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

Chapter 4- Of Agreements and Disputes

"

"Have a good time, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, situated behind his large wooden desk with his hands folded on it. "It’s so entertaining to listen to you figure out the password."

Harry didn’t smile. Actually, he was rather irritated. "It would be a lot easier if you would just give me the password, sir," he complained.

"

Dumbledore nodded. "Oh, well, of course I was aware of that. What I meant, Harry," Dumbledore pushed his half-moon spectacles farther back on the bridge of his nose, "is how have you been during the summer?"

"

Dumbledore frowned. "Sometimes, I wonder why people hide their feelings. Have you ever speculated that, Harry?" Dumbledore fixed his blue gaze on Harry, waiting for the squirming boy to respond.

"No, sir, I can’t say that I have." Never before had Harry felt so uncomfortable in Dumbledore’s presence.

"Harry," placated Dumbledore. "Did you receive my letter over the summer?"

"I didn’t, but the Dursley’s did."

"They didn’t show you?" asked Dumbledore, fear evident in his voice.

"No," admitted Harry. "I heard when they got it, before my birthday. I had just come in from working in the garden and was laying on my bed when I hear Aunt Petunia scream. I suppose it was the owl."

"So you have no idea what the contents of the letter were?" asked Dumbledore, obviously overwhelmed.

"No," said Harry. "What did it say?" he asked, feigning some ignorance. He already knew what some of it must have said, for Vernon had raged in his room and screamed at him about his ’crackpot headmaster’, ‘vagabond parents’ and had branded him a murderer.

Dumbledore sighed. "I now deeply regret my sending you the package to the care of the Dursley’s. I had no idea that they would dream of not giving it to you."

"Package?" Harry inquired, glad for the opportunity of changing the subject a bit. "What package?"

"I sent a letter," said Dumbledore, not acknowledging Harry’s question, whether on purpose or by accident. "I tried- I tried to put in writing what had happened during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Not everything, obviously. Just enough for them to understand."

Harry’s insides constricted at the reminder of last year, but he also was disgusted. Understanding was something he couldn’t fathom the Dursley’s being able to grasp. "I don’t think they did, sir," Disclosed Harry. "Not at all," he said more to himself than to Dumbledore.

"No," agreed Dumbledore, "I don’t think they did either."

"What were you saying about the package?" Redirected Harry, once again posing his question.

"I really wasn’t saying anything," said Dumbledore with a deep breath. "But now your interest is certainly piqued and I doubt could distract you." Privately, Harry agreed. "The package contained a letter from your mother, with instructions to have it presented to you on your fifteenth birthday. That’s why I called you up here, to discuss it with you."

Harry choked on his own breath. "My mother didn’t expect to live either?" he asked, barely able to get the words out.

"No, I don’t believe that at all," contradicted Dumbledore. "I believe she would have given it to you whether or not she had lived. I believe she wrote it before you were born, and only gave the instructions a few days…" he didn’t finish the sentence, and he didn’t need to. The silence was enough to loudly announce to Harry what he had intended to say.

"Do you know what it said?" questioned Harry, not daring to look up, afraid that Dumbledore might see tears in his brilliant green eyes.

"No," said Dumbledore in an apologizing tone. "It had been entrusted to me in the will and had just been gathering dust in my vault-" he motioned to a silver metal vault on his wall that resembled a Muggle one, but was missing the combination and key lock. "I was just passing it on. I have my suspicions, but nothing more."

Harry finally looked up at met Dumbledore‘s stare. "I suppose you won’t tell me what you think it is," said Harry is a despairing tone.

"I suppose you’re right," agreed Dumbledore. "It is not my right or my place."

"Whose is it, the Dursely‘s?" Harry gave a hollow laugh completely devoid of amusement.

"No," said Dumbledore gently. "Your Mother’s." He watched as Harry quickly snapped his head back down, blinking quickly to keep the tears sealed inside. He couldn’t imagine the kind of pain the boy was going through, and only wished he wouldn’t try to mask his emotions so well, even though he could see right through his façade. "But," he said. "About the Dursley’s. There is the matter of obtaining the letter from them."

