After Effects

18: After Effects


Harry awoke to the sounds of movement in the dormitory. Faint shuffling, a mutter, then a loud crash that set his teeth on edge. A string of curses filled the room, some of which Harry had never even heard before. It sounded like one of the Weasley twins, but why would they be in his dorm? Harry’s head was pounding, although it had nothing to do with his scar. He tried to open his bleary eyes but was forced to shut them tightly against the blinding light seeping in from the window. He felt awful; he couldn’t remember being involved in a fight, but surely he must have. This couldn’t just be the flu? Whatever it was, there was no way he was going running this morning.

He rolled his tongue around and stuck it in and out; someone must have jinxed his mouth full of cotton. Still unable to open his eyes, he tried pushing himself to a sitting position. Immediately, he knew that was a bad idea, as his stomach lurched, and he feared he’d be sick. Forcing himself to concentrate despite the pounding of his head, he tried to remember what had happened. Quidditch match… he had hurt his arm… there was a party… punch. The punch. That was it! Ginny had been at the party, and he had a vague recollection of talking with her but couldn’t put all the pieces together. Groaning, he pulled the covers up over his head. What had he done?

His wrist was throbbing dully, and he remembered tossing the sling aside. He was supposed to go easy on it for the night, but he vaguely remembered some dice…

The hangings around his bed were pulled mercilessly back, as George Weasley’s happy voice sang out, “Morning, Harry! How are you feeling?”

Harry kept the covers over his head and groaned again. “Go away.”

“What’s this? The Boy-Who-Lived being done in by a little Firewhiskey? Come on, Harry; I thought you were made of stronger stuff than that.”

Harry could hear the amusement in George’s voice as he poked his finger over and over into Harry’s ribs. Harry clamped his teeth together in irritation, trying to pull away. “Sod off!”

“Well, I can see you’re in a fine mood this glorious day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, makes one glad to be alive. How about you, Ronniekins?” he trilled as he pulled the hangings back on his younger brother’s bed.

Ron was lying on his stomach, head to the side with his eyes wide open, staring at nothing; he was positively green. George laughed at the sight of him. “You look even worse than Harry does. And that’s saying a lot.”

Ron continued to stare without speaking, and George lost interest in the two of them. He moved on to try and wake Dean, who didn’t seem to be willing to give up on his slumber.

Harry still had the covers over his head, but he had adjusted them so he could peer at Ron. “What did I do last night?” he croaked quietly, not really sure he wanted an answer.

“You’re asking me?” queried Ron. “I couldn’t even tell you where I was last night.”

Harry really felt awful; getting up didn’t seem to be an option, and the idea of breakfast made him want to heave. Maybe he could get away with just spending the day in bed.

“Come on, get up, all of you, and head down to the common room,” said a sharp voice that took Harry a minute to recognize as female.

Pulling the covers down slightly so they just reached the top of his nose, Harry realized both Hermione and Ginny had entered the boys’ dormitory. Ginny was wearing jeans and a yellow jumper that looked soft and fluffy. He had an overwhelming desire to reach out and touch it, and he blushed at where his thoughts were straying. He quickly rolled over onto his stomach to hide the evidence. Not now , he groaned inwardly.

“I’m up, I’m up,” George said. “Fred, Lee, and Neville are in the showers. It’s the rest of them who seem incapable of getting out of bed.”

Hermione marched right over to Ron and pulled the pillow from beneath his head, showing him no mercy.

“Hermione,” Ron shouted for the first time this morning, then shut his eyes quickly putting his hands to his head. “I’m sick.”

“You’re not sick; you’re hung over, and Professor McGonagall’s not going to accept that as an excuse for the entire Gryffindor table being empty at breakfast.”

“How are you so cheerful this morning? As I remember, you had your fair share of that punch last night,” Ron grumbled, yanking the covers back in place.

“Simple,” Hermione answered, crossing her arms in front of her. “I used a sobering charm before I went to sleep. Why didn’t you?”

Neither Ron nor Harry answered, the truth being that it had never occurred to either of them. Sometimes, Hermione could be very annoying.

Ginny moved next to Harry and cautiously sat on the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?” she whispered, smiling at him in sympathy.

“My head hurts,” he said, still not raising his eyes to look at her. He felt like there was something important right on the edge of his consciousness, but try as he may, he couldn’t quite grasp what it was.

She giggled. “Your skin is green, Harry.”

