Yeah, there is a noted absense of our favorite potions master recently, but that will be majorly rectified in chapters to come. Bear with me, people. Oh, and I've recently put up a new story called Shards. Anybody ineterested in reviewing?
I'd also like to make a plea: from myself, and several other reviewers who have noticed it. Molly Morrison, if you're readng this... please, please, PLEASE update 'Lies' soon. We're all dying out here.
He slept again.
He didn't really do much more than doze for a few more hours, but when he came to he was still feeling unpleasantly sleepy, the kind of tiredness that welcomes sleep but cannot achieve it. He decided instead to see who was sat around him.
He cracked his eyes open a little, surprised to find he was still wearing his glasses. A medi-wizard was about to take his pulse.
"Wzsft," said Harry, knocking the man's hand away. He was rewarded for his efforts when the man jumped like he'd seen a Death Eater.
Harry sat up, slowly and painfully, and looked around him. Dumbledore was beaming at him from the door to the hospital wing. Harry looked away. He didn't deserve it.
And right into the eyes of Mrs. Weasley, who promptly threw her arms around him.
"Harry, dear! Harry! Are you all right?"
She held him out at arms' length and viewed him critically, but Harry could see the tears in her eyes.
Harry started to say something, found he couldn't, cleared his throat and tried again.
"Uh... I think I'm okay. Apart from the achy muscles," he said. Mrs. Weasley loosened her grip a little bit, but pulled him into a hug again.
"Oh, it's so good to see you back," she said happily. The tears in her eyes did not go away.
Harry propped himself up further, and glanced at the empty bed next to him.
"Professor Snape -" he began.
"Oh, he's fine dear," said Mrs. Weasley, tucking up the bedsheets around him. She did not quite meet his gaze. Harry looked around him, and saw several mediwitches and wediwizards tidying up Snape's vacated bed.
"Why - Why are all these people here?"
"Well, Madam Pomfrey wasn't quite sure that your... injuries were within her healing ability, so we called in some help."
By 'some help' she obviously meant the six or seven healers flitting around. Harry let himself be tucked back in, and Dumbledore strolled over to his bed.
"Molly... if I may speak to him?"
"Of course, headmaster," said Mr.s Weasley, flustered. She threw him one last glance before she left the ward.
Harry sat in silence. He did not wish to speak with Dumbledore. He did not feel worthy.
"You may be interested to know you have been asleep for two days," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. Harry still said nothing.
"Severus is feeling much better."
The silence deepened.
"But I see you are not." Harry just shrugged. He wasn't in the mood for talking. He wasn't in the mood for sleeping. He felt completely useless, totally drained, and very weak. Dumbledore appeared to sense his mood, and Harry sensed Dumbledore's disappointment. It made him feel worse.
Then one rather horrible fact occured to him.
"Sir - the fire - the damage -"
"All taken care of, my boy," said Dumbledore, eyes smiling through a serious face. "The wards in place around the property in the castle are sacrificial wards - the wards burn instead of the substance. Everything is quite safe. Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall and myself will have to do some renewing, that is all."
"I don't want to cause anyone any effort," Harry mumbled.
"My boy, those wards should be renewed at the end of every year. They have not been renewed for very nearly a century. Believe me when I say any damage sustained is entirely our fault."
There was a pause.
"Would you like to talk to Severus?"
Harry mutely shook his head.
Dumbledore placed a hand on his head, and left the hospital wing.
llllllllll
Harry sat down for another rest. He was exhausted.
He really was weaker than he had previously thought. His little chat with dear Tommy-boy and his wonderful handstands on the edge of the mental catastrophe curve had drained any reserves of energy he had.
The fact he actually had reserves of strength to start with surprised him, in a dull, emotionless kind of way. When this had all started he had felt heavy. Horribly heavy. Oppressed, wounded, and heavy.
Now he was hollow. He was like a chocolate rabbit: looked fine on the outside, but inside was just a large hole with a sign saying 'Space for rent' floating randomly about. It was strange. He now had virtually no co-ordination. Any grace he used to have seemed to have been sapped. Admittedly, part of this appeared to be the fact he was using a crutch, but his joints appeared to be held together with marmalade, spit, and a few well-chosen prayers. His movement felt jerky, like a puppet walking with a string missing. He didn't feel incomplete, or anything, he just felt... hollow.
