Chapter 20
The next morning, though welcoming as it was with clear skies and fairly warm weather, Harry's contentment from last night faded toward lunch period. At that point, as he took the role of dragger and Ron was forced the role of dragged, they raced toward the library.
"Harry," Ron whined from behind, "we're missing lunch!"
"This is more important than lunch," Harry assured Ron without slowing his pace. "I'm sure we'll find something on Aurora in the library."
A long, exaggerated sigh came from behind Harry. "Fine, but if I collapse from lack of food and exhaustion, expect a large medical bill with Hedwig tomorrow."
Taking this as close enough to Ron's consent as possible, Harry continued onward through the corridors until they reached the library. There, Harry released Ron (who was about to swear loudly but was stopped by a glare with the librarian), and they stumbled in. Nobody else was there as far as they could see, beside the regular old librarian breathing down their necks and probably wondering what the heck they were doing here at this point in the day.
"So, genius, where do we start?" Inquired Ron as they began to stroll through the packed bookcases. "Or should we wait for the right book to just fall on top of us?"
"I'm looking, I'm looking," Harry assured Ron with a patient tone. His eyes scrolled quickly through the names of old, battered books, flinching a few times a few titles such as Love Magic: Drive the Witches Wild.
"How interesting," Ron teased and poked at the aforementioned book with a wide grin toward Harry. Normally, Harry would have responded with some witty remark about the situation, but now his mind was only focused on getting the information he wanted.
"Aha!" he whispered in triumph as his three fingers tipped out an enormous book titled The Guaranteed Complete Index of Wizard and Witch Families since 1690. Pulled suddenly by gravity's jerk, the heavy book sailed out of the bookshelf and managed to hit Harry in the stomach. Harry's wind was knocked out of him and Ron's head whipped around to find Harry sprawled on the library floor in pain.
"Wow, Harry," Ron said as he helped the brunette to his feet, who was still struggling to hold the book in his arms without tipping over. "I wasn't being serious about the falling book thing."
"Oh, shut up and help me with this," Harry urged with a dangerous sway. Ron took hold of the other end of the book and they heaved it to an empty table, where their impatience and weakness got the best of them . . .
KLUNK.
"Shh!" came the urgent whisper and piercing glare of the librarian. Harry and Ron plastered bitter smiles on their faces until she had looked away and their curved lips dissolved into frowns.
"By the way," Ron added in a whisper as Harry took a chair in front of the intimidating book, "what the bloody hell are we doing here?"
"Researching," Harry answered plainly, grabbing about half of the book and prying it open with all his might. Soon, the covers parted, revealing old and smelly paper covered with about fifty alphabetized names per page, each with its own summary of family origins and a few unique achievements or traits, in a size as small as a quill's width at the tip. Though Harry's eyes widened involuntarily at the sight, he quickly shifted back to business and his head soon tipped downward, scanning the list of names.
"Researching what?" Ron asked, seemingly a little annoyed at Harry's considerable lack of answers. Harry grabbed another large chunk of the book and heaved it over, seemingly searching for something toward the end. Once Harry got to the "W" section, he began flipping through furiously, his eyes and chin darting rapidly from place to place as he bent over the book in anticipation. Ron's lips parted slightly when he realized what Harry was doing.
"Harry," Ron whispered with a quirked eyebrow, "do you really think that if there is any information about Aurora and Voldemort being connected, that the school would have it in the library?"
"I know, I know," Harry replied with a heavy exhale and rippling of pages, his eyes never leaving the text. "But we have to try."
Harry's body went rigid as the names grew closer to Withertopp – Wicker, Wickle, Wickly – and Ron's grip on the table while overlooking Harry's shoulder grew so tight that his knuckles went white. Thousands of names seemed to separate them from that one name that they sought, pouring in page after page every time they thought they were close. Now it was getting unbearably close, and Harry could hear the dull pounding of his heart contrast with the light flips of the pages. It had to be in here. There were millions of names, Aurora's name just had to be . . . Withering, Withersang, Withersop, Withertape – and the same thought ran through both of their minds: was this it?
Withertopping.
No Withertopp.
