An Older Aberforth
“Your magic is not merely a tool for you to use. Most never even consider such a thing, and do not think of it as much more than that, but it is, Harry. It is so much more. When you truly understand your magic, it is another sense just as much as what you see, hear, smell, taste, and touch. To achieve that relationship, you must come to rely on your magic just as you do your other senses and even prioritise it. Not all magic can be seen, heard, or touched by us the same way your magic can discern it.”
“It is like something else, like it is a part of you, but not at the same time.”
“Exactly. It is a gift that can be squandered, abused, or equally cherished. You already demonstrated that you are coming to trust your magical instincts the night we visited Horace. You allowed your magic to lead you and was able to sense that Horace was the chair.”
“I’ve been paying more attention to my magic,” Harry admitted. “After what happened at the Ministry, it is different. and I can feel it more. When I’ve been practicing my Occlumency, I’ve been focusing on it, where it is and how it feels.”
“You can already feel it?”
Harry nodded.
“Like it is flowing in my blood, and even in my mind. Sometimes…”
“Go on,” Dumbledore urged.
“Sometimes it’s like I can feel it in a part of me that I can’t even feel.”
Dumbledore offered him an encouraging smile.
“That is quite astounding progress, Harry. I expect then that your magic is already beginning to attempt to tell you things about what you encounter. I apologise for backtracking, but the night we visited Horace, what did you feel?”
Harry frowned at the question.
“My magic was telling me that it wasn’t a chair, and I just assumed it was Slughorn trying to hide.”
Dumbledore nodded.
“That is the very foundation on one of the things we will discuss, but you must work on. Unfortunately, it is not a journey I will be able to partake in for the most part. Discovering a familiar relationship with your magic is a very personal undertaking. Has anything else of note happened since you began paying more attention to it?”
“It almost warns me of anything that is potentially dangerous. It’s like it is telling me to be cautious or avoid things.”
“But not exactly what it is you are in danger from. It doesn’t give you anything specific like a type of curse that might be imbued into something?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Dumbledore hummed as he opened one of the drawers of his desk and removed a box. Opening it, he placed eight different figurines from a chess set in front of Harry.
“Humour me,” he requested. “I’d like you to point out the ones that are unsafe to touch.”
Harry could feel several things that were rather unsettling, but nothing screamed of immediate danger the same way his magic reacted when he and Snape would duel.
“Those five are cursed, but not with anything lethal,” he explained, pointing towards a rook, a bishop, and three pawns.”
“Indeed they are,” Dumbledore praised. “Now, the next step in your journey will be to begin identifying the types of curses you may encounter. It is the simplest of magicks to begin with, because your own will alert you to anything potentially harmful more readily than any other type of magic. When you become adept at it, you will be able to begin using the skill for other magicks you encounter, even if it is only the minutest of traces. I can assure you, Harry, that it is the most useful of skills to master. Now, what can you tell me about any of these you have identified as being harmful? Feel the magic, Harry. Recognise the intent of it.”
Harry did his utmost to focus on the magic and find anything that might tell him what it would do to any unfortunate enough to touch it. However, try as he might, he could not identify anything other than it was unpleasant in nature.
“I don’t know,” he huffed.
Once more, Dumbledore offered him an encouraging smile.
“It takes considerable effort to reach such an understanding of your own magic, and other magic that is not your own, but one day, you will be able to decipher just about anything you may meet. I would like for you to take the figurines, all of them, and when you have the needed breakthrough, I would be most interested to hear your thoughts.”
He placed the chess pieces back in the box before handing it to Harry, along with a rather sizeable stack of parchment on the desk.
“Some most useful spells,” he explained. “Many of these have saved my life on more than one occasion and have proven to be invaluable. Work on them, Harry, and if you truly struggle, I will be able to assist you.”
“I will.”
Dumbledore nodded.
“Now, let u discuss the memories you have viewed so far.”
He’d made little progress with the cursed pieces but spent time each night whilst practicing his Occlumency feeling for the magic permeating around them.
