HARRY POTTER AND THE UNFORGIVEN
A Sixth Year Harry Potter Fanfiction
BY
Jayiin Mistaya
"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."
...never tickle a sleeping dragon
COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter. Those rights are held, exclusively, by JK Rowling, and any other entities, corporations, subsidiaries, or groups not named here possessing legal rights to the aforementioned books and/or trademark.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The last chapter tied for most reviews! I hope this chapter breaks the record, though.
Thanks to everyone who has been reading, even if you haven't reviewed, and especially to those people who have me on author alert or favorites.
More information on Harry Potter and the Unforgiven can be found at my website, which is linked in my Author Profile.
Feedback of any kind is always appreciated. Remember, the more reviews I get, the faster I post.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:Thanks to Elusive Evan for making me continue to post this and to ElvenLaughter for support and reviewing every single chapter to date. Thanks to Seritha for her encouragement and volunteering to be a sounding board!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Voices in the Dark
To Gracie's surprise, Harry helped her cook dinner.
"Least I can do, after everything you've done for me."
Dinner was simple fare, just fish and chips, but Harry was surprised at how hungry he was.
Gracie looked at him eat, and grinned. "Glad to see you finally have an appetite, kid. You're doing a damn good job with your training this summer, and I'd hate to see you drop dead of starvation on me."
Harry paused, and looked up at her. "Why are you teaching me?"
The woman leaned back in her chair and took a long swallow of her beer.
"Because I want to." She set her beer down. "Because my teacher did the same for me."
She'd been expecting the question all summer, and until right then she hadn't been sure how she was going to answer it.
He took a few more bites. "Did you teach Duncan too?"
"No." Gracie shook her head. "You are my first and only student. I'm damn proud of you, too."
Harry flushed, and looked down at his nearly empty plate. "Why haven't you taught anyone else?"
Gracie thought about not answering, but decided he deserved to know.
Maybe if I open up a little, he will too.
"You remember when I first offered to teach you, I said that I had a debt to pay?"
He nodded, finishing off the last of his meal.
"I retired from the Yard a few years ago. After I retired, I stayed with my Sensei – my teacher, a man named Tal Shan. He runs a dojo in London. I didn't want to teach, so he asked me to leave."
She could still remember his stern, calm voice. "Leave and do not come back. I spent much of my life to teaching you even when I knew you were not worthy. I helped you become worthy of what you learn. You dishonor and disrespect all I have done for you."
But how could she teach arrogant children who wanted to learn to be movie stars? How could she educate the next generation of bullies, of street thugs, in what she knew?
"You expect too much of a student," Tal Shan had said, "if you expect them to come to you with their minds and spirits prepared for what you will offer."
She finished off her beer, shaking her head clear of the memory. "I didn't understand why I was supposed to teach until that morning you had that flashback."
Harry picked up their plates and silverware, taking them over to the sink. "So what's the debt?"
Gracie threw her bottle away, and debated getting a second. "I owe it to Tal Shan to teach you the same way he taught me. I give honor and respect to what he did for me by doing the same for you. He was right to ask me to leave."
She seemed to almost be talking to herself as she pulled a cold Dr Pepper from her fridge as Harry washed the dishes. She would offer to help, but she got the feeling he wouldn't let her. "I couldn't teach until I wanted to."
Harry smiled hesitantly. "You're a very good teacher, Gracie."
She drained half the bottle of soda. Maybe she should have gone for that second beer after all. "Thanks, kid."
- 0 -
After dinner, Gracie took him on a walk around the neighborhood.
He was surprised when he saw her reach into her pocket and pull out a package of cigarettes. She flipped one out, tucked in between her lips and lit it with a match.
She smiled wryly at him. "Yeah, I know. Bad habit. But I usually only smoke one or two after dinner when I go walking. I tried to quit when I retired, but I never quite got there."
Harry thrust his hands into his pockets and nodded. He breathed in the cool night air, tinged with the smoke of Gracie cigarette, and enjoyed his relative freedom.
He didn't feel the prickling on the back of his neck he usually did when he was at Privet Drive and knew none of the Order – or anyone else - was there watching him.
It felt good.
Just one night. One night where I can rest, not get hit and really eat. Maybe I'll even get some breakfast in the morning. He smiled at the thought, but decided he wouldn't ask for it. He didn't want to stretch Gracie's hospitality. Just one night, and I can go back and face the Dursleys.
"So, what do you want to be when you grow up, kid?"
Harry looked up, surprised at the question. "What do you mean?"
