Chapter Six.
The Strength Which Moves Earth and Heaven
Harry sat at a small table in the Hogwarts kitchens while house elves, led by Dobby, swirled around him, piling treacle tarts, tea, corned beef, bread, and condiments on the little table.
"This is wonderful," Ginny told the house elf with a smile. "Thanks!"
"We is pleased to serve, Miss Wheazy, there is no need to be thanking us!" Dobby gushed, bobbing up and down with glee.
"If we need anything else, I'll be sure to ask you," she said, slathering mustard on a slice of still-warm bread.
Dobby looked at Harry uncertainly for a minute but in a rare moment of restraint, scurried off without a word.
Ginny carefully constructed a sandwich that must have held a pound of corned beef. When she brought it up to take a bite, it hid her entire face. Somehow she managed a bite.
A ghost of a smile flitted across Harry's face. He absently picked up a treacle tart and ate it slowly. Then he ate another. He listened to the sounds of the busy house elves cooking and bustling about. He was glad the house elves were ignoring him. He just wished there were more witches and wizards like them.
He drank some tea and ate a third tart.
"Mum says things always look a bit brighter after a good meal," Ginny said, still chewing with an extremely contended air. The sandwich was now small enough for her to hold in one hand.
"I suppose she's right," Harry replied quietly.
"If she is, you need more good meals than anyone I know," Ginny said. "Perhaps you should come here more often."
Harry stared at her. She looked at him calmly, taking another bite of corned beef.
"No one else talks to me like that," Harry said suddenly.
"How do I talk to you?" Ginny asked.
"Like that," Harry said.
Ginny rolled her eyes, chewing.
Harry frowned. "You're always straight with me. L-like you see me."
"What else would I see," Ginny asked, "a jobberknoll?"
"I don't know," Harry shrugged, "People are ready to believe anything about me. Maybe this year they'll think I'm a jobberknoll."
"I'll ask Luna," Ginny said with a grin. "If anyone out there thinks it, she'll know."
Harry smiled. "Maybe you should. One less thing to worry about."
They fell into a comfortable silence while Ginny finished her sandwich. She began eying the treacle tarts. "Do you mind?" she asked.
"Help yourself," Harry said, nudging the plate toward her.
She took one, and he wondered how the petite girl managed to pack in all that food, even if she was a Weasley.
"Ginny," Harry blurted out, "I just want you to know that—"
"Harry! Ginny! I am so glad I found you!" Hermione said sounding relieved as she rushed towards them.
Harry felt he was going to start screaming in frustration. Why couldn't he ever finish a conversation with Ginny Weasley?
"I-it's Ron," she trembled, "he's h-had a-a fit."
"WHAT!" Ginny jumped up with a scream.
"He went all f-f-funny and blank," Hermione was saying, wringing her hands nervously, "a-a-and he started speaking in a voice that isn't his."
"He's fine," Harry said testily. "I saw it happen to Trelawney once. He's come out of it, hasn't he?"
"No," Hermione choked out. "He's with Madam Pomfrey, Firenze, and Dumbledore, now. They told me I could come back in thirty minutes."
Ginny looked terrified.
"He'll be fine, I'm sure," Harry said again with a little more concern. "What happened, anyway?"
"I-I was teaching him how to m-meditate," Hermione said, haltingly. "It-it's supposed to be good for Seers. Then he Said some things. After, he just sat there, his face blank. I-I t-tried asking him some questions, but he wouldn't answer. So I sent a m-m-message to Dumbledore. D-Dumbledore came right away, and we took him to the Infirmary. Professor Firenze was there waiting. They sent me out."
"What did he Say?" Harry asked.
"They took the original I wrote down, but I made another copy," she said, pulling a scrap of parchment out of her sleeve and holding it out to him. "I thought you should know about this," she said, looking scared and worried.
Harry took the wrinkled piece of parchment. Ginny was craning her neck, trying to read it sideways.
THE DARK LORD'S MINIONS SEEK TO STRIKE THE ADVERSARY… AND THE ADVERSARY WILL BE DRIVEN OUT…FOR THERE IS NO HAVEN FOR HIM IN THE LANDS OF ALBION…THE ADVERSARY WILL FIND HANDS RAISED AGAINST HIM ON EVERY SIDE…THERE IS NO HAVEN FOR HIM IN THE LANDS OF ALBION…
Harry shuddered. Numb, he handed to parchment to Ginny.
