9. Lettre de L'amour
When Harry had reached the common room, he took his bag and threw it across the room. He was even angrier with Dumbledore for making him witness the trial. Harry never realized, nor even cared, how tortured Snape really was. No wonder he was so horrible with him. But one thing kept replaying in Harry's mind; the fact that Snape was his uncle.
"It can't be true," he said to himself. "It can't be!" But deep down Harry knew it was true. They had used Veritaserum after all. He paced back and forth and ran his fingers through his already messy hair. He had to vent. He felt the need to purge all the information he had just received to someone. But there was no one. He couldn't tell Ron and Hermione, and as badly as he wanted to, he couldn't tell Sirius. Harry felt the strongest desire that he had felt since Sirius had died, to talk to him. Sirius was the only one he could really talk to about his parent's death and what happened when they were still around. Harry kneeled down in front of the couch and began to punch the cushions with all his might. He wanted to hurt something. Hurt somebody so badly that maybe they could recognize the slightest amount of the pain he was feeling. Harry never realized how much he felt as Snape had at moments like this.
The common room was clogging his thoughts. He felt suffocated and decided to go down to Hagrid's hut to catch the last bit of the lesson. By the time Harry had arrived, all the kids were heading back up towards the castle to their next class. He didn't feel like explaining the reason why he had to leave to anyone who came across his path, so he made his way to the Forbidden Forest.
"Yer not supposed ter go in there." Hagrid had obviously spotted Harry on his way to the forest. Harry stuffed his hands into his robe's pockets to hide his clenched fists.
"I wasn't going to go in. The centaurs would probably kill me," Harry mumbled as he slowly turned around to meet Hagrid's eyes. "Plus Grawp is still in there," he said under his breath as Hagrid chuckled to himself.
"Shouldn't yeh be gettin' to yer next class?"
"They excused me for the rest of the day," Harry replied mournfully. As good as a friend Hagrid was, and as strong as the urge he had to spill his guts, Harry didn't feel like talking to Hagrid anymore.
"Fer what? What did you have ter do up in Professor Snape's office anyway?" The name Snape echoed in his mind. "Yer essay couldn't have been that bad now."
"It wasn't about my essay. Profess-," he paused. Harry wasn't resilient from his anger towards Dumbledore to address him properly. "Dumbledore said I was supposed to discuss it with anyone. You better go Hagrid. Kids from your next class are beginning to arrive."
"Oh! Oh. . .yeah. . . yeah right. See you 'Arry!" As Hagrid walked over to his hut, Harry unclenched his fists. In his right pocket, his finger brushed up against a crumpled piece of parchment. He unfolded it and read the note. It was the letter from Luna.
-Harry,
I know how you
miss Sirius and I know how to talk to him.
If you would fancy a visit to
the Department of Mysteries in order to talk
To Sirius, please write me back as I will be unable to be notified between
classes.
Yours Truly,
LuN@ LoVeG00d
She writes oddly, but oh well, he thought as his spirits lifted. Talk to Sirius. Oh my, I get to talk to Sirius! He was practically jumping up and down as this thought occurred to him. Suddenly, Snape was taken off his mind, the weather seemed very comfortable and relaxing, and he felt remorseful about being so harsh with Hagrid. Harry scanned the grounds for Luna and then scribbled on the back of the parchment that he would love to talk to Sirius. It hit him then. Unless they were a ghost, how could you talk to the dead? He paused in his writing and felt the familiar storm cloud of depression move up his throat.
"Hell, what do I have to lose?" he asked himself and then placed the letter back in his pocket to mail to Luna later. Luna's letter reminded Harry of the one he should have written for Ron. "I guess I could do it now," he informed himself reluctantly. He plodded back up to the Gryffindor common room and took a seat near the window. A breeze ruffled through his hair and kissed his cheeks. This'll be easy, he thought as a smirk spread over his face. He pulled out the piece of parchment that he had used the night before and began to think of what to write next.
