Chapter 23: Close Reading
"Details," said Professor Roy, pacing around room 216, Wheaton Hall, where Harry's freshman seminar was held. "Details, details, details. It's all in the details, ladies and gentlemen. A comma can make the difference between an A and an A minus, between an A minus and a B plus. Pay attention to the details."
Harry yawned. I wonder if he knows he's given us this same lecture twice already. Every time we get a paper back, in fact. Erica's guidance had helped him with the detail portion immensely, so that his grades were consistently eight, nine, or even ten out of ten. Listening to a lecture that he no longer needed, for the third time, was getting literally painful. His head ached.
I wish there was some way to get out of this...
A shrill beeping sound echoed through the room. Simultaneously, Harry's pocket started vibrating.
What the... oh. My cell phone. "Sorry," Harry said, pulling it from his pocket. "Excuse me?"
Professor Roy nodded impatiently, and Harry slipped quickly out of the room. "Hello?"
"Mr. Potter?"
"Yes."
"This is Campus Security. Sorry to bother you, but we've got somebody here who wants to see you, and our standing orders are to contact you with all requests. Gentleman says his name is Riddle. Tom Riddle."
Harry frowned. I don't know anyone named Riddle...
But in another in the series of strange things that had been happening since he came to Carrington, part of his mind insisted that he did, and provided a mental picture of a rather handsome, dark-haired boy, about seventeen, standing in some kind of stone cavern and talking to him...
Harry shook his head. No way. "Sorry, I don't know him. Can you tell him, very nicely, to go away?"
The Security man chuckled. "That's our job. Don't worry about a thing, we've got it covered."
"Thanks. Bye." Harry pressed the disconnect button on the phone and opened the door of the classroom. As he sat down in his place, his headache briefly intensified, concentrating in the middle of his forehead, directly under his scar. He winced and pressed a hand to it. This hasn't happened to me in... a while. Years, I think. But I did used to get these a lot back at my old school.
Before he could track that thought down, though, the headache dissipated, leaving a sense of satisfaction, as if he'd finally made a decision that should have been made a long time ago.
Well, that's good. I guess.
He returned to keeping track of Professor Roy's lecture, which was painful in its own way.
-----
"Oooh, I got a letter," Erica said. Harry heard her shut her mailbox. "Anyone else get anything?"
"Just a flyer from the Outdoors Club, and one about read-through tonight," Harry said, closing his own.
Ron and Ginny came out of the alcove where their boxes were, Ron empty-handed, Ginny with the bright yellow piece of paper reminding her of the first cast meeting for Twelfth Night, where the actors would get to know each other and read the play aloud. Hermione followed Erica out of the alcove on the other side of Harry's, carrying three or four flyers of different contrasting colors.
"How many clubs are you in?" Ron asked.
"Enough," Hermione said shortly, stuffing the flyers into her bag. "Erica, are you sure that's for you? It says... I don't know what it says."
"It's my dad's handwriting," Erica said. "He's a doctor, and he's left-handed, so his writing's terrible. Here, look at this."
She tore the letter open and showed them the first line.
"Ear Erica," Ginny read. "Ear? Shouldn't that be dear?"
"It is. But his letters slant backwards, so the top of the D is missing – he wrote it right off the paper. Look, there's the bottom of it, right there."
Harry leaned in to look, and was reminded of the letters he used to get when he was younger, the ones that came with big tropical birds...
Whoa. He shook his head. Hello, weird idea central. Big tropical birds delivering mail?
"Strange," Ron said, shaking his head. "Come on, let's see what's for dinner."
-----
Harry yawned, stretched, and wished he hadn't. His muscles hurt from Muggle Defense yesterday. But as he moved, the pain reduced somewhat, until getting up was actually an option rather than just something in the realm of possibility. It was spurred along by the fact that he was quite hungry.
As he pulled on his pants, Harry noticed that only Ron's and Dean's bedcurtains were still drawn. Dean was another member of their Muggle Defense class. I think I see a pattern here.
"Ron, wake up."
"Mmmmmrrggh."
Harry checked his watch. It was 8:15. "Ron, come on, get up. We've only got 45 minutes before class."
"Go'way."
Time for drastic measures.
Harry grabbed his own pillow and started smacking Ron with it. "Get – up – now," he said, pounding Ron with every word. "Up – now – let's – go."
"Agh – all right, all right, I'm up!" Ron protested, fending the pillow off with one arm. "Who are you, Hermione?"
"Do you want to be late for Fred and George's first day of class?" Harry asked. "I don't. Especially not with that hint they dropped that they'll be using Malfoy as a guinea pig."
