Order of the Phoenix
The Long Haunted Nights
By Ruskbyte
Chapter Eleven
~ The Long Haunted Nights ~
Harry was waiting calmly in the Practical Fighting Techniques auditorium, chatting amiably with his friends. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were sitting in the front row, Harry standing on the stage
opposite them as the rest of the class filed slowly in after dinner. As usual Ron and Hermione were having one of their daily arguments about something completely insignificant to everyone else, and
themselves if they would pause to consider it. Harry and Ginny simply watched from the sidelines and spent a great deal of the conversation rolling their eyes.
Ron had been particularly surly and argumentative this week, apparently stemming from the fact that he had been selected as one of the Quidditch team's reserve Chasers. He had just been edged out of the running for the position of Keeper by a fourth-year girl. Carmen Ryder, a very cute brunette and close friend of Ginny's, had managed to save seventeen shots on the goals, beating Ron's tally of sixteen blocks. Even though Ron was still almost assured of a place on the team the following year, he had not been happy about missing the chance to place this year.
As his friends argued over the Transfiguration homework Professor McGonagall had given them that afternoon, Harry tried to surreptitiously knead the muscles in his neck and shoulders, which were drawn in tight knots of tension. He struggled not to wince as he pressed against a particularly painful spot.
Since the Quidditch tryouts the last weekend Harry had been getting even less sleep than usual, which even Harry had to admit was difficult. If anything his nightmares had become even worse this passed week, something Harry attributed to his encounter with Cho at the trials. There had been many times, in the early mornings before sunrise, that Harry had found himself wishing for his scar to hurt and to experience a vision of Voldemort and whatever scheme he was doubtless cooking up. Voldemort at least was a tangible enemy that Harry could deal with, a ghost he could lay to rest, unlike the others.
He glanced up from watching Ron and Hermione's pointless bickering as a familiar shiver ran down his spine, the kind he felt whenever an Animagus was nearby. Just coming into the auditorium, he could spy Professor Lupin, with Sirius trotting by his side. Today, he knew, was the last day his godfather would be spending at Hogwarts before leaving for his next assignment the following morning.
So he's finally decided to come and see what I'm doing down here, Harry thought, as he gave his Defence professor and the large mangy dog at the rear of the room a wave.
The last students had wandered in and the large wooden doors slowly swung shut, causing Ron and Hermione to bring their quarrel to an end. Temporarily. Doubtless they could pick up where they had left off once they got back to the common room later.
Harry hid the yawn that escaped him as he made his way to the centre of the stage, listening as the room quieted down as everyone settled in and waited for him to begin.
"Ron," he called when it was finally silent, "could you come down please?"
Looked a tad nervous Ron rose from his seat and made his way to the stage, receiving sympathetic smiles from Hermione and Ginny as he went. Being called to the stage usually meant a visit to the infirmary at some point in the future. Harry led him to one side where a long table rose up from the stage floor and indicated for his friend to sit. As Ron sank into the chair six chessboards sprung up from the tabletop, three set for Ron to play as white and the other three black.
"You're probably the best chess player at Hogwarts," Harry announced. "Looking forward and thinking ten moves ahead is a very useful talent, but life is seldom as clear cut as a single game of chess. Often you will find more than one battle being played out at the same time."
Harry reached to one side of the table and spun an hourglass around, watching as the fine grains of sand began to pour from top to bottom. He looked at the three boards where he was playing as white and in rapid succession move a piece on each board.
"You have three minutes to make a move for every game. When you're done with all six, spin the hourglass around and it will reset, giving me three minutes to make my moves. If the sand runs out, you forfeit every game where you did not make a move. Clear?" he explained the rules to Ron and waited for the horrified redhead to nod before giving the hourglass a spin.
"Six games at once?!" Ron asked, gaping at him.
Harry, already walking back to the middle of the stage, looked over his shoulder. "Better get started, Ron, the sand is running."
He looked up at the rest of the students, trying to decide whom to call upon. His gaze finally settled on the Slytherins, where Malfoy was slouched lazily in his seat. Apparently after a month and a half of being ignored by Harry he was beginning to regain his open disdain of Gryffindor and everyone else outside of his own house.