If nothing else, it helped him become more familiar with his own magic as it warned him of the nearby danger, just as it did when he was duelling with Snape.
It was proving to be a rather odd arrangement.
With the Occlumency lessons the previous year, the man made no effort to speak with Harry outside of instructing him to clear his mind, before tearing through it to access whatever memories he wished to.
With the duelling, he would inevitably leave Harry in a state of discomfort at the very least before discussing the spells he’d used, how to counter and defend against them, before insisting Harry be able to cast them non-verbally.
Over the past couple of months, it had been nothing short of a series of humbling experiences, and yet, he knew that he was improving considerably.
Just duelling with Snape alone was quite the boon, and he was beginning to last much longer against the man by incorporating the other magicks he was studying.
Dumbledore’s collection was something he’d been in awe of. The magic was undoubtedly more advanced than most things he’d ever attempted, but when he was finished with Snape each evening, or if he was too tired, early in the morning, he would spend time in the room of requirement working his way through them.
Some were much easier than others to master, and there were those he was still struggling with. Even so, his determination to do so had not wavered, and were it not for the Quidditch match he was currently spectating, he would be in the room right now continuing with his never-ending efforts.
“I bet that hurt,” Hermione gasped as Demelza Robins collided with Goyle, who had flown directly into her path.
She was one of two new chasers who’d made the team, and with Ginny having been chosen as the seeker, Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote as beaters, and Ron continuing as the keeper, the team was complete.
Harry would not deny that he missed it and would love nothing more than to be in the air duelling with Malfoy, but he stood by his decision. He simply did not have the time to invest into Quidditch, and although Ginny was certainly a good seeker, he would’ve ended the game three or four times by now securing a win for Gryffindor.
“You wish you were up there,” Hermione said knowingly.
Harry shrugged in response, ignoring the pointed stares of the housemates around him that had not taken his decision well. If anything, it only put more pressure on Ginny to perform, and although she had yet to crumble under it, it was undoubtedly getting to her the longer the game dragged on.
Malfoy, for reasons unknown to Harry, seemed to be in a similar state as the redhead.
He was paler than usual, his skin appearing as though he’d not seen sunlight for several weeks, and even from where Harry could see him from the stands, it appeared as though the bags under his eyes were rather prominent, speaking of a lack of sleep.
Perhaps knowing that he could no longer throw his weight around using his father’s name was taken its toll on the blond, or maybe he’d learned that Lucius was nothing more than a snivelling coward when the Voldemort was displeased with him.
Harry remembered how pathetic the man had sounded the night his master had regained a body, how Lucius had pleaded for forgiveness for forsaking the Dark Lord.
He snorted at the thought, though clapped with the others as Ginny eventually managed to secure the snitch whilst Draco had not been paying attention.
“Thank Merlin for that,” Hermione sighed. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Its December,” Harry reminded her.
Usually, Gryffindor versus Slytherin was the first fixture of the year, but with both teams needing time to train their new members, it had been switched with the Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw match.
With a little over a week left until the Christmas holiday would be upon them, there was still much Harry needed to do, though already, Hermione had secured a promise from him that he would visit Hogsmeade with her and Ron the following weekend.
He’d intended to do so anyway, wanting to visit The Hog’s Head.
Harry had not again broached the subject of Ariana with the headmaster and would rather not knowing how painful the memories were for the man. However, the nearer the festive season approached, the more he could feel the presence within him urging him to return to Godric’s Hollow, and doing so, he needed something he could work with if he was to find a way to help the girl.
Maybe if he could find a way to meet her, he’d be able to at least get a feeling for whatever was ailing her, but Harry wasn’t certain it would be enough.
No, as much as he was not thrilled by the idea, he needed to raise the subject with Dumbledore somehow without arousing the man’s suspicion. That would undoubtedly be easier said than done.
“You do realise that you will have to come to the Burrow for Christmas,” Hermione spoke, breaking into his thoughts.
“The Burrow?”
“Mrs Weasley said she wrote to you to invite you.”
Harry frowned.
“It must be in the pile of letters I haven’t opened,” he grumbled.
