The Eye of Greatest Evil

Chapter One

Harry looked into the eyes of Ginny Weasley, his heart turning over, and a smile involuntarily causing his face to gently radiate with joy. She tenderly smiled back, and he noticed how her brown eyes expressed her feelings better then any words could ever hope to. As he gazed into them now, he could see an absolute love shining out--their depths were never ending. They welcomed his love in return. He took Ginny in his arms, and ever so gently planted a soft kiss on her head. As he did so, he could smell the redolence of her shampoo filling his nostrils--spring flowers and a distinctive sense of utter peace.

It was the fifteenth of January, and Harry and Ginny were standing in front of the magnificent castle of Hogwarts school, snow fluttering down around them. Ginny's waste-length hair was sprinkled with snowflakes; she was the picture of beauty--a true angel of God, in Harry's mind.

It was Harry's sixth year, and Ginny's fifth. Despite their age differences, Harry was about Ginny's same height. Harry had been dating Ginny for two weeks, and this moment was the happiest of his life. Snow is magical--the gentle way it falls gracefully from the sky, covering the world with a blanket of white that commands a sense of beauty only served to add to his euphoria.

Harry was dressed plainly in wizards' school robes--his brilliant emerald eyes shining from beneath a forehead marred with the ugly remnants of a curse that threatened his life. Ginny, at least in Harry's opinion, (and after all, what other opinion mattered at the moment?) was one of the dearest people to his heart, and the most wonderful-looking also. Her Weasley-red hair was let down, with snowflakes scattered hither thither throughout, and turning her hair an increasing shade of white by the minute.

He wrapped his arms tighter about her, encircling her thin frame. "I love you, Gin," he ever so gently murmured into her ear. He pulled back slightly in order to get a better look at her face. A sweet smile played at the corners of her mouth, causing his heart to beat faster and his voice to sink past his feet.

"I love you too, Harry." He leaned forward, and with utter tenderness, joined his lips with hers in a brief, but breath-taking kiss--all the while their arms around each other and time standing still. Nothing in the world mattered but the here and now, but being with Ginny and feeling her soft lips, telling him how much she loved him with her touch, rather than with her words, and returning that love with an equally strong show of affection. They broke apart, each looking at the other, their breath misting the other's face, while the snow around them gleamed on the ground. It was a picture-perfect scene. The village of Hogsmede could be seen in the distance--it's little shops and houses like so many others on Christmas cards. Hagrid's hut was also visible from the grounds as another reminder of just how beautiful winter can be, and especially at Hogwarts.

"Boy! Get down here for breakfast!" The voice did not belong to anyone at Hogwarts, nor did it come from the grounds or surrounding area of Hogwarts. It came rather from Harry's Uncle Vernon, of Number Four Privet Drive. Then he remembered. He was at the Dursleys'. It had been a dream. It had all been a dream. Harry stood up from his bed, the blankets falling down around him as he went. His jet-black hair was currently covering the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, which was a good thing in Harry's opinion, as it gave his relatives one less thing to worry about or mention.

It was the fifteenth of July, mere weeks after the murder of Sirius. That pain was still so raw and fresh that he felt like he could taste it sometimes. It tore at his soul as a knife would tear at a piece of meat--cutting it, tearing it, slicing it into parts, with no regard whatsoever to the pain it might be causing him. It was with him in his waking and sleeping hours. Over and over he saw Sirius falling through that veil, and again and again he would se his dream self with his fingers just brushing Sirius' sleeve, but not managing to get a firm hold.

An angry voice from downstairs reminded him that he should go down to breakfast. He had been writing once every other day to inform the Order that he was doing all right and the Dursleys were treating him fine. Was this a lie? No, actually, it wasn't. Harry was surprised how well his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had responded to the Order's threats once they returned home. He expected his uncle to brush them off and go on about his business; no matter what appearance he may have shown in the train station. This, however, was not the case. They looked at Harry when they spoke to him, they did not shout at him, and they did not order him around. Harry knew this was for fear of his writing to Moody and the others to tell of how he was being mistreated, and if there was one thing the Dursleys did not want, it was any of "Harry's kind" in their house. And if Harry did not write, this is certainly what would happen.

Making his way down to breakfast, he passed Dudley in the hall. The change was astronomical. The once mass of fat which had been nearing the size of a small killer whale was almost as small as Harry himself. Almost. One could not expect miracles, after all. Harry had never gotten a decent look since his return to Privet Drive, due mainly to the unnatural amounts of time he spent in his room, but also because of Dudley's continuing absences from the house during the day, presumably to go for tea at his friends' houses. Just like last year, though, Harry knew this was not the case. If Dudley could not keep up his weight, he was determined to keep an image of toughness, because he could not let his friends down and show that he was weak. Every day he would accompany them, but rather than engaging in the pummeling, he would stand on the sidelines and make threatening comments to the victim. How did Harry know this? Well, as Harry had been spending so much time in his room, he would crack the window, and could hear some that way, but not very often, as that was near the house and Dudley could not be sure if his mother was home or not. More often, though, Harry would leave the house for brief strolls around the neighborhood, and caught glimpses here and there. He did not see the point in Dudley's activities. What pleasure did Dudley find in beating up little children? He could not wrap his mind around it; no matter how hard he tried.