"Malfoy," Harry called, watching the pale boy rise from his seat. The chime of a bell from where Ron was sitting drew his attention, and he quickly hurried over and moved a piece on each of the six boards without even bothering to look at them properly. He twirled the hourglass over again and was back in the centre of the stage before Ron's jaw could drop.
"The last few weeks I've been going over dodging and evading curses, hexes and whatever else might be thrown your way," he told them, motioning Malfoy into position opposite him, about ten or so yards away. "But there will come a time when there is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide and nowhere to jump. That is when the best tool in your arsenal is a Shield Charm, which we will be going over tonight."
"Thank Merlin!" exclaimed a voice from the back of the room, causing soft laughter amongst those seated.
Seems to me they're enthusiastic about not throwing themselves about tonight, he noted.
He had walked back to the table where Ron was sitting and completed his next six moves before Ron had even finished twirling the hourglass. The redhead looked at him in aggravation as he switched the timepiece back to Ron and returned to where Malfoy was waiting.
"Malfoy, if you would be so kind," he addressed the Slytherin. "Please try to hit me with a curse. Give it your best shot."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he drew his wand. A hush fell over the auditorium as everyone sat silently, watching and waiting for Malfoy to make his move. Snapping his wand up Malfoy shot a Conjunctivitis Curse centred exactly between Harry's eyes. Harry, however, did not even flinch as the curse exploded in a shower of sparks a yard away from him, dissipating harmlessly against the shield he had silently erected.
"Thank you, Malfoy," he told his opponent and then turned to face the students. "As you can see a Shield Charm can effectively halt or deflect a wide variety of curses and hexes. However-"
At the very last instant Harry jerked himself back and twisted about, a second curse cleaving through where he had been standing. Malfoy, it seemed, was not finished throwing curses at Harry, and a yet a third for curse narrowly missed Harry as he threw himself to the floor, rising up in a low crouch.
With a truly bestial snarl Harry's wand was clear of his robes and slashed in the direction where Malfoy was standing. The effect was immediate, and Malfoy had no hope of evading the spell Harry fired at him. The pale haired boy was blown backwards, lifted into the air, as a thunderous crack sounded.
*A month ago you would have blasted him across the room before he even managed to finish that second curse. This can't go on much longer Harry.*
It will go on as long as it needs to, he retorted, rubbing his shoulder where it ached from hitting the stage floor in his awkward roll clear of Malfoy's curse.
*For crying out loud, lad! You're using women’s beauty tricks to hide how tired you look!*
Shut up and let me handle this.
"I said 'Thank you, Malfoy'!" Harry roared as Malfoy staggered to his feet, "Now get back to your seat before I lay you out in the Hospital Wing again!"
He watched cautiously, wand never straying away from the limping boy, as Malfoy made his way back to his seat on shaky legs. After he had literally dropped into his seat Harry spun around and stalked over to where Ron was waiting. Almost slamming the pieces against the boards he made his moves and snapped, "Check," before spinning the hourglass and stomping back to the centre of the stage again.
"Such shields can block just about any curse or hex that comes your way. Of course, just about any curse or hex can break a Shield Charm if it's not strong enough. The more powerful the spell, the more power you must put into the shield in order to deflect it," Harry lectured, quickly regaining his composure as he focused on something other than images of gutting and stuffing and then hanging Malfoy over a fireplace like a mounted fish.
"Only three curses can make it through a Shield Charm regardless of how strong it may be," Harry continued, beginning to pace restlessly, "These of course are the Unforgivable Curses: Imperius, Cruciatus and Avada Kedavra. The only way not to be hit by those curses is to not be there when they are cast."
*If only it were that easy.*
Nothing ever is.
The bell attached to the hourglass rang just as Harry reached the table where Ron was scowling fiercely at the six chessboards in front of him. "Check. Checkmate. Check," he said as he shifted pieces around the boards, not even looking as he moved them about, not noticing the aggravation building within his best friend.
"Now the key to casting a successful Shield Charm," he continued speaking, "is a combination of power and focus..."
***
The Great Hall was resplendent in a theme of black and bright orange, hundreds of hollowed out pumpkin heads drifted in the air, their candles casting flickering shadows in the subdued light. All Hallow's Eve had come to Hogwarts, and the teachers had spared no expense in decorating the castle for the occasion. Jaunty tunes filled the air and the house tables had been moved to the sides of the Hall to clear room for a dance floor.