Hearing their conversation, Hermione turned towards them and demanded, “Does your head hurt from the Firewhiskey or from your scar?”

Harry wasn’t sure how to answer that question without getting himself into trouble so he remained silent.

“You did remember to practice your Occlumency last night, didn’t you? Even if your forgot the sobering charm, you must have remembered that.”

Harry knew there was something he forgot to do last night. He groaned again and tried to turn away from the shrill sound of Hermione’s voice. It was going right through his aching head.

“Come on, Hermione.” Ron bailed him out. “Give him a break. Even if You-Know-Who did try and get into Harry’s head last night, the fumes alone would have had him pissed as well.”

Although she tried desperately, Ginny couldn’t stop the hiss of laughter that escaped her lips at this comment. She could feel Harry’s body shaking beside her in suppressed mirth and saw even the corner of Hermione’s mouth twitch.

“Still,” Hermione said after she got her features under control. “It’s very important, Harry; you can’t afford to be skipping it.”

Harry didn’t seem to have the energy to be irritated by her interference. He sighed and rolled over, looking up at Ginny. “Did I make a complete prat of myself last night?”

Ginny seemed to be studying him intently, and Harry grew very nervous about why she was looking at him that way. She finally seemed to come to a decision about something as she said, “Well, you were very giggly.”

Harry groaned. “Great,” he mumbled.

“Come on; it was a party, and everyone was in a good mood. We did slaughter Ravenclaw, after all,” Ginny said, lifting everyone’s mood.

At the mention of the Quidditch win, Ron perked right up and sat up in his bed. “That was a great way to start the season. We’ve got to work on the Chasers. The Keepers for Slytherin and Hufflepuff aren’t as good as Ravenclaw’s, so we can work on boosting the score.”

Several of the other boys entered the dorm from the showers and threw their things on the beds. “Your turn,” Neville said to Ron and Harry, as he made his way downstairs.

Harry looked over at the girls. “If you want to head down, we’ll meet you in the common room.”

“We don’t mind waiting here,” Hermione said, oblivious to Harry’s discomfort. Harry was sitting up in bed, the sheet clutched tightly to his bare chest. A chest that was looking more defined and muscular than she remembered, Ginny noted. His shoulders had broadened, but that had been disguised by how thin Harry had been. With some weight back on him, he was looking rather dishy, she thought. He’d always be on the slim side, but, these days, he was looking slender rather than skinny.

As if aware of where her thoughts had drifted, she noticed Harry color brightly. It wasn’t until Ron spoke that she realized the true reason. “Come on, Hermione, give Harry a break. He was too pissed last night to get into his pajamas, and he doesn’t want to give you a show when he runs to the shower.” Ron was laughing at Harry’s discomfort, and Harry shot a vicious glare at him.

Ginny and Hermione took pity on him. “Okay,” Hermione said, smiling. “We’ll see you downstairs. Ten minutes.”

A shower perked both boys up a little, but neither was feeling particularly boisterous. They all made their way to the Great Hall, where the noise from the breakfast crowd nearly sent both Ron and Harry fleeing back upstairs.

Looking up and down the length of the Gryffindor table, Harry noted that the majority of upper classmen looked to be in rough shape. The twins had left already, along with Lee and the older girls. From the looks of his classmates, Harry suspected the twins weren’t high on anyone’s popularity list this morning.

Dean Thomas was missing; Harry assumed he was still in bed. Seamus was sitting across and further down the bench from him, using his hands to hold up his head. Neville, although eating, had a decidedly green tinge to him. Both Parvati and Lavender looked all right, but their quietness alone was enough to let on something wasn’t quite right. Hermione seemed herself, but Harry could see bags beneath Ginny’s eyes. Ron looked rather gray, and Harry couldn’t remember ever seeing a time when Ron didn’t want to eat. He imagined he probably looked even worse than Ron did. Several people had smiled at him oddly, as he sat there avoiding his breakfast, but no one laughed outright, so he guessed he hadn’t done anything to really embarrass himself.

Completely lost in his own thoughts, Harry wasn’t aware that Dumbledore had walked up behind him until the elderly wizard cleared his throat. Harry turned with a start.

“Good morning, Harry. The Gryffindors are all looking rather tired today. Overexerted yourselves at the match yesterday, I assume,” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling merrily. “When you have finished, I would like a word. Would you be so kind as to meet me in my office at, shall we say, half nine? The password is Pepper Imp.”

