Harry Potter And The Fall Of Childhood

Chapter 5

Learning and Finding

"One often calms one's grief by recounting it." -Pierre Corneille

***

The rest of the first week went by in a blur. Things seemed to be going as they normally did, which both pleased and worried Harry. He remembered well Dumbledore's warnings about being careful and prepared. Voldemort may have been silent for the moment, but he would not stay that way forever.

One of the highlights of the week, and something which Harry (and the majority of the school) had been anticipating with nervous curiosity, was the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He knew, logically, that this Professor Moody would probably act and look exactly like the impostor of last year. But he was still curious and, truth be told, a little on edge.

The Gryffindors filed into the classroom and settled themselves uneasily. Moody was not there, and Harry began to wonder just how carefully Barty Crouch Jr. had mimicked the original. If he'd even perfected the man's patterns of dramatic tardiness, then maybe there really would be no difference.

When he did come, it was with that familiar thump-drag walk and that dour, frightening face. The students sat in absolute silence as Moody settled himself on the edge of his desk, one hand clutching a long, shiny cane.

"What did you learn last year?"

Everybody jumped. Hermione lifted a tentative hand and Moody jabbed his cane at her with a nod.

"Well, we covered the Unforgivable Curses, both in application and as--"

"Not that!" Moody stood again, glaring at Hermione. "I meant what did you learn from my replacement?"

"What I just said..." Hermione's voice petered out and she shrank back in her chair under the force of Moody's scowl.

"Anybody else?" the Auror snapped, scanning the room as if not believing anybody could be so dense.

Feeling half sorry for Hermione and half wanting to know if his growing suspicions were right, Harry slowly lifted a hand.

"Yes, Potter?" Harry had to make a conscious effort not to flinch as the cane jabbed straight at his nose.

"I learned not to trust anybody, even if other people do, and even if there's no real reason not to," Harry said, articulating a lesson he had, until then, not realized he had absorbed.

"And who can sum up what Mr. Potter just said in two words for me?" Harry smiled, knowing the lack of a rebuttal in itself was approval.

"Er, constant vigilance?" Neville looked shocked that he'd even spoken, and winced at the weight of Moody's gaze.

"Ah, Longbottom. Yes," he paused, looking about the classroom, "Constant vigilance!" Everybody jumped again at the shout. "Trust nobody and no one unless you have seen them take Veritaserum which you yourself prepared and heard them swear that they are on your side. Watch everybody and everything. The sweet little girl selling flowers on the corner may also be passing secret messages to Death Eaters." He paused and glared at Parvati and Lavender as they giggled. "You think I'm joking? I suggest you examine the record of my service, then. You'll find her sometime in 1978, I think. She was seven years old and she got a close friend of mine killed." There was a long, pointed silence.

"Right." Moody settled again onto his desk. "Now that we've covered the extent of your learning last year, we'll move on to this year's curriculum. We will be covering methods of self-defense both muggle and magical. Every other class session will be spent engaged in calisthenics, including running, stretches, sit-ups, and more. I suggest you continue this work outside of class, for it will serve you well in the other portion of our learning."

His hand moved faster than Harry's eye could follow, and, before anybody had so much as gasped the curse was sizzling through the air. Harry rolled out of his seat, hand automatically reaching for his own wand as he came back to his feet. But Moody's wand was pointed at the floor by the time Harry was raising his own.

"Very nice, Potter. Perhaps not all of you will have such a hard time with dueling." Harry stared at him a moment, brain still scrambling to catch up to his body's instinctive alarm. He started to return to his seat but quickly changed direction when he spotted the blackened and smoking hole in the back of his chair. "Potter has just demonstrated one of the many reasons why we will be exercising the muggle way. Reflex and speed, agility and accuracy. In the other portion of the class, we will be studying dueling. From this portion, Potter, and perhaps a few more of you, will learn how to lift his wand and block that curse without even standing up." There was another silence, and Harry realized his heart was still pounding from the adrenaline. He sat back in his new seat next to Hermione and purposely took slow, measured breaths.

"Well, dismissed!" Moody barked unexpectedly. They all just gawked at him.

"Excuse me, Professor," Hermione said timidly as Moody began to stomp out the door, "but there's another half hour of class left."

"Learning, Miss Granger, is not a race, nor a thing to be scheduled. I believe you have all properly absorbed what I wished to impart to you today, so you are dismissed." Moody didn't even turn around to speak as he left.

"Well," Seamus said, rising to his feet. "You heard the man."

