Chapter 14: Broken Dreams and Broken Glass[C1]
Author's Note: Sorry about my procrastination with this chapter. I know I promised to have it out soon, but I recently had a death in my family to which I had to attend. Also, I saw the new Harry Potter movie when it came out; it was stunning visually, but I prefer my movies to follow canon more closely. I'd love to hear what everyone else thinks.
The other students made room for A.M.'s swift exit, but other than that simple gesture, they remained generally stony. Then the whispering started. "Get out of here," Harry growled at them.
"Man," Ron giggled nervously, "you probably shouldn't have done that. It's pretty bad when you have a Death Eater out to get you,"
"Ron, just quit it, won't you?" Hermione snapped and, surprisingly, Ron shrugged and walked toward the stairs to the boys' bedrooms. Most of the crowd followed, so Harry took the clamor as his chance to exit from the Gryffindor Tower, slamming the door behind him.
What had he done? Sure, A.M. was a Death Eater, but did she deserve what he had said about her? He hadn't even thought about his words before they spilled from his mouth, but now he would do anything to take them back. He'd never done something so childish or cruel as to maliciously sully one's name.
But what struck him was that she was an orphan, just like him. She didn't have her parents to greet her at the end of the summer or cheer when she graduated from Hogwarts. Just like him, she would never experience the joy that came from having her mom cook breakfast on Sundays or dad teach her the best broom techniques. With that on her head, what Harry had done was unspeakable.
"Well, are you done acting the royal shit?" Hermione grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, her eyes narrowed.
"Look, Hermione," Harry explained, "I feel really bad-"
"Oh, sure you do. How could you be so cruel, Harry? What happened to the friend I used to know?"
He shrugged, avoiding her glare, hands thrust in his pockets. "I don't know."
"Well, are you going to go apologize, or do I have to make you?"
He blurted, "I already said I was sorry, and she just got even angrier."
"If that's what you consider an apology, you're dafter than I thought."
"I can't really apologize, she'd never listen. Besides, I can't go up to the girls' dormitories anyways."
Hermione crossed her arms. "I just can't believe you Harry. You acted terribly."
"Look, I know, okay?" He didn't need a lecture to make him feel bad.
"Well," she replied, "you apparently don't, because you wouldn't have acted like that otherwise."
"Hey," he told her sharply, "haven't you ever just wanted other people to like you? To think you're cool? Are you happy being a geek?"
Her eyes flashed, but she ignored his insult. "Harry, neither of us will ever be the most popular students in school. But I would never betray my friends to reach that status."
He broke under her reprimand. "I know," he moaned, leaning against the wall. "How do I fix this, Hermione?" His temples pulsed as he raised his fingers to his forehead.
"Are you really, truly sorry?" she asked him, eying him carefully. He nodded earnestly. She paused in thought. "I'll go talk to A.M. in a little bit," she told him, putting a nurturing arm around him. "Please don't ever act like this again-"
"I won't."
"Let me finish, Harry. I pride myself in having such wonderful friends, but when I see you act so prejudice and cruel, it makes it hard to feel like that."
The guilt in Harry's throat intensified. "Hermione…" he whispered, choking on embarrassing tears.
"I know that you're hurting, Harry. I forgive you and I'm sure that A.M. will too."
"But it's not just that. I don't ever feel like myself anymore." The tears were now flowing freely onto Hermione's immaculate shirt, but she did nothing to brush them away.
"I…" she struggled to find the words. "Harry, I can't say anything to make your past go away. I can only offer you my support and promise that I'll always be there for you."
"Why can't things ever be easy for us?"
"Would you want them to be?" she asked him sadly.
"I just want all of this Voldemort stuff behind us. No more dark lords or Death Eaters."
"Someday, Harry. Someday." He cried silently for awhile, but was finally able to regain control enough to walk back to the tower, Hermione at his side. They embraced in the common room, but didn't need words to express themselves. Harry hated that Hermione felt sorry for him, but appreciated her support and friendship. "Goodnight," she whispered as she headed upstairs. "Sleep well."
He replied, "Goodnight," and headed up to his dorm room.
