..........WAHOO!!!! I reached 100 reviews again! (dances hysterically for numerous minutes with her muses Remus and Sirius) You guys are the best! (tackle-hugs reviewers) Thank you so much! I can't tell you how good it feels to break 100 reviews for a story. (dances) Thanks a bunch! Here's chapter eleven for your reading/viewing pleasure!
Love from
Ela
As the days went on, visitors continued to drop unexpectedly into Harry's room. They were all quite set off by his unusual happiness. The uncharacteristic joviality left them bewildered, believing that Harry was being drugged without his knowledge. Harry, of course, knew otherwise, but allowed them to believe what they liked. Mrs. Weasley seemed pleased with his sudden change of heart, and purposed that they bring him home immediately. Arthur protested, believing that the shock of a sudden atmosphere change might only create another problem. Remus, who was not present at the time, had given strict orders that Harry stay until he showed satisfactory signs of improvement, and of course none of the doctors had said anything on such matters.
But as the Weasleys brought these fears and beliefs to the surface, with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny only a few feet away, quite capable of hearing their heated debate, a thought suddenly rang in Harry's mind.
How was he going to get out of here? The Weasleys would never just let him out, and any moves he made would be watched closely by any and all who were with him.
But Harry couldn't wait long enough to be deemed cured. Somewhere, Sirius was waiting for him. But where? It wasn't here in Mungos, he knew that. Despite Remus' words about them being in the Critical Conditions ward waiting for him, Harry was wise enough to realize that their reality was not shared with him. At least, not with the part of him that was conscious and functioning.
He had a dilemma on his hands, and was not sure quite how to handle it.
But Harry's answer came in the most unexpected of forms exactly two weeks after he had been admitted to Mungos.
One evening, just before Harry had prepared his bed, a soft rap sounded on the door. He jumped, not having expected a visitor this late.
"Come in," he called. His expression was knit in concentration as he wondered who it might be, and why they were here. When Harry looked up he was surprised to see Albus Dumbledore standing in the threshold. He had a small knapsack tucked underneath his right arm, and a smile that illuminated his gentle blue eyes.
"Hello Harry," Dumbledore greeted, as though this were a very appropriate setting for a very typical meeting between a regular Headmaster and his ever-so-normal pupil. "How are you?"
A frown made Harry's countenance knit further. "I would tell you," Harry said lightly, pulling back the sheets of his bed, "but you wouldn't believe me."
Strangely enough, Dumbledore's eyes shimmered as though this were just the reaction he expected.
"When, Harry," he asked, "have I ever doubted you before?"
Harry stiffened. The only thing that separated himself from his Headmaster was the simple, militaristic like bed that sat like an unwelcome rock between the two bodies, yet the entire universe seemed to settle in that one room for a single moment. All that existed was Dumbledore and that all knowing gaze. Harry felt something tickle in the back of his head. There was a deeper meaning to this meeting than he could identify, but what? The impression soon passed, leaving Harry silently questioning the feeling of isolation.
"Then you don't think I'm a nutter?" Harry asked with a perplexed half grin.
A laugh escaped Dumbledore's lips. Light yet hearty, as though he'd just heard a joke he'd already heard a million times before, but still laughed so as to not offend the orator.
"A nutter?" Dumbledore repeated, placing the knapsack on Harry's nightstand. "No, Harry. That is not quite the word I would use. I think you are disheartened. You're feeling a loss greater than anything you've been accustomed to before, and you don't know how to express it."
All hope left Harry's heart. He slumped down onto the side of the bed and allowed his head to fall into his hands. This was not the answer he had hoped for.
Dumbledore took a seat next to him, a gentle hand laid upon the young boy's shoulder.
"Why are you here?" Harry asked after a while. "It's not your job to check up on me."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said slowly. "But I do on occasion, regardless what you may think my numerous other responsibilities are."
Harry flinched at the inner tartness of that statement.