Only two people were to be not joining in the festive spirits, namely Snape, which was to be expected, and Ron, who was almost visibly fuming with repressed emotion.
One of the many black cats with orange paws, which had been acquired by McGonagall for the feast, jumped up onto the Gryffindor table, almost overturning Ron's glass of pumpkin juice. He snarled at the small feline and sent the poor creature scurrying away, meowing in protest. Scowling and wondering why they had to have an army of stupid cats running about and disturbing him at every opportunity, Ron turned back to where Harry was sitting.
Merlin, not another one!
Since the Halloween feast had begun a couple of hours before, Harry had been attracting a steady stream of visitors to the Gryffindor table. Worst of all was that most of them were girls, from every one of the other three houses and from every one of the seven years.
It had all started when Cho Chang, the pretty Ravenclaw Seeker that Harry had had a crush on the previous year, had come over to ask if Harry would join her for a dance. Harry had politely refused, apologising profusely and explaining that after the traumatizing experience of the Yule Ball last Christmas, he planned to steer well clear of the dance floor. Somehow he had even been able to keep Cho around for a good ten minutes of small talk, mostly dancing around the topic of Cedric and the unfortunate events of the Third Task.
After that it seemed as if a veritable open season had been declared on The Boy Who Lived, which brought forth every single girl, and even some of the taken ones, all determined that she would be the one to convince Harry to dance. Yet Harry politely and apologetically refused all their offers, always letting them down so kindly that even the first-year girls (who were often so nervous they could barely speak) left without feeling the least bit rejected.
Even the queen-bitch of Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson, had tried to persuade Harry to get up for a fast-paced tango. Despite his growing agitation at all the attention the girls were lavishing on Harry, Ron had to admit that seeing Malfoy's horrified reaction, when Pansy abandoned him to approach Harry instead, almost made it worth it all.
Why does he have be the one to get all the attention? he scowled. It's not like I want anyone other than Hermione, but does he have to hog the limelight every damn day?
Right then Harry was speaking with one of their fellow Gryffindors, a feisty second-year named Moira Mackay, whose thick brogue sometimes required deciphering. Unlike most of the other girls, Moira, it seemed, was trying to get Harry to dance solely because she felt that he was failing to have enough fun sitting at the tables.
"Och, coom awn, Harry! Tis naw li' i' wuil kil' ye t' a' laes' trae!"
Harry laughed and resisted her attempts to pull him to his feet. Moira was exceptionally strong for her age, not to mention her size (she was smaller than Harry had been), and yet Harry seemed as unmovable as a statue, despite her obvious efforts.
"Moira!" he protested, prying his arms free of her grasp, "I said no!"
"Bae' yer nae hae'in' foon!"
"Don't worry, Moira," assured Fred, coming off the dance floor from dancing with Angelina, "Ol' Harry here's definitely enjoying himself."
"Yes," agreed George, drawing up hand-in-hand with Hermione, which did not settle well with Ron. He knew his brother had no interest in his friend, beyond perhaps pulling a prank on her, but he still felt that they should not be getting too close to the girl they knew he wanted to ask to the Yule Ball.
"After all," continued George, "having a fine young thing such as yourself repeatedly throw her body at him would be enough to make any man have fun."
"George!" Hermione exclaimed, swatting him playfully on the arm, only a moment before Moira disengaged from Harry and dealt him a resounding blow to the other arm.
"OW! What did I do?"
Moira, hands on her hips, glared up at him, "Ye ken bluddie wul whu' ye saed, Weasley!"
Everyone, with Ron being the only exception, was laughing as Ginny joined them with her dance partner. Ron's eyes narrowed as he watched her detach from Gareth Harriet, a third-year Jamaican boy who ended every sentence with the word "mon", and cross over to sit beside Harry. His best friend grinned as she sat down, leaning over to whisper something in her ear, making her giggle.
He's been doing that a lot since school started...
"So, like George, mon," Gareth spoke up, looking at the grinning twin, "who're you takin' to the Ball this year, mon? We all know Fred's takin' Angelina, what about you, mon?"
"I dunno," replied George, dropping down onto the bench between Ron and Hermione. Ron glowered at the intrusion, even though he had not yet had a chance to speak to her.
Fred leaned over to Gareth and nudged him with an elbow. "But we do know who our ickle Ronnie wants to go with!"
