The Aftermath
Chapter Thirteen
A Shoulder to Cry On
Harry headed down for dinner two days later. He had an odd expectant feeling like something was going to happen, but he couldn't think of what. Sprinting down the many hallways, Harry began to smell the scent of dinner wafting in from the kitchen. He reached the hallway of the dining room in time to see Liz walk slowly into the room with a book in her hand and biting her thumb. (A/N: I've decided that Liz so far has practically no depth at all. You hardly know anything about her really, so I've decided to give her some little pet peeves/habits, one of them being biting her thumb when worried or, like at this particular moment, held in suspense). Harry watched as she walked steadily towards the door . . . and into the door. It was all Harry could do to keep from laughing out loud.
"Woops!" she said, closing the book quickly and opening the door.
The look on her face reminded him of the look on Percy's face when he had seen him at the Weasley's Sunday dinner, only her look was more of a 'can't believe I just did that-laughing at oneself' surprise, and his was a 'what do I say now?' sort of surprise.
"Harry!" he had said, offering his hand, though still looking uncomfortable.
Harry shook his hand reluctantly. "Percy."
Percy shifted uncomfortably. "Look Harry, I'm really sorry about . . . you know . . . "
"About what? Not believing that I wasn't some show off psycho? Not trusting what I told Dumbledore, or not trusting Dumbledore himself? And not trusting me? Yeah, and that moment in Dumbledore's office last year when the Minister came to personally expel me was really clever. Classic. Hell, Percy! You'd known me for four years and you honestly found a way to believe what Fudge said about me?" Harry said angrily.
Percy looked confused, as if he had just realized that he had four years of evidence that contrasted Fudge's previous view of "the boy who lived". He looked at Harry, showing genuine signs of regret. "Harry, there really isn't anything I can say but that I'm sorry."
Harry glared at him for another moment. The he sighed. "I can't pretend I never saw the way you scorned all of us for believing that Voldemort really returned. But I guess I can forgive you. A little."
"Thanks, Harry, really it - "
"Yeah, whatever, I'm hungry," Harry said, going out into the yard and taking his place between Ron and Hermione. Ginny was laughing with Liz across the table, and Bill and Charlie were discussing business strategies with Fred and George. Percy sat down on the other side of the table with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley, though friendly, was not as warm as Mrs. Weasley as Percy began to talk with them.
Harry shook himself out of the memory as his stomach grumbled.
He went into the dining room.
The room was fuller than it had been for most of Harry's stay, except for his birthday celebration, which had been the day before. And the people looked a whole lot less festive, except for the younger ones. Harry could see Tonks speaking with Molly Weasley in hushed tones as Mrs. Weasley cooked dinner. In the corner, Moody, Lupin, and Mr. Weasley were shaking their heads and looking nervously at the dinner table. More Order members were milling about looking uncomfortable and sad. Meanwhile, the party sitting down at the table were a much more merry.
They were laughing at some joke Ron had made as Harry sat down.
"What's up with all of them?" Harry said, jerking his head towards the older group.
"I don't know, but it doesn't seem as if we could go up and ask them," Ron answered casting his eyes over the room.
"I wonder what we're having for dinner," Hermione said.
Ginny nodded, "I'm starved!"
Liz bounced up to the stove and Tonks quickly walked away. "Yay! Spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, baked ziti, wow! Italian food, my favorite!" she gave Mrs. Weasley a quick hug and proceeded in checking on the ziti. (A/N: ziti is pasta by the way).
In a few minutes, Mrs. Weasley announced that dinner was ready and they all sat down to eat and conversation started.
"I've always wanted to take a trip to Italy," said Hermione. "Have you ever been there, Liz?"
"Yup," Liz said proceeding in stuffing her mouth with a forkful of pasta and proceeding with her mouth full. "Wiff my Mum and Dad," she swallowed."They were on a business trip so I just wandered on my own for those two weeks." She stuffed another forkful of pasta into her mouth.
"What is it exactly that they do? It must be exciting, if it involves traveling to the Mediterranean!" Hermione said.
Liz paused and for some reason glanced at the head of the table where all the members of the Order were sitting. The glance was so subtle and quick that Harry almost didn't notice. None of the adults noticed what they were talking about either.
"Well," she said putting a napkin to her mouth while she chewed. "They work for the government. Actually, my mum works for the American Magic Division, AMD, and Dad works for the Ministry, Department of Mysteries. Mum gets paid a lot by the American government for special spell patents."
"Spell patents? Isn't that - ?" Hermione began.