"Good luck," replied Harry sarcastically. "Aunt Petunia probably burned it the moment it fell onto her lap."

"Easier said than done," responded Dumbledore. He fingered his wand that was lying on his desk. "There are an innumerable amount of charms on that letter, each one place by Lilly. I believe one of the first ones she place upon it was a fireproof charm."

A smile crept onto Harry’s face. "It most likely caused Aunt Petunia a nervous breakdown when she threw it into the fire and it just sat there."

Smiling, Dumbledore agreed. "But leave the worrying over it to me. I sent it, and I will get it back."

Assured, Harry began to stand up room his chair, but he sat back down. "Sir," he began to say casually, but was apparently very nervous. "You talked of a package."

"Yes?"

"Well, one letter isn’t a package. Was anything else in there?"

"Yes, there was, Harry. As a matter of fact, it was a picture. On the back it was labeled ‘Lilly and Best Friend Petunia, 1978.’ Isn’t that your Aunt’s name?"

Speechless, Harry just nodded and left the office.

"

"No, Professor..." Hermione murmured in her sleep. "I’m almost done...One more day!" She rolled over and buried her head further into the plush scarlet chair in front of the crackling flames. Ron silently chuckled to himself. Hermione was so funny when she talked in her sleep.

"Hermione," he said again, shaking her gently. "Really, it’s past eleven...You should be in bed!" Hermione garbled something unintelligible again and slumped back into her first position. Ron sighed. "Hermione!" he yelled in her ear. Her head shot straight up, colliding with the top of Ron’s head, right into his mass of bright red hair. "By Merlin’s mother, Hermione," he said, rubbing the sore spot. "Why’d you have to hit me so hard? I’m just trying to help," he teased.

Hermione was flushed and embarrassed. "I’m so sorry, Ron," she hurriedly apologized. "I was doing Arithmancy, it’s so much easier to do at night, and I suppose I feel asleep! What time is it, how long have I been down here?" she said rapidly.

Ron drew back from her. "Woah, Hermione, slow down," he said, holding out his hands in front of him in surrender. "It’s about eleven-fifteen, I would say you’ve been down here for almost three hours, ever since Quidditch tryouts ended about seven-thirty."

Hermione looked alarmed. "Oh, I completely forgot! Did you make the team?" she asked. "Chaser or Keeper? Or maybe both," she put her face in her hands. "I’m so tired," she whimpered.

"It’s okay, Hermione," Ron shoved into the seat next to her, and awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders. He tried to speak again, but his mouth was blocked by masses of bushy brown hair that had come out of its ponytail. A big chunk of it found its way into his mouth and Ron made a face when the pungent taste of Hermione’s lovely smelling lavender shampoo hit his tongue. He pushed it back, and leaned forward to escape Hermione’s coiffure.

"It’s no big deal, Arithmancy’s not due until Thursday. It’s only about a week into school! There’s not way you should be this harried already, especially with all your ‘prefectly‘ advantages," he tried to joke, but succeeded in only alarming his best friend.

"Prefect?" Hermione realized with a start. "Oh no," she moaned. "I’m out past curfew! Professor McGonogall is going to absolutely murder me!" Ron looked worried.

"Hermione, what in the world is wrong? You haven’t been like this since..." he leaned back to think, once again being engulfed by Hermione’s wild tresses. "Since third year!" he said triumphantly. He turned Hermione’s head to look her in the eye. "You haven’t gotten another time-turner, have you?" he asked suspiciously.

Hermione’s red, tear stained just stared at him. Suddenly, she broke down. "Ron, it’s just too much! I have so much pressure!"

"

"

Ron also struggled against the impulse to contradict her as he usually did, just to get a rise out of her. Instead, he replied," Yea, I know what you mean, Hermione. I suppose Fred and George should have done that too."