"My Dearest Hermione," he spoke aloud. "For years I have been far too insecure with myself to show my feelings for you. But now I have matured hence the purpose of this letter," Harry stopped and started laughing. "As if she'd believe this was from Ron. Okay, let's see. what else?" he paused to write down what he had just said and began to speak again. "Er, um, too long have I let my heart suffer from your cruelty of not even noticing me more than just a friend. Do I have words to describe my love? Nay I say. Oh Hermione, if only I could find those words to describe this-this-this passionate love I have towards you; why, they'd be the most beautiful and poetic words. I love you Hermione. I love you!" By now tears were swelling in his eyes from laughter. He slapped his hands on the desk and laughed so hard that the tears spilled over his cheeks. He wiped them away, his laughing simmering down to a chuckle and tucked the piece of parchment away in his robes.
"Imagine," he giggled to himself, "imagine Ron writing something like that. I gotta keep that! That was brilliant!" Harry took out blank piece of parchment and began to write how a normal 16 year old teenage boy would write to a girl. He found that writing this confession letter to Hermione came easily to him. After the first few sentences, Harry had forgotten that this letter was from Ron and let his emotions flow freely onto the paper. He had lost track of time and had finished off his fourth page (and final sentence) of the letter when the first person entered the common room all day. Harry quickly stuffed the letter into his book bag when he saw the person emerge from behind one of the chairs.
"So what happened?"
"Er, uh, h-hi Hermione," Harry greeted pushing his bag under the table with his foot. "Where's Ron?"
"That Bell girl told him of a last minute Quidditch meet but-"
"Quidditch? Really? This early? Well I must be heading down there then"
"Just a minute!" Hermione yelled as Harry sprinted towards the portrait hole. Harry stopped hesitantly. "Your ban hasn't been lifted yet. You know that! Now what are you trying to hide from me Mr. Potter?" Harry could feel her interrogating eyes on the back of his neck. He turned around and smiled nervously.
"Nothing," he whined playfully.
"Then what were you working on when I came in? I heard you writing something!" she demanded. Harry stopped smiling and instead rubbed the back of his neck.
"Just some private things that I needed to do in order to, um, in order to-er help me deal with all of Snape's private information." Hermione raised a questioning eye brow and then relaxed. She took a seat on the couch and beckoned for Harry to sit next to her. He obliged.
"So how did it go?" she asked truthfully interested instead of feigning interest as she did when Ron and Harry talked about Quidditch.
"It was hard to tell you the truth. Umbridge was there," he answered.
"That reminds me," Hermione said. "You'll never believe who are new Dark Arts teacher is." Harry felt his stomach churn.
"I, uh, thought we didn't have Dark Arts lessons today," Harry told her, hoping that this was some kind of twisted joke.
"Oh we didn't. The professors announced it to us during class."
"But how do they know?" Harry shouted furiously. Hermione shrugged and started shaking her head.
"Dumbledore must have told them. I really miss Ewan. Even though he only taught us one lesson, that whole singing ensemble was intriguing." Harry felt his hands clam up. He started wiping them on his pants to get the moist feeling away. Now that Umbridge was back, he wouldn't be able to play Quidditch. He felt his head become heavy and hot.
"So it," he closed his eyes, waiting for Hermione to tell him that she was only kidding. "It really is Umbridge then?" She nodded yes. "This year is going to be a disaster."
"Oh come on now Harry! She might have changed a slight bit! Dumbledore obviously wouldn't have hired her back if he thought that she was going to be as nasty as last year!" Hermione said in her defense. Harry jumped up at her remark.
"Yeah, well, Dumbledore is a clueless git sometimes! All the terrible things that have happened to Hogwarts over the years might have been avoided if he hadn't failed to tell me my Prophecy in my first year here!" he fired back.
"Your what? What are you talking about? I-I don't understand," Hermione whimpered. Harry ran his fingers through his hair once again in frustration. He paced back and forth, grumbling to himself. "Harry?"
"I have to murder or be murdered," he spat.
"Oh my-what?"
"That sphere the Death Eaters wanted last year, it's my Prophecy. When Voldemort killed my parents and then tried to kill me, well, he marked me as his equal. It said that 'One can't live while the other survives.' I have to kill him, or he kills me. He wanted it because when my Prophecy was told, one of his spies only heard part of it; he needed to hear all of it. It comes down to this," he took a deep breath trying to remember what it had said exactly and sat down. "One of us has to die at the hand of the other. And personally, my odds aren't looking very good." Hermione wore a sullen expression. Her eyes darted around the room. She drew in a shaky breath.
