Chapter 12

The Scar Hurts Again



The new game of solitaire kept Harry occupied for the next two days, but only in the most superficial way. He was, if it was possible, even more aware of how alone he was than he had been before his fantastic afternoon with Cassie. He had thought that seeing her once would be enough. But, he decided on the second day, seeing her was like eating crisps. You had one and then you just wanted more. He was lying on his bed on the afternoon of the one-week anniversary of his "death" and could not stop thinking about the possibility of talking to her again. He knew it would be foolish, knew that he had already pushed his luck once, knew that this plan of Dumbledore's hinged on his remaining undiscovered, but the thought of spending more time with Cassie was becoming almost an obsession.

Of course, he realized that it was possible she would not want to spend time with him, but he pushed that dreary thought aside. She had hugged him and smiled at him and asked him to call her again. She had held his hand and . . . well, she had understood about his scar. He kept remembering how she had looked at him . . . He pushed himself up from the bed and walked back out into the living room. He flipped on the television just to have some noise and started pacing back and forth. He felt like an animal in a cage. He was used to physical activity and used to having things to keep his mind occupied. This enforced solitary confinement was practically driving him mad.

He barely slept that night, tossing and turning as he contemplated the next few weeks of boredom. By morning, he knew he had to get out of the house for longer than then 10 minutes it took him to drop off Dumbledore's letter every day. He wrote an especially long letter to his headmaster, begging to come back to Hogwarts. He was vaguely ashamed of himself as he read back over the letter, certainly his mental lassitude was nothing compared to the possibility of losing this war. He should be mature enough to overcome this petty obstacle and just endure. He knew that it was probable, even likely, that he would not survive the upcoming battle and he should enjoy every day of life left to him. But despite all of this talk, he could just not reconcile himself to the lack of activity.

As he left the house to drop off the letter, he decided that he would stroll around the streets for just a few extra minutes. He walked around the block a few times, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face. It was a perfect day for Quidditch, he thought, the sort of day that should be enjoyed on a broom with a friend or two to throw a Quaffle with. He let his mind wander back to the last day he had been on the pitch, throwing the balls around with Ron, enjoying the simple pleasure of flying. Had it really been only a month ago? He remembered that when he was first at Hogwarts, he had not been particularly good at magic but he had been a natural on a broom. Even then, he had found peace in flying that he rarely found with anything else. He allowed himself a few moments of self-pity before dragging himself back into the present. He needed to focus on what he needed to do to help win this War.

He turned a corner to head back to the house as he felt his frustration had lessened to a great degree. His eyes scanned the street automatically and lit on a discarded newspaper lying on the top of the rubbish bin and the photo of a huge fire that was on the front cover. He glanced around quickly to make sure no one was watching and picked it up. As he read, he felt a knot of dread form and settle into the pit of his stomach. There had been an explosion as yet unexplained in a small town on the outskirts of London the previous evening. The name of the town or the people involved meant nothing to Harry, but the words "mysterious explosion" sounded to him like the typical cover story the Ministry of Magic usually released when something had happened involving the Death Eaters or Voldemort. Harry carried the newspaper home immediately and read the article through several times. The story certainly did not seem to be connected to wizards at all but he knew from previous experience that the Ministry was extremely careful with this sort of accident. He started pacing again. He wondered for a minute if it was worth sending Sir Lionel to Dumbledore to figure out what had happened.

Then, unexpectedly, Harry felt an all-to-familiar pang on his forehead. He stopped pacing and gasped in surprise. The pain receded immediately, but the knot in his stomach just tightened. It had been eight days since he had felt his scar hurt, eight days where he could almost pretend that the War wasn't real, that no one was really out to kill him, that the life and death struggle he was so used to fighting was not really happening. He started pacing again, thinking hard. Was it just a coincidence that his scar had hurt again, after so long a break, on the day after a "mysterious explosion" had occurred? Harry really did not think so. He forced himself to calm down, to breathe deeply. The pain was gone completely now, and Harry cleared his mind almost automatically as he had been taught in his occlumency lessons. Harry knew that Voldemort could, if he was so inclined, read Harry's mind. That was the last thing they needed right now. Harry supposed that if Voldemort really thought he was dead, he probably was not trying to use his mind for anything, but if Harry allowed himself to get too aggravated, there was a possibility that Voldemort might suddenly sense him, and then all would be lost.

