“Wow Crookshanks, it’s really poring outside,” said Harry as he looked out his bedroom window.
For being three in the afternoon, it was rather dark. Huge water droplets of rainfall hit the patio cover beneath his room loudly. The occasional sounds of thunder, and bursts of lightening flash, brought a small genuine smile to his face. The raw power and energy of a thunderstorm still fascinated him, much as it did when he was younger.
Harry knew it to be strange; no one else he knew enjoyed this type of weather as much as he did. But he always felt refreshed somehow, invigorated. He really couldn’t explain it.
His room was a bit chilly, as he had not closed his window, so he quickly did his best to dry his hair from the hot shower he had taken, and then attempted to flatten it “ unsure of why he always felt compelled to do so. He supposed his Aunt had somehow forcefully ingrained the habit into him.
Dressing for the day’s lesson, and already in jeans, he put on a long sleeved t-shirt and threw the towel over the foot of his bed. He gazed once more out his window and watched as a couple of neighbor kids ran and played in the rain in their back yard, throwing a tennis ball at each other.
Harry recognized the brothers who lived directly behind him. They were about ten and twelve, and he was quite surprised to see that they had grown considerably since he last saw them the previous summer holiday.
They would never know how much Harry truly envied them, as they had never spoken to him. But he could see that they were very close - one never without the other, rather like Fred and George. He felt that no matter what would become of them, they would always have one another. Every now and then, he would see them with their Mum and Dad, all out in the back together - barbequing, swimming in their pool, or playing football. They grew being loved by their parents.
Harry frowned at the last thought. He believed they were loved, because he could hear and see how much fuss and worry their parents would show about every little thing they did, and of course, there was all those hugs and kisses on their cheeks. But truthfully, he didn’t really know what love was. He strongly suspected that the only time he had ever felt love in his life was when he was a baby, when his parents were alive.
Harry found himself wondering what love was. He had fancied Cho for a couple of years true, and Ron kept teasing him about being in love. But if what Harry felt for her was truly love, then he was sorely disappointed. He imagined having more intense feelings than he did at the very least. He hadn’t really even thought of her until now…
Even Ginny had fancied him because he was “Harry Potter” savior of the wizarding world. He would never find a girl who wouldn’t have some preconceived notion of him, expect him to be some great hero he knew he wasn’t. Maybe he could find a muggle born girl…
Harry couldn’t help but laugh softly at himself as he removed his glasses, smacked his forehead, and then rubbed the stinging sensation he had given himself vigorously. He couldn’t believe how ridiculous he was being. There he was, wasting time pondering the meaning of love when he should be preparing to kill his mortal enemy.
He turned from the window, put his glasses back on and smiled at Crookshanks, who stretched and pawed the covers of the bed.
“Do you think anyone will ever love me for who I am, and not who they think I am?” asked Harry, running a hand through his untamed hair.
He didn’t think it possible that a cat could roll its eyes…
Harry responded by scrunching up his face in utter confusion. He was just about to turn back towards the open window when he was struck on the side of his head by, what he assumed to be, a wet tennis ball - his glasses knocked askew from the impact.
“Ouch!” exclaimed Harry as he rubbed the side of his head and looked around the room, trying to locate the offending ball. “Those kids, I can’t believe they’d throw…”
Harry’s mutterings were cut off by the spitting of Crookshanks at a small flying brown ball of puff zooming about the room and twittering excitedly.
“Pig!” yelled Harry.
Harry was surprised to find that he was happy to see the little Scops owl, though scared at what Ron’s letter might say “ Harry hadn’t read any of his letters, nor had he written back at all this holiday. A feeling of guilt crept into the pit of his stomach as he called for Pig to stop and get some water and treats from Hedwig’s cage.
With Crookshanks continued disapproving glares, the over-exuberant owl stayed as still as he could on Hedwig’s perch. Harry untied and unfolded the letter, then read Ron’s easily recognizable and untidy scroll.
Harry,
How are you mate? I haven’t heard from you in a while, though I did hear from Hermione that you are ‘coping’ (that’s her word by the way). She’s been sounding quite the nutter in her letters, practically the whole thing about not getting you in any kind of trouble. Like I’d be so dense! And she’s been writing to Ginny a lot. I don’t know what’s up with those two. I get a couple of paragraphs and Ginny gets a novel. What’s up with that? And to make things worse Looney’s been here for the past two days!
Blimey Harry, she keeps staring at me all weird! Well, at least she laughs at my jokes, she’s the only one who does, as Ginny was ‘kind’ enough to point out this morning… And Pig’s totally in love with her, you should see how strange he acts around her. Last night when were all at the dinner table, Looney sat right next to me even though there were plenty of other seats! I tried to move to another chair but Pig kept circling the both of us like he was possessed or something! I thought I was going to have to stun him! I mean really, Ginny’s all weird, Hermione’s all weird, and Luna’s all… well… I suppose she’s always that way… Geez Harry, what’s gotten in to everybody? Even Mum’s been a bit off lately!
