A/N: Ok. I skipped the year with Wolf because it would be entirely a Eddings/HP thing, and so I figure why confuse people? They missed a whole chunk already, when I brought in an entirely new fantasy realm, but I guess I didn't make that clear, so here you are. The year was only a year in concept. Belgarath slowed time, those few days he was on the island, to fit the space of a year to make room for training. And I understand that is sort of confusing, and as I'd just skipped it, it impresses a sense of deficiency and haste, but not all people have read Belgariad or Mallorean, and it would be unfair to those people.
Also: I know that only conscious witnesses of death are able to see thestrals, but I think it would be just as scary to see all your teachers flying off on seemingly nothing but air.
Lots of yeh asked for fluff. So here you go. Fluff. a little of H/H, H/R, AND a teenzie lilo H/G. Though that may not be what you wanted exactly, it's there...
Special thanks to Annala and vamperfly for reviewing, and for those people who put me on their faves -_-
The clouds hung low, casting a cheerless cast to the the already bleak and foggy day. The Quidditch game persisted, although, and the students' enthusiasm for the well-matched game quite contradicted the mood of the skies. The pall rolled upon the ground as a giant, living thing, swirling statically and shrouding the entirety of Hogwarts school so gloomily that it even spurred rumors of magical origin. Yet people filed to the Pitch as any other day, and the teams clustered in front of their respective dressing areas, hovering close together on their jittery broomsticks and discussing last minute strategies to cope with the incompatible change in climate.
The match was Slytherin vs. Gryffindor, randomly determined, but unmistakably well-matched. The faces of the Slytherin players (with a new Chaser and Keeper) were all visibly apprehensive, despite Draco Malfoy's attempts at encouragement.
"We're going to win. That idiot Potter and his cronies and even that Weasley have no chance 'gainst us, we're unbeatable you hear me?!" he was shouting. If the Slytherins were somewhat encouraged by his lecture, all trace of such a positive emotion were wiped out when the faint strains of "Weasley is Our King", sung by three united houses, reached their ears.
"Oh sod it!" said Malfoy, "I'm having all of you expelled if you don't win this game!" Malfoy cried, and the players were suddenly all too serious about the fated match.
On the opposite end, Harry was having a bit more luck. He had cast the Impervious Charm on all of their eyes, improving their visibility somewhat, as well as himself, and distributed the rocks-turned-compasses that Hermione had transfigured only an hour earlier, instructing them to attach it on their broomsticks (where instead of North it said "Audience").
"Take your time, and take advantage of the weather. Remember, Bole and Derrick always aim for the ones with the Balls, so Roy and Barnes, the game's all yours."
They exchanged a brief "Go Gryffindor," as Madam Hooch's shrill whistle pierced the air.
A Hufflepuff fifth year was doing the commentating, but she could only speculate on the happenings on the Pitch, as no one could see (as she could not) where anything or anyone was for certain. Luckily enough, the Gryffindor Team wasn't the only one to take advantage of the weather, because the Snitch was flitting freely about, gleeful as it thought that no one could see it for once. Harry, of course, noticed very quickly, and caught it, but had to hold its struggling form and fly up to Madam Hooch's visibility so she could see the game was over.
When she saw it, there was another high-pitched whistle, startling the players (who hadn't yet done anything) as the Commentator finally caught on.
"POTTER'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH IN RECORD TIME!!" she yelled into the mike, and less than a split-second later, they could all hear the ecstatic screeching of the audience, and to a lesser degree, Slytherin's boos of protest.
The team lifted Harry up and threw him in the air, much to his nauseous chagrin, as they caroused noisily up to the tower. Hermione came running up to them when they had just entered the school. Through helpless giggles, she informed them that Malfoy (in his rage) had incinerated his broom.
Unfortunately, their celebrations did not last too long.
Harry, upon return to the Tower, many out of house congratulations later, ran up stairs for his cloak. In the fashion of the Weasley Twins, Ron had suggested they have a proper party with food from the Kitchen.
He could hear Ron's toast "To Malfoy's Broom!" and then Hermione's fearful command and the sudden silence that followed. Curiously, Harry went back downstairs.
"Harry!" Ron was yelling, "Harry! Come've a look at this! Harry!!"
