Chapter 25: Understanding
Harry lay on his bed, eyes closed, body tense.
Please, not again. Not again. Just let it be over. Just let us sleep. Just...
He groaned, but it wasn't audible over the high-pitched keening of the fire alarm.
"Why are we even bothering trying to go back to bed?" said Ron in annoyance as they left their room again.
Ginny's Weasley hair stood out in the glow of the outdoor building lights, enabling the boys to find her and Hermione quickly. Harry handed Ginny his jacket, since she'd come out without one. "You know, I like being with you late at night," he said, "but this is ridiculous."
"This is more than ridiculous, this is insane," said Hermione tartly. "This is what, the fifth fire alarm in the last half-hour? And it's four o'clock in the morning!"
"And it's not likely to stop," said Erica wearily, coming over to them. "I heard someone say it's a malfunctioning smoke detector way up high in the ceiling of the dining hall, and they can't find anyone with a long enough ladder to get at it, so this is just going to keep on happening until they do." She waved towards the main door of Rivers, where a small conclave of girls was meeting. "The RA's are trying to figure out some way we can all go inside and stay there, since the building's obviously not on fire."
"Wish they would," said Ron, casting a longing look at the building. "It's bloody cold out here."
Rose came to stand with them, shivering in her short-sleeved nightgown. "Does this feel like a bad dream to anyone else?" she asked plaintively.
Harry's eyelids were suddenly very heavy. He yawned.
"Harry, are you all right?" Erica sounded concerned. "You're kind of swaying."
The world began to tilt. Harry felt mildly alarmed, not having the energy for any greater degree of worry.
"Harry!" Ron's voice was almost panicky. "Harry, what's wrong?"
Another voice superimposed itself.
"Harry, wake up. Come on, wake up. Harry, please, wake up, it's late."
Wake up? I'm already awake.
And who is that, anyway?
The voice was male but a trifle squeaky, nervous-sounding, and familiar, it seemed, to one part of his mind, but not to the rest...
Harry forced his eyes open and saw, for one instant, a round, worried face near his own, and could almost name the boy to which it belonged...
Then his eyes closed and opened again, and he was back outside Rivers Hall, lying on damp grass, head pillowed in Ginny's lap, with Ron shaking him. "Harry, wake up!"
"I'm awake," said Harry quickly, sitting up. "I'm all right. I don't know what happened, but I'm all right, I think–"
Without warning, Ron's eyes rolled back in his head, his eyelids snapped shut, and he pitched forward onto Harry, who hurriedly caught him. Hermione cried out in alarm and dropped to her knees beside him. Together, she and Harry got him turned over. Ron's eyes flickered open and shut, unfocused, and Harry suddenly wondered if his friend were also seeing two discordant realities, two things that couldn't possibly both be true...
After a few moments, Ron jerked all over, eyes shooting open. "Weird," he said fervently. "Harry, you remember that Longbottom kid, the one we used to go to school with?"
"Sure. Neville."
"I just had – I guess it was a dream, but you're not supposed to dream if you're unconscious, are you? I saw him, he was saying you wouldn't wake up, and trying to get me to..." Ron looked confused. "I don't understand."
"Me neither." Harry looked back at Rivers. The noise had stopped, and Fran was jogging toward them.
"Everyone inside," she said when she got close enough to be heard over the sound of four hundred relieved college students. "They're turning the sound down on the alarms until they get them fixed, but everyone's supposed to wait in the lounges until we say you can go back to your rooms. Everything all right over here?"
"Harry and Ron just... passed out, kind of," said Erica. "But they look OK now."
"We're fine," said Harry, quickly getting to his feet as Ron did the same. "Just overtired."
"I think that's going to be epidemic on this campus tomorrow. Anyone have early classes?"
Harry and Ginny raised their hands. Their theatre course met at nine am.
"Good luck," said Fran, mingling sarcasm and true good wishes in the tone as only she could. "Does the prof take off for falling asleep on your book?"
"Don't know," said Ginny. "No one ever has."
Erica chuckled. "Last year in my intro to English, we had a sleeper once a week for a while – until the professor started getting the biggest book he could find and dropping it on the person's desk."