Anyway, how are the muggles treating you? I could send over some pretty good stuff from the joke shop for you to use on them if you like, just say the word mate! The Ministry can’t bust you for playing a joke on someone now can they! I wonder if some of the really nasty stuff is illegal… won’t hurt to try though will it? I’ll see about getting you some…
Did I tell you? Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes has been doing great! Ginny, Looney, and I have been helping them out for a few hours just about every day. It’s been nice to finally have some money of our own… Kate and Alicia have been working there every day too. I overheard Fred and George the other day saying they should all get a flat together, to be nearer to the shop. Eww! Do you think they like each other like that?
Guess who else has been coming in every day. Neville! He just hangs around. I don’t know what he’s doing there though. He never buys anything, so George finally put him to work the other day, doing inventory with Ginny. Everyone seemed quite pleased with him when he did. I still don’t get it, and no one will explain it to me…
I saw Hedwig the other day, I thought she wanted Ginny again, but she went straight to Mum. Mum then ran off to the apothecary. I figured Hedwig has been staying with Hermione so… Do you suppose she’s still taking potions ‘cause she’s still hurt? I don’t know mate, should we ask her?
Mum says you can come to the Burrow tomorrow. Will you come? I hope so! Everyone’s looking forward to seeing you, and I need help!
Give your reply to Pig and chuck him out the window so he gets a good start (that’s what I do!).
Hope to see you tomorrow,
Ron
Harry grimaced at the last bit. Was Hermione still taking potions? Why didn’t she say something to him about it when they last saw each other?
Harry had the brief thought of writing to Hermione to ask, but upon looking at Ron’s little owl, decided against it. There was simply no way that tiny bird, no matter how enthusiastic it was, could make it to France.
He frowned once more in slight frustration, and silently vowed he would get to the bottom of it one way or another…
Harry was grateful that Ron didn’t once mention the fact that Harry had not written back to him at all. He had felt a little guilty about it, but Ron seemed to have understood why, and had written as if this was the first letter he had sent to Harry during the holiday. He grabbed a fresh bit of parchment and began scribbling a quick response.
Ron,
It’s good to hear from you. What makes you think your Mum going to the apothecary was for medication for Hermione? Could it have been for someone else? I mean, she still shouldn’t be injured should she? I thought Madam Pomphrey cured her. Do you think Hermione’s hiding something from us? Surely she’d tell us if she was still hurt wouldn’t she? I don’t know now, I’m really starting to worry about her. I hope it’s nothing, but be sure to ask her if you hear from her again ok? I will too.
Ps. I don’t know what’s going on with all the girls over there either, I’m sure that you’ll work it out. I will see you tomorrow if it’s ok with the order.
Harry
Harry re-read his letter, satisfied that he had asked all the right questions; carefully folded it and attached it to Pig’s leg, who was attempting to stand unusually still, as if to prove that he actually could.
“Take this back to Ron straight away, and be careful out there, it’s a bit windy,” said Harry, who walked to the window with Pigwidgeon and gently tossed him out.
Harry thought he should have followed Ron’s advice of throwing Pigwidgeon; the little owl immediately plummeted to the ground, and Harry thought he’d have a hard time explaining just how he had injured Ron’s pet. As Harry winced from watching the inevitable impact, the tiny owl gave a loud hoot and pulled out of its dive. He seemed a bit off balance at first, but with surprising agility, he managed to straighten himself and fly straight off.
He turned to Crookshanks, shook his head in disbelief at the ceaseless efforts of the little bird, and said worriedly, “Hermione would tell me if she weren’t well wouldn’t she?”
He didn’t think a cat could look as if it wanted to slap someone either…
******
“…Now Harry, all you have to do is imagine what you like to happen, and then quite simply, command it to be so,” said Dumbledore as he peered at Harry from across the kitchen table over his half-moon spectacles.
Harry had already been at it for over two hours and he was beginning to feel inept. The Headmaster had made it sound so easy, just focus on a steaming pot of tea resting on top of the table, point the wand and ‘command’ it into being.
After several failed attempts, the Headmaster’s request of a steaming pot of tea - became one of a teapot, which then became a teacup, which in turn became any cup at all. The only thing Harry seemed to be able to conjure was the air itself.
Harry slammed his wand down on top of the table in the basement kitchen of Grimmauld, and rubbed his temples in earnest.
“This is hopeless! How am I supposed to do this without incantations or anything?” growled Harry in frustration.
“Harry, magic has little to do with wand waving and words. It’s all in the strength of the mind, and in the mind, nothing is unachievable,” Dumbledore patiently explained. “Words, like wand waving, are meant to be aids in concentration only. They are the focal points of the spells that are to be cast. Surely, you have noticed that not all the spells require incantations or such. In truth, no spell requires the use of either. I hope to impart this very useful skill onto you.”
“But that just seems so impossible! I mean, I understand with simpler spells and all, but what about the more complex ones?” demanded Harry, frustration quickly becoming the norm for him.
“Harry…do you remember the Duel between Tom and I?” asked Dumbledore.
“How could I forget?” retorted Harry.
“Did you hear either of us saying any incantations at all?” questioned Dumbledore.
“Well… no, I suppose not,” answered Harry, realizing what the Headmaster was getting at.
