Chapter Eight

Ron's Memories

Dumbledore vanished the desks from the room. He and Harry stood facing each other, several paces apart. "Concentrate, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "Concentrate on clearing your mind. Concentrate on keeping me out." They made eye contact. Without even muttering "Legilimens," Dumbledore was able to trespass into Harry's mind.

Memories swam before his eyes. Sirius, grinning happily at Christmas last year ... Sirius, grumpily retreating to his room when the gaiety of the holidays began to die down ... Sirius, dueling with Bellatrix Lestrange, being hit by her spell, falling through the arch ... Harry, sitting in his room all summer, sulking ... seeing his family in the Mirror of Erised, all waving happily at him ... Lupin and Tabitha, whispering furiously about the Potters' wedding ...

Harry felt himself jerk his wand. In an instant, Dumbledore was out of his mind. Harry dropped to his knees. When he looked up, Dumbledore's nose had increased considerably in size. "A well-placed Engorgement Charm!" he said merrily, restoring his nose to the proper size. "Sometimes the best spells are the ones we don't mean to cast." He smiled at Harry. "That was very good, Harry. You didn't want me in your memories, so you cast me out as quickly as you could. But we need to work on getting you to react more quickly, and more effectively. Stunning spells work best, but more advanced Occlumens can cast out mind-trespassers without magic. But, yes, you are off to a good start."

They practiced for a solid hour, during which Harry was able to hit Dumbledore with a rather weak Stunning Spell twice. He was ready for a long night of sleep after being flooded with memories of Sirius for an hour. Before letting Harry go, Dumbledore reminded him to practice before going to sleep. "Clear your mind completely, Harry. Remember, Voldemort can still slip into your dreams if he wants to. It will take some weeks before your dreams will cease. Practicing with Professor McNoira will help you tremendously."

Harry nodded glumly. He wondered if Dumbledore knew that Tabitha hated him.

"I sense, Harry, that something is troubling you?" Dumbledore said. Harry wondered fleetingly if Dumbledore had sneaked Legilimens on him until the headmaster added, "You seem preoccupied, and I get the feeling it is not of a Sirius matter?" Something struck Harry about the way Dumbledore said this, but he wasn't sure why.

"It's just," Harry hesitated. He heard wings flapping outside the window. Some owls were making late-night deliveries, he supposed. "Well, it's Tabitha. Professor McNoira, I mean. She—she doesn't seem to like me very much."

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, last year I told you that I failed you by not being completely truthful to you. I'm afraid that I still haven't been, but in this case it is not my place to tell you everything."

"What do you mean? Who am I—?"

"Harry, how do you feel about Peter Pettigrew?" Dumbledore interrupted.

"Wormtail?" Harry was quite taken aback. Wormtail was the reason Harry's parents were dead, the reason Harry would soon have to face Lord Voldemort again. Harry hated him, maybe more than he hated Voldemort, and he told Dumbledore as much.

"Ah, so you harbor ill will towards the person indirectly responsible for your losing your parents?" Dumbledore nodded at his own question. "That, I'm sorry to say, is the same way Tabitha McNoira feels about you, Harry."

Harry looked at Dumbledore blankly. "But—but I don't even know her parents!"

Dumbledore smiled sadly at Harry. "As I said Harry, it is not my place to tell you the truth of this matter." With that, he left Harry alone in the empty classroom.

Harry decided to run after Dumbledore, to demand answers, but when he ran into the corridor, the headmaster was already gone. Harry walked up to the Gryffindor common room, dreading having to tell Ron and Hermione that there was anything more to the mystery that was Tabitha.

The Fat Lady—the portrait of a large woman in a pink dress who guarded the Gryffindor common room—looked sympathetically at Harry. "Poor dear, looking as sad as ever this evening!"

Harry mumbled the password ("Pink Knickers") to escape her pitying stare. Except for Ron and Hermione, the common room was empty. They were sitting very close in a squashy armchair by the fire, working on Ron's essay. Harry sighed and sank into the chair next to them.

"Harry! I didn't even hear you come in! How was your lesson?" Hermione asked.

"It was fine. Dumbledore's a much better teacher than Snape." Harry didn't want to tell them what Dumbledore had said about Tabitha, not until he knew more about her parents. What could have possibly done that caused their deaths?

He looked around the empty common room. "Why are you both in that chair? The table's open," he said.

"Oh. Er, the common room was really full before," Ron said. "This was the only seat open."

"We were working so hard we didn't even notice that everyone left," Hermione added.

"Yep. See? Almost done. Nine inches," Ron said, holding up his essay."Hey, Harry, when d'you reckon we should have Quidditch tryouts? Ginny's been asking me."

"She asked me, too. I suppose we could have them after one of my Occlumency lessons this week. What about Thursday?"

"That sounds good. We'll ask McGonagall tomorrow to book the Quidditch pitch." Ron sighed. "What—what about Kirke and Sloper? They're dead rotten Beaters. D'you think we should replace them?"

Last year, under Umbridge's rule, Harry and the Weasley twins had been banned from playing Quidditch after a scuffle with Draco Malfoy. The Gryffindor team had made some last-minute replacements—Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper as Beaters (Fred and George's position) and Ginny Weasley as Seeker (Harry's position).

"Maybe we could ask them to just try out again," Harry suggested. "After all, they could have improved." Ron did not look too happy at the prospect of telling Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper that they'd have to try out for their own positions. "Well, we need two Chasers, there's no way around that," Harry added.

"And it'll be hard to replace Angelina and Alicia. At least we've still got Katie this year."