"Calm down." Harry then obediently looked out of the Gryffindor window, and saw that Dumbledore, Hagrid, McGonagall, and Flitwick, mounted on thestrals, were flying away from the castle. He exchanged shocked looks with Ginny and Luna, who were standing right next to him, waiting for his reaction. Nearly all of the Gryffindors, including the ones who had not attended the match and had sought refuge in their dormitories were gathered behind them, looking on with tense and scared faces.
Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, flew in through an open window on the opposite wing. Molly Moon, a fellow sixth year alerted him. "Harry, there's an...er...phoenix for you," she said timidly. He accepted the letter noting the recognizable purple Hogwarts seal. It was obviously from Dumbledore.
It read:
Harry,
By the time this reaches you, I, Minerva, Professors Flitwick, Hagrid, and Snape have possibly left to the front. We had news of a planned ambush by the dementors on our Army stationed in Romania, led by the Lestranges (we suppose). Bill, Charlie, and Arthur are commanding our forces (it was a thousand Quintapeds we'd gathered before the battle). If you get this message, then unfortunately, one of our Commanders have died, please do NOT tell Ron. There is no telling when we'll be back, as it depends solely on how bad off we are. This message will be visible only to you, Hermione and Neville, so please let them know as well that they are now in charge there at Hogwarts for the students' safety as Order members. I've sent owls to the others notifying them that classes are cancelled until otherwise notified. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy, and a few other Slytherin students (you may note) will be absent by the next morning, for obvious reasons. Hermione, please don't worry too much, Neville: your grandmother has asked us to convey to you that she will come to pick you up tomorrow evening. Use my office fireplace to Floo.
-Albus Dumbledore
Harry was genuinely shocked. If Fawkes had come personally, then it was more serious than any of them had imagined. The scared, and despondent looks on all the faces surrounding him served testimony to it. If there were any doubt that the Dark Lord had risen, then the state of the students who were present then was surely solid proof in support of it.
"What? What is it?!" Ron said impatiently, seizing the parchment he held. "It's empty! What the hell is Dumbledore trying to pull!" he angrily thrust the parchment at Hermione. Harry looked at her anxiously, waiting to comfort her at the slightest sign of distress.
Her eyes filled up with tears, and Harry's heart wrenched. It was as if the droplets racing down her cheeks, the slight sob she let escape as she repugnantly handed over the letter to Neville in his turn were the true weapons of Voldemort, and the real impact here was not the unfair triumph of Evil over Good, but the effect that the truth had on her, and all those loved ones losing their lives.
"No, Harry, I'm not going," Neville said monotonously. Harry had rushed to Hermione, wrapping his arms around her as she had around him. "Who is it? Why won't he say?" she had been muttering over and over, as Harry murmured the same soothing declarations, "It'll be alright," and simultaneously restraining his own tears. He wasn't sure it would be, all that mattered was that she stopped crying.
"What's going on?!" Ron screamed. "I have a right to know!"
Harry looked at him, hoping that he could see the sincere apology in his voice. Dumbledore had condemned him. He hated Dumbledore's putting him in this awkward situation; Ron had to know if his own family was dead first. Not him. He had no right to intrude upon this whole mess. He shook his head.
"I'm sorry, mate, I can't--"
"NO!" Ron interrupted, the panic intense in his wavering tone.
"Harry?" he heard Ginny's small voice. "Please...?"
"NO, I can't! I'm really sorry!"
"I'm not going, Harry," Neville said, giving him the seemingly blank parchment, and wordlessly walking up the stairs. The rest of Gryffindor was looking expectantly at him, and Harry suddenly felt a surge of anger. Why was he feeling guilty? Why was everyone turning to him? He felt Hermione sobbing silently on his robes, and the warmth of her tears, he looked at Roy and Barnes, then even Luna's questioning gaze.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked quietly, holding Hermione closer to him. "Go to bed. It'll all be alright in the morning."
And without a word, but many a suspicious glare, they all slowly went back to their Dormitories, despite the fact that it was only nine-thirty.
"Harry," Ron began angrily when most of them had gone, finally victim to the unendurable tension, "let go of my girlfriend." His voice was icy, and his tone filled with hatred. Harry shook his head again.
"Don't do this, Ron, please..."
"LET GO OF HER!"
And Harry, suddenly feeling as alone as he had in Number 4, Privet Drive, before he ever knew Hogwarts existed, extricated himself from Hermione's rigid embrace.
"Ron!" she hissed, watching him walk out, "How could you DO that?! We're over!" And she too, went to her dormitories, out of tears and filled with not unreasonable anger.