He had gotten into the habit of ignoring much of his post.
Dumbledore had warned him that Scrimgeour would wish to speak with him, and the man sent no less than three letters a week in an attempt to get him to do so.
“Why aren’t you opening your mail?” Hermione asked confusedly.
“Scrimgeour keeps writing, and journalists.”
“Harry, you cannot ignore the Minister of Magic!”
“I bloody well can when he’s being an annoying prat.”
Hermione shook her head and stifled a giggle.
“It’s not funny,” Harry muttered irritably. “Honestly, he’s starting to do my head in.”
“Then why not speak to him and get it over with?”
“Because he has nothing to say that I want to hear. He only wants to be seen with me to make himself look good. He seems to think he can win the war, and wants me to be a good little boy, smile for the cameras and make it look like we’re best friends. We both know that isn’t going to happen.”
“Then what will you do?”
“Avoid him as long as I can before telling him to stuff it up his arse.”
Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him.
“You’ve changed, Harry.”
He shrugged.
“I have to be different than I have been. All that has happened since I was a baby did so because I was reckless and relied on luck. I can’t do that anymore, Hermione. It has gotten people killed, and I’m tired of it. Anyway, tell Ron and Ginny I said congratulations.”
She shot him a look of concern, but did not question him further, and Harry made headed towards the castle, where he would make his way to the seventh floor to invest some more time in his self-improvement.
With each day that passed, the one that he and Voldemort would meet came closer, and though it was an uphill struggle at best, Harry was determined to be as ready as he could possibly.
Despite the seeming impossibility of the task, that determination had not wavered, nor would it.
Of that, he was certain, if of nothing else.
(Break)
She was only growing more worried about Harry.
He seemed to be coping well enough, didn’t appear to be grieving for Sirius any longer, but he had changed so much since losing the man that Hermione scarcely recognised her friend anymore.
He would attend classes with them, have breakfast, lunch and dinner in the great Hall most days, but other than that, he was barely present.
Ron did not notice his absence as much because he was training for Quidditch most evenings, and those that he wasn’t, the two of them had their prefect duties to attend to.
Hermione noticed it.
She noticed that Harry did not ask her to help him with his homework, that he did not mention the war being waged outside of the castle, nor did he ever tell them where he’d been or what he was doing in all the time he spent away from them.
The Room of Requirement.
She knew he was spending hours in there each day, but he would disappear after dinner too, sometimes not returning until close to midnight.
He was practicing magic. That much she had figured out for herself when she’d seen him in the library perusing the bookshelves and even entering the restricted section. Hermione had not questioned him about exactly what he was doing, mostly because she didn’t need to.
Harry was preparing for war.
He had put much stock in the words of the prophecy and believed that it would indeed come down to him and Voldemort. Having only delved into Divination very briefly, she would not pretend to understand it, but Dumbledore evidently believed in the veracity of it.
Still, the very thought that Harry would have to fight Voldemort was something that did not rest easily with her.
“Where’s Harry?”
A flushed Ron had arrived from the changing rooms with Ginny in tow, both beaming at their shared victory on the Quidditch pitch.
“I have no idea,” Hermione sighed.
She didn’t.
He would either be in the Room of Requirement, in the library, or he could be just about anywhere else in the castle. With his cloak and map to hand, there wasn’t anywhere that was off limits to him. Still, she was curious about how he was spending his time, and maybe when she saw him away from the castle at the Burrow, he might just be a little more forthcoming about what it was he was doing.
Perhaps not.
Harry had always been somewhat aloof with many aspects of his life, and now, he’d only become more so in recent months, not even responding to their letters throughout the duration of the summer.
Even since they’d returned to Hogwarts, the differences in him were unmissable, and Hermione felt next to useless to help him in whatever he was doing.
Unless Harry opened up to them, that would not change, and the worry he was biting off more than he could chew would remain.
(Break)
“Try as I might, I cannot get him to open up to me, Headmaster. The boy is determined to do it alone. I cannot even begin to fathom what he is planning.”
