Harry Potter and the Gift of the Seraphim or Curse of the Stars

Chapter 2- Of Slytherin and Gryffindor

"Harry trusts me!" Dumbledore opposed. "I don't want to lose that trust, but I must act as I see fit." He returned to his desk and shuffled papers around uselessly. He picked up a quill, poised it over a sheet of parchment to write, but he had nothing to scrawl. Angrily, he slammed the quill back into his desk drawer, almost splintering the fine wood shaft.

Professor McGonogall was furious. "I am not some bumbling idiot like that fool who dares to call himself Minister of Magic! Do not talk to me in a demeaning tone, Albus." She fixed her pointed black hat, which had fallen askew in the heat of the argument.

"Must you continuously make everything so difficult?" Dumbledore asked pointedly, looking around his office for something more to do. "Harry will not find out, it's far to well hidden."

"Hidden?" cried Professor McGonogall. "Hidden!" she repeated again. "Albus," she said. "Are you not aware that the information can be found right in our own library?"

"Of course I am," gasped Dumbledore exasperated with the argument. He retreated back to his black leather chair behind his large desk. "But it is on the Restricted Section!"

"Ha, ha," Professor McGonogall laughed snidely. "The Restricted section," she mocked. "Harry's been in there more times than either you or I could count! And what's to say one of his friends won't find it?" She looked at the Headmaster, waiting and expecting an answer.

"Don't give out any more passes!" bellowed Dumbledore. Minerva stumbled back, startled at the Headmaster's loud tone. "I'm sorry," he apologized earnestly. She still didn't look reassured, but the determined look returned to her face.

"That's absolutely ridiculous, Albus,"

"I know it is, Minerva," agreed Professor Dumbledore. "I'll do something about it."

"When?" she pressed.

"When someone has the time. We've all been so busy," he answered in a patronizingly calm voice. "In the meantime, please just tell the staff to be careful what they give out Restricted Section passes for, please."

Professor McGonogall was almost ready to scream. "I see will we have to agree to disagree on this particular matter. I will not undermine your," she sniffed, "orders, but I will maintain my opinion. Harry's had a hard life, and more troubles are coming his way. It would be wise of you to inform him of what he was, is, and is destined to be."

Dumbledore, usually a calm and placid man, was seething with anger, infuriated by her words. He fought an internal struggle with himself to contain his feelings. Controlling them just barely, he called after Professor McGonagall's retreating form as she stepped out of his office. "Have a good day, Minerva."

~*~*~

"Ssh," she admonished gently. She nodded to the sleeping child in her arms. "My baby's sleeping."

Her raven-haired husband laughed, but much quieter than the first time as the baby shifted positions. He gently lifted his son from his mother's arms. "My baby, too." He walked him to the crib that was placed on the left side of the room and delicately lay him down on his stomach. He nestled the covers up and around his small sleeping body and smiled unconsciously. He looked for a moment more on his sleeping son, and then returned his attention to his wife. They began to walk out of the room together, but before she reached the door he grabbed her around her waist with his arm and pulled her back. Grinning, she caught him around his neck and wrapped her arms around his lean frame. Both blissfully happy, they began to spin slowly to a song that was only playing inside of their heads. Suddenly, however, the couple began to spin swiftly, twirling recklessly close to the crib.

His brown eyes blurred into his face, and the woman's startling green eyes blended with her red hair as the pair spun faster and faster. The crib and the sleeping child dissolved into the chaotic scene. Abruptly, they stopped, and the woman disappeared. The man turned, but he was no longer the young, smiling James Potter. His features were grotesque, with two slits for a nose in his flat, uncolored face. His red eyes seemed to burn a hole in his skull.

"So, Harry," he said. "Am I breaking up your dream again?"

Harry sat up in bed, disrupting his nightmare, panting hard and clutching his forehead with his left hand. He reached out for his glasses to clear his hazy vision, but his hand swiped through the air. His eyes adjusting to the darkness, he began to make out the shapes of the room he was in. He groaned as he realized he was in the Hospital Wing yet again.

A small sigh escaped from the bed to his right. He tried to turn to see who it was, but had to jerk quickly back to his straightforward position as the pain in his scar increased.

"Who's over there?" the small voice asked.

"Who's over there?"

"I asked first!" replied the voice indignantly. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

Reluctantly, Harry gave in. "Harry Potter. Now, who are you?"

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!" cried the voice.

Recognizing the other patient, Harry asked, "Ginny?"

"Don't you remember what happened, Harry?"

