Far Away Journey

Far Away Journey: Chapter Two

The hallways seemed gloomier than ever for Harry as he walked toward Gryffindor tower. He felt as though all light was drained from his life. The portraits resumed their usual obnoxious chatter, and paid no attention whatsoever to him; he didn't look at them, either. His back was slumped and he stared at his sneakers as he walked, watching the way that his shoelaces came undone and dragged on the floor.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" he muttered angrily to himself. "I can't do anything right these days. The one girl I actually care about is going away, and I didn't even have the guts...oh, forget it. It's useless now. I can't change the past."

The Fat Lady looked at him, and wrinkled her nose as she dusted off her dress. "Password?"

"Damn it, I can't even remember the stupid password." He rubbed his forehead. "Can't you just let me in? I'm having a really bad day. Actually, a really bad week in general, and...please just let me in. I just want to sleep and rest and sleep."

The Fat Lady frowned. "Come on, rules are rules, and we have them for the safety of the students here. How do I know you're not a serial killer in disguise?"

"That's absurd. There aren't any serial killers running about right now. If you want proof of who I am, just look at my scar!" He folded back the mass of dark hair. "See that? How many people have something like a lightning-shaped scar on their forehead? You can't do that with a disguise. Unless, you're crazy enough to cut...forget it."

The portrait giggled. "Young man, it's entirely possible for someone to do that, and it doesn't even involve the messiness...ugh. Didn't you read Hogwarts, A History?"

"Kind of. When the teachers assigned reading to us." He shrugged.

"Well, first of all, read the book. There are even a few pages about me. But anyways, there's this thing called the Miroir des Illusions, and that mirror can let you be anything your mind imagines."

"Interesting...but, the bottom line is...I'm not a serial killer!!! I'm Harry Potter. God! Why won't you believe me?" He waved his hands around frantically, and then collapsed onto the floor, burying his face into his hands.

"I wish I can help you. I really do, but rules are rules, and I can't let you in if―"

The portrait opened up. Harry lifted his head up.

"Harry?" Ron asked, poking his head out from the entrance. "What on earth are you doing there? Come on, get up."

The Fat Lady protested against Ron. "Don't let him in! He's a serial killer in disguise!"

"Shut up."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said as he climbed into Gryffindor tower.

Harry dropped into an armchair, and leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling.

Ron walked over, and crawled into an adjacent armchair. The common room was empty except for them and Crookshanks, whom Hermione had to leave behind since pets weren't allowed on her trip. The mangy cat prowled toward Ron, rubbing its head against his jeans.

"So, how did it go? Did you tell her?"

Harry squirmed uneasily in his seat. "No."

"You didn't tell her? Harry, I mean, this was supposed to be your last chance. I suppose you could write to her about it, but it just wouldn't be the same. You know what I mean?"

"Well, I couldn't do it, so just piss off."

Ron ignored Harry's moodiness. "Anyways, she'll be back before the year finishes; you can always keep that option open. Telling her about how you feel, I mean."

Harry's anger exploded. "You just don't get it, do you!? She's doesn't even have an inkling that I like her more than as a friend. You know what she said to me? 'You're such a good friend.'--it can't get clearer than that. A friend. A good friend. That's how she sees me, and that's how she'll always see me!"

"I'm sure―"

"So you see, it was impossible for me to tell her that I love her. How can you tell a girl that you love her when you know that she doesn't love you back in the same way? I was stuck, okay? I felt so dumb standing there, holding her in that pointless hug, listening to her rant about her trip to America."

"Look―"

Harry's green eyes were blazing a passion that Ron rarely saw. It wasn't the kind of fervor he gets into from playing quidditch or the kind of excitement he gets from riding Buckbeak for the first time. This was darker; he wasn't himself at all. "She's probably going to find some laid-back American hottie to have fun with and do who-knows-what. And then she's going to forget all about us. She's not even going to write to me like she promised, and if she does, I'm not going to read her letters. I'll throw them in the fire with the rest of my heart. She'll probably like the States so much that she'll want to live there permanently with her newfound lover. I bet you she's going to get―"

"HARRY, CALM DOWN!" Ron yelled; his cheeks were flushed underneath the spatter of freckles. Harry looked stunned, and looked at Ron as though he suddenly realized that he wasn't alone. "You must get a hold of yourself, and think practically. Logically. I understand what you're thinking, but forget all that. Be positive for once, will you? You've been like this all week. Haven't you had enough? Move on. Life is short; make the most of it. There's so many fish in the ocean. Hermione isn't the only one."