"Yeah, they invent spells for a living," Liz said laughing. "I know it sounds a bit hokey, but it is a living. They find ways to integrate muggle technology and magic."
"But wait," Ginny said, "Doesn't that break the law with Experimental Charms or something, or do they not have it over the Atlantic?"
"Of course they do, but Mum gets grants and licenses that make it all legal," Liz said. "But we don't depend solely on that income. Dad does research for the Ministry as well."
"What type?" Ron asked. Harry knew that each of them was intrigued. They had all seen what things were studied in the Department of Mysteries.
"The physics, I guess you could call it, of magic," she said shrugging. She continued when she saw their skeptical looks. "Well, he just studies how magic works. He published several books on his theory that there is a force that drives magic, like gravity drives the rotation of the earth. Kind of . . . kind of like a gas that floats in the air, like oxygen.Dad's theory involves magic lying dormant in the bodies of wizards until they choose to release it. Almost like a physical substance . . . but not quite. It's all very long and complicated but that's one of the reasons why his books were and continue to remain popular among the highest of wizard scholars."
Suddenly, Lupin stood up. "I'm full now," he said nodding to Molly, "It was a great dinner, Molly, thanks!" Then he walked down the Harry's end of the table and tapped Liz on the shoulder saying to her that he needed to talk to her once she was finished eating.
Harry wondered what that could be about but didn't have time to speculate anymore because Fred and George came back from work with "gifts" for them. Harry didn't think about it until he was on his way back from the bathroom and on his way to his room when he saw Liz go into one of the many libraries and heard Lupin's voice.
"Liz, I'm not exactly sure how to say this," Harry heard him say with a tone of regret. Harry inched closer to the open door.
"Have you found my parents?" Liz asked him. There was a slight quaver in her voice.
"Yes, but . . ."
"But what?" she asked, her voice raised a little.
"But . . . not intact. I'm sorry Liz, but we found your father's body dead in Hathaway Mansion and most of the house demolished." His voice was full of sympathy as he spoke softly.
Silence. Then, "My mother, what about my mother?" the voice was genuinely trembling now.
"We couldn't find her remains but it's most probable that she's dead as well, I'm so sorry."
"No body? Then there's still hope! She could still be alive, all you have to do is find her!" her voice was now hysterical.
Lupin heaved a sigh. "No Liz, she's gone."
That was when Harry heard sobs. "No! No, no, no!"
Harry couldn't take it anymore. He slipped off quietly to his room. He sat on his bed, thinking over what he had heard. He contemplated upon what was worse: having your parents die and you live and without ever knowing them, or having them die and you live knowing what you were missing.
There was a knock on the door. Harry opened it to find Lupin standing there looking as if he'd aged twenty years in one moment.
"I need to talk to you, Harry," he said simply.
"Yeah, about what?"
"You know the vision you had earlier this summer?"
A light bulb went off in Harry's head. Did his vision have anything to do with what he had just overheard? Harry just nodded.
"It turns out that the events in it were true. It took us a while to break through security, but in the end we found the location of it and also the body of Thomas Cain, dead, and his wife, Katherine Cain is most likely dead as well."
Harry was only half listening. He could see it all in his head, voices echoing in his mind as well.
"Run, do you hear? Run, and I don't want you to look back!"
"Dad, I'm scared!"
"Honey, we've been over this before! You know where to go. If we can, we'll –"
"Kate, there's no time for that, just go!"
Harry saw the door open once again, and the man fall to the ground.
"YOU BASTARD!" the woman screamed . . .
Harry was broken out of his reverie by a twinge in his stomach at the realization that those people he had seen, the man who died, the woman who had attacked Voldemort, they were Liz's parents.
"Harry? Harry, are you all right?" Lupin said.
"Yeah, um, I just kind of . . . well, I'm kind of tired," Harry stuttered.
Lupin got the hint. "Okay, I'll leave you here then. 'Night."
He left, and Harry waited to be certain Lupin was out of the hallway before jolting up and heading towards the Dual Wing to Liz's room.
Harry screeched to a stop at her door. He paused, and then decided to just barge in. He opened the door slowly.
Liz wasn't there. He stood there in the doorway confused until he heard strains of sound coming from the computer room. He makes his way slowly there and opens the door. And there was Liz, with the waterworks flowing. She saw Harry and quickly brought both hands to her eyes, though they both knew that wouldn't help.
"Doesn't anybody knock these days?" her voice proved that her nose was stuffing up and she gave a great sniff.
She was sitting on the floor, apparently watching what looked like an old home movie. Harry sat next to her. "You okay?"
She looked at him half angrily. "Obviously, I'm not. And I don't want to tell you about it, I don't want to tell anyone!"