Harry groaned as the Headmaster walked away; he was certain Dumbledore wanted to talk about what had happened in Hogsmeade on Friday, and Harry hoped he’d be able to shake the fog from his brain in order to focus and answer his questions.

“Wonder what he wants?” Ron asked.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” Hermione questioned.

Harry cringed. “Not looking forward to meeting him in his office. The last time I was there with him, I kind of trashed the place.”

Hermione was scandalized. “You what?”

Harry shut his eyes and ran his hand over them beneath his glasses. He was remembering that awful day when he both lost Sirius and gained the knowledge of what his future must hold.

“What do you mean, you trashed it?” Ron asked, drawing out each word.

Harry winced. “It was that night,” he said quietly.

Recognition seemed to dawn on all three faces, and they nodded solemnly. Harry still hadn’t told them anything of what had happened after Dumbledore sent him back from the Department of Mysteries. He’d been back there since that day with Remus and knew Dumbledore had replaced most of his things; still, he needed to apologize.

“I - I wasn’t in a good place,” he offered as a lame explanation. Opening his mouth to continue, he was at a loss for words and just looked at all of them, pleading with them to understand.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Ginny spoke up, remembering what Harry had told her about also being possessed that night. “I’m sure Dumbledore understands. Maybe you can talk to him about it when you’re there.”

Harry nodded and stood up, grateful for the release. “I’m going to head up now; I’m really not very hungry.”

His friends all watched him with concern as he wound his way out of the Great Hall.

Harry arrived at the stone gargoyle a few minutes early, so he leaned against the statue and tried gathering his thoughts for a few minutes. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk as Harry entered the office. Taking a deep breath as he looked around, Harry plunged ahead, “I owe you an apology, sir.”

Dumbledore seemed to understand where Harry’s thoughts were centered. “There is no need for an apology, Harry—I quite understand.”

Harry shook his head. “I shouldn’t have–”

“Harry, the past is the past. We agreed to move on, remember? You are working on forgiving my mistakes; I can do the same for you.”

Harry nodded and gave Dumbledore a weak smile. “I assume you want to talk about what happened with Remus in Hogsmeade?”

Dumbledore folded his hands beneath his chin and leaned forward. “I do.”

“My scar had been bothering me more and more all day; I kept getting brief flashes—I could tell that he was happy. I don’t know what he was so happy about; I didn’t get a vision or anything. Suddenly, it was like I could sense him there; I don’t know how to explain it. I used Occlumency and was able to block him out.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “I feared that the wards surrounding Hogwarts might have been aiding your Occlumency skills. I had voiced my concern to Remus that I suspected Voldemort would try something once you were outside Hogwarts boundaries.”

“I am still not certain as to whether or not this was the case. You were able to block him out after he had made his presence known. However, he was able to get through to you once you were outside Hogwarts’ protection, as well. I fear his happiness might have been in regard to his ability to detect that you were off the school grounds.”

Harry was feeling slightly irritated that Dumbledore had suspected this, and warned Remus, but hadn’t seen fit to inform him of anything, “With all due respect, sir, you want me to trust you again, then you need to trust me. I need to know these things beforehand, not after the fact.”

“You are right, Harry. I did not voice my concern directly to you. However, I had my reasons. I was afraid if I told you my suspicions, your defenses would have been lowered. You can be highly susceptible to suggestion, and you tend to believe the worst about yourself. I was afraid if I let you know of my concerns, your own lack of self-confidence might have undermined us.”

Harry felt his cheeks flame red. “Do you think we should test it?”

“Yes, we will have to try it with Remus again. First, I want to practice more with the Occlumency. Remus tells me he informed you of a practice session with Professor Snape.”

Harry kept his features carefully guarded. “Yes, sir.”

Dumbledore studied him a moment, then nodded. “Very good; I will arrange it. I understand congratulations are in order on your Apparating skills. Well done, Harry.”

He couldn’t help the flush of pride as Dumbledore beamed at him. “I still need to try a long distance one.”

“All in good time. Maybe over the holidays we can arrange something. Perhaps you should head back on up to Gryffindor tower, Harry. I dare say you look like you could use a nap. I always find a good nap quite refreshing, particularly after a long night.”

Dumbledore was smiling benignly at him, but Harry had the distinct impression he knew far more than he was letting on. If he did, however, he wasn’t offering any hangover cures, Harry noted. At least he wasn’t docking Gryffindor any points.

