Distorted Reflections

CHAPTER FOUR

Ron and Neville were sitting in Harry's bedroom, chatting unconcernedly about Quidditch, when Harry Apparated into the center of the room. Ron looked up and flashed him a cheerful grin, which swiftly evaporated into a look of alarm at the sight of Harry's expression. Harry, standing awkwardly on the mossy green carpet, looked completely and utterly miserable. His green eyes had blackened with despair, and his cheeks were ashen. He looked haunted.

"Bloody hell, Harry! What happened?" Ron asked, quite disturbed by his friend's appearance. Harry moved over to the bed and sat down, gliding as if he were in a trance. He swallowed noisily and closed his eyes. "I talked to her," he said dully.

"And?"

"She told me exactly what she thought of me."

Ron's jaw dropped. He was afraid to ask the next question, but felt it was his duty. "What--What did she say?"

Harry let out a strangled gasp, and permitted a single jewel of salt water to drop from his eye, marking his shirt with a dark stain. "She told me that she missed me, but she didn't miss me."

This time both Neville and Ron spoke, in unison. "What?" they asked in disbelief.

"She said that she missed the Harry she knew from Hogwarts; not the Harry I am now."

Neville stood up and adjusted his robes. "I'm guessing we're referring to Hermione here. I'm also under the impression that she lives about thirty miles from here, in Starwood. That's some long walk you took, Harry," he said.

Harry turned his face toward his old schoolmate. "How did you know I was going to see her?"

"Please, Harry. I may look a fool, but five years can change a man, as I think we've both proved. Hermione's the only girl you've ever cared about. Everyone knows that. Plus, Ron told me," he said, then raised an eyebrow at Ron's glare.

Harry frowned at Ron, who shrugged. "What? He needed to know, Harry. We can't let you die over this, we're your friends."

Harry acknowledged Ron's statement with a single nod, and shifted to face the opposite wall. There was a silence. Ron finally broke it by inquiring hesitantly,

"And what did you say? When she told you all that, I mean."

Harry sighed, and bowed his head so his companions wouldn't see the tears that had begun to fall. " I told her she was right," he said solemnly. Ron and Neville exchanged shocked looks.

"Harry, she isn't right. She's dead wrong, you're still the person you were when we met you--"

"No, I'm not," said Harry. "I'm falling apart, because I can't seem to let her go, no matter what. She told me that she hadn't intended for me to turn out like this, but I have. It's funny, you know? For five years, I tried to tell myself that I did not love her, and all that time I was still pining for her. And, just a day ago, I decided to go and visit her, to prove to myself that I could see her and not turn into a little pile of longing and hurt. I was so afraid, though, that I would become that little Harry-pile as soon as I laid eyes on her, that I tried to bring myself to hate her memory. But I couldn't. I couldn't, because she's not the kind of person that can be hated. She's amazing, and I still love her!"

He was breathing hard when he finished, and his face was streaked with salty tears.

"Do you hear that? I love her! I love Hermione Granger, and I always have, and I always will!"

Ron and Neville looked at each other, then at Harry, then back at each other again. "Harry's gone mad, hasn't he?" Neville murmured under his breath, and Ron nodded in agreement. Harry whirled about, his eyes hungry.

"I have not gone mad, I've just had a revelation. I'm going to see Hermione again, whether she likes it or not, and you can either help me or leave." With that last remark stinging his lips, the black haired man spun on his heel and exited the chamber. Ron and Neville heard his footsteps on the stairway, loud and ominous.

"What in hell was that?" Ron wanted to know.

"I don't know. Harry must be set in the mind frame of a twelve-year-old child, to pull an outburst like that. It's rather unlike him to be so edgy," Neville replied, shaking his head at the door that Harry had left wide open.

"Did you notice that thing on his wrist?" Ron asked.

"The gold bracelet, with the red jewel on it?"

"Yeah."

"I haven't a clue what it is, although I seem to recall him wearing it before--but it's like a dream, I can't remember where."

"I get the same kind of feeling. D'you think it's dangerous?"

"No. If it was, I think we'd both know. I have a hunch it's having some effect on Harry, but I think it's for the better, not the worse. In fact, I've got this strange feeling it's making him change. Something I remember about this amulet tells me that it's having a tremendous and significant influence on what he thinks is right. That's why I believe we should help him," Neville finished with satisfaction. Ron looked bewildered.

"Why do we want him to see Hermione again? After all, she'd probably only cause him more pain, and I don't think he could take another heartbreak."