Numb was not the right word. Numbness came with flesh, with solidity. Emptiness came with vacated space.
Harry levered himself to his feet, picked up his wooden crutch and resumed his way down to Hogsmeade.
If anyone found out he had left the castle, there would be hell to pay. Harry couldn't care. If anyone ran up to him right now and slapped him, screamed at him, he would simply meet them with the same empty gaze and voicelessness he had treated everyone with for the past two days.
The empty wind whistled fruitlessly over the flat plains that constituted the path down from the castle. Vacant air lay lightly on the trees, the snow-covered ground and on Harry. The sense of lightness almost overwhelmed him; he had become so accustomed to pressure it was strange not to feel trapped anymore.
He had passed through the storm of his insanity and this was the garden of the hurricane's eye. Hell rose around him, mighty walls of fire and wind, but Harry had what he had. And that was all.
Harry resumed his reasonable sped down to the village, keeping an eye on his surroundings. Apart from the few brief flicks from the tail-end of his scarf, caught by the whiskers of the wind, nothing else caught his gaze as appearing to be unusual.
Since waking up from his nightmares, Harry had become beset with paranoia. He suspected Voldemort everywhere; perhaps he could not be blamed for that. He had been forced to meet his parents in the flesh, as it were, and the experience had left him shaken. His previous determination was dormant, hiding, but not asleep. It was huddling in a proverbial corner and hugging itself. It had yet to gain self-confidence.
Harry's eyes were now fixed firmly upon the village; he was nearly there. When he arrived he flattened his fringe and surveyed the people there. Hogsmeade was always busy; It was no more than the usual. Harry limped in, aware that people were staring at his crutch. It made a nice change from his scar. He pulled the scarf up so it covered his chin and mouth and headed for his favourite café.
The Lull Spirit was as empty as it had ever been, and this was exactly how Harry had wanted it. A little bit of silence, a little bit of quiet, a little bit of time where his thoughts were his own. A little bit of time without the few lingering healers metaphorically prodding him with a stick to see how he would react. Without Mrs Weasley's fussing. Without seeing Dumbledore's knowing gaze and without waiting to find Snape.
Harry did not order. He simply sat and waited out the silence. It was pleasant, and it was comfortable. Harry began to feel dozy, but he did not let himself drift away.
He unwound the scarf from around his neck and craned his head from side to side, trying to loosen up the muscles which were stiff and tense. His scar was hurting again, a raw, throbbing pain that was somehow muffled.
No matter how much he tried to stay awake, eventually his eyelids closed. He was tired and his recent nightmares had been no more than usual, but enough to drain any strength he had built up. He dropped into a black void of dreamlessness, and was thankful.
When he woke about two hours later, a woman was touching him tenderly on the shoulder.
"Are you alright?"
Harry shook his head a little bit to clear it, and looked up at the woman. She looked concerned. Then, she looked amazed. Harry noticed, with a deep sense of disgust and disappointment that her eyes had wandered to his forehead.
"Oh - I'm - I'm so sorry for waking you," she stuttered. Harry just shrugged.
"I needed to be up."
But her hands had gone to her mouth.
"Can I get you a drink? On the house, of course," she added, smiling a little disconcerted smile. Harry shook his head, and his feeling of disgust grew. His scar gave a painful tweak; its sheer volume of pain seemed to have mounted whilst he slept. He left the shop without another word, and knew that he wouldn't go back.
He was walking down the main road, feet crunching comfortably in the snow, when the feeling overwhelmed him so badly, he started to shake.
Something was Wrong, something was very Wrong. Something was here that shouldn't have been.
He tried to shake it off as paranoia
(paranoia listen to it it's only a heightened state of awareness)
but it wouldn't be dispelled. And then, his scar burst into fresh waves of sharp, immeasurable pain.
He swung around and surveyed the street, not knowing what a gothic picture he made. Leaning on a darkwood crutch, with a black cloak swirling about his body, a navy scarf pulled up to hide his mouth and nose, and his black muggle jeans and a t-shirt. Eyebrows frowned above a set of eyes severely dilated by pain, trying to find the source of discord that resonated throughout the world. He could not find it. People were milling around, buying things, behaving in normal people-y kind of way. So what could be wrong?