Hermione sniffed, "That’s what I though too. They have so much talent, it’s a shame for them to waste it..."

"Hermione," Ron quickly interrupted. "We’re talking about you, not about my crazy brothers."

"I know," said Hermione. "It’s just kind of hard." Ron nodded. He also knew how that felt. "Anyway, then there’s you guys."

"What guys?" Ron asked, a jealous note creeping into his voice.

"You know," Hermione shifted in Ron’s tightened embrace uncomfortably. "You and Harry."

"Me and Harry worry you?" Ron asked incredulously.

"

Ron tried to feign ignorance. "Me? Crying? Where?" He gave a hollow laugh.

"Don’t be such a prat, Ron," Hermione said impatiently. "It’s okay for you to cry, you know." Run turned red. "It was after we left the Hospital wing, after Harry got back from graveyard. Ginny and I went to help Madame Pomfrey get potions and you walked in the corner." A smile was tugging at her lips. "You’re terrible at hiding, you know."

"Am not!" explained Ron indignantly. "Well, maybe," he admitted. "It’s hard to find anywhere to hide when your house is full of brothers always wanting to bother you. Ginny’s the good hider of the family." Carefully, he never admitted he had been crying. He really wished that Hermione hadn’t seen him.

"Mmm," Hermione said thoughtfully. "You won’t do anything stupid this year, will you Ron?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes looking up pleadingly into Ron’s sky blue one’s. He would find it hard to refuse if she kept looking at him like that.

Maybe he had looked a bit too long, however, because by the time he had jolted back to reality, Hermione was calling his name sharply. "Ron!" she said. "Ron!" He jerked his head from her gaze. The moment was gone, he realized disappointingly. "Ron, this always happens!"

"What happens?" Ron asked, still dazed.

"This!" Hermione failed her arms out to indicate everything. "Here I am, pouring my heart out, and you don’t even listen!" she said angrily. They both looked up startled when they heard a loud footstep and then a ‘thud’ behind them.

"Sorry," said Harry, looking sheepish. "I just came to see where Ron was," he explained. Hermione and Ron just stared at him. Harry finally looked at them properly, entwined in each other’s arms on the chair closest to the fire. "Didn’t mean to interrupt anything," he said.

"No, you haven’t" cried out Hermione. She looked into Harry’s eyes, and couldn’t decide whether she saw disappointment, embarrassment or anger. Or, was it all three?

"Right," Harry said uncertainly. Then he swirled around and shortly said, "Good night," and he disappeared back into his dormitory.

Hermione leaped off of Ron’s lap. "Look what you’ve done now!" she said furiously. She grabbed her books off the table and ran up to her room, stumbling only for a moment on a stray chess piece. Ron just sat on the chair, feeling the warm spot where Hermione had just been, looking bewildered. Dizzy from confusion, Ron shook his head to clear his thoughts. Then, resignedly, he trudged up the stairs to go sleep where he belonged.

Harry was still awake when Ron came in shuffling his feet sleepily. He listened to him sigh, trip over Neville’s shoes, and collapse into bed. Harry was extremely confused himself, though. Why did I act like that? He asked himself. What was I so mad about? He didn’t know the answer, and although he mulled over it all night, he couldn’t come up with explanation. The only result was that he woke up groggier than he had been before he went to sleep. Neither Ron nor Hermione noticed, they were to busy wallowing in their feelings. Ron was still befuddled, and Hermione was seething at Ron’s seeming lack of compassion. Both steadfastly refused to apologize, or even talk, so a lethargic Harry was their go-between all through the next three days, until they both broke down at the same time at the dinner table, each asking the other to "Please pass the butter."

"

"Go get it yourself, Draco!" he retorted.

"Goyle..." Malfoy said threateningly. "I said get it! I left it on top of my trunk; I need to finish this last essay." He pointed to the direction of his dormitory. "Hurry up!" he ordered.

Goyle sluggishly rose out of the forest green leather chair that was in front of the Slytherin fire. With a frown on his face, he descended the stairs into their dormitory. He went to the corner where Malfoy’s bed was, and almost collapsed with shock when he saw Pansy sitting on it, rifling through one of his monogrammed bags.

