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Chocolate Frog by L A Moody

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Disclaimer: With humble gratitude to J. K. Rowling for allowing me to build castles in her sandbox once more.




Sixteen
Harry: A New Landscape



Much to his delight, surprise, euphoria, and a whole mixture of emotions that threatened to overpower him, the Weasleys succumbed to the Healer’s recommendation. Harry would be Portkeyed directly to the retreat to get settled before Ginny arrived at the weekend. Arthur’s and Molly’s sole stipulation had been that they would accompany Ginny to check out the facilities first hand.

Thus it was with a buoyant heart that Harry anticipated celebrating his eighteenth birthday at the Burrow. Not even the Muggle world could deny that he was now an adult in full charge of his own destiny.

Andromeda arrived at mid-morning with a sleeping bundle nestled on her shoulder. As Molly quickly Levitated the oversized nappy satchel to safety, Harry was gazed in awe at the mop of fine turquoise hair that floated in all directions.

“This one’s bound to be a Quidditch player no less,” Molly cooed approvingly as little Teddy held out his tiny arms to her.

“Or a circus performer. Didn’t even stir in the Floo,” Andromeda proclaimed proudly. “It’s the wonderful aromas of your kitchen that tickled his nose awake.”

“Harry’s birthday cake,” Ginny supplied. “Teddy can help us frost it a little later.”

“He’ll be wearing that frosting, Sis,” George issued lowly from the far end of the table. He’d been observing the events so soundlessly that everyone had forgotten his presence until now.

“Would you like to hold him, George?” Andromeda offered.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Molly bustled over.

George looked a bit bewildered as his mother arranged his arms around the squirming child. Little Teddy looked up at the red-headed giant above and issued a tiny gurgle followed by a pink smile.

“I think he likes you,” Ginny observed.

“Probably senses a co-conspirator,” Andromeda added wryly. “He takes after his mother already.”

“Don’t forget that Remus was part of the infamous Marauders,” Hermione supplied.

“He’s bound to be a handful then,” Harry confirmed.

“Don’t get cocky, young man,” Molly scolded him merrily. “You’re next. Whoever heard of a godfather who didn’t feel at home handling his godson?”

George rushed off to meet Ron at the store, but Ginny and Hermione were only too happy to fuss over Teddy’s needs. With the girls on hand to do the nappy duties, watching over his godson was not such an onerous duty, Harry decided. Teddy was curious about everything, his round eyes with a serious expression that captured Remus exactly. Harry’s heart ached at the memories that floated unwittingly to the surface but managed to maintain a wobbly smile for his godson’s benefit.

Once fed a lunch of mashed potatoes and watery cereal, Teddy settled down to his bottle followed by a much needed nap.

“He’s gone for the afternoon, I’m afraid,” Andromeda proclaimed. “Doesn’t rouse until his stomach tells him that tea time is drawing near.”

Molly nodded sagely. “It was always the same with my boys. Ron still wears his watch in his stomach.”

“So he won’t need you to send him a Patronus at the store, Mum,” Ginny supplied.

“What if they get busy?” Molly fretted. “George gets so overwhelmed with everyday things that he may not remember Harry’s birthday party.”

“I’ll retrieve them in person if it comes to that,” Hermione volunteered as she helped Andromeda to get the baby things together.

“Have a happy birthday, Harry,” Andromeda offered. She admitted that the only chance she got to catch up on her own rest was during Teddy’s afternoon nap. Waving away Molly’s offer of a spare bedroom upstairs, Andromeda bundled the sleeping child into her arms and Flooed back to her house.






It was not quite tea time when Harry came downstairs to hear a familiar voice emanating from the direction of the kitchen.

“Merlin, I don’t presume to know how that old man’s mind worked!” Minerva McGonagall attested. “But I can assure you that Albus’ heart was breaking when he accepted Remus’ resignation. The man had such an untarnished gift! Other than Potions which he never could stomach, I’m convinced Remus could’ve tackled any subject.”

“Children respond to that kind of outpouring,” Molly agreed. “How could they not?”

As he entered from the parlor, Harry noticed that Hermione was leaning over the kitchen table intently. “If only the world didn’t persist in being narrow-minded and blind,” she insisted.

McGonagall caught Harry’s eye as he leaned in the doorway. “I swore to myself that very morning that the day I was in charge, I would make things right. And here it’s too bloody late….” Her voice cracked as she dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. “Oh, the new students are going to think they have an old softie for a Headmistress.”