"I don't know if I like this," Harry heard Neville murmur to himself as the chubby boy stood up. Harry suddenly remembered Crouch's seeming kindness to Neville. Even though the gift of the Herbology books had in fact been aimed at Harry, it had probably still pleased Neville. But now that he knew the man who had been so nice to him had tortured his parents to insanity...

***

He was sitting in the shadow created by the boys' staircase, in a place where he could see the rest of the room without being clearly seen himself. Harry approached him carefully, not really sure what he was going to say.

"Er, Neville?"

The boy looked up, obviously surprised. "Hi, Harry. Did you need something?"

"Just wanted to talk to you." Harry cocked an eyebrow and then took a seat on the floor next to Neville when the other nodded. "What are you doing?" he asked, glancing down at the rainbow colored sheets of parchment scattered about.

"Oh," Neville blushed slightly. "It's actually a muggle thing. They're called 'highlighters'" He displayed the item in question, getting out the name slowly and carefully. "My Gran got them for me. They're supposed to help with taking notes, make certain things stand out."

"Oh." Harry shifted a little awkwardly and studied the red carpet. "Er, that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. Your Gran ... sort of."

"What about my Gran?" Neville said, perplexed.

"Well, not exactly your Gran." Harry squirmed. He had no idea what he was doing, let alone how to do it. He just remembered the feeling when he'd found out what had happened to his parents, and he figured someone to share it with would have helped him then. So, "It's about your parents."

Neville froze, then started babbling. "What about them? I mean there's not really much to tell. I think you know they were Aurors and--"

"Neville." Harry put a hand on the other boy's shoulder. "It's alright. I already know all about it."

Neville seemed to deflate and the shoulder under Harry's hand shook slightly. "You--how?"

"Dumbledore. It was something of an accident," he hurried to add as he caught the flash of betrayal on Neville's face. "Look, Neville, there's nothing to be ashamed about. If anything, I would think you would be proud."

"Proud?" Neville looked like the idea had never occurred to him.

"Well, sure. I mean, they never gave up. They never told Crouch and the other Death Eaters the information they were after." Harry tactfully omitted the fact that the Longbottoms had probably not possessed that information, but Neville probably already knew that.

"Yeah ... I never ..." Neville trailed off, his face oddly still. "I was there, you know," he said suddenly.

Harry jumped. He hadn't expected that. "You were?"

"Yeah." Neville copied Harry's previous action and gazed fixedly at the carpet. "Don't remember any of it, but Gran told me. We had gone out for dinner. Mum and Dad came back through Diagon Alley, out into muggle London through the Leaky Cauldron. It was because of me...you can't Apparate with a baby, you know." His breath hitched and Harry squeezed his shoulder. "They were waiting right around the corner." He was whispering now. "I heard my Gran talking once with one of my Mum's friends, another Auror. He said ... he said it's a wonder they didn't kill me, didn't even torture me. He said if they had been smart they could even have used me as leverage. To make them talk, you know."

"But they didn't," Harry coaxed gently.

"No, they didn't." Neville looked up then, his eyes despairing and furious. "And here I am." He jabbed a stubby finger in his own chest. "The son of the great Aurors who can't remember the summoning charm even when it's colored purple."

"I--" Harry realized for the first time just how out of his depth he was. He was no expert in psychology, and this was a part of Neville he'd never seen, never even considered before. So he settled for something completely inane. "It's Accio."

Neville blinked. "Huh?"

"The summoning charm." Harry felt like an ass. "It's Accio."

To his surprise and no little relief, the dull burning anguish in Neville's eyes abated, faded, vanished. "Oh, thanks, Harry. I've been trying to remember all evening." He bent to his parchment, diligently copying down the word beside the description, then just as carefully coloring over it in a vibrant, eye-stinging purple.

Harry took a relieved breath and let it out softly. "You gonna be alright?" he asked awkwardly.

"Yeah." Neville sat up again and regarded Harry with startling perceptiveness. "What about you?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "Alright. Listen, I just wanted to tell you ... I just wanted you to know that I know so that--"

"I know." Neville nodded, his eyes remarkably clear. The seemingly constant clouded, confused look was absent.

Harry nodded and rose silently to his feet. He started to walk away, then turned back and leaned down to extend his hand. Neville only blinked at it for a moment, then he tentatively reached up and clasped Harry's hand. They shook warmly, reaffirming the new level of trust Harry felt they had forged.

He knows, Harry thought with a lightness somewhere inside him. He knows and I know and it doesn't make it all okay. But it's not supposed to.