"You can't die Harry. I mean, you've fought him these past five years, but-"
"But every year it has become much more difficult. He's almost recovered all his power I assume. He became human two years ago. I saw it happen."
"No, what I mean is your wand. It has the tail feather from the same phoenix that gave another feather, and only one more, to Voldemort's wand. How can one die at the hand of the other?" Harry sat in shock. She's absolutely right, he thought. Ron burst into the room.
"I am so bloody sore," he groaned as he rubbed his right shoulder. "Be right down. I have to put my broom away." Harry and Hermione watched him as he hobbled up the stairs letting out an occasional "ow." Harry spoke up as soon as Ron was out of sight.
"Listen, I want to tell Ron another time. Not right now, I don't feel like talking about it anymore okay?" Harry told her urgently. Hermione nodded. "I have to give Ron something so I'll be right down too." He grabbed his book bag and climbed the stairs. Ron was sitting on the bed, putting his broom away in its case. He turned around rubbing his shoulder, wincing.
"How is it out there?" Harry asked enviously (but hiding it all the same). Ron shrugged.
"Nice I guess. Kinda the same as it was last year," he replied dully. Harry cleared his throat. "Oh yeah. . .sorry," Ron chuckled. "You'll never believe who our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is!" Ron exclaimed.
"I know."
"Yeah," there was a moment's silence. Harry glanced out the window at the Pitch. It glistened temptingly in the sun. He saw the hoops and the stands; a sense of loss overcame him.
"I wrote your letter," Harry said finally. Ron stopped rubbing his shoulder. His eyes lit up.
"Really?"
"Sure did. All it needs is you signature," he smiled as he showed Ron the letter. Ron sat on the bed, reading the four pages.
"This is really well written Harry," Ron told him in a serious tone. "Really well written. I just hope she believes it was me. I mean, you said everything I feel. How'd you know what to write?"
"I, erm, well, it, uh, it you know, just came to me," he stammered afraid that Ron might get the wrong idea. "Here's a quill. Sign it, and give it to her tonight, when nobody else is around alright?" Ron's smile could not have been any bigger as it spread across his freckled face. He jotted down his name, shook Harry's hand, and then the two of them preceded back into the common room, which was now full of Gryffindors. Hermione was holding a conversation with Parvati so Harry and Ron sat off to the side by the fireplace.
"You really think she'll like it Harry? What if she thinks it is a joke?" Ron asked nervously. Harry smiled at his discomfort.
"You know how Hermione is. She'll believe it. Calm down alright?"
"Alright," Ron breathed.
"So," Harry started as he tried to change the subject, "how's the team doing?" Ron enthusiastically filled him in on all that had happened today during practice. He told him about how one of their beaters had accidentally hit Ginny, mistaking her head for a bludger. He told him how he had blocked a shot and how Angelina had cursed at him because it was her shot. He told Harry about the new trick he could do on his broom, but all the time, while Ron blabbed, Harry nodded politely. He heard what Ron had been saying, but not comprehending. He was thinking of the trial, the letter, how to tell Ron about the Prophecy, about Sirius. . .
"So then I pull out of the nose dive and straight up into the air! It was hard, but pretty useful once you get the hang of it," he finished.
"Hmm. I'll have to try that one," Harry said thoughtfully. Hermione wandered over as Parvati and many other students headed out to dinner.
"'Lo Ron," she greeted cheerfully. Ron's face and ears grew red.
"Er. . . hi Hermione. Don't you want to go to dinner?"
"Um, not right now. Are you okay?"
"He's just a little tired from practice is all," Harry answered pulling up a chair. He glanced over at Ron whose eyes were asking if he should give her the letter now. Harry gave a slight nod and Ron answered by clearing his throat.
"Harry will you do me a favor and make sure that all my Quidditch stuff is stored away? I don't want Dean or Neville to go looking through it," Ron asked, never taking his eyes off Hermione. As Harry clambered up the stairs, he couldn't help but smile as he heard Ron shuffle some papers.
