Chapter 8: Cold Feet[MSOffice1]
"This is bloody shit," quipped Ron, slamming the book shut. Harry sighed. After three hours of studying for his test the next day, his legs hurt, his back ached, and his temperament was far below its general level.
"I've never even heard this word," Ron continued, having returned to Kenchi's assigned reading. "Grand-dee-loo-quence. How does that have to do with anything?"
"It's pronounced, grand-di-lo-quence, and it means pompous language. You're supposed to talk down to a flibberty-gibbet, to assert your power." Hermione's voice came muffled from the couch.
"You know, you could be helping us study. After all, you're going over the same stuff." Harry knew it was a futile attempt. When he and Ron had come into the common room, Hermione's smile seemed forced and she refused to even acknowledge Ron. Her admonition was the first thing she'd said to the red-head all day. Obviously something had happened and neither was indulging information.
As he predicted, Hermione rebuffed him. "You're both big boys. Figure it out yourselves. I'm tired of being your walking encyclopedia."
"Fine. Be that way." Harry could feel his boiling point being reached. "Ron," he seethed, "I'll go ask Kenchi about that gabunkle ward. I'll be back soon."
"Harry, don't worry about it. We can ask him tomorrow before the test-"
"I said, I'll be back soon," he hissed through clenched teeth, then strode into the hallway. He was at the end of his rope. His N.E.W.T. classes proved extremely difficult and, for the first time since his O.W.L.s, he began to doubt his ability to pass them. Both Hermione and Ron were acting wishy-washy: hot one moment, cold the next. He never knew when some offhand comment would set Hermione off, and any negative remarks about A.M. brought Ron's reproach.
Everyone seemed so testy this year and Harry wasn't sure if it wasn't just fears of Voldemort. There was the electrical charge of hormones and teenage trials between the girls and boys, replacing the fanciful crushes of their younger years. While it all seemed so trivial now, Harry sensed that he was experiencing some of the most pivotal years of his life.
As captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he felt that he held a responsibility to maintain plutonic relationships with all the players. But one of the new fourth years, a perky little brunette, continually captured his attention, making that very difficult. Had it not been for some tricky and, albeit, dirty flying in the match against Ravenclaw, he would have missed the Snitch because he couldn't keep his eyes focused. He didn't like these feelings in him, but seemed powerless against them. Even Hermione, who was nothing more than a friend, looked good to him.
More so than the new Gryffindor player, A.M. challenged his resolve in ways he couldn't understand. She was so willing, so eager to please him, to make him smile or laugh, but he couldn't allow himself to be overcome by her easy grin. It seemed too simple to fall for her, and he sensed much hidden away in her. Her smile would seem forced when people would talk about their parents and occasionally he would catch her wiping away a seemingly unnoticed tear.
While this didn't make a person irrevocably evil, combined with Snape's strange affections and odd events like the burn on her arm, Harry's intuition flashed red around her. But how wonderful it would be to look into her cornflower eyes and forget everything else.
The tinkling melody caught him by surprise, as the only time he remembered hearing music at Hogwarts was at the Yule ball two years ago and at Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party (though musical saws hardly counted). No music or chorus class was taught at the school and Harry had learned from his studies that it was next to impossible to enchant an instrument. Radios and televisions didn't work inside the school; nevertheless, Strauss' "Blue Danube" drifted lazily down the hall.
As he traveled the corridor, the music grew louder. Tension gripped him as he walked closer to the source. Why would someone go to the trouble to bring music into Hogwarts? What did it mean?
The door was slightly propped and Harry saw it was the Room of Requirement, but when he peeked inside it was almost unrecognizable. Gone were the ceiling-high bookshelves and burning torches. A long window took up one entire wall, casting bright light, despite the dreary weather, across a highly polished wood floor. The planks were laid in a checkerboard pattern using mahogany and redwood, and were so shiny they reflected the blush tones of the walls. Chandeliers hung from the ceilings and the opulence of the room reminded Harry of pictures he had seen of Versailles.
But most surprising was not the ancient phonograph, whose crank was currently turning itself (probably bewitched), at the side of the room, but the figures twirling in the middle of the floor. Snape, looking groomed and dignified in an ankle-length black robe, almost couldn't be the same man that taught the potions classes so severely; his cheeks contained a healthy glow, making him look rather handsome.
