he couldn't pinpoint just why. He had long black hair, green eyes that held a hidden fire, and was dressed as some sort of warrior from long ago.
The letter in Harry's hand grew warm, reminding Harry of the reason he was there in the first place, and the butterflies in his stomach returned with a vengeance. With a deal of trepidation, he made his way to one of the high-backed crimson chairs situated in front of the fireplace. Slowly, he broke the waxen seal and began to unfold the parchment within.
Immediately after he pulled it open, the quiet stillness was wrenched by the sound of pained screams. They reverberated around the walls, invading Harry's mind and sending his stomach to the floor as he recognized the voice – it was Ginny. Voldemort had Ginny.
Ginny's cries continued, joined shortly by an icy cold cackle that Harry recognized at once.
"Avada Kedavra," Voldemort said. The screams stopped, and the room was suddenly filled with a silence almost more deafening than the screams had been. "You really should keep better track of your friends Mr. Potter… Miss Weasley would still be alive today if she thought someone cared for her."
Stifling stillness descended upon the room once more, and Harry was barely aware of the warm tears sliding down his cheek. Another friend was gone because of him; his best friend's sister was dead.
Ginny was dead.
The parchment burst into flames, burning quickly till there was nothing left but a small pile of soot in his hand. Dazedly, he got up and threw the ashes into the flames. He couldn't get his mind away from Ginny's screams, and Voldemort's menacing voice declaring that she could be alive today if someone had cared enough for her. She could be eating breakfast with her brothers, but instead… Harry didn't even want to think of it.
Anguished thoughts of Ron began to fill his head – how was he going to break this to his best friend of four years? Some best friend he was- because of him, Ron's sister was dead. A decidedly sick feeling filled his stomach as he thought of how to break the news.
After a few minutes of tormented indecision, he decided the only thing to do now was to tell the Headmaster. Deliberately he got up from the chair, wavering as an unbelievable pain hit him fiercely in the stomach. He found himself hoping he wasn't getting sick again as he headed for Professor Dumbledore's office.
He ignored Sir Rutherford's inquiries and didn't stop until he had reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. He realized he didn't know the password, and stood there for a moment staring at it, willing it to open. A gentle tap on his shoulder startled him from his concentration, and he spun around to face Professor Dumbledore, recently returned from breakfast.
The headmaster's smile faded quickly as he noticed Harry's puffy red eyes. "Would you like to speak in my office?" he said gently.
Harry nodded despondently and followed the headmaster up the spiraling staircase to his office.
Dumbledore sat behind his creatively cluttered desk and pushed aside some of the parchments he had been working with the previous day. He silently beckoned Harry to take a seat, and folded his hands, politely waiting until the boy was ready to begin on his own.
"I…" Harry began, twisting his hands in his lap, staring at an ornate swirl on the rug. "I got an owl from Voldemort today," he paused. "I- it's Ginny… she's," at this point Harry faltered a bit before continuing. "She's… dead, sir." He put his head in on his palms, and Professor Dumbledore could tell from the shaking of his shoulders that Harry was trying diligently not to cry.
Quietly the headmaster rose from his desk and took the chair nearest to Harry, putting a comforting arm about the boy's shoulder.
"It's my fault," Harry mumbled, almost inaudibly, a few moments later. "He said she would still be alive if she thought someone cared about her." His forehead still rested in his palms, though his shoulders were no longer trembling.
"Harry, look at me please," Dumbledore said, waiting until Harry's head lifted enough that he could see the boy's eyes. Fawkes chirruped softly from his perch in the corner, and Dumbledore took a deep breath before continuing. "Harry, Voldemort has his own agenda. He will do whatever he will do, and I want you to know that whatever Voldemort does is not your fault. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded slightly to show that he understood. "I just feel like none of this would have happened if I had just died with my parents that Halloween night. I've done nothing but put my friends in danger since I came here…"
Dumbledore sighed as he stood. "Harry, your life will be full of 'what- ifs.' God only knows mine is. But what you need to understand is that what has happened has happened, and we must do all that we may do to assure that the future will be better. Now, imagine for a moment that you had died that night. Voldemort would have lived, and he would have gone on to kill many others. He would have continued to rise in power, and who knows what life would be like for those who survived. Granted, he has been restored, but there were thirteen amazing years in which the Wizarding world was able to live in peace, without threat of Voldemort. Think of all the lives that have been saved, Harry! Not to mention the friends you've made…" Dumbledore paused as he went to kneel in front of Harry, looking him straight in the eyes. "Harry, I want you to know that you have made a difference, and that Miss Weasley's death is in no way your fault."
Harry turned away from the professor's gaze and nodded. "How am I going to tell the Weasleys? They're all going to hate me now…"
"Don't worry about that," Dumbledore said, "I'll see to it that they're told. Now, would you like to go to class today? Or would you rather I called Sirius over? Nevermind, silly question really," Dumbledore said to himself as he made his way to the fireplace. He tossed a bit of purple powder into the flames and shouted for 'Sirius Black.' The fire returned to normal, and the two of them waited until Sirius came flying in, out of breath.
"Is something wrong, headmaster? Is Harry alright??"
"He's fine, Mr. Black, but I think it would be beneficial if you could take him out for a bit."
"Certainly," Sirius answered as he stepped further into the room. He came around to where Harry was sitting, staring off into space. He gently rested his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Care to go for a walk?" Harry nodded and stood up, and Sirius escorted him from Dumbledore's office.
Once they had left, Professor Dumbledore retired to his desk, taking up a quill and a piece of parchment. Slowly he penned a note requesting the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in his office as soon as possible…
So there it is, another chapter. Yes, it's short, and yes, it was a long time in coming, but hey, at least you've got it, right? Let me know what you think. Thanks to Essence of Magic for her excellent task-driving skills… :)