When Harry had reached the common room, he took his bag and threw it across the room. He was even angrier with Dumbledore for making him witness the trial. Harry never realized, nor even cared, how tortured Snape really was. No wonder he was so horrible with him. But one thing kept replaying in Harry's mind; the fact that Snape was his uncle.
"It can't be true," he said to himself. "It can't be!" But deep down Harry knew it was true. They had used Veritaserum after all. He paced back and forth and ran his fingers through his already messy hair. He had to vent. He felt the need to purge all the information he had just received to someone. But there was no one. He couldn't tell Ron and Hermione, and as badly as he wanted to, he couldn't tell Sirius. Harry felt the strongest desire that he had felt since Sirius had died, to talk to him. Sirius was the only one he could really talk to about his parent's death and what happened when they were still around. Harry kneeled down in front of the couch and began to punch the cushions with all his might. He wanted to hurt something. Hurt somebody so badly that maybe they could recognize the slightest amount of the pain he was feeling. Harry never realized how much he felt as Snape had at moments like this.
The common room was clogging his thoughts. He felt suffocated and decided to go down to Hagrid's hut to catch the last bit of the lesson. By the time Harry had arrived, all the kids were heading back up towards the castle to their next class. He didn't feel like explaining the reason why he had to leave to anyone who came across his path, so he made his way to the Forbidden Forest.
"Yer not supposed ter go in there." Hagrid had obviously spotted Harry on his way to the forest. Harry stuffed his hands into his robe's pockets to hide his clenched fists.
"I wasn't going to go in. The centaurs would probably kill me," Harry mumbled as he slowly turned around to meet Hagrid's eyes. "Plus Grawp is still in there," he said under his breath as Hagrid chuckled to himself.
"Shouldn't yeh be gettin' to yer next class?"
"They excused me for the rest of the day," Harry replied mournfully. As good as a friend Hagrid was, and as strong as the urge he had to spill his guts, Harry didn't feel like talking to Hagrid anymore.
"Fer what? What did you have ter do up in Professor Snape's office anyway?" The name Snape echoed in his mind. "Yer essay couldn't have been that bad now."
"It wasn't about my essay. Profess-," he paused. Harry wasn't resilient from his anger towards Dumbledore to address him properly. "Dumbledore said I was supposed to discuss it with anyone. You better go Hagrid. Kids from your next class are beginning to arrive."
"Oh! Oh. . .yeah. . . yeah right. See you 'Arry!" As Hagrid walked over to his hut, Harry unclenched his fists. In his right pocket, his finger brushed up against a crumpled piece of parchment. He unfolded it and read the note. It was the letter from Luna.
-Harry,
I know how you
miss Sirius and I know how to talk to him.
If you would fancy a visit to
the Department of Mysteries in order to talk
To Sirius, please write me back as I will be unable to be notified between
classes.
Yours Truly,
LuN@ LoVeG00d
She writes oddly, but oh well, he thought as his spirits lifted. Talk to Sirius. Oh my, I get to talk to Sirius! He was practically jumping up and down as this thought occurred to him. Suddenly, Snape was taken off his mind, the weather seemed very comfortable and relaxing, and he felt remorseful about being so harsh with Hagrid. Harry scanned the grounds for Luna and then scribbled on the back of the parchment that he would love to talk to Sirius. It hit him then. Unless they were a ghost, how could you talk to the dead? He paused in his writing and felt the familiar storm cloud of depression move up his throat.
"Hell, what do I have to lose?" he asked himself and then placed the letter back in his pocket to mail to Luna later. Luna's letter reminded Harry of the one he should have written for Ron. "I guess I could do it now," he informed himself reluctantly. He plodded back up to the Gryffindor common room and took a seat near the window. A breeze ruffled through his hair and kissed his cheeks. This'll be easy, he thought as a smirk spread over his face. He pulled out the piece of parchment that he had used the night before and began to think of what to write next.