Albus frowned thoughtfully.
“His lack of attentiveness has been noted. He has not submitted a single piece of homework since returning in September.”
“He has not,” Severus acknowledged, and more than one of his peers has raised concerns about his behaviour. The pressure is getting to him, and he will do something reckless. I can glean nothing from him short of sitting him in a chair and using Legilimency on him. Bella has taught him well enough to keep his surface thoughts hidden.”
“I am watching him closely, Severus, and will continue to do so. You may not agree, but I have my thoughts on Mr Malfoy and his plight.”
Severus’s furrowed brow spoke of how little he agreed with Albus.
“And what of Mr Potter? You are spending considerable time with him.”
“His work is acceptable.”
“Only acceptable?”
Severus scowled irritably.
“We duel, I give him a selection of spells I wish for him to become familiar with, and we discuss magic. He does not make the same mistake twice, and he has potential, more than any other I have seen his age, but I am not convinced it will be enough, not to triumph over the Dark Lord.”
“And yet, your work continues.”
“Because of you and your damned foolishness,” Severus snapped. “In only a matter of months, that curse will take you, and the Dark Lord will take advantage of your demise. Worse yet, there is no one to stop him, not yet, at least. If Potter is ever to be ready to do what must be done, it will not be for some time yet, Albus. He is good, and maybe one day will be great, but not soon enough. The boy cannot rely on luck, so if you have anything up your blasted sleeve to help him, you’d best pull it out sooner rather than later.”
Albus deflated as he nodded.
“Harry will be prepared, Severus. I have every faith he will triumph.”
Of course, he would not mention his own observations of Harry and the rather astounding progress he was already making. There were many conversations he would need to have with the boy when they inevitably emerged.
Albus was merely grateful that his original plan no longer appeared to be viable.
No, he was convinced that there was indeed no longer a piece of Tom’s soul residing within the scar that as little more than a faded reminder of what it had once been.
Nonetheless, he had many questions that needed to be answered before he was satisfied, and those answers would only come when he and Harry ha another one of those frank conversations pertaining to Tom’s creations and how Harry had once ore overcome what he’d believed to be an impossible set of circumstances.
All of that was without the discussion about the Hallows they had yet to share.
Albus did not doubt that Harry was aware of the tale of his ancestors, but neither had broached the subject yet. Once more, Albus had his own questions on the matter to satiate his own curiosity more than anything else, and yet, the presence of the stone that had been the cause of him being cursed and the wand continued to weigh heavily upon him.
The power the Dark Lord knows not…
He’d never considered that the Hallows could be just that until Harry had mentioned the Peverells to him. Even now, he was not entirely convinced that was so, but perhaps they just might be.
Harry was indeed a Peverell, and Albus was curious to see how the Hallows would react when placed in the hands of one who’d either created or been gifted them, if the stories were to be believed.
“He will be ready, Severus. I can categorically say that I have never been certain of anything else in all my years.”
The man merely nodded in response before leaving the office, and Albus stroked the plumage of his lifelong companion whilst he pondered all that was to come when he inevitably succumbed to the curse plaguing him.
With each passing day, he could feel Death draw ever nearer, and though he did not fear passing on, he was worried for the world he would leave behind and the damage Tom would do before he was stopped.
(Break)
To Harry,
I hope this letter find you well.
You will be pleased to know that I took your advice and have brought a home for myself. I will not disclose where it is in writing, but I would love for you to see it when you have time to do so.
It is nothing as grand as Grimmauld Place, but it is more than I could have ever hoped for.
As for your birthday gift, I do not know what to say.
I know that it could not have been cheap, and it is something I should’ve considered doing for myself but thank you. Now my transformations will not be so terrible, but I will still take the precaution of isolating myself at every full moon.
Yours, Always,
Remus Lupin
He smiled as he folded up the letter and added it to the pile he intended to keep, another being from Mrs Weasley inviting him for Christmas, and one from Fed and George threatening a most unpleasant gift if he did not accept the invitation.