No, no, no, this would not register in Harry's mind – his mouth senselessly hung open. Half a second later, Ron's palm slammed on the wooden surface of the table, with the loud boom censoring his verbal tangle of profanities.
"This can not be happening…" Harry whispered to himself as Ron swore again. His eyes were still glued on that page. "We must've missed it – "
"Bloody mother-f-", a screech of a far off chair graciously covered up Ron's voice, "hell, Harry! We didn't miss it, it's not bloody there!" Ron's quivering hands wandered upward to grasp his fiery hair. "And we were so close! Damn it! Damn it all to hell!"
Meanwhile, Harry's eyes widened in realization. Aurora was half Muggle, so there was a reasonable chance that she wouldn't be in here. Perhaps this only had pureblood families. "Pureblood," Harry breathed out with a groan.
After a few moments to compose himself, Ron let out a ragged sigh in response. Harry, meanwhile, slumped in his chair in a defeated manner. But though his composure may have been calm, his insides were not. He felt as if he was emotionally on the edge, ready to break at any moment. Everything that went wrong till this point suddenly lay heavily at the bottom of his stomach. He couldn't explain it, only suppress it with fear of what an overflow would bring.
"Well," Harry's weakened voice offered in the following uncomfortable silence, "we should keep looking."
"Guaranteed complete . .. ." Ron trailed off, staring at the dusty book with a saddened smile.
Harry slowly rose out of his chair, with his hands on the left edge of the book now, straining to close it. He didn't manage to close it, but instead ended up blinking at the G section.
Harry's stomach twisted and his legs wouldn't budge. It was almost involuntary, his index finger shooting to the edge of the page and his eyes mechanically and frantically scanning the pages for that name –
It wasn't there. Of course, Harry said half-sadly and half-irritatedly to himself, extinguishing the flickering hope previously alit. Both of her parents were Muggles. She was the first in the family to become a witch.
"You know," Ron commented from a distance, oblivious to Harry's delirious search, "You look like Hermione, bent over and intent on research like that."
Suddenly, and out of nowhere, a burning rage erupted within Harry at that comparison. There was no explanation, no reason; but just like that, Harry's hands clenched into fists of iron, and his eyes flickered murderously. His head jerked upward with an audible hiss, and he glared at Ron with such ferocity that the smile on Ron's face dissolved into a fixed line of fear.
"Harry . . ." Ron let out slowly, his eyes fixed upon this eerie sight. He looked like he was about to kill someone, and his glare sent a chill down Ron's spine. Harry wasn't like that . . . "Harry?"
Harry's eyes suddenly went glazed, as though realizing something, and then his rigid body went back to normal. But he didn't say anything, only grabbed the book and averted his eyes from Ron's gaze. Ron did not try to help Harry with the weight, and Harry made no sound as he struggled to swing the book into motion. Even as Harry passed by Ron, he twisted his body awkwardly to avoid any physical contact. This sent yet another cold blow to Ron that made him gulp nervously. After silently shoving the book into its place, Harry spoke without turning toward Ron.
"I'm going to go to Hagrid's," he declared quietly and tonelessly. "You stay here and keep researching. Aurora's bound to come up somewhere." His eyes vaguely flashed to the side but otherwise he refused to acknowledge Ron's physical presence.
The actual statement did not even pass completely through Ron's mind. It only distantly touched the surface, since the only thing that he heard was Harry's cold and bitter sound. It was undeniable; he was scared of Harry at that point, scared of the emotional volcano that just exploded in front of his eyes and left splatters of their trust to stain the carpeted floor. Ron nodded silently, not feeling the need to voice his answer, and not finding the voice to apologize for upsetting Harry. Or perhaps that was stubbornness. Time will fix it, Ron convinced himself with another inaudible gulp. Hopefully.
Then, without another word, Harry turned his back toward his best friend and left the library, leaving Ron with the cold and biting but somehow familiar burn of loneliness.