"And Ginny's a rather good flyer. If she can score goals, she'll be our best bet for Chaser." Harry was surprised to feel himself getting red in the face as he talked about Ginny. He could picture her on the Quidditch pitch, pink-cheeked, brushing a piece of red hair out of her eyes ...

"What is it, Harry?"

"Huh?"

Ron gave him a funny look. "You just had this weird look on your face for a second. Are you all right?"

"I—I'm all right. Just tired, I guess. S'been a long day." He stood up. "I think I'm going to bed. G'night."

"'Night, Harry," Ron and Hermione chimed together.

But Harry wasn't that tired. He just wanted to be alone. He was supposed to clear his mind before going to sleep, but he had a lot of things to turn over before then.

First there was Tabitha. He wanted to like her. She was friendly with Ginny, Hermione, and Tonks. She disliked the Slytherins very much. She was—possibly—married to Lupin, who Harry admired greatly. She and the Weasley twins had once been co-conspirators of sorts, and they seemed to think she was simply fantastic. According to them, she was an impressive Beater, and according to Dumbledore, she was fully qualified in Defense Against the Dark Arts. But Harry didn't know what to make of her. She appeared to dislike him for no apparent reason, but now Dumbledore had told him that he, Harry, was somehow responsible for her parents' deaths. But how could that be?

It wasn't fair. Not once had Harry's life been easy. He had no parents, no godfather. His only family was the Dursleys (and that was punishment enough for anything—yet Harry had done nothing to warrant their miserable treatment of him). Lord Voldemort was back and after Harry, the only person who could stop the evil wizard. A prophecy made before Harry's birth (and by Trelawney, the old fraud herself) said as much—"the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."

Harry brushed his fingers against the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead—his "mark" from Voldemort. Voldemort had never heard the prophecy in full ... he never knew that he had to mark his future conqueror. Two boys born at the end of July that year fulfilled the prophecy—Harry, and Neville Longbottom.

But Voldemort didn't mark Neville as his equal, Harry thought bitterly. Voldemort went after Harry. He killed Harry's parents. He gave Harry that scar, and now Harry was the only one who could stop him.

And he had Potions tomorrow. With Snape. Last year, after seeing how James Potter tormented Snape in their Hogwarts' days, Harry thought that Snape had been right every one of those times that he said James was full of himself. But Sirius and Lupin had told him that Snape wasn't without blame ... and for him to get revenge for some schoolboy pranks by ordering the deaths of James Potter's entire family was unforgivable.

Harry sighed. He stared at the ceiling above his four-poster bed. He pretended to sleep when he heard Seamus and Dean come in at ten o'clock, followed a few minutes later by Neville. They were whispering about something, but Harry could only hear snatches of it. Most likely, they were trying not to wake him.

"... snogging right in the middle of the common room," Dean sniggered. "I never even imagined ..."

"Almost as bad as Fred Weasley and Angelina Johnson last year," Seamus added.

Harry half wanted to jump out of bed and see who could possibly be kissing in the common room ("Probably Ginny and her latest boyfriend," he thought, surprised by the pang of jealousy he suddenly felt). But he had almost succeeded in clearing his mind. He stared at the ceiling ... his mind was empty ... he was drifting to sleep ... he didn't even hear Ron come up to bed an hour later.

"Harry. HARRY!" Harry's eyes opened sleepily the next morning. "'Bout time, mate," Ron said. "We'll be late to breakfast, come on."

Harry dressed quickly. They walked down to the Great Hall together. Harry told Ron about the two Gryffindors snogging in the common room. "Who d'you think they were?" Harry said. He didn't want to suggest Ginny—Ron was her brother, after all, and hadn't been too keen on any of her boyfriends last year.

Ron's ears were very noticeably red as he tried to answer. "Er ... I dunno, maybe ... maybe a couple seventh years."

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. He felt very stupid all of a sudden. Ron and Hermione running into the Great Hall together, out of breath ... sitting together in an armchair by the fire in an otherwise deserted common room ... two people snogging in the same room as Ron, and Harry was the one to say something ...

"Hermione has, er, stopped writing Viktor Krum?" Harry said tentatively. Krum was Seeker for Bulgaria's Quidditch team. He had been Durmstrang School's Triwizard Champion two years ago during the Hogwarts'-hosted Triwizard Tournament ... he had also had a crush on Hermione, and they kept in touch once Krum left Hogwarts.

"A few months ago ... why?"

Harry stopped and looked right at Ron. Their eyes met for a second. Suddenly, images flooded Harry's mind ... a very young Ron cuddling a teddy bear that became a giant, wriggling spider ... a fearful, panicked Ron pacing back and forth in a caved-in tunnel, wondering if his sister was alive, worrying that Hermione would not be able to be unpetrified ... Ron jealously watching Hermione dance with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball ... Ron kissing Hermione in the Gryffindor common room ...

Harry would have burst out laughing at this last image if he had not been terrified as to what had just happened. He broke his eye contact with Ron, who stumbled back, panting. "Wha-what was that?" he demanded.

"I think—I think I just used Legilimency on you," Harry said, confused.

"So everything I just saw ... you saw, too?"

Harry nodded.

"Harry ... me and Hermione, it's just ..."

"It's all right, Ron. I was thick not to notice." Harry grinned for a second. "You can tell me everything later. This is serious. How can I use Legilimency on you? I didn't say the incantation. I'm not even particularly good at Occlumency."

"I think you'd better talk to Dumbledore," Ron said seriously. "I'll go tell—"

"Hermione?" Harry said with a weak grin.