Gracie grinned. "What does a self-respecting graduate of St Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys do when he graduates?"
"I dunno. Law enforcement?" Harry couldn't resist the weak joke, especially since he wanted to be an Auror.
Gracie chuckled. "You know, kid, there is no such place."
Harry nodded. "I didn't figure there was, really."
"Still not gonna tell me where you really go?" Her voice was gentle.
"No. I can't. I want to, but I can't." He shrugged. "I don't think you'd believe me, anyway."
"You'd be surprised what I'd believe, but I'll let it go. I'll find out someday. But I'm honestly curious. What do you want to do with your life? Not just career, but in general?"
Harry couldn't help but think of the Prophecy. He smiled weakly. "Law enforcement. Where I go to school, there's a kind of, detective, I suppose, that tracks down some very nasty and unpleasant people. I want to be one of them."
Gracie could tell he was carefully avoiding any names or titles, but she let it be. Besides, something about what he was saying gave her that nagging feeling she had forgotten something.
"I was Special Investigations," she said. "We tracked the worst of the worst. Rapists, child molesters, and the weird stuff. Cults, serial killers, that sort of thing. I was good at it."
"Why'd you retire?" Harry asked, scuffing his feet along the pavement.
"I lost my perspective. Got close to becoming the kind of person I was after." Her voice was tight, and she sucked hard on her cigarette.
"A friend of mine keeps telling me I'm a good judge of people, and I don't think you could ever have become a monster." Harry spoke quietly, unsure of himself, but he felt like he had to say it.
"Thanks, kid."
"What was it like, doing that? Actually fighting the bad guys?"
Gracie shrugged. "Moments of intense violence and being afraid you or someone else was going to die punctuated by lots of paperwork and boring meetings. A lot of the times we couldn't do what we needed to do because of some stupid law or another, or because someone was rich enough to buy their way out of the system. Or someone didn't believe us. It was worth it, in the end, but sometimes, I hated who I worked for as much as I hated the people I was after. The hardest part of my job was following orders, especially when I knew they were wrong."
They kept walking, and Harry kept thinking. He thought about what it would be like to be an Auror, and wondered if he would actually be any good at it. I've never been good at following orders. I want to be able to do the right thing when it needs to be done, not waiting for someone else to tell me I can.
But hadn't he disobeyed his orders from Dumbledore and gotten Sirius killed?
Sirius died as much because no one told me anything as much as my not doing what I was told. It had taken him most of the summer to realize that and let go of some of his guilt over Sirius' death, but it just made him angrier at the Order and Dumbledore for not trusting him.
Lack of trust. And when it came right down to it, Harry didn't trust the Ministry. If I were an Auror, I'd have to work for them. And I don't think I can do that. I don't think I can work for what I don't trust. And even if I don't become an Auror, I'll have to fight Voldemort. I can't let that battle be interfered with by the Ministry. I just can't.
There had to be a way to fight Voldemort and not be an Auror. He could be a member of the Order of the Phoenix, if they ever let him. But would that be enough?
When he got back to the wizarding world, he would talk to Hermione. She'd be able to help him find something to become that would let him fight without being tied to the Ministry.
It was a strange relief, letting go of his dream of being an Auror. He knew Professor McGonagall would be disappointed, but he had to stick with what he believed in. And he didn't believe in the Ministry.
And what happens after I kill Voldemort? What if I don't want to keep fighting? Even if I do, they wouldn't be able to turn me down after defeating the Dark Lord. No matter what my Potions grade is.
He brightened at that thought, grinning. He wouldn't have to take Potions anymore, if he weren't going to be an Auror! No more Snape!
"I like that grin, kid. What's it for?"
"I just figured out how to get out of taking...erm, chemistry, with a teacher who hates me just because I look like my father. He's always marking me down or ruining my...experiments...because of it. I don't have to take it to graduate, and I just figured out how to get out of it."
"Good for you, kid. Stay away from folks like that. Those that can't let go of the past and punish others for what someone else did to 'em, especially a kid they're supposed to take care of aren't worth the shit I scrape off my boot."
Harry smiled wider, finding it odd Gracie was the first adult to tell him that about Snape – but he had a question. "Thanks. Gracie, there's a word lots of people bandy around. 'Warrior'. Someone even called me that once. What does it mean?"
Gracie looked thoughtful as she flicked her cigarette butt into a trash can. She lit a second one.