Ron could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and, worse, to his ears. He tried to fight the blush, but could do nothing about it except snap, "Shut up, you git!"
"Come on, Ron," said Harry, draping an arm across Ginny's shoulders, "just ask her to the Ball already, will you? None of us want a repeat of last year."
That... cocky... bigheaded... arrogant... PRAT!'
Ron whirled on Harry, blue eyes blazing and teeth bared in an angry snarl. "Easy thing for you to say, Potter!" he snapped, even more harshly than he had to Fred.
Harry's eyes narrowed a fraction as he pulled his arm away from Ginny and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know what I mean!" he puffed, rising to his feet and stabbing a finger at Harry. "The great, bleeding, famous Harry Potter gets everything without ever having to work for it first."
"Ron," interrupted Hermione, also standing and trying to calm him, "you know that's not-"
But he refused to calm down. He was nice and angry and had worked up a good load of frustration that he could now finally vent. "Bullocks! He gets everything! Prefect, Quidditch star, team captain, the new pet for every professor except Snape!"
I shouldn't be saying all this...
The words were tumbling out of his mouth and with each moment that passed he thought of yet one more thing Harry had that he did not. "A magnificent Patronus, teaching his own damned class in his own damned hall, humiliating us every night with how brilliant he is! All the girls kissing the ground he walks on, a pile of gold that fills a vault that he's never had to work for... The easy life!"
I really shouldn't be saying all this...
Every one of the fine crystal goblets within ten yards of where Harry was sitting imploded in a spray of pumpkin juice. The fine black and orange china plates shattered as though dropped from the Astronomy Tower and half a dozen of the pumpkins floating above them exploded, raining hot candle wax and soggy orange lumps down upon them.
Conversation abruptly ceased across the entire hall as everyone's attention was grabbed by this sudden outburst of destruction. The music continued to play for several moments, even though all the dancers had stopped moving, until one of the teachers silenced the song. All eyes had turned to Ron and Harry.
Uh oh.
Slowly, like a behemoth rising from the depths, Harry stood up. Behind him, the Gryffindor table was actually trembling, the cutlery rattling as it shook and quivered. His face was completely expressionless and frightened Ron far more than if he had been shouting or raging about. In a flicker of movement, Ron found himself looking down the length of Harry's wand, gaze fixed upon his friend's gleaming emerald eyes.
With the same slowness with which he had risen, Harry lowered his wand from Ron's face and then brought it to the side of his own head, the tip just pressing against his temple. For a moment Ron wondered if perhaps he had pushed Harry to the brink of suicide, but then Harry withdrew the wand, a gleaming silver strand of... something, clinging to its tip.
"You want my life so badly?" his friend asked, voice frighteningly devoid of any emotion or inflection. Harry's white-knuckled hand shot out, flicking the glowing silver tip of his wand lightly against Ron's temple as though swatting at a fly.
"Here, try it on for size!"
.oOo.
An impossibly large moon hung above him, filling a quarter of the sky and bathing the landscape in its cold, silver light. The wind whistled eerily around and about the headstones, rustling the thin carpet of dead leaves covering the earth. The bare branches of the few trees scattered about waved and creaked in ominous rhythm.
Standing amidst the hundreds of ancient and uncared for graves, Cedric turned to him, grey eyes twinkling nervously in the gloom.
Wands out, d'you reckon?
Both his and Cedric's voices sounded faint and muffled, as if heard from a great distance.
Yeah.
They both drew their wands, shuddering as the wind whipped coldly across their backs. The shadow of a church tower loomed over them and suddenly he knew they were not alone.
Someone's coming.
A thick mist was swirling about their feet and was growing thicker each passing moment, quickly obscuring the black shrouded figure that was weaving its way towards them. The milky green mist was impossible to see clearly through, but he could tell the shadow was almost upon them.
Kill the spare.
Kill the spare.
Kill the spare.
Kill the spare.
The words reverberated and echoed throughout the graveyard as a blaze of green obliterated his vision, clearing after a timeless eternity had passed. When he could see again he was no longer standing alongside Cedric, but was bound tightly to a massive and sinister looking headstone.
You killed me.
He looked to one side and found himself face to face with Cedric, whose eyes were dead and as unseeing as a statue's. Cedric reach up with cold, clammy hands and pulled clawed harshly at his face and hair, condemning him for failing.