"She's the only one for me," Harry sulked.

"Remember Cho Chang?"

Harry glared at Ron. "Don't even say her name. I've had enough bad experiences with her. All she ever did was cry about her beloved Cedric. It was pitiful, and highly uncomfortable."

"My point is that you were drooling over her for quite a while, and now, see how all that's done and over with. Hermione's the same―"

"HERMIONE IS NOT LIKE CHO!" Harry jumped out of his seat, hair wildly in disarray around his head and eyes bloodshot with fury. He paced in front of the fireplace back and forth.

"Someone's in a bad mood."

"I just want to be alone. The last thing I need is to have a red-haired, freckled mosquito buzzing around my ear 24/7."

Ron looked hurt. "If that's really the way you feel." He got up and walked out of Gryffindor tower, slamming the portrait in anger as he left.

Harry watched the door close, and blinked as the Fat Lady shouted, "WILL YOU WATCH THE CANVAS! I'M DELICATE, YOU KNOW!"

----

Hermione felt dazed as her eyes roamed around the room. She fell onto her hands and knees, then tilted her face upwards and saw Dumbledore's office scintillating with color and shine. Everything became overly bright. The walls themselves seemed to undulate with swirls of colors splashed everywhere; it was like being sprawled on an artist's palette. Looming above her, the mirror was no longer a sheet of cold steel, but had a frame of wooden edges layered over with multiple colors. She felt the floor vibrate beneath her fingertips as techno music pulsated throughout the chamber. Her head wanted to explode. Everything seemed to be in constant motion.

She pushed herself to her feet, saying, "So this is the alternate reality my imagination has created. Weird."

A creamy voice behind her said, "Look into the mirror."

She swung around toward the voice, and gaped at the person standing before her. There was a man, about in his thirties, garbed in a business suit with a bowler hat and spectacles. Despite his youthful appearance and strange attire, Hermione knew he was Dumbledore. A much younger version of Dumbledore. "Professor Dumbledore, you look so different."

"It's all an illusion based on your imagination," he said. His voice sounded like warm chocolate, deep and inviting. "Inside, I am still an old man."

Shaking her head, Hermione said, "I never knew my thinking is so bizarre. How did I do this?"

"It's all in your subconscious. You don't realize it, but the things you see now are the images being weaved in the back of your mind. Now, look at your reflection."

Hermione saw a young lady with straight brown hair that rested over her shoulders. Thin yet rounded bangs shadowed her forehead over blue-green eyes and dark lashes. The beaver teeth were finally normal-sized. A periwinkle scarf hung casually over a long, woolen coat the color of French vanilla, and below that, a pair of black boots complemented with jeans. The girl in the mirror was taller than she was, and perhaps a little more voluptuous; she used to envy other girls' soft curves in comparison with her straight body structure. Hermione spun around, admiring her new body.

"This is amazing," she breathed. "This is what I've always dreamed of looking like. Do you think I could pass for a model?"

Dumbledore smiled, his youthful eyes sparkling beneath his glasses, and didn't answer her question. "Alright then," he began, clapping his hands together and gesturing at the mirror. "You should go back before we run out of time."

Feeling confident, Hermione grinned at the Headmaster and skipped through the mirror. It was as though a cool breeze slipped beneath her clothing in that brief moment; the sensation made her adrenaline flow through her veins like the currents of a rapid river.

----

Ginny was walking out of the girls' dormitory, her red hair piled on top of her head with chopsticks when she saw Harry storming around the empty common room, muttering incomprehensible sentences to himself. His hands were clenched into fists. For a second, he stopped pacing only to slam a fist against the wall, and she heard him say something like, "Get a grip Harry. Breathe. Relax." But just as abruptly as he stood still, he resumed his marching.

Gingerly, she walked down the stairs, and called out, "Harry, is something wrong?"

"Oh, hey Ginny," Harry said, standing still for once. "What's up?" He tried to act as though nothing was amiss.

"Nothing much. There's never anything interesting to do on Saturday mornings." She sighed and sank into a couch, leaning her head against a pillow. "Why were you walking around like that?"

"Oh...you know me. I do it for umm...exercise. For quidditch. Because I need to be in shape for quidditch. And. Um. Yeah." His hands relaxed. He pushed back his hair and leaned against the wall.

