Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. The entire HP universe belongs to J.K. Rowling. If I ever claim to own it, let me drown in a sea of never-ending lawyers.
A/N: All song lyrics are credited in each chapter to the individual artist.
Chapter 1: A Stranger
We call them strong
Those who can face this world alone
Who seem to get by on their own
Those who will never take the fall
Garth Brooks
“Standing Outside the Fire”
So that was it.
He was no longer hers. Her relationship with Harry was gone. Done. Just like that.
“It’s for some stupid, noble reason, isn’t it?”
She smiled at the Merpeople slowly disappearing beneath the late, remembering how Harry had emerged from its inky depths two years ago, coughing and gasping for air, with Ron and Phlegm’s little sister in tow, struggling to tread water. Harry had come in dead last during the second task, but still he managed to tie for first place. He had always been that way; playing the hero was what Harry Potter did best.
Best? Maybe it was best, just like he said, like this?
She turned away from the lake and stood there looking ahead at the white tomb. So many people had died, including the greatest wizard alive. This was war, but casualties are never easy to see. Especially when it comes so unexpected. The tears were spent, but there was still an empty gap that definitely hadn’t been there before Dumbledore’s death.
This war had to be ended, but there was only one person left capable of doing so. If Harry thought that ending their relationship was going to keep her from helping to end the war, he was stark raving mad. Nothing was going to stop her. Absolutely nothing.
People were starting to move around her and slowly trickle out of the grounds onto the road leading into Hogsmeade or wherever the wind took them, yet none of the people she saw she knew or were able to talk to her. Approaching the white tomb, a lump formed in her throat that was hard to swallow. She ran a hand along the tomb’s cool edge, feeling a shiver run up and down her spine.
There were rumours that Hogwarts was never going to open its doors again, and realizing as she stood there, this wouldn’t just be the last day of school before summer; it really could be her last time at Hogwarts ...ever... Even though McGonagall was now the Headmistress, no one could ever take Dumbledore’s place. Hogwarts had suffered a permanent loss. What where they going to do now?
“Did you know him well?”
She spun around and saw a tall, teenage boy looking at her with remarkable turquoise eyes and black hair falling lightly in front of his gaze. She smiled at him.
“Well enough.”
He drew closer to the tomb, stood beside her, and murmured, “He must have been an extraordinary man for so many to come.”
She chuckled and answered, “Extraordinary is right.” The boy raised an eyebrow at this and smiled in return.
“Gryffin,” he said, offering his hand.
She took it, looking him directly in the eye, and whispered, “Ginny.” He had a bright smile that did something to his face, something familiar, but it was almost unnerving, though not in a bad way. “Are you from the States? Your accent is bizarre.”
His smile faded slightly, and he carelessly shrugged his shoulders. “New England. Someplace too cold and too crowded, especially in the fall.”
“Fall?” she inquired. For some reason, Ginny had the sudden mental image of a crowd of people falling like dominos, one on top of the other.
“September through November,” he replied, but Ginny still had a blank look on her face. “It’s when the trees lose their leaves, you know. You do know what fall is, right?”
“Oh, you mean autumn,” she answered, sheepishly. “It would get crowded if you toppled face first into the person in front of you on the Boston streets. People would probably use you as a doormat.”
She caught Gryffin by surprise, making him let out a bark of laughter.
“It sounds more interesting than where I’m from,” she offered. “I come from a small village in the middle of nowhere.”
“How so?” asked Gryffin.
“It’s hours from all my school friends and London,” Ginny said cheerfully. “Except for Luna Lovegood, of course.” A gentle breeze began to pick up, and a strand of fiery hair fell into her eyes. She felt strangely aware of Gryffin’s gaze as she pulled the strand away, making the smile slide from her face. “You travelled a long way to get here.”
“Mum used to be a student of Dumbledore’s,” explained Gryffin. “She loved this old man. You won’t believe how amazed she was to hear that he had died.”
“I believe it,” she reassured him. “Dumbledore was a great man. No one ever did as much for Hogwarts as he did.”
“Is it true that he’s the only headmaster buried here?” Gryffin stared at the solemn, marble structure.
“It’s true.” Ginny ran her fingers once again along the tomb’s edge. “It’s only fitting, isn’t it?” Gryffin nodded. They both fell silent and just stared at Dumbledore’s last resting place.
Gryffin pulled out his wand and transfigured two red roses in his hand. He gently placed it on the tomb’s level surface, among many other tokens left to let Dumbledore know he wasn’t forgotten. He offered the other one to Ginny, who accepted and laid it to rest beside his.