Little did Ron know that the depths of Harry's psychological unsettlement were phantoms deeper than exposed at the library. But years of hiding, years of covering up, years of abuse without protest had given Harry a gift: the ability to act. If an acquaintance asked how he was doing, and Harry was feeling the more miserable than ever, he could muster an innocent smile and answer falsely. If he felt like the trauma has balled up in a lump at the back of his throat, he could breathe calmly and gulp it down. If his Uncle Vernon's iron fists and dirt-covered boots ever left bodily bruises upon his body that throbbed like drums in his ears, he could still glare back defiantly.
But this sometimes counteracted as a curse: although it may have protected him from crying or breaking down, it only suppressed these feelings deep within him. Now the frozen steel balls in his gut contracted harder when he wanted to cry; the vile in the back of his throat crawled farther up before he gulped it down; the tears almost squeezed through the slit on the side of his eye before he feverishly blinked them away.
Lately, however, these symptoms seemed to be getting worse. Perhaps it was the fact that everything was weighing down on him. Awareness comes at a price, and Harry could feel its bitter sneer. Gradually, everything in the world began to conspire against him, and the little miracles and blessings every day passed unrecognized through his vision. All that his eye could recognize was evil. It was imprinted upon his memory in every shape possible, and sometimes when he couldn't find evil in front of his nose, his mind conjured it in the forms of a gentle smile and a helping hand. Trust that was once solid began to be questioned. Help that was once accepted with overwhelming appreciation was rejected with suspicion. His entire world was turned inside out, leaving a dull throbbing in places where love used to thrive.
But Harry wasn't aware of any of this. His emotions and subsequent behaviors were so remote, so unprocessed, that he never even recognized it. Ask a depressed person if he is depressed, and if truly so, he won't be able to tell. That's because every single intricate fiber of his existence has plunged into this numbness, and there is no part of him that remembers any other way of life. Depression isn't a feeling; it's a state of the mind, of the body, of the soul. Nothing is spared, and there are only two ways of crawling out of it: either with strong will or the support of another being. With another being, the person can realize that there is more to life than endless suffering, and that there can be happiness again.
Right now, Harry had neither. He had lost himself a long time ago, with the death of Hermione. He had taken the plunge, and now he couldn't feel himself drowning. And with the severing of his friendship with Hermione, he couldn't trust easily. Relying on Ron grew too risky for his hesitant soul, and after one last attempt to reach out with the playful teasing, he finally felt himself cut off. That happened the instant that Ron made the painful connection between himself and Hermione. Such subconscious treason cannot be forgiven easily, even if the sincere words may tumble out of the mouth and the mind may believe that all is resolved.
These thoughts, coupled with many others, are constantly silenced by the subconscious and swallowed up to unreachable depths. Undetected by the mind, they can only be vaguely sensed by another presence in the human being, an unexplainable one that lives on with all of life's trials. This was the presence that made Harry aware of a cold ball at the bottom of his stomach in an effort to make him realize that something's wrong. In fact, this presence lives inside each human being; when you feel like your insides are raw, that's the presence at work.
And though it tried desperately to shake Harry out of his reverie, Harry remained concealed inside himself. The thoughts that slithered through his mind as he walked through the grass toward Hagrid's cottage were all bitter. The sun was beating down upon him, sending violent reflections everywhere off of his glasses. His emerald eyes watched the rhythm of his patting feet, parting the soft grass. His head was tilted downward, ignoring the crystal-like color of the sky and the welcoming white clouds. A light breeze ruffled his hair playfully and the fixed line below his nose grew sour. To him, all of these good signs contradicted the raging storm inside of him, and Harry was angry that everything else could be happy.
After all, misery loves company.
The bellowing barking of Fang reached Harry's ears as he found himself at Hagrid's door. But to Harry's surprise, it did not emerge from between the cracks of the door; instead, it came from his side. Harry did not even have enough time to glance. In seconds, a dark flurry confused his eyes, and he was knocked off his feet and onto the grass-covered ground by the gigantic – and not to mention heavy – dog. With more howling that threatened to break Harry's ears, the dog licked his face sloppily, making Harry's eyes go shut and his forehead shrivel up.
"Hey, hey," Harry let out between licks, carefully avoiding getting slobber in his mouth. The hands planted on either side of the dog did nothing to help get him off. "Fang!"