"I had a professor who answered a girl's cell phone once in class," Rose volunteered as they made their way inside. She giggled in her inimitable style, drawing looks from all around. "He made out like he'd just spent the night with her – and it was her boyfriend on the other end! She was in tears!"
Trading class horror stories kept everyone amused for a while as they all tried to find comfortable places to sit or lie in the overcrowded lounge. Hermione put her head in Ron's lap and went to sleep. Ginny leaned against a pillar and did the same. Ron's eyes closed once or twice, but they always blinked open again quickly.
Harry sat next to Ginny, watching her eyes move beneath her closed lids, wondering what she was dreaming of...
"Everyone back to your rooms," said Fran, appearing beside him. "They've got it fixed – finally – and they say this won't happen again." Her tone indicated she'd believe it when she saw it, or rather, heard it.
Instead of disturbing Ginny's peaceful sleep, Harry lifted his girlfriend into his arms and carried her carefully through the door out of the lounge and straight into her own room, which was directly across from the lounge door. He set her down on her bed, removed her shoes, pulled the covers over her, smoothed her hair out of her face, and gently kissed her goodnight. Ron was doing the same with Hermione on the other side of the room.
Harry yawned. "I'm for bed. You?"
"Hell yes. I'm whipped."
They exited the girls' room, shutting the door behind them. Harry was able to stay upright long enough to close their own door behind him, kick his shoes off, and actually get under his covers. He suspected Ron hadn't even done that much. He closed his eyes and felt sleep fall on top of him like a sixteen-ton weight...
"Harry!"
Harry's eyes shot open. He was in his dorm at Hogwarts, with Hermione and Neville leaning over him, looking worried. "What?"
"You wouldn't wake up," said Neville. "I kept shaking you and shaking you and you wouldn't wake up at all – and I tried Ron and he wouldn't wake up either. I finally went and got Hermione."
"How?"
"He asked Parvati to go up and get me." Hermione handed Harry his glasses. "Harry, are you feeling all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, usually when people won't wake up, they're ill."
Harry concentrated for a moment on how he felt. "I don't think I'm ill," he said finally. "I don't feel fevered or headachy or anything."
"I think you should go see Madam Pomfrey anyway," said Hermione firmly.
"What about Ron?"
"What about Ron?"
"He wouldn't wake up either. Do you think he's sick?"
Neville was already beside Ron's bed, shaking him. Ron groaned, then rolled over and opened his eyes. "Go away, Neville."
"It's getting late," said Neville. "Ten minutes to classes."
"Ten minutes?" Ron almost catapulted out of bed, swallowing whatever he was about to say when he saw Hermione. "That's not even enough time for breakfast!"
"And we don't have a break this morning," said Harry in annoyance, digging in his trunk for clean clothes. "Hermione, do you mind?"
"I'm leaving, I'm leaving," she said, already halfway out the door. "Oh, and Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time, on the forehead, not the nose."
Ron frowned. "What?"
Hermione opened her mouth – then an expression of worry came onto her face, quickly replaced by horror, and she dashed out of the room.
Harry, Ron, and Neville looked at each other in bafflement.
Ron voiced the sentiment first.
"Girls..."
Wednesday was similar to Monday. Charms was uneventful except for the arrival of Errol, the Weasley family owl, who swooped in through the door and was hit by a stray charm of Neville's which caused him to lose half his feathers and drop the letter for Ron he was carrying. Ron told an apologetic Neville that Errol actually looked better now.
The letter was from Mrs. Weasley and contained the heartening news that both Fred and George were well on the way to recovery, and probably wouldn't be able to teach on Thursday but almost certainly would the following Tuesday. Professor Flitwick let Ron out of class for a few minutes to find Ginny and tell her the good news.
In Defense Against the Dark Arts, as Professor Fleming had promised, they discussed the theory of Memory Charms.
"Memory Charms, if used ethically, preserve or restore a unity within a human mind," said Professor Fleming, walking up and down at the front of the class. "This is why their use on Muggles who have seen magic in use is ethical. Most Muggles are unhappy knowing about magic. It disturbs them and their ideas of the world. A Memory Charm returns them to their so-called normal state."
Hermione raised her hand.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"Professor, aren't some Muggles allowed to know about the magical world? Parents of Muggle-born students and so forth?"