“Do you think, in the heat of battle, it would have been wise for us to have shouted out every spell we cast at each other?” questioned Dumbledore with a raised eyebrow.
“Of course not,” replied Harry.
“We used, what you would call ‘complex’ spells, but in reality that is a false assumption, there is no such thing as a ‘complex’ spell Harry. Even Professor Flitwick, in all his knowledge and experience talks of the complexity of charms, which essentially limits their abilities, but they are all inherently the same thing “ a projection of the casters strength of will and concentration, no more, no less “ thus unlimited in potency and extent. Our task here together is to get you to see this simple fact,” stated the Headmaster.
When Harry furrowed his brow in concentration, Dumbledore continued, “If it helps, say the incantation in your mind only and not out loud. Once you are able to cast the spell thus, we will work on not saying anything at all.”
“Ok,” said Harry, still unsure if this was going to work out or not.
“Let’s start with something simple shall we?” said Dumbledore as he conjured a feather and set it upon the table. “Go ahead and levitate it Harry.”
Harry pointed his wand, concentrated on the ‘swish and flick’ motion Hermione had always admonished, and in his mind said “Wingardium Leviosa!” and to Harry’s mild amusement, nothing happened.
He tried several more times, each time with identical results, until finally deciding he’d had enough of failure. These past few days were beginning to be too much for him, and he was afraid he might explode.
“I can’t do this Professor. I mean, I’m trying, but I just can’t do it,” said Harry, grabbing and pulling his hair in complete irritation.
“It’s quite alright Harry, I couldn’t do this the very first time I tried either, that is, until I realized that I had been trying too hard. Instead of concentrating on the end, I had been concentrating on the means - perhaps you are doing the same?”
Crookshanks, whom Harry abruptly realized had not once left the kitchen during his lesson with the Headmaster, began vigorously winding himself in, out, in-between, and up against his legs, forming little figure eights, and purring loudly.
Harry felt himself settle at once, and reached down to pet the part-kneazle affectionately.
“Perhaps…” mumbled Harry, then quite suddenly he sat bolt upright and blurted, “Is Hermione still taking potions for the curse Dolohov gave her?”
Dumbledore looked as if he did not want to answer this particular question at all, but was about to reply when he suddenly stopped and his eyes began to flicker in a most different and distinct way. At that exact moment, Crookshanks started hissing, lowering his body, and staring intently at a small door off to one side of the kitchen corner as the hairs on the back of Harry’s head stood on end.
Harry raised his wand, intently focusing on the vague sensations coursing through the back of his neck. There was definitely a presence, and something was certainly about to happen, Harry was convinced that Dumbledore felt it also, but surprisingly was not reacting to it at all.
All at once, everything began to happen in slow motion, as if Harry had delayed time itself. The door to the kitchen boiler flew open; Moody jumped out from a crouched position, yelling something Harry didn’t understand, though most likely a spell. And Harry jumped just as quickly back from his chair, pointing his wand at his would be assailant, and desperately wanting to subdue him.
What happened next surprised both Moody and Harry, but apparently not Dumbledore, as a thick silvery rope shot out of Harry’s wand and wrapped itself around a wide-eyed Moody even before he had hit the ground from his initial jump. Now out of control, Moody went crashing face first into the chair at the head of the table; wooden bits of the shattered seat sent flying in every direction from the violent impact.
Time appeared to have returned to normal just as quickly and abruptly as it had slowed. Harry ran forward, hoping beyond hope that the crazy old Auror wasn’t hurt.
“Professor Moody!” yelled Harry as he ran forward to the end of the table -Dumbledore following from the opposite side.
“Ooohhh,” Moody moaned face down, arms completely bound to his sides by what looked to be thick strands of platinum rope.
Dumbledore bent down, quickly turned the old Auror over, and held him up into a sitting position. Harry gasped at what he saw…
Moody’s patch had been torn from his face, and his hollow eye was swelling and turning colors at a very uncomfortable rate. He seemed to be out of it as he opened his good eye and stared blearily at Harry. He then cracked the largest smile he had ever given to anyone in his entire life. It did nothing to sooth Harry’s nerves however; as it became abundantly clear that Moody had also lost several teeth from the unexpected collision with the chair.
“Good job boy…” beamed Moody rather stupidly, before completely blacking out.
Dumbledore conjured a stretcher and then levitated the unconscious Auror to it.
“Perhaps a call to Madam Pomphrey is in order,” said Dumbledore in obvious amusement, he then waved his wand around the silver bonds surrounding Moody’s wrapped up body.
Harry watched as nothing happened.
Dumbledore gave a start of mild surprise, looked briefly at Harry over his half-moon glasses, and then repeated his previous wand motions over Moody’s bonds.
Again - nothing happened.
“Professor…?” began Harry, puzzled at what Dumbledore was trying to do.
The Headmaster answered Harry’s unfinished question by straightening himself and fully facing him - eyes full of a twinkling, and a smirk Harry had never seen before. He then opened his mouth and pleasantly said, “Harry, would you be so kind as to remove your binding spell from Alastor?”