Neville smiled slyly. "I think you're missing the point, Ron. If Harry loves Hermione, all he wants to do is see her, even if she does cause him unhappiness. That's what love is. Being around someone you care about, and loving them even if it hurts you. And I think there's something secret about Hermione that we haven't uncovered yet, and that secret is vital." Ron's mouth was hanging open again. Obviously he wasn't used to Neville being profound and wise.

"Yeah, all right then, I'll help Harry," he said. "What do we do?"

Neville broke into a wide grin. "I've got an idea."

***

Harry was sitting at the bar when Ron and Neville arrived, but he wasn't drinking. He had a distant, thoughtful look about him, which separated him from the rest of the euphoric crowd. It had been hours since his last conversation with his friends, and both were rather cautious about interrupting him.

As Ron and Neville approached, Harry looked up, and smiled. "I'm sorry I was acting immature before," he said. "I was just a little upset--what are you two grinning about?"

Neville and Ron were both beaming zealously, their faces elated and glowing with pride. Harry stared at one face, then the other, and felt mystified. At last Ron stepped forward, holding something behind his back. Harry leaned over, trying to glimpse it, but Ron twisted around, hiding it from view.

"We forgive you for your actions before," he said in a mock-Percy imitation, laughing at Harry's bafflement. "And as a gift from us to you, in consolation for your misfortune, we offer you this." Ron withdrew his hand from behind him, and presented Harry with a sheet of thick, crackling parchment. Harry gaped at it. It was an invitation. The edges were gilded and splendidly grand, and the words were printed in lacy, elaborate cursive. Harry skimmed it over quickly, then handed it back.

"It's a ball," he said.

Ron looked flabbergasted. "Yes, it's a ball. But not just a ball. It's the most celebrated and eminent event of the year! The Annual Autumn Candle Ball-- very grand, extremely exclusive. And our dear Neville here," Ron tapped Neville on the shoulder, "has managed to procure two invitations: one for me, and one for you." Harry rolled his eyes and looked away.

"Ron, not only am I a terrible dancer, but I am in no fit state to attend any sort of party right now," he said.

Ron's smile stretched even wider. "Hermione's going to be there," he answered. The magic words had been spoken. Harry whipped his head back to look at Ron.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"Neville and I checked the guest list--and it just so happens that a Miss Hermione Granger will be attending the ball, tomorrow evening."

"Let me see the invitation." Ron handed it over willingly. Harry examined it for a moment, then coughed in surprise. "It says we need dates," he mumbled, slipping the invitation into his pocket.

"Ah, that's where I come in," said Ron gleefully. "Do you remember that pretty young witch I was talking to last night? With the blond hair?"

Harry chuckled. "Yes, I do. You tried to take her back to your room with you, and she almost punched you in the face."

Ron turned red. "It wasn't exactly like that, Harry. And I did have more success than you think. While you were at Hermione's, I met with her again, and arranged a bit of a date--only I didn't say when or where. So just now, I ran into her on the stairs, and asked her if she wanted to accompany us to the Candle Ball. Of course, she said yes immediately."

At this point Neville snorted; evidently this was not quite the case. Ron rammed his elbow into Neville's side, and continued, "So once she had agreed to accompany me, I asked if she had any friends would go with you. She found a few, I think," he said, and waved to someone sitting across the room.

"Oi! Yvette!" Ron yelled. Harry scanned the crowd for Ron's blond friend, but saw no one. Suddenly, two girls popped up beside Ron, who looked thrilled. One of them--Harry assumed this was Ron's date for the ball--was tall and pale, with dazzling violet eyes and full, red lips. She wore mauve robes that fitted her curvaceous body extremely well.

"You called, Ron dear?" she asked sweetly.

Ron blushed. "Harry, this is Yvette Bernard--you've met before, I think." Harry smiled half-heartedly, and cringed as Yvette grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him twice on either cheek.

"That's what they do in France," she pronounced as she backed away from Harry. Ron looked rather jealous, Harry noticed, until Yvette put a hand round his neck and kissed him lightly on the lips. "And for you, my handsome red knight," she said lovingly. Ron's face was a flaming red, but he looked extremely pleased.

"Yvette spent a year abroad," he informed Harry, without meeting his eyes. "Yvette--where's Harry's date?"