In his arms, with her back turned to Harry, danced a girl with long, light blonde curls. Her hands, one on the professor's, the other on his shoulder, were a pale ivory, perfect as porcelain. Harry, his heart beating frantically, waited for them to turn so that he could see her face, to prove that it was the mystery girl, but at that moment the music stopped.
"Left foot first, for the last time!" the professor chastised his partner.
"Well, I'm sorry," the girl retorted and Harry instantly recognized her voice and accent. "I thought you were talking about your left foot. You should make your instructions more clear."
"Why would I be telling myself which foot to move? I already know how to dance."
She snorted and took a sip of water from a glass on a nearby table. "Why is it so damn important anyway? Honestly, I haven't been attending many golden jubilees lately."
"I'm trying to teach you grace and civility, something you've unfortunately lacked for a long time."
"How charming you can be, Severus," she shot back. "With compliments like that, I can't understand why the girls aren't banging down your office door." She turned to flash the teacher a conniving smile, but he had turned away. Only Harry could see her pale, glowing face, her amethyst eyes shining in the light. "Severus?" she asked hesitantly, standing on tip-toe to see what he was staring at.
The teacher seemed frozen in place. His face grew red and his eyes became slits. Finally he rushed forward and threw the door open, exposing Harry. He didn't even have time to panic before the teacher drug him into the room. "Potter!" Snape yelled in his ear. "So you think looking at people's private memories isn't enough, do you? Now you have to spy on them too?!"
"I… I…" Harry tried to speak, but was too frightened. Snape looked angry enough to kill. His fingers dug painfully into Harry's shoulders and his vision began to flash red from lack of air where the professor had a grip on the neck of his robe.
"Professor Snape, if I might intervene," the girl called smoothly, stepping between the seething man and the squirming boy. "Harry has done no harm and might actually do some good."
"Get him out of here before I do something worse than just give him detention!" He yanked his wand from his belted robe and pointed it at Harry.
"Come now, Professor Snape, let him stay." The girl's eyes crinkled as her mouth pulled into a smirk. Suddenly Harry wondered if she might not be the bigger threat between the two. "I could use some practice with my waltz."
"Surely you're joking! This degenerate is a spy and-"
"-My new dance partner." She stared coldly at Snape and Harry felt something pass between them. The teacher visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropped, and he turned back to his normal shade of white.
Harry began backing toward the door. He longed to stay, to touch the girl's soft hands and waist, but felt the dangerous electricity in the air. He knew he would lose his head if he were to breathe in her scent and wanted to keep control. "Where are you going?" the mysterious girl asked and dragged him by the sleeve onto the dance floor. She placed one of his hands on the small of her back, the other in the air between them. He swallowed and found his throat to be dry.
"Mr. Potter, you must put more pressure in your arms. I don't intend to lead this dance." With that, she nodded to Snape. "Maestro, some music, please."
A regal waltz erupted scratchily from the ancient phonograph and Harry found himself turning slow circles on the wooden tiles. He grinned cockily at his dance partner, mistaking her brazen actions for flirtation. "What's this about?"
"Now that we have some quiet," the girl started in a low voice, "I thought I made myself perfectly clear. You have to stay away. You're becoming far too unreserved. Snape was really angry. You could have gotten yourself in trouble."
"Big words," he retorted, his bravery growing with each turn around the floor, "from someone who left the door propped open." He had the information that gave him the power and insight over her. He knew who she was.
She snorted softly, then pulled him closer. "Harry-"
"This is more like it. Now if only Snape wasn't here-"
"Harry," she repeated, "you can't keep coming up on me like this. It's dangerous, you don't know who I am-"
He laughed. "Yes I do, Gretta."
She choked and tripped over her own feet, throwing off the beat as she tried to right herself. Snape was immediately on guard, but settled back at a wave of the girl's hand. "What did you say?" she asked, distress gripping her expression.
"Don't worry, Gretta, your secret's safe with me."
She looked at Snape, then back at him. "Fine," she told him evenly, "you may call me whatever name you wish."
"Gretta, meet me tonight. In this room."
She sighed. "Harry, don't you listen? You have to stay away. Your curiosity may have helped you so far, but it will only get you in trouble."
"You don't seem very troublesome to me," he told her, grinning flirtatiously, but her dark eyes remained grim.
"I'm serious. I don't want something to happen to you."
"You don't seem like the type to make death threats."
She looked at the floor and whispered, "There are things worse than death."