He smiled at the Headmaster and left his office.

When he reached the common room, it was fairly empty. Ron was asleep on the couch in front of the fire, while Hermione and Ginny were sitting at a table with various books and parchment spread out in front of them. Harry sat down with the girls, and they both greeted him warmly.

“How did it go?” Hermione asked.

“Okay,” Harry said, shrugging.

“You survived,” Ginny said, flashing him a grin across the table.

“Harry, how much of last night do you remember?” asked Hermione. He heard Ginny’s breath catch but wasn’t certain why she’d done it.

“Bits and pieces,” he answered. “Not much after we started playing that game. Why?”

Hermione hesitated for a minute, biting her lip. “At one point, you mentioned a prophecy. I’m assuming you meant the one at the Department of Mysteries?”

Harry felt icy fingertips tightening around his neck, and he stiffened instantly, hunching his shoulders as if preparing for battle. “I don’t know; I don’t remember,” he mumbled. Neither can live while the other survives.

“Harry–” Hermione began, but he cut her off.

“What are you studying?” he asked, looking to change the subject.

Ginny watched Harry close up as a result of Hermione’s question and wondered what was going on in his mind. It was obviously something he was unwilling to talk about. “Muggle Studies,” she said, sighing and scrunching up her nose. “Muggles have some strange ideas.”

Thinking of the Muggles that he grew up with, Harry scoffed, “You’re telling me?”

“We were talking about divorce. Did you know there is no such thing as divorce in the Wizarding world?” Hermione asked. “I mean, think about it; the only ones in this school with divorced parents are Muggleborns.”

Harry had never given it much thought, but was happy Hermione seemed to be backing off. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold her off forever; he could tell by the look on her face that she was irritated to be dropping the subject. But for now, he needed to; he just wasn’t ready yet.

“No, I didn’t. What happens if they don’t want to be married anymore?” One of Dudley’s mates had divorced parents, and he remembered hearing the boy gloat about how he’d get each parent to buy him bigger and bigger things trying to outshine the other.

“A wizard and a witch can’t marry until they submit to a compatibility spell. If the spell says the couple is a match, they’re joined for life. You cannot break the bond,” Ginny answered. “It works the same way for arranged marriages. Even if they’ve been betrothed since birth, they have to pass the compatibility test before they can marry. It’s ruined many plans for family mergers.”

Hermione’s sensibilities seemed affronted by this news. “Arranged marriages. They’re still done? What if someone never wanted it in the first place? Even if they did, feelings can change. What if one partner is abusive, or drinks too much or….”

Ginny seemed surprised by Hermione’s outburst. She shrugged her shoulders. “That’s just how it works. If one partner really doesn’t want it, the compatibility test would most likely fail. In Muggle Studies, we’ve been reading about how many divorces there are in the Muggle world and how differently things are treated. In the Wizarding world, there isn’t anywhere near the amount of abuse. First off, if a Wizard strikes a Witch, she can turn around and hex him into oblivion. A wand makes the playing field much more even.”

“What about child abuse?” Hermione asked.

“What do you mean -- striking your own children?”

Hermione nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s very common in the Muggle world, too.”

Ginny shook her head. “Not in the Wizarding world…you’d be sent to Azkaban for it, immediately and without a trial. I can’t imagine anyone striking a child, anyway.”

Harry had been quiet and was again growing uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. “Who administers these compatibility spells?”

“A member of the Wizengamot…when you apply for a marriage application. Dumbledore can do it, I think,” Ginny answered.

“Why do Wizards and Witches marry and have children so young? I mean, your parents are about the same age as mine, but you have several older siblings. Your parents married right out of school, too, didn’t they, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “I think so.”

Ginny thought about it a minute. “I don’t know. Why do Muggles wait so long?”

“Maybe it has something to do with not having a spell that tells them if they are right for each other,” Hermione muttered, more to herself than Harry and Ginny. “Muggles seem to have… um… looser morals than wizards do, I’ve noticed.”

Ginny glanced around the room nervously, as if afraid someone would overhear her discussing this. “I don’t know much about Muggles, but the marriage ceremony is a binding magical contract. Generally, it means one partner, for life.”

“It’s very old-fashioned,” Hermione said, sniffing. “It’s sort of how the Muggle world used to be. I mean, I like the one partner bit, but having no way out if things go wrong…”

“One of the Wizarding World’s forefathers is Merlin, so, it’s modeled after the days of Camelot,” Harry offered.