“So it’s official?” Hermione pressed. “You’ve been confirmed by the Board of Governors?”

“For now,” McGonagall provided. “But there’s a movement afoot to eradicate the taint of this past year by bringing in new blood.”

“Even though Minister Shacklebolt recognized Severus Snape posthumously?” Harry weighed in.

“Even so,” McGonagall predicted. “The reality is my days as Headmistress are numbered.”

Clearly surprised, Hermione stammered, “Will they seek to replace Flitwick and Hagrid as well?”

“Likely so,” McGonagall sighed. “Professor Binns is probably safe as he’s so cost-effective.”

Harry chuckled mirthlessly at her wry commentary.

Addressing him directly, the Headmistress intoned, “But I swear to you today, Harry, that my legacy to Remus will be this: I will make it may duty that only those who truly love their subjects will be asked to teach at Hogwarts. And I don’t give a flip what the outside world thinks of my choices!”

Ginny flashed a radiant smile in everyone’s direction as she entered toweling her damp hair. The snap of the screen door indicated that Ron and George had instructed Verity to close the shop early today.

“I wondered when you’d rejoin us,” Molly issued from the sideboard where she was adding the finishing touches to the birthday cake.

Harry barely managed to cover his mouth before a huge yawn claimed him. McGonagall’s look radiated sympathy as she inquired about his health.

Despite having changed into a crisp, clean shirt after his nap, Harry couldn’t help fidgeting as he ran his fingers through his unruly hair. “The Healers prescribed a bit of a holiday,” he tendered with classic understatement.

“Then it’s good I caught you before you left,” McGonagall replied.

He gave her a hesitant smile. “You could’ve come for a visit there.”

“As appealing as the seaside is this time of year, Hogwarts needs me more,” the new Headmistress admitted with a note of regret.

Harry nodded that he understood.

“Which is partly the purpose of my visit today,” she continued. “Have you had a chance to consider your future? At Hogwarts, I mean? Hermione made a point of dispatching an owl “ from Australia no less.” Catching Molly’s worried frown, McGonagall amended, “Ron included a short note that he would be returning as well.”

“And you were wondering about me?” Harry surmised.

“It wouldn’t be out of line to expect you to finish your NEWT’s if your ambition still rests with the Auror Department.”

“It does,” Harry responded without hesitation. “But I’m less certain about returning to Hogwarts. My last memories…”

Behind her square-framed glasses, McGonagall’s eyes filled with kindness as she affirmed, “It’s not a crumbling edifice anymore. Still festooned with ladders and scaffolding in places, but the final renovations should be complete by September first.”

“As much as I appreciate your concern,” Harry demurred, “I’m not certain I could handle it right now. The halls are just too full of sorrow…”

“I understand. Memories abound in those corridors for me as well. I only hope to supplant them with new, happier ones in the days to come.”

“Would it be out of line if I suggested I wanted to keep my options open for now?” Harry proposed.

With an inscrutable smile, McGonagall acquiesced, “Not at all. It’s not unheard of for Muggle students to take a gap year. Why should we be any different?” Focusing her raptor gaze on Ginny, the Headmistress posed, “What about you, Miss Weasley?”

Caught short, Ginny fairly squeaked, “Me?”

Interceding on her daughter’s behalf, Molly volunteered, “You won’t mind sharing a dormitory with Hermione, will you, dear?”

Ginny’s glances wavered between her mother and Harry. After a moment’s hesitation, she indicated, “If you don’t mind, Mum, Professor, I’d prefer to keep Harry company when he returns.”

Molly made as if to protest, but was cut short by the Headmistress’ quiet words, “I had a feeling you might say that. That’s why I took the liberty of bringing you something you might not realize you’d left behind.”

“Something that fell out of my trunk?” she replied hesitantly.

“A bit of room decoration one might say,” McGonagall clarified as she removed a small roll of parchment from her robes. “I took it down before the workmen arrived.”

Like sharks on the lookout for blood, Ron and George abandoned the frosting bowl to bear witness to Ginny’s discomfiture first hand.

Ginny blushed then hedged, “I’m not certain…”

The Headmistress elaborated blithely, “Oh, I managed to crack the privacy charms right off. Nothing a Head of House hasn’t encountered before.”

“Sounds like you had a bit of contraband in your room,” Ron chortled.