Ron felt instantly horrid, looking around the deserted Commons. But he deserved it, didn't he?. They shouldn't have been keeping secrets from him anyway. He lay down on the couch by the window, and closed his eyes to fall into a restless sleep. He deserved it. Definitely.
***
Harry's dreams that night were nothing short of cataclysm. He repeatedly saw Voldemort's face, and that familiar scene where Molly had encountered the Boggart at Sirius's house, and saw her family dead. For some odd reason, he saw Grawp, lying pathetically wounded, on the mulch of the forest floor, surrounded by Aragog's family.
"I'm saw-rry!" he was crying hopelessly, "Hermy said Eat Hagrid!"
Then there was Hermione, sobbing unhappily on Ron's broken leg in the Shrieking Shack.
"Don't cry," a dementor hissed, apparating into the place, "You'll soon be dead." It held out its lifeless arms, as Hermione, smiling, rushed to embrace it, and kiss it's deadly face.
"No, no!" Hermione replied, "Ron will marry me, and you'll kill Harry."
He was at that place--the pond, and underfoot there were dead bodies. All the people from the Order, people he'd seen on the streets, anyone and everyone he recognized lay there, dead. He could hear Hermione screaming for Voldemort to leave his baby alone.
And he was portkey-ed to the War. The real one, and he could hear Dumbledore's whispered commands to the garrisons. And Arthur was sobbing in a corner, in the arms of Bill Weasley, and McGonagall was comforting them both. Snape was assigning dispellers to frighten away the dementors with the Patronus spell, and Lupin was hurriedly teaching a few younger Order members the charm, and handing out bars of chocolate. There was blood everywhere, and screaming as the Dementors moved in to suck the souls out of the frantic dispellers.
"Leave my baby alone!" he heard Hermione say as if from far, far away on the horizon. He wanted to go to her, to take the child, but he was frozen in the same place.
"Stand aside!" Voldemort said, "I am not taking any more chances with this!"
"Leave Harry be! Take me! I'm the Sacrifice, remember?!" she was screaming. And there was a flash of green light. Hermione fell to the floor in a dead heap, and the baby cried pitifully, and pierced the solemn air around him with his wrenching wails.
Harry screamed once, noiselessly. Then, afflicted by the awful reality of the dream--the true possibility of such a thing happening, opened his wide eyes to see only the ordinary canopy of the white four-poster upon which he lay, in the Room of Requirement. It was dawn.
"Mr. Harry Potter, sir?" there were a few gasps from around the room.
"Dobby?"
"Yes, sir, what brings you to the kitchens, sir? An-a-thing to eat, us shall fix it for you, sir."
"Yes, a glass of water, please? And some breakfast, if you can spare it. If there isn't any, that's ok too."
"Of course," Dobby said, scurrying off. Another house-elf came to him.
"What would you like, Mr. Potter," he said, bowing gracefully.
"Whatever's easiest for you to prepare. Just don't ask questions." The house-elf nodded, bringing Harry a platter of the finest fruits, and a nut flavoured porridge with pieces of banana in it in less than five minutes. He ate hungrily, making conversation with Dobby and a few of the younger house-elves that had clustered around him.
"How's Winky?"
"Why she's doing much better, Master Harry, just yesterday she actually put a fork on the Big Table with Dumbledore on it."
Harry smiled. "And what is your name?" he gently inquired of a tiny, frail looking elf, clad in the customary rags and looking up at him with that huge, blank, worshipping gaze. The elf whimpered, then proceeded to hit himself on the head with a nearby spatula.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Please, I order you, don't do that!" Harry said, "What's you name?"
"G-g-gunther, Master Potter, Sir," he replied, and Harry could hardly hear, "Dumbledore talks m-much well o-of y-you s-sir," he said.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What does he say?" The house elf looked slightly more confident.
"That you are being very skilled wizard, sir, and the only hope to defeat the Most-Feared, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
"Really?"
"Yes sir." Harry smiled at the beaming Gunther.
"I have to go now, its almost six. I can still get a few more hours of sleep, and I suggest you do the same."
"Oh no sir," Dobby knowingly replied, "Us do not need but an hour or less of this sleep. Us are sturdier creatures, though to be as Great as Harry Potter, suppose requires a lot of sleeping, sir."
"Er...I guess." He waved. "Bye." The house-elves chorused a collective farewell as Harry stepped out of the Kitchen to go back to the Dormitories. When he got there, although, he saw two familiar figures sitting on the couch by the window, in the far end of the room, conversing in low tones, and quickly hid behind a bookcase to avoid being seen.
