The First Day

little_bird

Story Summary:
The first year after the battle at Hogwarts.

Chapter 02 - Break On Through

Posted:
07/10/2008
Hits:
4,334


Harry woke up, his fingers cramping. They were wrapped around the handle of his wand. 'Owwwwww,' he breathed, slowly straightening his fingers. He flexed his hand a few times, loosening the stiff joints and muscles. He scrubbed his face with his hands and sat up. Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Ron were all asleep in their beds. Seamus and Neville looked a lot better than they had a few nights ago. Harry reasoned they had gone to see Madam Pomfrey. That's what I should do, he thought. His gashed and burned knees still throbbed. He put on his glasses and looked at his watch. It was almost seven. Harry slid out of bed and gathered the clean clothing still nestled on the foot of his bed. He stumbled into the bathroom and managed to undress and shower, discovering he wasn't as sore as he had been last night. He supposed sleeping for nearly two straight days had helped.

Harry pulled on his clothes and conjured a toothbrush. His mouth felt like it was coated in moss. As he brushed his teeth, he realized he probably needed to see Professor McGonagall. He didn't think Ron or Hermione would have told her about... Harry spit the mouthful of toothpaste into the sink and proceeded to brush his teeth again. He didn't want to have to think about what he had to tell McGonagall until he was actually in front of her. He went back into the dormitory and found his moleskin pouch on the night table. He didn't remember putting it there, but guessed someone, probably one of the elves, had collected the clothing he had left on the bathroom floor last night. Or maybe Ginny had put it there before she left. He opened the pouch and pulled the Marauder's Map from it. 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,' he whispered, tapping the map with his wand. He broke out into a cold sweat, remembering. I can't... Not now. Like everything else, there would be time for that later.

He carried the map to a window and sat on the deep sill, tilted the map toward the clear morning sunlight, carefully searching the map. McGonagall was in the Headmaster's office. No, Headmistress. He slid off the window sill and looked around the room for his trainers. They were lined up neatly next to his bed, miraculously clean. Well, cleaner that they had been. He picked them up and sat on the edge of the bed to put them on.

He grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, and tiptoed out of the dormitory and down the spiral staircase to the common room. It was empty, to Harry's surprise, until he realized the dormitories for the fifth year and below were unoccupied by their usual occupants. Grateful for the lack of an audience, Harry slipped out of the portrait hole and made his way to the entrance to the Headmistress' office. A suit of armor guarded the entrance in lieu of the broken gargoyle. 'I need to see Professor McGonagall,' he said. 'It's important...' Harry didn't know what to expect, but he hadn't expected the suit of armor to make a clunky bow and step aside for him with no password.

Harry climbed the unmoving staircase to the top and knocked on the heavy oak door. It creaked open, and Harry poked his head through the gap. 'Professor?' he called softly. 'Professor McGonagall?'

'Come in, Potter,' came the hoarse invitation. 'I was hoping you'd be awake today. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley said you'd been sleeping since Saturday morning.'

'Yeah, I just woke up...'

McGonagall toyed with a quill, looking nervous about something. It unsettled Harry to see her this way. She had always been so stoic, even in the direst circumstances. 'Have a seat, Potter,' she said.

Harry gingerly perched on the edge of a chair. 'I need...' He cleared his throat. 'I need to tell you something.' His voice dropped to a whisper. 'About Snape...' His throat closed around his voice. 'Professor Snape,' he amended. Harry raised a shaking hand to his head, and ran it through his still-damp hair. 'He's in the Shrieking Shack. Someone... Someone ought to bring him in with the...' Harry choked. 'The others.'

McGonagall's face hardened. 'The man was a traitor.'

'No, he wasn't,' Harry protested. 'He wasn't a traitor,' he said firmly. 'I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for Sna - Professor Snape.' Harry pointed to the portrait of Dumbledore. 'Ask him. He'll tell you.'

McGonagall turned sharply. 'Albus is that true?' she asked.

'Severus was loyal to our side, Minerva. It was to our advantage he was able to traverse between the sides.' Dumbledore leaned forward a little. 'He risked his own life, many times over to help Harry.'

McGonagall's lips thinned in displeasure. 'I'll send someone to bring him in.'

'What will happen to him?' Harry asked. 'Since he has no family...'

'We'll take care of it,' McGonagall said flatly. 'There's a cemetery in Hogsmeade.'