"My Dearest Hermione," he spoke aloud. "For years I have been far too insecure with myself to show my feelings for you. But now I have matured hence the purpose of this letter," Harry stopped and started laughing. "As if she'd believe this was from Ron. Okay, let's see. what else?" he paused to write down what he had just said and began to speak again. "Er, um, too long have I let my heart suffer from your cruelty of not even noticing me more than just a friend. Do I have words to describe my love? Nay I say. Oh Hermione, if only I could find those words to describe this-this-this passionate love I have towards you; why, they'd be the most beautiful and poetic words. I love you Hermione. I love you!" By now tears were swelling in his eyes from laughter. He slapped his hands on the desk and laughed so hard that the tears spilled over his cheeks. He wiped them away, his laughing simmering down to a chuckle and tucked the piece of parchment away in his robes.
"Imagine," he giggled to himself, "imagine Ron writing something like that. I gotta keep that! That was brilliant!" Harry took out blank piece of parchment and began to write how a normal 16 year old teenage boy would write to a girl. He found that writing this confession letter to Hermione came easily to him. After the first few sentences, Harry had forgotten that this letter was from Ron and let his emotions flow freely onto the paper. He had lost track of time and had finished off his fourth page (and final sentence) of the letter when the first person entered the common room all day. Harry quickly stuffed the letter into his book bag when he saw the person emerge from behind one of the chairs.
"So what happened?"
"Er, uh, h-hi Hermione," Harry greeted pushing his bag under the table with his foot. "Where's Ron?"
"That Bell girl told him of a last minute Quidditch meet but-"
"Quidditch? Really? This early? Well I must be heading down there then"
"Just a minute!" Hermione yelled as Harry sprinted towards the portrait hole. Harry stopped hesitantly. "Your ban hasn't been lifted yet. You know that! Now what are you trying to hide from me Mr. Potter?" Harry could feel her interrogating eyes on the back of his neck. He turned around and smiled nervously.
"Nothing," he whined playfully.
"Then what were you working on when I came in? I heard you writing something!" she demanded. Harry stopped smiling and instead rubbed the back of his neck.
"Just some private things that I needed to do in order to, um, in order to-er help me deal with all of Snape's private information." Hermione raised a questioning eye brow and then relaxed. She took a seat on the couch and beckoned for Harry to sit next to her. He obliged.
"So how did it go?" she asked truthfully interested instead of feigning interest as she did when Ron and Harry talked about Quidditch.
"It was hard to tell you the truth. Umbridge was there," he answered.
"That reminds me," Hermione said. "You'll never believe who are new Dark Arts teacher is." Harry felt his stomach churn.
"I, uh, thought we didn't have Dark Arts lessons today," Harry told her, hoping that this was some kind of twisted joke.
"Oh we didn't. The professors announced it to us during class."
"But how do they know?" Harry shouted furiously. Hermione shrugged and started shaking her head.
"Dumbledore must have told them. I really miss Ewan. Even though he only taught us one lesson, that whole singing ensemble was intriguing." Harry felt his hands clam up. He started wiping them on his pants to get the moist feeling away. Now that Umbridge was back, he wouldn't be able to play Quidditch. He felt his head become heavy and hot.
"So it," he closed his eyes, waiting for Hermione to tell him that she was only kidding. "It really is Umbridge then?" She nodded yes. "This year is going to be a disaster."
"Oh come on now Harry! She might have changed a slight bit! Dumbledore obviously wouldn't have hired her back if he thought that she was going to be as nasty as last year!" Hermione said in her defense. Harry jumped up at her remark.
"Yeah, well, Dumbledore is a clueless git sometimes! All the terrible things that have happened to Hogwarts over the years might have been avoided if he hadn't failed to tell me my Prophecy in my first year here!" he fired back.
"Your what? What are you talking about? I-I don't understand," Hermione whimpered. Harry ran his fingers through his hair once again in frustration. He paced back and forth, grumbling to himself. "Harry?"
"I have to murder or be murdered," he spat.
"Oh my-what?"
"That sphere the Death Eaters wanted last year, it's my Prophecy. When Voldemort killed my parents and then tried to kill me, well, he marked me as his equal. It said that 'One can't live while the other survives.' I have to kill him, or he kills me. He wanted it because when my Prophecy was told, one of his spies only heard part of it; he needed to hear all of it. It comes down to this," he took a deep breath trying to remember what it had said exactly and sat down. "One of us has to die at the hand of the other. And personally, my odds aren't looking very good." Hermione wore a sullen expression. Her eyes darted around the room. She drew in a shaky breath.