The music died away and Snape came over. "My dear," he said sharply, addressing the girl, "I hope you've satisfied your need for variety in dance partners." She looked up and both Snape and Harry saw the tear trail slowly down her ivory cheek.
"What have you done?" Snape snarled, baring his teeth at Harry. "Get out!" Confused and stunned what had just happened, he found himself frozen in place. What had he said to make the girl cry? "I said, GET OUT!" the Professor screamed, jolting him out of his stupor. He rushed for the door and ran blindly down the hall, desperate to be anywhere but that room. The walls were a blur around him as he moved quicker than he could ever remember, too frightened to check behind him for pursuers.
He turned the corner and collided with something very solid. Tumbling to the floor, he barely caught a glimpse of what had tripped him. It, or she rather, had strawberry-blonde hair.
"In a hurry, Harry?" she asked, helping him to his feet. 'Oh, not now please. I don't think I can take Gretta and A.M. at one time.'
"Uh, yeah, I have to… uh… talk to Kenchi about the test." He hoped his lie was convincing to her, because he certainly wouldn't believe it. He looked nervously back down the hall, but no one had given chase.
She nodded knowingly. "Gabunkle problems? Me too. I'll go with you." 'Damnit. That didn't work out like it was supposed to.'
"You didn't hear any music just a couple a minutes ago in here, did you?" he asked, walking down the hall, frustrated that she easily matched his quickened pace.
"No, come to think of it, I don't think I've ever heard music in Hogwarts. Kind of funny, isn't it?"
"I suppose." He shrugged. If he was going to be stuck with her, he might as well get some information out of her. Maybe he could figure out what she was hiding.
"So, why'd you come to Hogwarts?" he asked.
"Well, I was learning a lot at my old school, but… circumstances required me to switch schools."
"Circumstances?"
"Yeah," she said, then abruptly went silent.
"So, where are your parents? I mean, you're obviously not from here originally."
"My father is… dead."
He nodded. "Yeah, my parents were murdered. By Vold- I mean, you-know-who. You probably already know."
"You can say Voldemort around me. It's okay. I won't freak out. Yeah, you could say he murdered my father."
"Oh, I'm real sorry." He put an arm around her, then caught her face. She looked surprised and blushed slightly. He quickly pulled it away and secretly chastised himself. How would he resist her if he couldn't keep his hands off her? "Uh, anyway- so, are you staying with relatives?"
"You could say that."
"You don't give very definite answers, do you?"
She shrugged. "Would you feel any better if I did?"
"I don't know," he replied. "With the way you talk, it sounds like I wouldn't."
"We're all running from the same things. Fear. Weakness. The past. What could I tell you that you don't already know?" He looked at her. "Harry, we're more alike than you'll ever understand. If you want to know me, look at yourself."
He laughed. "You're more mysterious than-" he caught himself. He'd almost said, "Gretta," despite his promise to keep her secret. 'Stupid,' he thought, inwardly kicking himself. She was looking at him, confusion in her eyes. "-Than fried chicken," he finished lamely.
She laughed. "You have a strange sense of humor, Harry." He found himself grinning back at her.
"So, uh… what exactly is going on between you and Ron? You two an item?"
"Oh, no," she denied, vigorously shaking her head. "There's someone else with dibs on him."
"Dibs? Who?"
She giggled. "You mean you don't know? Well, I certainly won't give her away. Besides, he's a nice guy, but I've kind of had a crush on this other person for a couple years now, not really easy to give up the ghost."
"You should go for him," he advised absentmindedly, busy fighting his jealousy.
"Oh, I really don't think he's interested. Who knows, maybe I'll try some other time."
"No, really, you're pretty. You could have just about any guy you wanted."
She stopped. "Are you suggesting something, Harry?"
He felt himself go red and grow extremely hot at the collar. "Uh… no. Well, here we are. Kenchi's room."
She knocked on the door, and gave Harry one last look before it opened, revealing the kind-faced professor. "Well, hello students. Might I be of service?"
"Yes, we were hoping you could help us with the gabunkle ward."
"Yes, of course." They walked in and opened their books. "Harry, let me see you perform the ward. I can give you constructive criticism."
"All right." He pursed his lips, concentrating hard. "Collendulum!" A cloud of red, glittering smoke burst from the tip of his wand.
"Very nice, Mr. Potter. Just make sure that you rotate your wrist slightly. That will give you a thicker cloud." Harry repeated the ward, making the correct adjustments, and indeed, the cloud was thicker and took longer to dissipate. "Excellent," the teacher praised.
