Harry Potter and the Garden of Stone
~o~
Chapter 4 – In Memoriam
Over the next month, Harry noted that his dad had been right. Somehow, magically, he and Ron became first friends and then quickly inseparable. Maybe it was the crippling waves of homesickness, the new experiences, or some kind of mysterious Hogwarts magic, but something tied them together. Harry would always look back fondly on their first days at Hogwarts discovering the castle side by side. Amid Hogwarts' one-hundred and forty-two staircases, countless trick steps, headstrong doors and moving coats of armour, he was more than glad for his dad's advice. He and Ron had made good use of it, ever since they had gotten lost on the very first morning while trying to get to the Great Hall, just as James had predicted. The first portrait, which they had asked for help, had glared at them for interrupting what seemed a Sisyphean hair routine, which strangely involved various fish carcasses as brushes. The next portrait depicted a grumpy, old wizard with a flat nose and hairy teeth, who had led them astray, somehow guiding them to the seventh floor, without ascending a single staircase. Fortunately, the third time did the charm and an overly enthusiastic knight gallivanted them straight to the entrance hall. They happened to be the first first years to arrive for breakfast, but the tradition to place bets must have died out, because nobody cared for their arrival. Harry was glad for it. He was busy enough pretending to ignore the stares the other students were constantly giving him. In the halls, during classes, even in Gryffindor tower would they look at him, when they thought he was not paying attention, and whisper about his parents. Whenever Harry saw them, he would quickly turn away, praying to Merlin that he was not blushing.
The introductory address of their Head of House turned out to be a rather long list of rules that defined where they could or couldn't go, when curfew would strike, what to wear during school days and other boring details. What everyone was looking forward to was finally cast magic, but the rather disappointed first years soon discovered that most of their classes did not involve any actual wand work. Even the few classes where it was indispensable started out with practical exercises designed to teach them how to push magic through their wands, resulting mostly in colourful sparks, which made Professor Flitwick cheer and assign House points to all successful students. Professor McGonagall followed a different approach and had begun with lecturing them lengthily on the importance of a calm mind while casting, before she let them try out their first transfiguration, quite unsuccessfully, on a match.
In Defence against the Dark Arts, Professor Blatter had them produce red stars, the universal sign for danger. Their surprisingly young teacher then sat down, stroking his moustache, while read entries from Phantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and counselling them to flee from any magical creature for the time being, until all but the last star had disappeared. He assigned a heavily proud Wayne Hopkins five points for the longest lasting spell.
The rest of the classes involved significantly less wand work. With the help of Professor Sprout, the students identified and harvested different types of magical fungi, which they brought into their Potions class, where they learned how to peel, slice, chop, roast, stew or, in an exceptionally disgusting case, wring them out. Apart from the stinky fungi, Harry enjoyed Potion brewing. He found the instructions fairly easy to follow, a merit which belonged solely to his mum, who had allowed him to watch her while brewing since he had turned six. His mother's influence did not seem lost on the Potions master either, who complimented her talent, whenever he stopped at Harry's cauldron during his strolls through the classroom.
Professor Slughorn, an elderly, robust professor, who had nothing more than a few strands of sandy hair left, but always a pleasant smile on his face, had won the classes' favour with his trial and error approach, which was considerably more fun than Professor Sinistra's wordy explanations of celestial charts before she allowed them to touch the telescopes. Her lessons were still far more entertaining than History of Magic though, where Professor Binns droned on for hours on end, making bloody wars sound as annoying as dry bread.
Much to Harry's surprise, Traditions of British Wizards and Muggles turned out to be quite interesting. Their quirky Professor Quirrell started to stutter whenever a student stared at him too intensely, but his lessons were entertaining, trying to find the true grain in muggle fables. During a particularly lively discussion in their third lesson, Ron had badly clashed with Terry Boot, who was convinced that Sleeping Beauty had had three fairies caring for her, whereas Ron insisted the prince's fight with the dragon had to be true, because, "No sane person would give an infant to a brainless fairy." Finally, a comically stuttering Professor Quirrell had declared that Sleeping Beauty had actually been the first victim of the Draught of the Living Death, effectively ending all discussion with a horrible silence.