"It's not a concept that's easy to define, but I'll try. A warrior is more than a fighter or a soldier, because they fight for more than a cause, more than passion. A warrior is someone who chooses when and how and why to fight They do what's right, what needs doing, without complaint or want for glory. A warrior thinks before they act, but acts without hesitation. They love and live without fear. Oh, don't get me wrong, kid, a warrior can be afraid. But they don't let fear rule them. They don't give in to fear. They hold the line, no matter what."
Harry nodded. "I like the sound of that."
"Thought you might," Gracie said. "But you have to be careful. Being a warrior isn't easy and it's not something that always makes sense. And there are times you have to be a person first and a warrior second."
Harry nodded again. He thought he understood that.
"All right, my little warrior," Gracie said fondly, "let's get back so we can get a bit of practice in before bed."
- 0 -
When they got back, they sorted out the packages.
There was more for Gracie than Harry had thought when they were shopping, but there was quite a bit for him, too. Several pairs of black cargo pants and jeans, lots of plain black t-shirts, training pants, black silk boxers and half dozen packages of white socks. She'd bought him short and long sleeved black button-up shirts, several of which had various oriental designs such as dragons or kanji on them. The black boots, which were made of sturdy leather and two belts.
There was also the shaving kit, a key ring (not that he needed one), and a package of handkerchiefs. She'd also included several small bottles of shampoo, travel-size bars of soap, washcloths and a pair of towels. He was also surprised to see quite a few muggle school supplies: several of the large five-subject notebooks, pens, pencils, a pencil pouch, tape, a stapler, and plenty of plain folders.
"For someone who goes to a boarding school, that's about half of what you'd really need, but it's the best you'd let me get away with." Gracie sounded frustrated by his reluctance to let her buy anything for him, but she was trying to accept it with good grace.
She brought out a large black duffel bag that, to his surprise, had a bright red and gold phoenix on the side.
"I've got about a half-dozen of these. Back about twenty years ago, when I was a lot less cynical and was planning on teaching when I got out of the Yard, my teacher had a few of these made for me." The look on her face was torn between wistful nostalgia and guilt.
"Why a phoenix?" Harry asked hesitantly. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out if she had a connection to the Order. But that jacket had felt an awful lot like dragonhide. "I saw your tattoo..."
She grinned. "Before Wulfric ran off to 'find himself again', he and I hung out a lot. Nothing romantic, if that's what you're thinking, just a good friend. He had this thing about phoenixes. Was fascinated by them. He was fascinated by a lot of mythical creatures, but the phoenix most of all." Gracie shrugged. "Symbols are the thing in martial arts. Lots of the forms are named after animals because they mimic some of their movements. I kinda got attached to the phoenix as a symbol, I guess. It was gonna be the symbol for the school I was gonna start. I got the tattoo after Wulfric left, because I knew I would probably never see him again. When guys like him wander off, they don't usually come back."
"Oh," Harry said, relieved. I'm getting as paranoid as Moody. Not everything is connected to the wizarding world. Some people really are just muggles.
But there was something about the name 'Wulfric' that was tugging at the back of his mind.
They packed everything into the duffel and stowed it with the backpack by the couch – which was pretty much the only thing in her living area.
"Now sit," she said, pointing to the floor in front of the couch. She walked into her bedroom and came back carrying a bundle of cloth.
When she came out, she was dressed differently than he'd seen her before, wearing a full gi. It was all black, as was her belt. There was a phoenix patch on the right shoulder.
She sat down in front of him, and set the cloth down between them. She also set out ten candles in two circles of five.
"Most martial arts have a uniform," she said. "though it's not necessary to have a uniform in order to train. I've taught you mostly Chinese-style forms and a lot of street self-defense, but my teacher and I always preferred the Japanese gi for training and tournament."
She held up what looked to be a heavy black canvas jacket; on the back was the same stylized red and gold phoenix from the duffel bag. There was a matching patch sewn onto the right shoulder. "I had this made up for you earlier this summer." She held up the black pants, which had white kanji on the lower legs. Then she folded both carefully and set them back down. Last was a white belt, made from the same heavy canvas, though it looked far more worn than the rest. "Normally in martial arts, the color of the belt you wear is your rank as a martial artist. My teacher told me the truth of it though. There are only two ranks that matter: white belt, or student, and black belt, or master. You're still a student."
Harry nodded, getting the feeling this was some kind of ceremony.
"These are my gift to you as my student. The belt was once mine. As my teacher passed it to me, I pass it to you."
Harry gave a small bow. "Thank you."
"Don't wear this for day-to-day practice, only when I tell you to. It's not for every occasion, but there will be times to wear it. This uniform, like so much else in martial arts, means something.
