The Black Lake
Chapter 3
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Harry knew he was in trouble.
What had started out as simple fascination was rapidly growing into obsession.
Having a girl on his mind was something Harry had never experienced for more than a few fleeting moments, or perhaps a few days. Life on the run was not conducive to steady relationships, and admittedly, Harry had not perhaps had the best role model in terms of follow-through when it came to girls. Sirius, with his good looks and flirtatious personality, had attracted numerous glances and turned many heads, but had nothing in the way of long-term relationships.
As a result of this- combined with a nomad lifestyle- Harry had limited experience in dating. Not to say that he was inexperienced- he had certainly had girlfriends here and there- but nothing able to make it past a few weeks at the most. His relationships ended when he inevitably had to pack up and flee. This led to a similar habit as his guardian; he never allowed himself deeper attachments. This was even more pronounced later on when the danger for him and Sirius mounted. In the end, girls and dating had become a near impossibility, and a serious, caring relationship seemed a luxury he could not afford.
Inexplicably, a girl- who may or may not exist- had forced her way into his mind, and he was having a hell of a time casting her out.
He wasn't sure he wanted to.
He had never had time or the circumstances to pine over a girl or play out heated fantasies in his head. Now, Harry had found it near impossible to tear his thoughts away from red hair and lake water. She was also cropping up in his dreams with more frequency, and their interludes in the dreams became more and more tantalizing. His nightmares had eased up considerably, now that the anniversary of The Day was over. He had always been a vivid dreamer, and he was at once appreciative and annoyed at the searing details these new dreams seemed to be giving him.
Drops of water rolling down pale skin.
Dark eyes watching him.
Harry shook the thoughts from his head. He had been indulging himself in this mystery, but today he was determined to get some actual work done. Shortly after waking this morning, he forced himself to sit at his desk, gathering his quill and parchment and attempting to focus. Harry had fallen embarrassingly behind in writing his curriculum, and now was playing catch-up. He blamed the pleasant summer days- so untypical of the Scotland weather- and their enticement for spending so many hours outside during the day instead of focusing on his work. It certainly had nothing to do with the obsessive need to go to the lake and look for the redheaded girl.
At least that's what he told himself.
He had spent nearly every afternoon for the last three days at the lake, but the mysterious girl whom he had seen there previously remained elusive. He had searched the shores. He had prodded the water with his wand. He had sat quietly and waited.
Nothing.
The only thing that had broken the surface of the lake was the giant squid. Hagrid had become teary-eyed when the tentacles broke the surface and wailed out loud when he saw a burn mark on one of its suckers.
You poor baby, what'd they do to ya? He had cooed.
A bandage made of one of Hagrid's bedsheets and a few lullabies later, the squid had seemed on the mend. Harry had watched with amusement as Hagrid had gone down to the lake daily to change the bandage, planting a big, whiskery kiss on the burnt sucker each time.
Squid's a shy one, Harry. Never hurt nobody.
Harry was glad for Hagrid's company, because as soon as the girl appeared, he was determined to show someone- anyone, really- that he wasn't absolutely losing his mind. Because he wasn't.
Right?
Sighing loudly, he again refocused his thoughts, finally putting his quill to parchment. He began revising the unit in which they were to study Boggarts. Since the events of The Day, Harry felt that while it was important to see a real Boggart and learn to defend themselves, the requirement that each student must face the monster in front of their classmates was something he felt very uncomfortable with. The students had been through a bloody war, for merlin's sake, and Harry had a pretty good idea of some of the terrifying things they had seen and gone through.
His eyes glazed over as he thought about what his own Boggart would show, but he shook the sad thoughts away. He crossed out the requirement roughly with his quill and wrote 'optional' in its place.
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Professor McGonagall had approved his revisions, and she had subsequently submitted it to the school Board of Directors. She seemed to have no doubt they would approve, but Harry worried they would scrutinize and pick apart his submission.
Unable to sit still from nerves and pacing her office until the Headmistress became thoroughly annoyed, she attempted to distract him by reviewing the Prefect and Head Boy and Girl patrol duties with him. He would trading-off supervision of their schedules, occasionally filling in when needed. When Harry hesitated, the Professor decided he needed a more thorough tour of the school.
He knew she was also trying to distract him from his ramblings about the Lake.
McGonagall seemed to be convinced that he had imagined all of it, and Harry worried that if he continued to bring it up that she might toss him in the Mental Ward at St. Mungos.