Getting out of the classrooms was a welcome respite, but despite Harry's love for Quidditch, the Flying lessons were bore under Professor Hooch's strict supervision and he quickly grew to miss the freedom of his own broom, whenever he had to fly along the neatly marked parkour. The last class to start was Principles of Magic at the end of September. The first lesson took place on Thursday afternoon in a classroom on the second floor overlooking the court. It was an intriguing room with a polygonal layout and an enormous desk at the centre, around which a half circle of smaller desks fanned out. Along the walls, shelves upon shelves formed geometric patterns and displayed everything from books to gems and curious instruments. Soft ticking and humming noises filled the room at irregular intervals. Behind the teacher's desk, a garden seemed to blossom. Countless small plants in shimmering pots swayed slightly in the tranquil air as if they were drawing breath. Harry looked around and saw Ernie with his group of Hufflepuffs sitting in the front. He waved at them and Harry smiled back, carefully choosing an unremarkable middle row for him and Ron, and sat down next to an aquarium.
"What do you think?" asked Ron, staring at a greenish octopus floating around.
"It looks happy."
"Not the octopus. These seats. Reckon they're anonymous enough? Or should we go sit in the back?"
Harry gave a shrug. "Sirius said the last row isn't inconspicuous. The middle should be fine. Get lost in the mass and all that." Ron didn't look convinced, but he nodded and pulled his book out.
"I still don't get why you're so nervous," Harry added.
"I already told you. Fred and George say this class is incredibly difficult."
"And you believe them? Didn't they tell you that professor Binns required all students to transcribe every single one of his words?"
"Oh, don't remind me. My hand still hurts." Ron groaned. "And you didn't tell me until the end of the lesson."
Harry snickered. "Well, you were just hilarious."
"My hand cramped for two whole days."
"But at least you're the only one whose name Binns actually learned. He still calls me Podmore."
"He better had to with all those notes I took. It might have been a record," Ron said.
"Well, you did have fierce competition." Harry nodded towards the lone Gryffindor in the first row. Ron groaned again.
"Did I tell you that Granger actually asked to see my notes afterwards? I mean, do I look like a teacher's pet?" He sounded offended, but pointed to his book, which he had opened at a random page. It showed a complicated diagram with moving arrows in various colours. "Anyway, this time Fred and George might have told me the truth. Percy says Principles of Magic is fascinating, and when Percy says something is fascinating, it usually means it's ridiculously annoying or extremely difficult. Or both."
Before Harry could answer, the classroom door slammed shut.
"Good morning, class," a voice in the back said and everyone scrambled to turn around. "My name is Professor Priscilla Nettles. I'll be having the honour of teaching you about magic, and you'll have the honour to listen to me."
Harry's first thought was that Professor Nettles looked like a proper witch with her long, indigo robe and pointy hat. It sat in a bold angle and had a strangely curved four pinned to its crown. Hexagonal spectacles framed her eyes and a few bronze rings in curious forms completed her air of mysteriousness. Like every other professor, she began by reading out the students' name list, but to her credit did pay neither Harry nor Longbottom any special attention. Harry glanced at the back of Longbottom's head. The atmosphere in their dormitory had not changed a bit, except for the fact that Longbottom did not show any sign of Harry's existence, no biting comment or snort. Longbottom had quickly made friends with the dorm mate Dean, leaving Harry to lean on Ron as his only close friend. He went along with most of his housemates well enough and Ernie greeted him whenever he could, but if Harry was honest with himself, he was so amazed that he had found one friend that Ron's presence was more than sufficient for him.
When Professor Nettles had reached the end of the list, she rolled up the parchment and cleared her throat. "Now, let's begin with a prerogative of intelligence." She smiled at their mindful gazes. "A question, no less. In your case, a question of great importance, I might add. Why are you here?"
Harry stared at her. "What's that even supposed to mean," he whispered.
The rest of the class seemed to think along the same line. All Harry could see were bewildered faces.
"No idea," Ron whispered back a little too loudly and Professor Nettles' eyes fell on him.
"What do you think, Mr. Weasley?"
"Er, I think, because we have to be," Ron mumbled. A few students chuckled, but Professor Nettles tilted her head.
"True, though not very astute." She turned around and pointed at Ernie, who had raised his hand.
"Mr. Macmillan?"
"The ministerial education reform from nineteen-eighty-four obliges us t-"
"Yes, yes, I am very aware that you are required by magical law to partake in my course, Mr. Macmillan. Thank you," she said coolly. "Let me rephrase my initial question. What are you expecting to learn from this course?"
Hermione Granger's hand rose and she piped up: "We'll gain an understanding of how magic works."
"An ambitious goal for an only two year course, don't you think?" Professor Nettles said. "I would rather settle for embarking on a strenuously long voyage towards unveiling the inner workings of magic, but a correct observation nonetheless. Take two points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger."