"They are?"
"Oh, that's right, you weren't there," Harry recalled. "Yes. They are. Malfoy signed up for an easy pass before anyone knew who was teaching. Now he's stuck with it."
Ron grinned. "I want to see this."
"So do I," Harry said, matching his friend's smile. "So get up. I'll wait for you in the common room."
To his surprise, Ginny was there with Hermione, chatting idly. "Hello, Harry," she said. "I didn't see you at all yesterday, we were both so busy. How's Professor Fleming?"
"She's good," Harry said. "Tough, but good. She won't let you get away with anything."
"It's a good thing my idiot brothers aren't students anymore, then," Ginny observed with a smile.
"Yes, it is," Hermione said positively. "She might put up with wisecracking professors, but wisecracking students..."
"What about prankster students?" Harry brought up. "I'm sure she's heard about the swamp. And the fireworks. And the nifflers in Umbridge's office."
"Be fair, Harry, that wasn't them," Ginny protested. "It was Lee."
"But they got the nifflers for him," Harry said. "So it was their fault, in a way..."
"Oh, Harry, before I forget," Hermione said, and handed him the Map. She had taken her turn with it the night before. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Idly, Harry activated the Map in its normal mode and watched Peeves divebomb Mrs. Norris on the sixth floor.
Ron came thumping down the stairs. "Food?" he said. "Now?"
"Who are you, Lanie?" Ginny asked, getting up.
Hermione looked at her oddly. "What?"
"Lanie. From the books, you know. She always asks if people want to eat just that way. 'Food? Now?' "
"Do I look like a girl?" Ron said tartly, climbing through the portrait hole.
This made Ginny and Hermione laugh, recalling a portion of Costume of Doom where Erica had said that if Fran were dressed correctly and taught how to move, she could pass for a man. She had meant it as a compliment. Fran had not been amused.
"And thus, Francesca Anderson knocked down and conquered Mount Gorelli, standing with one foot atop the giggling mass of stone," Ginny said through her own giggles.
"I'd love to see that," Harry said. "Maybe sometime they'll show us how it looked."
"What?" Hermione asked.
Ron, who was in the lead, stopped short.
"Harry, what are you talking about?" Ginny said in an odd tone. Guarded, almost, Harry thought. As if she were sheltering a secret.
Harry took a breath, ready to tell them about his dreams, when a voice rang out through the hallways.
"May I have your attention, please. Today's session of Practical Magic has been cancelled. I repeat, today's session of Practical Magic has been cancelled. Thank you."
It was Professor McGonagall's voice, magically amplified, of course, but Harry thought she sounded a bit strained somehow.
Ron groaned. "Not fair. Now we're stuck with a full day of regular classes and nothing fun."
"We have Care of Magical Creatures before lunch," Hermione said. "That's usually fun. But I will miss seeing Fred and George teach."
"I wonder what happened?" Ginny said. "Those two wouldn't miss their first day as professors unless they couldn't help it."
There was a loud cracking noise which made everyone jump. "Harry Potter, sir?" said a squeaky voice.
"Yes, that's me," Harry said, looking down. A house-elf wearing the Hogwarts tea-towel was standing next to him.
"A note, sir, from Professor McGonagall. She is wanting to see you, sir, right away," the house-elf said, handing him the note.
"Thank you," Harry said. "Er, what's your name?"
The house-elf twisted its towel hem shyly in its hands. "Grabe, sir."
"Thank you, Grabe."
"You is welcome, sir." The small creature disappeared with another crack. Harry ripped the note open.
Potter –
Come to the Headmaster's office immediately. Bring the Weasleys. The password is "Fainting Fancies".
It wasn't signed, but he knew Professor McGonagall's handwriting well enough. "What do you think?" he said, handing it to Ron.
"I think we'd better get moving," said Ginny after she had read it. "Coming, Hermione?"
"It didn't say me," Hermione objected.
"They're unlikely to throw you out," Ron said over his shoulder. "You know everything we do anyway."
"True enough."
"I wonder what's going on," Ginny said thoughtfully as they walked. "First classes cancelled, then a note from McGonagall..."
"Fainting Fancies," Harry said to the gargoyle. Up the stairs and through the door they went, and stopped short.
The Headmaster's office was a buzz of confusion. Mrs. Weasley was crying in a corner. Lee Jordan, looking dazed, and Angelina Johnson (Johnson-Weasley now, Harry remembered), also crying, were sitting together on a bench with Remus talking to them. Lee had one hand pressed to his head, with something white in it, and as he moved his head, Harry saw spots of red on it. His stomach sank.