"Would it help if I told you I already know?"
She stared at him, her eyes boring into his. "You shouldn't eavesdrop."
Harry was surprised. "Anyone will tell that I always know things that I'm not supposed to and it's usually an accident."
She turned away, looking again at the movie.
"But if you want to be alone, I understand," Harry said quietly thinking of how he felt when Sirius had died.
"No, you don't understand!" she said, starting to sob again. As much as Harry didn't like seeing her cry, he had respect for the way she did it. It wasn't dignified – no misty movie star tears. She cried like a real person – nose wrinkled, lips trembling, cheeks drenched, and sniffling. It didn't make her unattractive to Harry; it made her more human.
"Maybe you do," she said. "I wouldn't know, but have you ever had someone close to you, someone you looked up to, someone who guided you and loved you, die? And don't say your parents, because we both know that it isn't the same thing."
"Yeah actually," Harry said. "My godfather, Sirius Black."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, meaning it. It was amazing how she could find sympathy for Harry when most people would be feeling sorry for themselves. She came very close to being quieted as she sat thinking about what it must have been like for Harry before she said, "Well, take that pain and double it and that's how I feel." She bit her thumb and her eyes screwed up from the effort to keep fresh tears from spilling. Needless to say she failed.
She sat there shaking from the force of her silent spasms of grief. "Come here," Harry said softly, wrapping his arm around her, not quite knowing what compelled him to do it, but she buried her face into his shoulder and cried.
After what seemed like hours she stopped and looked up. Reaching behind her she grabbed a box of Kleenex and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She turned the volume up on the current home movie.
"This was my 13th birthday party," she said to Harry.
There was mini-Liz, sitting at the table with an Anchor Blue t-shirt on and a pair of Dickie khaki cargos watching her birthday entertainment. The camera panned over to a man onstage who seemed to share the same eyes and nose as Liz.
"Thirteen years ago today, I went through the most pivotal, life changing, traumatizing – " he smiled and the audience tittered, "most wonderful experience of my life; watching the birth of my baby girl, my little Lizbeth. This one's for you, sweetie." Mr. Cain (that's who he had to be) winked and began to sing "Isn't She Lovely."
"That's Stevie Wonder," Liz interrupted, her voice uncharacteristically hollow. "Oldie, but a goody."
Harry watched as a woman, who had Liz's hair and lips, took mini-Liz's hand and dragged her up onstage. They then sang a little duet.
"Me and Emily," Liz said simply, shifting her head a little on Harry's shoulder (which was drenched). Her voice was still emotionless. "A Rachel Proctor song. We changed the words so that it fit with us singing it as a mother/daughter solo, and that it didn't make Dad look like a deadbeat. Same tune though."
A single tear rolled down her cheek and onto Harry's knee. He still had his arm around her and her head was leaning on his shoulder.
"Your family into music?" Harry wasn't sure whether to talk about them in present of past tense, or what to say really about this whole thing.
"Yeah, I bet if they were Muggles the whole lot could go into musical theatre," Liz said. "Have I ever said that my dad was Muggle-born?"
Harry shook his head.
"Well, he was, and he told me that before he got accepted to Hogwarts, he dreamed of being a famous football champion," at this she half smiled.
"Then he wanted to be a Quidditch player, not much of a difference really," she said, still staring at the screen.
"Mum didn't go to Hogwarts. She was American, and she went to a school of witchcraft and wizardry that often had talent shows and school productions and when she was younger, she was featured in famous singer's songs whenever a female vocalist was wanted."
"Wow," Harry said. "It's nice that you know so much about them."
"Do you know anything about yours? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Liz said to him.
"No, it's fine," he said. "I know that my Mum was muggle born and when she got accepted to Hogwarts her parents were very proud of the fact they had a witch in the family. My dad was Seeker on the Gryffindor quidditch team and then captain as well. He was really cocky in school, but he was bright and talented and totally in love with my mum, who was much more mature than him, though that's not saying much because he was such a troublemaker. He didn't make prefect, but I reckon my mum did, but they were Head Boy and Head Girl when they reached their seventh year. I know that they joined the Order of the Phoenix and were able to escape Voldemort three times before . . . well, yeah. That's all I know, and it's all pretty much jumbled information I've gotten over the years."
"Whoa. Three times? That's freaky."
Interesting choice of adjectives, Harry though. He noticed she didn't say Voldemort's name, but she didn't flinch at it either. Then he realized.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to mention Vol- I mean – "
"It's okay, you can say his name. I used to also, but now, I don't think he deserves one." Her voice had lost its deadened tone. It sounded slightly ominous and angry now.
