“When the eyes of the opener meet those of the one who wrote upon the parchment, they will know, and everything will become clear.”
After Dumbledore had finished reading, Harry looked up at him, expecting there to be more. Dumbledore did not continue, he merely returned Harry’s gaze with the sparkle in his eyes more vibrant than it had been in a long while. The war was taking its toll on the Hogwart’s headmaster. He was looking his age for the first time since Harry had known him. Lately, the creases in Dumbledore’s face were deeper than ever and the shadows under his eyes were growing every day. This was the first time in a year that Harry could see hope starting to shine through the darkness in his professor’s eyes. Seeing that sparkle in his icy blue eyes again made Harry begin to have hope for the future as well. Realizing he was staring, Harry shook his head and looked away.
Coming out of a similar daze, Dumbledore said, “You may return to your class now, Harry. Don’t forget, you are to report to Professor McGonagall at the end of the day.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said, and stood, but before he left, he asked, “Sir? How will I know that it’s her? What will it feel like?”
“That, I cannot answer for you, Harry. It is something that I have never experienced myself. But if it helps, from what I have heard,” he said, with a small smile, “I am sure that it will be something that you will not be able to miss. You will know, and so will she. It is as simple as that.”
“I have one last question, sir. Since I opened the bottle, I haven’t been able to take my mind off the letter. I keep wondering who wrote it. Did you make it so that would happen?”
“I did not design the bottle to compel the opener to find the one who wrote the letter, if that is what you mean. But now, your heart knows that it is not complete, it knows that it is missing something, and it is desperately trying to find that missing piece, Harry.”
Harry thought about that for a minute, and then replied, “Thank you, sir.”
With that, Harry left the office and headed to his first class. His mind was again in a daze, “but,” he thought to himself, “at least now I know that I can be sure that I don’t miss her; all I have to do is look.” Entering the Charms classroom, it immediately became clear that not a single girl in the room was the writer of the letter. He was late, and by now the whole student population had heard about what had happened earlier, so he knew that when he entered, all eyes would turn towards him, wondering what went on in the Headmaster’s office. Inwardly, he was preparing himself for something, not knowing exactly what. Nothing happened. He looked each girl in the eyes. Nothing. She wasn’t one of these girls.
Relief swept through Harry. He realized something that he hadn’t known before; he didn’t want it to have been one of these girls. There weren’t any girls in the room that he cared about. Well, there was Hermione, but Harry never saw her in that way, and even if he did, what good would it do when he was dead? Because Ron would surely kill him the second he found out. No, it was almost as if Harry’s heart knew who the girl was, even when his head didn’t have the slightest clue.
The day trailed on, and still Harry didn’t feel anything, not one girl that he looked at had made Harry feel anything at all, well… aside from one fourth year Hufflepuff, who was rather unfortunate looking and seemed to have an eye for Harry, but he didn’t think that extreme nausea was quite the sensation that he was looking for.
Transfiguration that day was particularly trying; even Hermione had trouble with the spells, something that rarely, if ever, happened. The assignment had been to transform an ordinary stuffed giraffe into a living, breathing replica. The spell work involved required an enormous amount concentration, something that Harry had been lacking ever since he opened the bottle. He still was unable to keep his mind on task. The most he was able to achieve in the hour-long period was a spout of multi-coloured sparks, which, as Professor McGonagall informed him, was not the desired result of the spell that he was attempting to perform.
Although it took a while, Hermione was able to completely transform the giraffe into a real replica, but had not yet made it alive; there seemed to be a trick to it that not even she could discover, which seemed to annoy Hermione to the core. Professor McGonagall, it seemed, had not expected anyone to succeed in the process, and was obviously impressed by how close Hermione had gotten towards the final goal.
Hermione though, ever the perfectionist, could not stand that she was unable to rise to a challenge presented to her by a teacher. She was clearly annoyed and in a moment of rare insubordination, asked, “Excuse me, Professor McGonagall, but couldn’t you simply tell us how this spell works?”
Professor McGonagall looked surprised and slightly impressed by Hermione’s outburst. “Clearly,” she thought, “Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter are rubbing off on her with their ‘certain disregard for rules’ and authority figures. The corners of her mouth moved the slightest bit as she looked at her favorite student and answered the question posed.
“Miss Granger, this is a task that I am afraid I can offer you no help in. In order to succeed, you must know what it is to give something life, and that is nothing that can be taught in a classroom. I am sure before long, you will figure it out. After all, you do remind me of myself at your age,” she said with an enigmatic smile.
The class continued on after this exchange, no better off than Hermione. Even with the cryptic instructions that they had been given by McGonagall, no one was able to figure it out. By the end of period not a single student, including Hermione, achieved success, but nearly everyone in the class had, at least, turned the fabric into something resembling fur… except for Harry. The bell rang and all the students began to pack their bags.