"Ah, there you are, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up. He, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape were bent over something on his desk, examining it. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, Miss Granger."
"What's going on?" Harry asked, with a terrible feeling that he already knew the answer.
"There was an attack on Diagon Alley last night," Professor McGonagall said heavily. "Three people are confirmed dead. Several more were badly injured, including George Weasley." Mrs. Weasley let out a fresh sob. Ginny went to her and hugged her while listening. "He is at St. Mungo's, being treated. Miss Spinnet – his wife," McGonagall corrected herself, "is with him there. But there is a more serious problem."
Hermione put her hand on Ron's shoulder.
"Fred Weasley is missing."
Harry felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. Missing? Fred? What does that even mean? Ron had gone chalk-white at the word, his freckles standing out in stark relief, and Ginny's face was hidden in her mother's shoulder.
"M-missing?" Hermione faltered.
"He was not found among the dead or wounded, nor has he answered our communications," Snape said curtly. "And we have received a note purportedly from him, claiming that he has been captured by Death Eaters."
Mrs. Weasley made a small moaning noise.
Angelina looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, as if she'd been crying all night. "It looks like his writing," she said, her voice shaking. "But I think something's wrong – but I don't know! Everything's all wrong..." She trailed off into sobs and buried her face in a handkerchief which looked somehow familiar to Harry.
How can I be thinking about a handkerchief? George is hurt, Fred's missing, and he might have been taken by Voldemort –
"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. Harry looked up. "Sit down." He conjured a chair, which Harry sank into. "I think you need to see this." He came around his desk and held out a small irregular piece of parchment. Harry accepted it and looked it over.
Professor –
I've been captured. The DE's say the attack was because of Harry, because of something he did last night. They say they're going to kill me at noon. Please, help me.
Fred
Harry's head swam.
Because of me.
No. No. Not more death. Not Fred. Please, no.
Not because of me.
"Harry." Dumbledore was standing in front of him. "I realize this is difficult, but please try to remember. Did you dream last night?"
Harry nodded.
"What did you dream? Was Voldemort involved at all?"
"I'm... not sure," Harry said, trying to think back. He'd gone to class, there'd been a phone call...
To buy himself some time, he looked back down at the note. Fred had obviously been in a tearing hurry while he was writing. The first word "of", which ended the first line, was half-missing – the whole top loop of the F was off the page...
"Harry," said Remus' voice. Harry jumped and came back to reality. Remus was standing next to Dumbledore, looking down at him. "Please, try to remember. It may be important."
"There was something," Harry said slowly, remembering standing in the hallway of Wheaton Hall, not sure if he knew a Tom Riddle or not. "I think it was him. He wanted to come in somewhere, and I wouldn't let him. I wanted to keep doing... what I was doing... so I said I didn't know him and told him to go away." And made him angry. And now people have died – Fred's going to die – because of me...
"Good," Remus said with real approval. "Harry, that's wonderful. You blocked him out."
"But people died because of it," Harry said painfully, still staring at the note. Something was wrong with it, it was at the front of his brain...
"No." Remus sounded very stern. "No. Harry – look at me – Harry, this is not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You're being used as an excuse. This is just another kind of control – more subtle, more indirect. Don't give in. Don't let Voldemort dictate what you think."
What makes you any different than him? Harry wondered dully. Why should I let you tell me what to think? He nodded, though, and Remus pressed his shoulder and returned to Lee and Angelina.
It didn't matter what he did, Harry thought, staring at the floor. Nothing he could do mattered now. Fred was going to die, and then...
Ron will hate me forever. All the Weasleys will. Hermione, too, she's practically a Weasley already... Angelina, Alicia, Lee, Katie... everyone in the DA, everyone I know... they'll all hate me for letting him die...
"Harry James Potter," said a low voice in front of him. He jumped and looked up guiltily. Ginny stood in front of him, her face filled with fury. "Are you even considering thinking that this is your fault?" she hissed. "Are you?"
Dumbly, Harry nodded. How did she know?
Ginny's lips curled back from her teeth. "Get over here," she said, seized his wrist, and dragged him out of his chair and over to Mrs. Weasley. "Here he is, Mum."
Oh, no. Bad idea. Harry would have run, but Mrs. Weasley was already standing up. Is she going to hit me? He braced himself –
Only to have her embrace him and start weeping into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed out. "I'm so sorry, Harry. This is so wrong. You poor boy. Trying to blame this on you."
