Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Chapter Twenty-Seven — Jaded

"Can you help me remember how to smile?

Make it somehow all seem worthwhile?

How on earth did I get so jaded?

Life’s mysteries seem so faded!"

-Soul Asylum, "Runaway Train"

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

Harry didn’t know how long he’d been sitting at the table in the library working. He’d skipped all meals, though a house-elf had made sure food had been delivered. His only sleep had been a few hours passed out on the table, head resting on a thick tome entitled 1001 Spells of Friendship. Hours spent, hours wasted, hours ticking away until Doomsday — and the hint from the dream version of Dumbledore had led him nowhere.

It had seemed so real... as if the departed Headmaster had really been reaching beyond the grave to keep Harry from failing. Rachel... and his parents... reliving the day his life changed dramatically in two sinister bursts of flame and a cloud of dust... But if it wasn’t real, had all of this been in vain?

He flipped through page after page of the old book sitting in front of him, skimming for anything — ANYTHING that might help in the fight. Desperation had hit. There were thousands of books in the library... friendship... highest sort of magic... Harry tossed the book onto the massive pile of worthless ones on the floor, not caring what Madame Pince would say when she returned from chaperone duty in Ravenclaw House.

Hopping up from his chair, Harry headed over to the shelves, searching for his next book. Quidditch, hexes, magical creatures, books of wizarding law — thousands of books, thousands of possibilities, and the answer could be literally anywhere. Harry closed his eyes and pointed his wand out in front of him, giving in to desperation. "Accio!" he cried, almost pleading. The magic hadn’t worked this morning, or yesterday, or any day since he’d failed to save his wife. There was no reason for it to work today, let alone bring the precise book he needed to his lap.

As expected, no book appeared on his lap. Harry opened his eyes and looked around. Not a thing had moved. With a growl, he pointed the wand at the closest book, and focused. "Accio book!"

Nothing. Not a shimmer of sparks or an inch gained. The book sat there untouched.

Harry jumped forward and tore it from the shelf in rage, tossing it across the room as if it was the book, and not his own failure that was at the center of his anger. The next book on the shelf joined it, and he could hear Hermione’s voice in his head berating him for his rough treatment of thousand year old texts. He kept grabbing books and throwing them anyways, the voice getting stronger and triggering deep guilt over the way he’d left his friends without a word in a different lifetime.

With a cry of despair, he sunk to his knees, halfheartedly tossing another book aside. Days of work, months of uncertainty, years of fear, and a decade of being a wizard — and he’d finally come undone. He could imagine steam coursing out of his ears as if he’d downed a Pepperup Potion. Harry reached out and yanked the closest book off the floor from nearby, fully intending to tear the binding in half and shred the wrinkled pages into bits.

And then he looked at the charm described on the page.

It was Latin. A short set of verses set down before him, and one jumped out at him. Spiritum rectum innova in visceribus meis. Renew a right spirit within me. Something seemed to click in Harry’s mind, and instead of tearing the book to bits, he turned the page. Libera me de sanguinibus, et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam. Sacrificium Deo cor humiliatum. Deliver me from the guilt of blood, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise. A sacrifice to God is a humble heart.

The Latin stopped there and continued in an old English, which left Harry puzzling for meaning. "Adligare amicitae, the Friendshippe Charm. Use ov this charme Binds the casters in Magik and Truste for the remainder of all their Lives. Powere is shared with othere efects noted by Emilio Pagliani in his Treaty on Magiks of Friendshippe. The charm wille Onlie hafe success if the casters hafe complete Truste in the Loyaltie and Love of All. One caster alone is Focuss of the Magik. He casts the spelle Alloud first, with the Other casters then casting the spelle on the Focuss. The Powere of the spelle wanes over the Period of a Day, so the Vessell of the spelle only remains the Receptacle of the Magiks of All casters for that Period. The Extra Magik dissipates after saide Day, leaving the Focuss tired and weak for a shorte Time. The Bind of Friendshippe remaines ever After, keeping the Truste and shared Powere alive," Harry read aloud, slowly. His eyes skimmed over the rest of the spell’s instructions and he allowed himself a small smile of triumph.

He looked up, muttering a silent prayer of thanks to whomever gave him the burst of fortune — be it Dumbledore, his parents, or some Deity. "Damned blasted writers must’ve had a batch of extra ‘e’s’ sitting around," he grumbled, silently pondering how he, Ron, and Hermione could still be joined in a bond of ‘Loyaltie and Love.’ Harry gave a moan and dropped his head to rest on the floor, trying not to let despair overcome once more.

There was an answer — but did enough trust and love remain to cast it?

~

Across the school, a mournful assembly of professors and fighters for the Light met in the teacher’s lounge. With McGonagall looking pale and tired, Snape stood to address the group. "Early this morning, Madame Hooch discovered a body on the Quidditch field. It was Lisa Turpin, marked much the same as Ernie MacMillian and Terry Boot. Her cheek was etched with the numeral five."

Professor Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw House, gave a muffled moan and buried his face in his hands. Hermione nearly did the same, though she found strength to restrain herself. Three deaths in three days, each one more gruesome than the killing before. She hadn’t the stomach to ask Snape just what had happened to Lisa before death, as she was sure she didn’t want to know in the least.

She’d been a quiet girl. Withdrawn like many Ravenclaws. Particularly good at Transfiguration, if Hermione remembered correctly. Hermione readied herself to mourn quietly, after the meeting.

George broke the stunned silence with the question everyone was probably afraid to ask, in Hermione’s opinion. "Can we possibly be ready by Sunday?"

"He has to take Hogsmeade first," Snape reminded them all. He met Draco Malfoy’s eyes especially, and Hermione thought she noticed some secret pass silently between the two, though it was beyond her as to what it was. "Voldemort cannot take Hogwarts without Hogsmeade as a base of operations. We would end up in a siege with Aurors waiting to surround the Death Eaters who were surrounding us. They’ll take Hogsmeade first, trust me."

"And until then?" Professor Sinistra put in with a scowl. "We cower away? Let the students remain in their dormitories until they rot?"

"The students," Minerva interceded, catching full attention before continuing, "will be returning home as soon as we can arrange trains to King’s Cross. There are... a number of children who were orphaned since the start of term. I’m afraid they’ll be staying here until we can find somewhere else to house them. And once the students are safe, we can go about making sure that no one can get in."

Ron, still saving a seat for absent Harry, spoke up. "Will we be intending to drag Harry into battle? He’s... he can’t do anything more than get the damned wand to spark on occasion. I was trying to help him, but he seems almost resistant to learning how to do the magic again."

"Until Mr. Potter has regained the use of his abilities, I’ll not force him to face the Dark Lord," Minerva sighed, eliciting scowls from some and smiles from others around the room. "He’s the last chance we have. We have food enough to last for winters to come, if the need arises. Any more questions?"

"When will Hogsmeade be attacked, Minerva?" Ginny asked quietly. Hermione noticed Malfoy leaning over to grasp her hand and tried not to make a face. George seemed to be doing the same, but was failing miserably. He only ended up looking constipated.

McGonagall glanced over to Snape who gave a deep sigh and tapped the end of his wand on the table. Hermione expected a map and schedule, but received only a tired look and a simple sentence. "Before Sunday — we don’t know more."

"George, I’d appreciate it if you could go to do some scouting in Animagus form," Minerva added. "Also... as soon as the students have left, we’ll have to do some reorganization..."

And the teachers and guests sat down to plan a war.