"I want to see Ron," Ginny said fiercely, "let's go."
They were almost to the Infirmary when Dean eagerly called out, "Oi! Ginny! Fancy a walk?"
"Can't," Ginny said shortly, barely glancing at him, "not now."
"Right then, be that way," Dean muttered peevishly behind them.
In the Infirmary, there was just one other student, a girl with a mauve orchid growing out of her left ear. Ron was lying in bed, scratching his armpit.
"You're back!" Hermione squealed.
"Yeah," Ron said uncomfortably.
Ginny let out a long shuddering breath and gave her brother a quick hug.
They huddled close around his bed.
"Having fits, going funny, it isn't much fun, is it?" Ron told Harry.
"No, not really," Harry fervently agreed.
"Why didn't you come out of it right away?" Hermione asked.
"They told me it was because I was meditating," Ron whispered. "I think they asked the…the Voice or whatever…some questions. I think it answered some of them."
"I tried that, but it didn't work for me," Hermione said sheepishly, "although I suppose I should have thought of something more original than, 'Ron, are you in there?'"
"They wouldn't tell me what I said," Ron complained quietly.
Wordlessly, Ginny handed him the scrap of parchment.
Ron began cursing softly.
"What's Albion?" Harry asked.
"It's an old name for the British Isles," Hermione said, looking nervous.
He was going to be forced out of Hogwarts and out of England. Thoughts of being alone, in a foreign country, away from the protections of Hogwarts or even of Number Four Privet Drive, left Harry feeling ill. He sat down on the edge of Ron's bed and rubbed his scar.
"He's going to find me," he finally said miserably.
"I'm not letting you go anywhere alone," Ron said stoutly.
Hermione brow was furrowed in thought.
"What are you thinking?" Ginny asked her.
Hermione blinked and looked at Harry. "No, Harry, he won't find you," she whispered, "because you are going to master Occlumency, and you are going learn how to look like other people. He won't be able to hunt you by sight or by thought, even if he does succeed in getting you out of Hogwarts."
"We won't abandon you, Harry," Ginny said confidently, "and I bet Dumbledore already has lots of safe places for you to hide. He vanished last year, and even the Ministry couldn't find him, could they?"
Ron snorted. "That's not saying much. The Ministry couldn't find Fudge's arse with a map to his office and a diagram of his chair."
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked.
"Ginny's right, though," Harry said, feeling better, "Dumbledore would never leave me unprotected. He'd have a plan."
He noticed that Hermione was holding Ron's hand and remembered Madam Pomfrey's time limit.
"I'll be going, then," Harry said quickly, "loads to do." Ignoring the baffled looks on his friends' faces, he fled the Infirmary. He had no idea how to act, what to do or what to say around Ron and Hermione when they were being all gushy and stuff.
Hurrying out of the Infirmary, Harry felt a sudden, irrational urge to run away and hide in his old cupboard. Life there was simple—everyone he had known hated him, and he hadn't held much hope of anything else. When, he wondered, did everything get so complicated?
Ginny caught up to him in the corridor. "Why did you run out of there in such a hurry?" she asked peevishly, trotting alongside him. "I think you hurt Ron's feelings."
"Difficult day," he said shortly.
Ginny stopped him and looked at him levelly. "And his day's just been a walk by the lake, has it? Ron needed you, and you walked out on him."
Guiltily, Harry hung his head. "I'll get him some Chocolate Frogs," he mumbled.
Ginny puffed up and put one her hand on her hip. The other pointed back to the Infirmary. "Get your arse back in there, Potter, and at least pretend you care about someone else's feelings."
Harry reddened. Ginny glared at him, still pointing at the Infirmary.
Is that what she really thinks? Harry wondered. That I don't care?
Not sure what to say, and feeling embarrassed, Harry avoided looking her in the eyes and slunk back towards the Infirmary.
Nervously, he tried to flatten his hair as he opened the Infirmary door. The girl with the orchid in her ear watched him curiously.