Chuckling to himself, he reduced those from Rufus Scrimgeour to a pile of ash, which blew across the Room of Requirement where he had been working.
Already, his magic was coming on in leaps and bounds, and he was spending each day familiarising himself with it as the voice had urged. Reluctantly, he admitted that Snape had been more than useful with the additional Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.
He could not deny the man’s knowledge was incredible, and the detail he explained everything he showed Harry was masterful. Still, that didn’t mean he liked the man any more than he had, and Harry was certain the feeling was mutual.
He had often wondered why Snape was helping him, what his reasons could be that he would incest so much time in ensuring Harry was prepared as he could be for what was to come. As it was with himself, Snape’s reasons were his own, and Harry had no intention of prying.
They were working well enough together, and he was learning more with the man’s assistance than he would through his own studies where he was piecing together what both Dumbledore and Snape was teaching him.
For now, however, he was exhausted from his efforts but needed to wash before he went to bed.
With only a thought, a bath much like the one in the prefect’s bathroom appeared, and Harry waited for it to fill before undressing and sinking into the hot water, breathing a sigh of contentment.
Putting himself through what he was each day took its toll on him both mentally and physically, and it was these brief moments of peace he looked forward to.
Nonetheless, it was impossible to completely block out all that was on his mind.
Of course, Voldemort occupied many of his thoughts, as did his followers, but it was the growing insistence of the voice and his magic that he return to Godric’s Hollow soon that was becoming harder to ignore.
What he would find when he returned to where he’d left the younger Dumbledores behind, Harry didn’t know, and avoiding the conversation with the headmaster was no longer possible.
There was much for them to discuss, pertaining to the man’s younger sister, and the memories he had explored more times than he cared to count to ensure he’d missed no details.
Slughorn.
Harry had figured out why Dumbledore wanted him to be on good terms with the man. He did indeed know things, important things that the outcome of the war could depend on, and Harry wasn’t surprised Horace had gone into hiding at learning about the Dark Lord’s return.
Voldemort would wish to silence him and would do so if the opportunity presented itself.
If that was to come to pass, Harry would need to find a way of extracting the information the man had, but he doubted Slughorn would do so lightly.
No, he would not be so willing to discuss what he knew and what information he had imparted onto the young Tom Riddle, but he would.
Harry had no intention of taking no for an answer, after all.
Even so, he wasn’t exactly clear on what Horcruxes were, nor had he found any information about them in the library.
Maybe the Black library would provide what he needed, but that would have to wait until he returned home in a little over a week.
Before then, however, he knew he could not prolong the conversation with Dumbledore any longer, and he doubted it would be one either would remember fondly, well, for what little time the headmaster had remaining.
The man had not always been so forthcoming, nor had he made anything easier for Harry, but he was saddened at the thought of losing him.
Wizarding Britain would not be the same without him, and nor would Hogwarts.
No, his death alone would bring changes that so few would be ready for, and Harry could not help things would only get much worse when the man was gone.
No, things would not be so good, and he, along with everyone else, would need to weather the coming storm.
(Break)
Despite the many plans he had in motion, and the successes he’d enjoyed, it often felt that he was stationary, that his movement was rather stagnant, much to the chagrin of his followers.
That, however, was not so.
During his first uprising, he had been fearless whilst striking fear into his enemies, proactive, and his ventures had been violent and plentiful.
Britain had indeed been on the cusp of defeat, and yet, it had been the Dark Lord to fall, mostly because of his own actions. He had been gripped by the euphoria of having tracked the Potters down, the joy of tearing the final breath from James Potter’s lungs. And the sheer ecstasy of Lily Potter begging for her son’s life.
Old magic.
Whether wittingly or not, the woman had invoked a powerful protection over the boy, which had resulted in Lord Voldemort’s very essence being ripped from his body.
Had it not been for his Horcruxes, he expected that he would’ve perished that night, and even with them, he knew that he needed to be cautious as he proceeded.
His followers were numerous, he’d once again secured the services of the dementors, giants, and werewolves, but there was magic at play that so few could even begin to comprehend.