You killed me. It's your fault.
No...
Your fault I'm dead. You killed me.
No...
The cords were constricting and biting painfully into his chest. Tearing his gaze from the dead Cedric he glanced down and recoiled at the sight of a massive, seemingly endless, snake wrapped around him again and again. Its scales were coated in blood and some unnameable whitish slime, spreading coldly over his body.
Shuddering in revulsion and terror he looked up and found Peter Pettigrew, Wormtail, leaning over him, a gleaming silver dagger gripped tightly in one hand.
Flesh of the servant, willingly given - you will revive your master.
The dagger sliced upwards and he jerked backwards as a shower of blood sprayed over him, getting into his eyes and burning like fire. He could not see but the shriek of agony tore into him like ravenous wolves, his own body throbbing in sympathetic pain. He opened his eyes, everything he could see bathed in crimson light.
Where Wormtail had stood he found Ron, dripping with so much blood he could not tell where bare skin ended and hair began. Then, looking closer, he saw that it was not Ron's face, but a naked skull staring back at him, eyes empty and lifeless.
You killed us, you let us down.
No...
You failed us, you killed us.
No...
Blinding pain shot through him from his right arm and his headed slammed back, cracking against the headstone behind him. His vision blurred and world seemed to tilt and sway unsteadily, even though he was unable to move. He struggled to move his head and looked to the side. Hermione was pressing against him, dagger in hand, stabbing and twisting the blade into his flesh and chanting in a sing-song voice.
Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken - you will resurrect your foe.
Hermione's tangle of bushy brown hair was hanging limply around her face, falling away from her head in thick tuffs that drifted on the wind. She snarled at him and stabbed the dagger deeper into the crook of his elbow, twisting and slicing and hacking at him.
You killed us, it's all your fault.
No...
You were weak, you let us die.
No...
The gigantic snake that held him up against the tombstone was gone and he stumbled forward, falling to his knees. He looked up and watching in horror and mounting terror as a thin figure emerged from the endless lake that bubbled before him. The moon stretched across a third of the distant horizon and gave the deathly pale man a golden backdrop.
A monstrous face loomed close and he felt himself biting his lips until they bleed, the thick liquid dribbling down his chin. The crimson eyes that peered at him were unnaturally wide and narrowed in loathing as the lipless mouth curled in cruel laughter.
You killed them, you brought me back.
No...
I can touch you now, I can destroy everything you cherish.
No...
You killed us.
You killed us.
You killed us.
All around him graves were breaking open as pale, dead bodies tore and dugs themselves free of the earth they were buried in. He could recognize all their faces; Seamus, Lavender, Dean, Lee, Katie, Angelina, Neville, Alicia, Colin, Dennis and all the other Gryffindors. Those were the ones closest to him, as they grew further away they became less distinct, a mass of accusation that was bearing down on him.
Worthless boy, you killed them all.
His uncle was there now, standing over him, face purple with rage behind the bushy moustache. Behind Vernon was his aunt, horse-faced as always and scowling at him with dislike, her shrill voice cutting at him like a knife.
We knew you'd foul up. A freak just like your parents.
Somehow he had stumbled to his feet and had begun running, trying to outdistance the mass of faces and tormenting, accusing voices that either shrieked or whispered in his ears. Headstones blurred past him as he ran, thorn bushes blocking the sides and ripping at his robes, his arms, legs and face.
He skidded to a halt and all the air left his lungs in a great rush.
Ginny was lying on the ground before him, naked, bruised and bleeding, her eyes wide open and staring lifelessly up at Voldemort, who was standing over her. Voldemort looked up from gloating examination of her still body and grinned wickedly at him, fangs gleaming.
Unable to stand any more he collapsed to the ground, curling up tightly and shutting his eyes against the horrors surrounding and chasing him. He began to whimper, softly and then louder, louder and louder, until he was screaming with all his impotent strength.
Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.
Makeitstop. Makeitstop. Makeitstop. Makeitstop. Makeitstop.
Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop...
.oOo.
"Make it stop..." Ron half-whispered, barely able to draw a breath. He honestly felt like either howling or crying, but couldn't manage to do anything except stare helplessly at his friend.
What have I done?