Forcing these thoughts from his mind, he walked into the kitchen. His aunt and uncle were already seated at the table, with his cousin not far behind. Harry sat down. Aunt Petunia was to his right, Dudley was across from him, and Uncle Vernon was seated at the end of the table on Petunia's right.

Again, as one cannot expect miracles, although they may look at him when they speak to him, they only speak to him because they have too. What most people would consider rood, Harry considers politeness. So what if his uncle made it a command that he come down to breakfast, and call him "boy" rather than "Harry?" As long as he wasn't made to do all the lawn work, and his cousin wasn't pounding him, he didn't really care. He was just grateful that the Dursleys seemed to be taking the Order's words to heart.

Aunt Petunia put a plate of bacon, eggs, toast, and orange juice in front of him. "Thank you, Aunt Petunia," he said.

"You're welcome," she muttered. She quickly served Dudley and Uncle Vernon, and sat down to her own breakfast.

After eating, Harry returned to his room to read over his latest letter from Ginny. They had begun corresponding soon after the summer holiday started. He felt like she understood him in ways Ron or even Hermione could not. She was different. She was unique. Though no part of the dream was actually a reality, Harry longed for it to be with every breath he took. He could discuss the pain he felt at the loss of Sirius without feeling childish or stupid, and without worrying about her being insensitive or not caring. Though Hermione would never be insensitive, and Ron would never mean to, with Ginny it was completely different. Hermione and Ron were too close to Sirius. Harry needed an outsider to share this pain with, because the pain he felt was something that Hermione and Ron could not understand, even as his best friends. Ginny couldn't either, not truly, but she was there as no one else ever had been.

As he thought these thoughts, he pulled her latest letter from his desk and began to read:

Harry,

I am sorry that I cannot better understand the pain you are feeling. I wish there was something I could say to make it better, but I do not suppose there is. I have a purpose in writing this letter, though. Harry, I know I have been more talkative this past year, and I know that you knew I had a... well... a crush on you. I said that I had chosen Dean Thomas as a boyfriend on the train, well, Harry, this is not true. Harry, I like you. I always have, even when I was dating Michael, I just found it within myself to talk to you and not be so shy. I told myself, "You're fourteen-years-old! Grow up!" I did. I know you must be thinking that this doesn't sound anything like me, right? Well, I decided that I should just say something to you about how I feel. Well, now I'm saying it. I don't know how you feel, but if you don't want me, I'll understand. I'll be happy if you want someone else.

Well, anyway, I hope you're still doing all right, and I'll send this now. Pig's getting impatient. I will wait for your next letter. And Harry? I meant what I said--if you do not want me, I will be fine with that. Take care.

Love,

Ginny

Harry looked up from her letter, absolutely jubilant. Harry, not interested in Ginny! That will be the day! He took quill and parchment from his desk and set down in his desk chair to compose a reply.

Ginny,

Are you crazy?! I have been dreaming about you every night, literally and figuratively! I have liked you for a long time. Even when I was dating Cho, I always thought I felt something for you, but I definitely realized it toward the end of this past year. Ginny, you are a sweet girl. I don't know what I can say in a letter to show you exactly how I feel, but trust me when I say that if a girl is able to keep the worst of the pain of Sirius' death at bay, that is one wonderful girl.

Things have been good around here; much better since the encounter at the station, but you already knew this! Just keeping you updated. Dudley is still managing to keep his weight to that of a semi-normal state. I am actually quite surprised; I would have expected him to raid neighbors' refrigerators to get their food!

Well, I have an essay for Snape I need to finish, but thank you so much for your letter. You have just made my day, Gin. You take care and write very soon, okay?

Harry

He folded the parchment and wrote Ginny's name on the outside, smiling like a complete idiot as he did so. She liked him too! It was more than he could take. He did a little hop in the air as he beckoned Hedwig to him, stroking her head as he tied the letter to her leg. "Take this to Gin," he said, smiling. She had no need to hear him say, "Ginny Weasley," because she could tell by the affectionate tone in his voice and the name, who he was referring to.

Hedwig gave a soft hoot and gently nipped his earlobe before flying out the open window. Harry lay back on his bed with his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes. He could see Ginny in his mind's eye, their breath warm in the cold winter chill, and their lips meeting again in that wonderful breath-taking kiss.