The Pained Shadow

The Pained Shadow

I look up. Harry, Ginny, Neville and Luna (God knows why she's here) enter the Hospital Wing. Harry has a newspaper crumpled in his hand. I know from the look on his face that he hasn't read much (if any) of the article. He grins at me. I know that he doesn't mean it. He's in pain and he won't admit it--not aloud, anyway. He's looked like this ever since we got back from the battle in the Ministry. When he lost Sirius. . . .

He hands me the paper, a slight grin still on his face. I wonder if he'll grin and mean it ever again. I begin to read it out loud:

HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS

In brief statement Friday night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirms that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is active once more.

"It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself, Lord--well, you know who I mean--is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe that the dementors are currently taking direction from Lord--Thingy."

C'mon! Why wont he just say the name? And where's Harry in all of this?

"We urge the magical population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense that will be delivered free to all Wizarding homes within the coming month."

The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the Wizarding community, which was recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was "no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumors that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more."

Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, thought it is believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry into the Ministry itself on Thursday evening.

They should be looking at their security system a little more closely, shouldn't they?

Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, was unavailable for comment last night. He has insisted for a year that You-Know-Who was not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but recruiting followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize power. Meanwhile, the Boy Who Lived--

"There you are, Harry," I say to him over the paper, "I knew they'd drag you into it somehow!"

He's sitting on the end of Ron's bed now and Ginny is curled in her cat-like way at the end of mine. Neville's had a seat in a chair between us and Luna is reading The Quibbler upside down and doesn't seem to be listening, but a year of getting to know her has taught me otherwise. I know it's just the opposite.

"He's 'the Boy Who Lived' again, now, thought, isn't he?" Ron says darkly. "Not such a show-off maniac anymore, eh?"

He grabs a large amount of Chocolate Frogs from his enormous pile and throws some to Harry, Ginny and Neville. He skips me because he knows I've had enough to last me a lifetime and Luna because if it threw some to her, it would just bounce off of her magazine. There are still obvious welts on his forearms where a brain attacked him. Madam Pomfrey says that thoughts can leave deeper scarring than almost anything else. I know that I can use that to my advantage against Ron in the future. Of course, lately, the nurse has been using large amounts of Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction, and that seems to work very well.

"Yes," I agree, "they're very complimentary about you now, Harry." I scan the articled for some interesting lines. "'A lone voice of truth . . . perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story . . . forced to bear ridicule and slander . . .' Hmmm," I say, frowning, "I notice they don't mention the fact that it was them doing all the ridiculing and slandering, though . . ."

I feeling a pain in my ribs and I wince, placing a hand on them. I've been having to take ten different potions every day and some of them are worse that the Polyjuice Potion. I'm really improving, but the hospital wing is getting boring. I retreated to reading; it has never yet failed me.

"'You-Know-Who's Last Attempt to Take Over, pages two to four, What the Ministry Should Have Told Us, page five, Why Nobody Listened to Albus Dumbledore, pages six to eight, Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter, page nine . . .' Well," I say, folding up the paper and throwing it to the side, "it's certainly given them lots to write about. And that interview with Harry isn't exclusive, it the one that was in The Quibbler months ago. . . ."

"Daddy sold it to them," Luna tells us vaguely. As usual, her ears perk up at any mention of The Quibbler. She turns a page of the magazine. My view of the thing and Luna herself has changed since her father took Harry's interview. She continues, "He got a very good price for it too, so we're going to go on an expedition to Sweden this summer and see if we can catch a Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

I want to argue, but then I remember my new views of her. It's hard to journey to the Ministry of Magic, battle Death Eaters and try to save a little prophecy with someone and not end up being friends. Luna is my friend, even if she's a weird one. I settle with, "That sounds lovely."

I see Ginny catch Harry's eye and then look away, grinning.

"So anyway," I say, sitting up a little straighter and wincing again, "what's going on in school?"

"Well, Flitwick's got rid of Fred and George's swamp," Ginny tells us. "He did it in about three seconds." Ha! I hope Umbridge heard that! Everyone, of course, knew that Flitwick could have done it easily when she was headmistress but he, like the other teachers, was torturing her for taking Dumbledore. "But he left a tiny patch under the window and he's roped it off--"

"Why?" I ask, startled.