Hermione's smug smile made Ron roll his eyes, but Harry shushed him with a jab in his ribs before he could moan. Professor Nettles was already continuing.
"Now, in order to study magic, we must first ask ourselves, what magic is. The answer is," she raised her voice, signalling Hermione and Ernie to lower their hands, which had shot up, "that magic is multifarious. Spells and potions are just as magical as divination, fantastic beasts, magical herbs or flying brooms. Substantial magic or mind magic, alchemy or arithmancy. They are all fundamentally the same and at the same time so different from each other that we will need years to disentangle them, study them and try to understand them." Professor Nettles smirked, waving the thought off. "However, the Ministry has decided that the deeper mysteries and finer understanding of magic are not necessarily in your interest, unless you'll voluntarily choose to continue this course in your third year. We will therefore begin with something much simpler. What is the most evident symbol of magical prowess?" She reached into her robe. "Wands of course. Now, let's begin."
They passed the rest of the class talking about the history of wands and were assigned an essay describing their own wand wood and how it fit them. When Harry and Ron left the classroom an hour later, they found themselves still with their books in their hands.
"Yours sounds great," said Ron, reading aloud. "Larch is the wand of hidden talents. It instills courage and confidence in its owner."
"But doesn't that mean that I'm not as courageous as I should be?"
"You wouldn't be in Gryffindor if you weren't, would you?"
"Maybe," said Harry and glanced down at his wand, thinking about what the Sorting hat had said to him. "What does it say about your wand? Willow, wasn't it?"
It was not easy descending the stairs and thumbing through the encyclopaedia of wand woods without tripping, but Harry found the entry and started to read. Ron groaned all the while.
"Great," he said, when Harry had finished. "My wand thinks I'm insecure and an idiot."
"Didn't you hear the part about selecting those of greatest potential?"
"I just heard that I have a lot to learn."
"Well, we're first years. I think it's kind of expected, don't you?" Harry said. He closed his book, stuffed it into his bag and jumped down the last step. "Come on. I think I smell roast pork."
As Harry and Ron reached the Great Hall, hungry students were filing in. The Gryffindor table was still half-empty. They quickly found two seats and started shuffling potatoes on their plates. The noise level grew, as more and more Gryffindors joined them. A few of the other first years still held their books, eagerly discussing the properties of their wand woods. Just three seats away, Hermione sat in front of an empty plate absorbed by her reading.
Dinner was delicious. Harry had just finished his second serving, when Fred and George appeared with an older boy in tow. Harry elbowed Ron in his ribs and nudged his head towards the unknown boy. A distinctive pin gleamed on his robes. The boy clapped the twins on the shoulder and left and Fred and George popped into the seats in front of them.
"Who was that?" asked Ron.
"Oliver Wood," George said. "He's our captain. Pass the potatoes, will you?"
"The Quidditch Captain?" Ron said.
"No, the Captain of the Gobstones Club," Fred said.
"Of course he's the Quidditch Captain, you troll brains. Now, potatoes please. We're starving."
Ron gruffly shoved the bowl over into George's arms, who started shuffling potatoes on his and Fred's plates.
"So, you're both on the Quidditch team?" Harry asked.
"Yep. Meet Gryffindor's beaters for the second year in a row. Oliver just confirmed us for this year's team" George winked.
"Apparently we fly together like a charm," said Fred. "I take it you fly, too?"
"I used to, but I haven't really flown since I arrived here," Harry said.
"Yeah, the flying lessons are rubbish for everyone who grew up on a broom. Did you fly often?"
"All the time with my dad. He taught me."
"His dad is an assistant coach for the Arrows," Ron interjected.
The twins shared a look.
"You any good, Potter?" asked Fred.
"I- I guess I'm not bad. Why?"
"We'll probably need a new Seeker next year. Maybe before, if - and by if I mean when - McLaggen pulls something stupid. Would you feel up for it? I can't promise that Wood would take you, but he'll give you a fair shot. He's taken us last year and another two second years now."
"Oh, I don't know. I would rather be a chaser… like my dad," Harry added in a soft voice.
"Well, we're actually surprisingly good on chasers, which is why we stand a chance of winning the cup even without Charlie," George said, skewering a potato.
"Oh, Oliver is going to pull his hair out if we don't."
"He seems to take his Captain duties seriously," Harry said.
"Oh, you don't know the half of it." Fred pointed a wobbling sausage at him. "Last year after we lost the cup to Slytherin over ten points, I thought he might jump off Gryffindor Tower."
