Chapter Seventeen
It had certainly been a long night.
If there was anyone who doubted the status of Hermione and Ron’s relationship, the poor soul was soon corrected when they saw the type of kissing the two were performing. Harry wondered how it was they breathed. The warmth of the butterbeer got to others as well. Ginny and Dean would fight periodically. Harry just hoped they reached an agreement soon. He didn’t want another unpleasant year.
Sporadically, another Gryffindor would stroll up to talk with him. He found himself, time and time again, explaining the Draco situation before the train. “No! I did not kill his dad. If he’s dead, someone else did it,” he would say, annoyed. That subject led into what happened in Diagon Alley. “So many dead,” they said. When Harry asked them to explain, he discovered how many died. Several relatives of Hogwarts students died that day. It explained the somber mood of the students at the Welcoming Feast.
It annoyed him when they would react as if he was so brave, standing up to Death Eaters. He didn’t want to be caught in those situations. He hated that his whole life was thrown into this magnified boiler, as if it was a sport to see how many death-defying stunts he could handle before he cracked. For a guilty moment, he wished it on those people surrounding him. He then took it back for all his soul’s worth. He had a weight to bear, and he would bare it alone. There was no use in complaining.
Hermione, who hadn’t told anyone abut her role in the Diagon Alley ambush (or mentioned the second Draco moment of the day), found herself barraged with questions when Harry told the story across the room. “Did it hurt? I would have been so afraid!”
At first she seemed to like the new variety of attention, but eventually got annoyed. She didn’t feel brave, and she didn’t feel quite perfectly healthy yet. Hermione certainly didn’t enjoy being pulled out of her dark corner to be harassed by a bunch of giggling girls. She and Ron were soon seen sneaking up to his dormitory.
Harry wasn’t enjoying himself much, so he went right after them to grab his invisibility cloak. He didn’t want to be stuck waiting for them to finish whatever they planned on doing. He found them sitting on Ron’s bed, his hand on her lap.
“Oh! Heya Harry. Hermione and I just want to-“
“I just came to get my cloak.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just a walk.”
“All right. See you later.”
“Be careful!” Hermione interjected.
“See you,” said he, grabbing his cloak and vanishing before their eyes. They waited politely for the door to open and close again before looking at each other with longing.
“Well, let’s change those dressings, shall we?” asked Ron.
Harry carefully moved through the common room. It was quite the task. The room was positively pulsating with excited students. Harry paused when he saw Ginny. She was sitting by herself in one of the cushy chairs near the fire. She was staring at it in a way that unsettled Harry. She looked empty and forlorn. The flames seemed to reflect some shadows in her eyes. He recognized it as her countenance that long night when they were waiting to hear about Mr. Weasley’s condition. He stood in front of her and knelt. Was she all right? Surely, Dean wouldn’t affect her like that? Harry did something he hadn’t meant to do. He reached in front of him, and was going to move a lock of hair from her face, to better see her eyes, but stopped just short to avoid detection. Inadvertently, his finger had brushed her forehead. Her reaction was to stiffen even more, and squint into the air before her. Had she felt it? Some question formed on her face.
Harry was afraid she could tell he was there, so he ran toward the portrait hole. Luckily, a prefect was just returning, and Harry slipped out undetected. He roamed the corridors, turning by instinct. He just wanted to have time to think, before life got in the way.
He wondered about a lot of things along the way. He thought about how things had changed between Ron, Hermione and himself. He thought about Dumbledore’s warning. He thought about those who’d lost family members, like he did so many times. Sirius crossed his mind so many times, always accompanied by images of the parents he never knew, and the ones he did, and were still alive. He was confused about the condition of Draco’s dad. Why would he think Harry killed him?
Speaking of killing, why wasn’t Voldemort storming into the castle if he knew the prophecy? They were the only ones who could kill each other, after all. But then, hadn’t Dumbledore said there were things worse than death? Was that why Voldemort was still not coming? What was he afraid Dumbledore would do?