"Yes, of course. I didn't say, nor did I mean, that no Muggle should know anything about magic. Magical law allows for Muggle parents or guardians, siblings, spouses, and other close relatives of wizards and witches to know about magic. However, a man being deliberately shown real magic by, say, his wife and a woman on the street catching a glimpse of a random man disappearing into thin air are two completely different things."
Harry rolled his eyes at Ron. Hermione appeared to have triggered Professor Fleming's lecture mode.
"The man in the first case can ask his wife questions and get answers. He has a reliable source of information. His life will continue, perhaps not as it did, but he will in time be able to incorporate magic into the normal structure of his world. The woman in the second case has no one to help her understand what she has seen, and there is no reason for her to understand it or know any more about it. For all concerned, it is better that she forget."
Seamus Finnegan stuck his hand up. "Has there ever been a Muggle-magical marriage where the magical one didn't tell the Muggle one about magic?"
"In all the years of magical history, I'm sure a case could be found, Mr. Finnegan. Why do you ask?"
"I just wanted to know if the law said you have to tell your husband or wife you're magic if you marry a Muggle."
"I doubt the law would legislate such a narrow point. However, I also doubt any marriage in which there was so little trust between the spouses could last long."
Was it his imagination, Harry wondered, or had Professor Fleming's voice gotten just a trifle crisper on the last sentence?
The homework for Monday was two feet of parchment on creative ways to avoid using Memory Charms. "Take a situation created by magic," Professor Fleming instructed them, "and work to find ways in which it could also have been caused by Muggle means. Students with little or no knowledge of the Muggle world will wish to ask their peers with greater knowledge for help."
Blaise and Ron looked at Hermione as the bell rang. "Help," they said plaintively in unison.
"Potter," said Snape icily over the sound of the N.E.W.T. Potions class packing up. "Your Remedial Potions lessons will resume on Friday night. Seven o'clock, my office."
"Yes, sir," said Harry, trying not to look at Malfoy, who was staring at him gleefully.
"Do you have trouble with Potions?" asked Colleen as they left the dungeon.
"Sometimes." It was all Harry trusted himself to say.
"I'm pretty good with some of it. If you have questions, you can ask me."
"Thanks."
Because they weren't taking a ninth class, Harry and Ron had two hours' worth of break now. Hermione had an hour of break before Arithmancy and used the time for bullying both boys into going to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey checked them over and informed them that they were both in excellent health.
"So you can stop fussing over us now," said Ron as they left.
"I wasn't fussing. I was concerned."
"Long word, same thing."
"It is not."
Harry dropped back a few steps and let them go at it.
Ron and Hermione's "debate" lasted until Hermione left for Arithmancy. Harry and Ron spent their remaining hour outdoors with the Marauder's Map, updating their personal accounts and chatting with the original Marauders and their own personalities – Ron's personality, Redwing, had now activated as well. Aldima, Hermione's personality, was also active, according to the Marauders, but Ginny's Flamepaws and the twins' Vulpes and Reynard hadn't activated yet. It wasn't surprising, Harry thought, since the other Weasleys had used the Map less than he, Ron, and Hermione had.
Muggle Defense was more of the same – exercises designed to test flexibility, strength, and endurance, getting progressively harder as the class went on. Harry would have enjoyed it more if Snape hadn't been constantly watching him. It was as if Snape was waiting for him to falter or fail.
No, not as if. I'm sure he is.
It was a long two hours, and the groans were audible when Professor Fleming assigned another two-mile run to be completed for Friday.
"Same time, same place?" said Harry to Ron and Blaise as they changed.
Ron shrugged. "Why not."
Blaise nodded. "Fine with me."
The evening was devoted to homework. Ginny looked rather harried. "O.W.L.'s," she said shortly when questioned. The other three nodded in sympathy. They remembered all too well.
Hermione went to bed early, claiming a headache, but Harry wasn't far behind her. His whole body hurt from Muggle Defense, and his brain hurt from trying to remember everything Snape had told them in Potions – he was sure the Potions Master had tried to get two hours' worth of lecture into their one-hour Wednesday class.
He foggily remembered seeing Ron come in, but nothing more.
Harry lay on his bed, staring up at a book.
Why do all these people have three names?
