The Forbidden Forest gleamed under the early-morning blaze. Shadows and shapes lurking crept back to the thick of it, only to wait for night again for them to prowl. The lake gave off a blinding light as the sun cleared the horizon, soon passing over the trees and mountaintops surrounding the castle as it did.
Through the open window, light poured into Professor Dumbledore's office, casting back the remaining night still creeping. Magical instruments, each more delicate and sinuous than the last, cast their shadows upon the cobblestone walls, which were adorned with dozens of snoring portraits. Harry's head lay lolled to the side, for he was crouched against the wall, still unawake. He gave a sudden start as the door crashed against the wall. Hermione came running in from the hall.
"Harry!" she cried out, seeing him shield his eyes against the brightness, "Filch is dead!"
If the sudden sound and blazing light did not wake Harry, this certainly did. He stood, looking highly bemused. "Dead... but how, why?"
"He was found in the dungeons only about half an hour ago. We've been combing the castle and the grounds the entire night. The dungeons were the last place we got to, and when we got there... Filch was just lying there on the ground. Dumbledore said whoever had killed him had tortured him first before doing the job. I've no idea how he knew that, though."
Harry was stunned. "But... what is Dumbledore going to do now?"
Hermione shrugged ruefully. "Not sure. He sent me to get you. I can take off the Legaturas Charm when you're ready."
Shaking the news from his head, Harry stretched, trying to do away with the results of sleeping against a solid, stone wall for half the night. "Thanks. I wanted to help you guys, you know. A lot."
"It's okay, it really is." She turned and unearthed her wand from he pocket. Mutter silent words under he breath, Hermione flicked her wand about. After a moment, she faced back to Harry. "There, that should do it... if you ask me, Harry, I was quite proud of you for taking it so well. I thought you'd be much angrier about it."
His brow furrowed. "Your thought I'd be angry? Dumbledore bound me here because it's the safest place in Hogwarts. He said that by staying here, there's no way the intruder could've hurt me. I don't see what there is to be angry about."
Quite abruptly, Hermione's face flushed, and her eyes darted away from his. "Erm... that's good, Harry. Here, let's go..."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, fine," Hermione said in an attempt at nonchalance, "but we must get going."
Harry paused. He had known Hermione long enough to know when he was being kept from something, and he wouldn't let her leave until she told him. He didn't care if he has to use the Legaturas Charm on her. "What is it, Hermione? Tell me."
"Absolutely nothing, Harry—"
"Hermione," he said firmly. She flushed again, once more trying to avoid eye contact. She sighed at last, defeated.
"Fine, Harry, but you won't like this. It's just that... last night, when Dumbledore left, he was talking to Professor McGonagall. I sort of heard them speaking. Dumbledore was just saying to her – discreetly, of course, not in a gloating way at all – that he had bound you here because he didn't want you chasing after the intruder."
"What?" Harry said, dumbfounded. "But he told me—"
"Yes, he told you it was to help him from hurting you. I think he was afraid of you hurting yourself, Harry. The Legaturas Charm can only be performed with the complete consent of the person being bound. If he told you that he didn't want you running off and being reckless, trying to track down the intruder and dueling him yourself instead of getting help, then you wouldn't have given him consent. Or it would've taken up time we didn't have. So you see, Harry, Dumbledore didn't have any other choice," she finished feebly. She looked at him in a pleading way, as if begging he wouldn't make an outburt.
Harry, however, was still struck dumb. Dumbledore had been very cryptic while Harry was at school, often tossing him riddles hither and thithrt to ponder out. Seldom did he ever give an honest answer in the full. He had even withheld information from Harry, deeming him too young to be exposed. Never, though, had he ever told a blatant lie to him. He would not let this pass.
"He lied, Hermione," he said brusquely. "He's never done that. I mean, he thinks I'm going to run off and tail this guy—"
"Is he wrong, though, Harry?" said Hermione absently. It was as if she had just realized what had come out of her mouth; she clasped her hand over her mouth and flushed crimson. It was as if Ron himself was standing before him. "Sorry, Harry. It's just... you've done some pretty rash things before. You went after Sirius in our third year."
"You were with—"
"And you went through with the Triwizard Tournament, even though you went old enough."
"I didn't have a choice, I had to go, I didn't want to do the stupid—"
Hermione sighed, making it quite clear she regretted insinuating this to begin with. "All I'm saying is that you've been known to do rash things. I just don't entirely blame Dumbledore for doing what he did."