"Oh, he just says it was a really good bit of magic," Ginny shrugs. It was. I'll give them that!

"I think he left it as a monument to Fred and George," Ron says thought a mouthful of chocolate. "They sent me all these, you know," says to Harry, pointing at the mountain of Frogs on his bedside cabinet. "Must be doing all right out of that joke shop, eh?"

I still don't like the joke shop idea and the fact that Harry gave all of that money so that they could start it. I cast around for something to ask. "So has all the trouble stopped now Dumbledore's back?"

"Yes," Neville says, "everything's settled right back down again."

"I s'pose Filch is happy, is he?" Ron asks, propping a picture of Dumbledore featured on a Chocolate Frog card against his water jug.

"Not at all," Ginny tells him. "He's really, really miserable, actually. . . ." She lowers her voice to a whisper. "He keeps saying that Umbridge was the best thing that ever happened to Hogwarts. . . ."

This makes me very angry. If Umbridge had ever found out about him being a Squib, he would have been out in a flash. Of course, Dumbledore knew about it and he let him stay on. Umbridge was a prejudice toad! Anyone with eyes could see that! Of course, the fact that Dumbledore had just waltzed right into the Dark Forest and rescued Professor Umbridge from the centaurs without a scratch on him when he returned supporting her was astounding. No one knows how he did it and Umbridge isn't telling, even though I've asked her several times. Ron just taunts her.

She's lying in the bed opposite us and staring blankly at the ceiling. I don't see what's wrong with her. She seems quite unscathed.

"Madam Pomfrey says she's in shock," I tell the others softly.

"Sulking, more like," says Ginny. I notice how much she sounds like Fred and George.

"Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this," says Ron. He makes clip-clopping noises with his tongue. Umbridge sits bolt upright and looks around wildly.

"Anything wrong, Professor?" calls Madam Pomfrey, putting her head around the office door. She seems to have motion sensor all around the ward so that if a patient makes unexpected movement, she knows and goes to check.

"No . . . no . . ." says Umbridge, sinking back into her many pillows, "no, I must have been dreaming. . . ."

I can't help it. I laugh into the sheets with Ginny.

"Speaking of centaurs," I say, "who's Divination teacher now? Is Firenze staying?"

"He's got to," Harry says, "the other centaurs won't take him back, will they?"

"It looks like he and Trelawney are both going to teach," Ginny says.

"Bet Dumbledore wishes he could've got rid of Trelawney for good," Ron says, now eating what must be his millionth Frog. "Mind you, the whole subject's useless if you ask me, Firenze isn't a lot better. . . ."

"How can you say that?" I demand. How can he be so thick? "After we've just found out that there are real prophecies?"

I see something very pained and fearful pass over Harry. Something tells me that it doesn't have much to do with Sirius being--being lost.

"It is a pity it broke," I say, shaking my head and hoping that my statement will get his mind off whatever it is. But it doesn't seem to help; on the contrary, the pain and fear grow more pronounced.

"Yeah, it is," Ron says, not seeming to notice a change in our friend. "Still, at least You-Know-Who never found out what was in it either--where are you going?" he adds as Harry stands up. He looks disappointed. How can he not see it? Harry's eyes have a slightly detached look in them. Almost like the Imperius Curse only very different. Unnamable, but I could see it. Some form of pain.

"Er--Hagrid's," Harry claims. I wonder if he's really going down there or if he just wants go get away. I decide that I won't stop him either way. "You now, he just got back and I promised I'd go down and see him and tell him how you two are. . . ."

"Oh, all right then," Ron says grumpily, gazing out of the window at the cloudless blue sky beyond. "Wish we could come. . . ."

"Say hello to him for us!" I call, trying to stop him for a mere second so I can have a last chance to figure out what that shadow in his eyes is. "And ask him what's happing about . . . about his little friend!"

Harry waves and is gone.

After a short moment, Ginny says, "We should probably go too."

Ron looks even more moody at this but allows the three to leave the dormitory and shows signs of wanting to taunt Umbridge again. I don't stop him. I'd normally laugh too, but my thoughts are on Harry's eyes--that pained shadow within them. I'd usually want to talk to Ron about it, but he just wouldn't understand. He can be pretty shallow about these kind of things.