Across the room, Ron suggested somewhere for his math book to go that Harry was sure he wouldn't have said in front of Hermione.
"Problem?"
"Yes. Actually, a whole bunch of them. Numbers 31-36. They all have three parts – and they're bloody impossible!"
Someone knocked on their door. "Come in," Harry called.
It was Ginny, clutching the same book Harry was trying to read. "Do you understand this?" she asked.
"No. You?"
"No. There are so many characters."
"And they all seem to have multiple names."
"And the plot makes no sense."
"And they never do anything."
"And this is the man they call the father of modern drama," finished Ginny with a sigh. "Oh well."
Hermione followed her into the room. "I thought I heard frustration through the wall," she said to Ron. "Need some help?"
"Yes."
Hermione pulled out Harry's desk chair and sat down next to Ron, their heads almost touching.
Ginny dropped her book on Harry's bed. "I'll be right back," she said. "Bathroom break."
"Oh, don't use the sink on the right," Harry said, remembering. "It's broken, the tap doesn't work."
Ginny grinned. "Maybe you ought to hiss at it and see if it moves."
Harry laughed. "Maybe I should."
His laughter seemed to stretch, as if time itself were slowing down. He had time to think strange, long thoughts.
Why would I hiss at a sink? That's just weird.
But I already did. Back in my second year.
Second year of what?
Second year of Hogwarts, of course…
What's Hogwarts?
His eyes were closing. He forced them open, seeing as through water Ron and Hermione looking at him with concern. Ron's mouth opened.
"Har…wha… ong?"
The voice seemed to have come through water as well, he was losing syllables and sounds. Hermione's eyes shifted, and her voice came through suddenly clearly. "Ginny!"
With an effort, Harry turned his head to see Ginny slumping against the doorframe, her eyes closing. He wanted to jump up and go to her, but his body wasn't working right, and his mind was still having that odd debate…
You go to school at Hogwarts.
No, I go to school at Carrington.
No, Carrington's a place in a book. A fantasy.
A dream.
Ginny's eyes opened, fixed on Harry's. She mouthed a word.
"Dream…"
An image rushed into Harry's mind. A round room, with five four-poster beds hung with red curtains…
He closed his eyes, let himself fall backwards, and wished himself there.
"Harry!" shouted Hermione and Ron together at the edge of his hearing as he fell.
"Harry!"
Harry's eyes snapped open. Ron was thrashing around in his bed, shouting Harry's name incoherently. Harry scrambled over to his friend and shook him hard as Dean got the dormitory lights turned on.
Ron came awake with a shudder. "Harry!"
"I'm here," said Harry. "What's wrong?"
"You – you passed out or something, you looked like you were dying–"
"Ron, you were asleep. We all were. It was a dream."
"If you two are going to talk long, can you take it down to the common room?" asked Seamus, stifling a yawn behind a hand. "I'm dead tired."
"Sure. Come on, Ron."
Harry somehow wasn't surprised to see a frightened-looking Hermione and a slightly wary Ginny in the common room already. Hermione dashed at him and hugged him tightly before he even got off the stairs. "You fell down," she said in a shaking voice. "You fell on your bed and you were all pale and Ginny was falling down too – and then I was here…"
Harry steered the two of them to a sofa and got Hermione to sit down beside him. Ron took an armchair next to Ginny's, and they sat for a moment, looking at each other.
Ginny broke the silence. "Ron, can you give me an F?"
Ron hummed a note. Ginny repeated it in her own octave. "It's yours too, Harry," she said. "Ron, you take the A, Hermione, you're on the C."
Harry was about to ask for what, when Ginny hummed the first few notes of a melody he recognized. He took up the original note Ron had given them, Hermione and Ron filled in the chord, and they began to sing, very quietly so as not to wake anyone.
Carrington College, yonder on the hill,
Through all the years, our hearts are turning still,
In love to thee, and so they ever will,
O, Alma Mater, Beatissima.
It was about as perfect a rendition as could have been imagined. Ginny even hit the difficult rhythm near the end that Big Guy was always pressuring the sopranos about.
The last chord died away.
No one quite knew what to say.
(A/N: Including the author… who is really and truly sorry… and hopes that her intention to finish this story before HBP comes out will make up for not updating for literally months… :hopeful smile:)