Harry's teeth ground against each other loudly. Rash, was he? His hands were tightly clenched until they had become pearly white, and his face prickled with red. He held up one finger, opening his mouth to say something to her. After a long moment's pause, when no words came to him, he stormed out of the office, leaving Hermione to herself.
And so, Harry was not seen speaking but one word to Hermione since him. She had caught him in the corridors on more than one occasion, trying to get him to say something to her, but he kept on past her. In his school days, he usually had a friend like Ron to lean back on when he and Hermione had a tiff. Now, Ron was at the Ministry, and couldn't possibly keep Harry company. He was truly alone.
Classes continued as usual, or what Harry had hoped they'd be. Dumbledore had been right in one thing: the students really were forgiving about that whole dueling affair with Hermione. True, they did show a distinct hesitance at the beginning, though they soon worked past it. Though that was all Dumbledore had been right about, Harry thought stubbornly. Dumbledore had not spoken to him since the night with the intruder, which suited Harry just fine.
The weeks meandered by, evaporating at an excruciatingly slow pace. By the time September drew to a close, and the sunshine that greeted them each day dimmed, Harry was almost thinking longingly of just about anywhere besides Hogwarts.
He had to focus on the task at hand, as he tried to assure himself one cloudy October day in the library. He was scrawling facts about Hinkypunks from a textbook for his third-year class, unnoticed as usual. A small throng of students and Madame Pince, the librarian, were the only other people in the library.
Now more than ever Harry longed for Ron's company. If only to hear his voice, and know that he wouldn't have to spend the next nine months left to himself.
"Hullo, Harry."
He spun around, seeing Ron Weasely standing there. Like his youth, Ron stood much taller than Harry, or most wizards in general, for that matter. His face was flecked with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny red freckles, with his bright red hair matching them. The size of his feet, nose, and hands could rival most others, too. Harry also noticed that Ron was decked in dark, tattered robes.
Harry could only sputter out half-finished words. At last, he finally managed say, "What?"
Ron laughed. "Well, Hogwarts needs a new caretaker now that Filch is gone, doesn't it?"
"So... you're going to be..."
"I'm the new caretaker. I heard about the whole thing, so I quit my job and applied here. I can't let you and Hermione battle dark wizards alone, can I?"
Through the open window, light poured into Professor Dumbledore's office, casting back the remaining night still creeping. Magical instruments, each more delicate and sinuous than the last, cast their shadows upon the cobblestone walls, which were adorned with dozens of snoring portraits. Harry's head lay lolled to the side, for he was crouched against the wall, still unawake. He gave a sudden start as the door crashed against the wall. Hermione came running in from the hall.
"Harry!" she cried out, seeing him shield his eyes against the brightness, "Filch is dead!"
If the sudden sound and blazing light did not wake Harry, this certainly did. He stood, looking highly bemused. "Dead... but how, why?"
"He was found in the dungeons only about half an hour ago. We've been combing the castle and the grounds the entire night. The dungeons were the last place we got to, and when we got there... Filch was just lying there on the ground. Dumbledore said whoever had killed him had tortured him first before doing the job. I've no idea how he knew that, though."
Harry was stunned. "But... what is Dumbledore going to do now?"
Hermione shrugged ruefully. "Not sure. He sent me to get you. I can take off the Legaturas Charm when you're ready."
Shaking the news from his head, Harry stretched, trying to do away with the results of sleeping against a solid, stone wall for half the night. "Thanks. I wanted to help you guys, you know. A lot."
"It's okay, it really is." She turned and unearthed her wand from he pocket. Mutter silent words under he breath, Hermione flicked her wand about. After a moment, she faced back to Harry. "There, that should do it... if you ask me, Harry, I was quite proud of you for taking it so well. I thought you'd be much angrier about it."
His brow furrowed. "Your thought I'd be angry? Dumbledore bound me here because it's the safest place in Hogwarts. He said that by staying here, there's no way the intruder could've hurt me. I don't see what there is to be angry about."
Quite abruptly, Hermione's face flushed, and her eyes darted away from his. "Erm... that's good, Harry. Here, let's go..."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, fine," Hermione said in an attempt at nonchalance, "but we must get going."
Harry paused. He had known Hermione long enough to know when he was being kept from something, and he wouldn't let her leave until she told him. He didn't care if he has to use the Legaturas Charm on her. "What is it, Hermione? Tell me."