Ginny’s dark look in her brother’s direction clearly said: Kettle, Pot. At least in Harry’s estimation.

“It’s nothing I haven’t encountered before. Students are well-known for hording literature of dubious merit.” McGonagall retreated into her customary brisk manner to hide the barest hint of embarrassment. “Why Sirius Black…Well, those were different times.”

“Was it one of those trashy romance novels?” George teased.

“Students tend to keep those right out in the open,” McGonagall corrected. “Rather like those Patented Daydream Charms your company sells. Wouldn’t you say?”

George accepted the zing graciously from his former Head.

“Perhaps you’d better show us,” Molly put forth. “I’ll decide if punishment is warranted later.”

Ginny sunk even lower in her chair. “It’s nothing like that, Mum. Honest…”

“I admit it must have taken a fair bit of bravery to secure this from the common areas,” the Headmistress continued. “Not that the past administration didn’t plaster them everywhere. I shudder to think what might have happened if anyone other than myself….”

Harry stopped listening as the scroll of parchment expanded and attached itself to the nearest wall. In the sudden hush, it unfurled to reveal the wanted poster that the previous regime had displayed from the Ministry itself to Diagon Alley. Instead of his likeness being labeled ‘Undesirable Number One’, however, Ginny had altered the words to read: Desirable Number One.

Harry felt his face go beet red as the laughter erupted around them.

“Seeing as how the other placards have been destroyed that might turn out to be a collector’s item one day,” Hermione chimed in as she struggled to keep a straight face.

“I should say so,” Molly harrumphed. “Where did you find such a thing?”

“In the girls’ loo, if you must know,” Ginny defended. Despite her obvious embarrassment, dark fire lanced through her eyes.

“Were you afraid Harry was staring at the other girls instead of you?” needled Ron.

“I couldn’t very well use it as a recruiting poster for Dumbledore’s Army, could I?” Ginny shot back.

Minerva allowed herself a tiny cough. “I daresay the posters accomplished that on their own. Although to have said so openly would’ve been ill-advised at the time.”

“Are you going to deduct House Points?” Hermione posed in her patented matter-of-fact tone.

“For conduct unbecoming a Gryffindor? Seems pointless at this late a date. Now if she were a returning student…” It was difficult to tell if McGonagall was joking with only the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth as a clue.

“Let us at least offer you some tea and fresh scones for your trouble,” Molly offered as she made quick wand work out of putting the kettle on.

“Please stay, Professor.” Harry insisted. “Your special delivery far outshines Minister Scrimgeour’s visit last year.”

The light-hearted atmosphere of having been effectively pranked by his former Head of House accentuated Harry’s feeling that his life was totally out of kilter. Despite Fleur and Bill Flooing in from Shell Cottage and Luna from the neighboring homestead, that evening’s birthday party celebration was diminished by the obvious absence of Remus and Tonks.

And Fred, the bereft look George shared with Harry clearly conveyed.







The wildness of the terrain outside the window of his rustic villa was invigorating, the salty breezes warm and enticing as they coaxed him awake each morning. The tiles on the terrace were still cold from the night as Harry settled to his light breakfast in bare feet. He would have to don shoes as the surfaces warmed up by midday, but it was refreshing to be in just shorts and a T-shirt as he surveyed the Aegean blue of the waves in the distance.

It was hardly what he’d expected to find. But perhaps the most startling thing was the emblem embroidered on the employee's uniforms. How could the triangle, circle and vertical line that he’d come to associate with the Deathly Hallows also serve as a symbol for the rejuvenation of spirit?

“I should’ve expected no less from a disciple of the great Dumbledore himself,” his welcoming aide had intoned. “It’s a symbol that speaks of balance: of the mind and of the body. Just as in death all things have to be considered, so it is in life.”

His personal counselor, Alexandra, had been more forthcoming. “The circle represents ourselves, body and mind. The triangle is the influence we exert on the outside world; notice how it touches in certain places only, so our sphere of influence is limited. Use it well. No one can be everywhere or be everything to everyone. The line in the middle denotes a balance in all things.”

“So it’s not the cross-hairs of a target?” Harry quipped as he tested the waters.

Much to his relief, she laughed outright. “Spoken like a lad who’s watched too much Muggle television.”

Harry silently allowed that she was probably right on that count -- even if Dudley had always been in charge of the remote control. Aloud, he dared, “What if I were the wizarding equivalent of a hit man?”