Yvette batted her lengthy eyelashes and pulled someone out from behind her. "Harry, meet Clarice," she said. "My cousin." Clarice was shorter than Yvette, and plainer-looking, but she appeared to be much more realistic and practical than her cousin. Her hair was dark reddish brown, and was pulled back in a loose plait down her back. She had a thin face with small features, and pale gray eyes. She was very slim, and she wore light, fluttery green robes.

"Hello," she said, and stuck out her hand, her eyes flicking upward to his scar as she did so. Ignoring her gaze, Harry took her fingers in his, and smiled at her. Clarice returned his gaze boldly and without blinking. Yvette smiled happily.

"Good, now that you two are acquainted, we can all have loads of fun together tomorrow evening. Come on, Clarice, we should leave. I want to go shopping before all the stores close, come on!" And Yvette seized Clarice by the arm, dragging her away.

Ron's face was wistful as he watched them go. "She's stunning, isn't she?" he said aloud, a peculiar smile pasted across his freckled façade. Neville, half-hidden behind an indigo velvet curtain, snickered good-naturedly.

"Yvette? Yeah, I guess," Harry concurred. In truth, Yvette was far too direct for his taste., and Clarice seemed, though interesting, to be ruled by her cousin forcefully. She was like a puppet with no will of her own, being actively controlled by the puppeteer, Yvette. Harry felt a hint of pity for Clarice, and wondered what Ron saw in her domineering cousin. Then again, Yvette was lively and attractive--the sort of girl Ron could easily go for--and she liked Ron, which was always a bonus.

Harry inhaled deeply, and rested his chin in his hands. As he did so, the sleeves of his robes fell to his elbows, revealing the ruby wristlet, which was glinting in the dim light from the bar. Ron, who had finally snapped out of his reverie, nudged Harry and pointed to it.

"Harry, what's that?"

Harry, realizing what Ron was inquiring about, explained about the chain and the note as briefly as possible. When he had finished, Ron was looking at him with apprehension.

"Harry, that could be unsafe, you know, just picking it up like that."

"No, I know what it is. It was a gift from someone, at Christmas in my seventh year. The only problem is, I can't remember who." Harry rotated his wrist slowly, watching the ruby wink in the light of a nearby lamp. Neville emerged from behind the blue drapes and leaned over the bar, his eyes fixated on the gleaming gem.

"May I see that bangle, Harry?" he asked.

"It's a wristband," countered Harry indignantly, but he unhooked the golden catch and let the charm sift through his fingers into Neville's palm. Neville drew it close and studied it scrupulously, fingering the polished crimson bead and testing the links in the chain. At last he shook his head and returned the piece of jewelry to his friend.

"I think there's something we've yet to find out about that bracelet," he declared.

"Wristband," said Harry, putting it back on.

Ron sniggered. "It does look rather feminine, you know," he said with a laugh. Neville chuckled approvingly at Harry's look of distinct horror. Harry flung a look of loathing at the ruby on his arm, and another at his snorting companions. Then, gradually, a smile began to tiptoe across his face, and he began to laugh as well, regardless of the fact that the others were laughing at him. And at that moment, a snowy white creature soared in through the doors and landed on Harry's arm, digging her claws into his skin. You could have at least told me where you were going!

Harry yelped, and ceased his mirth abruptly. "Hedwig!"

Has it really been that long? Hedwig's enormous ginger eyes were austere and unfriendly.

Harry sighed, and lifted a hand to stroke her head. "I'm sorry, Hedwig, I didn't know I was coming here," he said helplessly.

Hedwig nipped at his fingers, and glared at him severely. I brought the letter to Hermione yesterday, like you said. And she gave me her reply, but of course I didn't even know if you were in Britain, so I had to go traipsing about all over the place looking for you --

"Hedwig, I told you I was taking the WLE to London!" Harry's voice was edged with frustration.

Harry, you would follow that stupid girl to the ends of the earth if you had to.

"She's not stupid!" he shouted, looking irritably at Hedwig. People close by were turning to stare at the black-haired young man conversing with his owl. Behind him, Ron and Neville were gaping at him with raised eyebrows at their friend.

"Harry's lost it," Neville whispered to Ron as their friend continued his animated discussion with Hedwig.

"No, he can just communicate with Hedwig through brain waves or something. It's completely bizarre, but then again, Harry tends lean towards the abnormal as it is. Figures that he'd have a bloody talking owl," Ron replied sarcastically, then jumped as Hedwig shot him a disapproving look. I heard that. Ron's jaw dropped.