"Whoa, the', Fang," a familiar voice rang out, and a large hand grasped Fang's collar to wrench him off and let Harry breathe. "Yer gonna kill 'im like tha'!"
Harry felt his arm being grabbed firmly pulled upward effortlessly, and his body bounced upward off the grass in seconds. As soon as he was on his feet, he tilted his head upward and saw Hagrid towering over him with a big, bushy smile.
"Ye okay, 'Arry?"
"Sure," Harry answered breathlessly, having only recently recovered his ability to breathe.
"Sorry 'bout tha'," Hagrid apologized while releasing Harry's arm but keeping a firm hold on Fang. "Fang's jus' excited ta see ya . . . "
Harry mustered a small smile in response.
"So, 'ow ya been? 'aven't seen ya in a while!" A friendly pat on the back nearly knocked the breath out of Harry again, which wasn't helped when Hagrid pulled him into an awkward and airless hug. Before Harry's words could be muffled by Hagrid's heavy clothes, Hagrid backed away. "Can't talk righ' 'ere, gotta tend the Snacklers. Come wit' me an' let's cha'."
The giant led Fang away with one hand, leaving Harry to jog alongside. He did not know where they were going, but the word "Snacklers" hadn't sounded very pleasant. Within moments, Harry caught sight of a large pen made of chicken wire, and inside were animals about half Fang's size with an ant head, a spider abdomen, and the legs of a kangaroo. It was undeniably the weirdest creature Harry had ever seen, and Harry wasn't thrilled about meeting them.
"Ain't they beau'iful?" Hagrid grinned proudly down at them, but Harry felt a little sick when one started salivating. He decided not to respond, nor was he suddenly in the mood; he realized his purpose of being here and his face immediately hardened. Disgusting creatures, anyway.
"So, 'ow's school?" Though Hagrid kept his face merry and straight, his tone indicated that he had already heard the answer. From one of the other teachers, no doubt. Hagrid released Fang, who ran wildly around the pen, barking and playing with the creatures from behind the chicken wire.
"Fine," Harry replied a bit sourly.
Hagrid's hand grasped a nearby blue bucket and began tossing worm-like animals through the chicken wire. The Snacklers squealed monstrously and devoured the worms hungrily, bickering and fighting over each.
"An' Ron?"
Harry's stomach twisted suddenly. "Fine," Harry repeated, though this time he didn't try to contain his distaste. Hagrid immediately picked up on this; he stopped feeding the Snacklers, who squealed again in dismay, and turned inquisitively toward Harry.
"Somethin' the ma'er?"
Harry wanted to answer that 'of course something's the matter, can't you tell?' But he decided not to. He needed to get to his point as soon as possible. "No," he lied fluently, keeping his eyes on the chicken wire.
Hagrid wasn't satisfied with the answer, but apparently decided not to press further. He turned instead toward the Snacklers. "Wha' 'bout 'ermione? 'ow ya been wit' tha'?"
Harry's eyebrows furrowed dangerously. Why did everyone always bring that up? Didn't they realize –
"Fine," Harry bit off the word angrily.
This time Hagrid was truly alarmed, and spun around to give Harry a worried look. "Ya wanna talk 'bout I' er somethin'?"
Harry's head twisted to stare at the cabin with an irritated wrinkle of his nose, and his hands in the pockets of his cloak curled into defensive balls. He would never even think about attacking Hagrid – that was stupid as well as impossible. But it was nevertheless a reflex, an involuntary one. "No."
Seeing this as a sign that Harry needed yet more time, Hagrid shrugged to himself and returned to the Snacklers.
Once Harry had calmed down a bit and started feeling guilty, he allowed his voice to emerge from his throat. "Sorry – "
"No 'pology necessary, 'arry," Hagrid suddenly said very brightly, apparently happy that Harry wasn't mad at him. "It's been rough on ya. I understan'."
"Hagrid . . ." he began quickly, eager to change the subject. Though his eyes were still set on the cottage, the wood became a blur in his mind. "I need to ask you about something."
"Anythin'," Hagrid replied and gave Harry a quick and sincere smile.
Harry took a deep breath and finally faced Hagrid, not knowing how to address the matter. "Well, er . . ." he was cut off by a loud objection from a Snackler, but hastily continued. "You know Aurora? Aurora Withertopp?"
