A/N: The trio and Ginny have arrived at Hogwarts. Enjoy!
The deaths had a profound effect on Hogwarts. Never before had there been a more depressing Start of Term feast. The flags adorning the Great Hall were black (as they had been following Cedric's death); the general mood was somber. The feast, a normally joyous occasion, was terribly depressing.
Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny sat near the end of the Gryffindor table, talking quietly. Seamus sat with them; yet, he was alone, disconnected from the world around him. It was certainly odd to see Seamus without Dean. Ginny was almost a mirror image of Seamus, doing mechanically what she was told.
"Look at Sprout," whispered Ron. "She's a right mess, isn't she?"
It was true, she was. Her eyes were puffy and red, and she blinked over and over, as if trying to stop herself from crying.
"No, look at McGonagall," said Harry quietly, gesturing towards the transfiguration professor.
"Jesus," muttered Ron.
She was in an awful state. The three were so used to seeing Strict McGonagall, composed McGonagall. It was an odd sight.
"I don't mean to be rude," said Harry slowly, "but haven't worse things happened?"
"In a way, yes," began Hermione. "Well, at least on the surface."
"You see," she said softly, in an unusual tone, "the deaths themselves are not that important, to be quite frank. Horrible, yes, but in the long run and in Voldemort's eyes, unimportant.
"What matters more is the meaning of the deaths. That these are Voldemort's first murders since everyone has recognized that he's back, and that's very powerful. This is really the start of the second war, the second war against evil," said Hermione, looking a little dazed.
Harry looked down, and picked up his water glass. Licking his finger, he ran his finger around the edge of the glass, again and again.
"Stop!" cried Ginny, who was sitting next to Harry, and Harry abruptly stopped.
He looked her in the eyes and posed a single question.
"The noise, or everything?"
Her eyes revealed her answer.
.ding.ding.
Dumbledore rose slowly from his seat and the attention of all the students was immediately directed at him. He was dressed in black, black robes, mourning robes. Eyes missing their shine and glitter, they flew across the room, finally landing on Harry and resting for a moment. They spoke multitudes of sympathy for Harry; Harry just looked back sadly. He didn't like the sympathetic glances. The commiserating looks. The 'poor Harrys'.
Ever since Fudge had recognized that Voldemort was actually back, Harry's life had once again been filled with feelings of pity from others. He was slowly learning to build a shell around this and, as it grew harder, he learned to deflect sadness. To push death, Voldemort, Dean, out of his mind; to fill it back up with happiness.
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"Welcome, students, new and old, to Hogwarts," he began heavily, slowly.
"I have never given a welcome speech such as the one I am about to give you. Forgive me if you are not satisfied."
And he began bluntly, with no introduction, with no sugarcoating.
"We are entering days of terror that will match, if not exceed in dread and horridness, the days when Voldemort-"
Dumbledore was interrupted by several student's gasps.
"I must insist that you stop that!" yelled Dumbledore, angrily, his voice filled with passion.
"To quote myself," he began in a quiet, soft voice, as if guilt from yelling had forced him to speak in dulcet tones, "fear of a name only increases fear of a thing itself. Voldemort does not deserve the titles we give him. He does not deserve our fear. This is what Voldemort wants," said Dumbledore, and he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.
"We must refuse to give him what he wants."
Dumbledore looked around the room for a moment.
"The request I pose on you now is simple. Remember Dean. Remember Cedric. Remember all those who lost their lives to Voldemort.
"But do not remember them with fear. Do not feed your fear to an undeserving person."
Dumbledore stood quietly, staring ahead.
"Forgive me. Eat, everyone," he nodded.
Sitting down, he was instantly engaged in whispers from McGonagall, whispers similar to the ones that were growing steadily throughout the Great Hall.
"Whoa," said Ron quietly. "That was odd, wasn't it?"
"Expected, wasn't it?" Hermione retorted. "Of course he's going to be a bit of a mess! How would you be if 2 and a half months ago you battled with Voldemort, you worked against him all summer long, there was a murdering of 6 people you couldn't do anything about, including one of your students, and to top it all off, your pupils can't even take hearing the word Voldemort! He may be Dumbledore, but he's a man. He's not immortal, he's not untouchable, he's not perfect."