"Harry, tell her to stop that!" he exclaimed. Harry rolled his eyes and glanced at Hedwig, whose eyes shone complacently. She ruffled her feathers, and lifted her head snootily.

"Hedwig, none of that," Harry reprimanded gently.

Hedwig blinked. Who are you to tell me what to do? she wanted to know.

"Never mind, sorry," Harry apologized, thinking of the incongruity of the situation. He was being chastised by an owl -- his owl! He reached up with the hand Hedwig was not sitting on to scratch his forehead, and his wrist fell bare once again, leaving the ruby bangle in plain sight. Hedwig saw it in a flash, and snapped her beak in its direction. That's a pretty trinket you've got there, Harry.

Harry showed her the bracelet, and informed her of that morning's discovery. When he had finished, Hedwig seemed thoughtful. I remember seeing it ...somewhere, I can't recall where.

"That's the same problem the rest of us are having," Harry replied, indicating Ron and Neville. "By the way, you flew all the way down here to give me my letter, and I still haven't gotten it yet. May I have it, your Grace?" Harry coined the last little phrase as a moment's inspiration. Hedwig gave an exasperated hoot, lifted her leg from his arm, and thrust it toward him indignantly. Harry caught it before her talons scratched his cheek, and untied the letter from her ankle.

The envelope was made of thick parchment, sealed with purple wax. Harry tore it open and removed a slip of paper, with a message on it written in dainty handwriting that could only be Hermione's. He skimmed it quickly, then read aloud for Ron's and Neville's benefit:

Dear Harry: I am pleased that you thought to contact me, but unfortunately you've picked an inconvenient time to be in the neighborhood. I have far too much work to do, and it would be difficult for us to meet any time soon. I'm afraid I'm forced to reject your offer for a reunion. If you don't mind, I would like if you did not try to reach me again for a while.

Sincerely,

Hermione.

"She sounds so stiff," Ron commented.

"Not at all like Hermione," Neville said.

Harry put the letter on the counter of the bar. "Well, this certainly does explain a few things," he said soberly. Hedwig nibbled on his ear affectionately. Evidently she had forgiven him for neglecting to tell her his address, Harry noted with some amusement.

"Absolutely," said Ron, his head held high. "No more arguments, Harry. You're coming with us to the Candle Ball tomorrow night, willing or not."

The Candle Ball? Hedwig sounded interested. Enlighten me, Harry.

But Harry seemed miles away from the rest of them. His eyes had acquired a distant, glazed look, and he had an funny little smile plastered across his face. Without redirecting his gaze toward his owl, he removed the invitation from his pocket and pushed it toward her. Hedwig appeared to read it, then promptly nudged him. You need dates.

"Yeah, Ron found a couple," Harry said vaguely.

Ron found dates?

Harry grinned at Hedwig's incredulous tone of voice. "Yeah, actually, he did."

Well, that's certainly a first. Not even at Hogwarts could that boy find a girl who'd have him, and look how many there were --

"Hedwig, moving on," Harry said suddenly, trying to stifle the laughter which was struggling to escape, and growing mirthfully aware of Ron's suspicious expression. He could sense that Hedwig was restraining herself as well, although she remained docile and silent.

I'm only saying --

"Hedwig," Harry tried to sound ominous, but his voice burst out a squeak. Ron's eyebrow was raised guardedly, and it was all Harry could do to keep from falling about laughing. At last he mastered control and became serious.

"Hermione will be there," he said.

Ah, the light is shed. Hedwig's voice rang with cynicism. What are you going to do?

Her question had no effect on Harry, for at the mention of Hermione's name, he had fallen back into a daydream, and was now in a separate world. Even the other two men, who hadn't understood a word of the conversation, knew what was on Harry's mind.

"He's planning something," Neville observed, not sure whether to be grim or delighted.

"I think that Harry and Hedwig were making fun of me before," said Ron grumpily, not paying attention at all to Neville's statement.

"Doubtless," responded Neville with a broad grin. "Come on, grab Harry and take him upstairs. I need to deal with some... business matters." Ron noticed his friend glance quickly in the direction of the far window, where he immediately perceived Caleb, who was half-obscured by a group of rowdy wizards. Something cold settled in the bottom of his stomach, making him shiver. There was something off about that man, something frightening. Feeling nervous, Ron shrugged the sensation away, grasped the back of Harry's shirt, and hauled him back up the stairs, Hedwig fluttering close behind.