"Sure," Hagrid exclaimed slowly, recognition filling his facial features. "Brigh' one, she is. Alwa's eager ta learn – "
"Do you know anything about her secret?" Harry unexpectedly blurt out.
Hagrid's face turned fearful for a moment, and he stuttered a bit with his answer. "S- secret? Wha' secret?"
Harry took two steps toward Hagrid's form in excitement. "You know what it is, don't you?"
"Wha' secret?" Hagrid repeated as the wind picked up his wild hair and veiled his face.
"Hagrid," Harry pursued, sensing Hagrid's stiffness, "We know that there is one. And you know what it is. I – "
"I ain't sayin' nothin'."
Harry blinked in disbelief at Hagrid. "What?"
"Strict orders fro' Dumbledore."
"But Hagrid – "
"An'," Hagrid looked at Harry seriously, "It's bes' ta keep outta this one."
"What is it? Come on, Hagrid," Harry came closer, but Hagrid avoided Harry's eyes.
"Jus' 'cause I'm yer frien' don' mean I can break th' rules for ya. I'm a teacher, too, an' I gotta do Dumbledore's orders. 'e said 'specially don' mention it ta 'Arry, it'd hurt – " Hagrid broke off, and his eyes widened.
"So Dumbledore told you not to tell me? Why – "
"I shouldn'ta said tha'," Hagrid chided himself quietly, shaking his head. "I should no' have said tha' . . ."
"Listen – "
"This wasn't what I meant when I said 'go to the source', Potter."
Harry whipped around in a fury to find himself face to face with a widely grinning Malfoy. Hagrid rotated on the spot and his body immediately stiffened upon the sight of the blonde student.
" 'ello, ther', Draco," Hagrid attempted to say welcomingly, but got in return no acknowledgement of his existence. Instead, Malfoy's eyes remained set on Harry, who gritted his teeth at Malfoy's timing.
"You're still trying to figure it out, aren't you?" Malfoy tilted his head mockingly, and Harry's fists shook slightly.
"Stay the bloody hell away, Malfoy," Harry spat angrily. Once again, something boiled up inside of him, some sort of uncontrollable fire in need of an outlet. And Malfoy was the perfect outlet. His breaths began to grow shorter and shorter, and his fixed glare remained deadly. Malfoy's smile widened at Harry's rage, savoring the flickering emerald eyes, the stiff body, and the rounded balls bulging in his pockets. Harry, in return, felt himself on the edge of a killer attack. It was exhilarating in a scary way; he had never wanted to kill Malfoy so badly. Through his mind flashed gruesome possibilities of Malfoy's fate.
Malfoy, meanwhile oblivious to the unmatched strength and depth of Harry's unreachable and insatiable pit of loathing, dared to take another step toward the brunette. He was only two feet away, a distance to small for Harry's comfort. "I told you to go to the source, and you go to this old hag – "
"Shut . . . up . . ." Harry warned, making sure that his wand was in his pocket. "That was a trap, you bastard."
Malfoy's eyebrows perked in an amused arc. "Took you long enough to figure it out."
"Now, now!" Hagrid intervened, placing a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. "We don' wan' no trouble, Draco – "
Harry jerked himself violently out of Hagrid's grip just as Malfoy hissed, "Keep your crooked nose out of this, you overgrown flea bag."
And Harry finally lost it. Now pent up inside of him, the violent storm erupted and would blow Malfoy to pieces.
"You're gonna pay for that one, Malfoy!" Harry's voice thrashed against Malfoy's form just as his hand dived into his pocket and thrust out his wand, pointing it right between Malfoy's eyes. Hagrid's hand reached for him, but Harry ducked and jumped aside, his wand quivering excitedly.
"What," Malfoy asked calmly, not taking out his own wand but keeping his frozen blue eyes locked in a frosty stare. "Can't think of a spell to use? Why don't you ask your know-it-all dead whore?"
The only picture of Hermione that flashed through Harry's mind was the image of her in the cell with Voldemort –
"You filthy, fu – " Harry's voice erupted from his throat, vibrating furiously just as Hagrid exclaimed, "that was low!", and censored Harry's unearthly war cry, "Son of a bitch!"