No, despite the impatience of those that looked to him to lead, he could not be so reckless.
Already, he had ridden himself of one of his most powerful foes in Amelia Bones. Of course, he had not expected Scrimgeour to appoint Alastor Moody as her replacement, but the man was not what he had once been.
No, Moody was an old cripple now, who had already been outwitted by the Dark Lord. Even so, he would die soon enough.
For now, however, his attention was elsewhere, and as an unusually unkempt Lucius entered the room, he quirked an eyebrow at the man.
“I do hope you’ve had word from your son, Lucius.”
“Just now, my lord. He has written to assure you that he has a plan underway.”
“And did he disclose the nature of this plan?”
“No, my lord.”
He shook his head disappointedly, but it was probably for the best Draco had not divulged the details. There was a chance that the mail in and out of the castle was being checked, and if Dumbledore was to die, it would need to be achieved with cunning and poise.
It would be foolish to make such an error as to write of the plan.
Perhaps Draco was not so dim, after all.
“Very well, then I shall look forward to hearing of his success. He has been back at Hogwarts for three months, Lucius, and I expect success.”
“O-of course, my lord. Draco will not let you down.”
“You had better hope for your sake, Lucius, that he does not.”
The man nodded stiffly before taking his leave of the room, and the Dark Lord could only shake his head. Tasking Draco with killing the old fool, at first, had been little more than a punishment for Lucius’s failings, but now, he was eagerly anticipating the outcome of the boys’ efforts.
Whether or not he succeeded truly did not matter.
Dumbledore would die regardless of whether it was at Draco’s hands or his own. Nonetheless, he could not deny that there would be a semblance of satisfaction to see his former Transfiguration professor die at the hands of one of his own students.
If he and Dumbledore were to meet, the outcome was not in question, but Draco’s efforts on the other hand, were not set in stone. No, it would certainly be interesting to see what the boy could come up with, and if he failed, leaving the Dark Lord to clean up his mess, he would die too for his ineptitude.
He had no time or intention to suffer fools, not when there was much to do before he could claim Britain for his own.
Piece by piece, it would be taken, and although both Dumbledore and Potter were only two pieces of many, they remained the most important to be rid of.
(Break)
“I promise, I will meet you at The Three Broomsticks soon. I just have one last Christmas present to pick up.”
Hermione eyed him sceptically, but her need to eat won out, and Harry offered her and Ron a reassuring smile before he made his way towards Scrivenshaft’s, only to vanish into the folds of his invisibility cloak and change direction.
The far side of the village was much quieter than the rest, with only a few errant couples to be seen in the windows of Madam Pudifoot’s Teashop, and as Harry entered The Hog’s Head, he immediately understood why the students did not come here, except for the previous year when Hermione had arranged the meeting to begin the DA.
Harry had paid little mind to anything, and certainly not the rather surly landlord, who eyed him curiously as he entered.
“Not another one of your meetings, is it, boy?”
“Not this time.”
“Then what do you want?”
“A Butterbeer.”
Aberforth Dumbledore scowled at him, accepting the coin Harry placed on the bar before slamming a bottle onto it. He said nothing else and continued polishing the glass he held with a filthy rag.
It was difficult to imagine this man had once been the same wide-eyed boy he’d met, but then again, Harry knew he wasn’t the same as he’d been before he’d attended Hogwarts.
“You do realise that it is bloody stupid for you to be here alone,” Aberforth huffed. “There are a lot of people that have it in for you.”
“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be able to enjoy a drink.”
The man snorted in response.
“Suit yourself,” he grumbled, “but if you bring trouble to my door, we will be having words.”
“Do you talk to all of your customers that way?”
“I speak to them however I feel, and if they don’t like it, they can bugger off.”
“So, why do they come here? I doubt it is for the cleanliness or your charm.”
Aberforth’s mouth fell agape before he chuckled amusedly.
“Maybe for the same reason you have. I don’t know, and I couldn’t care less. They put a few coins in my till, keep themselves to themselves, and then clear off. This isn’t a counsellor’s office, and I’m not here to coddle every Tom, Dick, or Harry who wanders in.”