“I wish I knew him,” murmured Gryffin, unexpectedly.
“I do too.”
Please watch over Harry, Professor.
Harry himself was settled under a large beech tree with Ron and Hermione, who was immersed in a book the size of a paving stone. They had approximately a half hour before the Hogwarts Express took off, but that didn’t stop Prof. McGonagall from appearing in front of them.
“Professor?” said Harry, startled.
“Potter, I need to speak to you. Please accompany me up to the castle.” McGonagall wasted no words. Feeling as though McGonagall certainly had better things to do than berate him, Harry stood up. When Hermione and Ron tried to follow suit, McGonagall cut across them, saying, “This is a matter just for Mr. Potter.” Ron and Hermione didn’t bother to argue with her.
Traipsing up to the castle with McGonagall, Harry asked, “Professor, what’s going on?”
“You’ll see when we get there,” she insisted, much to Harry’s annoyance. To McGonagall’s credit though, the trip to Dumbledore’s old office was quick, but it was the last place Harry wanted to be, let alone visit. However, he soon stood on the threshold of its large wooden doors.
Without hesitation the headmistress led him inside, nearly hitting Harry with the swinging door in the process. The circular office now still had the portraits of old heads, but all the occupants were now empty, including the newest edition, Dumbledore’s, which Harry had a hard time bringing himself to look upon. That wasn’t the only curious thing about the office; Harry and McGonagall weren’t the only people there.
A tall blonde woman turned from the case that held Godric Gryffindor’s sword upon their entrance. A smile appeared on a lean face that had aged before its time while her turquoise eyes brightened. “You must be Harry,” she murmured with a slight accent, perhaps American.
“Mr. Potter, this is Gemma Peterson,” McGonagall introduced with a flick of her hand before settling herself behind the desk.
The woman extended her thin hand to Harry, which he took, and kept looking him directly in the eye. Her resolute gaze never faltered, and it was nearly unnerving. “I’ve always wanted to meet you, Harry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What happened to your parents was terrible, and I wish that there was something that could have been done.” There was a slight pause, where Harry, taken aback, just gaped at her. This was the last topic he had been expecting to come up. “Lily, James, and Albus must all be so proud of you...”
Harry shifted uncomfortably and dropped his eyes to the carpet as though inspecting it for dirt. He was at a loss for words for this woman. What could really be said in reply to such a thing? Thankfully, McGonagall did.
“Gemma, Harry would probably like to know why he’s here when the train is going to be leaving in less than a half an hour,” the headmistress said, surprisingly in a gentle tone.
“I suppose you’re right, Minerva,” replied Gemma. “Like Professor McGonagall said, my name is Gemma Peterson, and I knew your father and mother at school, Harry. Your mother, like you’ve probably heard, was a brilliant witch, and your father.... Let’s just say that James was one of a kind.” (This didn’t surprise Harry.) “I also happen to know Sirius Black as well...” She suddenly trailed off as though stealing herself to say more.
“It’s all right, Gemma,” McGonagall encouraged her, but Gemma still kept her silence and turned her back on both of them.
If one thing could be said about this woman, it would be that she had caught Harry’s attention. What did she know about Sirius? Was it something to do with his family? What was it...? How did it involve her?
After a minute or two, the woman finally said, “Sirius and I were very close...” Harry stopped dead. Was she crying...? “...You may not understand, Harry. You probably n-never w-will....” The woman amazingly broke down completely, collapsing into tears. Alarmed, Harry stepped back while McGonagall immediately got up and went to her.
Turning the woman to face her, McGonagall looked her straight in the eye and said in a stern voice she had used with many students, “Gemma, you must pull yourself together. Sirius and Albus are dead, but so are so many others. This is war; you must understand that, and there will be casualties. The best thing to do, for their sakes, your son’s, and ours, is to move on.” There was a slight pause before she added in a low voice, “I miss him too. He was a brilliant student and a wonderful wizard, but he’s dead. There’s nothing we can do to change that.”
After several minutes, Gemma finally spilled the last of her tears. McGonagall had her sit in a hard, wooden chair in front of the old desk, while Harry felt very aware out how awkward the situation was. “You must think me mad, Harry,” she whispered, holding a cup of hot tea in her hands McGonagall had magicked for her.
“No, I don’t,” Harry answered honestly, forcibly reminded of a similar situation two summers ago at Grimmauld Place. Gemma smiled.