Like a rabid dog, Harry lunged at Malfoy with his wand in hand. Malfoy responded by whipping out his own hand before Harry knocked Malfoy off his feet. Harry could hear the low and thunderous warnings of Hagrid, whose hand was clenching Harry's robes and attempting to rip off Harry. But Harry held onto Malfoy as stubbornly as death, his stomach feeling like it was going to be punctured by Malfoy's wand. Harry screamed out an incantation just as Malfoy did, and Harry's wand on Malfoy's chest erupted violently while Harry felt his stomach being kicked as he was blown skyward into Hagrid's grasp, who thrust Harry to the ground not so gently.
Suddenly, Harry's stomach twisted excruciatingly and his breath became a gasp, clutching his ill stomach. But, to his incredibly surprise, his fingers felt the skin actually moving beneath, bubbling like a potion underneath his flesh. A shudder jolted up Harry's spine, followed by a sharp wave of pain that made Harry groan. From afar, he could hear Malfoy's muffled squeals and rapid feet movement, and in the midst of all the pain and confusion, Harry hoped cruelly that Malfoy would enjoy the tarantula spell. His thoughts were cut short by another engulfing round of pain and a ball formed in the back of Harry's throat. He felt as if he was going to throw up right there on the grass, and his quick gulps were only encouraging the vile's emergence.
After the squeals were silenced by Hagrid, the giant suddenly appeared hovering above Harry, blocking out the sunlight.
"'Arry? 'Arry, wha - " His voice was only floating in the air, for Harry could barely hear it with his ears clogged up in pain. Another shiver crawled up his spine, and this time his entire body flinched. Harry suddenly convulsed and he felt the slimy liquid slithering up his throat into his burning mouth and splattering on the grass. The bubbling became more furious and Harry felt like he was going to throw up again, but this time Hagrid scooped Harry up in his big arms. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and Harry's breaths became airy wheezes and tight gasps, though the remaining liquid in his mouth threatened to choke him. Coughs racked his entire body as Harry felt himself being carried away and the familiar scenery turned into a motionless blur. His eyes blinked frantically, but it didn't help, and soon Harry took a deep breath and felt his body go limp.
Ron irritatedly shoved another book closed. Not a word about Aurora had been written in any of the seemingly thousands of books that he checked.
"What the bloody hell .. . . " Ron asked himself in a hissing whisper, but he instinctively turned around to make sure that the librarian wasn't there. She wasn't, but this gave Ron very little reassurance. With another long sigh, he dragged his body upward off the chair to replace the book and get another one. Meanwhile, his brain was swarming with unvoiced curses, and he assured himself that Harry would cool off after his visit with Hagrid.
Just as his fingertips slid the book into the enormous shelf, a high-pitched scream of pain thrashed against him. Ron's head whipped upward, his body suddenly frozen with fear. One moment later, his feet were pounding against the ground as he ran past endless shelves to find the person in the library who had screamed. Then, he abruptly stopped, as did the blood in his veins when he saw who it was.
Dark raven hair masked her face and her books were scattered on the ground. Her body was shifting up and down with gasps and moans of pain, and the sight of Aurora was just enough for Ron to grow pale with thoughts of Voldemort. But that didn't scare him as much as her arm, where her white fingernails were digging into her skin, just beside a slither of bright red blood that seeped down and splattered upon the carpeted floor. The blood sent a wave of sickness through Ron, who was never good with blood. The thing that unnerved him the most, however, was her masked face, for he couldn't see what was hiding beneath.
"Oh, my dear!" The librarian shrieked in surprise when she saw Aurora's arm and rushed over to inspect it. As soon as the librarian's fingers touched that arm, Aurora screamed out again as though she had been burned. Ron silently watched as though it was a horror movie, something totally unreal. It could not be possible that he was standing right in front of Aurora -
"You need to go to the Hospital Wing!" The librarian exclaimed, and to Ron's terror she turned to him. "Ron, take her there!"
