Disclaimer: All characters/places etc.mentioned in the Harry Potter books are under copyright of J.K. Rowling. Artie, the Hufflepuff portrait is mine.
Chapter 4 – A Familiar Face
Harry took his worries to bed with him that night, and they soon vanished slowly into his dreams like ink on blotted paper. His frets on his suspicious amnesia had lost their importance by the time he had awoken for breakfast, and he had even tried to banish the stirring root of questions into a blank nothingness.
Although it was confusing and, Harry had to admit - a little disturbing, he told himself not to make it his first priority right now, not when there were defences to be learnt with the events happening in the wizarding world. Voldemort's return was a great deal more crucial at the moment than a solution to his brain lapses, anyway.
I'm here at least, he kept telling himself. I suppose I should be thankful for that.
There was more commotion bustling around Hogwarts, too. Rumours were flying in everyday about late student arrivals that at the last minute, had changed their minds about staying behind at home. Apparently, the updates appearing in The Daily Prophet had sparked the nerves of anxious parents, who had undoubtedly sent in many letters to Dumbledore, requiring if their children make a quick return. The idea of their families not being well-prepared perhaps frightened them terribly.
The Gryffindor table glanced up with the others as the doors of the Great Hall swung open, letting in a Slytherin third year, stepping beside a couple of fifth year Ravenclaws. Professor Flitwick followed afterwards, looking unusually twitchy as he headed towards his seat.
Dean Thomas turned back to his pancakes, resting his elbows upon the table in an uninterested fashion.
"New arrivals," he commented, with his mouth full. "That's five now in two days."
"The numbers keep growing," added Ginny, glancing down the table. "Everyone's beginning to panic, Harry."
For that instant, Harry was unsure why she directed her statement at him. His name caught his attention and he looked back into her eyes, as if to question her selection of words.
Did he look as though he were panicking himself? He hoped not...hundreds and hundreds of reporters' gossip and rumours weighed down his shoulders, concerning with what happened a few weeks back.
The last thing he wanted were his friends (especially his friends) believing he had something secretive to hide from them. He hated holding the details out of their reach...but what good would it do for them?
Knowing how my luck is turning out, it would probably just make the fear worse for them, he said to himself.
He nodded slowly at Ginny, absent-mindedly, and lowered his head back to his plate, prodding his fork into his food with no thought towards actually eating it. The shiftiness of the others rather bothered him this morning, although he could not for the life of him understand why. Every time they mentioned Dumbledore's name, or newspapers, or even worse - the first years were having to whisper in private corners, and somehow catching his name being dropped...
He balanced his head onto his open palm, twirling the end of the fork with his fingertips. Somehow he felt like an outcast from the rest when he sat with them like this - as though they were on pin needles waiting for him to mention something about that dreadful night. He could never find a sensible conversation to have with ease anymore. Everything felt strained - tense.
"Hey," Neville whispered in an undertone, "You don't think that awful Millicent Bulstrode will be sent back too, do you?"
Millicent Bulstrode was a Slytherin girl in their year, bulky and with a sturdiness to challenge Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper and teacher of Care of Magical Creatures. She was a particularly silent girl, in fact, Harry could never remember hearing her speak. She often towered over those students that were even in years above her - Hermione's memories of her were never pleasant to think on.
Everyone collapsed into a fit of giggles at Neville's shaky voice.
"Just look towards the sounds of grunting and heavy footsteps, and you'll find her - the big gorilla!" Ron chortled.
"Or we could always inspect one another for cat tails!" someone chimed in down the other end of the table.
At this outcry, Hermione turned a shade of crimson and fixated her eyes on the Hogwarts banner on the opposite side of the room, while tunes of laughter rang and screamed all around her. There was a slight pout of indignation on her face - clear evidence that snatching one of Millicent's cat hairs for the Polyjuice Potion in her second year had not been one of her best impulses. It had taken Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, weeks to try and shrink the whiskers back into her cheeks. Now those cheeks were alight with flame.
"Oh, you can all just stop," she grumbled under her breath, shooting the students in the far corner a dirty look, as though they were criminals tied in a devilish crime. Harry could almost feel the heat escaping from her in embarrassment, especially when a choir of mewing sounded off.
I know they're only joking with her, Harry thought, biting his lip as he concentrated on something else, but why do I feel ashamed for her? Lately, everything has seemed to be getting under my skin a little. Whether it's the teachers in class...or mindless chatter...why aren't they thinking about...?
An almost better description for these feelings would be that his emotions felt more alive...he was far cautious towards his anger now, which was beginning to confuse him sometimes. Often he became enraged at the smallest things - it was really quite aggravating.
He glanced down at his plate and noticed that his sausages had transformed into a mountain of pulpy mush, and with a degraded sigh, pushed them away from him with a finger.
The continuous bubble of laughter continued to surround him. Harry sat there, feeling empty. He was not feeling an appetiser towards anything laid out on the centre platforms, and the actions of people around him suddenly felt as though a button had been pressed, speeding them up from their normal walking rate. Everything sounded so much louder too...so loud...