It was Harry’s turn to laugh, and Aberforth scowled at him once more.
“Did my brother send you here?”
Harry shook his head.
“Why would he?”
“You never know with Albie. So, you thought you’d just come and get another look at the younger, less famous brother, is that it?”
“No, I just wanted a moment of peace. Believe me, your brother has caused me enough problems over the years.”
“He does that,” Aberforth muttered, “but the people need someone like him to follow. The world is full of sheep, lad, and they need their bloody shepherd. It will be your turn next when he decides to kick the bucket.”
“Soon then.”
“Soon?”
Harry shook his head and drained the remains of his Butterbeer, looking around the pub to ensure they were alone.
“It’s not my place to say, but if you give a toss, maybe you should speak to him. I’ll see you again, if I want another moment of peace.”
Aberforth merely frowned in response, and Harry left the dingy pub in favour of making his way towards the other, less miserable one on the other side of the village, where he would be able to enjoy his lunch.
He didn’t know why the Dumbledore brothers had fallen out, and he knew it wasn’t his place to interfere, but Aberforth deserved to know of what was to come, even if the knowledge did not resolve whatever differences there were between them.
“I told you I would be back,” he greeted Hermione as he joined her and Ron at their table.
She looked at him questioningly for a moment before shaking her head and sliding a large tankard of Butterbeer towards him that was in a much cleaner glass than the one Aberforth had been holding.
“Did you get what you need?”
Harry nodded and watched amusedly as Ron’s eyes glazed over.
He was watching Lavender Brown quite intently, and the girl offered him a wave, eliciting a blush from the boy.
“When did that happen?” he asked.
Hermione looked at Ron disapprovingly and shrugged.
“I have no idea.”
Evidently, she did not wish to speak about it, and Harry had no intention of involving himself in anything pertaining to his friend’s love lives. His own was non-existent, and the only thing that he would remotely consider being such had been his brief, forgetful moment with Cho the previous year.
He shuddered at the memory.
What he was thinking, he didn’t know, but it was something he did not want to ponder further.
“Oh look, it’s snowing,” Hermione pointed out, mercifully pulling him from his thoughts.
“That’s a bloody blizzard,” Ron groaned. “Come on, we’d better get back to the castle before it gets worse. We don’t want to be caught up in that.”
Harry nodded and finished his drink, already planning a trip to the kitchens to get some lunch.
“Merlin, I can barely see a thing,” Hermione declared, her voice barely carrying over the wind as they stepped outside.
Although Harry could not hear her so well, none of them missed the scream from somewhere ahead, and all three drew their wands as they hurried forward, only to come upon the distressing sight of Katie Bell floating in the air, though she was quite limp.
“No, don’t touch her!” Harry instructed as Hermione made to do so. “She’s been cursed.”
He could feel it; an oppressive, vile magic that spoke of nothing but agonising suffering, and death.
“It was the necklace! I told her not to touch it!” another Gryffindor student sobbed.
Levitating it from within the wrappings on the ground, Harry swallowed deeply before conjuring a purple ball of magic around it to protect anyone else from coming into contact with the curse.
What it was, he didn’t know, but that didn’t matter right now.
Casting another ball of magic and a further cushioning charm around Katie Bell, he slowly lowered her, and ensured she was as warm and comfortable as she could be with a few more spells.
“We need to get her to the castle quickly. Hermione, levitate her. Ron, you need to run ahead and tell whoever you can.”
He merely nodded in response and hurtled towards the castle as quickly as his legs could carry him.
Harry, as worried as he was about Katie, focused on the necklace dangling ominously within the ball of magic he’d created, levitating it in front of him.
“What is that magic?” Hermione asked.
“Something that will prevent the curse from spreading,” Harry explained, “but it might already be too late. She won’t get any worse, but depending on the curse, there’s no promise she will get better.”
Hermione nodded her understanding, and with Leanne in tow, continued on their way whilst Harry idly wondered just how it was that such a thing came into the girl’s possession in the first place.