His mind turned again to Cassie as he tried to keep calm. The thought of being with her now beckoned him like an oasis in a desert. He glanced over at Sir Lionel, still snoring in his frame. Obviously, nothing too traumatic had happened or he would be gone, getting messages. Harry fixed a quick lunch for himself, waiting for a while before he decided that Sir Lionel really was not going to be leaving any time soon. After all, Dumbledore would have known immediately about the explosion and if it was something that involved Harry he would have sent a message long ago. Harry breathed a little slower, trying not to let that little twinge in his scar unnerve him. Voldemort was still around and active and that was a fact. Whether Harry's scar hurt or not did not change anything.

Harry could not stay in the house one more minute! He had to leave now, right now! It was either that, or he was going to start blasting holes in things. The walls were closing in on him. He really needed to get out of here! A funny little voice in his head that usually sounded a lot like Hermione but today sounded a lot like Ron assured him that Dumbledore would be happier if he was outside blending in with the regular population looking inconspicuous than if he was blowing holes in the wall of his invisible house. Harry decided that he agreed with this sensible voice. He also decided right then that he was going to go call her and hopefully see her. If he was really careful about where he went and what he did when he was out of the house, it did not really matter if she was with him or not, did it? Being with her was even better, actually, he thought after a moment, than being by himself. She would tend to go to places that other Muggles went and if he went with her, he would blend in better. Yes. That was true. That was really a good idea. Pleased with himself for coming up with an excuse that he thought would stave off any disapproval from his conscience or his normal Hermione-voice, he grabbed his wand, and stepped once again into the heat of the afternoon.

He dialed her number carefully at the same phone box where he had called her before. His hands were shaking badly and he was surprised to admit to himself how desperately he hoped that she was home.

"Robinson's, Cassie speaking" the phone suddenly squawked in his ear, and Harry's heart suddenly felt lighter than it had in days. He smiled and leaned back against the glass door.

"Hi, Cassie. It's Harry." He had never told her a last name and hoped that she recognized immediately who he was. He would have felt like a fool trying to remind her which Harry he was.

"Hi, Harry." Her tone was warm as the sun outside, and Harry knew, despite everything, that he wanted to see her again. As soon as possible. He cleared his throat trying to decide what to say.

She spoke first, though, and the light teasing in her tone took all the sting out of her words. "I guess you managed to find the time to call me."

"Yeah." He paused. That sounded bad. "I mean, I wanted to earlier but I just couldn't." Harry took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "Is there any chance of . . . my seeing you again, soon? I don't care where or anything. I just want to-" His voice trailed off in kind of an embarrassed silence. He didn't want to frighten her away or anything and somehow saying something like "be with you," or "be near you" might sound like he was a little obsessed. She did not say anything, though, to relieve his embarrassment, and he tried again. "I thought that maybe we could go somewhere together."

This time, she spoke carefully. "What do you mean, exactly?"

He had considered this already. "Well, um. . . .I kind of meant maybe just hanging around together. You know, uh, just doing something that you like to do. I don't know anyone else here and I just thought we could do something." He thought that this was probably the stupidest answer, ever.

"Oh." Maybe, Harry thought, he imagined the disappointment in her response. "Well, yeah. That sounds fun. There's only one problem." Harry's heart sank. What could it be? She didn't go out with boys who carried strange sticks in their jeans? Maybe she had a thing about curse scars or something? She continued. "My parents have to meet you first. They don't let me go out with friends they don't know." Harry's first thought was that this was not a big deal. Why did she sound so worried? Then he remembered how he had rather quickly turned down her invitation to dinner a few days ago. He also recalled how he had refused Cassie's offer of having her mother drive him home after the grocery shopping and how he had not wanted to go into the house that same evening when they had walked home together. She must think he was really terrified of meeting her parents.

"That's alright. That would be fine." Harry had long since decided that they must be a completely Muggle family. Otherwise, the axe would have already fallen and he would have been taken back to Hogwarts in disgrace. He was relatively safe with them, as long as he kept his secrets. And keeping secrets was something he knew how to do very well.