Chapter 8: Random Tales of Hogwarts
It was the first day of term and in the feast, Professor McGonagall was worried. Harry's actions were very erratic, and he was clearly down, but after what he had done to Dumbledore, she didn't want to mention it. She was not too sure about the new headmaster either, he had a strange, distrustful look about him, and he wasn't very approachable. He looked like a coiled snake, ready to strike at a moment's notice. But unlike Moody, he looked young, ready, able and strong. And those eyes…They were eerie. But the point was, she didn't like the looks of him. She sighed as she surveyed the people before her, and gasped when she saw Harry…His eyes…They looked the same as Professor Armstrong's.
Hermione looked at Harry and sighed. The president looked harassed and depressed. She wished that she and Ron could do something, but it seemed that what Harry needed was to love someone, and neither of them could be loved by him that way. Hermione was spoken for, obviously, and whilst Ron was too, he was clearly straight, same as Harry. Ginny could not offer him that either, being a vampire, she said love was too risky. So all in all, Hermione was worried. She was trying to think of someone else, but there was no one, and Harry had clearly realised this quickly, as he ad become somewhat like Hogwarts new headmaster…And he had dropped out.
Ron looked round at Hermione and sighed. He knew she was worried about Harry; he was too if he was honest, but he couldn't help but be a little upset by this. He hardly ever got to speak to her, and, to put it lightly, things were not as happy go lucky as they used to be. He mentally added himself to the list of people who were after Snape's behind as he half-listened to Armstrong's beginning of year speech, which was actually slightly interesting; despite the fact that it was said in a dark seedy voice that inadvertently made everything he said sound hyperbolic.
Ginny lay in the hospital wing, mentally listing the reasons she hated her life. If you could call it that. Every night she had to find something that was alive, slash it with a knife and drink the crimson liquid that streamed from the wound. She had managed to stick to animal blood so far, but she was desperately afraid that one day she'd lose control and go after a human. Nevertheless, being a vampire was not all bad. She had become an unbelievably good gymnast and had heightened her senses beyond her wildest dreams. She knew she would be able to sneak into anything, any time from now on, and intended to offer this service to Harry before long.
Harry looked around him apathetically. They were all stuck between awe, fear and worry. He sneered to himself. He felt a power inside him He knew that energy he had used against Dumbledore was readily available to him, and yet…He didn't think he needed to use it. He would act normally, but for the fact that for a few fleeting days, he'd had a purpose. Now he was drifting, empty, as if caught on the wind. He needed someone to live for. Someone to concentrate his whole existence on, someone to cast a patronus with. Someone to love. It was the only thing he wanted in he entire world, and, he decided, he had to find it if it killed him. Which it likely would.
Albus Dumbledore stared out the window of his cell, a broken man. He did not know what had come over him, but he didn't know what had come over Harry either. It was strange, but he felt like both of their actions had been of other people. He twiddled his wand and cast a warming spell on himself, the cell was awfully cold. He sat down and looked at the floor and began to think. How could he and Harry both have begun to act so weird, so close together? He, himself, had lost his good judgement and Harry had become rash and prone to over-reaction, as was evident in how he had been with Albus right up until the time when he had sent him here. Dumbledore had finally worked out where he was, and it made him sick. He was in Azkaban, and Harry had changed it. Gone were the Dementors, and in were these impassable pain spells and Aurors. All in all, it was better on the prisoner in some ways, but was a better prison in others.
Mike sat down after delivering his speech and watched his students eat. His eyes met with the president's and again a question floated through his mind:
"What has Harry done with Dumbledore?"
It was in fact the question on everyone's lips, but no one dared actually ask it, al afraid of getting on Harry's bad side. But that was not why Mike didn't want to ask him, he just didn't care enough about anything to bother. He had learned to leave everything and everyone well enough alone during his days dabbling with the dark arts. Pushing the thoughts from his mind, he pulled some sausages towards him and started eating. He liked Hogwarts's sausages. To him they were the best on earth.