“Just so you know, I’m usually not so dramatic,” she replied and let out a weak laugh. Her expression suddenly became serious. “Time is pressing, and you must know why you called up here.” Harry nodded. “Like I said, Sirius and I were close... very close...” She paused before she went on. “However, there was a war like now, and I had left Hogwarts for a job offered to me overseas at the Salem Witches’ Institute. Sirius planned on visiting me often, but because of You-Know-Who’s power, he came only once... You were about three months when I found--” she shifted uncomfortably in her seat “--that I was pregnant.”
Her words fell heavy into the air. Harry stared at her, completely taken aback. This was definitely not what he had been expecting. Pregnant? Pregnant? With Sirius’ child?
Well, thought Harry fairly, knowing Sirius, perhaps it’s not so impossible...
“Err--when did Sirius find out?” asked Harry, casting around for something to say. Apparently, he had said the wrong thing, because Gemma looked close to tears again. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you...” Harry looked around flustered.
“No, it’s fine, Harry,” murmured Gemma. “I was going to get to that anyway... You see, Sirius never knew.” Harry stopped and stared at her blankly.
“What?”
“Sirius never knew,” she repeated in a hollow voice. “He told me to stop sending him letters because of the danger before I even knew I was pregnant, and I was too much of a scared fool to tell him. The next thing I know, my baby was born, and Sirius Black had been hauled away to Azkaban for murder.”
Harry just continued to stare at her with disbelief etched into every corner of his face. Sirius never knew he had a child. On this subject his godfather had known just as much he did. Harry thought back to the times at Grimmauld Place when Sirius had been permanently entrenched in a surly depression, reeking of hard liquor. At the same time, however, it occurred to him how thin and haggard Gemma Peterson really was, even with her broad shoulders. She looked as though she would unravel at the seams and fall away, but she sat erect in her chair trying to hold herself together. It was hard to believe that this proud woman had endured so much pain.
“It wasn’t very long ago that I learned that Sirius was innocent, and Peter had faked his death,” she continued, her hands shaking, “and that he had killed all those people..., but Sirius was dead.” Gemma paused before going on. “I learned all of this through Dumbledore, but I wasn’t able to come before now; the United States had closed its borders after the announcement that Voldemort was back. It was a lot of effort on Dumbledore’s part to get us into the United Kingdom ...for his funeral...”
Harry gazed at her for a moment before tentatively asking, “What does this have to do with me?”
“I want you to know that my son and I aren’t here to challenge you, Harry,” answered Gemma immediately. “When Sirius died, he left everything he owned to you. We don’t want anything to do with Sirius’ will.” Harry nodded uncertainly, feeling an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“I could split the gold with you,” Harry offered. “In fact, I don’t want any of it-- take all of it.”
“No, Harry,” she replied firmly. “It’s yours. Keep it all-- the house, gold, silver, everything.”
Harry was about to argue when McGonagall cut in, “Now that is settled, Potter....” McGonagall slid a manila envelope in front of him on top of the desk. “Professor Dumbledore wanted you to have this.”
Harry grasped the envelope in his hands. He was tempted to open it, right then and there, but he kept control of himself; he would only let Ron and Hermione see inside. Harry turned to find McGonagall’s shrewd, calculating stare upon him.
“Potter, are you still unwilling to tell me everything that Dumbledore confided in you?” inquired McGonagall once again. Harry looked her directly in the eye.
“Yes.”
The headmistress sighed. “So be it then. Potter, you need to go. The train is leaving in less than ten minutes.” McGonagall then ushered him out of the room without a word.
Soon enough, Harry found himself huffing for breath outside at the foot of the castle steps, clutching the envelope in his hands. He had no idea what was inside. Knowing Dumbledore, however, it wasn’t likely to be something trivial.
Harry glanced back at the castle one last time, hoping to let go of any regrets he had. This would perhaps be the last time he would look up to see the towering castle and its rambling structure. To Harry’s surprise, however, he had only one regret-- that he had to leave his home.
He turned his back on Hogwarts and quietly slipped away to meet his friends waiting for him at the gate.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a review. :D
Rediscovered by MysticFay
Chapter Notes: I went through and revised this chapter slightly, especially in the case of Ginny's and Gryffin's conversation. It's not a major change that affects the main storyline, but I thought you would like to know. Thank you for your support if you've read this story! I know it's taking a very long time, but hopefully Chapter 3 will be up shortly. ^_~ Please leave a review. Thank you!