Episode Seventy Five

Part One

            March arrived with blustery winds and heavy rainfall. The project was going well. Harry spent most of his time scrying now, much to the chagrin of Hermione and Ron who felt rather snubbed by their third musketeer. So much for one for all.

            The research team had uncovered nearly seventy words and Gwen was almost thinking of adding more to their list if they had time before the term ended. She was a little busy however to really think further on that idea or the coincidence of the Stags.

            She had her hands full with her first official Professor Smithless class. He was going to be just down the hall in his office in case of emergency, but this day was her day to forge ahead on her own. She was jittery and over excited. Her lesson plans shook in her hand as she tried to sooth her nerves. It was a good thing she wasn't drinking any coffee at breakfast, it would only make her quiver more.

            But Gwen would never have the chance to teach that day. An large screech owl swooped in as many others did to deliver the mail. This one veered for the head table and dropped a small package in Gwen's lap. She hadn't been expecting any packages and couldn't imagine where this one would have come from.

             The letter on top of the package was addressed to Miss Guenivere LeFey. She opened it gingerly, almost fearing something so formal. It read as follows:

            "Dear Guenivere,

            Graves entrusted me with this package before his travels. In the event that he could not return to give it to you himself he asked that I would do so. I am sad to report that he has perished as a result of those travels and therefore I am passing this package onto you.

            Sincerely,

            Adam Larkin"

            Gwen's vision blurred, her head reeling from the word: perished. She dropped the letter, didn't bother to open the package. It just couldn't be true. She knew that Corwin's work had been important as well as dangerous, but she never expected that he was in mortal peril.

            Her brow crinkled. Who was Adam Larkin? Could she trust his word? She had never met him, but she vaguely remembered Graves speaking about him on one occasion. He was a Slytherin, in the same year as Graves.

            She felt a hand on her shoulder, lost in her thoughts once again. It was Professor Smith and with a gentle nod she was out of her seat and trailing down the hall and up the stairs to her office. He followed with her package and letter in hand, Minerva not far behind him.

Part Two

            Gwen sat with her head in her hands, elbows leaned over her desk. She was too shocked to cry, too angry to respond to any consoling. She could only think again and again, why has this happened?

            As if taking her father and then her mother wasn't enough. As if torturing her, Harry, Graves and many other wizards and witches wasn't enough. As if the entire world in agony wasn't enough for Lord Voldemort. There was a quiet rage brewing in Gwen's belly and it would only be a matter of time before it swelled close enough to her heart to spurn her on to action.

            Minerva and Anthony sat silently in the chairs across from her. They didn't dare speak or move until she made some signal that she knew they were there. She cleared her throat, lifted her head from her hand and sighed.

            "Do you know if this is true?" She said, pushing the letter to Anthony. She couldn't bear to say it out loud.

            Anthony read quickly and passed the parchment to Minerva. He shook his head. "No, I've heard nothing."

            Minerva looked between them. Before Gwen's package drop she had received her usual mail, a copy of the Daily Prophet morning edition. She had been reading a headline about a wizard's body being discovered. She pulled the copy out of her robe pocket and looked very closely at the picture.

            She didn't have a photographic memory, but there were some students whose faces were very unforgettable. Corwin Graves had one of those faces. Minerva's hopes fell as she recognized the lifeless corpse on the cover of the newspaper. She passed it to Gwen, unable to make the words work for her.

            Gwen inhaled deeply as she reviewed the evidence before her. She couldn't deny it any longer. Corwin Graves, like many wizards before him was dead and for what price? How much did his life cost to the Order? Was his work so important that he had to die for it?

            There was nothing left to do but open the package resting on the edge of her desk. She reached out a timid hand, pulled back the plain brown paper and tore at the tape, some of her anger relieved on the task of ripping at the flimsy wrapping.

            She opened the lid.

Part Three

            Gwen stared in disbelief. She was staring at the rune set she had made in the dream world at Graves suggestion. It was perfectly preserved, the misshapen stones laying in a heap at the bottom of the box. They weren't very big, didn't take up very much space.