"Then it is certainly not your style to do so in person," Harry commented, a shadow of a smile flickering onto his features. "What brings you here now, Dumbledore?"
Albus Dumbledore was a mysterious man. Even Harry, who had known him well for the past five years, had a hard time discerning all of those secret smiles and clandestine flickerings beneath the eyes. The way he twisted words into the most complicated arrangements to describe the simplest things around him and others. Rarely did he make immediate sense, least of all to Harry, with whom he played such games with most often.
He caught an air of that nature now as Dumbledore stood from the bedside and moved to bring the knapsack into his arms. He did not take his seat back, but simply stood, looming over Harry like the guardian angels he heard so much about.
"I thought you might be needing this," he stated with a gentle grin. "I fear that now I must be getting back. I will be seeing you again soon." He pat Harry's shoulder and left, the door snicking shut quietly behind him. Harry's gaze followed curiously, a frown evident on his features. With an acquiescing sigh he let his eyes fall to the bag that now rested in his arms. It was his. Left with the Weasley's when they had brought him to Mungos. He'd left it laying under his cot with specific instructions that no one go through it. Inside was the shattered fragments of Sirius' mirror, and a picture that Remus had taken in secret just before he had returned to Hogwarts after the Holidays of his fifth year. It was an image of him and Sirius sitting on one of the dusty couches in Grimmauld Place. Harry had his feet up on the cushion, smiling dumbly into the camera. Sirius was on his right, a bottle of butterbeer in his right hand. His left was brought up behind Harry's head, his index and middle finger brought up to give the impression of what muggles called 'bunny ears'. Harry, of course, was clueless to this action.
A sad smile flickered over his face as he watched that moving image now. Harry watched his picture-self lean his head back, bumping into Sirius' raised hand. The picture version of Harry turned with a suspicious look to Sirius, who had now rotated his gaze in the opposite direction, whistling and suddenly becoming very interested in, what Harry could only guess to be, the ceiling. His hand had slyly dropped behind the couch as though he'd been using it for an armrest the whole time. Picture-Harry raised his eyebrow, then turned his attention back to the camera. It was at that time that picture-Sirius lay down his bottle of butterbeer and enveloped Harry in a tackle-esque hug that sent them both toppling off the couch. A few pillows and a decorative holiday blanket followed them.
Some moments later, two heads popped up from the bottom of the image, laughing while trying to pull themselves out from underneath the blanket.
Harry smiled. He allowed his thumb to caress the right side of the image. Sirius now had his arms wrapped around Harry's shoulders, his head rested atop Harry's own. They smiled gleefully up at him, a cruel mockery of everything Harry had lost.
Everything I thought I lost, Harry thought with a smile. He tucked the picture away into a protective pocket and shifted through a few more items. He had his Dark Arts book in there, the album from Hagrid that featured all the pictures of his mother and father, and that was it. He reached for the clasps to close the bag, but a silver glint caught his eye. No, he'd left that in his trunk, hadn't he?
Harry reached into the knapsack and pulled out the knife-combination-lock pick that Sirius had given him. He sat gaping at this newfound blessing. It had been repaired as well, no longer melted from his journey through the Ministry that fateful June night.
"Impossible," Harry whispered, watching as the light from overhead glinted off the metal. This was his ticket out. His ticket home. But how to use it? Where would he go after Mungos?
Only one place to go to get any answers now, Harry thought to himself as he tucked the knife beneath the mattress of his bed. He took off his glasses and crawled beneath the sheets . Turning out the light, Harry breathed a rare sigh of relief.
"Back to the Death Chamber,"
The picture description was inspired by Kristin which can be viewed at her studio website. I take no credit for the images initial appearance. The actions of the picture were my own, but I can take no credit for those either as they might not have been possible without her heartwarming yet heartbreaking image of Sirius and Harry during their first, and last, Christmas.
I'm really pleased with all the reviews. Thanks guys!