He felt she very nearly did this exact thing when she was giving him another walk-through of the less-familiar wings of the castle.
He was walking with her down the corridor near the trophy room. He had been down this particular corridor before, but hadn't paid attention to his surroundings at the time. This time his gaze was wandering while McGonagall prattled on about the Prefect's night monitoring schedule.
"Now, Potter, there is a particular broom cupboard at the end of this corridor that has always caused us trouble. It has been notorious for-"
Harry didn't hear what it was notorious for. A flash of red in his peripheral stopped him dead in his tracks. There was a portrait on the wall, and his eyes were fixed upon it almost against his will. As he studied the figure in the portrait, he felt his heart begin thrumming with excitement. He stared wide-eyed- completely unable to look away, completely unable to move- before finally finding his voice.
"Her."
Professor McGonagall, who had kept walking, not noticing that Harry had paused, turned round to him.
"Who, Potter? What are you talking about?"
Eyes not leaving the portrait, Harry pointed a finger to it.
"Her."
The girl in the portrait was smiling brightly at him. She was wearing Gryffindor robes and holding a broomstick. She had long, glossy red hair, and her chocolate-brown eyes were sparkling with life. She had such an astoundingly beautiful smile. Her lips were rosy and full, and she was so familiar– there couldn't be any doubt what he was seeing.
"Her, Professor," he repeated in disbelief, "That's the girl I saw at the lake!"
The redheaded girl gave him another smile, this time adding a friendly wink as well.
Harry's insides made an odd quivering motion, like at any moment they might melt into a puddle and leak out his feet. Here, right in front of him, was proof that this mysterious girl he had been obsessing over- acting so foolishly over- existed.
It was her.
It was the same hair, only dry this time, those same captivating eyes-
"Potter, I'm afraid you are quite mistaken. That isn't possible."
Harry tore his eyes away from the girl, looking at the Headmistress with confusion.
"What?"
Professor McGonagall turned to the portrait, looking at its occupant fondly before her features became drawn in deep sadness.
"That's Ginny Weasley," the Professor said quietly, her eyes clouding in memory. "Pretty thing, isn't she? She was sixteen. She would have been in the year below you, had you attended Hogwarts."
Harry was more confused than ever.
"No- Professor, this is her. This is the girl I saw-I swear I-"
"Potter," McGonagall interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know what you saw, but it was not Ginny Weasley. It couldn't have been."
Frustrated, Harry opened his mouth to argue, but the Professor interrupted him again.
"Ginny Weasley is dead."
Seeing his incredulous look, the Headmistress gestured to the wall. For the first time, Harry noticed that the picture of Ginny Weasley was just one of many portraits. He took in the whole of his surroundings, the dozens and dozens of faces in frames on the wall. Portraits of students and professors lined the corridor- young and old. Some were sleeping in their portraits; others were looking at him curiously. He could see students and staff from all houses, and several Aurors as well. Above the portraits was a large wooden plaque. On the plaque, in large, gold letters stood the phrase, 'Hall of Heroes.'
This hall was a memorial.
Which meant all of these faces, young and old, were dead.
Normally, this sight would have caused Harry's gut to clench, bile to rise in his throat and demons from the last year to begin wrestling his mind. And for a moment, it did. He placed his hand on the wall to steady himself, almost immediately feeling ill.
But then, his nausea and his swirling thoughts come to a screeching halt, and his mind attempted to make sense of what he was seeing.
She was dead. The girl in the portrait was dead.
But he saw her...
But she's dead.
Without warning a memory entered his thoughts. Sitting on the back porch with Sirius, listening again to the story of that fateful Halloween night and of Pettigrew's betrayal. Sirius clutching his bottle of Firewhiskey until his knuckles turned white, and Harry thinking that if only he could bring his parents back- not for his own sake, but for Sirius- to maybe ease the guilt and regret that had now permanently marred his features. Sirius had seen the calculating look on Harry's face.
Nothing can bring them back, pup. No spell can reawaken the dead.
Harry looked to the Professor, who had gone very quiet. Her face showed a deep remorse, but there was a familiarity within that remorse, and Harry wondered if she had known the girl quite well. It had been one of her students after all, and the Headmistress had been her head of house at the time.
"She was killed in the battle of Hogwarts," she said, clasping her hands together tightly in front of her, "along with her family."
Harry's head pounded in frustration. None of this was making sense. That had to have been her.