"Ssh!" she said, looking alarmed. "Quick, come in!" She pulled Crabbe by the arm onto Malfoy’s bed and shut the heavy green curtain. "I’m looking for something," she explained, dumping the contents of the pouch onto the soft down comforter.

"That much was obvious," Goyle said. When Pansy said nothing, he continued. "Well, what are you looking for?"

Pansy’s mouth set into a tight line. "Evidence," she said. "You know that minx, Blaise?"

Goyle looked confused. "You mean Blaise Zabini, your best friend."

Pansy tutted, still looking through Malfoy’s things, paying close attention to pieces of parchment. "My ex-best friend," Pansy corrected. "I saw her and Draco behind the locker rooms on the Quidditch field yesterday, and lately he’s been partners with her in Divination instead of me!" Tears were shining in her inky black eyes. "And I’m going to find out what’s going on!" she said determinedly. She swept the bag and it’s contents onto the floor and climbed off the bed. She was desperately trying to hold back tears as she searched underneath Malfoy’s bed for another bag.

Goyle swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed back the curtains. "You think he’s cheating on you?" he asked quietly. Not able to say anything, for fear that the tears might escape Pansy just nodded her head.

Angry thoughts swirled through Goyle’s mind. How dare he! He raged inside. I’ll tear him from limb to limb! Suddenly, he remembered his pact with his father. He couldn’t let his own emotions control him. He had to contain them, keep them inside for the good of the plan. Some things were far more important than himself.

"Will you help me, Greg?" asked Pansy tearfully. She roughly wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "Please?" she pleaded. Goyle found it was becoming increasingly harder to hide his emotions around Pansy. What he wanted to do is cry "Yes! I’ll do anything to bring that slimy bastard down!" but he knew he couldn’t. His arms were unconsciously reaching towards Pansy. Realizing this, he blushed and jerked them back to his side. "No," he said coolly. "Sorry, you’ll have to work this out on your own." With grim resolve, he picked up Malfoy’s stray potions book and turned his back on Pansy. As he was turning the doorknob, he felt a book come whizzing dangerously past his head. Surprised, he whirled around. A heavy Arithmancy book hit the wall behind him and with a muffled "thud," it hit the carpeted floor.

"Fine," Pansy said grisly. "I hope you go to hell with Draco!"

Nervously, Goyle groped for the door handle and pushed it open. He flew up the stars. It wasn’t until he saw the back of Malfoy’s shiny blond head that he realized he had dropped the book in the dormitory and left it there. He groaned, but just went to join Crabbe on the couch near the snake-patterned stained glass window.

"

"Still in your dormitory, I believe," Goyle said sourly. Draco scowled.

"You’re a good-for-nothing lazy git," he proclaimed. "No wonder my-" he stopped himself abruptly, and put his head down again to finish writing his paper.

"Your what?" Goyle asked.

"Nothing," Malfoy muttered. He mumbled something under his breath.

"What is it?" Goyle asked, irritated. "Just say it! I know you hate me, you only talk to me because ‘Daddy’ says to! Well, just be a man and tell me!"

"Fine," Draco said scathingly. He looked to see if anyone else was in the common room. It appeared to be empty so he continued. "My father and his Lord think you and your whole family are filthy traitors who deserve to be burned at the stake like Muggles," he stated. He then calmly resumed his work.

Infuriated, Goyle rose with his fists balled up. "Never say anything like that again, Malfoy!" Desperately, Crabbe tried to pull him back down. "The plan, the plan," he was whispering wildly. Reluctantly, Goyle uncurled his hands. He picked up his own potions book and threw it at Draco. "Here," he said fiercely. "You might want to go check on your girlfriend, she’s on your bed looking for evidence of you and Blaise," he spat the name out. He then fled the Slytherin Dungeons, realizing to late that he had given Pansy away.

To be continued....