'No.' The word slipped from Harry's mouth, surprising him.

'No?' McGonagall's eyebrow arched.

'No,' Harry repeated, the idea forming in his head as he spoke. 'I'll see to it.' I'll take him to my mother. She's the only person he ever loved...

'As you wish,' McGonagall replied quietly. She toyed with the quill a while longer. 'Do you want him to be part of the memorial service tomorrow?'

'Memorial?' Harry repeated blankly. 'What memorial?'

'I see you didn't run into anyone on your way over here. The memorial to honor those who gave their lives to defend this castle.' And you, remained unspoken, but hung heavily in the air.

'Yes.'

'Harry, you ask too much,' McGonagall stated.

Harry didn't notice her use of his first name. 'I know.'

She put the quill down. 'Would you be willing to speak at the service? I know it might be difficult for you - '

'No,' Harry said faintly, shaking his head. His eyes closed painfully. 'Don't you think I did enough Saturday? Afterward, when all I wanted - no - needed to mourn my friends, but I held it together to be the "hero" for a few more hours!' His voice rose. 'I'm tired of being the bloody hero! I've been the effing hero since I was eleven. Just once, I want to be like everyone else!'

The shroud acting as a tourniquet around Harry's lacerated soul fell apart in tattered shreds. 'Damn it, Professor, I just want to be left alone...' he turned and stalked out of the office. As he reached the base of the stairs, he heard people in the corridor and threw the Invisibility Cloak over his head. He stood uncertainly in the middle of the corridor, unsure of where to go. The dormitory was out, and any other place held too many painful memories. He turned and started walking blindly.

He found himself in a familiar corridor, looking around with a soft gasp. I need a place to be alone. I need a place to be alone. I need a place to be alone... he said to himself in desperation. Astonishingly, a door appeared in the wall, and nearly sobbing with relief, Harry threw himself at it, slamming it closed behind him.

*****

George stared up at the canopy over the bed. He could hear Charlie snorting in his sleep as he turned over in one of the other beds. As much as this room resembled the one beneath it, it had one very heavy advantage: it wasn't the dormitory he'd shared with Fred for nearly seven years. George rolled over on his side, clutching a pillow to his chest, in the hope that if he pressed hard enough, it would smother the gaping wound that couldn't be seen with the naked eye.

He slowly uncurled his fist, where he clenched a tiny stuffed dragon. He pulled his wand from under his pillow, and laid the tip on the worn plush of the dragon's tail. 'Engorgio,' he whispered. In seconds, it was its normal size. George started shaking. 'Herman,' he choked. 'Herman, he's gone...' George rested his face against the side of the dragon and began to cry in earnest.

George had never cried in front of any else, save Fred or Herman. George could feel the places where Herman's plush had worn off under his fingers. Herman was missing an eye and most of the stuffing in his tail was compacted to nothing. When George was a child, he had taken Herman everywhere with him. That didn't change when George came to Hogwarts, although Herman was relegated to his trunk, but was brought out, only under the cover of darkness, when George was frightened, and only when he'd been shrunk small enough to fit into George's palm. Herman spent most of fourth year during the whole Chamber of Secrets debacle tucked in George's pocket. Not even Fred had known that.

George was crying so hard, he didn't hear the door open, nor did he notice someone had crawled into the bed with him. The scent of honeysuckle wreathed him, and he knew without looking it was Katie. She tucked herself against his back, and wrapped an arm tightly around his waist. George took one hand from Herman, and wrapped it around Katie's hand. 'I don't know who I am without him,' he sobbed.

Katie held him tighter, unable to say anything.

Because honestly, what could she say? Nothing she could say was going to help.

*****

'Has anyone seen Harry?' Molly asked at dinner. She ladled soup into a bowl and passed it to George, who listlessly stirred it with his spoon.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. Ron shook his head. 'No, Mum. He wasn't in his bed when we woke up this morning.'

'We looked everywhere,' Hermione added. She, Ron, and Neville had split up and spent the afternoon combing the castle looking for Harry.

'Could be under his cloak,' Ron remarked. 'Won't find him then, unless he wants you to.' He accepted the bowl of soup Molly handed him, and began to eat it with alarming lethargy, for people used to seeing him inhale his food.

'Do you think he knows about tomorrow?' Arthur asked.

'Probably,' Hermione said. 'If he's talked to Professor McGonagall at all today.'