“Then you’d hardly be using laser sights on a rifle, would you?”

They had fallen into an easy rapport from that quirky start. Lexxie, as she insisted that he call her, was in her late twenties and often made him feel as if he were back at school “ an elite version of Hogwarts in a much more agreeable climate. She was just as easy to talk to as she was challenging at times, her unconventional sense of humor drawing him out when others would have just been rebuked by his long silences. It hadn’t taken her more than a day to home in on the source of his troubles.

“There seems to be a recurrent theme to your dreams,” she observed as she doodled on her ever-present clipboard. “Your nightmares, as you would categorize them.”

Amid the distant murmur of the waves crashing against the rocky shore, night terrors seemed eons away. “Right,” Harry allowed. “Mainly that I don’t seem to have any happy dreams anymore.”

“You probably do; they just don’t wake you up. We tend to remember the events of our last dream before waking.”

“Doesn’t it seem like the nightmares have been excessive?” he pressed.

Lexxie shrugged easily as she crossed her tanned legs. “Anything that keeps you from resting properly is problematic. But it’s clear you’re trying to work through things in your sleep.”

“Is that abnormal?”

With an encouraging smile, she responded, “Not at all. But the answers seem to be eluding you.”

“Perhaps there are no answers at all.”

“Certainly that’s how you’re feeling. But you need to narrow your search: find the answers for you alone. You don’t have to find the answers for others.”

He couldn’t keep the sullen tone out of his voice as he intoned, “Not anymore. But if I’d done a better job of it…”

“Others would still be alive, you’re saying.”

Harry nodded wordlessly as he allowed his gaze to shift over the cobalt horizon. It was difficult to tell whether the salty tang was from the ocean or of his own making.

“Why do you feel you bear the burden for others’ actions?” Lexxie coaxed.

“Not for their actions, just for making sure that everything turned out right.”

“Why? Why is this colossal burden yours to bear alone?”

He stopped to consider before stating flatly, “Because I’m the Chosen One.”

“In prophecy. But you, yourself, told me that you didn’t believe in prophecy.”

“I don’t. But others did. My enemies based their whole strategy upon that effing prophecy.”

“So you’re saying you were forced to play according to their rules?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Why didn’t you just walk away?”

Harry gave a long, rueful laugh. “A thousand times since I’ve wished I had. In hindsight, it all seems so obvious. But a first year student has no way to know the consequences of his simple actions.”

“Do you feel you were manipulated then?”

“That’s too strong a word. I trusted in adults to guide me and this is the path on which I was set.”

“By whom?”

“By Dumbledore, I suppose. He always said he had great faith in me.”

“Then it was by his decree that you felt you had no choice but to follow your destiny, as it were,” Lexxie summarized.

“Essentially. But he was right that Voldemort would’ve sought me out even if I’d turned my back on him. That monster was convinced that I was the enemy who had to be annihilated.”

“So if you hadn’t fought, you would’ve found yourself dead.”

“At least that’s what Dumbledore believed; he told me as much.”

“Something tells me you didn’t agree with his assessment of the situation. Am I wrong?”

“Again, it’s revisionist history. The prophecy was vague enough that it could’ve applied to another. Of course I didn’t know that at the start. Merlin, by the time I knew that the source of everything was a vaguely worded prophecy, it was probably too late to change direction!”

“But others knew of the prophecy?”

“Very few,” Harry clarified. “And no one knew the complete wording other than Dumbledore. Not before I knew, anyway.”

“So Dumbledore set you upon this path. The path of your destiny.”

“Right. But wouldn’t that apply to the role of a Headmaster in most cases anyway? He wasn’t as Machiavellian as others have suggested.”

“People can be manipulated with kindness just as much --”

“NO! IT WASN’T LIKE THAT!” Harry took a deep breath as he forced his temper down. “Far too many people are determined to heap blame for their misfortunes on others. As if that absolved them of having any control over their own actions. In the end, all they manage to do is tarnish the memory of someone they once held dear. I’m not like that!”

Lexxie gave him an appraising look. “So if you’d been unhappy, you would’ve been free to say so to Dumbledore’s face?”

“I lost track of how many times I stormed into his office and gave him a piece of my mind. I wasn’t always very diplomatic.”

“You were a child,” she emphasized.

“Having to deal with issues that a child is unprepared for.”