Harry glanced over at Ginny for the first time that night. She was staring off into space, looking helpless, a tear rolling down her chin. Harry poked at Hermione, trying to call her attention to Ginny. Hermione looked as if she was about to yell at Harry- her stress level seemed even higher than usual- but then she saw Ginny's face, and her eyes softened.
"Ginny? What are you going to have to eat?" she asked.
"Oh," said Ginny, coming back into the world. "I'm not that hungry right now, thanks."
Hermione looked Ginny over, and picked up her fork, muttering a few words to her plate. Instantly, her plate was filled with yams, corn and bread. She picked up her knife, and began to split open her yam.
Ron glared at Hermione.
"You're not going to say anything more?" he mouthed.
"No, and I hope you wouldn't either," she responded in a normal voice, glancing at Ginny quickly. Hermione took a bit of yams, dusted with brown sugar, and looked back at Ron, who was giving Hermione an incredulous look.
"Really, Ron I mean it," she told him strictly. When he still looked confused, Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering, 'boys.'. In a much softer voice, she told him,
"She needs time. Give her time. Let her work this one out by herself. When she wants us, she'll ask for us. Don't worry."
Hermione gave him a final look as if to seal some sort of deal, and then went back to eating her food. Harry looked down at his plate and ordered quickly; Ron followed suit.
The rest of the feast was silent except for a few giggles from Hermione and Ron. Harry was almost certain they were playing footsy.
Harry sighed heavily as he took his last bite, and looked across the table at Ginny. Dipping his fingers in his water glass, he pulled them out and shook his fingers in her direction, sprinkling her with the water.
She looked up at him, and smiled slightly, eyes filled with pain. He reached his arm over and ran his finger around her palm playfully.
He wanted to say something but he couldn't tell what, so he just kept making circles for a while in her palm, and Ginny finally took a sip of Ron's- who was oblivious to everything but Hermione- soda as Harry did this.
Harry felt triumphant; he'd pulled Ginny out of her 'zoning'. It would take time to get Ginny back, he knew. Baby steps. Especially with Hermione's 'leave her alone' idea. But it would happen. He was certain of that.
((A/N: Special thank you to Jessi Lupin, who reviewed my story TWICE! Thank you so much; it means a lot to me to have someone review my stories ^once^. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter, I feel bad for not updating recently. This chapter seems a bit off at the beginning to me but I don't know.))
The deaths had a profound effect on Hogwarts. Never before had there been a more depressing Start of Term feast. The flags adorning the Great Hall were black (as they had been following Cedric's death); the general mood was somber. The feast, a normally joyous occasion, was terribly depressing.
Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny sat near the end of the Gryffindor table, talking quietly. Seamus sat with them; yet, he was alone, disconnected from the world around him. It was certainly odd to see Seamus without Dean. Ginny was almost a mirror image of Seamus, doing mechanically what she was told.
"Look at Sprout," whispered Ron. "She's a right mess, isn't she?"
It was true, she was. Her eyes were puffy and red, and she blinked over and over, as if trying to stop herself from crying.
"No, look at McGonagall," said Harry quietly, gesturing towards the transfiguration professor.
"Jesus," muttered Ron.
She was in an awful state. The three were so used to seeing Strict McGonagall, composed McGonagall. It was an odd sight.
"I don't mean to be rude," said Harry slowly, "but haven't worse things happened?"
"In a way, yes," began Hermione. "Well, at least on the surface."
"You see," she said softly, in an unusual tone, "the deaths themselves are not that important, to be quite frank. Horrible, yes, but in the long run and in Voldemort's eyes, unimportant.
"What matters more is the meaning of the deaths. That these are Voldemort's first murders since everyone has recognized that he's back, and that's very powerful. This is really the start of the second war, the second war against evil," said Hermione, looking a little dazed.
Harry looked down, and picked up his water glass. Licking his finger, he ran his finger around the edge of the glass, again and again.
"Stop!" cried Ginny, who was sitting next to Harry, and Harry abruptly stopped.
He looked her in the eyes and posed a single question.
"The noise, or everything?"
Her eyes revealed her answer.
.ding.ding.
Dumbledore rose slowly from his seat and the attention of all the students was immediately directed at him. He was dressed in black, black robes, mourning robes. Eyes missing their shine and glitter, they flew across the room, finally landing on Harry and resting for a moment. They spoke multitudes of sympathy for Harry; Harry just looked back sadly. He didn't like the sympathetic glances. The commiserating looks. The 'poor Harrys'.