Harry stood opposite him, wand once again tucked up his sleeve, and was watching him with eyes that were bottomless pools of emotion. He looked... tired. So very tired that Ron was amazed he could even remain standing upright without support. Harry drew a deep breath, released half of it and asked Ron a question he finally knew the answer to.
Even though he wished he didn't.
"Still want to trade?"
***
Hermione watched as Harry turned and silently strode out of the Great Hall, not bothering to wait and hear Ron's answer. She followed his rapid retreat until he disappeared out the main doors, then she turned to face Ron, who stumbled unsteadily forward and grasped the table for support. She was about to offer to help him sit when Ginny suddenly appeared at his elbow.
"You son of a bitch!"
If she had not been watching closely Hermione might have missed it. Ginny's arm arced around in a sharp right hook that hit her brother square in the face. Ron could count himself lucky that his head remained attached to his shoulders. He was still launched bodily into the air by the blow, landing with a crunch on top of the table behind him.
Seeing this, Hermione decided that now was not the best time to point out to Ginny that she had just insulted her own mother while cussing Ron.
Yep, she's hacked off.
Ginny glared at him, with a stare of utter displeasure and sheer wrath that even Snape could not match at his most vindictive. Finally she gave a high-pitched hiss that reminded Hermione of a kettle boiling, and stalked out of the hall after Harry.
"You really pissed her off," observed Fred, as he and George pulled Ron off the table and onto his feet, but keeping him pinned between them with a firm hold on his shoulders.
"Lucky really," agreed George, leaning in close, "'cause if she hadn't hit you like that, the two of us bloody well would have."
Ron was trying to staunch the stream of blood that was flowing thickly from his nose, wincing as he probed the injured area. Giving up hope of halting the blood flow he tried to shake free of the twins, who were pressing painfully down on his shoulder.
"How was I supposed to know his nightmares were that bad?" he sputtered. "Hell, I didn't even know he was having any!"
"Was it bad?" Hermione asked, offering him her handkerchief as she nodded to Fred and George to release him so that he could stand by himself.
He looked up at her and before he could speak she already knew the answer. His eyes were focused on a distant point as he sat down, remembering, shuddering involuntarily. Shaking himself out of his memories he looked helplessly at her.
"If you consider watching Cedric Diggory being murdered before your eyes and having everyone you know and care about saying it's your fault is bad," he replied.
"Aye," responded Moira, sarcastically, "We jus' mi'! Wha' i' bluddie Hades wuir ye thinkin'?"
Ron sighed and sank down, propping his elbows on the table as he dropped his bleeding face into his hands. "I don't think I was. I just pray I can fix this. Make it up to him."
"I don't know, Ron." Hermione looked to where Harry and Ginny had disappeared. "I think you've really screwed up badly this time."
***
Ginny could not recall having ever been so angry with one of her brothers, not even after the teasing she suffered from the infamous elbow in the butter dish incident three years before.
That... that... that...
"IDIOT!" she seethed as she stormed into the Entrance Hall, coming to an abrupt halt when she spied two figures standing just within Hogwarts' massive front doors. The one she instantly knew to be Harry, whom she had been intending to find. The other took a few moments for her to place, but suddenly there was a small smile on her face, despite her anger.
"Ah, Ginny Weasley!" boomed Hagrid happily. "Good ter see yeh, lass! My, my, yeh've grown since las' year, haven't yeh?"
"Hello, Hagrid," she greeted as she walked up to the two. She cautiously put a hand on Harry's shoulder and was relieved when he did not flinch or draw away from her. Instead he leaned close and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Are you all right?" she asked, unable to mask the concern filling her voice.
He nodded tiredly and managed to give her a wan smile. Hagrid, watching closely, seemed to pick up that something had happened and was quickly taking them by the shoulders and bustling them out the castle and towards his hut.
"Come on, come on," he told them, "yeh can come to my place and talk about it."
They made the trek to Hagrid's hut in silence, Harry and Ginny with an arm wrapped around the other's waist, Ginny resting her head on his shoulder. It was dark out and she couldn't be sure, but Ginny was almost certain Hagrid was beaming happily down at them.
"Are you going to be taking over from Professor Grubbly-Plank, Hagrid?" asked Harry as the large man swung open the door to his home and motioned for them to enter.