He gave Neville a last nod, then crossed to the fire. He sank down in his usual armchair and stared at the flames. For one of the first times in his life, he could think about himself, about his parents with the clarity of knowing that no, the pain would never go away. But it couldn't. It was his signpost, his mental gravestone. The loss was so much a part of him that to remove it would be to destroy him.

And with that knowledge came a softening somewhere inside him. Harry sat in that chair all through dinner and late into the evening, just feeling and exploring. He could hardly believe the difference just one conversation could make, and he hoped that Neville could find this same sort of truce with his grief. It was a tentative thing, shaky and unsure of itself in the face of the bottomless well that the loss had become. But he had found it once, with Neville's help, and though he would lose it again, tomorrow perhaps, Harry now knew that, given help, he could find it again.

***

The sky spun dizzyingly around him, and Harry let out an inarticulate whoop as he came out of his backwards dive just feet from the ground. The grass of the Quidditch pitch was rushing by below him fast enough to be nothing but a thick green mat. Harry pulled up again, soaring above the hoops and up over the stands. He sighed in pure delight as the wind whipped his hair and stung his cheeks. God, how he loved flying.

Finally Harry turned back to the main pitch itself, noting with some chagrin the large crowd which had formed while he was indulging his taste for aerobatics.

He landed neatly to a smattering of applause, and promptly turned a fittingly Gryffindor shade of red.

"Right, then!" he called, hushing the flurry of excited chattering. "I know you all didn't sign up, so those of you who are just here to watch, please go over to the stands and take a seat." He waited as half the students complied, leaving about a dozen hopeful Gryffindor Keepers. He glanced over them, nodding to Ron, who looked like he was about to throw up.

Alicia approached him, extending a roll of parchment. "Here are those who signed up in the common room over the past week. There are probably a few no-shows, and a few more who came at the last minute."

"Right." Harry unrolled the parchment and skimmed the names. He felt an unaccustomed thrill of pride when he saw it, about two-thirds of the way down in small, girlish writing, "Ginny H. Weasley." He wondered idly what the 'H' stood for, but shrugged it off as he faced the candidates once again. "Okay, those of you who don't have brooms, the school ones are available over in front of the Quidditch shed."

A few, including Ron and Ginny, rushed off to collect their Cleansweep 7's, and squabble a little over the single Nimbus 1000. After the furor had died down (part of which had been Ron noting Ginny's presence for the first time) Harry reclaimed their attention. "So, when I call your name, please mount your broom and fly a lap or two around the pitch. Feel free to do any stunts or show off any particular skills you have. Then take your place in front of the goal and our Chasers will attempt to score ten times. Once that is done come back down. You can either go watch from the stands or just head straight back to the tower. Don't bother waiting around afterward for the results, the team and I have to discuss it for a bit first." He cleared his throat and glanced back down at the parchment again. "Samantha Cummings?"

A small girl whom Harry vaguely recognized as one of Ginny's dorm mates mounted her broom and took off. She was a good flyer, agile and quick in the air. Her skills were basic, but solid. Her performance in front of the goals, however, left much to be desired. She blocked only three of the Chasers' Quaffles. Harry felt a little bad for her, but the jaunty salute she gave him as she landed reassured him that there would be no hurt feelings here.

"I've always wanted to play Chaser, anyway," he heard her saying to Ginny as he called up the next hopeful.

Ron was fifth on the list. Harry could see his knuckles whitening against the broomstick as he rose into the air and circled the pitch. Harry forced himself to evaluate Ron's performance critically, objectively. Ron did not have the easy, accurate movements of a Chaser. Nor, Harry thought with a sigh, did he have the reflexes of a Keeper. True, Ron's arms were long enough to compensate for many shortcomings in the speed or agility department, but Harry didn't really know if that would be enough. He finally decided that Ron's forceful, plunging sort of style would be best suited for a Beater.

His suspicions were born out when Ron took his place in front of the goal hoops. He did admirably well, blocking 7 shots, but not nearly as well as their Keeper would have to do. As he landed, Harry could see the mix of hope and despair in Ron's eyes. He avoided his friend's gaze and glanced back down at the parchment.

In the end, it was no contest. There was little discussion to be had in the locker rooms afterwards, and Harry suspected that Ginny was already being congratulated by the rest of the house. Her performance had been excellent, both in terms of basic flying style and as a Keeper. Harry was surprised and more than impressed when she blocked nine of the ten Quaffles. He was glad now that he had encouraged her to try out. He just hoped Ron agreed with him.