“Well done today, class,” McGonagall said will a rare smile, obviously pleased with what progress was made. “We will be continuing this on Friday. You may leave the stuffed animals, as disfigured as they may be, on my desk. That is all,” she said, dismissing the class.
All the students brought their giraffes up the front of the room, some with patchy fur and others missing body parts entirely, until only Harry, Ron and Hermione were left.
“Mr. Potter, may I please have a word with you?”
Harry nodded to Ron and Hermione, telling them that he would meet them at the Great Hall for dinner in a few minutes.
“Yes, Professor?” Harry asked.
“You were not concentrating in class today.” Harry ducked his head, ashamed that his distraction was so easily noticed. “At this level,” McGonagall continued, but was cut off by Harry.
“I’m sorry Professor, it’s just that…”
“Please do not interrupt, Mr. Potter,” she scolded, “as I was saying, at this level a student needs to put forth all of his effort into his school work, especially in this class. You are enrolled in my NEWT class, Harry; so naturally, I expect the same from you as I do from everyone else.”
“I know that,” Harry told her.
“I am still not finished. I cannot have you falling behind, Mr. Potter, no matter what is on your mind. You will work on this spell for homework until you have perfected it, and will demonstrate it first thing on Friday in front of the class.”
“Yes, Professor,” Harry said dejectedly, knowing that this would surely mean hours of extra homework. He sighed and turned to leave, but apparently McGonagall was not ready to be rid of him quite yet.
“We are not finished, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, and Harry turned back, wondering what else she had to tell him. “We still need to settle the matter of the punishment for your, shall we say, outburst, this morning.”
“Oh… right,” Harry muttered, rather hoping that the extra homework would have been in place of a detention. But knowing McGonagall, he had only allowed himself to hope for a second.
“You will be serving your detention tonight along with Ginny Weasley,” Harry’s head snapped up. “Yes, Mr. Potter, she received a detention today as well. I do not want to go into how, exactly, she received it,” she said with a distinct huff, “Anyway, I am sure she will inform you of it tonight herself. Frankly, I cannot say that I have ever been more disappointed with two students of my own house, the Weasley twins excluded, of course. I haven’t the slightest idea of what the two of you were thinking; you both have cost our house an exorbitant amount of points, and house honour as well, for that matter. I would have thought that Gryffindor meant more to you than that, the same goes for Miss Weasley. In any case, you are to meet Miss Weasley and Mr. Filch at the entrance hall tonight at ten o’clock sharp. Do not be late,” Professor McGonagall said sternly. It was clear to Harry that he had been dismissed.
Harry left the classroom and headed to the Great Hall to find Ron and Hermione. Once he got there he walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down across from his two friends.
“What did McGonagall want, Harry?” Ron asked.
“She assigned me extra homework,” Harry sighed, “and informed me that my detention is to be served with Ginny tonight.”
“What? That’s bollocks, you were no worse than the rest of us at that bloody spell!”
“Oh come on Ron, he nearly set you on fire with all those sparks coming out of his wand,” Hermione reminded him.
“True,” he agreed, “but that is still no reason for extra homework. Neville and Seamus used to blow things up all the time, even set McGonagall on fire once, and they never got any extra homework.”
“Ron, come off it. It’s already been done, so there is no use arguing about it. Anyway, Harry obviously needs extra practice on this, and he can’t be falling behind in his work. We have NEWT’s next year!” Hermione said, the exasperation clear in her voice.
“You know, I am sitting right here, Hermione. I can hear you,” Harry informed her, feeling a little awkward and annoyed that they were talking about him as if he weren’t sitting on the other side of the table.
“Sorry Harry. All I am saying is that I agree with Professor McGonagall; it would be a good idea for you to get some extra practice.”
“You know, you really do remind me of her sometimes, Hermione. She gave me nearly the same speech about falling behind; something about putting all my effort into my studies,” Harry told her.
“Well, she has a point!” Hermione snapped back. Harry looked ready to retaliate, but before he could Ron, who was clearly uncomfortable with anyone arguing with Hermione but himself, decided a change of topic would be a good idea. “Harry? Did you say that Ginny is doing the detention with you?”
“Yeah, McGonagall didn’t tell me why though. I wonder what she did in order to land herself in a detention with Filch.”
“Me too. Let’s ask her,” Ron said, and began looking down the table for his sister’s trademark Weasley hair. She wasn’t there. “Huh, she must have come and gone already. You’ll just have to ask her tonight, Harry.”