On the rare occasion that Harry dreamed, he only saw one vision and that night was no exception. Sirius was alive and well, standing in front of a house in the country. Harry flew into the front yard, dropped his broom, and joined his godfather's side. "What do you think?" his mentor asked.
"Absolutely perfect," Harry replied, eyeing the smallish cottage. And it was perfect.
Sirius told him, "Real steal on the market," as his face faded in and out as it only can in dreams. "But I have something to show you."
And inside, the same surprise was waiting, leaving no shock when he saw his parents, alive and unharmed, in the living room. As always, Sirius explained that they'd been hiding there for last 16 years, but only now, after Voldemort's defeat could they expose themselves to their only child.
But that's where it always ended, leaving Harry longing for the warmth and comfort of sleep. He always wanted more, but could never reach it within his subconscious. But this night was different, as after the dream was over, he did not awake in his dorm bed, but rather found himself transported to a room he recognized well. Voldemort sat in a chair by the fire, drinking a some sort of cognac or other liquor in a fluted glass.
It was obvious that he was angry about something, but was keeping his emotions tightly contained. "Wormtail," he hissed, calling his servant to his side. Harry felt his mind recoil at the sight of his parents' betrayer. "Wormtail, what word do you have of her?"
"There's been no sightings of her anywhere," he sniffed, "and we've taken care of any leads we've had. Nothing."
"Dumbledore has hidden her away, I'm sure of it."
"None of our insiders at the Ministry have said anything-"
"No, not the Ministry," Voldemort sighed impatiently. "Dumbledore. He's behind her disappearance."
"Perhaps, my lord, we could forget about her and move on with the plan."
The room went cold as an icy wind blew out the fire. "Forget about her? Forget about her?! Voldemort stood and faced Wormtail, the lackey cowering under his master's silhouette. And waste the last five years?!" The flames roared back up in the fireplace.
"I… I'm sorry."
"I don't want any rock left unturned," he growled, his armchair flipping over at the wave of his hand and finally coming to a rest on the oriental rug. "She will be found and when she is, you will bring her to me."
"Yes, master. How foolish of me to suggest otherwise."
Voldemort turned to face his most loyal servant, when he caught his own visage in the mirror. A slow smile crossed his face. "Well, Wormtail, I see we have a spy."
"Harry, Harry!" He woke up, sweat pouring from his body. "Harry," Ron shook him.
Harry looked at the faces of his worried classmates surrounding his bed. "What's going on?"
"You were having a nightmare," Neville told him. "From the sound of it, it was bad." His friends stood there, expectantly as the room swayed and spun around him.
"I've got to get out of here," Harry murmured, pushing past Ron and heading for the stairs.
"Harry-" someone called as the door closed, but he ignored it.
Instead, he once again headed for the door and roamed the halls, desperate to slow his mind. He knew what girl Voldemort was talking about, he could feel who she was, like his nemesis' anger. But no matter how hard Harry tried, he was unable to conjure up a name or image. She could be anyone in Hogwarts, or for that matter, in Little Whinging or anywhere else he'd been. She could even be someone he'd seen on the tele, or even a muggle. 'But what on earth would Voldemort want with a muggle?' All he knew was that he had seen her before.
"Harry, isn't it a bit late for you to be out wandering the halls?" Startled, he spun to see Professor Kenchi at the door of his classroom.
"I, uh, couldn't sleep."
The teacher smiled mysteriously. "It seems to me that you were, but something woke you up. Would I be correct?"
"Uh, yes."
Kenchi stepped to the side of the door. "I usually have a lesson at this time, but tonight is unfortunately a no-show. Would you perhaps like to begin working on occlumency?"
An idea popped into Harry's head. If he could figure out how to stop the dreams from coming into his head through occlumency, couldn't he use it to look further into the dreams as well? Before he could even ponder why the professor would have a lesson so late at night, he nodded his head.
"All right," Kenchi told him. "Let's get started."
Unable to even make it to her bed, A.M. collapsed against the rough-hewn door of her chamber. Huge racking sobs jerked through her body, making it impossible to breathe. "Oh God.." she moaned. Why had she been cursed like this? Marked a Death Eater before she even knew what one was, she had been tossed a life that did not fit her, reminiscent of Harry trying to fit his cousin's clothes. No matter where she turned, how things would end, she had been given too much responsibility, too much to deal with. It was torturing her soul.