"Absolutely nothing, Harry—"
"Hermione," he said firmly. She flushed again, once more trying to avoid eye contact. She sighed at last, defeated.
"Fine, Harry, but you won't like this. It's just that... last night, when Dumbledore left, he was talking to Professor McGonagall. I sort of heard them speaking. Dumbledore was just saying to her – discreetly, of course, not in a gloating way at all – that he had bound you here because he didn't want you chasing after the intruder."
"What?" Harry said, dumbfounded. "But he told me—"
"Yes, he told you it was to help him from hurting you. I think he was afraid of you hurting yourself, Harry. The Legaturas Charm can only be performed with the complete consent of the person being bound. If he told you that he didn't want you running off and being reckless, trying to track down the intruder and dueling him yourself instead of getting help, then you wouldn't have given him consent. Or it would've taken up time we didn't have. So you see, Harry, Dumbledore didn't have any other choice," she finished feebly. She looked at him in a pleading way, as if begging he wouldn't make an outburt.
Harry, however, was still struck dumb. Dumbledore had been very cryptic while Harry was at school, often tossing him riddles hither and thithrt to ponder out. Seldom did he ever give an honest answer in the full. He had even withheld information from Harry, deeming him too young to be exposed. Never, though, had he ever told a blatant lie to him. He would not let this pass.
"He lied, Hermione," he said brusquely. "He's never done that. I mean, he thinks I'm going to run off and tail this guy—"
"Is he wrong, though, Harry?" said Hermione absently. It was as if she had just realized what had come out of her mouth; she clasped her hand over her mouth and flushed crimson. It was as if Ron himself was standing before him. "Sorry, Harry. It's just... you've done some pretty rash things before. You went after Sirius in our third year."
"You were with—"
"And you went through with the Triwizard Tournament, even though you went old enough."
"I didn't have a choice, I had to go, I didn't want to do the stupid—"
Hermione sighed, making it quite clear she regretted insinuating this to begin with. "All I'm saying is that you've been known to do rash things. I just don't entirely blame Dumbledore for doing what he did."
Harry's teeth ground against each other loudly. Rash, was he? His hands were tightly clenched until they had become pearly white, and his face prickled with red. He held up one finger, opening his mouth to say something to her. After a long moment's pause, when no words came to him, he stormed out of the office, leaving Hermione to herself.
And so, Harry was not seen speaking but one word to Hermione since him. She had caught him in the corridors on more than one occasion, trying to get him to say something to her, but he kept on past her. In his school days, he usually had a friend like Ron to lean back on when he and Hermione had a tiff. Now, Ron was at the Ministry, and couldn't possibly keep Harry company. He was truly alone.
Classes continued as usual, or what Harry had hoped they'd be. Dumbledore had been right in one thing: the students really were forgiving about that whole dueling affair with Hermione. True, they did show a distinct hesitance at the beginning, though they soon worked past it. Though that was all Dumbledore had been right about, Harry thought stubbornly. Dumbledore had not spoken to him since the night with the intruder, which suited Harry just fine.
The weeks meandered by, evaporating at an excruciatingly slow pace. By the time September drew to a close, and the sunshine that greeted them each day dimmed, Harry was almost thinking longingly of just about anywhere besides Hogwarts.
He had to focus on the task at hand, as he tried to assure himself one cloudy October day in the library. He was scrawling facts about Hinkypunks from a textbook for his third-year class, unnoticed as usual. A small throng of students and Madame Pince, the librarian, were the only other people in the library.
Now more than ever Harry longed for Ron's company. If only to hear his voice, and know that he wouldn't have to spend the next nine months left to himself.
"Hullo, Harry."
He spun around, seeing Ron Weasely standing there. Like his youth, Ron stood much taller than Harry, or most wizards in general, for that matter. His face was flecked with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny red freckles, with his bright red hair matching them. The size of his feet, nose, and hands could rival most others, too. Harry also noticed that Ron was decked in dark, tattered robes.
Harry could only sputter out half-finished words. At last, he finally managed say, "What?"
Ron laughed. "Well, Hogwarts needs a new caretaker now that Filch is gone, doesn't it?"
"So... you're going to be..."
"I'm the new caretaker. I heard about the whole thing, so I quit my job and applied here. I can't let you and Hermione battle dark wizards alone, can I?"