'Do you think he'll be there?' Molly inquired of no one in particular, as she handed a bowl of soup to Ginny. Ginny set the bowl down, but made no further attempt to eat it.

'Will there be reporters?' Ron asked warily.

'No,' Percy said. 'The Minister's asking them to respect people's privacy.'

'Yeah, like that'll work,' snorted Bill.

'It's a start,' Charlie chided.

'Mum, stop it,' Ron exclaimed. Molly was buttering his bread for him. 'I can do that.'

Molly gazed at Ron. 'I know that,' she said mildly.

'Molly,' Arthur said, laying a hand on her arm. 'Why don't you eat something?' He knew why she spent most of the past few days bustling around, taking care of everyone else. It had been the same way when Fabian and Gideon had died. The more she took care of everyone, the less time she had to think. She shook her head and made her way down the table, urging Seamus and Dean to eat, pouring tea for Lavender and the Patil twins. She stopped to heap more chicken on Neville's plate and spoke with his grandmother.

Ron heard a rustling sound as Harry pulled the cloak from his head. He jumped when Harry appeared out of thin air. 'Where've you been?' he asked curiously.

'Nowhere.'

'Did you just get here?' Ron pressed.

'Yes.' Harry reached for a bread roll.

'Are you going...?' Ron left the rest of the question unsaid.

'I don't have much of a choice, do I?' Harry replied bitterly. 'It's expected.' He stared at the table top, ripping the bread to shreds.

Ginny suddenly shoved away from the table and stomped out of the Great Hall. She pelted down to the Quidditch pitch and the broom shed. Reaching in, she grabbed the first broom that came to hand, not noticing it was Draco Malfoy's Nimbus 2001. She mounted it, and kicked off, hurtling up into the clear sky. She flew in circles around the pitch, weaving in and out of the goalposts, going in sprints from one end of the pitch to the other, urging the broom to go faster and faster. At length, she directed the broom to the ground, and got off, panting. 'Like the broom, Weasley?' drawled a familiar voice, making Ginny cringe.

She looked down, eyes widening in shock, as she read the nameplate on the handle, and held it out to Draco. 'Sorry,' she mumbled. 'I wasn't paying attention.'

Draco took the broom from her, gazing dispassionately at it. 'I never liked it. Not like you or your brothers do. Or Potter.'

Ginny's eyebrows rose into her hairline. Is he actually talking to me, like he's a normal person, and not a complete and total wanker?

Draco didn't seem to notice her reaction, and continued to talk, more to himself that to her. 'Father thought I should play. Did a lot of things Father thought I should do.' Draco dropped the broom to the ground and savagely stomped on the twigs at the end, grinding them to powder. Ginny gasped softly. The broom might be six years old, but Nimbus 2001s were still quite valuable. Draco looked up at her. 'I'm sorry about your brother,' he said quietly. Ginny nodded stiffly. Draco dropped the broom handle and began to walk back to the castle. 'If you ever tell anyone about this, I'll deny it until the day I die,' he said in his usual insolent tone of voice.

Ginny waited until he was gone, then dropped to her knees next to the destroyed pile of twigs. Of all her brothers, Fred had been the one who had been most impressed by her Qudditch skills. And the most surprised. But he'd been most pleased when he found out how she'd learned to fly so well, proclaiming her to be the heir of Weasley pranking mantle when he and George left school. She couldn't hold it in anymore, and broke into raw, aching sobs.

She wept for Fred, but also for Colin, who had been in her class, and was a friend. And Remus, who helped her put the diary behind her. For Tonks, who had been like a sister to her. Teddy, who was never going to know how gentle his father was, or how vibrant his mother had been. Telling him stories would never fully capture his parents.

Ginny slowly stopped crying and realized she was lying facedown in the grass of the pitch. The shadows of the stands slanted sharply over the grass. She became aware of someone sitting next to her. Charlie sat cross-legged on the grass, his head bent toward his sketchbook, the pencil whispering across the paper. He said nothing, but held out a scarred and roughened hand out to her. Charlie squeezed Ginny's hand, and pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Ginny looked down at the portrait in the book. Her fingertip traced the sweep of Fred's hair, and she drew in a shuddering breath as the vision of his body lying in the Great Hall came into her mind. 'I can't believe he's gone...' she murmured.

Charlie tightened his grip on her. 'Me, either, Gin.'