The perfect symptoms for me to be ill, he thought, with a touch of sarcasm.
"Hey, Harry! Want some scrambled egg?" Ron questioned, tearing through his downtrodden thoughts, and leaning over with the spoon in the bowl.
Harry shot a look at it, and whatever was left of his stomach dropped through his chair. One of his favourite breakfast courses had suddenly gained a distinct similarity to vomit. He lurched back an expression of disgust and moved away from the table, clutching tightly onto the strap of his book bag.
"No, thanks - that's all right," he said, stuttering a little. He backed off from the rest of them and gathered up his things, watching the surprised looks on their faces at his departure.
"Mate, what's up?" Ron asked in disbelief, staring as Harry fumbled about with the contents of his bag, apologising quickly to Neville as he had picked up his Herbology spell book by mistake.
Sighing, he shrugged off Ron's question as though it were a fly buzzing past his ear. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing's the matter, don't worry. I'm just not very hungry, that's all. I'll be in the common room if you need me."
He could feel the eyes on him the moment he left the table to the moment he eventually reached the door. Big boring eyes like knives driving their way into his spine, and sitting there...waiting to see if he turned. It was as though everyone suspected his hidden doubts towards these lessons, and why wouldn't they? They were just the same things that they were all considering. The same deep, black thoughts. Thoughts about these extra lessons being a complete waste of time...
What were they supposed to learn that would help them survive? His year was below legal age...
Not a great deal powerful there, then, he thought glumly, hearing Ginny's cry of, "Harry!" as the entrance door thudded shut with an empty vibration.
Go away, go away, he thought, not caring who it was aimed at. Just go away.
Leave me alone.
-xXx-
He had to make a bathroom stop on the way back, because of the way his stomach felt – as though he was going to lose his entrails. It was rather annoying, as he wasn't even sure why he had wanted to be sick. Perhaps those scrambled eggs had been too much for him to take...
He half-stumbled, half-marched his way back to the common room, the Fat Lady looking concerned, as she stared down through a pair of very outrageous glasses she had found in the portrait to her left.
"Feeling unwell, dear?" she asked.
Harry shot her a steely glare and said nothing – nothing that is, except the password.
"Artichoke," he mumbled out roughly.
"He did, once," came the Fat Lady's reply, referring to the lowly looking wizard in the painting down the Hufflepuff corridor. He appeared constantly in several portraits, known for his puffy cheeks and whooping cough.
Oh, ha-ha...very funny.
Harry stepped through the portrait hole without saying another word, made his way to the boy's dormitory and flopped down onto his bed, his feet crossed tightly and his eyes staring mindlessly at the ceiling. The curtain around his four-poster was still slightly pulled around the corners from that morning. Everything was so quiet. Nobody remained in the study corner downstairs, save for a couple of sixth years.
Now that he was alone, he had enough time to think things through. His behaviour down in the Great Hall had been a little bit embarrassing – what had he been thinking, taking off like that? Everyone was bound to think it was something incredibly serious...honestly! It annoyed him when people delivered him attention but all the while he somehow managed to create it himself...
He turned over savagely, his previous position becoming uncomfortable. He couldn't stay in bed for long...his first class would begin soon and he didn't really have anything worthy of an excuse.
Perhaps he would go back later, there could still be some time to grab some of that bacon...oh, why had he left without eating anything?
He sat up, and dawdled about a bit in the room, trying to buy time so that he at least would not look like a complete fool when he did decide to return. He checked the time, a habit that seemed to go by slowly while he waited...a quarter to nine, it read.
Hmm...not long now before lessons take place, he thought, with a little glumness. He could have done with a good half an hour to settle his thoughts and clear his frustration a little bit. He was secretly thankful that he hadn't said anything too offensive at the meal table...that was the last thing he needed – people giving him a wide berth.
He decided to go back around ten minutes later.
No chance of devouring an English breakfast.
-xXx-
"You've changed your tune," the Fat Lady muttered irritably, as Harry left the exit of the common room, the portrait slamming shut behind him with a low creak. He didn't know what else to say – now that he had cooled his temper down a little he couldn't even remember half of the things he had mentioned earlier.
"Oh," he uttered uncomfortably. "Right. Sorry."
He did do some ridiculous things. Impulsive, ridiculous thoughts that flew in and out of his brain whenever they felt like it.
Impulsive, ridiculous thoughts that made him look like a complete idiot.
"Harry!"
He turned his attention to the corridor ahead of him, where Hermione was hurrying as fast as she could to catch up, her bag swinging wildly around her shoulder (quite often banging into her hip – painfully too, according to the number of books she carried), and her face concerned. He faced her, hands in the pockets of his trousers.
"Where have you been?" she panted out, somewhat breathless. "Don't you know it's only five more minutes until Charms class begins?"
Harry rolled his eyes a little, trying not to see the amusing side of her talk. Typical Hermione. She would have to mention lessons within her first frantic sentence or other. I wonder why everyone sent her to examine what I was up to. Perhaps they all trusted me to get to the subject on time, whereas Hermione must have had her doubts.
"Yes, I noticed," he said, smiling. "I was just on my way, actually."