"You can't die Harry. I mean, you've fought him these past five years, but-"
"But every year it has become much more difficult. He's almost recovered all his power I assume. He became human two years ago. I saw it happen."
"No, what I mean is your wand. It has the tail feather from the same phoenix that gave another feather, and only one more, to Voldemort's wand. How can one die at the hand of the other?" Harry sat in shock. She's absolutely right, he thought. Ron burst into the room.
"I am so bloody sore," he groaned as he rubbed his right shoulder. "Be right down. I have to put my broom away." Harry and Hermione watched him as he hobbled up the stairs letting out an occasional "ow." Harry spoke up as soon as Ron was out of sight.
"Listen, I want to tell Ron another time. Not right now, I don't feel like talking about it anymore okay?" Harry told her urgently. Hermione nodded. "I have to give Ron something so I'll be right down too." He grabbed his book bag and climbed the stairs. Ron was sitting on the bed, putting his broom away in its case. He turned around rubbing his shoulder, wincing.
"How is it out there?" Harry asked enviously (but hiding it all the same). Ron shrugged.
"Nice I guess. Kinda the same as it was last year," he replied dully. Harry cleared his throat. "Oh yeah. . .sorry," Ron chuckled. "You'll never believe who our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is!" Ron exclaimed.
"I know."
"Yeah," there was a moment's silence. Harry glanced out the window at the Pitch. It glistened temptingly in the sun. He saw the hoops and the stands; a sense of loss overcame him.
"I wrote your letter," Harry said finally. Ron stopped rubbing his shoulder. His eyes lit up.
"Really?"
"Sure did. All it needs is you signature," he smiled as he showed Ron the letter. Ron sat on the bed, reading the four pages.
"This is really well written Harry," Ron told him in a serious tone. "Really well written. I just hope she believes it was me. I mean, you said everything I feel. How'd you know what to write?"
"I, erm, well, it, uh, it you know, just came to me," he stammered afraid that Ron might get the wrong idea. "Here's a quill. Sign it, and give it to her tonight, when nobody else is around alright?" Ron's smile could not have been any bigger as it spread across his freckled face. He jotted down his name, shook Harry's hand, and then the two of them preceded back into the common room, which was now full of Gryffindors. Hermione was holding a conversation with Parvati so Harry and Ron sat off to the side by the fireplace.
"You really think she'll like it Harry? What if she thinks it is a joke?" Ron asked nervously. Harry smiled at his discomfort.
"You know how Hermione is. She'll believe it. Calm down alright?"
"Alright," Ron breathed.
"So," Harry started as he tried to change the subject, "how's the team doing?" Ron enthusiastically filled him in on all that had happened today during practice. He told him about how one of their beaters had accidentally hit Ginny, mistaking her head for a bludger. He told him how he had blocked a shot and how Angelina had cursed at him because it was her shot. He told Harry about the new trick he could do on his broom, but all the time, while Ron blabbed, Harry nodded politely. He heard what Ron had been saying, but not comprehending. He was thinking of the trial, the letter, how to tell Ron about the Prophecy, about Sirius. . .
"So then I pull out of the nose dive and straight up into the air! It was hard, but pretty useful once you get the hang of it," he finished.
"Hmm. I'll have to try that one," Harry said thoughtfully. Hermione wandered over as Parvati and many other students headed out to dinner.
"'Lo Ron," she greeted cheerfully. Ron's face and ears grew red.
"Er. . . hi Hermione. Don't you want to go to dinner?"
"Um, not right now. Are you okay?"
"He's just a little tired from practice is all," Harry answered pulling up a chair. He glanced over at Ron whose eyes were asking if he should give her the letter now. Harry gave a slight nod and Ron answered by clearing his throat.
"Harry will you do me a favor and make sure that all my Quidditch stuff is stored away? I don't want Dean or Neville to go looking through it," Ron asked, never taking his eyes off Hermione. As Harry clambered up the stairs, he couldn't help but smile as he heard Ron shuffle some papers.