"Aye, I will be, from next week," responded Hagrid as he followed them inside, taking off his tent sized moleskin coat and hanging it up, frilly pink umbrella poking out from one pocket. He bustled over to the stove and set a pot of tea on to boil, continuing, "I've got summat beautiful for you to work with this year, both of yeh. Magnificent animals they are, magnificent."
Harry and Ginny shared a look as they sat down. Knowing Hagrid, he had probably found a pet Manticore for them to study this year. He was a wonderful man and a stalwart friend, but his definition of magnificent and beautiful animals did not, unfortunately, correspond with how other people perceived them.
"So, what's yer problem, Harry?" he asked, placing a bucket-sized cup of tea before each of them, along with a couple of his infamous rock cakes.
Harry sighed, sinking further down into his chair, and started the explanation. It took some time, since he had to bring Hagrid up to speed with some of the things that had happened, such as his appointment as a Prefect, teaching Practical Fighting Techniques, being elected Quidditch Captain and such. Finally, as they were starting their second cup of tea, he finished.
"I'm getting used to it." He shrugged. "It's becoming a yearly occurrence."
Ginny frowned. Harry seems very tired all of a sudden, almost as if...
It was hard to spot through the bright glow of his white, gold and scarlet aura, but Ginny could see the faintest traces of a charm cast around Harry's face. Oddly enough it seemed similar to the Glamour Charms used by some of the vainer girls, Lavender and Parvati were prime examples.
Ginny pulled out her wand and said, "Finite Incantantem," and waved it in front of Harry's face.
"Galloping codswallop," breathed Hagrid as the charm faded away.
Harry had never looked worse, in Ginny's opinion. Dark rings surrounded his eyes, which were so shot through with red that there almost no white visible around the green of his irises. Lines of exhaustion were clustered around both his eyes and his mouth, making him look much older than he had a moment before.
"I haven't been sleeping well this week," he tried to explain.
*More than a week. Not that he'd ever admit it.*
*He's almost as stubborn that boy, Ron.*
Ginny leaned forward to study his exhausted features and asked, "How long, exactly?" All he did was look at her, with no reply save a noncommittal shrug.
"When's the last time yeh had a good night's sleep, Harry?" insisted Hagrid.
This Harry responded to almost immediately, but the answer he gave did nothing to cheer them. "June 24th. After the Third Task," he said. "Madam Pomfrey gave me some dreamless sleep potion. It wasn't a good night, all things considered, but I did get nine hours uninterrupted sleep."
They both sputtered for a few moments, Hagrid even upset his teacup, before Ginny spoke what they were thinking. "You haven't had a good night's sleep in four months?"
"No."
"Why haven't yeh taken more potion?" asked Hagrid, patting at his tea soaked beard with a small towel.
Harry sighed and closed his eyes. "It's addictive if used too often."
Ginny nodded, remembering reading about that in one of her textbooks for the year, "And even if you spread it out enough to avoid addiction, the potion will build up in the blood and eventually reach toxic levels."
He nodded and sipped at his tea.
"But surely there must be other kinds," she protested. "Something without all those harmful side-effects. We can ask-"
*'Fraid not.*
"There aren't any," Harry cut her off. "I've checked every kind of sleeping potion known to the wizarding world, and some that aren't known as well. The ones that aren't addictive will poison you more quickly. The ones that don't poison you are even more highly addictive. There are a couple that do provide non-addictive and non-poisonous dreamless sleep, but they also knock you out for anywhere between a month and two years."
"A spell then?" she asked, even though she knew that by now Harry must have already thought of this. "Something like a, oh I don't know, a Congeniality or Cheering Charm, but for dreams?"
He shook his head, smiling wryly. "Nothing that works as well as I'd like. The nightmares always end up seeping back in after an hour or so."
"Yeh having nightmares about You-Know-Who, Harry?" asked Hagrid, grabbing their cups to refill them. He didn't need to, they were still half-full, but he seemed to need something to do.
"Cedric," Harry answered, the single word speaking volumes for him, "and others as well."
"Oh, Harry," Ginny felt her heart aching that he should be so burdened with guilt. He was only fifteen, just a boy. He was supposed to be worrying about school, Quidditch, girls and all the other things children that age did. Not this.
"It's not your fault," she told him, not liking the fact that she was certain he had been told this many times before. "There was nothing you could do."
"Yeah, everyone keeps telling me that. Still doesn't help me sleep at night."
TBC...