She released a sigh, similar to that of relief. Her arms clutching around one lone book instantly relaxed and quite practically nearly dropped it to the floor. "Well, I'm glad to hear it!" she answered, an approving expression lighting up on her face at his words. "For a moment, there...I thought - "
"I can guess," he replied quickly, cutting her off. Not wanting to consider whether that look in her eyes was one of hurt or humour, he shook his head clear of opinions and gestured to the corridor. "Come on, let's walk and talk."
Hermione didn't seem to want to mention the uncomfortable way that Harry had left earlier, although he could see that she was bursting to. He thought it may have been because of his previous comment...he hadn't really meant for it to sound as though he was biting her head off, but she was doing exactly what he predicted her to do.
He found she wanted to walk at a speedy pace, making it difficult for him to actually say a few words to her. He knew they wouldn't be late...Charms was on the second floor, they were on their way to the Grand Staircase anyway...
"Hermione, slow down – we're not going to be late." He attempted to speak.
"You don't know that Harry, you don't know," she responded, a twinge of anxiety hidden in her throat. She clutched her book to her chest with one arm as her second reached out and pried open the huge door leading to the stairs. They were on the seventh floor...on the utmost level. Harry hoped that the movement of the staircases would be kind to them today. They really couldn't afford to miss any of Professor Flitwick's extra lessons. The additional spells could really pay off for the future...
It was amazing that Hermione's feet didn't trip over one another on the way down, they were moving so quick and so lightly that Harry swore she would eventually miss one and go tumbling down. Every so often he would reach out to grab her...but she was deft and never slipped. It seemed she was trying to outrun the stairs before they carried her away to the opposite wall.
"Harry," she began as she reached the sixth floor, "Why did you leave the Great Hall? You were...a little unsettled. Did anyone say anything?"
Harry sighed heavily. He knew she couldn't hold it back for much longer. Right from the start there had been something unnerving about her, as though she was resisting an itch to scratch.
"No," he said quickly. "I..., err, just felt a bit sick. I went upstairs to clear my head a bit. It was nothing personal, Hermione." Most of what he spoke was the truth. He had been reasonably close to throwing up what was left in his stomach at his bathroom break, which counted for the sudden queasiness. But the rest...
"Everyone else wanted to go after you," Hermione added. "But Ron insisted "no." He said that you needed some time to cool down, or something."
Good old Ron, Harry thought to himself, dismissing any sarcasm. He meant it.
He followed her lead downwards a couple more staircases. They were on the fourth floor now. He noticed that she was double checking her belongings...if she had brought the books for the lesson. He supposed she had – she would have done so last night, when she had checked her timetable.
One step ahead, all the way.
"I didn't really get much time to do anything, really," Harry admitted.
"What do you mean?"
"I wanted to sleep, first. I don't know why. There was never going to be enough chance though for that. I suppose I slept pretty rough last night, I can't remember." This was not a lie. Harry usually could tell whether his rest was either easy or unpleasant – but not last night. It was as though it had never existed to him. A blank memory on another blotted page, this time without ink as a starting point.
He continued, "Then I thought about going back, but I'd left with little time management, hadn't I? So I was on my way to the lesson when you showed up, obviously worried I wasn't going to make it." He grinned at her, amused. "Did you? Is that what you thought?"
"Oh, well...I suppose a part of me suspected it," she mumbled out in a meek voice, stepping down onto the third floor just in time. "But, it was because of something else really...I came to ask if you already knew, but you can't know – you don't seem any different than you did yesterday, and that's why I wanted to see you, if someone else had already come along and you'd overheard - "
"Wait a minute," Harry interrupted, his mind already spinning. He struggled to reach her level now, as her voice had gone very quiet. "What are you talking about?"
Hermione bit her lip again – Harry could have sworn she'd done that too often on their way down to Charms. "It's nothing."
"Overheard what? It must be important, otherwise you wouldn't have come down - " He tried to make painfully accurate eye contact with her. "Hermione!"
This was insane. What is she hiding from me?
Her feet touched the second floor, at last. Tossing her bushy brown hair behind her head, she reached up once again for the door handle, ignoring Harry's pestering shadow lingering over her from behind. "Just leave it, Harry...I'll let you hear about it later. Come on, we can't be too late...we might just have made it on time."
She pried the door open, letting him march annoyingly behind her, his moan of aggravation following her into class.
She hadn't thought things through enough, because of the hurrying and the panic of missing the lesson – she had forgotten about the house that Gryffindor was working with today...how could she have not reminded herself?
I suppose he'll find out during the lesson then, not afterwards, she told herself, with another perturbed expression as she stared around the class, feeling as though she could kick herself for not providing more details.
"See! There he is! Look, Professor! I knew he'd show up sooner or later!"
The voice rose up to Harry as though it were a cold sweat crashing on his body, as a tidal wave to a beach. His head snapped in the direction of its location, a confused and squinted frown instantly placed onto his brow. He swallowed, and although he never said it above a whisper, it sounded as bellowing as an air siren in his head.
"Malfoy?"