Ron's breathing stopped. Did this woman want him dead? How could she ask him for such a thing? His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"It's alright," Aurora wheezed slowly, lifting her head up. Her dark hair parted like curtains and a pair of bright green eyes shined beneath. Ron felt himself breathing again, thankful that the eyes weren't blood red. "I'll go by myself."
"No, you won't!" The librarian objected declaratively and placed a hand upon Aurora's shoulder to push her forward. "Ron, go ahead and take her to Madam Pomfrey, I need to speak with someone."
Ron gulped nervously and audibly, his heart fluttering as he flinched away. Before he had time to refuse, the librarian had left. Ron and Aurora stood face to face, alone in the library.
"Er," Ron said weakly, his knees quivering a little from the thought of her attacking him.
"I'm sorry," Aurora suddenly said gently, her eyes fixed upon Ron. "I know I'm the last person you want to see. It's okay . . ." she sighed, and Ron unconsciously questioned the "evil" within her. How could someone with such a calm voice harbor Voldemort? Wasn't there supposed to be a big, booming, scary voice? Or a hiss?
Just as she was about to leave alone, Ron felt an unexplainable sympathetic obligation. He silently convinced himself that Aurora wandering the hallways wasn't a good idea. Though, somehow, it didn't occur to him that she had been doing exactly that ever since her arrival. "Wait," he heard his voice answer, "I'll go with you."
Her warm smile did not strengthen Ron's heart, and soon enough Ron found himself quietly walking alongside Aurora in the dungeon hallway. The pair were deadly silent, one with pain and the other with fear.
"I'm really sorry," Aurora offered after a few minutes of silence. Her eyes were on the stone floor, allowing Ron to look at her face without the chance of meeting her eyes. To his surprise, shining streams were painted on her cheeks. She was crying.
"It's . . . okay . . .." Ron answered awkwardly, not intending to comfort her extensively.
"No, it's not," Aurora replied quietly. "It's not okay. I know you hate me, and you shouldn't be forced to do this."
Ron's mouth opened, but he found himself unable to deny what she had said. Instead, he stayed silent out of guilt.
"Look, as soon as we're there, you should just turn around and leave. You won't have to see my face again."
Her words somehow triggered something in Ron, some form of doubt and sympathy. "I don't . . ." But once again, no words came out of his mouth.
After a few more minutes in silence, treading along to the Hospital Wing, Ron blurted out a question that had been bugging him for a while.
"What happened to your arm?"
Aurora became stiffer, but never took her eyes away from the floor. "I don't know," she whispered, with as much fear in her voice as Ron felt at that moment. As if in response, the flow of blood became faster and began to leave a trail on the floor. Ron pulled out his wand a mumbled a spell, keeping it pointed at the stains as they slowly evaporated.
Harry awoke with a bright light that stung his lidded eyes like an orange flare. He started as his eyes blinked furiously, and he realized that he was in the Hospital Wing, shielded away by a rippling curtain. He sluggishly observed his surroundings until his vision was obscured by a tall man walking past. Somehow, the man looked familiar, but Harry could not tell by just the shadow that creeped along his curtain. The man was heading toward another bed, and Harry saw a person lying in it, unmoving.
"Good afternoon," a soft voice spoke to the patient, and Harry immediately realized that it was Dumbledore. "A little birdie told me that you got hurt."
No voice answered his greeting.
"May I see your arm?" Dumbledore asked, and the patient lifted its - her, Harry decided after seeing the shape of the patient's body - she lifted her arm and Dumbledore's shadow gently took it in his hands. "Oh, dear," he quietly and airily said, "It's deep."
Once again, the girl did not answer him.
"Something happened, didn't it?" Dumbledore asked, and a sigh floated past the curtains to Harry's ears. "Could you tell me what happened at the library, Aurora?"
A strike of fear hit Harry upon the mention of that name, but he was surprised when her voice was weak and weary. "I don't know, Professor," she whispered. "It just . . . I don't know . . . my arm just got cut . . ."
Harry could almost sense Dumbledore smiling, but Harry himself was growing with disgust. Then a realization hit him - the library! Had she been spying on them?
Dumbledore's shadow nodded and softly released her arm. "How has everything else been going?"
"Miserably."