“No one is ever prepared for loss. It can be difficult to accept at any age.”

“Loss? Try devastation! At every turn. Each time I found a small niche to call my own, it was snatched from my grasp!”

“I won’t deny that life is unfair, Harry,” she soothed. “You’ve shouldered a lot from a very young age. It’s why you’ve come to this point.”

“You make it sound like I’m fed up.”

With an arch to her eyebrow, Lexxie prompted, “Aren’t you? Aren’t you railing at the inequities life has thrown in your path?”

He was momentarily caught short. With dawning realization, he admitted, “Right. Is that why my nightmares won’t leave me alone?”

“They’re symptoms of the disquiet you feel.”

“Am I not justified?”

“Very much so,” she confirmed. “But you have to find a way to deal with the feelings that are threatening to overwhelm you. That’s what your dreams are trying to tell you. Didn’t you say that the idea of doing things over again holds some appeal for you?”

“Sure. I’d love to go back and make things right knowing what I know now. But it’s a pipedream. Something to amuse Ginny after the funeral. It made her laugh; that was an accomplishment in itself.”

She gave him a warm smile full of encouragement. “Yes, it was. A ray of hope among the sorrow. The two of you seem to do that for one another.”

Harry gave a casual shrug. “She was one of the few things still there after the dust settled.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“For me,” he answered carefully.

“And you feel guilty because others weren’t so lucky?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Not if their actions were out of my control.”

“They came to my assistance. Followed me into battle, as it were.”

“Did you call them? Send them an owl?”

“No. The call was initiated through an enchanted coin. Neville called the first group; he was the other person who could have fulfilled the prophecy. The members of a study group we had formed in school. I had been their leader, for lack of a better term.”

“So they rallied behind a cause which you represented.” Before he could protest, she continued, “Wouldn’t they have come if Neville had called them, regardless?”

“I suppose so. He did a good job of sowing the seeds of insurrection during my absence. But Neville only sent out the signal because I was there,” he insisted.

“The adults came in the second group, I take it?”

“The members of the Order of the Phoenix; Fred summoned them. He and his twin brother had been involved in that group’s covert wireless programming.”

“So Fred called a group of experienced freedom fighters to assist your specially-trained band of teenagers,” Lexxie summarized. “Do you doubt his judgment?”

Harry shook his head sadly. “No, I’m just sorry he paid the ultimate price for being involved with the lot of us. The same goes for some of those he summoned as well.”

She argued, “Experienced fighters are aware of the risks they face.”

“Don’t make it sound like they were career soldiers!” Harry protested with intensity. “These were ordinary people who felt a need to defend the values they held dear. Remus and Tonks left an infant asleep in his crib to join in the battle. I would never have asked that of them “ no matter how dire the circumstances!”

Softly, Lexxie countered, “No single man can hold himself responsible for the actions of all the world. You’re being unfair to yourself.”

“I can’t help how I feel.”

“Even if you hurt yourself in the process?”

Harry leapt to his feet. “Why should I be immune? Others are hurting because of me!”

Unperturbed by his outburst, she continued in a modulated tone, “So it’s a penance of sorts; a self-imposed hair shirt. Does it make you feel any better?”

“Why should it?” he huffed.

“Punishment should hurt, in other words.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you feel you deserve to be punished? It seems like you accepted a burden that others would not and took it to victory.”

With a grim twist to his features, Harry attested, “If you’re suggesting I should be dancing among the corpses then I’m no better than the Death Eaters!”

Lexxie’s words were feather-soft as she put forth, “Why are you so determined to consign yourself to Purgatory, though?”

It took him a few extra moments to concede, “I can’t say it doesn’t feel like that at times. How do I find a way to climb out?”

“I don’t pretend to have the answers. You have to find your own road.”

With sudden insight, he postulated, “Is that what I’m trying to do when I confront my demons in the night?”

“The demons are winning.”

“Only because I don’t have the key to their defeat.”

“That key is within you,” she assured him. “You have to find a way to turn your back on them. It’s your guilt that empowers them. Only a flesh and blood enemy can seek you out against your will. Dreams cannot.”

“I can’t stay awake forever.”

“No one expects you to. That’s why I’m here to be your guide in the wilderness. Sometimes a change of scenery helps. Something new and your mind whirls off in uncharted directions.”

With a heavy sigh, he admitted, “Time alone with my own thoughts is what I most dread. I’ve had much too much of that in my life.”