"When you wear this uniform, it means you represent something. You represent me, who you know and have learned from. You represent Tal Shan, my teacher, whom you do not know and have never met. You represent every student who has learned from him or who might learn from me. You represent his teachers, his training – you represent the lineage of our art and our form. Martial arts extends past fighting and into every aspect of your life. How you act and interact with others, how you organize and prioritize your life. What you do and don't do. By accepting this uniform, you accept that responsibility. You accept that you are part of a tradition going back hundreds of years."
Harry nodded quietly. "I think I understand, or at least I will once I have the time to think it all through. But what, exactly, am I supposed to represent?"
Gracie gave him an exasperated look. "Why is it you answer all these questions better than I ever did?"
Harry shrugged. "I have my moments, I guess."
"That you do, kid, that you do. As for what you represent – well, going back to our discussion about being a warrior. Everything I described was a virtue – which implies morality. There is the morality of deed," she lit a match and started lighting candles, one at a time. "Which is composed of humility, loyalty, respect, righteousness and trust. All are hard in their own way, complex and layered. You'll find that out for yourself. Then there is the morality of the mind. Courage, endurance, patience, perseverance and will." She lit one candle for each virtue.
"Stick to these, meditate on them, contemplate them and live them and you will honor your uniform, your style, your teacher and yourself." She picked up the uniform, laying it across her arms. She held it out to him. "Knowing what is expected of you, knowing what it means, do you accept your uniform and your place in our school?"
Harry bowed and took the uniform from her.
She spent the next ten minutes showing him how to wear it, how to tie thegi and belt, and a little of how to move in it. The uniform fit well – and felt wonderful, as if by wearing it he was transformed from being Harry Potter into someone entirely different. Someone worthy of respect.
Harry was very careful when he put the gi in his duffel bag.
- 0 -
True to her word, Gracie had Harry work through the tai'chi form while she watched. She turned off the lights.
"Close your eyes. Working the form without being able to see is harder – it takes more concentration, but it also removes distraction."
Harry started by just standing and breathing. He closed his eyes and let the sensation of breathing wash over him. He felt himself falling away from himself into the void, but this time it came without him consciously calling it.
He barely noticed it when he began to move; the motions were slow, each bleeding into the next. His body moved with barely a conscious command.
There was just enough light coming in through the windows for Gracie to watch.
I've never seen anyone catch on so fast. I don't know how he does it. This level of skill shouldn't be possible for the short time we've been training.
She just shook her head in amazement and wondered if Harry would spoil her for any other student she trained.
Then Gracie got her first glimpse at who Harry Potter was.
When it first started, she thought she was imagining things. Faint flickers of eldritch green light seemed to play across his body as he moved, leaving the faintest tracers hanging in the air.
It didn't take her long to realize she wasn't imagining it. The farther in the form he got, the more pronounced the effect became. The light became brighter and seemed to hang in the air as if it had a tangible presence all its own.
Holy shit.
Gracie swallowed hard. She'd never seen anything like it before. She'd never even dreamed such a thing was possible. She just stood there and stared at her student as he moved to the end of the form.
"Keep going." Her voice was a harsh rasp.
Harry finished the form and started over, moving even slower than before; the light grew slightly brighter but then seemed to level off. She could feel the air crackle with it, like static electricity trying to become lightning.
Something about it tugged at her memory the way his wooden stick had the first time she'd seen it, but the thought or memory flitted away before she could grasp it.
The second time he finished the form, she shook her head. "That's enough for tonight...that was damn good, kid. Damn good."
He stopped moving and the light faded away.
She didn't mention the light. She didn't want to tell him; she didn't want him thinking she was crazy. Or worse – that she wasn't. She was worried he might actually have an explanation.
"Meditate before you sleep. Focus on your energy and your breath...you're making a lot of progress here." She turned back on the lights, and forced herself to smile.
"Thanks," he said, running a hand through his hair, embarrassed at her praise.
"Grab a shower. I'll get you set up for bed. Bathroom's over there." She pointed to a door next to her bedroom, and watched him gather his clothes. Once she heard the water start running, she sat on her couch and let out a long breath.
What the hell was that?
She could feel the energy seeming to drain out of the air, as if without Harry to maintain it, it was fading away.
She'd never seen or felt anything like that. It was completely outside her experience.
It was like something from one of my old cases, but real. Real power of some kind... She was almost thinking she'd seen real power before, back during all the killings through the seventies...