"Shall I try now, Professor Kenchi?" A.M. asked, her wand poised and ready.
"No, Miss Kinter, how about you just explain it to me." Kenchi looked nervous until she pocketed the wand, probably thinking of the many accidents she caused in class. She was worse than Neville at times. She shrugged and gave the steps, one-by-one.
"Precisely. If you can perform the ward like that, you should have no problems."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry told him, walking to the door with A.M. in tow.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, might you stay a bit longer? I was hoping to speak to you," he looked at A.M., "privately."
"I have to get going anyway," she said. "I'll see you later, Harry." She waved and closed the door behind her. Harry took in a deep, refreshing gulp of air and realized he'd been sucking in his stomach since he'd run into A.M.
"Harry, do sit down. I'm sure you'll want to be comfortable for this conversation."
Harry sat at the table closest to the slight professor. "What's going on? I thought I was doing well in class."
"This has nothing to do with our class, Mr. Potter. Rather, we must discuss the prophecy that Headmaster Dumbledore revealed to you last year."
Harry was instantly on edge. "How do you know about that?" he asked guardedly.
"Do not worry, Dumbledore did not tell everyone of your secret. However, because I am a devout follower of Dang Ta, he felt I would be best to talk with: to answer your questions and put your fears to rest."
"No offense, but I don't understand why you would be any more qualified to tell me about it than anyone else." He realized how rude he sounded and repeated, "No offense."
The teacher chuckled. "Mr. Potter, you needn't worry about offending me. Perhaps I should explain. I have taught the teachings of Dang Ta to you before. However, prophecies play a special role in this philosophy. Everything is fate. Therefore, all prophecies are realized.
"Many of those more involved in scientific wizardry have abandoned the idea of prophecies, but over ninety-eight percent of those prophecies stored at the national ministries come true. Dang Ta feels this is proof of fate and the way it plays into our lives. However, prophecies are more definite. There is no changing it by missing a certain piece of information or reading or not reading a certain book. There is no changing your destiny."
Harry felt a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach. "What are you trying to say?" he inquired, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.
"Sixty percent of prophecies are realized by age eighteen. Eighty-nine percent are realized by twenty. Ninety-three by age twenty-five. Only six percent of the last part of prophecies occur after thirty. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
"I'm afraid I'm not quite following."
"While I must admit, Mr. Potter, the most famous prophecies have usually occurred later in life, you have an eighty-nine percent chance of meeting your fate in the next four years."
"Four years?" He swallowed, but found his mouth to be dry. "I have to kill Voldemort in the next four years?"
Kenchi cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "The prophecy does not guarantee that you will defeat Voldemort. It only promises that one of you shall die and one of you shall live."
"So, the only thing you can tell me is that this big fight will probably happen within the next four years." Harry felt the frustration rise in his chest.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I am not a seer. I can only tell you what Dang Ta says and statistics show. But I'm not trying to frighten you; I'm trying to make you aware of the truth. This will allow you to prepare more thoroughly for the battle ahead."
"What can I do to get ready?"
"I understand that you can not learn every piece of knowledge in the world. You are welcome to come to me and I can help you wean what information will best help you." He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps we could start with occlumency?"
For the first time since the conversation started, Harry felt some of the pressure lift from his shoulders. "Thank you, Professor."
"Of course. You are free to go anytime you like, unless you have questions for me."
"I do, actually. What do you know about that prophecy about the royal line?"
"My, I haven't heard that mentioned in decades. I certainly wasn't expecting you to know about it."
Harry leaned forward in his chair. "So, is it true?"
"Well, most prophecies do not go so long without sign of fulfillment. It's been over twenty years with no sign of the prophecy coming true. Plus, Princess Gretta was the last of the line. The British Ministry has researched the royal line for years now and they've found no other trace anywhere. While I can't say for sure, I'm guessing that it's a joke, as everyone suspects."
"Is there any way Gretta could still be alive?"
Kenchi shrugged. "Everyone thought Peter Pettigrew was dead until just recently. I would suppose that anything is possible. However, they found her dead body in her apartment. It would be very difficult to fake a death such as that."
Harry finally stood. "Well, thanks again, Professor. That really was helpful."
"I mean it, Mr. Potter. You are welcome to come prepare with me anytime."
"I will be sure to take you up on your offer," he answered, his voice thick with relief. With that, Harry left the room, finally alone with his thoughts.
[MSOffice1]Chapter 8