Harry choked on his peas. "Whoa-wha..."
"Don't you worry," Fred said, leaning over to pat Harry on the back. "Contemplating suicide is just Wood's way to deal with defeats. Totally healthy."
Ron looked at Harry and shook his head. "Don't believe a word they're saying. Remember the Binns incident?"
Fred and George audibly drew a breath and put their hands over their heart, as if they were deeply offended.
"Our own brother doesn't believe our tales? What has the world become, George?"
"Maybe he should wait for our first match to see Wood's fanaticism for himself?" George said.
"But what if he falls over a broom yet again, dear brother? And in front of the Quidditch captain…"
Ron immediately flushed.
"When?" Harry asked.
"Oh, a few years back. Ickle Ronniekin's clumsiness has no end, you know."
"Especially if confronted with two ends of a broom stick."
"I was five and you two had painted it green and thrown it on the lawn!" Ron shot back.
"I meant the match," Harry said. "When is it scheduled?"
Fred shrugged. "Don't know the exact date yet. It's usually around mid-November though."
Harry sighed and took another forkful of roast pork. Mid-November was still six weeks away and he couldn't wait to see his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts.
~o~
When Harry woke up on the following Saturday and opened his curtains, he found a bright morning sun shining in a blue sky. The night had washed away the clouds and regaled them with perfect weather. Dean was already up, leaning against his headboard and reading British Wizarding Culture. Next to him stood Longbottom's bed, neatly made and empty. Ron's curtains were still closed. No doubt, his friend was still sleeping. The miniature station clock above the door told him that it was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. Thus, Harry grabbed a quill, ink and some parchment, propped up his pillow and started writing.
It took him a good hour to finish the letter to his parents, retelling his whole week. Professor Nettles' first lesson, his progress with the lumos spell. He asked his dad for advice on transfiguration, where his needle still was rather brown than silver. He dedicated a long paragraph to his cure for boils, which had been, according to Professor Slughorn, perfectly brewed. Harry still could not help his smile when he thought back to the ten house points he had gained. He finished by telling his parents how much he missed them. As exciting as Hogwarts was during the day, it did not feel like home and when Harry lay down at night, he yearned for a motherly embrace or his dad's easy company. He would never admit it to any of his classmates, though. Not even to Ron, whom he secretly believed, felt the same, but neither had said anything to the other.
Ron was still sleeping when Harry rolled the parchment up and bound it together. He grabbed one of his last chocolate frogs and decided that he would give his friend another half hour. Then, he took out his book on Principles of Magic and opened the first chapter titled All you ever wondered about wand woods. It was an intriguing read, tying each tree's properties to the characteristics of its wand wood, but Harry had to agree with Ron. It did not promise to be an easy class. He was half way through his essay, when Ron finally thrust his curtains open. It took him a good fifteen minutes to muster the courage to leave his bed and another twenty until he was properly dressed, without dry toothpaste in the corner of his mouth.
"You ready?" Harry asked, set his quill aside and grabbed his coat and his letter. "Can we stop by the owlery first?"
"Sure. Hermes should be there, too. Percy said I could use him." Ron grabbed his own letter. Harry noted that it was much shorter than his. They bid Dean farewell and left the dormitory.
"I can't wait to see the first Quiddtich match. How long do you reckon it'll last?"
"Dunno. Really depends on the seekers, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, that's tr-"
Harry stopped at the foot of the stairwell, face to face with Longbottom. Both boys averted their eyes, as an awkward second passed neither of them backed down. Then, Ron pulled Harry aside. Longbottom seemed to give his friend a curt nod, but before Harry could be sure, he had already rushed past.
"We have such a serene atmosphere in our dormitory," Harry said bitterly.
"It really makes no sense that you two don't go along."
"I'm not the problem. He is."
"And you have no idea why?"
"For the hundredth time. None. Let's talk about something other than Longbottom's moods, okay? I don't want to ruin my day before it even starts." He pushed the portrait of the Fat Lady aside and scrambled through.
Both kept silent, while they ascended to the Owlery, dwelling on their unfortunate living arrangements. The castle was quiet, with most students lazily hanging out in their dormitories. The few who weren't either sat in the library or enjoyed the last rays of summer outside. In a couple of days, it would be October and autumn was already late this year.