            Included was a sparkling blue satchel that looked as if it had been hand made. She looked at the liner, it was maroon with a tiny black snowflake residing at one edge of the fabric. The drawstrings of the bag were blue silky ribbon. She recognized it as her own handiwork, another creation she had painstakingly made in the dream world.

            There was a note at the bottom of the box, scratched in Graves own hand. She opened it with a hunger, a fervent curiosity overtaking her grief.

            "Dear Gwen,

            I'm either dead or disappeared if you've received this letter. Adam has been given my full seal of approval and if you ever stop ogling Potter, I'd suggest dating him. He's like me, but nicer. In any case you probably have some questions for me.

            Like how did I find these if they were made in the dream world? Well, if you remember properly your mother made a doppelganger of me in that world. The problem with doppelgangers is that they often share memory and whether or not she intended to, I was starting to remember things that had never happened in this world.

            It took some pretty strong magic but I found this dream world. It doesn't seem possible, but just because it existed in your mind doesn't mean it never existed at all. The fabric of dreams is pretty strange stuff. I waded through and found these, remembering how proud you were of them. They brought us together in that world. Had you stayed there I might have had a chance with you.

            But that's in the past and I forgive you any schoolgirl obsession you have on the hot jock. I'm kidding, don't tell Harry I said that. It took even more magic to bring them back to our world, but it was worth it. It was worth it just to know that you'll have these in your possession and that because of them, you'll never forget me.

            Love and honor,

            Corwin Graves"

            Anthony cleared his throat. "Classes are about to start."

            Gwen nodded.

            "Why don't you take a personal day, Guenivere." Minerva said softly. "I'm sure Professor Smith can handle his own classes."

            "I was going to teach today." She protested weakly.

            "You can teach tomorrow." Anthony smiled. "Take some time to recover."

            Gwen watched as they trailed out of her office. She turned back to the box in her lap. She caressed the stones one last time before placing them one by one into the homemade bag. When she had finished she stowed the package in her top left drawer. She folded both letters carefully and placed them there as well.

            She stood carefully, straightened her robes and walked slowly to her bedroom. A few students straggled on the way to class and looked at her fearfully, as if she would take points away from their houses, but were left to whisper in confusion as she floated past them, not noticing.

            She leaned against her door once it had clicked shut. A deep sobbing moan escaped her chest and she slide down to a ball on the floor. She lay there in a heap as the despair spread over her. It ached sharply, reminding her acutely of the Cruciatus Curse.

            She couldn't breath, she couldn't talk, she couldn't move. She couldn't do anything except lay there as the anger, confusion and depression washed over her again and again. It would be hours before she could muster the energy to crawl into bed. It would be hours before she could fall into a fitful sleep. It would be days before she would get out of bed again, and then only to close the curtains because the light was blinding her.

Part Four

Gwen had lost track of the days that she'd been lying in her room. For all she knew it could've been a year. It felt like that much. There had been many thoughts repeating in her head, over and over. They formed into a chain, a sort of rosary that she repeated to herself daily and nightly.

Perhaps it was the depression she'd fallen into. Perhaps it had been the lack of human contact, or the food she couldn't bring herself to eat. Perhaps it had been simply an illusion in her dazed state. But that night someone was sitting at the end of her bed.

"Hello Gwen." He said softly. His voice was deep and beguiling. Many years prior that voice would have calmed and comforted her. Tonight it struck a chord of fear she could hum to.

"No." She said softly, her mind muddy. "It can't be."

"You didn't think I'd want to miss this. The most important moment of your life."

"What are you talking about?" She said, she kept closing and opening her eyes hoping the illusion would disappear as quickly as it had come. She shook her head slowly, trying to wake out of the stupor.

"The moment when you decide the path you'll take from here on out."

She was starting to gain a sense of what was happening. Logic was starting to come back to her. "There is no path." She started. "Just a jumble of decisions. No one decision is that powerful."

Henry LeFey smiled at his daughter. She was too sharp for her own good.

Gwen woke in a feverish sweat. The room was humid, the sun peeking through the blinds, dawn's first attempt to wake people up. She stood slowly and proceeded to the small basin on her dresser. She splashed cool water over her face and as she toweled dry she started to remember.

Had she been dreaming, or had her father been sitting at the end of her bed?