Ever since Fudge had recognized that Voldemort was actually back, Harry's life had once again been filled with feelings of pity from others. He was slowly learning to build a shell around this and, as it grew harder, he learned to deflect sadness. To push death, Voldemort, Dean, out of his mind; to fill it back up with happiness.
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"Welcome, students, new and old, to Hogwarts," he began heavily, slowly.
"I have never given a welcome speech such as the one I am about to give you. Forgive me if you are not satisfied."
And he began bluntly, with no introduction, with no sugarcoating.
"We are entering days of terror that will match, if not exceed in dread and horridness, the days when Voldemort-"
Dumbledore was interrupted by several student's gasps.
"I must insist that you stop that!" yelled Dumbledore, angrily, his voice filled with passion.
"To quote myself," he began in a quiet, soft voice, as if guilt from yelling had forced him to speak in dulcet tones, "fear of a name only increases fear of a thing itself. Voldemort does not deserve the titles we give him. He does not deserve our fear. This is what Voldemort wants," said Dumbledore, and he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.
"We must refuse to give him what he wants."
Dumbledore looked around the room for a moment.
"The request I pose on you now is simple. Remember Dean. Remember Cedric. Remember all those who lost their lives to Voldemort.
"But do not remember them with fear. Do not feed your fear to an undeserving person."
Dumbledore stood quietly, staring ahead.
"Forgive me. Eat, everyone," he nodded.
Sitting down, he was instantly engaged in whispers from McGonagall, whispers similar to the ones that were growing steadily throughout the Great Hall.
"Whoa," said Ron quietly. "That was odd, wasn't it?"
"Expected, wasn't it?" Hermione retorted. "Of course he's going to be a bit of a mess! How would you be if 2 and a half months ago you battled with Voldemort, you worked against him all summer long, there was a murdering of 6 people you couldn't do anything about, including one of your students, and to top it all off, your pupils can't even take hearing the word Voldemort! He may be Dumbledore, but he's a man. He's not immortal, he's not untouchable, he's not perfect."
Harry glanced over at Ginny for the first time that night. She was staring off into space, looking helpless, a tear rolling down her chin. Harry poked at Hermione, trying to call her attention to Ginny. Hermione looked as if she was about to yell at Harry- her stress level seemed even higher than usual- but then she saw Ginny's face, and her eyes softened.
"Ginny? What are you going to have to eat?" she asked.
"Oh," said Ginny, coming back into the world. "I'm not that hungry right now, thanks."
Hermione looked Ginny over, and picked up her fork, muttering a few words to her plate. Instantly, her plate was filled with yams, corn and bread. She picked up her knife, and began to split open her yam.
Ron glared at Hermione.
"You're not going to say anything more?" he mouthed.
"No, and I hope you wouldn't either," she responded in a normal voice, glancing at Ginny quickly. Hermione took a bit of yams, dusted with brown sugar, and looked back at Ron, who was giving Hermione an incredulous look.
"Really, Ron I mean it," she told him strictly. When he still looked confused, Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering, 'boys.'. In a much softer voice, she told him,
"She needs time. Give her time. Let her work this one out by herself. When she wants us, she'll ask for us. Don't worry."
Hermione gave him a final look as if to seal some sort of deal, and then went back to eating her food. Harry looked down at his plate and ordered quickly; Ron followed suit.
The rest of the feast was silent except for a few giggles from Hermione and Ron. Harry was almost certain they were playing footsy.
Harry sighed heavily as he took his last bite, and looked across the table at Ginny. Dipping his fingers in his water glass, he pulled them out and shook his fingers in her direction, sprinkling her with the water.
She looked up at him, and smiled slightly, eyes filled with pain. He reached his arm over and ran his finger around her palm playfully.
He wanted to say something but he couldn't tell what, so he just kept making circles for a while in her palm, and Ginny finally took a sip of Ron's- who was oblivious to everything but Hermione- soda as Harry did this.
Harry felt triumphant; he'd pulled Ginny out of her 'zoning'. It would take time to get Ginny back, he knew. Baby steps. Especially with Hermione's 'leave her alone' idea. But it would happen. He was certain of that.
((A/N: Special thank you to Jessi Lupin, who reviewed my story TWICE! Thank you so much; it means a lot to me to have someone review my stories ^once^. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter, I feel bad for not updating recently. This chapter seems a bit off at the beginning to me but I don't know.))