Harry too had noticed that Ginny wasn’t present at the table. He found himself a little disappointed, although he had no idea why. “Yeah, I guess so. Are you guys finished?” Harry asked, motioning to their plates. Hermione nodded, but Ron looked yearningly at his plate, evidently hoping for seconds, and then looked sadly back up at Harry figuring that he had to leave. Harry laughed and told him not to worry about it, and that he would see them later in the common room. Ron smiled and eagerly began piling more food onto his plate. Hermione just stared at him, obviously appalled by Ron’s overwhelming ability to eat. How she wasn’t used to it by now, Harry had no idea. He grinned at the two of them, gathered his things, and headed off towards the doors to the entrance hall.
As he walked by the Slytherin table Harry heard Malfoy’s distinctive voice call out, “enjoy your detention tonight, Potter. I heard you and that stupid little Weasel are serving it together. Have fun on your first date,” he snickered and, as an afterthought, added, “but make sure you don’t do anything your filthy, mudblood mother would disapprove of, although considering that she ended up with you, that wouldn’t be much, would it?”
Harry turned to him with his wand at the ready, but a calming feeling came over him and he regained his composure. He lowered his wand and before turning to leave said to Malfoy, “and how, exactly, do you think you got here, Malfoy? Immaculate conception?” With that, Harry left the Great Hall, leaving a furious Malfoy far behind - with Crabbe and Goyle looking to him for an explanation. It was only later that Harry realized that the feeling that kept him from lashing out was the one that he related to the message.
When he was nearing the common room, he saw someone turn a corner in front of him, he thought that he had seen a glint of red as she disappeared from view. Arriving at the corner, Harry looked down the corridor and, sure enough, saw Ginny at the other end headed to the library. He was about to call out to her but decided that he would see her tonight and he probably ought not interrupt her studying, so he continued on to Gryffindor Tower.
The common room was unusually empty as nearly everyone was still at dinner, or in Ginny’s case, and the rest of the fifth- and seventh-years’, in the library preparing for exams. He had the common room to himself, so decided that he ought to get a head start on McGonagall’s assignment.
Harry began to work on the spell, using a discarded stuffed lion from a table nearby. It took a while for him to clear his mind; it seemed that he was perpetually thinking about the letter and the bottle, and all the possibilities that they could bring. He also found himself having trouble ridding his mind of thoughts of a certain fifth year Gryffindor that had been occupying them lately. In a few minutes he was able to throw all these thoughts away and focus on his goal. At first it seemed that no progress was being made, but then Harry realized that he must have been changing the insides of the lion from puffs of cotton into functioning organs. This at least explained the extensive amount of time that it took for all of the students to reach that level. Harry was beginning to see some of the fabric of the body turning to fur just as Ron and Hermione burst through the portrait hole, breaking Harry’s concentration.
“Damn,” Harry muttered, he had been so close.
“Hermione, I cannot believe that you were just checking out Ernie Macmillan! And flirting too, in the middle of the Great Hall!” Ron shouted, as they both entered the common room.
“I was not ‘checking him out,’ Ronald. He was just walking by, and if you consider smiling at someone in passing as flirting, then you have some seriously distorted ideas about people. But no, I’m sure that every girl that smiles at you surely would like to be the next Mrs. Weasley!” Hermione yelled. The two of them were lucky that no one else was in the common room. Why they always had to have such loud and public arguments Harry would wonder for years to come.
“Of course I don’t think that, Hermione. And anyway, no girl smiles at me like that. That was not just a friendly smile, you were practically handing yourself to him. Yech," he said, clearly disgusted, "the way you were gazing at him...”
“Stop right there, Ronald. I do not gaze at Ernie Macmillan. Who are you to say what who I can ‘check out’ or ‘flirt with,’ or, for that matter, 'gaze at' anyway? I can do whatever I want,” Hermione countered.
Obviously Ron was unable to think of something witty to respond with so made some type of growling noise and stalked off towards the boys’ dormitories. Hermione walked over to Harry and threw herself into the nearest chair.
“Why is he such a prat all the time? Is he honestly that blind? To think that I was looking at another guy. He is insufferable. I don’t see how it is even possible for him to not notice the way I act around him, it’s not like I would sit with just anyone who looked that ridiculous while eating their meals.”
“You know, Hermione, you could just tell him,” Harry responded.
Hermione’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No, I could never do that. You know how I am, Harry. I can handle anything, school, dragons and even death eaters without flinching. Anything, that is, except boys. Especially Ron. I just have no idea what I would say to him.”
“You could always ask him to the Hogsmeade trip this weekend, you know,” Harry told her.
“I just… can’t. If anything ever happens between us he is going to have to be the one to make the first move, which is why I have resigned myself to becoming an old maid, living with you and Ginny and taking care of your dozens of children.” Harry blushed an astonishingly deep red, unable to look her in the eye.