She has one son in the hospital and one captured by Death Eaters and she's worried about me? Ron's right, his family is all mental!
But part of the tense, horrible feeling inside him went away. His friends obviously weren't blaming this on him, and that made it easier not to blame himself.
"You can't control what Voldemort says, Harry," Hermione said in his ear. "He could just as easily have said he was attacking because the moon is made of green cheese. That doesn't make it true."
The tenseness vanished. Harry felt almost giddy. Hermione's right. Hermione's always right. He can say whatever he wants. That doesn't make it true.
It's not my fault.
"Harry?" Ron said in a choked voice. "Your bag's flashing."
"What?" Harry looked at his schoolbag, still strung over his shoulder. It was, indeed, emitting flashes of green light. "Oh. Let me see." He dug into his bag and came up with –
The Map.
I didn't know it could glow.
-Finally!- Padfoot scribbled. -We've been trying to get your attention for five minutes.-
(What is going on out there?) Moony wrote. (We heard something about Voldemort, and Fred Weasley, and a note...)
"Yeah," Harry said quietly, turning so what he was doing wouldn't be totally obvious to the rest of the room. Ron and Hermione came to look over his shoulder. "Yeah, you pretty much got it."
:Can we see the note?: Prongs wanted to know. :You could copy it onto the Map.:
"Um, okay." Harry touched his wand to the note, Copied it, and tapped the Map twice. The contents of the note appeared there.
-Well, let's have a look,- Padfoot wrote underneath it. -I never got a chance to see his writing, he hasn't used the Map enough to accumulate a personality yet – does this look like it to you, Harry?-
"I wouldn't really know either," Harry said regretfully. "Angelina says it does, though."
:She is his wife. Ron? You're the other resident expert.:
"I don't know," Ron said, rubbing his eyes. "I just don't know." He sounded tired and worried, and Harry realized that none of them had eaten breakfast yet.
Something's wrong here, but I don't know if it's wrong with me, because I'm hungry and scared, or if it's wrong with the note...
He looked at the Map as Ron and Hermione went over to Mrs. Weasley. The writing from the note sat there, glistening, with Padfoot's comment beneath it, and Prongs' beneath that.
Padfoot's writing looks different than Prongs'. Or the note.
Something stirred in Harry's mind. "Ashcoat," he said quietly.
;You called?; his own handwriting scrawled.
"I'm having part of an idea. Something about the writing. Help me out?"
;All right. What do you have?;
"All I know is, it's something about Padfoot. Something important."
-Little old me?-
"Yes. Something about... about your writing. And about the last time I saw you..."
;You mean the last time you saw Sirius. The Department of Mysteries?;
"No. Before that."
;In the fire.;
"Before that too."
;That puts it back to Christmas.;
"Yes. Christmas. Something about Christmas. The end of the Christmas holidays." Harry was certain he was onto something. "We said goodbye. Sirius gave me the mirror. We went down the walk. Remus called the Knight Bus..." He stopped.
(Something about me? Or something about the Knight Bus?)
"The Knight Bus," Harry said. "How do you call the Knight Bus?"
:Stick out your wand hand,: Prongs answered promptly. :How else?:
"Your wand hand." I'm close. I can feel it. "Your wand hand is your writing hand, isn't it?"
-Usually.-
Harry had a flash of his first ever trip to Diagon Alley, at Ollivanders, where he had been measured for his wand.
"Which is your wand hand, Mr. Potter?"
;I think you're close,; Ashcoat wrote.
Harry looked at his own writing, then at Padfoot's, then up at the note. He leaned in close to the Map and whispered a question. The answer shot him onto his feet.
"Professor Dumbledore," he said aloud, getting everyone's attention. "The note's a fake. And I can prove it."
-----
(A/N: Can you?
OK, maybe I've been reading too many Encyclopedia Brown mysteries. But I think I put enough clues in this chapter, and in the story up to now, that you should be able to say how Harry knows the note is a fake. And if you can't, just review anyway – please!
emikae: You can if you like – I'd love it if you did, of course, but that's me and my ego talking.
marathonerobsessed: We discussed this already, my friend. I have one thing to say to you – Food? Now? (OK, that's two things... and this makes three... never mind.)
blueJosh: You didn't miss anything – the chapters only covered one day, and Harry just didn't see Ginny during that day.
harryp123: OK!
MAndrews: Oh, don't I just wish...
MackenzieW: That sounds cool.
Silver Warrior: Thank you so much for the many reviews!
Hugs to all reviewers! Please, if you read, review – I might update sooner if you do!)