“So invite some friends. The Ministry secured you a spacious villa. This is not a prison; it’s a spa of sorts. Rejuvenation for the mind and body.”

“So I could play Quidditch if I wanted?” Harry’s eyes lit up at the possibilities. He hadn’t played in over a year.

Lexxie gave an easy, melodic laugh. “Not over the edge of those sea cliffs. But I’m sure there are disused fields in the area. Would you like me to arrange something?”

“I’ll have to ask Ginny. She’s the truly rabid Quidditch fan. Well, her brother, Ron, as well.”

“Do you want some books to read on the beach, or perhaps on your breezy veranda?” she suggested.

“I’d rather swim or build sandcastles.”

“A man who likes to work with his hands. We have pottery classes.”

Harry gave a wry chuckle. “Now, that would be yet another form of Purgatory. Save that for any Death Eaters who come this way!”

“Watercolors or other types of painting? Many find the surroundings inspiring.”

Surely, she wasn’t referring to the oil portrait of Dumbledore which adorned the main sitting room. Why it was just as realistic as the one he recalled from the Headmaster’s office. That was clearly the work of a professional.

Now the delicate painting hanging above his bed frame was a different thing all together. Although rendered in the minimalist stokes of Oriental dry brush, the tumble of rocks that rose to a summit above the roiling ocean was identical to the distant headland he glimpsed over Lexxie’s shoulder.

“Is some of the art in the cottages the work of previous residents?” Harry tendered.

“Sometimes. There’s certainly no shortage of talent.”

With a curt wand motion, Harry Summoned the small piece in question. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he pointed towards the glittering expanse of shoreline.

Lexxie compared the deceptively simple brush strokes with the vista before her. Turning a warm smile in Harry’s direction, she commented, “The artist took a few liberties by adding the marble temple at the apex. You have a good eye.”

“So he imagined the ruins in their heyday.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “Those crumbling walls you see belong to an abandoned lighthouse. Hundreds of years old, yes, but not an ancient ruin from the classical era.” She gave him a searching look, “Does this mean you’d be interested in setting up an easel of your own?”

“Finger painting is the extent of my ability,” he noted ruefully.

“You can join one of our ongoing classes if you like. Lots of different styles are encouraged.”

“Landscapes aren’t really my cup of tea.”

“I see.” Her eyes danced with devilment as she added, “There are some who wish to recreate mythological scenes of winsome nymphs and satyrs. We can hire some body models so your depictions of the human form are suitably realistic.”

Harry felt the color rising to his cheeks as the import of her suggestion hit home. Without reservation, he shot back, “Cloven hooves and all?”

“Some details are left to the artist’s discretion….Such as whether to drape the women’s bodies in gossamer fabrics.”

Determined to not let her have the upper hand, he returned, “I can barely manage stick figures on a good day, why would I have need of flesh and blood models?”

She shrugged playfully. “Just exploring the possibilities. Life drawing classes always prove to be extremely popular among all residents. Just giving you the opportunity to grow in new directions.”

Harry nearly choked on his pomegranate tea, uncertain whether he had heard her correctly. Had she intended such innuendo? You could never tell with Lexxie, he decided as he noticed her doodling calmly on her clipboard. He let it go, concluding that he was just not used to being treated as an adult.

Stemming the tide of his embarrassment, he proposed, “I’d rather hike to the ruins.”

“Only if you don’t go by yourself.”

“Picnic with Ginny, then.”

“Aren’t you feeling bored in the meanwhile? Restless?” She gave him a piercing look that from anyone else would have made him squirm.

“A bit. I’ve never really been on holiday,” he replied earnestly. He was certain the Dursleys’ escape to that windblown rock didn’t count. That had not been for pleasure, but rather to thwart his persistent Hogwarts letters. “What sorts of things do people do?”

“Sightsee, eat, shop for souvenirs. Mainly relax.” After a moment’s thought, she added with a smirk, “Send glowing postcards to their friends who are stuck at home.”

“Can I send an owl to Ginny?”

“Yes, but she’ll be joining you at the weekend.”

“I miss her.”

“How about this: keep a journal. Put down all your thoughts and then you can turn them over to her when she gets here.”

“I’ve never been very good with words,” he protested.

“No one is “ when they start. Inspiration comes in unexpected ways when you open yourself up to her. After all, this land has been infused with the elusive breath of muses for eons.”