“I was just joking, Harry. Unless… you don’t like her do you?”
“No…”
“Harry?”
“Well, I don’t know, I don’t know what I feel about her. Everything has been all confused since I opened that bottle. I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“I’m sure it will all work out in the end, Harry. For now though, how is Professor McGonagall’s assignment coming?”
Harry showed her the lion and she was impressed with his work. “You still haven’t found out what the trick is yet?” she asked.
“Nope, not yet. But for now I want to take a break.”
“Sure. Why don’t we get a head start on the potions essay?” Hermione suggested.
Harry laughed. “And here I thought, I could get a little relaxation, maybe a game of chess.”
“Apparently you didn’t notice, but my name Hermione Granger, the most ‘insufferable know-it-all’ in the whole of England," she said, laughing. "If you want a chess player, you’ll need to go fetch Ron, but I am sure he is up there being a stupid git, brooding about my impending romance with Ernie Macmillan. I wouldn’t like to be the one to disturb that party if I were you.”
“Good point. Potions it is then,” Harry said with a smile. The two worked on their essays in silence until Hermione finished. She then proceeded to ask Harry what he put in his, and if she had gotten all the properties of the Graphorn horn correct. Eventually, Harry just handed his paper to her, letting her read through it. He decided that he would try to make some more progress on his Transfiguration project.
For a while he worked with no visible progress, not understanding what McGonagall meant by ‘giving something life.’ After a few more minutes Harry’s mind began to wander again; he was not paying very close attention to the lion when Hermione shrieked.
“Harry, did you see that?”
“See what?” he asked.
“Your lion, I think it just moved.”
“I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention,” he said, looking at her disbelievingly.
“Look! There it goes again.” And sure enough the lion shook its head as if disoriented. Harry and Hermione looked on in amazement as the miniature lion began to walk around the table until it stopped and roared a little tiny roar. Then Hermione turned back to Harry.
“How did you do that?” The disbelief was clear in her voice; Harry thought that he could discern the smallest amount of jealousy in her tone, maybe even a little anger. Harry smiled, knowing that Hermione was furious at herself because she wasn’t the first one to figure out how to do the spell.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t even thinking about it,” he responded. He also was astonished that he had completed the spell.
“Well if you weren’t thinking about the lion, what were you thinking about?”
Harry tried to remember what exactly he had been thinking about when the lion first moved. He knew that it was about the bottle, but really, what thoughts weren’t about the bottle. Harry was attempting to single something out in particular, when McGonagall’s clue came to mind: “In order to succeed, you must know what it is to give something life.” He realized that he was thinking about how he felt just after he had finished reading the letter. It had warmed him to the core; essentially giving life to a part of him that had died out long ago. That was the key to the spell. Harry was excited that he had figured out. Hermione had been watching, and she saw Harry’s eyes light up as he uncovered the truth.
“How did you do it?” she asked, eagerly.
“Hermione, it’s really not anything that someone can explain to you. McGonagall was right; it is something that can’t be taught.”
“Would you please just tell me what you were thinking about, then at least then I could try it.”
Harry sighed, then looked at his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock.
“Oh, bollocks, is that the time? I have to go!” Harry dashed out of the common room, leaving a very disgruntled Hermione sitting alone at the table watching the little lion prance about in his newfound freedom.
Harry was running as fast as he could, hoping that he could make it to the entrance hall before ten. He knew that he would be cutting it very close, and that Filch would not be at all lenient with him; that man reveled in the punishments, even the smallest ones, of the students. Harry was dashing down the last corridor before reaching the final flight of stairs when he tripped on his shoelaces and was sent smashing into the floor. He scrambled up, wiping the blood from his nose, knowing that slowing down to check his nose rather than being on time for his detention was by far the worse option. He made it to the final staircase and could see Mr. Filch standing with a redheaded girl, both with their backs facing the stairs. Harry jumped the last four stairs just as the clock struck ten. The two people waiting turned towards the sound seeing a very winded Harry bend over trying to regain his breath.
Harry was holding his knees and panting as he said, “Sorry… I’m late… Well… not really late… I… lost track… of,” Harry looked up. A pair of bright green eyes met brown, and the world stopped.
A/N: Thanks again to Gryffindor-Girl for reading this as my BETA. I hope you liked this chapter.
I am thinking of doing the Lily/James prequel to this, and possibly a sequel with Harry and Ginny's kid, making it a 'Potter Family Tradition' type of thing. Each story will definitely be different, so as to not just repeat the same thing three times. Anyway, I would love your opinion on whether or not these are good ideas.
~Thanks