***

Harry's suspicions were confirmed as the team entered the common room. Ginny was barely visible by the fire, surrounded as she was by the crowd of other hopefuls and seemingly everybody else in Gryffindor tower. She looked flushed and happy, and Harry could see the hands patting her back and the smiling congratulations being offered.

The announcement was a bit of an anti-climax, though they all cheered and Ginny blushed like it was a great surprise. The only thing that worried Harry was that he could not spot either Ron or Hermione anywhere.

He excused himself from the festivities as soon as he could and scampered upstairs to the boys' dorm. He made it only one step inside before he heard them.

"I know it was fair, and I know it was the right thing to do. Ginny was awesome!" Ron sounded half proud, half crushed. "I just wish I was awesome."

Harry winced. Ron's fury was bad enough, but simple hurt was something he'd never really had to cope with.

"I know," Hermione's voice was unexpectedly soft, even tender. "But you want to know something? Ginny is down there, getting congratulated by anybody and everybody. But I bet there's only one person she really needs congratulating from."

"Oh, I'm sure Harry already--"

"Ron!" She sounded exasperated now.

"Yeah ... yeah."

Harry turned away as he heard them shifting about behind the curtains of Ron's bed, as he saw their two separate shadows coming together in an obvious hug. He felt with an odd sort of twinge that this was a private moment, a time for two, not three.

He slipped out unnoticed and returned to the party, which was now in full swing. Ginny was still by the fire, accepting brotherly advice and harassment, though not necessarily in that order, from the twins. She looked up as he entered, and Harry saw the flash of disappointment in her eyes as she saw who he was.

That's a first, he thought, perhaps a bit uncharitably.

It was a great relief for both him and Ginny, then, to see Ron and Hermione descending the boys' stairs a minute later. Ron immediately crossed to the fireplace, and, though he couldn't hear their conversation, Harry could see the way Ginny's entire face lit up.

"Well, there's that crisis averted," a soft voice at his shoulder said.

"Thanks to you." Harry looked down at Hermione with a half proud, half sad expression.

Hermione looked slightly puzzled at his odd tone. But she shrugged it off and turned away to join Ron and Ginny. Harry watched her go, something that he hadn't even known was there aching inside him.

***

"Perhaps the first in a long line of dramatic events that marked the life of Godric Gryffindor was the fire that completely devastated his family's home in approximately 974 A.D. Gryffindor's entire family was killed in the blaze, and in fact young Godric himself was thought dead. At best estimate, he was roughly three at the time, and his death is recorded along with the rest of his family's in the town records.

"However, over fifteen years later, a grown and healthy Godric Gryffindor reappeared in what would later be christened Godric's Hollow in his honor. Records of this time are of course sketchy, but from all indications Gryffindor claimed to have survived the fire with the help of a distant relative, with whom he had been living and training ever since. It is also speculated that-"

"I didn't know reading required muttering," a softly amused voice cut into Harry's concentration.

Looking up, he felt himself flush a little as his eyes met those of his observer. "Well, no." He pushed the massive tome away and stretched. "Just a habit, I suppose. Ron and I usually switch off reading homework assignments to each other."

"Hmm," Padma leaned over him, struggling a moment to lift the book he had been so involved in. "Why are you reading about the founding of Hogwarts?"

"I'm not," Harry said, then shifted over and beckoned her to the chair beside him at the corner table. "I'm actually reading about Gryffindor. He's my subject for the History O.W.L."

"Wow." Padma's eyes widened. "That's really neat. I got Cryssen De Lauvere. She was actually a dark witch. I think I'm insulted that Binns assigned her to me."

Harry chuckled. "Don't be. I doubt Binns would know a dark wizard if he walked right through one."

He was pleased at her brilliant smile. "Probably. Anyway," she settled back in the chair, setting her own stack of books before her, "why are you here alone? I always see you with your two friends."

"Oh, they're back at the tower, I'd reckon." Harry looked away, feeling uncomfortable and awkward.

"Everything alright with you guys?" Padma asked. Harry looked at her closely, searching for mockery or, worse, that glazed look of awe some of the girls were starting to give him. He saw neither and decided that he really needed someone to talk to, and, though he didn't know her all that well, Padma really seemed a decent sort.

"We're not fighting, if that's what you mean. I'm just trying to ..." he fumbled for words, "Give them space."

"Are they together?" Harry was glad to not hear the customary squeal and giggle that her sister inevitably indulged in at the least hint of a romantic liaison.

"No. At least not yet." He rolled his eyes dramatically. "They're both stubborn. I mean, I honestly don't know if it will ever happen, but I figure I might as well just stay out of the way for now."