As he thought about powers, he thought about girls. Well, Ginny, specifically. Could she see him back in the common room? He knew she was a powerful witch, but could she see through invisibility cloaks? He didn’t think so, and yet . . .
He rather liked that she had become a fixture in his group. Who wanted to be stuck with only a nuzzling couple all the time? In the least, she was helping him to keep his Quidditch skills intact.
As he was pondering a new Quidditch chasing tactic for Ginny, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. He was surprised to see the wide-eyed wonder herself, Luna Lovegood. “What are you doing here?”
The hood of the invisibility cloak had fallen down, and Harry, lost in his many thoughts, hadn't noticed. ‘Here’ was the courtyard he’s wandered to. The two found a seat near the fountain. Harry took the rest of his cloak off, and rested it across his lap. “Nothing. You?”
She sighed, bored. “Just wanted to get away for a bit.”
“You guys having a party too?”
“No. Too any Ravenclaws lost family. They’re talking it out. Professor Snape is creating calming droughts and light sleeping potions for everyone.”
“How is your family?” he was almost afraid to ask.
He felt bad for Luna, most of the time. Too often, he knew, she was treated badly. It reminded him of the years he’d spent with the Dursleys. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone- except Malfoy, of course. He felt protective toward her, not only out of pity, but because her dad had helped Harry out the previous year.
“I lost a cousin. My father’s taking it badly.”
“I’m sorry . . .”
“Don’t be. My cousin had a good life. Besides, it’s just the way things are now. I’ll have to kill You-Know-Who myself, I suppose.”
If Harry had been drinking, he would have surely shot the liquid out his nose. Instead, he sputtered, “WHAT?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” she requested politely, “would you keep it down? I don’t want to be chased away by Filch.”
He obligingly lowered his tone. “You can’t kill him!”
“Why? I can. I know of this South African Higatone flower that has magical properties. They say that old Muggle dictator was poisoned with it-“
“Luna, that flower can’t kill Voldemort.”
“Of course it can! All you do is dry it for twenty three days, add the bl-“
“No.”
Any normal girl- anyone else- would have gotten angry, or aloof. Harry knew this girl better. In her head, he thought, she must be in another world, and had no care for anyone else’s thoughts. It was as if she was privy to something Harry was not, but listened only because it was a comfort to others to hear themselves speak. Her face showed interest in his sureness.
“What can kill him then?”
He heard himself say it before he had time to think. “Me.”
“Ok then. Why you?” she asked, as if she heard this over coffee many times over.
“I don’t know.”
“That doesn’t sound convincing. How do you know you can, then?”
“A prophecy said so,” he replied desolately.
She smiled delicately. It was a reaction he hadn’t expected. But then, Luna was unpredictable. He hadn’t told anyone about the prophecy. Not even his best friends knew. So why had he told her? She had a nonchalant air about her. She never fought, got irritated, or loud. It seemed she always knew what to do, but never cared. She looked up at the night sky, comfortable in their momentary silence.
“Er . . .Luna?”
“Mm?”
“Can we, um, keep this between us?”
“Your truth is not for me to tell,” she said dreamily.
Harry felt a kinship with Luna. They both lost people close to them. Both saw and heard Death. He smiled at her upturned face, basking in the moon’s weak glow. She was a comforting presence. “Thanks.”
She cocked her head, with her long, slightly curlier hair tickling her forearm. It was as if she were a wise oracle, straight out of antiquity. And then, with a twinkle, the oracle kissed him on the lips.
With the stealth of a black cat, Ginny had crept to the courtyard behind Harry. She saw the whole scene, and heard their conversation. She might have had time to think, but Harry soon went back to the Gryffindor common room, and Ginny had to get back before him.
When he entered the room, he saw Ginny on the rug in front of the fire, her head in her arms. She looked so desperate; Harry went over to comfort his shaking friend. Once again, she fell asleep on the arm of Harry Potter, who was clueless as to what could upset one of the bravest witches he knew.