"It looked exactly like her," he whispered, "or it could have been a twin, or a sister?"
McGonagall turned to Harry, patting his shoulder.
"I'm afraid not. She was quite unique- youngest of seven, pureblood, and the first girl born in her family for generations. I speculate that was why... well, anyway, she certainly was something special."
Harry felt like banging his head on the wall.
"It's quite alright," she said quietly, seeing his exasperation.
Harry hated how pathetic he felt at that moment, and at the look she was giving him. He saw sympathy and pity there that he didn't want. He felt like an overly emotional child being calmed after a tantrum.
"Emotion and trauma can fool even the wisest eyes- believe me. I walk into classrooms and think a student is at a desk. I see Professors sitting at the staff table." She gave a shake of her head, eyeing the long corridor of portraits. "But then I blink, and the student I thought was there, or the staff member who was more like family to me, they are gone."
Harry immediately felt guilty for hating how she was treating him. The Professor had certainly suffered as well. She thought she was comforting him. His story did sound a bit outlandish- and he clearly wasn't the only one whose mind had played tricks on them.
Except Professor McGonagall was seeing friends and loved ones- people she knew.
Harry had seen a complete stranger.
Professor McGonagall coughed, recovering herself quickly. She quickly applied a business-like manner, smoothing her robes and looking determined to move on from the matter.
"Now, no time to dwell on the past, off we go. It's only weeks before the students arrive and with the reduced staff, there is much to be done."
Harry stayed in place for a moment, his feet and eyes unwilling to leave their place in front of Ginny Weasley's portrait.
She looked back at him, still smiling brightly.
He fought down more than a dozen questions he had. He wanted to know more about this girl- no, he had to know more- but at the stern look the Headmistress gave him when his feet hadn't moved, he knew the discussion was over.
For the moment.
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Later that night, Harry lay awake in bed, the lull of sleep far away from him.
The only thing that had seemed to distract him adequately was his work. But here, lying in bed without the parchments and course objectives in front of him meant that his thoughts were caught up in loop. The questions in his mind spun around perpetually like a hamster wheel.
After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, he tossed aside his covers and grabbed for his jumper. Pocketing his wand, he strode out of his quarters, and into the darkened corridor.
He hadn't entirely thought about where his late-night stroll would lead him, but his subconscious certainly did. He allowed his feet to carry him as he remained deep in thought. His feet seemed to be in tune with his thoughts, for when they stopped, he looked up and was unsurprised to find himself in the corridor that housed the Hall of Heroes.
As he moved through the corridor, he saw most of the occupants in the portraits appeared to be asleep. Unlike the Portraits of the Headmasters, however, these portraits emitted no whispers or soft snores. He found himself in front of the Portrait that had nearly caused his heart to stop the first time he had seen it. He raised his wand to it, a gentle glow at its tip, to see its occupant.
The girl's head had been resting on the side of her frame, but she blinked and sat up at the soft light. Harry inexplicably felt bad for waking her, but then he remembered she was only a picture. That, and she immediately gave a warm smile, and he completely forgot about any such thoughts.
Like why he was there, for instance.
A bit sheepish, he allowed himself to study her for a moment, and she simply looked back at him amiably. He studied her features, features he was sure he had seen before. She was holding a broomstick- a nice one, by the looks of it.
"Quidditch fan, are you?" He asked softly, smiling at her.
Ginny Weasley smiled proudly, puffing out her chest. As she did so, the light of his wand illuminated a badge on her robes he hadn't noticed before.
Gryffindor Quidditch Captain
"Captain?" He said, nodding his approval. "Impressive."
She raised an eyebrow at him in amusement.
Harry's expression turned serious.
"What happened to you?" He whispered.
The smile fell from her face, and her dark eyes turned somber. She made no attempt to answer his question, but he could feel the sadness emanating from her. Harry rubbed his eyes. He hadn't really expected an explanation, but the repetitive thoughts in his head were soon going to drive him mad.
Assuming he wasn't mad already.
Unable to look at her sad face any longer, he stepped back and looked at the portraits that surrounded her. There were several other redheads in the pictures around her. He saw boys and men with red hair, one with glasses, one with long hair and an earring, one with bug burly muscles, all sleeping soundly in their frames. He saw an older couple, red heads resting comfortably on each other as they slept. One of the frames had two redheads that looked to be around his age. Twins.