The Owlery was secretly one of Harry's favourite places. It was cold and dirty with disgusting white stains on the floor, but when he looked up at the countless owls spreading their wings, ready to fly away through one of the windows whenever they wanted, he felt a sense of ease. Ron quickly found Hermes and Harry chose a friendly barn owl that was perched on a sash bar bathing in the sun. It was a curious little thing, tweeting happily, while Harry bound his letter to its leg, but flew away as soon as he had finished his nod. Harry watched after it, half wishing it had taken him home as well. In the distance, he could see red-robes figures fly above the Quidditch stadium and his mood considerably brightened at the sight.
"You up for an early lunch?" Harry asked. "Afterwards we could go to the stadium and see if we could throw a glance at the team. What do you think?"
"Sounds perfect. If only ever seen the Canons play," Ron said and started rambling about the time his brother Bill had taken him to see his favourite team. In Harry's opinion, the Canons were abysmal, but he did not want to offend Ron and said nothing, nodding along politely.
They went through a thorough review of various leagues players and, by the time they reached the Entrance Hall, animatedly disagreed on whether the removal of Bagman as a coach increased England's chances of winning the European Quidditch Cup in the following summer.
"I still cannot believe they actually chucked him," Ron said, shaking his head.
"He wasn't a good coach, really."
"But he knew the team inside-out. How long was he on it himself?"
"Too long?" Harry said.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Nine years? Ten? I think he has played the most games in this century."
"Doesn't mean he's good, just persistent."
"You know that he won the Quidditch Cup three times in a row, right?"
Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I know. With the Wimbourne Wasps," he muttered.
"Oh, I forgot. You're an Arrows fan. 'Course you can't stand their record Beater," Ron said teasingly.
They reached the Gryffindor table and under the smell of freshly baked meat pie any retort Harry might have had, evaporated. After a dainty lunch, Harry and Ron stepped outside. The wind was brisk, but despite yesterday's heavy rainfalls the sun had warmed the air enough for them to enjoy the gusts. They passed the greenhouses and the gardens, and soon the Hogwarts Quidditch stadium came into view.
From near up, it was immense. The Appleby Arrows' stadium had seemed huge, but Hogwarts' was even bigger. It could easily house hundreds of students, probably even the whole school. Harry and Ron lingered at the entrance for a while, and when no one seemed to be around, tried to push the gate open. It didn't budge. Apparently, the Gryffindor team didn't want any observers. Dejected, Harry and Ron left.
The sun had coaxed scores of students outside, who were now sitting in the grass and enjoying what could be their last late summer day. They decided to take a walk, muddying their boots rounding the lake, where the ground was cloggy and drenched and stuck to their clothing like glue. They were about to head back to the castle, when a shadow fell over them. Harry turned around to a huge belt buckle under a moleskin overcoat. He jumped a step back and glanced up at Hagrid's beardy face. The gamekeeper held a crossbow in one hand and a bunch of beetroots in the other.
" 'ey there, Harry. Didn't mean to startle yeh. 's just me" he said sheepishly.
"Y-yeah, Hagrid right? I remember you."
"Yeh do?" Hagrid's expression transformed in an instant. His face was still wild and sweaty and giant, but his black eyes were glinting with warmth.
"Of course. It was that weekend at sea with mum and dad. You brought Sirius' motorbike back. Mum wouldn't let me fly on it though." Harry didn't feel like mentioning that forgetting Hagrid would have been a feat. He distinctly remembered how all passer-byes in the sleepy little village near Plymouth had gaped at the giant.
"Yer right. Pretty protective yer mum, mind you." His eyes fell on Ron. "And yer another Weasley, eh?"
"Pleased to meet you, Sir," Ron said, sticking his hand out. It looked tiny in to Hagrid's.
Hagrid chuckled. "No need fer sirs. Jus' call me Hagrid. Do yeh boys like ter come over fer tea?"
"Er…" Harry hesitated.
"I've made rock cookies. Won't be as good as yer mother's, but they're summat."
Harry was at a loss of words. This man was almost a complete stranger to him and already made him self-conscious, but his parents had spoken fondly of Hagrid. Therefore, he made a leap of faith.
"Yeah, sure. We'll come."
Ten minutes later, Harry and Ron sat at Hagrid's table with steaming cups of hot English tea in their hands. Hagrid's dog, Fang, drooled merrily onto their knees, but neither Harry nor Ron minded. They were too preoccupied looking around in the hut. Harry had never been in a room like this before. The small hut had hams, pheasants and dried herbs dangling from the ceiling. A crossbow and a chest full of greenish mushrooms stood at the foot of an enormous bed. Copper kettles and pots were clinging softly as Hagrid busied himself at the fire. He was chopping the beetroots into pieces, flung them into a pot and the room started to smell like wet, warm earth. Finally, Hagrid sat down in front of them and looked at Harry expectantly. Harry took a sip of his tea and coughed; it was still too hot to drink. He nervously looked around for something to say.