"Okay. But you were talking to yourself. And it wasn't friendly talk, either."

"Oh that. I was reviewing for the potions test on Monday. It's more efficient that way. I mean, I get more things done trying to multi-task."

Ginny looked worried. "You know, something just doesn't smell right. There's something wrong; I can feel it. It's okay. You can talk with me about it if it makes you feel any better."

"Don't be worried." Harry walked over and sat next to her. "I'm absolutely fine. Completely. See? I'm smiling."

She giggled, looking into Harry's face. He could always make her smile. Ginny had a crush on Harry for as long as she could remember, but she had her doubts about his feelings toward her. Recently, he also seemed emotionally unstable, which made her worry more. If only he knew, she thought to herself. "Oh, Harry," she said, reaching for his hand. Seeing her hand come closer, he withdrew his hands and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Noticing this, Ginny patted his knee briefly instead and continued, "I really haven't a clue what's been going on with you these days. You're just so distant. I don't know." She folded her hands over her lap. "Maybe I'm wrong, but is any of this about Hermione studying in America for the semester?"

Harry tensed up. He felt the suppressed feelings of guilt, anguish, and anger all rush back into his body like a current of electricity. For several seconds, he sat there, not even breathing, and closed his eyes. Act normally for God's sake! Don't be like this. Just relax and forget it.

"Harry?"

He opened his eyes. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Stop asking me these silly questions. And, I haven't been acting weird lately. Everything is perfect. Smooth sailing all the way. Besides, there's nothing for me to trouble over Hermione. She's going to have a wonderful time, and I can't wait to read her letters." The smile that stretched over his face looked forced and tired. Harry stood up. "I'm sorry, I would love to hang around, but I'm kind of tired right now. It's time for a nap. See you." He trudged upstairs.

"Yeah, see you." Ginny leaned into the soft cushions, and looked up at the ceiling. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes, and an image of a laughing, smiling Harry filled her mind.

----

The rhythmic pulsing stopped. Lights ceased to swirl. Colors became rich, earthy tones. Hermione stood with her back facing the mirror. Dumbledore grinned, making the wrinkles dance around his eyes. The familiar white beard and half-moon glasses rested on his face once more. Hermione caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, and relished in her new veneer.

"A job well done, Hermione. Now we can get on with business. Accio luggage." Hemione's luggage came flying toward her, and landed directly at her feet. Picking up her things, she followed him into a chamber that she didn't recognize. Unlike the rest of the office, there were no windows, but candles provided light. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all black. A glass table stood in the center with an empty Poland Spring water bottle sitting on it.

"That's it? A water bottle?"

"We try to be as inconspicuous as possible, especially in muggle-populated areas, which is precisely where you shall be landing." He glanced at his watch. "We have one minute and thirty-four seconds left. Anything you wish to tell me before leaving?"

"Ummm...exactly where will I be landing?"

"In a discreet alley in Boston, Massachusetts. I believe it's located along Huntington Avenue, but of course you don't know where that is, so it's pointless for me to go on about it. Oh yes. There will be someone picking you up. Don't worry about it; everything is taken care of."

"Okay, thank you for everything Professor Dumbledore."

"Always a pleasure. You are a wonderful student, and I am positive that you will excel in America as much as you do in Hogwarts. I wish you a safe journey. Make wise decisions." He smiled, and looked at his watch. "Now, we have exactly twenty seconds left, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen--I want you to hold on to the water bottle, now--twelve, eleven, ten--don't forget your bags--seven, six, five, four, three, two, one!"

Whoosh. She felt herself jerked forward, and suddenly Dumbledore's office disappeared. It felt as though there was a hook pulling her by the navel. All she heard was the wind whipping past her ears and the beating of her frantic heart. A rainbow of colors whirled past her eyes. It all ended as quickly as everything had turned into a blur; she felt something hard beneath her feet. Something like cement, wood, or a paved road. As she looked up, her hand automatically loosened its hold against the water bottle, and it clattered on the ground. She found herself in an alley, next to dumpsters, trash bags, and mountains of cardboard boxes. Brick walls loomed around her, green with mold. She breathed in the stale smell of city air.

A slender man in his twenties walked toward her with an outstretched hand. Short, light-brown hair framed a face with brown eyes and rosy cheeks. He had a welcoming grin on his face. "You must be Miss Hermione Granger, from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."