“Exactly!” Ginny exclaimed, beaming at him. Her smile made Harry perk up. He felt pleased to have got it right. His head was finally beginning to clear, and he was glad of it. Although he’d had fun the night before, he didn’t like the out-of-control feeling the Firewhiskey had given him. Moody’s words of Constant Vigilance swam in his head and he knew he was nowhere near vigilant last night . How could I have let mention of the prophecy slip…to Hermione, no less? It served as a warning to him, and he knew the next time he’d be much more cautious. In the back of his mind, he was aware that he’d slept the night through without a nightmare or a sleeping potion, so he also stored that bit of information away.

******

As October wore on, Harry continued his extra classes. He and Tonks were working on Karate, Tae Kwan Do, and straight up Kickboxing. Harry found he was enjoying the physical activity as much as the advanced spells he was learning, some of which he planned on showing the DA. He thought it would be beneficial to show the DA some of this martial arts stuff, as well, but couldn’t do so without giving himself away. Dumbledore wanted to keep his extra training quiet, so Harry was forced to keep it secret. The advanced spells he could always claim he learned from a book.

He and Remus had begun some basic fencing. Harry felt like an idiot the first time he tried to wield the sword against Remus, who was quite good. But, as Remus had predicted, with time and practice he was growing fond of the sport. As they sparred, Remus would share stories of his younger days, and some of the exploits he, Sirius, and James were involved in. Harry enjoyed hearing these stories, and it helped him once again to see his father in a more positive light.

Halloween arrived, and the castle was decorated in festive splendor. Jack-o’-lanterns filled all the corners, and floating candles lit the Great Hall. The banners were colored in black and orange while charmed bats fluttered against the ceiling. Professor Flitwick had charmed several scarecrows and placed them in the Entrance Hall. They would duel whenever anyone passed them. Everyone was very amused with them at first, but over time they became rather annoying.

Preparations for the evening’s feast were underway, and Ron was already salivating over what the choices might be. The last class of the day was DADA, and Professor Trent was dressed in bright orange robes with black bats printed all over them. She’d placed heavy black liner around her eyes, and something about her appearance seemed very sinister to Harry. He imagined it was a holdover from Muggle Halloweens of his childhood. Professor Trent’s costume was precisely what he would have pictured a witch to be as a kid.

She began the class. “Today marks the fifteenth anniversary of the first fall of the Dark Lord.” Both Ron and Hermione started and looked warily at Harry. His face remained impassive, and he refused to acknowledge their gaze.

He was well aware of the date, and what it meant. Although he never stopped to dwell on it overmuch, he usually spent some portion of each Halloween looking at the photo album Hagrid had given him during his first year. For years, it had been a brief look through—a silent tribute—and he’d never mentioned it to anyone. This year, the photo album remained in his trunk, and he hadn’t yet decided if he wanted to look through it. The images of Sirius within the photo album had troubled him greatly over the summer at Privet Drive, and he’d finally buried it at the bottom of his trunk. He’d yet to remove it.

“Your assignment is a four foot essay on the first defeat. I want your ideas on what it was that brought the Dark Lord down. I don’t want you to get into anything to do with his Resurrection, simply the first defeat.” Her gaze was fixed on Harry. “I’d thought about excusing you from this assignment, Mr. Potter, but decided against it, based on the fact that you were only a year old—you’re not privy to any more information than what the others will find in books.” She gave him a slight smile, he supposed in encouragement.

Hermione and Ron were staring at Harry apprehensively, and he knew they were wondering if he was going to blow up at Professor Trent like he did at Umbridge last year. He kept his silence, however; she had no way of knowing what he heard when the Dementors got too close.

Harry continued to stare at her, unflinching, and she took that as acceptance and moved on. Inside, Harry’s heart was beating rapidly, and his stomach clenched at the thought of having to do this essay. He hated the idea of his classmates having to study up on him in books, too. Just what he needed – more celebrity status. It then occurred to Harry that Malfoy would be getting this assignment, too, and he nearly groaned out loud. He wanted out of this classroom, and he wanted out now. It took all his will power not to bolt from the room.

When the bell finally rang, he was first out the door, and he didn’t even bother to wait for Ron and Hermione. He was grateful they didn’t call after him to alert anyone else he was sprinting away. He just needed to think, and he wanted to get away. He went up the stairs to the Gryffindor entrance, through the common room and up to his dorm without seeing or talking to anyone. He sat on his bed and stared at his trunk, a silent internal debate raging.