"Why?! Why?!" The anger at the boys' joking words coursed through her veins. It was true, what people said. High school kids were cruel and self-motivated. None of those boys were like that on their own, but when put in a place of competition, the gloves came off and no one was spared. It was a kiss-and-tell syndrome that had plagued the world for centuries. It was simply unfair that the girl always got the raw end of it.
A.M.'s head hurt with the intensity of her thoughts, sending a pulse through her forehead that couldn't be stopped. She struggled to her dresser, where a pitcher of water sat waiting. Perhaps a cooling washcloth to the face could end the headache, if not the memories careening through her mind.
That was when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her father's mocking eyes stared back at her. They pierced into her mind and whispered the horrible truth. She would always look like her mother, but have her father's eyes. A.M.'s eyes damned her to a life of extremes. Even if she could hide them from everyone else, she could not hide them from herself. Her mother had known that, but couldn't keep her from the truth forever.
Why her? She did not ask to be a Death Eater or her mother's daughter or her father's child. She did not ask for the fate that waited in her future. And she certainly didn't ask for the cruelty she'd endured downstairs. Her emotions finally boiled over. "God Dammit!" she yelled, slamming her hand into her reflection.
Glass instantly shattered around her and fell to the floor in long, sharp splinters. A.M. could see the pink smears on them and the marble countertop: her blood. It began dripping languidly down her wrist and arm as she pushed her hair from her forehead. Soon a small puddle was forming on the dark cherry floorboards.
Once again the tears started, flowing in rhythm to the pulsing stream from her arm. She slid down the wall, holding her knees to her chest in the one protection her fragile body could afford her. The only sounds were her heavy breaths and the relentless dripping of her bleeding cut. She reveled in a sadistic satisfaction at the pain coursing through her nerves.
A.M. suddenly heard insistent knocking at the door, but was too dazed to know how to respond. She could feel just her anger and her sadness, and the need to cry it out of her body. Only a shout of, "A.M., are you alright?!" brought her back.
Hermione stood at the door, opened without permission, and when she saw the glass and blood, she gasped. "Oh, A.M., I was coming up to talk and then I heard the crash and I thought… I thought- I didn't know what to think! What on earth happened?" She looked at the mirror and her mouth dropped open. "Did you do that?"
"Umm…" A.M. replied in a singsong voice she didn't recognize, "it was nothing, really."
Hermione cried, "Nothing?" and grabbed A.M.'s injured arm by the wrist. "We need to get you to Madame Pomfrey, quick!"
"No, no," A.M. whispered,
"A.M., I heard what happened downstairs. Those boys were jerks. I've never seen Ron and Harry act that way. It seems like this year they've… well, become high school boys. I don't feel the same way they do, I promise. Now, let's go to the infirmary-"
"I'm not going," A.M. replied sullenly, then stood to clean up the mess from the mirror.
"You're hurt! What do you mean you're not going?"
"I don't need to have everyone fussing over me. Believe me, I've been through a lot worse."
Hermione joined A.M. on the floor. "At least let me help you clean up. You know, I talked with Harry and he just feels-"
Panic suddenly struck A.M., shaking her from her daze. "No, I really don't need your help."
"Nonsense, it will only take a minute to get all this," Hermione answered, not sensing the panic in the other girl's voice. "Anyway, Harry says-"
"Then I can certainly do it without you. I'd like to be alone now."
"A.M., don't be ridiculous. You're hurt. Just sit down and let me take care of this."
"I don't need your help!" A.M. was practically shouting now. "Get out!" She grabbed the other girl by the collar of her shirt and tried to drag her to the door, but only succeeded in splattering Hermione and the floor with fresh droplets of blood.
"A.M., you're really hurt. Let go and we'll go see Madame Pomfrey."
"Get the hell out," she told Hermione tersely in desperation.
"What is wrong with you?" Hermione asked. "I'm just trying to… trying to…" A.M.'s heart sank. She followed Hermione's gaze to the piece of mirror in her petite hand. Hermione was holding it at such an angle that A.M.'s entire face was visible to both of them. Hermione was staring at A.M.'s eyes. Her violet eyes.
[C1]Chapter 14