"Ehm, nice quilt. I had one just like it." Harry pointed at the bed.
"Made it fer yeh meself, when yeh were a babe." Hagrid placed a plate of freshly baked rock biscuits on the coffee table. "Made these, too. Bit crunchy maybe."
Instead of being a bit crunchy, the biscuits turned out to crush their teeth, if Harry and Ron were not careful to soften them in their tea. Fortunately, Hagrid didn't notice. He had started babbling on amicably about Lily and James' days at Hogwarts, filling any awkward silence with ease. Harry felt himself relax a little against the worn out couch, as Hagrid laughed retelling a misfortunate prank Sirius and his dad had pulled.
"… an' they got away with it, too. There've never been bigger troublemakers." Hagrid shook his head. "Yer twin brothers could give them a run fer their money in a few years, Ron. Had ter chase them from the forest half a dozen times las' year."
He motioned towards his window through which Harry could see the tree lines.
"I've heard stories about the forest. Dad says it's amazing," Harry said, peeking outside.
"Really? My mum said she'll ground me for life if I ever step too close to the forest," Ron said.
"An' she's right. Dangerous place. Tha's why it's forbidden an' all."
"But my dad, Sirius and Remus have been there many times. Can't be too bad, right?"
"As I said. Yer dad and his lot had a streak for mischief. Was another time back then, too."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"Well, I'm the gamekeeper, aren't I? So, it's me job ter keep the grounds safe and clean. Tha' includes the Forest, o'course. Enough magical beasts in there ter need me help."
"Really? Are there any dragons?"
"Nah, no dragons. I'd love ter have one in the forest, but Professor Dumbledore says the ministry won't have it. We've unicorns an' the only tame herd of thestrals in Britain an' the centaurs, though."
"They don't sound too dangerous," Harry said, dunking a rock biscuit into his tea cup.
"Maybe." Hagrid sighed. "A friend of mine went missing a while ago. Can't seem ter find a trace of what has happened ter him. Dunno if it's bin the centaurs. They say it's not them, but they've bin hunting him ever since he move ter the forest. Yeh can never be too sure with those stargazers."
"You think the centaurs kidnapped a wizard?" Ron exclaimed. Fang barked at his shout and Ron quickly scratched his ears to calm the dog down.
"Aragog's not a wizard. He's…" Hagrid looked up to see Harry and Ron on the edge of their seats. He quickly continued: "He's not yer concern. Probably jus' moved away. But yeh two haven't told me nothing abou' yerselves. How's Hogwarts bin treatin' yeh? I wanna know everything."
They passed the rest of the afternoon chatting and nibbling at Hagrid's biscuits. Harry hadn't realised how much he had learned in the past month, or how much he'd been craving to tell his parents about his days. The letters, no matter how long, couldn't replace a real conversation with his mum and dad, but somehow Hagrid's open ears made him feel like home. The giant man smiled and listened to Harry and Ron, offering them more biscuits than their teeth could possibly grind, and filled any uneasy silence with his own tales. By the time Hagrid had finished a story about Ron's brother Charlie, the sky had darkened.
"Good lad. Great Seeker an' even better with me animals."
Harry and Ron hang sleepily on Hagrid's couch, the rock biscuits weighing heavily in their stomachs. It felt as if the soaked biscuits had densified into something akin to cement in their guts. It took Harry a few moments to realise that Hagrid had stood up and left the hut. Through the open door, Harry could hear a few splashes that sounded like waves hitting the coastline. Then, Hagrid returned, rubbing his face roughly with a towel.
"It's time now. Yeh ready?"
"Ready for what?" Harry asked. He noticed that Hagrid had exchanged his patchy moleskin coat for a long jacket made of greyish wool and he had a candle the size of a bat in his hand.
"The Commemoration o' course."
"Oh, I completely forgot" Harry said, while Hagrid bent over and grabbed a huge chest.
"Got yer wands? Then let's go."
Harry and Ron followed Hagrid outside and into the night. The air was tangibly colder now that the sun had settled. Harry quickly closed his cloak and struggled to keep pace with Hagrid. The grounds were completely deserted, them being the only living souls in the deep dark. Hagrid was directing them towards the castle portal. Harry and Ron started to run, when he quickened his pace. He led them up a small hill and soon Harry struggles for breath.