Harry glanced back up at Ginny.
"Is this your family?"
The warm smile returned to her face. There were so many of them. All of them killed... Harry felt a very uncomfortable feeling akin to panic rising up inside him. He stepped back away from her picture.
"I'm-I'm so sorry to bother you. Goodnight."
Without stopping to see her reaction, he practically fled back to his quarters. Climbing back into bed, he tried to let the unsettling feelings calm. He shouldn't have been surprised- Professor McGonagall had mentioned that her family was killed as well. But the guilt rose up in him like it always did.
Would Ginny Weasley had been spared if he had not been late to the battle?
Her family?
Harry swore out loud, smacking his pillow as he did so.
He had done what he could, he had done everything he could.
But he couldn't change the past.
With every bit of willpower he had, he tried to force away the thoughts that continually haunted him. Feeling the rising panic rapidly taking over, he desperately grasped at other thoughts to distract himself. He forcefully pulled an image to his mind of when he first glimpsed the girl at the lake, focusing on her instead. He thought of her wet red hair, and her small hands that clung to the boulder.
Harry rolled over, looking outside his window. The moon was out and illuminating his room. Ginny Weasley was dead, but whatever- no, whoever- he saw in the lake, was very much alive. He would force any thoughts of Ginny Weasley from his mind. He silently promised himself he would not seek out her portrait again.
He already had one redhead he was obsessing over, and that was more than enough.
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Harry was obedient to his silent promise for the next few days.
He did not seek out Ginny Weasley's portrait again, and he successfully drove any thoughts of the poor girl from his mind. He didn't, however, stop going down to the Lake every afternoon to look for the girl who could have passed as her twin.
Due to the upcoming arrival of the students, Hagrid was forced to abandon his coddling of the giant squid, and prepare the grounds for the students. The two had become used to seeing each other down at the lake, and enjoying pleasant conversation. Harry had been nearly out the large front doors of the castle when Hagrid stopped him.
"Listen, Harry. The squid will be needin' a bandage change. I know you've a careful hand and seein as I can' make it down there jus' now, I was sorta hopin' you could help me out?"
Harry tried to agree without letting his grin show through. He knew perfectly well the small burn mark on the tentacle was completely healed, but Hagrid was fraught with worry for the beast.
"Of course, Hagrid," he replied, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "But I better leave the lullabies to you, I'm hopelessly tone-deaf."
"Oh, bless ya, I couldn' of made it through me day thinkin' about a dirty dressing on the poor thing." Hagrid's enormous eyebrows furrowed in thought. "I suppose I can nip down jus' before bed to sing to 'it. Ya, that'll do it..." He turned abruptly, muttering to himself as he walked away.
Harry chuckled. He had heard stories of how attentive Hagrid was to his creatures. Though he couldn't help but wonder, seeing as the giant squid possessed a brain about the size of a clementine, if it simply viewed Hagrid with as much regard as a floating log.
Much later, Harry realized that despite its brain size, not only did the giant squid clearly recognize and regard Hagrid as some sort of caregiver, but the giant lake-dweller was also capable of being an uncooperative arsehole. He had spent the better part of an hour trying to get the correct tentacle to shore, all the while being whipped and slapped by the other tentacles. By the end of the afternoon, the squid had a fresh bandage, and Harry was completely soaked from head to toe. Adding to the disaster, the squid gave one last aggressive slap with its tentacle toward Harry- sending him, his glasses, and his wand- flying separately into the water. Finding the lake bottom with his feet, Harry pushed to the surface sputtering, his vision hopelessly blurred.
Cursing vehemently, he swam to the shore as the squid dove away into the deeper waters. Harry continued to release a stream of foul-language from his mouth.
He cursed the stupid squid.
He cursed Hagrid.
He cursed himself for helping Hagrid with squid.
He cursed himself and Sirius for never getting his vision fixed.
He cursed himself for losing his grip on his wand.
He cursed the stupid squid again.
Coming to the rocky shore, and absolutely fuming, Harry squinted closely at his watch. He would have to take the walk of shame back to the castle and ask someone to help him retrieve his wand, or he could wait until he was calm enough to use wandless magic and summon the lost items. Seething, he knew he was in no state of great control. The afternoon was near gone, and in his mind, completely wasted. There had been such a ruckus that he was sure that a creature as timid as the girl he had seen would have long ago been scared off.
Just fucking great.