Harry watched Sirius die. That must be terrible to visit at night. Lately, I've been visiting the Department of Mysteries, but I can't imagine watching someone like my father die before my eyes. Harry will be grieving for a long time. And then, Sirius is gone for me too.

It's so hard to think that whenever Harry has a dilemma, he can't contact his godfather for advice. I can't ask Sirius about anything anymore either, nor can I suggest it. Sirius had been such a simple solution to many problems and it seemed that Harry had been so much happier knowing that there was a parent-like adult out there that cared about him. Sure, Mrs. Weasley may think of him as her son, but she was really Ron's mother, not Harry's and he knew that. Sirius had been his own parent. His parents had given him that mission should anything ever happen to them. And his godfather had been something like his own father; they were best friends! But now he's . . . he's dead.

Dead. That word is powerful and it's the first time I've ever thought of Sirius that way. Whenever I used to hear Sirius' name, I would think of him as Harry's parent, a haunted, yet energetic man. He was brave and clever. He had even been a bit a role model for me, even though his rule breaking and rash actions irritated me at times, so does Ron and I still spend every day with him. Every time I heard someone utter his name, I saw his face, smiling at Harry. But now, there is no Harry in that vision and he seems so far away. And there's something more attached to it in Harry's place. Dead. Gone. He's gone and I, nor anyone else, is going to see him again!

I lay there, thinking of it late into the night. Not even the even potions break my chain of thought. I think of Lupin. Sirius was his last friend. Pettigrew doesn't count. But now Lupin must feel so lonely. I can hear Ron's snoring. I think of Kreacher. He betrayed Sirius. Dumbledore told us that much. My compassion for the little thing has lessened. I understand why Sirius wasn't kind to him now. I remember the way he used to talk about his house--Grimmauld Place. The way he spoke of his family--his mother. I can never imagine having my parents tell me that my sibling is better than me. And a mother who would actually disown you? Percy had left the Weasleys but, even thought they were angry and stricken, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hadn't disowned him! Mrs. Weasley had even sent him a Christmas jumper! That's pure evil in my opinion.

And yet Kreacher spoke of Mrs. Black like she was a god.

If you want to know what a man's like, take a look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.

Sirius had said that once. I remember him speaking of the way Crouch treated Winky. He must have believed it. After all, he'd been treated like an inferior while in Azkaban, hadn't he? And I do remember him trying to be kind to Kreacher at the beginning of last summer. But the wretched elf had just continued to mutter insults at him. Muttering horrid stories that obviously weren't pleasant for Sirius, as they involved him and his past.

If I had only gone farther and stopped Harry from going to the Ministry at all! If I had only gone and asked Snape! Harry was far too resentful towards the man, but I could have asked. I may not like him, but he could have helped. My eyes grow hot and I can feel burning in the back of my throat. If I hadn't led Umbridge into the forest--if I had led her somewhere else where she'd be trapped, Snape would have stumbled upon us. Dumbledore said that he understood what Harry yelled at him in Umbridge's office. He would have been able to find Harry and tell him that everything was okay.

I can feel warm liquid spilling from my eyes. I try to dab at them but it just keeps coming. I can't remember crying like this, even after the First Task last year when Ron and Harry were being stupid or when Voldemort had returned. The idea that Sirius really was gone and that I will never see him again is more painful than anything else. No one will see him again. Harry will always be scarred by the fact that each chance of having a real parent was snatched from him. And worse, this will happen more frequently now that Voldemort is out in the open.

I know that, being a muggle-born and a close friend of Harry Potter, I'm in great danger, but that doesn't scare me. I'm afraid of how many people I know are going to die. And I know that they will. I stare at the ceiling. Cedric was the first to die. But Voldemort hadn't been truly back then. No . . . Sirius was the first. The first die in the battle against Voldemort. And there are many more to come.

I swear, I will always remember the first to die. I will remember everyone who is lost. I'll remember Sirius. I'll remember and I'll be reminded by that shadow in those green eyes. . . .

Author's Note: This is mostly my tribute to Sirius and Harry's grief, because I know exactly what he feels, having felt the pain of loosing a parent myself. Remember Sirius .