"Hagrid, wait!" he groaned. He had a stitch. At his side, Ron was panting and the last thing Harry wanted was to get lost at night near the Forbidden Forest after what he had heard today.
Hagrid seemed surprised that they had fallen back, but waited impatiently for them to reach him.
"Sorry, almos' forgot, but I didn't want ter be late." Yet, he slackened his pace.
"What's this Commemoration all about? Seems like a big deal," Harry said.
"It is," Ron answered immediately. "Mum always lights a few candles on this night. For all those, who we've lost in the war. Doesn't yours?" He looked questioningly at Harry.
"I-I think she does. I mean, I asked her once about the candles and she told me it's for their friends who had died, but I didn't realise it was on a special day or something..." Harry mumbled.
"Many people remember their loved ones on the anniversary of their death," Hagrid said with soft eyes. "But after the war, the ministry decided ter give the people a common holiday. Chose the las' day of the war fer tha'."
"So, today's the anniversary of Voldemort's fall?"
Ron squeaked and Harry almost ran into Hagrid, when the giant brusquely halted.
"Yeh really are yer parent's son. Saying tha' name and all." Hagrid shook his head as if he wanted to dispel a bad dream. "But today's not the day You-Know-Who disappeared. Today's the end of the Crusade."
A shadow fell over Hagrid's face, before he turned around and started to walk again, slowly, like the words, which he murmured into the night.
"After You-Know-Who had bin defeated, the dark times didn't end fer our world, yeh know. His followers, they called 'emselves Death Eaters, stupid name if yeh ask me… Many almost as vicious as You-Know-Who himself; they were desperate ter find their leader. Were scared ter end up in Azkaban, I'd say. They knew the ministry and Dumbledore were still tryin' ter find him and so they attacked the public. Ter keep spreadin' fear an' all. Killed a lot of damn' good people. The las' attack happened nine years ago today. Had bin a great late summer day. Lots of people in Diagon Alley. They probably couldn't resist. Thank Merlin most o' them were caught an' locked away. That's when everything finally ended."
"Sirius Black arrested them, didn't he?" Ron said, looking eagerly to Hagrid for confirmation.
"Yeah, he did. One of the leaders was his own cousin if yeh believed it. Threw her right into a cell from what I heard."
"Andromeda?" Harry spluttered. "That can't be!"
"No, no. O' course not her. Her older sister. She's still in Azkaban. Sentenced ter life. Got what she deserved, if yeh ask me. There's no comin' back from certain crimes."
"What did she do exactly?" Harry wasn't too sure he wanted to know, judging by the way Hagrid's expression darkened.
"More than enough from what we know. Out of her mind that one. Nothin' she wouldn't do. Yer mum brought you right ter Hogwarts when she saw her appear in Diagon Alley."
"What? Wait. We were there?"
This time Harry did run into Hagrid, when he stopped dead in his tracks. He bumped backwards and had to grab Ron's cloak to keep himself from falling.
"My mum and I were in Diagon Alley, when the Death Eaters attacked?"
The tiny part of Hagrid's face that Harry could see in the dark looked most uncomfortable. "I didn't know yeh didn't… But well, now that the kneazle's out of the bag. Hasn't really bin a secret anyway, but yeah, yeh and yer parents were there. Wonder why James hasn't told yeh. He's helped the aurors to catch the Death Eaters an' yer mum came here with yeh. Yeh were just a baby. O'course she'd not stay and fight. Was terribly scared fer yeh, especially after what had happened in Godric's Hollow."
"Godric's Hollow? That's where we lived before, isn't it? What happened there?" Harry asked, but Hagrid did not react. The castle portal had just opened, letting a golden ray of light fall onto the front steps. Inside the entrance hall, Harry could discern countless moving silhouettes.
"Gallopin' Gorgons. It's starting. Com' on yeh two. Gotta hurry now."
Harry and Ron had to run, while Hagrid quickly covered the distance to the portal with his long strides. The whole castle seemed to fill the entrance hall. The older students were standing on the marble stone case, away from the commotion. The rest was huddling in the hall. Harry and Ron followed Hagrid inside, sliding along the walls in his massive shadow, squeezing their way through a group of Ravenclaws until they saw Percy. He was on his toes, frowning deeply and overlooking the crowd. The rest of the Gryffindor first years waited in front of him in a neatly aligned row.