After several minutes, he quietly walked over to the trunk and dug through for the photo album. Sitting back on his bed, he opened it slowly and stared at the smiling faces of his parents. They were young in this photo and still wearing Hogwarts school robes. Harry could make out the faint outline of some of the chairs in the common room. He’d often thought about that—the fact that his parents had sat in the same chairs he now sat in to do his homework.

He looked at a few more pictures but glanced up as he heard the door open. Ginny poked her head in cautiously. “Harry? Is it all right if I come in?” she asked.

“Sure,” he replied, wondering what had brought her up here. “Ron’s not back from class yet. He was with Hermione.”

“I’m not looking for Ron. I was in the common room when you ran through. Is everything okay?”

Harry sighed. “Just brilliant. I’ve just been given a homework assignment involving studying myself. Couldn’t be better.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his sarcasm.

“What are you looking at?”

Harry stiffened; he’d always kept this album very private, and even Ron and Hermione had only seen little bits of it. Ginny seemed to sense his hesitancy. “You don’t have to show it to me—I was just asking.”

Harry scooted up and made a spot for her on the bed. “It’s a photo album of my parents. Hagrid gave it to me.”

He saw her eyes open wide, and she sank down next to him, tracing her finger on the cover. “Do you mind?” she asked tentatively.

Oddly enough, he didn’t. “No. This one is at the house in Godric’s Hollow. Moony told me he took it.”

Ginny’s fingers moved over the images. “I can’t believe how much you look like your father. Bill looks the most like my dad, but not nearly as exact as you and your dad.”

“Yeah, everyone says that.”

She started to turn the page, and he felt his body tense up; he braced himself, waiting for the next photo. “That’s their wedding,” he said, clenching his teeth and staring at the familiar, younger face of his parent’s best man.

“Sirius looks so young,” she ventured, and Harry nodded.

“Azkaban really aged him,” he whispered.

Ginny didn’t push him but turned the page and moved on to the next photo as he breathed a sigh of relief. That wasn’t so bad . He was aware of Ron poking his head in, but he withdrew it just as quickly.

The next photo showed a baby Harry sitting on his mother’s lap with a small birthday cake in front of him. The number one kept flashing bright green; it was one of Harry’s favorite photographs.

“That’s you,” Ginny squealed in delight, and Harry wasn’t certain why she was so pleased. Ron and Hermione both entered the room tentatively and joined them on Harry’s bed.

“Look at baby Harry,” Ginny chirped, and Hermione made the same kind of squeaking noise Ginny had.

The four of them spent the remainder of the afternoon on Harry’s bed, turning the pages of the photo album and laughing at some of the images. Harry was surprised to find he enjoyed showing them the photos, and it was much easier and more pleasant enjoying them together than sitting there looking at them alone.

The feast was splendid as usual, and all the food Ron had been hoping for and more was available. A good time was had by all, and the remainder of the evening was spent playing chess and other games in the common room. Harry had a new deck of Exploding Snap cards he’d received for his birthday and went up to the dorm to get them so they could all play something together.

As he was standing in front of his trunk, his scar exploded in pain, the force being enough to drop him to his knees on the floor. He pressed his hands to his head and attempted to stifle the scream trying to get out of him. Images of a neighborhood in flames flashed in his mind, the Dark Mark clearly visible in the sky hovering over the entire town. He’d never seen it so big. Although the flashes were brief, they were quite intense, and it took all of Harry’s strength to try and close the connection. Gasping with the effort, he tried to force both the images and the insidious presence from his mind.

When Ron entered the room, Harry was still on the floor, panting heavily. His scar was burning intensely, making his eyes water.

“Harry,” Ron yelled, trying to help him rise to his feet. Harry could barely stand, and Ron ended up wrapping Harry’s arm around his shoulders and dragging him over to the bed. “Hermione, get up here,” Ron bellowed.

Both Hermione and Ginny entered very quickly and made their way towards Harry. Ginny reached out to touch his scar, but he forcibly pushed her arm away. The scar was showing up livid red on his forehead.

“What did you see, Harry?” Hermione asked, not even questioning what had happened.

“Godric’s Hollow,” Harry whispered, shutting his eyes tightly against the images. “He’s having an Anniversary celebration.”

________
;D

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