Hermione was sitting on the bed, holding Ron's hand. They were talking quietly until they noticed Harry.
"Er," he said, clearing his throat, "do you need anything, Ron?"
"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Ron said coolly.
Harry stared at the leg of Ron's bed. "I didn't want to intrude," he explained quietly.
"That's very considerate of you, Harry," Hermione said primly, "but everything would be a lot less complicated if you allowed us to arrange our own dates."
Ron smiled suddenly, and Harry grinned back sheepishly.
"Two minutes! He'll be out in time for tomorrow's breakfast. You can pester him then!" Madam Pomfrey barked as she bustled past them with a smoking goblet intended for the orchid girl.
"I'll be back later," Hermione whispered to Ron.
Harry, trying to avoid seeing anything disturbing, watched Madam Pomfrey.
"What's that?" the orchid girl asked apprehensively.
"Weed killer," Madam Pomfrey replied bluntly, handing her the goblet. "I can pull the plant, but I'm not certain that it won't re-sprout, so you'll have to take this daily for the next week."
The girl groaned.
When Hermione and Ron had finished doing whatever it was that Harry didn't see, he said a quick goodbye to Ron.
"We should research defense spells," Hermione told him earnestly as they left the Infirmary.
Harry yawned and nodded. The Library was quiet enough; maybe he could find a corner for a quick nap. It's been a long day, he thought, trudging after Hermione.
Just outside the Library, they saw three Ravenclaw girls talking.
"Really! Both of them?"
"But they're both so cute—"
"—and she's not that pretty—"
"—sort of scrawny, if you know what I mean—"
"—And that awful orange hair—"
"Did you, like, see the robes she was wearing today?"
" Let me guess—frayed? Gray?"
"And Dean's a sweetheart!"
"He smiled at me yesterday!"
"NO! He didn't!"
"He did!"
Harry was shocked. How could they talk about Ginny like that?
Hermione bit her lip.
One of the girls, looking over her friend's shoulder, saw Harry and squeaked in surprise.
"What's going on?" Hermione demanded, a dangerous glint in her eyes.
The girls looked terrified.
A grim-faced Hermione backed one of the girls against the wall. "Out with it, then."
The girl was shaking. "P-people are s-s-saying that Ha-Harry and D-D-Dean and Ginny are, well, ahhh, friends, you see, and ummm--"
"That's quite enough," Hermione snapped. "Do something constructive, or I'll speak with Professor Flitwick about finding you something to do."
The girls, looking a bit like panic-stricken rabbits, fled.
"Stupid," Harry muttered after them. "Stupid gossip. Stupid rumours."
"Come on," Hermione urged, pulling him into the Library.
He was aware that Hermione was watching him anxiously as they entered the stacks.
"Are you all right?" Hermione asked him after a moment.
"How can they talk about people like that?" Harry asked.
"I really don't know," Hermione said sympathetically.
Harry shook his head wearily. "Every year. It's the same thing every year."
Hermione nodded and turned into an aisle.
"It will blow over. It always does," she said confidently, running a finger along a row of books.
Harry had his doubts.
Occasionally pulling a book off the shelf to scan the contents, Hermione handed the ones she liked to Harry. She paused over a massive, leather-bound tome. The cover was splattered with reddish-brown stains that looked very much like dried blood.
"Yuck," she said, pushing the book toward Harry. "You can look through that one."
The tome was entitled What to Do When Neighbors Attack, by Gunnar Hildrason. Judging by the bloodstains on the cover, Harry did not have a lot of confidence in the book's contents.
"Oi, Hermione," Harry grunted, "I don't think I can carry any more than this."
Without waiting for a reply, he staggered out of the stacks and tipped the pile of books onto the nearest available table.
Madam Pince stalked silently over and eyed Harry suspiciously. He supposed she was recalling last year's chocolate egg incident.
Why me? he thought morosely.
Ignoring the librarian, he sprawled across from Hermione with the big, bloodstained book propped up in front of him so he would look busy while he brooded. He watched the moving drawing of manticore dancing on the title page and gloomily debated what everyone was going to think of him this year—would he be mad, vain or evil?
Harry was suddenly jarred into to consciousness. Hermione was shaking him. "McGonagall, Harry! McGonagall's detention! You're going to be late!" she screeched.