"That's really nice of you."

"I guess." Again that infuriating blush. He wondered distractedly if there was a spell to prevent it.

"But lonely?" She watched him, her look perceptive.

"Yeah," Harry admitted with a shrug. "Not much to do about that, though."

"Well, of course there is." Padma reached up and rumpled his hair. Harry could see the sparkle of teasing in her eyes. "You've got plenty of friends who would--"

"No, I don't." Harry cut her off with more vehemence than he'd meant to. "I mean," he said, moderating his tone, "There are lots of people who would spend time with me without complaining. But they're not friends. They're ..." he felt weird saying it, but it really was the only word which was entirely accurate, "fans."

"Oh." Padma frowned prettily. "I'd never thought about that. What about the rest of the Gryffindors in your year?"

"Oh, they're mostly alright. Dean and Seamus are good guys, but they have a really close friendship and it's hard to get involved in something they're doing. It's all private jokes and 'do you remember?' Neville's a great guy too, but I'm kinda avoiding him right now for entirely different reasons." Padma raised an eyebrow but Harry just shook his head.

"And that leaves my sister and that Lavender girl." Padma mimicked Harry's gesture and rolled her eyes.

"You know, you really are nothing like Parvati, despite your looks," Harry said thoughtfully. "I mean, if I were having this conversation with Parvati, she already would have planned us private and romantic study sessions until the N.E.W.T.s, not to mention asked what was up with Neville and a whole bunch of other private things."

"Oh, she'd be making out the wedding invitations." Padma giggled at Harry's terrified look. "No, you're right," she said, calming down a bit. "Parvati and I are very different in temperament. See the difference in house, for example."

"Yeah. Sometimes I wonder how Parvati and Lavender got sorted into Gryffindor."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far." Padma leaned towards him, her expression earnest. "I'm willing to bet that if there were an emergency, say a fire in the Gryffindor tower, the majority of your house would behave themselves logically and calmly, helping themselves and others. Even my sister and Lavender. It's stress that makes you a Gryffindor, the ability to keep your head, and perhaps more importantly, to help somebody else keep theirs in a crisis." She sat back and grinned wryly. "Now we Ravenclaws, we may get the best marks in the school, but we're a wreck in a crisis. We're more steady on, like the Hufflepuffs."

"Any insights about Slytherin?" Harry asked, intrigued.

She paused, thinking. "Only that I doubt they're all as vile as most people think. I mean, it seems silly. Ambition is a good thing, and so is cunning when used properly. It's just the habit of taking it too far that makes the Slytherins dangerous. A Gryffindor could be just as dangerous, given the right circumstances."

"I never thought about it like that." Harry turned away to mask his somewhat awed expression. Padma had obviously put a lot of effort into observing and understanding people, a skill which Harry himself lacked in the extreme. "So, how about it?" he asked, completely changing the subject.

"How about what?" Padma was mystified.

"A study date. Just as friends, of course. No candles or romantic music. Or maybe that flying lesson I promised." He knew he was babbling, he knew he shouldn't be doing this. He knew he was breaking a promise to himself only months after he'd made it. "Never again," he'd said, and here he was. Putting Padma in danger by just associating with her.

But it was said, and the pleased smile on Padma's face was already forming.

"I'd like that, the studying I mean. Perhaps the flying another time, when the pitch isn't always so crowded with all the teams."

"Good point." He paused awkwardly, not quite meeting her eyes. "So we could meet in here again? Like this Friday?"

"Sure."

Harry really wished Padma didn't look so incredibly calm and composed.

"Right then." Harry rose, quickly gathering his scanty notes and the huge book he'd been examining. "I have to, er, go back to Gryffindor tower."

"Bye, Harry."

"Bye." Harry escaped as quickly as he could. Once outside the library and around a corner, he stopped his near jog and leaned against the cool stone wall. The chill felt wonderful against his hot cheeks.

"What am I doing?" he muttered to himself. It was horrid, being stuck like this. Pulled one way by a vow he had made to himself and in another by Padma's long lashes and dark, nearly black eyes.

Harry lightly thumped his head against the wall, his mind a roiling mess of self-recrimination and sheer delight that she had actually agreed and that he had a date. A friendly date, yes, but still the word had been used.

Harry straightened up and turned toward the tower. He wasn't about to figure it all out right then, and he reckoned he might as well be comfortable while he pondered.

And, he realized with that nameless ache again, he could check on the Ron and Hermione situation.