Part Five

            When Gwen didn't return to teach the next day, or the next, Professor Smith understood. All the faculty had been alerted that she was in mourning because of the death of a close friend. The students didn't understand, but they didn't need to. She would come back, just when was the question.

Harry was more than concerned. He had stopped by her office, hoping to catch her, but to no avail. He was surprised when Professor Trelawney took over the Ouranian Barbaric project, as if it had been planned that way. He decided to seek Gwen out in her room.

He knocked and knocked over and over, but she would not respond. It was if she had been trapped in the Carcer Tristitia Curse. She was so deeply locked inside the Cell of Sadness that she could not respond to his knocking, if she even heard it at all.

"I don't know what to do Professor." Harry whispered to Dumbledore in his office. He had been given the password to the gargoyle this year (it was an Order privilege) and so used it for the first time. He needed to talk to someone. "She won't come out of her room, she's just holed up in her grief."

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore, a sparkle in his eye, "you should knock harder."

Harry looked at Dumbledore as if he'd already done that, indeed he had. But he would try again anyway. He shuffled down to her door and pounded again, louder and harder than before. He pounded until his hands bruised. If he kept it up much longer his hands would be so swollen he wouldn't be able to catch the Snitch at their next Quidditch match.

He stopped, this isn't working. He decided to try talking to the door instead. "Gwen, come out please. I want to talk to you." He heard a shifting inside, as if she were moving around, trying to decide whether or not to respond. "Gwen, please. I miss you."

He waited a few moments, the seconds ticking by slowly. If she was moving before she had stopped. Maybe she didn't want to talk. Well, Harry thought, too bad. He redoubled his efforts.

"Gwen, you once told me that there was no point wasting away in your grief." Harry yelled, his head pressed against the door straining to hear any movement within.

"I know Harry." She replied to the door, using her voice for the first time in days. She was surprised at the hoarse sound, the burning sensation in her throat caused by all the tears. "I'll be out in a moment."

She tidied herself up as best she could, straightening her wrinkled robes as much as she could manage without having to use any magic. Her face was puffy in the mirror, her eyes ringed with red. Her hair was a tangled mess that she didn't dare comb through. She grabbed a dark bandana and covered her head.

She thrust herself out of the door and into the pale light of the hall. Harry looked at her deeply. He had never seen her so distraught, but he felt that her loss was so much the greater. Her best friend had been killed by the same people who had killed the rest of her family.

The dark times were just beginning and braver wizards than Gwen were quailing already.

Harry didn't dare ask her how she was. He knew she was a mess. Instead her offered her some coffee and ushering her back into her room, a seat.

"No thanks." She said to the coffee (which was good because he didn't have any) and curled up on the velvet covered bench below the window. Harry sat next to her, taking her hand gently in his. He wasn't sure that's what she wanted, but he wanted it and he thought it might help. She squeezed his fingers gently and braved a smile for him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He suggested softly.

"A bit." She said. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. He was so much braver than I am and I don't often get scared. I just can't imagine life without him."

He gazed into her eyes noticing their color for the first time. They were light brown, almost tan rimmed with a dull orange that glowed brighter when she was feeling some strong emotion. She wiped a tear away with her finger and rested her cheek on her hand.

"He was such a loss to our side." She laughed painfully. "It's so strange to think of someone you loved so dearly as a loss for your side." She looked at Harry desperately hoping he would understand.

He was very confused about his own feelings on the situation. Graves had proven to be a good friend, even in competition for the woman he loved. And now he was gone. He would no longer prove a distraction to Gwen, nor would he be there to razz Harry regularly. He knew he would miss the constant struggle. He couldn't have asked for a better opponent or ally for that matter.

"My grief is so different from yours Gwen. My parents died before I even knew to be sad about it and I've been carrying it inside of me for seventeen years. It's almost a numbness now, an old scar that aches sometimes." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "But your grief is alive. It's raw and biting. You've lost both of your parents, an uncle and your best friend in the last eight years. You were old enough to know what grieving is. Your pain is like a wound that just won't close. It won't scar because it will never heal."

She looked at him. "It will heal Harry. You'll help me." She closed her eyes. The burden, the pain she'd been carrying around had lightened considerably. "I have something to show you." She said softly.