Wiping the water out of his eyes, Harry looked towards- or at least he was pretty sure he was- the castle. He trudged grumpily over to the large outcropping of boulders he had sat upon on his previous visits. He stumbled quite a bit as he made his way over, having to rely on feeling around with his feet to prevent tripping.
He climbed on top of the boulder that had been perfect for his afternoon surveillances. Sighing, his bad mood only slightly abated, he removed his soaked outer robes, tossing them to the side with a splat. His shoes and socks came next. The sun was shining on the boulder, and as he sat he leaned back, letting the hard surface warm him. He closed his eyes against the sunlight, willing himself to take deep, calming breaths. He tentatively reached his hand out. Even without his glasses, he could feel the slightest tremble in the hand. He closed his eyes again, taking another few deep breaths. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, the sun feeling incredibly pleasant on his exposed forearms, and tried to relax...
Something woke Harry abruptly, but his body was slow to respond. Despite the incredibly hard surface that was propping him up, he felt himself slipping back into awareness with a pleasant ease. Eyes closed, he could still feel some rays of warmth on his skin. He breathed deeply, feeling completely relaxed after his kip. His other senses began to awaken, and he felt his skin prickle. He was not alone. His steady heartbeat told him his body was not sensing danger but had just the slightest acceleration from anticipation and excitement.
Slowly, without moving any other part of his body, Harry opened his eyes a sliver. His keen instincts were correct- he was not alone, nor was he in danger, and he was certainly excited about what he was seeing, albeit poorly.
At the end of the boulder where he sat, a familiar, red-headed girl was perched. She was sitting on the edge of the rock, her side facing him. Her hair hung in a blurry red curtain around her. She appeared to be looking intently at something down in front of her, placing her weight on one hand to peer down closer.
He slowly moved his hands off of his lap, sure to not make any quick motions. As his hands came to his sides, he felt on object folded carefully near his leg.
His glasses.
Clasping his fingers around them, he slowly lifted them and placed them on his face. His mouth immediately went dry at the scene before him.
Just feet away from him, she was there- like a renaissance painting or a fairytale come to life. Sitting perched on the rock, oblivious to his waking, she tucked a lock of her damp hair behind her ear, revealing her face to him. Her brow was furrowed, and she was biting her lip. Dark brown eyes were focused on the object before her. She was studying an object, before reaching out with one small hand and tentatively picking it up.
His wand.
Harry dared not move. The girl held his wand, her face a mixture of curiosity and something else he could not identify. She cast no spell and held it gingerly with unpracticed hands- the same small hands that had held onto the boulder when she had peered at him from the water. She had never been this close before.
Almost against his will, and despite knowing he really needed his wand back, Harry's eyes strayed to take in the rest of the sight before him. He greedily took in the details of her before she could flee from him again.
Her hair was only damp this time- a kaleidoscope of red and copper hues. Her bottom lip was still caught in concentration. His eyes slid down the curve of her neck. She was leaning slightly, and he was getting the most sensual view of the swells of her breasts, covered in a white bikini top. Except, it wasn't any bikini-top or swim costume he'd ever come across before. The top appeared to be what looked like two white seashells, held together with twine, and tied around her back. The seashells perfectly cupped her breasts and had been embellished with dozens of pearls and small iridescent pebbles. Odd as it was, it was quite pretty, the white contrasting beautifully with her hair, and the site was holding his eyes like a magnet. He managed to tear his eyes away to travel downward, gulping as he moved across such a vast amount of bare skin, eyes landing on her flat stomach. Moving downward, he expected to see something to match the top of her swim costume, but that was not what he saw.
At her hips, the body of the beautiful girl he had been ogling shamelessly ended.
He did not see the dainty, long legs he expected. He saw a fishtail. From her hips downward were beautiful, dark green scales that reflected rainbows of color when the sunlight hit them. She was sitting on her side, and her tail curled up beneath her, and the end of the tail resting in the water.
A mermaid.
She was a mermaid. Not the mermaid he had seen in the textbooks, but a creature straight out of a fantasy. Eyes wide and jaw slack, Harry was at once shocked and vindicated, and the words fell from his lips before he could stop them.
"Holy shit."
His words elicited a startled squeak from the redhead. Eyes wide in surprise, she whirled around to face him. A flicker of fear passed in her eyes, and she began to back herself up into the water. Harry immediately reached out to her. His highly trained reflexes had him catching her by the wrist before she could leap off the boulder.