"I understand, Ron, I feel the same way," she was saying.
"But you can't tell that stupid prat--well, you can't tell Harry, ok?" Hermione, to Harry's dismay, smiled.
"You don't expect him to just take it all in silence, when no one talks to him or says anything? You know Harry, he'll blow up."
"I don't care what he does. I don't want him anywhere near you. And after what you told me he's been saying, I don't trust him too much."
"You shouldn't," she said. But Harry completely missed the sly wink they exchanged.
"I'm still not too happy about this."
"I wish I could, Ron," and Ron and Hermione's faces inched closer. Harry turned away, disgusted. She hated him too. And they both didn't trust him. They thought he was temperamental? The couple parted finally, and headed off to an early Breakfast, discussing the make-up work Hermione was supposed to finish for Transfiguration. Harry retracted into the shadows as they passed, depressed beyond words, or even feelings.
***
At Breakfast that morning (a few hours before), Professor Sinistra stood up on her chair, calling for attention.
"Students, settle down!" she called. "Your Headmaster and other teachers will be back very shortly, they're away on some important business. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. Until they return, however, classes will be cancelled. Please do not go out onto the grounds, or wander the halls after the dark, or alone before dark. Thank you." She removed the Sonorus Charm, and sat down. Whispers broke out, and a whole deal of pointing occurred in Harry and Hermione's direction, though they did their best to ignore it. Ron was turning pinker and pinker by the second, as he poked at his plate, and his expression grew more indignant.
After they ate Breakfast, the students happily returned to their respective House Commons.
When Ginny saw that Harry hadn't eaten any Breakfast, and had been sitting in the same spot in the shadows of the Common Room, she was worried. She told Luna to hold the game ("Don't cheat!") and disregarding her teasing smile, went to talk to him.
"Harry?" She noticed his frown turn into a sort of strained smile.
"Yes?" he replied.
"Are you okay?"
"'Course I am, what makes you think I'm not."
"Harry...you haven't talked to anyone--"
"Because no one's talked to me. I'm talking to you, aren't I? Sit down." He gestured to a chair next him, wedged against the wall and staircase. She obeyed, flipping her hair out of her way. "Good game yesterday," he said.
"You didn't even let us play!" she exclaimed, "I'd been training those four so hard, and Ron too!" Ginny noted that Harry's face darkened faintly at the mention of her brother.
"It's okay, Harry," she said, trying to curb her hesitancy, "Ron doesn't mean it at all, he just gets all riled up sometimes. I wish too, that you could tell me what was in the letter, but I don't blame you. Ron just doesn't know what else to do."
"Ginny," Harry replied agitatedly, "Shut up, because you don't know what you're talking about."
"I was just trying to help, Merlin!"
"I'm sorry," he cut off, "So what about that game, eh? Oh, did you find out if Ravenclaw's any good this year? We're playing them next, you know."
"Yeah," and they talked endlessly about Quidditch, then Professional teams, then finally Ludo Bagman and his exploits (somehow) for hours.
"Harry," said Ginny, after a while of comfortable silence, "I've always liked you."
"I guess I did too, Ginny," Harry replied, scanning the room for Hermione and Ron. Ron was nowhere to be seen, but Hermione was in front of the fire, giggling with Luna over some illogical article in The Quibbler.
"No, Harry." The seriousness of her tone turned his eyes irrevocably to hers. "I've really liked you." She blushed. "And I know, maybe,...you think I'm not good enough for you or something..."
"Of course not!" He protested with a wave of his hand, deliberately setting Hermione's flagrant image to the back of his mind. "How about next Hogsmeade weekend, you and me go together, mm?" Ginny's face brightened, then fell again.
"This isn't a trick, is it?"
"Well, would you feel better if you bought the Butterbeer?"
"When did I say that!" she said, and they both laughed. But Harry mentally cried out. Atleast Ron would be happy now that he was finally dating his sister as he'd wanted all along, and Ginny actually liked him too. What more could Harry ask for?
Hermione.
But that was really absurd. She had just recently admitted that she didn't at all like his assuming that she would come to the Island with him, and doubly so because she was supposed to die for him. He reattached his mind firmly to what Ginny was saying. Something about...Dungbomb Prices.
He nodded. And Ginny smiled at him. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
...maybe.