"Er- to be truthful, no not really. What's today, why am I here? Why are you here?"

"Well, today's September second if it's past midnight. You're here because you've been unconscious since the train ride, and I'm here because I, um...I had an accident." Ginny finished, embarrassed

"Oh," said Harry. Gingerly touching his head, he turned to face Ginny. His scar still ached, but it was no longer a blinding pain. "I remember about two things- my head hurting terribly for a while, way worse than this. I also remember someone taking my wand, I think."

"Yea, Dumbledore did," Ginny confirmed. "You were yelling bloody murder and kept clenching it. You must have a very tight grasp, because Dumbledore had to perform a spell to get it from you. Handy, I would think. I've always wanted to be able to do that to one of my brothers," Ginny said. Wow, she thought. I've never said that much to him at one time. Inwardly, she praised herself for getting this far. Now was the time to concentrate on not blushing.

"Was it the disarming spell?" asked Harry. He thought everyone knew that one.

"No," Ginny shook her head, forgetting he still couldn't see her. "It was much longer than that. I think, perhaps, it was two spells mixed in one," after she finished, a deep yawn escaped out of her throat. Blushing, she was secretly glad that no light was on now.

"Did I wake you?" asked a concerned Harry.

"No, not at all. But how..." Harry trailed off uncertainly.

"They didn't take my wand," Ginny said, giggling. She reached for her mahogany wand on her bedside table and whispered "lumos." A small light flickered out her wand, but it was bright enough to illuminate her face and cast a soft glow on Harry's. His emerald eyes almost shone brighter than Ginny's spark, and seemed to give off a light of their own. Ginny found herself unwillingly staring at them, mesmerized. Harry realized he couldn't look away from her chocolate brown eyes, either. After what seemed like an eternity, Ginny attempted to draw herself away from his alert gaze, and in the struggle, she fell off her bed, landing on the sparkling, sanitary floor. The loud "thump" extinguished Ginny's flame, and brought Madame Pomfrey, the director of the Hospital Wing bustling out. The lights popped on in each of the lamps as she passed them, and soon the whole wing was brightly illuminated. Madame Pomfrey was wrapped in nothing but what appeared to be a light blue dressing robe that bore the name Pomfrey on the back and the Hogwarts crest on the front. She opened her mouth to speak, (And most likely to yell at Harry and Ginny), but Ginny beat her to the punch.

"Madame Pomfrey," she asked in an innocent voice, "did you use to play Quidditch?"

You could see the middle-aged mediwitch flush slightly. "Not for years, now. I was a chaser in my day, dear," she said, softening slightly.

"You mean you've been yelling at me for years for getting hurt, and you used to play yourself? I thought you must have hated Quidditch!" Harry said incredulously.

"Yes, well, it's a much different situation when you aren't the one on the bed. You just don't know what can happen...Luckily for you, mind. Now," she said, becoming stern once again, "Ms. Weasley, what are you doing on the floor? Have you hit your head again? I'll not treat you for another concussion!"

Ginny blushed and quickly scrambled off the floor. "You got a concussion?" Harry asked.

"Just a mild one...Took a bad fall on the train." She said, now more red than her auburn hair.

"And you, Mr. Potter!" Madame Pomfrey cut in. "You have officially set a new record! In the hospital before the term even starts!" She shook her head. "And you are also one of the two people who have ever utilized the hospital carriage on the Express."

"Who was the other one?" asked Ginny.

Madame Pomfrey exhaled loudly. "Neville Longbottom, another accident prone person, not unlike yourself, Mr. Potter." She set her wand on a long table in front of Harry and Ginny's beds. She looked very worried as she cast her gaze on Harry, but she shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts. "Let's check you out. Don't ask any questions," she ordered, "and roll over."

Harry complied, and rolled onto his stomach. The pain in his head was almost completely gone, and the nightmare was but a distant memory. As he felt the soft touch of Madame Pomfrey's hands on his back, he felt the tension release. He also let the urgency he felt to tell Dumbledore about his vision slip away with his hurt.

~*~*~

His silver eyes flashed. "Do you think the only thing I care about is Potter? I have much better ways to spend my time!" He angrily swept out of his dormitory.

Goyle stared after him incredulously. "What crawled up his ass and died?" he asked Crabbe.

Crabbe shrugged. "Dunno. He's been acting very weird since we got on the train. Usually, all he talks about is Potter, but suddenly he won't say a word. Nothing about the nasty mudblood or the Muggle-loving Weasleys. He's so different."