Harry thought he knew as the pain in his scar rose to a new pitch...
... and exploded into a cacophony of pain, fresh bright pain, that swirled around his brain.
Strangely enough, his vision was oddly lucid as he stumbled over to the entrance of a closed shop and pressed himself into a doorway.
With a resounding crack like several rifles being fired all at once, black-robed men and women had apparated into the centre of the street.
No-one moved. The shoppers froze. The black-robed were still.
The Dark Mark was fired into the late afternoon sky. And then the screaming began.
E.A.V: 'A veritable new-aged Shakespeare'? What have you been smoking and where can I get some?
I'm glad you think I have alyrical way of describing things... I guess that was what I ws aiming at when I wrote this... evrytthing I write usually has a song or an album behind it. In this case, it was System Of A Down's 'Toxicity' album.
ckatt44: Flattery will get you everywhere.
Pleione: Indeed. Keep reading!
Strega: 'Glowering BBQ Snape' - I LIKE it. I may steal that for future chapters. Don't mind me. And I almost burst into tears when they finished the progtram... stupid American sci-fi channels, pulling funding... Thanks for responding to, uh, my response.
ShadowedHand: Strange, strange is good.
KrazeyForever: Yeah, I am working on the length of my chapters. It's easier to do this now I have written the ending.
Dragonero: Will do.
Breana Senese: It was the graveyard, not the World Cup... wasn't it?
Whatever. I ust needed a link to the past for this story, and I hate myself for the tackiness of it... but for the sake of the story, I had to do it.
Sakura Saisaka: It's okay, my computer hates me, too.
Midgette: Nyaaaw, you gotta love that name.
Yes, your attention span does seem to be wandering. It's travelled three continents already.
Vendethial: My writing style reminds you of Stephen King? Will you marry me?
C'Mon: Yeah, I know what you mean... I get that from books sometimes.
Shada Bay: Yes, actionnyness will be coming, as you can see from this chapter...
I'm working on a blog as we speak...
crazNM: Normal? Define 'normal' in the Potterverse. ; )
I think insanity would not be good. What I've done is taken a stereotypcal view on insanity and romantisiced it to a sort of martyrdom... insanity is not good. Imagine beliving that someone is after you, chasing you, and you can't hide... must be a terrible feeling. Blearggh.
Teahleafs: Everyone loves the Teahleaf. Oh, what would we do without you?
The James/Lily thing was not cheesy; it was EXTREMELY cheesy. Unfortunately, for the plot to have worked, it had to be done. Sorry about that. Forgive me?
Shelly101: You're welcome.
Starinthedark11: Will do.
Tania25: Yes, we do live quite, quite far away from each other... oh well, you can't win 'em all... and by the way, I'm still flattered from your previous review, so nyah. : )
Illucia: Normal? Coherent? Must be losing my touch...
forty-two dreams: JKR has made a lot of mistakes... like leaving the completed drafts o books 6 and 7 on a cafe table. Now she has to re-write the books because the drafts were stolen. Book 6 was supposed to come out last summer...
Mrs. Snape: Harry will not go to St, Mugoe's, but St. Mugoe's will come to Harry... you'll see what I mean in a couple of chapters.
leggylover03: I like odd. Still, it will get better...
cynosure the heirophant: Freaky? I like freaky. Freaky is good.
I'm glad you like my story. Cool name, by the way.
Right... yes, it has gotten bizarre recently, but it straightens out again in coming chapters.
If you liked that ugly thing about Draco Malfoy, I'll let you in on something -I'm planning to try to get this quote into the story at some point: "You weren't hit by the ugly stick; you set your face on fire and tried to put it out with the ugly stick."
Silver Slytherin: I'm writing lots more. Check out my bio page.
In your review you mentioned you couldn't get ahold of chapter 8; I had a look and it seemes to be okay. I think it's your computer. If you still can't get ahold of it, say so, and I'll e-mail it to you. Cool? My ego won't allow reviewers to not be reading my chapters. ; )