"Wait, don't-"
The fear in her eyes was more pronounced, but he found himself unable to let go of her wrist.
"It's alright," he said gently, "I won't hurt you."
She glanced down to where he held her. He loosened his grip on her wrist without letting go. He could feel her pulse beating wildly under his thumb. Her skin was soft and cool to the touch under his hand. Glancing back up, the pair locked eyes. Something passed between them, soft and unspoken. It reminded Harry of when he had fist experienced someone using legilimency on him, but this was gentle, and he felt no attempt at intrusion. But as he looked into her dark eyes, she was clearly searching for something. He was distracted from whatever she was looking for as he became more convinced than ever that- crazy as it sounded- he was looking at Ginny Weasley. She was here- a living, breathing thing.
His mind began spinning as to what to say next, but his tongue was also seemingly too large for his mouth at the moment.
"May I have my wand back?" He managed to blurt out, holding out his free hand to her, palm up.
A faint blush rose up in her cheeks. Timidly, she lifted the wand she held in her hand, and placed in directly onto his palm. She had a bracelet around her wrist of small pebbles.
"Thank you," he said, giving her a smile. He pointed to his glasses. "And for these as well."
She blushed again.
Harry held the wand in his hand, debating his next move. He raised it slightly intending to conjure a Patronus to the Headmistress. The moment his wand raised, the girl began frantically backing away from him. Harry immediately dropped the wand into his side, getting up on his knees and grabbing her other wrist.
"Whoa, hey, it's alright," he shushed, holding her just tightly enough to keep her from escaping, "I told you I wasn't going to hurt you, yeah? Please, stop."
The girl obeyed, looking wild-eyed, ready to dart away at the slightest movement. She was terrified.
"Look, I've put it down, see?" He gestured the wand on the rock beside him. "I won't use it, I promise. You don't have to be scared."
Harry watched as she eyed the wand warily but relaxed slightly when she looked back at him.
"See?" He said softly, giving her wrists a gentle rub with his thumbs, "It's alright."
He released one of her wrists, which she brought up to her chest in a protective stance. Reluctantly, he let go of her other wrist as well, holding very still as he did so. She looked confused for a moment, but immediately turned her back to him, placing her hands on the rock to slide herself into the water.
"You've been hiding from me, haven't you?"
She froze at the sound of his voice, looking over her shoulder at him.
"Why?" he asked softly.
She looked back out at the lake, her fingers tracing the rough surface of the rock.
What was she so afraid of?
"You don't have to hide from me anymore." He made a very slow movement towards her. "You don't have to be afraid of me, I'm a friend."
She looked back again at him, her features softened. Harry suddenly wished he could see her smile- he knew it would light up her whole face just as it did her portrait. He crawled just a bit closer. She eyed him but did not move. He moved again until he was right next to her.
Her face suddenly darted to the middle of the lake. Harry followed her gaze but saw nothing but the gently-lapping lake-water.
"What is it?" He whispered.
She remained fixated on something he couldn't see.
Harry looked from her face to the water and back.
"Do you see something?"
It better not be the fucking squid again, he thought.
Wanting to break her from the apparent trance she was in, he gently placed his hand on hers, praying he wouldn't startle her. As his warm hand met her cooler one, she didn't flinch, but her shoulders stiffened.
"Will you tell me your name?" He whispered.
She tore her eyes away from the lake and looked into his own. Just like before, she swallowed, and opened her mouth to speak.
An odd screeching sound echoed across the lake, causing Harry to jump in surprise. It sounded similar to the screeching of an owl but it grated violently on his ear drums. Harry immediately brought his hands to his ears to shield them from the noise. In one fluid movement, the girl dove off the rock and into the water. Harry quickly leaned over the boulder, and watched in dismay as she dove down, her long, green tail fading out of sight. It was then he realized the odd noise had stopped.
Dejected, Harry sat back on his heels, eyeing the spot where she had disappeared.
He stood up, looking across the lake water. The sight of her today only fueled his desire to solve the mystery of why Ginny Weasley was now a mermaid in the Black Lake. Before turning back to go to the castle, he spoke loudly to the water from where he stood.
"Don't hide from me anymore," he said, his voice echoing across the water. "Please."
As sunset arrived, Harry darted at full speed back to the castle.
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"Professor!"