"Huh?"
"I mean, he's obviously not HUMAN anymore, so we don't give him a human name. He doesn't deserve that privilege. Maybe I'll call him 'That Thing' from now on. Or something worse. Something that involves a lot of swearing."
For the first time he heard a hint of bitterness in her voice.
She sighed. "I don't know why I said so."
"It's okay to be angry with him," Harry said, because he knew what that felt like. Boy did he know.
"It's not that, it's just that I don't want to be concentrating on revenge or . . . the injustice of the world just now."
"Oh."
"I'd rather concentrate on happy memories, nice, happy, bubbly, Disney-movie-endings thoughts," she said. Harry hadn't the least clue as to why, but decided not to say anything. Maybe she was delusional. "Found one!" she said. "When I was 10 my dad took me on one of those 'bring your kid to work' things and he showed me all around the ministry. There were owls flying everywhere and I saw one put droppings right on this man's toupee and he took it off cursing. I know it wasn't funny, but yeah, it was hilarious. Anyway, Dad told me that it was him that got the Ministry using those little paper airplanes they have now."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, not knowing whether or not he should ask her what he wanted to.
She got up off his shoulder. "What?"
Harry paused then said, "Did you go into the Department of Mysteries?"
She hesitated and then said, "Yes, I did. And there's something you should know."
"And that is . . . ?"
"I know about the prophecy."
"What?"
"I wandered into the room with the orbs and I heard Professor Dumbledore and the guardian of the prophecies talk about the re labeling of it and, well, I got the gist of it."
"So you know that my life must include or end in murder?"
She nodded. "I guess I was being hypocritical when I told you not to eavesdrop."
"Wait, how do you even know that I know about the prophecy?"
"I really shouldn't eavesdrop."
"It's okay. But promise me you won't tell anyone, because I want to tell them when I'm ready."
She gave him another half smile. "All right, but only if you don't tell anyone that my father is dead, I want to tell them that when I'm ready."
"Deal." Harry paused. "What about your mother?"
She turned to face him, causing his arm to loose its hold on her. "There's still hope, and I need to be able to keep hoping, Harry, or else I won't be able to survive these next few months. She's still alive, I know it." (A/N: That's important. If not to the story, than at least to Liz herself.)
Harry nodded not wanting to upset her. He didn't believe there was hope, but if she did, he wasn't going to argue with her. Not now at least.
"When someone you love leaves you forever, what do you reckon one's supposed to do?" she asked him looking down at the carpet.
Harry thought for a bit. "Different people have different ways," Harry said. "But it's best not to dwell on grief or anger. Try your best to realize that no one really leaves and then maybe find a way to be happy." Harry wasn't exactly sure of what he was saying, but he liked the genuine smile that Liz flashed his way.
"Thanks, Harry," she reached forward and gave him a hug.
He was sure that Liz would be able to feel his heart beating wildly. She let go, looked at him a moment longer, leaned back onto the desk and they spent another hour or two watching some more home videos. She looked at him then started, like she just realized she had spent maybe six hours of her night sitting next to him. She then said, "I don't want to burden you with my problems any longer than need be." She stood up and grabbed his hand, leading him out of the room and to the door.
Harry didn't try to stop her because he was still very much surprised at her abrupt way of breaking their silence.
"I'm really glad I got to talk to you, Harry. Thank you, I really appreciate it." She put her hand on his shoulder for a moment then brought it back down. She jumped once more, suddenly realizing she was still holding his hand and she let go quickly. "Go to bed, I don't want to be responsible for you not being able to function properly because of lack of sleep in the morning. Good night, Harry." She shut the door.
Harry was glad that he was able to help her feel better, but a little disappointed he didn't get a kiss good night, even one on the cheek might have been nice. He went to bed half noticing that his shirt was dry already and, as ordered, he slept soundly.
Meanwhile, Liz was stumbling to her bed not even bothering to change into pajamas first. She found tears steadily streaming down her face in the dark room once more and she was shaking from the force of the wail of despair she had so far kept in. There in the dark, with her face pressed down on the pillow, she screamed, mostly because of the empty feeling in her heart and the sick feeling in her stomach that told her that something was missing, and those feelings caused her pain. About 40 percent of that scream was to express her self doubt, which consisted of the awful thought that she might very well be responsible for her father's death, the fact that her mother could be dead and that she was holding on to a foolish expectation, and also for another reason, miniscule compared to all the others.
A/N: Long, wasn't it? You just read ten pages! Hope you liked it! Pay attention to that last sentence . . . the explanation comes up around their November.