She brutally shoved the thought out of her head. She would have to do something she wasn't ready to do – she would have to talk to her old teacher. He was the only one she knew who might understand what she'd seen.
- 0 -
Gracie had blankets and pillows for him on her couch, looking a bit embarrassed she couldn't offer him more. She didn't say anything when he made sure there was a trash bin next to the couch or when he slipped his stick under the pillow.
"It's wonderful, thank you." Harry reassured her as he laid down, dressed for bed in a pair of his training pants.
Gracie awkwardly tucked him in, two fingers brushing the hair away from his scar. Harry had Ken leave his bangs long enough to cover it.
"Sleep well, kid. I'll see you in the morning."
She padded quietly into her bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar – silently letting him know she was there if he needed her.
I wonder if the kid knows now that I have him away from his relatives that I don't plan on letting him go back?
She figured he didn't. He would never expect someone to do something like that for him. He seems to expect mistreatment as a matter of course.
Gracie went to bed wondering just when Harry Potter had become so important to her.
- 0 -
Harry tried to meditate, but he could his mind still spun with a thousand thoughts he couldn't get to still. How was he going to explain everything Gracie had bought him to the Dursleys? He still didn't even understand why Gracie was taking care of him like she was. He was worried he was going to miss a letter from Ginny or that the Dursleys would damage his wizarding things.
And a part of him wondered if this is how it would have been living with Sirius. It would have been better, because I wouldn't have to keep secrets from Sirius.
Now he would never have that chance. The grief and guilt and loss seemed to go beyond emotion and become nearly physical pain. It went so deep not a single part of him didn't feel it.
I'm sorry. He didn't really know what he was apologizing for or who he was apologizing to.
He laid there in the darkness, and he remembered. The last five years became a blur: Hagrid buying him Hedwig on his 11th birthday; meeting Ron and Hermione on the train.
He smiled as he realized he had technically known Ginny longer than any of them. She and Molly Weasley were the first people to ever smile at him and send good wishes his way.
To them, he hadn't been 'that boy' or 'the Boy That Lived'. He had simply been a lonely, scared boy who needed them.
Two years later she had been lying at his side as he stabbed the Diary with a Basilisk fang that had pierced his arm. She had been unconscious at the time, lost in Tom Riddle's mind, lost to the wizard who would become Lord Voldemort.
She knows his mind like I do. Maybe better than I do.
Why did these thoughts only come to him like this? She had been there from the beginning, too...but somehow, he never seemed to see her. Or think of her.
Something else to feel guilty about.
He remembered Hermione walking with him and feeding him toast fourth year, after he'd become a Triwizard Champion; then later, despite how he treated her, helping him with the DA.
It had been Ginny to suggest the name 'Dumbledore's Army'. If only she knew how much trouble she'd gotten the Headmaster in...but if she hadn't, would he have been able to rescue them at the Ministry? And she would have loved to know she'd helped Dumbledore prank the entire Ministry of Magic.
Funny...she was the one who convinced me to let her, Luna and Neville come with us.
He shook his head, sympathizing with Dean Thomas. He had certainly picked a girl with spirit.
His eyes burned and his throat was closed around a large lump. It was as if it were his soul hurting, not his body.
Eventually, he slept.
- 0 -
"Harry Potter."
He knew that voice. He'd heard it for the first time his first year at Hogwarts.
He looked up, and saw he was looking at a mirror. Instead of his face, he saw the snake-like visage of the Dark Lord. Fierce green eyes met glowing red.
His scar burned with more pain than ever. Not even when Voldemort had possessed him at the Ministry had it hurt so much.
"Tom Riddle."
The Dark Lord bowed his head slightly. "That name no longer has any meaning for me."
Harry shrugged. "Then you won't mind me using it."
Voldemort smiled. "Your pain called so sweetly to me, Harry. What can I do to ease the loneliness? Would it hurt less if I killed one of them?"
Faces flashed past: Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Remus, Molly, Arthur, Fred, George, Tonks, Ginny...
"No!" He swallowed back the rest of his scream, his words echoing in his thoughts. "Not her!"
Not her? Where had that come from?
"Yes, her." That hated voice hissed. "You came for her once. Would you again?" Voldemort laughed. "Why should I even ask? Of course you would. That's why you will fail. It is why you are alone...because as long as you live I will...hound...them."
Harry's anger surged and he felt his power surge with it. But Gracie's voice, laced with disapproval filtered through.
"Anger is defeated self."
He forced the anger away. Forced himself to let go of it. He wouldn't give Voldemort another weapon against him.