Harry barreled into the Headmistresses office again, to see an exasperated McGonagall. She eyed his disheveled appearance and wild eyes disdainfully, clearly having second thoughts about hiring him. She had innumerable stacks of parchment piled around her and didn't bother to hide her impatient sigh as she clasped her hands together at her desk.
"What is it now, Potter?"
Harry swallowed, catching his breath and holding the sticth in his side.
"I saw her again," he gasped, "It's her! It's that girl from the portrait. Ginny Weasley. She was down in the lake- She's a mermaid. I know it sounds crazy and I don't know how it happened but it's definitely her. They have the same eyes and the same red hair. She-"
"Potter," McGonagall said sharply, rising up from her desk. Her eyes flashed at him dangerously. "I am going to stop you right there. This nonsense will end immediately."
"But it was her!" Harry snapped, glaring.
The Headmistress glared right back.
"I've been very patient with you up until now, but you push me too far," she said stiffly. "As if telling me that you are seeing my dead students around the grounds isn't painful enough-"
"But it is-"
The end of Harry's sentence was cut off as Minerva whipped out her wand and silenced him. She cleared her throat and continued.
"As I was saying, as if THAT were not painful enough- for merlin's sake it's only been a year since they passed- you tell me that the youngest of the family that was so dear to me is swimming around in the Black Lake?"
The fury in her face seemed to evaporate, and the sadness Harry had seen before began to slide over her features again. She shook her head slowly at him, as if she wondered why he seemed determined to cause her grief.
"Potter, I can't even tell you what it's doing to me. I knew her- I knew her well. I knew her family. Their passing was a great loss- almost an entire family wiped out. All because- well, never mind that now. This cannot go on any longer."
She waved her wand, and Harry could speak again, but he didn't. McGonagall seemed to be fighting back tears.
"You don't know, Potter, you don't know at all. That poor girl went through so much, and she was strong- stronger than most. But as I said before, I knew her well- well enough to know that she does not have a fish tail. I have seen the mermaids in that lake with my own eyes, Potter. She is not one of them."
Harry sighed, feeling defeated, and knowing nothing he could say at this point would help.
"What happened to her?"
"Really, I don't want-"
"Please?" Harry interrupted. "I just want to know what happened to her. Maybe it will help me make sense of all of this. Or, maybe I'm seeing her ghost or something. Please, tell me and I swear I won't bring it up again. I'll stop talking about the Lake. Please."
Harry flashed the most innocent and pleading expression he could muster.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," she said with a roll of her eyes. This time it was her who gave the sigh of resignation. "Potter, I will tell you... a little bit about her, but I expect you will hold to your word and not bring it up again. I also expect that what I tell you in this office stays between us."
Harry nodded in agreement.
The Headmistress sat up straight in her chair, hands flat on her desk.
"Ginny Weasley was special. But, as you know, there were some who believed that due to the nature of her blood status and birth, that she could potentially have great power. That knowledge, coupled with a feud of a family loyal to the Dark Lord, led her to be a target." Minerva hesitated a bit before looking Harry straight in the eye. "Her very first year, she was given a Horcrux. The Diary."
Harry felt the floor shift underneath him. A student given a Horcrux?
"It was a dark year. The Horcrux possessed her and forced her to do terrible things. She fought it for nearly a year. Then she disappeared into the Chamber of Secrets, where Professor Dumbledore rescued her. He was nearly too late, she was barely clinging onto life when he found her."
Professor McGonagall leaned forward, her face as grave as Harry had ever seen it.
"Then together, down in the Chamber, she and Professor Dumbledore destroyed the Horcrux. This action, in Voldemort's eyes, was the ultimate crime. From that moment on, she was hunted by his followers. They very nearly succeeded, when she was just thirteen. She was attacked by a group of Death Eaters. She was rescued, but not before they had taken her blood."
Harry's insides froze, and his hand immediately went to his left forearm, where he still bore a scar from his own attack. He had been fourteen. Like Ginny, he had been rescued, but not before a man had sliced open his forearm and taken a vial of blood. It was not much later they had learned of Voldemort's return.
He swore quietly under his breath. McGonagall pretended not to hear him.
"When the Death Eaters and Voldemort stormed the castle at the final battle, he asked for her personally. He called for her to surrender herself, and he began killing her family when they refused to give her up. In the end, she couldn't watch them die. She gave herself up to him, and he killed her."
Harry's throat felt like it was closing. "What happened?"
The Headmistress looked affronted, and Harry immediately regretted prodding.