"There you are! Where have you been and what in Merlin's name have you done?" Percy hissed, once he had spotted Ron. He looked them up and down. His eyes narrowed at the sight of their muddied shoes and the crust of Fang's saliva on their cloaks. With a pang, Harry realised that the other students were looking their best. Fresh, wrinkle-free robes. Many wore spotless hats, a few older girls had make-up on and Lavender Brown's curls had never been bouncier.
"FIRST YEARS FOLLOW YOUR PREFECTS. THE CEREMONY WILL START NOW!"
Professor McGonagall's sharp, magically enhanced voice was enough to distract Percy from their appearance. He jumped as if hit by lightning and beckoned the other first years to step forward. Gently shoving them, he placed Harry and Ron between Lavender and Longbottom, who seemed about ready to strangle them. Harry turned away, trying to forget Longbottom's livid stare. Percy led them to the castle threshold, where Professor McGonagall was waiting. Hagrid's huge basket was floating next to her.
"For anyone who cannot perform the lumos spell, we'll have candles ready," she announced.
Not few first years took the offer. Harry saw Ernie grab a candle and then scurry away with red cheeks. Two bulky Slytherins, too. As well as Pavarti Patil.
"Do you need a candle, Mr. Potter?"
Harry hesitated, which gave his head of house the opportunity to notice his improper exterior. According to her thin lips, she did not like what she saw.
"No, thank you, professor," he quickly murmured, before scurrying away, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Professor McGonagall had taken her wand and pointed it at him. Harry heard a sucking sound and had the sensation that one of Aunt Petunia's vacuum cleaners tugged on his robe. When he looked down, he saw that it was prim now.
"You may go, Mr. Potter."
Harry stumbled outside. After the bright entrance hall, the dark was thick and the grounds barely visible. The prefects directed the first years to line up at the sides, while the rest of the students stepped onto the front steps. The air felt heavy. Most of the older students wore grave expressions; even the Weasley twins seemed sombre for once. The student body parted to let the professors pass, with the headmaster leading their little procession. Harry had to press himself against Ron to avoid colliding with Lavender's bottom.
"Follow me," Percy whispered and they frogmarched into the darkness. Harry couldn't see further than Percy's shoulders. He tried not to stumble, but the uneven ground and scarce visibility made it hard. Only the feeble moonlight illuminated their path. Slowly, they made their way to the lake. Harry could hear the rustling trees of the Forbidden Forest and the slight splashing of water. They stopped near the shore in front of a six-foot tall tower made of stone so white that it almost seemed to glow in the dark. The students fanned out, forming a circle around the monument. Deafening silence reigned and Harry shivered from the cold. He saw Professor Dumbledore standing at the centre of the circle, next to the little stone tower. His silver beard shimmered in the dim moonlight. He raised his wand.
"For all of us, who have gone into the light."
Suddenly, all the students raised theirs as well. Harry hurried to mirror them. Then, a warm glow erupted from Dumbledore's wand tip. Simultaneously, all candles ignited. Pavarti almost dropped hers in shock. Asynchronous whispered lumos followed. Harry closed his eyes and focused, trying not to think of how embarrassing it would be if he could not do it…
A second later, a bright light shone through his lids. When he reopened his eyes, the night was alight with countless wands, shining like tiny stars. Now, Harry could saw that there were words carved into the stone tower. Delicate letters, forming the names of the fallen.
…; Melissa Fawley; Neil, Shannon and Seamus Finnigan; Saccarus Flume; …
A little hole separated each name. Like a string of pearls, the names circled around the little monument row after row, spiralling down the wall. Dumbledore muttered an incantation and the tiny orb of light at the tip of his wand lifted itself up in the air. With a start, Harry realised that all the other lights followed suit. Countless glowing spheres floated towards the tower. A solemn silence fell over the crowd, as they observed the spectacle. A few girls were weeping, but Ron seemed awed, his mouth hanging slightly open. Next to him, Longbottom had his jaws firmly set and looked straight ahead with a stony expression. The whole situation gave Harry the creeps. The floating white balls reminded him terribly of ghosts. Poor souls drawn to death. They flew into the monument through an opening at the top, but the light did not die down. Instead, it streamed out from the heart of the tower, through the tiny holes, as if sent by those that were gone, a spark from the other side of the veil.
(Harry wasn't sure whether that soothed him or not.)
~o~ ~o~ ~o~
AN: If you spot any spelling mistakes, errors, wording problems or other issues, please let me know and I'll rectify them. This would be most helpful. Thanks and merry Christmas.