An airy chuckle escaped Dumbledore as he pulled up a chair. Harry continued watching as though it was a movie, not believing what he was witnessing.
"Why is that?" Dumbledore inquired, and Aurora sighed raggedly.
"Everyone hates me," she answered in a tone so sure that her voice tickled the back of Harry's throat.
"Now, now," Dumbledore said reassuringly, "That's not true."
"Yes it is!" Aurora suddenly exclaimed but her voice broke. It was not until this point that Harry realized that she was crying, but felt no sympathy for her. It occurred to him, however, that even if Aurora was being possessed by Voldemort, Dumbledore was watching over her. This gave Harry an unexpected sense of relief in Dumbledore's presence and his heart began to beat slower.
"What do you mean?" Dumbledore seemed as calm as a psychologist.
"All of my friends - " she broke off momentarily, "They hate me."
"Surely they don't, Aurora. Perhaps you're just weary and your mind is playing tricks on you."
"I told them! I told them and they didn't object!"
At this, Harry realized that she must've talked to Ron, and silently congratulated Ron for his decision. A soft sobbing, however, drowned his fleeting happiness, and Harry felt an involuntary twinge of sorrow and guilt.
"There, there," Dumbledore comforted, and Harry imagined Dumbledore's warm smile. "You're having a tough time, and you do need to cry. Otherwise, your feelings will be pent up and you'll find yourself doing things you never expected." Suddenly, Harry saw Dumbledore turn his head in his direction, and Harry felt like he was speaking to Harry as well. It was true; Harry hadn't had a good cry in a while. Out of nowhere, tears fogged up Harry's vision, but he blinked them back furiously as he gripped his pillow. His throat sealed up in a dry wave, and Harry tried to gulp moisture back into it.
"Go ahead," Dumbledore soothed, though Harry was no longer sure to whom he was speaking. "Go ahead and cry. No one will see your tears in here. You're safe. I'm here to protect you, so just cry and don't feel guilty."
Everything inside Harry whirled, and Harry felt his stomach clench emotionally at Dumbledore's words. He felt the tears coming again and his body began to twitch with involuntary and silent sobs, and this time he did not try to stop. His face buried in his pillow, he thought of Hermione and Ron and Dumbledore, and all of the horrible things happening, and within seconds Harry felt himself crying. His knees bent toward his stomach and his body quivered.
"That's right," Dumbledore whispered. "Weep to your weary soul's content."
So Harry found himself crying, his inaudible sobs underneath Aurora's soft whimpering, and the entire world seemed so wrong, and Harry wanted to reach out and grab the reassurance in Dumbledore's words. And for the first time in what seemed like centuries, Harry's feelings wept with him.
End Chapter 20
School's out (FINALLY), which means I'll have tons of more time to write, write, write! That is, if you guys want me to continue. Please review!
Answers to past reviews:
[Raine is Crazy]: Wow, you must be the most enthusiastic reviewer I've ever come across! I'll have to add you to my list of people threatening to kill me. Hah! And I'm not a great author...I feel like I've lost a lot of inspiration. But oh well! I'll have a lot more time now to write, so expect updates to be much more frequent! Thanks for all of your reviews, they made my day!
[Prof. Spider]: I'm glad you like the story, and thanks for reviewing!
[Pandemonium Fox]: Um...I'm not really sure how to answer that. Thanks for reviewing...I guess. :)
[Laen]: Ah, the neverending question! When is Hermione going to come back from the dead...it's actually going to be in the next few chapters, because believe it or not, I'm wrapping up this story. One more twist or two, perhaps four more chapters, and I'll be done! Thanks for reviewing!
[Sister of Hermione]: Hm...I wonder who this could be! Hey, let me think about it while you exist in a radius of..blah, something miles. Yeah, I screwed up that chapter...but I've kinda stopped caring about accuracy. Artistic license, people! Got one? ;)
[Padfoot]: Le gasp! Well, the dream was just to show Harry's guilt about Hermione's death, and it hints at the depression that is revealed in this chapter. The actual content of the dream isn't exactly important, it's just the fact that Harry's having such a dream that should be noted. Thanks for reviewing!