Goyle was staring in the mirror, trying to knot his silver and green tie was becoming confused by the reflection. "Has he said anything about Pansy lately?"

Crabbe laughed, "Greg, you're really going to have to give up on her. She's never liked you, she's like Draco's extra arm or something."

Goyle sighed. "I know, I just can't help it. She's so amazing..." He gave up on his tie and just knotted it around his neck. He then moved on to the complicating puzzle of his shoelaces. Crabbe sniggered.

"Don't get all sentimental on me; it's not good for your reputation."

"The only person who cares about my reputation is Draco, and he's not here, is he, Vinnie?" said Goyle angrily. "Anyway, all I know is that Draco better treat her right. Sometimes he's downright mean."

Crabbe nodded. "Yea, I know exactly what you mean. At his house this summer, we had to spend a lot of time with his creepy father, of all people! I would have much rather been at your house." The two started to walk out of the dormitory. "While we were with Lucius, though, he was perfectly civil. Not friendly, just civil. But as soon as we were out of earshot, he started ordering me around again. Sometimes, I can't stand Malfoy."

"Careful, Vinnie, you might be mistaken for a Gryffindor speaking like that!" Crabbe laughed appreciatively.

"How were you holidays?"

"Oh, same old, same old." They opened the door and exited the Slytherin Common Room. "Aggy was horrible, as usual. She starts next year, you know."

Crabbe was snickering loudly. "Stop it," growled Goyle.

"Sorry," Crabbe tried to apologize through his laughing, "But every time you say your sisters name..." He trailed off, fits of laughter consuming him again.

"I know," Goyle said sourly. "Agatha."

"Yes, that!" cried Crabbe. "What were your parents thinking?" He collapsed with laughter. They turned the corner again, and they both ran into something solid, but soft.

"Oof," said Ron. He looked at the perpetrator. "What was that for?" he said indignantly.

Crabbe, still in a good mood, was prepared to apologize to these foul Gryffindor, but Hermione spoke first. "Don't worry about it, Ron," she said in a condescending tone. "Even without Malfoy, they're still goons. They probably have a joint brain." She smirked nastily.

Goyle became defensive, "Well, where's your great leader?" he said sarcastically. "Haven't seen Potter since school started, and that was yesterday. Has the Dark Lord finally caught up with him?"

"Don't you dare say that about Harry," Hermione screeched, pale with rage. "It's none of your business where Harry is, and your excuse for a Dark Lord is nothing but a pathetic coward; he's spent his mundane existence chasing after a teenage boy!" Hermione was seething. Ron looked worried and he placed a hand on her back. She put her face very close to Goyle's. "And unless you want a repeat of the train ride last year, I better never, ever hear you say anything like that again," she threatened. She suddenly spun on her heel and stormed off around the corner. Ron stared incredulously at the spot where Hermione had just been, but he quickly regained his senses. He gave Crabbe the best sneer he could muster on such short notice and he scurried off after Hermione.

The two walked on in silence, not even looking at each other. Just before they walked into Professor McGonagall's transfiguration class, Goyle finally spoke.

"Wow," he stammered. "Guess I got her pretty mad, huh?" Crabbe just nodded, still mute. "It was just reflex, really," he continued, almost talking to himself. "I didn't even mean to say that. She's really not that bad, it's not her fault she's a mudblood." He looked at Crabbe who still didn't respond. "If she hadn't have blown up at me, I would probably like her even better than Draco."

Finally, Crabbe spoke. "Draco," he spit out bitterly. "Everyone thinks we're complete prats, just because of him. Has it even occurred to them that maybe it's just an act? It's not my fault I can't say everything I want to around Draco," he grimaced. "My father would kill me," he said. "Maybe literally."

Goyle nodded in assent. "My father, too, though probably not literally. But one day, I'm really going to give old Malfoy and earful." He punched his fist menacingly into his hand. "Actually, I kind of have a plan already."

Goyle scowled. "Yea, it just had to be someone else." He looked at Crabbe's face, and realized it wasn't meant to be an insult. "Me and my father," he said, relenting. "It's a long term plan, and it mostly involves just us. It's time to bring the Malfoys down from the pedestal and show that they're just normal wizards. Are you in?"

Crabbe looked around nervously. "I guess," he said. Goyle frowned. "Okay," he revised. "I'm definitely in."

At that moment, Draco Malfoy came out of the transfiguration room. "What's wrong with you two?" he said good-naturedly. "Really, you two are slower than a flobberworm, and they don't even move."

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle just looked at each other, and smiled knowingly.

TO BE CONTINUED...