"I do not need to go into details with you about her death, Harry Potter. But I tell you this, whatever happened to her was foul and gruesome. To think a young girl, tortured by the darkest wizard of our time, its unimaginable." She narrowed her eyes coldly at Harry. "There. I've said my piece. Now, I beg of you, to keep your word and not force me to relive the violent deaths of any more of my students. Is that clear?"
Harry nodded slowly.
"I'm sorry, Professor. And yes, of course. I didn't mean... I'm just trying to understand."
"Very well," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Now if you don't mind, I have a school to prepare to reopen."
Harry walked to the door of her office, his hand reaching out to grasp the handle. His hand stopped just before he turned it.
The Headmistress must have sensed the words he was biting back. He heard her huff impatiently as he turned around to face her.
"Did you have something else to say, Potter?" Her eyebrows were raised in challenge, though he knew that meeting the challenge would bring nothing good. Behind where she sat, Harry saw numerous photos of the Professor with her students. It was enough to stop him.
"No, Professor. There's nothing else. Goodnight."
The Headmistress looked relieved and nodded at the door for him to go. Harry rushed out the door, heading to his quarters. The words he had bitten back began whirling through his mind.
What if he was right?
What if he was right, and Ginny Weasley needed their help?
He haphazardly prepared for bed, his movements echoing his frustration.
No one wanted to listen to him? Fine. He would prove the girl was Ginny Weasley. He would help her himself. He was clever enough, and if Sirius had taught him anything, it was being resourceful.
He closed his eyes, but it was hours before sleep found him.
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It took every ounce of Harry's willpower not to go to the lake as dawn approached.
Despite his current fascination, he did want to keep his job. He dutifully went down to breakfast with the rest of the staff. He avoided the eyes of the Headmistress, determined to keep his word. As he stirred his oatmeal, he thought of how he would tell the Professor, 'I told you so,' in the kindest way possible. He by no means underestimated how busy the Professor was- he knew the school was barely on track to make it to reopening.
So really, he reasoned, he was doing everyone a favor by making this his personal project.
After several hours of working on his curriculum, Harry practically leapt from his desk to head to the Lake. He flew out the large front doors and passed Hagrid who shouted a thanks after him for the bandage change and sprinted across the grounds.
Skidding to a stop at the shore of the lake, he leant on his knees to catch his breath. The water was as peaceful as ever today, and once again devoid of any other visitors. Standing awkwardly on the shore, he scanned the lake for any signs of life. Noting only a few birds, and no sign of the giant squid- thank god- Harry clambered over to the set of boulders.
Taking off his socks and trainers, he sat on the edge of the boulder and placed his feet in the frigid water and waited. The sky was a typical cloudy haze, and Harry felt a few raindrops graze his face. After nearly half an hour of waiting, and the rain increasing, he withdrew his wand. He pointed it to his wet clothes, but then hesitated.
If he was soaked anyway...
Before he could change his mind, he was taking off his glasses and outer robes, and slipped into the water.
It was fucking freezing.
He tread water, trying to keep his limbs warm. He placed one hand on the boulder to balance himself. Even as he was chilled to the bone, he felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle. He turned around quickly but saw no one.
"Don't hide from me," he said loudly, his voice carrying. "Please, I need to talk to you."
As the last syllable left his mouth, he could see a flash of color underneath the water. He watched in awe as the blur of color moved closer to him. Silently, and barely making a ripple in the water, she rose from the water. She was so close he could make out her dark eyes, and the hair floating around her gently as she placed a hand on the boulder next to him, both of them neck-deep in the water.
"You came," he said, unable to hide his silly grin.
She moved closer, and he nearly forgot himself.
"Who are you?" He asked, searching her face. "What happened to you?"
Even without his glasses he could see her brow furrow.
"Please talk to me." He whispered. Then, feeling bold- or perhaps slightly out of control- he reached out and touched her hair. He heard her quick intake of breath, and slowly drew his hand back.
"What's your name?"
As usual, she didn't answer, but just looked at him.
"Please," he persisted, "tell me your name."
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, and he waited with bated breath.
Ginny Weasley
Ginny Weasley
Ginny Weasley
"Íde."
Harry's thoughts halted.
"What?"
The girl leaned forward.
"My name is Íde ."
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TBC
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A/N: Pronunciation for Íde: ee-duh. If you are confused, that is intentional. All will be explained (and corrected) in due time.