Harry jumped up and ran out of the library with Hermione close behind him. Gasping, he burst into McGonagall's office and skidded to a stop.
Hermione, unable to stop herself in time, smashed into his back. Harry stumbled forward.
"Mr. Potter," the Head of Gryffindor House said sternly, "you cut that a bit close. I do not look kindly on tardiness. Please arrange your schedule accordingly."
"Sorry, Professor," Harry said, "I fell asleep in the Library, and—"
"You have a dormitory, Potter. I believe there's a bed in it," McGonagall said, cutting him off. "You are to clean the Transfiguration Classroom. Mr. Filch has left cleaning supplies there for you." She held out her hand.
With a sigh, Harry gave her his wand.
"You are not to help him, Miss Granger," McGonagall added.
"Of course, Professor, " Hermione said, "he earned this all by himself, didn't he?"
Hermione and McGonagall shared remarkably similar expressions.
"I see we understand each other perfectly, Miss Granger," McGonagall nodded. "Off with you, then."
Harry chose not to speak with her until the reached the Transfiguration Classroom.
"You don't have to stay," Harry told her coolly, as he pushed the door open.
"You know very well that I'm not going to leave alone," Hermione replied placidly.
Harry grunted in reply and walked over to a pile of cleaning supplies and nudged it with his foot. All in all, this was a pretty light detention. The term hadn't started yet, so the classroom was already tidy, just dusty.
Hermione slid into the seat she usually occupied in Transfiguration, pulled a book out of her bag and started reading.
With a sigh, Harry picked up a rag and some cleaning solution and headed towards the windows. He worked silently to the sound of turning pages. Between growing up with the Dursleys and five years' worth of detentions, he was quite the expert at this sort of thing.
"Harry?" Hermione asked hesitantly.
He looked up.
"What was it like? The duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort, I mean?" Hermione asked. "I've read Great Duels of the Twentieth Century, of course, but to actually see something like that…" Hermione trailed off, looking anxious.
Harry put down the dusting rag and sat down on the floor. He realized that she had probably wanted to ask him about this since the end of last term. He was conflicted. On one hand, it had been an amazing thing to see, and it had definitely expanded his understanding of magical combat. On the other, he was certain that he would not survive a duel with Voldemort, a duel that almost certainly was coming. He sighed.
"You don't have to—"
Harry held up his hand. "No, I should tell you." He paused to gather his thoughts. "It started when Dumbledore strode into the Atrium. Voldemort was already there…"
Harry focused himself on the memory of the duel, each blow, curse, and countercurse. It helped to avoid other, more uncomfortable memories and thoughts that crowded in too close.
"Merlin," Hermione breathed, when he was done.
Harry picked up his rag and went back to dusting tabletops.
"Harry, I know that you are—"
He did not want to hear whatever she was going to say, so he interrupted her. "What was that silvery stuff, anyway?"
"Thought," Hermione said simply. "They were conjuring thoughts."
Harry felt a knot of panic form in his stomach. I'm a goner. I don't have a chance. He's going to kill me. He's going to pin me to a wall like a bug. Then he's going to kill Hermione, and Ron and Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley, Remus and Tonks. The twins. Charlie and Bill. I-I can't stop him—
Harry shook himself. No. Stop this right now, Potter. Think, come on…
Oh, bugger, he's just too powerful to fight. I can't win, can I? Snape was right. I'm not Dumbledore.
I'm Harry, just Harry—
"I need to learn," he said suddenly.
"I don't know if that's possible," Hermione said doubtfully. "People study for ages to learn how to conjure thoughts."
"No,' Harry said grimly. "I need to learn about myself."
To be continued
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Author's Notes:
First, thanks for the all the reviews and apologies for the delay in posting this.
A Jobberknoll is a tiny bird that never makes a sound until the moment of its death. Then it screams out every sound it has ever heard. It reminds me of Harry a bit. He holds everything in, then lets it all fly, all at once.
What to Do When Neighbors Attack, By Gunnar Hildrason was inspired by the Icelandic epic, Njal's Saga. After a heroic defense, Gunnar was indeed killed by his neighbors in his own house.