"Why bring them into this, Tom? This is between us. I think you know that."
"I do. There are, after all, other ways of discerning prophecy. This one is especially troubling, because it appears I chose my opposite number – I marked you. I still seek the final words...would you care to share them?"
Harry didn't answer.
"I didn't think so. Fascinating, what is between us Harry Potter. Both orphans. My Muggle father, your Mudblood Mother. Both who saved us...gave us life with their death."
Harry shook his head. "We're different. I chose to be what I am and you chose to be what you are. Our choices separate us. They always have and always will."
Voldemort's high, cold laugh filled the dream. "You are the weaker for it, Harry. You are alone...I am surrounded by the faithful. Even Severus..."
Harry's mouth twisted into a sneer that was almost the mirror of Snape's. Yes, Harry wanted to tell him, tell me of Severus. Hand me his weaknesses as he handed you mine...
Dumbledore trusted Snape, but Harry didn't. He trusted Snape worked for the Order, and was loyal to Dumbledore...but Snape would never hesitate to hurt or cripple Harry.
"What about my dear and beloved potions master? Did he grovel enough to return to your service?"
Voldemort's smile was patronizingly indulgent. "I love the hatred you share...it is like a fine, aged wine. No...I have seen Severus' mind. I know he spent years searching for the potion that might restore me...and I reward such loyalty. He will never speak of it to me, because he failed, and could not bear the shame...as any loyal servant should, when they fail. I also saw how he...weakened you for me."
Harry said nothing.
"Do you want to wake up, Harry? If you wake up, there will be pain. You will be alone." He paused and smiled. "But if you sleep...I will be here. We can talk, and you can learn of me. Learn of your enemy, Harry Potter. Unlike Albus Dumbledore, I will answer any question you ask. Have I not already, by telling you the truth about Severus?"
For a moment, he faltered. Here, right then, he could find the answers no one else would give him.
From his arch-enemy.
The irony was not lost on him.
Harry stepped away, already feeling the pain. His body twisted and writhed; he felt the whimper in his throat.
Voldemort held up his wand. Harry couldn't move; his lips were sealed shut.
There was no air to breathe.
There was no way to focus.
"Legilimens!"
The force of it made him scream; his scar felt as if it were going to explode; the pain wracked his body.
Focus.
He and Gracie sparred in the gym, touching and springing apart in a deadly dervish dance, a test of control, of trust.
Control.
Slow. Power and speed are enemies in training. Each movement leading into the other.
Focus and Control.
Voldemort searched for the words Sybill Trelawney had spoken, but all he saw was Sirius falling into the veil. Slow grace.
Slow motion agony.
"Protego!" Harry screamed it, his throat raw.
Flicker.
A boy, staring out a window at falling snow. Turning back to an empty room...Christmas at Hogwarts.
A man stood in the door, quiet. Long hair and beard, half moon spectacles.
"We missed you at dinner, Tom. You are always welcome, you know."
The boy shrugged. "I'm not good with people, Professor. I'm sorry."
Albus Dumbledore smiled. "It's quite all right, I assure you. But if you'd like, I can join you for a bit while you eat."
With a gesture, a table appeared, laden with Christmas delicacies.
The boy's eyes lit up. "Please."
Dumbledore made a gesture behind his back. "Would you also like my company while you open your presents? All of your teachers got you something."
Tears stung the boy's eyes. "Really?"
"I promise, Tom." Dumbledore smiled and sat down with the boy to eat Christmas dinner.
Flicker.
Pain. His scar burning.
"Crucio!"
His entire body clenched. Muscles tensed and twitched; his very marrow was on fire as agony ripped through him.
He screamed again...and he was screaming...
"Harry! Harry! Wake up!" Gracie was shaking him.
He rolled off the couch, heaving. He vomited his dinner into the rubbish bin, Gracie rubbing his back.
"You okay, kid?"
Harry shook his head. "Not really. I will be, though."
She dabbed a tissue on his scar, where it had broken open and was oozing blood.
"Wait here." She stood, taking the reeking bin with her.
Harry leaned back against the couch, his body aching as if Voldemort reallyhad cast the Cruciatus Curse on him. He sucked in air, trying to ease the throbbing around his ribs.
Gracie came back with a cup of water and a first aid kit. Gently, she cleaned out the scar with an alcohol swab.
"There." She sat down next to him and put her arm around him. Surprising them both, he leaned against her.
"It was just a nightmare."
Gracie shook her head at him. "There's no such thing as 'just a nightmare', kid."
End Chapter
Revised 12-25-07
